#but at the same time i haven't had a cat to bind me for the last three years and i'm still here so :|

[otterandterrier]

I adopted a lazybum cat so he could fit into my lazybum life and not expect me to be up until 8:30. turns out that, lazybum as he might be, he still gets the zoomies before 8:30 like all cats (:

[nrdmssgs]

Idk man but like bondage with Nikto but he's in a mood and he's just overwhelming you both emotionally and mentally because he knows how powerless it is to be tied up. I. Need to be spayed.

Masterlist

"Sokrovishe*?"

Your palms, pressed together, are sweaty and cold. Contrary to that feeling, a heat runs up your neck and face. One wave after another. You try to fight the panic off, but it only grows. What if this all really was a bad idea? What if he loses control, what if one of the others comes in the light. You're certain, he won't ever hurt you, but what makes you so sure about them being on the same side. Do they sympathize you? Do his other voices even know you?

You thought it over, fantasized, craved. You asked for this. For many times. And now, your body is in a desperate state of an overdrive despite Nikto having just undressed you and tied up your wrists. The dim lights around grow weaker, the room starts spinning lightly.

"Sokrovishe?" His voice takes the pieces of your scattering mind back together. You suck in a breath and look around. Return to him, to this room, on this bed, where you kneeled for him.

You turn back and meet his eyes, looking down on you. His gaze travels down your back, as Nikto is weighing his options, planning, assessing. He's not in a hurry, a couple of times a short chuckle escapes his lips and hits his mask that muffles every sound. You wonder if he watches his targets on the battlefield like that? Calculated and calm in every his motion, yet clearly amused, intrigued by how long can his prey stay so oblivious.

You try to explain, that you haven't changed your mind, and you still want him to... finally do all these pretty things, he's been whispering in your ears for so long. But you are able to cough up only an indistinguishable babbling, so he commands you to turn away.

You look right before you and almost immediately feel the bed dipping under his weight. Turning your back to a wild cat is practically asking to get attacked. Turning your back to whatever animal this man right now is may turn out a dangerous carelessness.

You feel his fingertips meeting your skin and swallow audibly. His touch does not linger on your arm, fingers running up to your shoulder, sending shivers to your back. Niktos grip on your shoulder is soft, yet inescapable. Other hand falls on your chest and pushes lightly, guiding you to lean back on his broad body.

"Breathe for me, ok?" And he guides you through a few cycles of breathing until your mind and heart stop racing. It's only then when you truly come back to him, relax.

He didn't need just a doll to tie up and fuck mercilessly - he needed your complete trust. And as soon as you give it to him - you feel a smooth double rope covering a line across your chest for the first time.

Nikto is delicate, almost too delicate for a man, who knows too many ways to harm someone so badly, they do whatever he wants them to, suffer an ungodly amount of pain and still live through this. But with you, it's another matter: you're not a target - you're a promise, a faint hope for the possibility of a real life, payment for all the horror he had experienced. Your body is not an instrument - it's a treasure. There's an invisible map, he drew on you long time ago. And now he covers a line after line, he imagined on your skin all this time, with ropes, marking every important point with perfect knots.

He commands you to take a deep breath in and you start feeling it in your shoulders and across your chest, what he planned for you. He binds you tight just enough for you to realize: Nikto is not trying to just immobilize you - he is putting pressure, enveloping you in an ornament that makes you finally let go of fears. You're protected, treasured, taken care of. This must be, how ancient warriors felt, when their shaman drew his secret signs with scarlet clay on their bodies.

The absolute trust should be preserved. And Nikto weaves his spells around your body, breathes in unison with you, whispers praises. He pulls the knot, moving your hands up, but it doesn't scare you, that he has the power over your movements now. You don't feel like a puppet - you feel like a weighless bird, leaning on warm wind streams. Your fingers are sprawled feathers, you don't really cry or mule - you sing your bird song in his arms. Nikto listens carefully to your body and gives you exactly what you needed.

A comfort of not being in charge, a sanctuary of turning into something simultaneously more and less than your body. Rope coiling around flesh, hugging it firmly, stiffening and stretching with your breaths. A bliss of being his.

Sokrovishe - treasure

[uneducated-author]

Okay, I DO NOT want this to come off as hate, because I love this show, have loved this show and will continue to love this show (I have no choice, I'm pack bonded) but... If I can bring up the way that the show feels... Off.

I don't want to say I dislike it, because I haven't really given it a fair chance, and I actually do really like a lot of the new episodes, and I would hate for anyone to see this and think that I have anything but huge amount of respect to the writers, actors and professionals working together, but I just wanted to know if anyone agreed, or is thinking along the same lines as me.

Meta Humour can work, and work really well. Fleabag's strongest storytelling point is the metaphor of a third wall break being her way of 'leaving' her real life, where we as the audience become her confidant, her trusted friend, her escape. Princess Bride has a meta humour that folds into the framing device. The Emperors New Groove uses it for comedy, and ties it to the medium, framing device and the tropes set up by virtue of the genre. Other shows can have throwaway lines with double meanings, one for the characters and one for the audience.

But Doctor Who Excelled in Commiting to the story. The suspension of disbelief, and the sheer illusion of this madman, hidden from us by our own inability to Notice, it was fun. It connected itself to our world with jokes about pop culture and throwaway lines about Merlin and Robin Hood and all these running jokes but...

Doctor Who proves that no matter how ridiculous the premise, a story can be great if you believe in the story you're telling. You can throw cat women in a hospital, have bad CGI mannequins clone a man, create bats that feed off time energy, but it doesn't matter, because if you and the actors are devoted to the world you're building, the audience will have no choice but to love it too.

Even Peter Capaldi has these scenes where he addresses us as an audience, lecturing us, but not only does it set up his career as a lecturer at a university, it has an in universe reason, where he explains that when he's unsure about how to get out of a bind, he retreats within his mind, pretends he's already escaped and he's bragging to Clara. The throwaway line 'I'm nothing without an audience' carries weight because... Well, he does need an audience. This is his own illusion, we're just sneaking a peak. This isn't the actor lifting the curtain a la Oz, this is us being brought into a characters mind.

Missy has a hilarious meta joke where she roleplays as the doctor and introduces the companions as 'Exposition' and 'Comic Relief'. It's targeted at fans, and clearly a shakedown of the tropes and- it works. Because this is a game to Missy, because she doesn't take this seriously, she's playing a role. It makes sense for This character in This context, and it doesn't break the illusion.

But the new series... There's just a plastic feeling to it. I almost feel like they're setting up a Wandavision bit where it's all a TV show. The joke about 'I thought that was Non Diagetic' was hilarious, and I loved it, but the winks and nods to the camera? The overexplanation and overexposition? 'Never seen a TARDIS before?' Lines said to the audience, basically dropping the wall between us. We are not watching the Doctors life, nor are we being brought into his mind. This isn't showing a characters view, or self aware commentary. It's a cheap laugh that doesn't land.

I don't want to hate the show, and I don't! But it's just... Loosing itself. Back when it was help together with duct tape and a prayer, they had to commit, to make up for the penny sets. Is it such a bad thing to miss that?

[oschonseleven]

uhhh weight/body image/sex/gender talk below the cut, it's a lil rough in places so don't feel obliged to look 💖

one thing I've not been feeling great about lately is my weight 😞

normally I can kinda bullshit my way through it and be like 'idc the world can kiss my fat ass' but looking at myself in the salon mirror last week really made me feel so self conscious and wonder wtf is going on with me

like the shape of me is all wrong and I feel like a massive lump that needs to just be shut away from public view, no matter how much I try to dress myself up :( (also the beard, god if I were thin I would probably be letting it grow out and binding and being more visibly trans but instead I just look Weird and discordant in a way I personally do not enjoy!!)

and it's not a 'ohh you're not that fat' situation- I know I am; medically, I know it's a problem. It feels different but the doctors all tell me I'm fine so it must be my fault somehow and I should just take the wegovy and get off their case already. The irony being I actually get a lot more regular exercise than I ever used to, even if it's not enough.

maybe it is just the stress from this year, my sleep is all fucked up bc of the cats and the on-off all the time with my adhd meds is probably screwing with my metabolism, that and I quit smoking so the times I'd go out for a cig to cope with Everything I've probably replaced with food again 😔

also, tmi, but I haven't had sex in like, 10 years :') any interest in romantic advances has completely dwindled and I used to be the horniest little shit even on my own time. In part, it's due to pain. The whole mechanism just hurts half the time or it's blunted now. But I'm also so unattractive to myself I can't fathom anyone else wanting to even touch me in passing. And that sucks. Like it's genuinely kind of fucked up to me how apathetic I am about it bc I never used to be.

idk man, I think I'm just kind of accutely aware that I don't actually have that much time to fix this before I'm gonna have real problems in the next 10+ years and I worry that I'm either gonna be in the same rut I am rn or that I won't be able to take care of mum when she needs me :(

I feel like I've wasted a lot of time and I'm annoyed with myself but also afraid of what I have to do to turn it around. I've done it before, yes, but I'm older and much more worn out

[shadytrashcollector]

I haven't been active cuz I got the book of bill but look cool stuff

Okay so on the website if you type NAITSUAF on the computer you'll get to see a contract to sell your soul

Sorry not sorry the image is bad quality

I was bored so I decoded the fine print*, which goes as follows**:

