#but i like. conflict in a story. i like conflict in a story it's one of the basic elements

[mumblingsage]

I'm no expert, but some options for titles:

-Instead of a song lyric, use a quote from your story (as a reader I love these! They give a flavor of the writing and highlight what the author finds important, plus when I then read the title quote in the story I get to shout "Title Drop!" like the excited little nerd I am)

-Use a quote from the canon you're writing fic for (ditto)

-Use a line from poetry, a famous speech, a play, or other source. Maybe start a file where you jot down phrases that catch your fancy + their origins so you can easily pick one (and cite it) the next time you're stuck.

-Take a page from Friends and try "The One Where [fic premise]." Bonus round: shave off "the one where" and just use the premise title.

-A phrase that refers to the central conflict of the story (a la Pride and Prejudice)

-A phrase that refers to the role of a character in the story (I know we all knocked book titles along the lines of The Watch-Winder's Daughter, but it at least gives you a noun to work with)

-A phrase or word that refers to the theme of the story

-A descriptive image or sensory detail from the story

-Stealing a technique from poets: Make the title the first line of your fic/vice versa.

-Use a Word-A-Day Calendar or SAT vocabulary guide or random page in a dictionary to grab a term which you then try to fit into your title

-Consider a pun

-When a title isn't working, try radically remixing it. Harlan Ellison once (in the writing advice anthology Now Write! Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror) recommended coming up with 3 alternative titles for a current project, including one that's very short and one that's very long (focusing on length rather than other considerations might quiet your inner critic). In the end, none of the 3 titles might be the right choice, but it'll get creative juices flowing.

me: *writes fic*

me: great! time to post to ao3-

ao3 summary box: *exists*

me: 

ao3 summary box:

me:

ao3 summary box: 

me:

[movie-robotnik-positivity]

Here's a MASSIVE Sonic 3 interview, featuring scriptwriters Pat Casey and Josh Miller, as well as co-producer Tyson Hesse. This was recorded before the film's release so minimal spoilers.

I really suggest watching the whole thing, there's plenty of cool info about the production of these movies. I compiled some of the highlights under the cut:

- It was SEGA's request to make Movie Sonic an alien. This is a remnant from when they were commited to the "Two Worlds" idea, before they changed their mind on that.

- According to Pat Casey and Josh Miller, part of the reason that the Sony version of the movie fell apart is that they (along with Jeff Fowler, Tim Miller and Neil Moritz) wanted Sonic to be the main character, while the studio pushed for the human actor to be the star.

- There was an outline where Sonic befriended a kid (based on E.T). Tim Miller thought the character was pointless, since Sonic is already the kid, so they decided to pair him up with an adult instead.

- They refer to "The Little Mermaid", "Superman" and "Hellboy" as inspiration for Sonic's story in the first movie.

- The Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds were combined to avoid having eight different macguffins in one film, and also to avoid comparisons with "Avengers: Infinity War".

- Pat Casey and Josh Miller feel like part of the job is to NOT be lore experts, but rather people who can look at these things purely as a movie.

- Jim Carrey doesn't like to repeat himself, so they always try to throw new stuff at him every movie so he's more likely to return. This led them to the idea of having him play Gerald. The studio immediately loved the idea, and so did Jim.

- One of the things they knew had to change was the ARK, as the idea of a space colony orbiting Earth for 50 years without anyone noticing didn't mesh well with the grounded world they had set up.

- In some versions Gerald Robotnik was alive as a chaos energy ghost, stuck in-between time.

- They felt Shadow's backstory was extremely important, but knew they could only have so many flashbacks, hence why they wanted to pull aspects of it into the present (such as Gerald).

- Gerald's inclusion was also done to keep Shadow's story from feeling like a retread of Knuckles'. It also helps that while Knuckles' conflict is based on a misunderstanding, Shadow's isn't.

- Tyson Hesse thinks that while keeping Gerald alive at first felt weird to him as a long-time fan, it gave Ivo a lot more to chew on as a character and kept his story from getting stale.