"This contract is legal and binding. We reserve the right to use your likeness, face, voice and small town pluck in whatever nefarious manner is deemed necessary. Sans soul. Your soulmate will not recognize you and will walk right past you on a cold autumn day, never making eye contact, not even processing that you have eyes at all. No amount of interaction will move them to a place where they can remember, in feeling, the thousands of lifetimes you have already spent together, each time choosing whatever form would keep you closest like otters holding hands in a tumultuous river. You were birds, you were trees with roots entangled, drinking in the sunlight together. 'Wherever we go next, whatever you choose, I will always be right there with you." Thats done, buddy. Congratulations! You have chosen Bill instead. McDonalds reserves the right to put a giant yellow M on your torso and forehead and send you walking through a crowded times square while you scream "THE FRIES! THE FRIES! THEY DON'T DEGRADE IN NATURE!!! IT'S AN IMMORTAL FOOD!!! THEY WILL BE IN THE LANDFILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS!! Good God, the things I've seen" Me, who am I? Oh I'm Bill's previous lawyer. He put my soul into a quill pen so I can write his legal documents until the sun snuffs out like a candle in this sick universe. I used to be so hot. I was so fine. Now I'm fine print. Speaking of which, Bill reserves the right to put your soul into an inanimate object, a strange creature, a concert, a sentence, a tasteful but rustic mason jar with wildflowers in it. If at any point you wish to have visitation rights with your soul, you will be swiftly denied. Unless you had a cool day planned for the both of you, then Bill might want to come along. By signing this document you forfeit any rights to eating soul food. It will turn to ash in your mouth, a fitting punishment for a fool who squandered the only true gift life owes you. Bill reserves the right to dress your soul however he deems necessary, especially if your soul was a nerd before acquisition. Soulmakoverrr! Your soul may become fractured and placed into different objects. This has no purpose and will not resurrect you if you die. Signee has forfeited all rights to any afterlife, including but not limited to: Heaven, hell, purgatory, big corner,flow state, the dream house, the reincarnation processing center, Axolotl's tank and consequences hole. Signee can no longer board the soul train and is advised to discard all bellbottoms. Signee can no longer have a puppy as a best friend. They can sense what is gone. Cats are indifferent. Signee may experience occasional demon possessions from Horculus the Red, Plabos the Merciless, Morbus Son of Mortem, Plaga the Oozing and other such common demons roaming earth searching for weakened, empty vessels. Tips for ripping your soul out at home: Watching YouTube commentary channels, attending an extended family event with an open bar, using generative AI and asserting that you are creative, turning a blind eye to human suffering, amassing more wealth than needed, purchasing a blue checkmark"

*there's a small section above this paragraph that uses a different Cypher. I don't feel like learning how to decode it today.

**punctuation and capitalization is up to interpretation. Periods look the same as commas and exclamation points so I could've gotten stuff wrong.

[runningwolf62]

Interquel Slides, Part 2

No I don't have part 1 written, yes this is almost 3k words. I haven't written about my Warden in Years, WE'RE GOING NO BRAKES YEET

---

It was an assassination attempt that was the final straw.

They'd settled down for a game of cards, a usual pastime for them after dinner. It was a convenient excuse for all of them to be in one place and for no one else to seek them out.

Meaning they could openly discuss plans to get Justice a new body.

Anders clicked his tongue and called Oghrin on a cheat which made the dwarf curse.

Luke tapped his knuckle against Nathaniel's leg under the table three times.  The other's face revealed nothing but a small shake of  his head was enough. He didn't have the cards for Luke.

No one had caught on to their cheating yet, which was the trick. Cards games were fun but played every night with the same people began to bore.

But it put Luke in Nathaniel's space, when he felt the prickle down his spine.

"I agree with Luke, an animal would make a better living host." Anders remarked, "especially since we've agreed that it won't be Ser Pounce."

"Of course it wouldn't be Ser Pounce!" Sigrun looked appalled at Anders, "He gave you that cat he's not going to put Justice in it. Plus, that cat's way too small. We need something bigger."

"That's why I think a bear."

"Of course you'd want a bear, Nathaniel." Luke replied on instinct, trying to locate the source of his unease. Too many people. Six people breathing, but Justice didn't breath. A soft step.

"While yes, the Howe family crest has bears but it would also suit him. And allow him to continue to aid him in combat.”

"See I was thinking dragon bigger."

"If you find one and can bring it to me and Anders to bind, maybe." Velanna stared at her cards, "but Nathaniel has a strong suggestion. The Hinterlands are full of the creatures."

"Are you feeling alright?" Anders asked her absently, "you don't usually agree with Nathaniel."

Any answer was cut off by Luke suddenly pushing Nathaniel, hard, to move both of them out of the space, and out of the path of a dagger that embedded itself in the wall.

Luke twisted out of the chair onto his feet in one smooth move as Nathaniel fell out of the chair, using his moment to recover by grabbing his bow and rolling to aim in the direction the dagger had come.

"The Crows send their regards," an accented voice, a tauntingly familiar lilt, informed Luke.

The problem for them, and the several others melting out of shadows, was that this was a group of Wardens used to working together, including in the confinement of the deep roads.

Velanna and Anders alone were a pair of destructive forces, but the poor bastard that had spoken had been so focused on Luke he'd gotten an arrow to the eye for his delivery. Luke shot forward, offering his arm to Nathaniel who grabbed it, to be hauled up. 

Sigrun was, of course, already in the middle of it, as was Oghrin. Luke left Nathaniel to guard Velanna and Anders' backs while he launched forward. He was trained by a Crow himself after all.

It was over in a matter of minutes, every movement and strike precise and made with the knowledge at least two others had their back. Their steps only faltered when Nathaniel jumped, a knife sinking into his shoulder as Luke dove under his arm to drive his dagger in the Crow in turn. Immediately they all fought with twice as much ferocity, one of their own bleeding making them fall on the Crows like they were Darkspawn.

Four was not nearly enough to be a challenge for them.

"Well." Anders looked around and grimaced. Luke shared the sentiment, this would be a mess to clean up.

"Your cards fell out of your sleeves." Sigrun pointed to the pile next to where he'd been sitting, "you're good though, I didn't notice you palming them."

Anders looked down the floor where a pile of cards had spilled across the floor before he stepped over them to Nathaniel. “Let me see it.”

"Cousland we've got a gift for ya." Oghrin's gruff voice made them all turn to the other door where he strolled in, followed by Justice, who carried one of the assassins off the floor by the throat. "Found this one trying to slip off."

Luke flicked the blood off one of his daggers, as the Crow, clearly a Crow, attempted to claw loose. The problem was Justice's flesh was long dead and they recoiled, as best they could, at the feeling of it beneath their nails. Justice didn’t even flinch as he brought them over to Luke.

"Third time is not the charm, it seems." Luke eyed the Crow tiredly, "I thought the contract on me would've closed with Loghain's death."

The Crow sneered at him, and Luke's lips curled into a grin, "oh. This isn't about me." He stepped forward, to place the dagger at the man's throat, "is Zevran still alive."

"Wouldn't you like to know." A glob of spit landed on his cheek, "that he would turn against the Crows for-"

Luke's dagger sank into the flesh of his throat, before he pulled it back. "Thank you Justice." Now he wiped off his cheek and stepped back.

Justice released the gurgling man to fall to the floor, a corpse by the time he hit the ground. The spirit stared at him, head slightly tilted, learning how to express confusion.

"Was that just?"

Luke looked down at the corpse at their feet, and thought of how easily it could have been Zevran. Of how he, and the others, had likely been bought at a young age and molded into weapons. And he thought of what it had taken Zevran to realize the truth of the life they led, and what it had cost him to turn away.

"He would have been a danger to us again later." Luke replied firmly, but not unkindly. "Crows don't break their contracts."

Except for once. But Zevran was an exception.

Nathaniel grimaced as he looked around, before looking at Luke. "You won't get to ask him any questions that way. If he had information..."

Luke shook his head and wiped his dagger off with a cloth before sheathing it, "Crows torture their trainees as part of training. He would never have given us anything, even if I was the type to condone torture."

Nathaniel blanched, and everyone stared at Luke for several moments. It was not unknown to the group who Zevran was, and who he had been. The weight of the statement, factually delivered, hung in the air.

Luke looked back evenly, "anything more isn't my place to say."

"Well. Shit." Anders laughed awkwardly, "uh, well Justice, if you need a new body for now, you're spoiled for choice."

The spirit shifted at the mention of his name and looked to the one at Luke's feet. "Perhaps."

That broke the spell of Luke��s declaration, and they began to move to sort the room, dragging corpses to the side, to remove fully in a moment, unless Justice wished to claim one. Luke kicked a piece of ice to the corner with them, while Sigrun retrieved Nathaniel’s arrow. Nathaniel and Justice lifted one of the corpses to set in the pile.

Luke nodded and looked over his Wardens. “Velanna, Justice. Take Anders as well, and check the Keep. Find if there are any of them remaining, and if anyone is injured, Anders do what you can.”

Anders nodded, Luke privately reflected to himself that the Templars and Circle had lost a talented mage by not knowing how to handle him. “Nathaniel, Sigrun, you two check the perimeter of the Keep. Be cautious, but the Crows are likely after only myself.”

Sigrun gave him a look before she spoke, “I don’t know how to tell you this boss, but that’s not something we like either.”

Luke huffed fondly as the others chimed in their agreement, raising his eyes to meet Velanna’s gaze. After a moment she looked away but still nodded all the same.

“I appreciate it, but I won’t be unarmed, or alone. Oghrin, help me get these out back.”

Behind his bushy red beard, Oghrin’s eyes bore into him. “What are you planning to do with them?”

Luke looked down at them, pursing his lips. “I suppose add digging several graves to my to-do list.”

--

The shovel sank through the soil easily enough, and time as a Warden kept Luke’s muscles from complaining too much, as he dug out something slightly above a shallow grave, in the light of the rising moons.

Oghrin made no move to help, and Luke didn’t ask him to. He could, after all this time, still imagine how his friends would react.

Lelianna and Wynne offering prayers, while Alistair and Zevran climbed down here to dig with him, for once neither with a quip. Sten would offer a remark about their enemies, but he would likely aid them.

Leaving Shale and Oghrin to watch.

The sound of boots hitting the ground made Luke look up, but he already knew. Nathaniel set to work at the other side, while Sigrun and Velanna approached slowly. Sigrun gestured to a spot beside where he dug, and they set to work, Sigrun with enthusiasm, Velanna much less so.

Justice took the spot on their other side, and began to dig as well.

Anders took a spot near the corpses, watching them. “I’m… I’m not going to be much help with the digging, but if any of you start to tire, just ask.”

The moons were high and Anders had cast restorative magic on everyone by the time they finished. Luke stood over the graves, now filled, ready to shovel all that dirt back over the bodies of people who had attempted to kill him, under the watchful gazes of those who’d helped them dig their graves.

He tried hard, not to think of a pit outside of Highever, filled with the bodies of his family and Nan and Ser Gilmore and everyone he’d known every day of his life.

Nathaniel looked like he was trying hard not to think of an estate in Denerim, with secret tunnels to dungeons, with hallways Luke had stalked down, and where the Couslands had their vengeance. Of Luke’s blades coming down on his father.

Neither of them were succeeding.

Luke took a breath, still staring at the graves, trying not to remember the last time he saw his parents, and spoke.

“I owe you all an explanation, and I suppose that’s as much an eulogy as they will get.” He looked down at the bodies, “I know they tried to kill me, and it feels foolish to bury them, but they were Crows. They were more than likely made into the killers that came after me, and came for me because they were protecting the only home they’ve ever known. That their home is cruel, and twisted is not their fault. That was why they had to die, because they couldn’t see that but…” Luke shrugged his shoulders slightly, “they were children once, with a knife shoved in their hands far too soon.”

Nathaniel stepped up beside him, “they weren’t your Crow.” It was said to reassure, to aussage guilt. Luke leaned just slightly, to bump their shoulders, like he used to do around campfires with Alistair.

“In another life they could have been. May the Maker grant them the peace they didn’t have.” Luke looked at the piles of dirt and the others, “if you would help me finish this, I’d appreciate it.”

No one said a word, but a wave of magic passed over them, and shovels sank into the dirt once more.

---

They stumbled towards the Keep’s bathes, Justice would wash separately due to his condition, but all of them were too tired for any kind of fuss.

“How’s your shoulder?” Luke asked, Nathaniel bumped into him with it in response. When no answer seemed forthcoming, Anders spoke.

He never did seem to like silence.

“I healed him before, it shouldn’t even be sore, and if it is, well, he knows where I sleep. I’ll probably wake up to him looming over me.”

Luke shook his head, while Sigrun laughed softly, none of them eager to be too loud.

“Come off it, I’d let you sleep.”

“It would ruin his stoic act.” Oghrin needled him, while they all started to find their second wind.

Luke bumped into Nathaniel again, and slowed to a halt. “You need to stop jumping between Couslands and danger. We can handle ourselves.”

Nathaniel scoffed slightly but halted so he could look at Luke. “It’s my job, as your Warden-Constable, to watch your back.” He softened, and added, “and my honor, as your friend, to be trusted to.”

Luke stepped up to him, before pulling Nathaniel into a hug. The other startled at the sudden embrace, before he raised his arms to return it.

“I know.” Luke promised him, “and you’ve earned both. But if anything happens to you, who’s going to look after them?” He pulled back, to gesture to the others.

Nathaniel tilted his head, giving Luke a strange look, while Sigrun asked the question he seemed to be thinking.

“Where will you be?”

Luke turned to the others, “Antiva, it seems.” He stepped back, so he could look at them all, “Zevran’s been gone this long trying to take down the Crows. If they are coming after me, he must be succeeding enough to anger them. This was either retribution, or an attempt to lure him out of hiding. Either way, they will continue to come, so I would rather go to them, and him.”

Velanna frowned, her mouth puckering and face growing harsh in the faint light from the windows. “Could it be retribution after he died? I don’t doubt your faith in him, but that one we had didn’t answer your question.”

Luke sucked in a breath through his teeth at the thought, before he shook his head. “I know he could die over there, that he could already be dead. But he wasn’t when that one left Antiva at least.”

“What makes you so certain?” Justice asked, Luke looked to the spirit, holding his strange gaze.

“If he was dead they would’ve used that against me. He’s alive, and being a pain.” Luke smiled fondly, “and I want to find him, and if I can, help him come home.”

“Then go.” Anders spoke up, with a teasing grin, “I, for one, want to meet him. See if he’s as charming as you made him out to be.”

Velanna inclined her head and added, “it would be nice to have another elf around, even if he is unfamiliar with our ways.”

Oghrin grunted, “you haven’t heard the two of them.”

Luke turned to give him a dirty look while Oghrin grunted again, and scratched his belly, “but he’s not bad. And you’re happier around him. Ancestors knows why.”

“That’s what happens when you’re in love, so I’m told.” Nathaniel replied, to which Oghrin shrugged and grumbled.

Luke ignored him, as Sigrun stepped up. “Go get him, I want to meet him before I die.”

“No dying before I come back with him.” Luke looked to Nathaniel again, “I’m sorry to dump everything here on you…”

“You’re not.” Nathaniel assured him, “Luke, I will take this if it means you get to go find him. And I will give it back when you return.”

Luke nodded jerkily and took a deep breath, to steady himself. “I’m not leaving immediately, we’ll get things taken care of here and we’ll go.”

“You should write your brother.” Anders leaned on his staff, “let him know you’re leaving. If Crows are like the Templars, they’ll be going through your mail, it’ll let them know to leave us alone. Since I think that’s part of why you want to go?”

Luke nodded, “good thinking Anders.”

“Do you go through our mail?”

“No, Sigrun. I don’t want to read what Oghrin writes.”

Velanna scoffed, “that would imply it’s legible.”

The laughter tumbled out before it turned to a spill, all of them tired, but tied together, Luke’s chest hurt, and for a moment he already missed them.

“Don’t cause problems for Nate. If you need to change Justice’s body while I’m gone just tell me when I get back.” Luke took a deep breath, “and you all better be here when I get back. I mean that, Sigrun.”

“We will,” Anders promised, with a grin, “I’ll even be good.”

“You’re never good, Mage,” Nathaniel teased, with a fond smile, “that’s why we like you. You’re welcome to your little excursions, where you claim you’re leaving the Wardens or whatever. Just be back before Luke is.”

Sigrun sighed heavily and gave Luke a put upon look, “I’ll reschedule my Calling. Because I do want to meet this elf of yours.”

Justice raised his head, “I will help to guide them, as best I can.”

Luke looked at Velanna. “I know this doesn’t feel fair. And, for whatever it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“I know.” Velanna looked away from him, frowning before she met his gaze again, “and I know why. So go, and don’t waste your time with him with guilt.”

“I won’t.” Luke promised, “and thank you. All of you. I can’t wait to introduce you all to him.”

[peninkwrites]

The Green Room - Ch 4 of 4

Showfall Media’s recasting process starts with a trip to the green room. There, cast members are offered the truth before the slate is wiped clean…

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 3

SNEEGSNAG - RECASTING 19

Sneeg feels a tight pressure around his chest, his head pounds, his mouth dry and tasting oddly bitter.  He sees them before he hears them, a man sitting across from him, a clipboard in his lap, his mouth moving, and then the words reach him.

“–you with us, Sneeg?  Can you hear me?”

Sneeg doesn’t reply at first, more focused on not being sick.  He feels like his intestines have just been shoved back into his body.

“What… What the fuck is going on?” Sneeg asks wearily.

“Welcome back, Sneeg,” the man smiles at him.  “I’m Dr. Smith.  You don’t remember me, but we’ve met before.  Could you tell me what you do remember?”

Sneeg squints blearily around the room, but there’s nothing of note.  Plain furniture, almost like a waiting room.  It might seem ordinary if not for the straps tying him to his chair.  He doesn’t remember much, distorted things, faces, blood, screaming, running, arms holding him down, panic, pain, and it ending in fear.  He didn’t make it out.  He wasn’t the only one.  He wants to ask the man who made it out, if anyone, but this man, if he works for this same vile machine, he'd have no reason to tell him the truth.  Sneeg stares at the bindings around his wrists, tugging experimentally.

“I wouldn’t do that, Sneeg,” the man chides him with a laugh, patronizing.  “I mean, really, where are you planning to go?  Running didn’t get you very far last time, now, did it?”

“Yeah, well, better than just sitting here,” Sneeg says dryly, focus still on trying to break free.  It would be hard, but not impossible, he thinks, to rip through the bindings, the material thick fabric.  It would probably hurt like a bitch to get loose but, Sneeg remembers with a shudder and another wave of nausea, things have hurt worse as of late.

“What’s so bad about just sitting here, Sneeg?  I haven’t even explained why you’re here,” the man offers like it’s something tempting.

“Uh, I doubt it’s for a fuckin’ free cruise, so, whatever bullshit you’ve got, I’m not interested,” Sneeg scoffs, focus on trying to get his thumb underneath the fabric without breaking it.

“It’s not bullshit, Sneeg, not this time.  This is the Green Room,” the man says with something eerily like reverence.  “This is where Showfall allows you a moment of reprieve, and then the truth, before your recasting.”

Sneeg stops struggling, glancing at the man warily.  “Recasting?”