- Jim Carrey's multiple comments regarding Robotnik's broken childhood and hidden vulnerabilities inspired them to explore that side of the character in Sonic 3.

- Pat Casey and Josh Miller's always like to add a little bit of heart where they can. They point to the baseball scene and the bucket list in the first movie, as well the scene between Agent Stone and Tails in 3.

-Jim Carrey first does his scenes exactly as scripted, then tries his own versions, which almost always end up being funnier. Very little of what's in the script actually stays.

- Keanu Reeves was the number one choice for Shadow. With every other character there was a lot of deliberation, but with Shadow they don't think other options were even considered.

- At one point Idris Elba was worried about Knuckles' fear of ghosts being out of character, so they did some research and found out it was already a thing. They can't remember if they got that character trait from somewhere or if it was coincidental.

- Sonic 3 and the Knuckles series were worked on at the same time. Pat Casey and Josh Miller weren't involved, as they were busy with the movie script. Tyson Hesse was involved during the initial stages of the show, leading the story department, but had to leave as soon as production on 3 started.

- They've kept almost the exact same creative team thorough all three movies, including their VFX Supervisor and Animation Director. This helped streamline process, as everyone is already familiar with each other and how things work.

- They point out how rare it is to have a franchise where everyone involved wants to keep coming back. They attribute this to the fact that these movies are entirely staffed by nice people who get along, which isn't too common.

- They claim that the Sonic 3 set was one of the calmest sets they've ever been in. Even all the Gerald and Ivo stuff, which seemed so complicated to make, was hardly an issue.

- With Sonic 2 they ran into some problems due to relying on a single VFX vendor. For Sonic 3 they ran the movie as if they were the VFX vendor, they had all the animators in-house and had all the character assets made internally.

- Tyson Hesse claims that SEGA was completely changed by the movies, and that everything coming out is being done better than it was before. He hopes fans will be able to appreciate how much the movies lifted up the franchise.

[llunarpotter]

I will forever love OotP for this also reason. Oml. Like I love the films and books a lot, but again, my number one I think has to be OotP then Prisoner of Azkaban, then Deathly Hallows (pt2 for films, but I also love Pt1! ah so hard lol). Like there's so many powerful messages in this film and it's just poetic in a way because of the hidden life messages and stories raveled beneath it; I adore it. It's also the one where we see Harry really grow after Sirius' death especially in DH where the golden trio separates from Hogwarts in order to find the Horcruxes. But oh man, as one of the most heartbreaking films/books, it definitely sits as the number one in my books (no pun intended). Just for the amount of character depth and conflicts that just really pull you in further to understand and feel empathy for the character. It's so heartbreaking though like my booooyyyy :( Losing the only part of family left and Harry is just there so heartbroken. And not to mention finally having the freedom to (could've) stayed with Sirius to avoid further abuse from the Dursleys. Man. Thinking about it wrenches my heart for the poor boy.

Although we must come to terms with the fate of the film avoiding the part where Harry is alone at the lake in tears after losing Sirius (my heart couldn't handle it anyway because oml) but seriously, it would've been a masterpiece with seeing how much it affected Harry when clinging onto the only family he had left. But hey, it is what it is, it didn't get released and I still, unlike most people in this fandom, love the movie to bits. Would've been amazing to see it come to life from the books but oh well. The books shall fill in the gaps and I appreciate the work that has been done in the films anyway. The actors, filmmakers, producers, cinematography, choreography, ect. But yeah, that's my little vent haha.

To think of the things too we could learn from the films/books as well. I think that was done beautifully.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix 2007｜directed by David Yates

[daisyblog]

My Brother

Our Story Masterlist Summary: The Tomlinson sisters film the trending ‘Stay Away From My Brother’ TikTok.

Suggestion from @lovestyles222

As much as Louis had expressed his hatred towards the trending and viral app, TikTok. After what felt like the millionth time of YN constantly nagging and begging him to take part in another one of her videos he gave in when she promised he wouldn’t have to say anything but just sit there.