The man smiles, something cat-like there, as if he’s just caught Sneeg in a trap.  “Yes, Sneeg.  I don't know how behind you are, so stop me if you get confused or you already remember something.  You are one of the lucky members of Showfall Media's brilliant cast.  And sometimes, that means recasting.  You don’t often need to go through the full process for recasting, normally you’re ready for it without rewrites.  That took some work, but once we figured out the trick, you stopped fighting us.  Haven't fought us in a long time. I was quite surprised when I got called in to see you, but after seeing what happened at the last show, it makes sense.  We had to mask you mid-show, now that’s not something you see every day,” he tuts him again, endlessly patronizing.  “Things happen, of course.  The Puzzler was… less efficient than we’d planned, and the hat was much more effective.”

“Effective… effective for what?” Sneeg can’t help but ask, bitterness useless as nonetheless this man is the only thing offering him answers.  He doesn't want answers, he does want someone to pay.  “All that… that thing did was… I saw the blood, and…” Sneeg stops himself.  He tastes bile in the back of his throat.  He thinks of Charlie.  He doesn’t want to think of Charlie.

“Getting a reaction, of course,” the man says like Sneeg is somehow naive.  “Your apathetic character is necessary, especially considering your… problematic nature, but that gets so boring.  That was supposed to get you to do something interesting!”

“Well, I mean, it did.  It just wasn’t what you wanted,” Sneeg dares to sound aloof, and he hates the patronizing smile it gets in return.

“Wasn’t it?  It’s not like you got away, now, is it?  You did react.”  The man still talks like he knows something Sneeg doesn’t, knows Sneeg better than he knows himself, which, Sneeg irritably realizes, he does.

“Okay,” Sneeg slouches back in his chair best he can.  “Now what?  Huh?  What the fuck happens now?  What’s recasting?”

“As I said, I give you the truth.  You can ask me anything you want, and I will answer you as truthfully as I can,” he says like he’s offering Sneeg a gift.

“That’s… that’s recasting?”

“No,” the man laughs.  “This is the Green Room.  Recasting is the part that comes after, once I’ve answered all your questions, or once I think you’re ready.”

“Okay, so, what the fuck is recasting, then?  Can you tell me that?” Sneeg asks.

“That question has to come with a warning, the answer to that––”

“Just fucking tell me.”

The bastard looks so smug, so satisfied.  “You never like the answer.”

“Am I speaking fucking Russian or something?  I asked you a question, are you gonna be honest with me or not?!”

“Of course, Sneeg.  Always.”

Sneeg scoffs, disgusted by the man’s familiarity.  He doesn't have the right to know him, not if Sneeg isn't even allowed to know himself.  Still, he waits.  Even as he dreads the answer.

“Once you’re without unanswered questions, once you understand why you are here, what you are, you can be wiped clean."  There's something about it.  The man introduced himself as a doctor, but he talks more like a preacher, describing a miracle, not a procedure.  It's fucking eerie.  "Your old memories are dug up in order to be reburied, and then we fabricate new memories over the old that suit your new role, see?”

“That… that doesn’t explain it, though.  That’s not– What the fuck do they actually do to us?”

There’s a shred of pity in the man’s eyes, the pity of a butcher toward a lamb.  “Even I don’t know the details, Sneeg, but I will give you what I can.  You’ll be drugged, until you cannot say your own name, and then you’ll be asked questions, the same questions you’re asking me now!  And if all goes well, if all goes easily after our chat here in the Green Room, you will try to answer them, and you won’t be able to.  See, that’s the distinction.  Without the Green Room, you simply won’t know the answers, which is quite different from being unable to answer them," he grimaces, "that is a much... messier recasting, and I will say, not something I'm comfortable discussing, and while our job is to give you truth, HR agrees with me on that one, there are limits.  Having to explain all that, well, that's a hostile working environment.”

“It is?” Sneeg says incredulously.  “What… what the fuck d’you mean drugged?  That’s…” Sneeg hates that his first thought is not horror at what has already been said, but suspicion.  Whatever is left unspoken, whatever Dr. Smith is refusing to talk about, that is what Sneeg wants to know.  He knows he shouldn't, but that nagging, curious dread remains.  “That’s… that’s too simple.  After all the fucked up shit you guys have done–”

The man leans forward, as if excited.  “What are you referring to, Sneeg?  Do you remember something?  Something bad?”

“Yeah, yeah I fucking do, I remember–” Sneeg stops himself.  His head feels fuzzy.  “I… I remember…” It comes to him slowly, uneasily.  “I remember how it ended.  I tried to get away again, after I held back… I held back Austin, and Ranboo made it through.  And… and something bad happened to Austin,” Sneeg winces.  “He… he broke in front of me.”

“And you, Sneeg?”

“I was… I was dragged off, I… I was told I was finished, but I…” the memories come back clearer now, with a vicious, ill-gotten pride.  “I fucking ran again.  You guys couldn’t catch me!  I… I made it, and there was a door, a way out, but then–” Sneeg feels like his stomach is twisted in knots.  “Then…”

“Then what?  What do you remember?”

“I was scared.  Worse than… worse than fucking scared, I…” Sneeg remembers.  It tore him open.  He lived far too long after that, maybe mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity, until it finally killed him.  “I should be dead.”

“No need to talk like that, Sneeg.  You are a valued member of our cast.”

“No, no I mean I literally should be fucking dead,” he snaps.

“Well, you did die, Sneeg.  Hair and makeup had to fix you up.  They’re quite talented,” the man gestures to all of him.

“Hey, what the fuck happened to… to Ranboo?" Sneeg remains focused, he doesn't care about the fucking magic of Showfall, he needs to know other horrors instead.  "He made it out of that room, what did you guys do to him?”

“We didn’t do anything to him, Sneeg,” the man says like he’s in on a joke.  “I’d imagine he’s being prepped for recasting as well.  Normally, cast members like you don’t need hard resets, but Ranboo, our little hero, of course needs a thorough recasting.  Last time it got a bit messier, we’re hoping the new mask design would help with that, I guess we’ll see!”

“Ranboo, Niki, they’re fucking kids, alright?  Like, they didn’t deserve any of this shit, how the fuck can you take two kids that are barely 20 and put them through this shit?”  Sneeg wishes it were only anger in his voice, not pain.

“Actually, Sneeg, Ranboo is not quite 20, he’s still 19!” Dr. Smith says brightly.

Sneeg takes this in like one more knife to the chest among many.  Niki got shot.  She begged for her life and then she died and Sneeg did nothing.  He didn’t feel anything, he didn’t do anything.  “I couldn’t… I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t– I couldn’t fucking help them…”

“Help them how, Sneeg?” He laughs.  “If you’d made it out, no one was going to come back to rescue them.  If you made it through that door, you’d end up in another corner of the set, and we would have stopped you.”

“What about outside, huh?  Let’s say I made it past that– that thing, let’s say I made it past whatever it is that comes next, if I made it out of here, you really think no one would fucking stop this?” Sneeg doesn’t know what he’s hoping for.  He never made it out.

“Actually, Sneeg, you of all people should know that… well, no one is going to choose the word of a man who technically doesn’t exist over one of the most profitable media empires in the world.”

Sneeg does know better.  He doesn’t know how, but he knows the cops would be useless, the system outside of here is just as broken as within, and Sneeg is just as helpless to do anything about it.  “Niki got shot.  Charlie got… he got something done to him on that operating table, like, I don’t–” Sneeg shuts his eyes tightly.  He can still see it.  The blood, the way that Charlie had screamed, the way he’d still been alive.  How could someone be alive through that?  “A-And the others died too, and they all died bloody, and Ranboo was the only one I saw walk away.  What did you do to them?”

“I told you, Sneeg.  We, as Showfall, did very little.  We… we facilitated things, sure, but we didn’t do anything to Ranboo.  I mean that, we are responsible for the Puzzler shooting Nihachu, we are the ones that put Slimecicle in that hospital bed, although, to be clear, that was not Charlie’s last role, he ended another way, but what happened to Ranboo?  Let’s just say we weren’t the ones that pulled the trigger,” he sounds so proud.

Sneeg starts to tug his wrists free, no longer frantic struggles without aim, he focuses on getting his thumb tucked in tight enough to pull loose.  He keeps talking.  “What do you mean?  What happened to Charlie?  How the fuck did you get him off that hospital bed?  How could he… how could he do anything after that?”

“Hair and makeup, Sneeg!  Hair and makeup,” Dr. Smith says cheerfully.  “Truly, they work some magic.  Charlie was fixed up and ready to stream on Twitch in time for that last episode!  The same way you’ve been restored from your little… ah, shall we say cameo in episode 3.”

Sneeg does not look down at his wrists, he stares at the doctor, and he keeps talking.  “What… what trigger, man?  You said you guys didn’t pull the trigger on Ranboo, then who the fuck did?  Is that what happened?  He got shot down just like Niki?”

“No, no, that’s not our usual style, Sneeg.  Not much performance to that.  Hm, how do I describe the finale to you?” The man leans back in his chair, almost wistful, and Sneeg tugs a little harder.  He glances at his wrists and sees that the right one has started to bleed.  He keeps going.  So does the doctor.  “I would say, we did a little refresh on crucifixion.”

This makes Sneeg pause, blood running cold.  “What… what the fuck does that mean?”

“Unimportant, but the one that… that killed Ranboo, the ones that chose to let them die, that was the audience.  Isn’t that fun?  Audience participation!  If it makes you feel any better, they only did so after Ranboo begged them to.  He wanted to die, actually!  So the audience gave him what he wanted!”

Sneeg’s right hand slips free, slick with blood, and he doesn’t wait to try and untie the other.  His goal is not to escape.  His goal is to make the bastard who boasted about torturing a teenager fucking bleed.

The good doctor clearly wasn’t expecting that.  He takes too long to get out of reach, and by that time, Sneeg has his free hand grabbing onto a fistful of his hair, slamming the man’s face into his knee.  It hurts like a bitch and Sneeg can only hope it hurts the guy worse.

It’s all he gets in.  One good hit, and there are hands grabbing him, dragging him back, holding him down even as he struggles viciously.  “Get the fuck off of me!  Let go!  Don’t fucking touch me!”

Dr. Smith has collapsed out of his chair, one hand clutching his bleeding nose.  He motions vaguely toward the masked figures holding him down, and they take their orders.  Sneeg sees a mask lowered over his face, just as before, it is a mask with needles, strange sensors, and he knows if he lets them put that fucking thing back on him, he won’t be himself again for a long time.  Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to fight.

He’s still conscious, but he cannot move.  He can only listen, a captive audience within his own body.

“I… I expected better from you, Sneeg.  My mistake.  See, this is why we need to keep you in a passive role.  You need that apathy, don’t you, Sneeg?  Otherwise, you get like this,” he scoffs, voice delightfully muddled by blood.  “My recommendation to the casting department, is next time, make him a villain, alright?  If he can’t handle being passive, if that makes him break, next time he’ll be the one to do the breaking, how about that?”  There’s spite behind his words.  Sneeg cannot even snap back.  “All that anger and violence,” he tuts him.  “Next time we meet, maybe you’ll remember hurting your costars and have a bit more distaste for it, hm?”

Sneeg stands, even as he had no intention of moving, and he leaves.  His wrist stings, his knee throbs with every step, and he tries to cling to that.  He hurt them in some way.  He couldn’t protect anyone, but he tried.  He wasn’t apathetic, not while himself.  That is no consolation when he knows soon enough he’ll be molded into something worse than apathy.  He tried to save them.  It doesn’t matter.  He never made it out.

[fixfoxnox]

If you have any free time im requesting some camboy au headcanons about roach :0? Or letters to love headcanons about roach!!

Let's do some Letters headcanons! I haven't done one for Letters Roach and it gives me an opportunity to explain some things for the story!

Warnings: Stalker type behavior from Makarov, nsfw implied, slight non-con mentioned

Trans! Roach in the letters universe, which you guys probably knew, but he didn't come out until he was about sixteen

He is currently in his early-mid twenties in the fic and has been transitioning since he came out

Only person who knew he was trans earlier than sixteen was Eddie

Eddie is still a doctor in this AU and provided Roach with fantasy hormone blockers until he was ready to come out

So Roach essentially never hit a female puberty which has worked out for him because he doesn't have to bind his chest or anything

He was raised with a females education because he didn't come out until later

When he did come out, there was discussion of sending him through the classes for male aristocrats, but he would have been learning with small children, so they decided to just teach him the basics

For this reason Roach has no idea how to really fight (outside of a few things that we'll get to later), no idea how to hunt, and is a little less educated on things like war tactics, math, and history (he's learning though!)

Roach earned Makarov's affection when they were very young, which is part of why he doesn't remember it

Makarov was about eight while Roach was about five

Essentially Makarov was being a pouty bratty young prince

Little Roach got tired of it and came over to smack him with a book and tell him to shut the fuck up with his tantrum because he was trying to make flower crowns

Roach got in trouble for it, but Makarov was already smitten and it did not help that Roach later apologized to him with one of the flower crowns he made

Makarovs obsession was mostly innocent until he hit puberty then he started getting full on creepy and weird which is most of what Roach remembers

Roach and Jackson became bffs in this AU when they were kids. They were around the same age and their families estates are right next to each other, so it just made sense

Jonathan and Eddie fully believed that Roach and Jackson were sneaking around together when they were teens

Technically they weren't wrong, its just that rather than having sex, Roach and Jackson were going into town together and sneaking back to the estates with stray cats (the estates still have a cat problem because of them)

Makarov fucking despises Jackson, but he can't say or do shit because Jackson's family are the Kingdom's record keepers/treasurers

A list of creepy things that Makarov has done to Roach in this AU:

Stolen some of his clothes

Cut a piece of his hair to keep

"Accidentally" spilled wine, water, and mead on him several times

Had specific outfits made and sent to him (and since he's the prince, guess what Roach was wearing to any functions??)

Had copies of any portraits made of Roach made for himself (as well as hired some artists to draw Roach for him secretly)

Bought literally the exact same fragrances that Roach uses just so he can spray them in his room (and be creepy)

Followed him around secretly and made visits to Roach's families estate to sneak into his room

Literally tried to start rumors about the two of them to try and force them to be married

Straight up felt him up several times during big events where he could get away with it during like dancing and what not

There's other stuff but thats just some of the stuff off of the top of my head shdhdhdjjd

Roach is known for his penmanship in his kingdom! Its a highly valued skill in the kingdom and he's penned out letters for the royals before (including Makarov)

So when Soap is like 👁👄👁 with how fancy Roach's letters are, he was not exaggerating, like Roach is very very skilled

Soap is only Roach's third kiss in his life, not necessarily because there haven't been people interested, but rather that Roach hasn't been interested (take your guesses on who the other two kisses were lol)

Because Makarov is so solely interested and focused on Roach, Roach tends to get a lot of flak from other noble families

They want their own daughters/sons to marry the prince, so its very frustrating to them that Makarov has shown no interest in even trying with anyone other than Roach

It doesn't help that everyone can see how uninterested Roach is in the attention. They consider that to be a huge disrespect

So Roach has very few friends/support among the nobility, something that his mother has tried to fix but has often just resulted in Roach sitting in a room being made fun of all day

One last one: Roach is very much deeply attracted to the idea that Soap is a warrior king and has seen so much battle and all that, but he absolutely will not admit it

That shit is staying in his fantasies until after he is married thank you very much

[cherokeegal1975]

This is Kogee (his name means crow in Cherokee)

I do not like puppies. They poop and pee everywhere, make chaos...I didn't even want another dog. But I didn't get a vote, so here his is. He might have giardia, has a hernia...my idiot step sister went to a breeder and gave him to her dad...who is not very responsible. No, in fact, over half the time he dumps the responsibility on me to look after him...and my crippled mother who's in charge of making sure everyone gets enough to eat. We didn't need any more pets. We have nine cats and a great dane. And I didn't want another dog after my dog Bill died. I was done. The cats were enough and we had eleven at the time. But again, I didn't get a vote about Katie either. Nor did I get to have a say when I didn't want her sleeping in my room.

I'm not in a hurry for them to do it, in fact I hate it when our animals die, but I'm half waiting for them for their population to drop. Preferably they take their sweet time about it and die only of old age.

Don't get me wrong, I like dogs okay. But I have enough work to do already without some asshole dropping another bundle of chaos into the household. According to mother, we financially can't take on another dog.

There were huge arguments about Kogee. I hid in the basement with Katie until it was over. I put her down there to keep her from biting my step sister. Then there was yelling, so I stayed out of it. Mom said that she was drunk and so disorderly that she almost called the cops on her. Kicked her out too.

It took me days to calm down enough to stop acting distant to the new puppy. I swear the whole time I never blamed the puppy in this situation. Never was mean to him either.

I'm still upset, especially at my asshole step dad who thinks he's lord and master of the universe and is always right. There were arguments for days.

Kogee went to the vet today, so that's taken care of. Though I suspect he's going to have to go back. And yeah, that hernia will get taken care of as soon as he's old enough. I don't know why the wait is needed, but the vets insist on it.

If you're going to gift a dog, or any pet, make sure you discuss it with the whole family before you go though with it and please, please go adopt, never go to a breeder!

I haven't had much in the way of peace because of Larry and this new dog I'm being forced to look after. As far as I see it, this dog is his problem alone. But, nobody asked me! They just assume I'll do the work and they get away with it because I can't leave.

If there's going to be another dog adoption, give me an adult dog or even a senior dog! NO PUPPIES! Even give me a bind dog, a dog with three legs and one eye. My only rules are that they have to be trained already and they have to be able to go outside to pee and find their own food in the house. This is because I plan to have a job so I won't be home all the time. Same for cats by the way.

I'll admit I like cats better. They're easier than dogs. Promise I don't hate dogs though. I cried for days when Bill died. I was done with dogs after him. Learned to appreciate the cats more after his death and...I loved having my limited floorspace back because my mom insisted that he sleep in my room and the only space available is right in the traffic area between my bed and my door.

And in spite of everything, yeah, I think he's a nice dog.

[aztrareia]

Not quite a work log but more of a review

Bear with me I'm simply bored out here.

So it all started when I got this nifty little buddy right here:

He's small, he's sleek and that cover is /chef's kiss

I'll be honest right? I haven't really had a decent sketchbook since 2019—and that was when I was too broke and [redacted] for shit and my aunt gifted me the shiny tablet thing to do my digital arts on. So for the longest time I was sitting here thinking, maybe I don't need my sketchbooks anymore. So anyways, that's not true. You still kinda need it. For me I use the sketchbooks to draft for digital—it's just not the same.

So for 2 years I've been using the overhyped sketchbooks here that everyone and their mum buys—but once you get to use it, the pages are too smooth, and the portrait binding was kinda shet, if it wasn't falling apart. I like this one. It's got thick pages and a nice texture, I think it adds to the character of the sketches.

So I tested the thing using 3 kinds of mechanical pencils

This is my 0.2mm, imo I don't think you really need it. Q u Q

It's good for small details though! And I do use it for those, except we definitely need help on the scarcity of the lead refills for these. The resulting art is cute and youthful, and she probably got that cutesy little love clip from the local shopping apps for as low as 9php.

One of my many 0.3mm I use this quite a bit simply due to the weighty metal grip. (Body is plastic though, just so you know if you do plan on getting one of these)

The resulting art is something that has a feeling of ennui, boredom, "why the guck are you staring at me," sort of attitude. I tried very hard to emulate the silky feel of the hime haircut.

This is.my 0.5mm, which is the size you can buy almost everywhere.