Whilst Louis sat on a chair with an unamused expression and his arms crossed over in a pout. YN, Lottie, Daisy and Phoebe stood off camera after already planning beforehand the sequence of the video.

“I dare you to say that again to my face”

YN appeared in view first, a small bump low on her tummy, a protective hand landing on Louis shoulder as she mouthed the words to match the sound. A look of protection deep on her face.

“What did you say 'bout my brother?”

Lottie came into shot, her larger bump hidden under her jumper. She mouthed along to the sound whilst she held her hands on her hips with purpose.

“That's not a stray, that's my brother”

Daisy jumped softly into the view, arms crossed her her chest as her hip popped out as she mimed the lyrics with sass.

“You stay away from my brother…'Cause I say so”

Mouthing along like her sisters, Phoebe placed her elbow on Louis shoulder causing him to look around at his sisters and wonder what they were doing.

“If you put your paws on my brother”

Switching from their original positions, each of the sisters held their arms and fists up in a fighting manner, pretending to protect their older brother from potential conflict.

“You'll meet the jaws of his brother”

Quickly holding their arms up in the air in front of them making a ‘crocodile snap’ movement, which caused Louis to let out a little chuckle as he realised that meaning behind the song.

“Those are the laws for my brother”

The four sisters each wrapping their arms around their older brother, squeezing him tightly letting everyone know that they’ll always have his back and protect him just like he protects them.

Caption: Stay away from our brother 👊🏼☺️

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats@harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour@bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl@buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream@treehouse-mouse @mrs-anna-styles211994 @macy-tpwk @mrs-anna-styles211994 @fruity-harry

[tossawary]

It's not right to say that I'm pickier about "Enemies to Lovers" and "Rivals to Lovers" stories, exactly, because I'm also picky about the relationship dynamics within other tropes that I will less reservedly say I like. I am leery regarding the balance between hostility and affection, let's say, opinionated about the details of the conflict and the satisfaction of following resolution, too much vitriol is usually not to my personal tastes. "Enemies to Lovers" done badly is often more likely to be "aggravating" to me, whereas "Friends to Lovers" done badly is more likely to be just "boring", and the former bad reading experience is often more memorable than the latter, a more active dislike compared to a more passive indifference.

But one part of the "Enemies to Lovers" and "Rivals to Lovers" stories that is so, so often deliciously juicy? When the other characters find out that the main couple have a "thing", probably an extremely inappropriate "thing", going on. I can less reservedly say that I personally love that part, especially if it's also a "Secret Relationship" situation.

The "you think our enemy is HOT?!" and/or "you've been fucking your rival for HOW LONG?!" blow-ups. The cries of betrayal. Treason and trials, potentially, bloodshed, or other horrible consequences. Shock. Horror. Laughter. The "I didn't even know you'd had a single positive conversation with that asshole" and/or "how did you think this was a good life choice?" confusion. The "I fucking knew it!!!" smugness. The way that the main couple either initially explodes or pulls together immediately. Totally possible that the story will fail to stick the landing and break both figurative ankles here in some way or another, that happens, but it's so good to me when it's good.

A "Romeo and Juliet" love affair? Sure, that's compelling, I guess. The part of a "Romeo and Juliet" love affair where all of their friends and family find out? Gimme.

[fashionteahouse]

Angel, could you write a Paul x reader story where she invites the pack to join her at a costume party (she’s dressed in a sexy jaguar costume)? They agree to go, but until this point, Paul has been denying the imprint bond. However, at the party, he gets jealous seeing her dancing with another guy and almost kissing him. I’d love a conclusion with smut, either in the bathroom at the party or back at her house, as long as there’s a conflict before the climax. Only write it if you feel comfortable doing so—I adore your writing! 💋

of course and i appreciate you so much 🥺💜

or what - paul x reader

Arms were tightly crossed, the glare could burn a hole through the floor.

Disappointment, anger, and frustration seeped out of the man that stood sat in front of you.