The result is this onee-chan sort of character whose probably displeased at you because you're not noticing her enough and might consider sitting on your lap just to distract you from the game you were playing. Very specific but it's that sort of feel.

I made all these sketches for fun but also I'd really rather do something nice that uses the same braincells for something like ruminating. I think my pouty disposition had been effectively dispersed between the 3 of them just as well.

Ok! That's it for this long post!

For actual work log: I’m summoning all the grinchy gremlin vibes of the universe becaus I want an expression that looks like they’re going to ruin Christmas dinner while throwing stray cats to feast on the Christmas tree. Also very specific, but I think that’s a good thing

[angelamajiki]

[ a father’s love ]

PARING: StepFather! Aizawa x StepDaughter! Reader

SYNOPSIS: Your stepfather took you in with open arms after the death of your mother. Depression gets the better of you and Shouta promises to take care of you. But just how far is he willing to go to see it through?

CW: yandere, pseudo-incest, mentions of stalkers, mentions of death, depression, mental health issues, pregnancy, noncon, somnophilia, bondage, daddy kink, praise kink, afab reader

AN: my first collab with the bnharem server!! the theme was roommates (i ran with the term loosely) read the other member’s takes here! mind the tags as usual and enjoy!! :)

The death of your mother shattered you. A freak accident with a villain attack had her crushed under rubble from a collapsed building. Your stepfather, Shouta, suggested that you move back home with him after her funeral. As tempting as the offer was, you were determined to make it through University and handle yourself like a big girl, an adult ready to take on the world. You had only moved out a few months before her death, independence calling to you after you received your college acceptance letter.

A few months and an eviction notice later, you crawled back to him, the only remnants of your family. Open arms enveloped you, bringing you solace and comfort in your dire time of need. You felt like a child, bundled up in his arms as you sobbed, screaming at the cruelty of the world. Depression hit you hard and deep, flunking you out of your classes and preventing the bills from being paid. You had no other alternative but to accept his offer.

“You time and space to grieve properly, kitty. The most logical thing to do is take a breather.”

Ah, kitty. He always knew that was your favorite nickname, calling you that ever since you were a little girl. He also always knew just what to say. Patting your thigh, he stood up and extended his hand to help you up as well.

“Let’s go step up your room. I'm sure you need a nap after that cry.”

He gave a wrinkly smile before disappearing down the hall.

Skeptical at first, you were unsure if it was the right move to return home. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, what you needed. A break from life would give you a chance to sort things out, right? And Shouta was more than prepared to use this opportunity to show you he would be all that you needed and more.

The man was nothing short of doting and generous. A shoulder to cry on, a good laugh, a friend, a father. He helped you piece your broken soul back together. Whenever he wasn’t patrolling, he was at home with you. When your depression seemed to drown you, Shouta was there to pull you out of the water. He made sure you ate, helped brush your hair when it was matted, and got you into clean clothes daily. It was the small things that he did for you that helped your demeanor change.

—

“Up and at ‘em, kitty. Breakfast is on the table.”

You grunted, burrowing deeper into your bedding. A chuckle reverberated in his throat as he rubbed your lower back soothingly.

“C’mon, I know you haven't been eating lately. Let's get some food in you. I made your favorite.”

—

But as time passed, his help could only do so much. Your mental health continued to dwindle, plummeting into the ground when her first anniversary passed.

—

Gentle strokes of a brush smoothed through your tangled hair. Shouta was kind enough to help you when your head got matted into a rat’s nest, being incredibly tender and gentle with you. Tears streamed down your face, broken hiccups and sobs bubbling from your chest. You were trying to hold it in, he could tell. A sweet kiss was placed on the back of your head as he enveloped you in a comforting embrace, letting his hands sip down to your hips to rub circles in.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

He was the only one that was.

—

The domestic dynamic the two of you fell into hardly felt like one of parent and child, but more as two lovers sharing a home they built together. The pair of you even adopted a new cat together in hopes of cheering you up. You can't say that you disliked it. It felt...nice to have your presence matter when it was a struggle even to be alive. Shouta always checked in on you; whether he sent you an update from work or shared a cat video. He really was the best father anyone could hope for, even when your depression got the worst of you.

Your depression started to manifest itself in many forms. Lately, you’d been having vicious nightmares, only to wake up with an unknown stickiness on your thighs. Recalling the night terrors was something that evaded you, but you knew you were being violated. Perhaps your body wet itself from the fear of the dream? It was the only logical answer you and Shouta could come up with. Depression sure had funny ways of physically manifesting itself. You thought that would be the end of it, putting the situation behind you.

It was until it started happening nightly. The nightmares only seemed to prolong themselves, worsening to the point where you could vividly dream of being assaulted. Your underwear was now soiled too, and it definitely wasn’t your doing. Fearing you had a stalker, Shouta installed brand new locks on your windows and doors, hoping to soothe you. He was a Pro-Hero, so he certainly had the means and know-how to protect you. It put you at some ease, but it continued to the point where your stepfather decided sleeping in the same room would help you feel safer.

It didn't.

The nightmares themselves only seemed to get worse, but Shouta was right there to comfort you as soon as you woke up shouting in a panic. He would take you into his arms and hold you until you fell back asleep. You felt like a child. But he didn't judge you.

After a month of strange behavior, the stress caused you to gain some weight. Visiting a doctor was your best bet to get an answer. He took you to your appointment, letting you hold onto his arm for comfort as his hand rested comfortably on your thigh. The two of you were mistaken for a couple by a nurse. What a strange, intimate relationship the pair of your tangled yourselves in.

The doctor ran some tests and had your blood drawn. The results were to be emailed to you in a few days. Shouta calmed your nerves with a tender kiss to the forehead, reassuring you that everything would work itself out.

The notification for the email came in a few days later while Shouta was at work and you were lounging in the living room. Patience was never your strong suit, so you took his laptop from the coffee table, only to open up to a camera feed. Coming from your room.

The blood in your veins ran cold as you looked into the memory drive of the feed. Maybe he set up a camera to see what was happening during your nightmares? That had to be it; how could you assume the worst of your sweet dad? The only saved footage to be found was him fucking himself deep inside of your sleeping body.

“I see the results are in.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. He always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

“What-” You couldn’t find the words to describe your anger. “What the fuck is this!”

Disgust. Rage. Dispair.

Your only family left had turned against you.

“You were upset at the loss of your family, kitty. So I decided to give you a new one.”

He couldn't possibly mean…

“You’re pregnant.”

Bile rose to your throat as you gagged at the mere thought of his words. Pregnant? With your father’s child? His betrayal cut you more profoundly than your mother’s death ever could have. But it couldn't have made more sense—his touches, his comfort, sleeping in your room, the nightmares that plagued you.

“You’re sick!”

You shouted, tears streaming down your face as you continued to pummel insults and nasty spats at him. You lost your voice by the end of your rant, panting and heaving while sweat beaded your brow. He just stood there, taking everything in with a grain of salt.

“I understand, kitty. I really do. I should have been straightforward with my intentions.” He confessed.

The capture weapon around his neck snagged you the second you moved on the couch.

“Let daddy make it up to you. I'll make everything better for my pretty little kitty.”

It secured you to the sofa, keeping your legs spread and your hands behind your torso. On his knees in front of you, Shouta was ready to serve his apology with his tongue. Panties and sweatpants were ripped at the seams before being tossed aside.

He caressed your thigh with a delicate touch, pressing his lips to the other side. A kiss was pressed to your clit before long slow strokes of a hot tongue lavished it in attention. He kneaded your thighs gently all the while, humming as he began to alternate between licking and suckling on your sensitive nub.

Your head thrashed about in your binds as you shouted in protest.

“S-Stop it right now! Get off of me, dad!”

In a desperate plea, you hoped that hearing you call him dad would force him back into reality. Instead, he groaned and took a breath.

“Call me that again, kitty.”

A hot mouth sealed over your wet cunt as he dove his tongue between your folds while sucking with his lips. The pleasure was undeniable; his tongue was too experienced to ignore how his ministrations made you feel. Toes flexing and curling, you cried out of a mix of frustration, disgust, and humiliation as he continued to work at your dripping hole. This pig was getting off on the fact that he was fucking his daughter. It made your soul shatter all over again, the one he worked so hard to rebuild.

You continued to sob, moans now added to the mix, as he worked a finger inside of you. He made a curling motion after plunging in knuckle deep. A pleasured shout broke between your cries.

“I'll take it that’s your sweet spot, pretty girl? Good to know.”

He continued to abuse that spot, slowing down just a touch with his tongue to drag out the ride to the peak. Can't have you coming too fast, now can we? Your moans and whimpers spurred him on even more as he wiggled another finger inside you.

Removing his mouth, he focused on stretching and loosening up your tense body. You were lax when sleeping, so sliding in was a pinch with his size. But now he has to deal with you thrashing and struggling against his bonds. Disgust and pleasure churned together in your gut, feeling the incoming orgasm approaching hard and fast. Shouta felt you clench around his fingers and added a third, using his thumb to swipe your clit back and forth. With a final cry, you came on his fingers with a shout as your body convulsed in the capture weapon. You found what little peace you could in your short-lived post-nut clarity, taking a moment to breathe and center yourself.

Your father gave you no such chance to do so, immediately springing his cock free and rubbing the tip against your clit to gather your wetness. A chuckle sounded in his throat as he watched you twitch even more from the stimulation that was starting to border on being painful.

“Relax, kitty. Being tense won't do you any good.”

He slowly nudged his cock into your hole, groaning as he took his time bottoming out inside you. Praise spilled from his lips as he let you adjust, feeling your pussy clench tight around him. Good girl, good kitty. He shushed your sobs, smoothing the tears off of your face with the pads of his thumb. Murmurs of good girl and taking me so well slipped your senses. The pace he set was slow and deep, letting you feel every agonizing inch of his rather impressive dick.