He knew you well, you knew him well. But not well enough to spark any conversation. However, one look seemed to change things.

Everything was starting to make sense. You seen him around the neighborhood, but often wondered how he had gotten so big and muscular and only stuck around the same group of people.

You’ve known him to flock to many others rather than sticking to a core group.

It all made sense now.

“So…This is…Forever?” you speak out. The very tall man who you found out to be Sam, nods at your answer.

“Oh.” you say and sit back in your chair.

“The secret cannot be told to anyone else. You’re an imprint and this is the pack.” he says.

You make a quick zipper motion with your fingers on your mouth. It’s not like anyone would believe you anyway.

“Are we done? Can I go home now?”

He was annoyed. You were a bit annoyed as well. He was so rude.

“Paul.” Sam warns him before taking the conversation back to you, “What do you think?”

“Nothing. I won’t say anything.” you say and Paul rises up with a scrape of his chair and makes his way out of the door, with it slapping to a close behind his absence.

“Sorry about him.” Sam apologized.

“It’s all good.” you say and rise up, making your way to your own home.

One person didn’t spoil the bunch, the pack welcomed you with open arms.

You were grateful.

You met the other imprints. They allowed you to be yourself. They all were a breath of fresh air and you suddenly felt sad.

People spread rumors and they didn’t know what great company they were. They didn’t know that they risked their lives to protect the very people who ridiculed them.

“Come with me, please!” you say with a smile.

They all sat around the table at lunch.

“Will there be girls there?” Quil asks with a mouthful.

“Duh.” you say.

That’s when agreements were made amongst the group. All except one.

“You going?” you heard Jacob ask him.

“I’m good.” he muttered. He didn’t bother to look up not once since you sat at the table.

Jacob frowned a bit and you caught this.

“It will be fun without the attitudes anyway.” you say, looking at Jacob. You missed the glare that came from Paul.

You smooth out your costume with your hands and turn in one circle as you stood in the mirror.

“What do you think?” you ask nervously.

“Hot.” both Kim and Emily speaks out.

“Y/N. Look at you!” the guy who threw the party says.

“Hey. Thanks for inviting me.”

“I knew to invite you. You brought company. Good looking company at that.” he says as he eyes the people that you came with.

You playfully roll your eyes at his statement and merge and mingle with others.

Flickering your eyes around to spark up conversation, Paul was there.

You ignore him. He ignores you.

A song that you liked came on. It made you excited, however, a guy found your excitement to be adorable. You danced a bit on your own and he made his move.

He wasn’t bad looking at all. You give him attention.

“Do you know how to dance?” you ask and he nods confidently with a grin. You both dance. Song after song, you both laughed together as hands began to not be shy of one’s bodies.

Paul was stagnant on the couch. He had perfect view of what was happening on the dance floor, watching as a foreign feeling started to bubble inside of him.

Jealousy.

He felt it was personal. His fists were tight against his knees. A girl flopped down next to him as he stared ahead.

“Wanna dance?” she asks with a smirk.

He looked at her.

“Yeah.” he says.

She thought his bitter tone was hot. Paul allowed her to take his hand. He got closer and close to the spot where your hand was around the guy’s neck, your hips rolled and swayed to the beat.

Paul didn’t like the greediness that reeked from the guy you were dancing with. He didn’t even pay attention to the girl who danced up on him.

“Damn, you’re driving me crazy.” the guy says to you. Paul picks up the sultry giggle that bubbled out of your throat. He had to watch as the guy’s hands traveled down your waist, feeling you up and you allowing it.

Heads were tilted as you both lean in closer and closer, staring at each other with interest. Lips were inches away from each other and he knew what was about to happen.

He couldn’t take it anymore. His wolf couldn’t take it anymore.

Grabbing your arm, he ignored your protests.

In the hallway, you push him.

“The hell is your problem?” you yell. It was muffled from the loud music.

“We need to talk.” he grits out.

You walk away with a groan.