Your flowing tears were kissed away as he proceeded to thrust faster and deeper. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the room, even above your now weakened crying and whimpers. Sweat beaded on your brow plastered your hair to your forehead. His breath was warm against your cheek, his moans of pleasure so close to your ear forced you to stay in the moment.

Shouta swallowed your cute noises with a kiss, cupping and stroking your cheek with his right hand while his left pinned your hips down into the cushions. He did his best to stop your tears, pushing the hair off of your sweaty face. A few minutes passed filled with kisses, cries, and deep thrusts before he maneuvered you to be seated in his lap. Back pressed into the cushions, he lazily thrust up into you, hands grabbing your now bouncing ass. His thumb made its way back to your clit as he rubbed it in small circles, grinning at your cries of pleasure that you couldn't hold back. Dark brown eyes fluttered shut as he groaned and moaned proudly, increasing the speed of his thrusts as he felt himself getting closer and closer.

He usually lasted longer while you were sleeping; he does have quite a bit of stamina from his hero work. But something about seeing your flushed, torn face, hearing your whimpers and cries, he can't help but cum rather quickly for his own record. The pleasure was manifesting itself within you again, a second orgasm hitting you like a speeding truck as you gasped and choked for air at its intensity. Shouta was soon to follow, grunting and moaning loudly as he filled your cunt with his spend. He rode out both your orgasms, relishing in the silence between the two of you. It was better than hearing your broken, choked up wails.

It was wrong; he knew that. Breaking your trust, violating you, sabotaging your personal life, he couldn't help but be selfish with you. But he always knew what was best for you, always knew how to take care of you when you couldn't.

Foreheads pressed together, he caught your sagging body against him in a warm hug, stroking your hair when you started to sob uncontrollably.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

[starwroughtchild]

19 …writing about something or someone who really makes them mad

I could make this being about Silene writing about his father, but that's beating a (literally, in character) dead (father) horse, so....

A letter from Atticus Starling to his cousin, dated August 19th. Post marked from Uldah, Thanalan

My dear cousin- Though no place on Hydaelan can truly compare to the life I knew in Voeburt and indeed, great Norvrandt, I find myself in awe of the city of Uldah since my coming. I could tell immediately from the glittering white sandstone and the high arch doorways it was a place of wealth and opulent splendor. Indeed it's more privileged citizens lead quite comfortable lives, and while I have enjoyed my time here there is something that I have not,- nay-, could not help but to see. Mayhaps it is because of my upbringing, where and by whom, that what hides in plain sight in the city of Uldah upsets me so. My father, a noble man of high standing and more than moderate wealth, Silene, was well aware of his position in the world and the precarious edge such a place provides under foot. So too was he aware of the responsibilities such a standing brought, for a man that builds castle walls and armors knights in coin alone soon finds himself behind a paper fortress when their coin can no longer buy love and loyalty. Even at a young age he taught my brother and by extension myself and our sisters those who need naught have a duty to those who do. A noble family that demands coin and grain from a commoner who cannot clothe or feed themselves because of it is of a base quality and so by that greed do they strip any meaning of the word 'noble'.

Here too are the self same 'nobles', though they go by the 'syndicate'. With no fear or shame do they flaunt their wealth while in the streets of their glimmering white city do refugees scavenge for places to sleep, beg for coin which to keep their pride and food for which to keep what health they still have.

I have heard tis because they are not citizens, but 'scavengers' from Ala Mhigo (a city that, not too long ago, was under the rule of the Garlean Empire and much enslaved from what I have learned) that 'just haven't gone back where they came from'.

Disgusting! Are they not people? Are they not men? Do they not deserve food? Do they not deserve homes? Do they not deserve respect despite their current state of life? I have no doubt in my mind and heart that were they -able- to go home once it had been liberated they might have done so? But if you cut off a mans hands and expect him to work, and cut off a mans feet and expect him to walk what right have you to complain when he can do neither?

Hypocrisy, Silene. I fear the walls here are mortared in it.

However I have also heard the Sultana has tried to usher in change much against the Syndicates wishes and plans. She sounds as a champion of the common people, and though her power is limited by the binds the syndicate draws around her desires I pray for her success in all generous endeavors.

Despite my anger towards the cruel injustice of these wealthy, or as someone once called them 'fat cats' of the city, I find myself enjoying it, though I will not stay for long. I have much to see and much to enjoy (and much to learn!) in this world as I navigate its rivers of true citizenship.

Yours in trust, your 'cousin',

Atticus

@rokachan (thank you♥)

[coshayphinelove]

As I read your last Fic, it cross my mind that you haven't wrote about Cos finding Shay again after season 3 plus reuniting with Delphine. So could please write something about Cos being excited about bringing her girl friends together where they start talks about building a home and becoming a family. Maybe where the three actually say vows to each other, a long the lines of a marriage ceremony officially binding them together.

You know what you want, I like it.  

Um,, since the whole making of a relationship scene is going to happen in my fic and I’m right now struggling with how to do it (shameless plug for LOVING TWO) I’m going to go with something in between-ish.  Hope that’s okay.  

Prompt me!!

Cosima bustled around Shay’s kitchen making popcorn and pouring wine.  It didn’t really feel like Shay’s kitchen anymore.  It felt shared.  The three of them hung out here more than they hung out in the new lab, though they loved it, it was cold and damp there.  

She turned as Shay and Delphine shared a laugh.  Her heart soared in her chest.  Even though they were just friends, they were really affectionate with each other.  Shay had one of her legs thrown over Delphine’s lap and Delphine had one of her hands resting on her shin.  Watching her girls be together and happy gave her immeasurable amounts of joy.  It made Cosima all warm and fuzzy inside knowing where they started and seeing them now.

She poured the popcorn into a bowl and tried to fit all three glasses into her other hand.

“Cherie, are you sure you don’t want any help?”

“No, no.  You just relax,” she said around the lip of the bowl that she had put there to balance it on her hand.

Shay appeared out of nowhere and took the bowl and one of the glasses out of her hands.  “I love you very much, but that doesn’t mean you get to stain my floors.”

Cosima giggled, “I love you too.”

“That’s what you took from that?  Ugh.”

Delphine laughed, “She has selective hearing, I think.”

“Are we gonna watch a movie or pick out all my faults?” Cosima teased and handed Delphine a glass of wine.

“We could do either, honestly,” Shay said as she settled back onto the couch.

Cosima pouted.  She knew they were kidding, but she wanted them to feel at least a little bad.

“Aww, pauvre petite chiot,” Delphine cooed and reached for Cosima’s hand to intertwine their fingers.

Cosima laughed, “How many times do we have to go over this?  Out of the two of us, you are most certainly the puppy.”

“Uh-uh,” Delphine giggled.

“Delphine’s right,” Shay said offhandedly, not knowing that there were many arguments that had come before this.

“What?” Cosima and Delphine asked, one with incredulity and one with excitement.

“Well, Cosima is excitable and has a lot of energy.  You’re playful and need a lot of attention otherwise you might tear up the couch,” Shay said and as she went she got more and more apologetic.

Cosima let out a laugh of disbelief.

“Whereas Delphine is a cat,” Shay plowed on, trying not to offend but not really sure if she was hurting or helping herself, “You like to curl up in a warm spot and sit still.  You like to snuggle and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard you purr when Cosima plays with your hair.”

“Okay but look at her face!”  Cosima cupped Delphine’s cheeks.  “I mean, how do you look at her and not see a puppy?”

Shay shrugged, “I mean if she has to be a canine she would be an older dog, not a puppy.”

Delphine gasped in mock offense.  “All dogs are puppies!”

They all laughed.

“That’s what offended you?” Shay asked.

Delphine shrugged and continued to laugh.  Cosima looked between both of their faces.  Their cheeks were pink with laughter and Delphine’s eyes had gone all crinkly from her smile.  Shay’s dimples popped and she brushed her bangs out of her face.  

Cosima felt a surge of love and happiness, so much so that she started to tear up.  She put a hand over her mouth to try and stifle her emotions.  It didn’t work and tears started to fall down her face and she hiccuped a little sob.

“Oh, my god what’s wrong?” Shay asked and put her hands on Cosima’s hips, fearing that they’d gone too far, no doubt.

Delphine squeezed her hand where their fingers were still twisted together and tilted her head in question.

Cosima shook her head, “Nothing.  Absolutely nothing is wrong,” she said with a teary grin.

Delphine smiled and started to tear up herself.  

“You’re such a cheese ball,” Shay whispered on a relieved sigh.

Cosima straddled one of Shay’s legs and one of Delphine’s legs and buried her face in their shoulders.  They almost simultaneously kissed her shoulders and wrapped their arms around her back.  

Cosima gave a wet laugh, “I’m just so happy that we’re all here.  I love you both so much.  I don’t know what I would do without you.”  She sat back and made pointed eye contact with the both of them, “Either of you.”

That’s what tipped Shay over the edge and she teared up.  She sniffed loudly and said with a thick throat, “Well we obviously love you, too.”

Delphine shifted to put her free arm around Shay’s shoulders.  Shay leaned into it and rested her face on Cosima’s shoulder.  Cosima pressed a kiss to her hair and then leaned forward and kissed Delphine softly.  

Since Celeste had started college, they had decided to do a family dinner every other Sunday.  They loved being empty nesters, but they missed the kids.  

To prepare, Shay and Delphine texted around asking what people wanted and sent Cosima to the store to get things that they didn’t already have.  By the May of Celeste’s freshman year they were a well-oiled machine.

Right now the potatoes (Aubrey’s favorite kind) were cooking in the oven and the meat was defrosting on the counter, ready to get put in the pan to cook (Ollie’s favorite).  There was nothing left to do until later, so Shay and Delphine had settled onto the couch to snuggle and read.  Cosima put the last of the groceries away and went to the living room to find them.  Percy, their cat, followed closely on her heels.

When she saw her wives, the mothers of her children, the beautiful women that she had chosen to spend her life with, curled up together still after all these years in the same way they always had, she was hit with an unnameable emotion.  It was love, nostalgia, and joy all wrapped up in a teary smile.

Remembering the last time she had felt this type of way she replicated her actions.  She walked forward and climbed into their laps, burying her face in their shoulders.

Delphine laughed and tossed her book to the side, “Some warning would be nice, mon ange.”  She kissed up and down Cosima’s neck.

“Okay, here’s you’re warning: I love you very much and I need to kiss you,” Cosima giggled.

Delphine started to retort, but was cut off with a kiss.  She was startled, but recovered to run her fingers through Cosima’s curly, grey hair and kiss her back.

“No fair!” Shay cried, “I wanna kiss Delphine, too!”

“Mhmm, in a minute,” Cosima mumbled around Delphine’s tongue.

Delphine laughed and turned to kiss her other wife passionately.

Just then, footsteps came down the stairs.

“Ew, gross,” Ollie muttered and grabbed his shoulder bag.

“Hey, we’re sixty,” Cosima shot back over her wives heads, “Not dead.”

Delphine broke the kiss to say, “You’re not sixty.”

“Yeah, I am,” Shay retorted.  She turned to Ollie, “And for the record, I am dead.”

“Ghost mom,” Ollie sang and threw the strap to his bag over his shoulder.

Cosima dismounted her wives and asked, “Where you off to, big guy?  Dinner’s gonna be ready here pretty soon.”

“Trans youth group,” he looked at his watch, “Which starts pretty soon, so…”

“You’re not a trans youth anymore, though,” Cosima said, her tone going up at the end making it a question.

“Yeah, I thought you aged out?” Delphine asked.  She still remembers bringing him to his first meeting.  

“Well, I may not be a youth anymore, but I am still trans.  They asked me to come by, talk to the youths about college and stuff.  They heard that I’m trying to get into public speaking and figured they’d give me a shot.”  Ollie shrugged. “Rumor has it I may be getting asked to be like, a real mentor or something.”   They could tell he was excited but trying not to get his hopes up.

“Oliver!” Delphine cried, insisting on using his full name because when he chose it she begged him to pick something French so she could pronounce it properly.  He hadn’t and she loved to tease him.  “That’s incredible!”  She got up and wrapped him in a hug.  “I’m so proud of you,” she murmured.

“We’re all proud of you,” Shay said, “Jeez Delphine, what happened to ‘united front?’”  She got up and wrapped the both of them in a hug.

Cosima tackle hugged the three of them, too choked up to say anything.

Just then the front door opened.

“Oh, are we all hugging Ollie?” Aubrey, Ollie’s twin, asked.

“No!” Ollie cried.  “You’re all sweaty, stay-”  Aubrey, taking mostly after Cosima, tackle hugged her family.  “Away from me,” Ollie finished, defeated.

Since she was coming straight from soccer training, she was all sweaty.  She was an incredible athlete, so even though spring training was supposed to be light she went all out.

Aubrey had left the front door open in her excitement and Celeste popped in largely unnoticed, coming from her band practice.  “I see how it is.  Family moment without Celeste.  ‘Quick let’s all hug before she gets home!’” she teased.  She closed and locked the door.  She set her guitar case down and Shay pulled her in tight.

“Wasn’t a family moment ‘til you got here babe,” Shay muttered.

[ladystoneboobs]

sorry to revive this long thread, but i did not get a note from tumblr that op had reblogged my reblog, but now i can see that you did.

i don't disagree with any of your response but i think we're talking about two different things

yeah, i was basically replying to all parties in this discussion so it may have been a bit all over the place.

so why would he recognize the legitimacy of sansa's forced marriage?

see, i maintain he only kinda does, or at least the legitimacy of tyrion's rights to wf through sansa. i do think practicality of sansa's circumstances still bears on robb later disinheriting her. it's not so much that he believes their marriage is to be respected once vows were sworn, status quo, easily allowable as any other arranged marriage, as that he knows it is legally binding nonetheless and would be accepted by most of southern westeros. but once he's frickin' dead, what he feels and believes doesn't even matter, so he just needs a back-up plan, a will so that his loyalists can know his true wishes on the matter.

idt those loyalists would ever accept tyrion as lord of wf (esp w/o even a half-stark child), no more than robb's enemies would accept jon's oathbreaking. robb is a king only recognized by his own subjects/once-possible allies while he and a bunch of other people with varying loyalties refuse to recognize the lannister regime in kl. it makes sense they would all have different ideas about the succession to wf too. but he can't just say "if i die childless, you can't let our enemies take wf!". there has to be an alternative for his loyalists to follow, preferably a male claimant old enough to fight their enemies to reclaim wf, if need be. jon's nw oath is an especially sticky point moreso than his bastardy but the only known non-lannister alternative is a distant cousin in the vale. the absence of a new heir on robb's death w/o children = instant succession crisis, which is kinda what's happening anyway since his will never made it to jon in time.

if you haven't reached this part in your re-read, here's the relevant bits in storm.

“He[Tyrion]’s the Kingslayer’s brother. Oathbreaking runs in their blood.” Robb’s fingers brushed the pommel of his sword. “If I could I’d take his ugly head off. Sansa would be a widow then, and free. There’s no other way that I can see. ... " -Catelyn IV, aSoS [Robb, to Cat:]"If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. [...] That dwarf must never have the north.” “No,” Catelyn agreed. “You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son.” [Robb, again:]"Arya’s gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they’ll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother that remains to me." -Catelyn V, aSoS

this does not read at all to me like robb respects sansa's marriage vows more than jon's nw vows. that would require an equivalent willingness to like, bring war upon the nw or at least murder lc mormont to get jon back. power is a shadow etc., so sansa's marriage is as real as the number of people accepting and enforcing it, no matter what her treasonous family may think. hence why even sansa's mother, heretofore her greatest champion in robb's camp, gives her up for lost and says she and her lannister children can never inherit now. it's just one more bitter pill of the feudal patriarchy and civil war that catelyn swallows bc she's resigned to it and feels there's nothing else to be done. robb is certainly no feminist but he does think brides being forced into marriages is bad when it's bad for him too. (in that sense it's not sansa's lack of consent that matters, so much as robb's, who should be the one arranging her marriage) the mechanics of sansa's pow wedding ceremony aren't too different from some of those arranged by the bride's own family (eg, lysa's tears before her wedding), but robb, influenced by his lannister hatred (and prob more than a little ableism), sees it as unusually monstrous. he posits that tyrion will not only rape sansa but murder her as soon as he gets the heir he needs from her. (which i guess would still put him above ramsay torturing his wife to death without even trying for kids, but still feels implausible.)

i think we are agreed on the lady hornwood point and it does drive me crazy too (for various other reasons as well, which i will not go into bc this is already so long), but i contend that it is actually a bit of a hole in the worldbuilding. grrm does make mistakes, but he also had to contrive a lot of events just so to not only have theon take wf but have ramsay there the whole time too so that theon ends the book as ramsay's prisoner. i've always felt theon's conquest by trickery would not work with an older and/or more competent leader was still in charge there, and enough other people have said the castle should never have been so depleted of guards no matter which bannerman was threatened or how so i'm pretty confident in that assertion. bran fails the age/experience qualification and i'd say ser rodrik is maybe not so qualified to be acting ruler of the entire north either. gods love him, but maybe not the sharpest sword in the armory. the whole hornwood mess only got as far as it did bc nobody at wf felt confident about a naming a new heir w/o getting king robb's input first. then ramsay swooped in and was seemingly shot with arrows while fleeing arrest, but it seems ser rodrik did not feel confident enough to behead "reek" himself either and thought robb might need his testimony as a witness. and with that, the old man not only affected theon's fate, he sealed his own death warrant too.

Regarding the sham marriage thing, I very much do believe that it's a matter of illustrating both the difference between the rights of a lord and those of a woman - and moreover, that they're both pretty well setup. The fact that the sham marriage thing is first mentioned in A Game of Thrones and consistently upheld as a worldbuilding point is, in my opinion, pretty decent worldbuilding. Moreover, it seems to be repeated across several plotlines in the service of this framing of Westerosi marriage as both repressive and violent - and, of course, to me seems to serve the purpose of having us question even structures that appear familiar as tools of feudalism.

could you remind me where it's mentioned in agot? the two examples i have noticed are ramsay's kidnapping of lady hornwood in acok and sansa's forced marriage to tyrion in asos

looking at these examples as an illustration of the differences in rights of lords and ladies though is a compelling argument, because even robb (good sweet young just king robb) says in the same conversation with cat that sansa is lost to them and tyrion is the legal heir to winterfell BUT we can figure something out to free jon from his vows as a man of the night's watch and legitimize him as a stark by my royal decree

i think it's still shaky that robb would extend this established northern custom to southron lords who are his direct rivals in an ongoing war

but it is illustrative of the general gender dynamics of westeros that jon can be given his inheritance rights and freed from his freely-given lifelong vows via on-a-dime royal decree but lady sansa is in some sort of iron clad unbreakable bond sworn before southern gods that establishes tyrion as direct heir to winterfell

because at that point it doesn't matter that everything supporting the legitimacy of sansa's marriage is a load of bullshit and everything that could possibly free jon from his vows and legitimize him as heir is more or less made up on the spot. it matters that jon is a man and sansa is a woman.