He grabbed your arm again and you both were standing on tile floor in the bathroom. He shuts the door.

“I don’t want to talk to you!”

“Why?” he asks angrily. He steps closer, “You were going to hook up with him?”

Meeting his fierce gaze, “You jealous?” you say with a teasing grin.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment before he huffed out softly.

“You wanted me to dance up on you like that, huh? All you had to do was ask.” you say and end it with your hand cupping his chin with your hand for a moment and you close the bathroom door behind you.

You shook your head.

You didn’t know where that came from. You knew that he didn’t want the imprint, so why you still kept the door of opportunity open for him, you weren’t too sure.

The guy you were dancing with comes back into your view.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asks with his hands slightly up.

“Nowhere. I’m here now.” you say returning the smile he gave you.

He then displayed a look as he looked behind you, “That guy..I could talk to him if you want. I didn’t like him roughing you up like that.”

“Oh he didn’t-“ you start but you were interrupted.

“You’re gonna do what?” you hear Paul boom out.

Paul was now standing in front of you, pushing you behind him. You looked up at his back and the back of his head as you couldn’t believe that he would do such a thing. He acted so disinterested and now here he was, standing in front of you in a protective stance.

“Oh, so you heard me. Leave her alone.” the guy you danced with says.

“Or what?” Paul grits out.

One mistake happened. It was a shove. Paul barely budged but it was enough to make him snap.

He didn’t have to use much power but his shove made him stumble back hard onto the floor.

Crowd of eyes started to look.

The guy didn’t want to be embarrassed, not in front of his friends so he scrambled up fast to his feet but Paul was faster.

One punch in the mouth made him groan out in pain as Paul peered over him. Crowds of oohs surround the party and you grab Paul’s arm.

“We have to leave.” you say in panic.

Paul turns, walking right out of the door, but he makes sure that you are walking right with him.

Your feet tries their best to keep up with his steps. He’s fuming.

“I need to calm down. I don’t feel like phasing. Fuck!”

You watch him as he paced the empty lit up street, he tried his best to push the anger down.

“I’m sorry..” you say.

“For what? You didn’t even do anything.” Paul says but continues to pace.

“You can go back to the party. Go back to that guy. I don’t even care anymore.”

You snort a little, “Looks like you do care.”

He glared up.

“Paul. Why are you fighting it so much?” you ask.

“Fighting what? What are you even talking about Y/N?” he asks impatiently.

“You know what I’m talking about….” you say. He doesn’t say anything and you then turn to walk away.

You felt some type of way. He was making things hard for no reason.

“Where are you going?” he echoed out.

“Home.” you mutter.

You continue to walk. When you turned the corner onto your street, you didn’t expect him to be following you.

“Okay, you can leave now.” you say as you face your front door with your key.

“I don’t feel like it.” he says.

“Of course.” you mumble but the excitement fluttered about in your stomach as you unblocked your door.

He sat on your couch comfortably as you went to your room.

You struggle. You sigh in slight panic as your fingers tried their best to zip down the zipper. It was stuck.

You call for him.

He’s there.

“Do..Do you mind?” you ask and he’s walking towards you, “It’s stuck.” you continue.

His fingers fixed the zipper with ease and his fingers zipped it down.

He heard the fast racing or your heart.

“Thanks.” you whisper. He just looks at you. You look at him. It felt like a magical thread was attached to the both of you. So many pent up emotions were let out as you both slowly leaned in.

To you, his lips were perfect. To him, your lips were perfect. Both lips moved in sync as you both then clutch to each other. His dominant tongue swirled around yours and your knees buckled from such talent.

Falling backwards on the bed in your room, his knee was placed between your legs as he leaned down to continue to savor the taste of your mouth.

His hands felt up your body and your body screamed for more. The soft caresses that was inflicted upon him, made him and his wolf purr in satisfaction.

He didn’t know why he fought it for so long. All that he knew was, to claim you.

Your rolled side to side as you clutched onto his arms, his thick fingers pumping in and out of you. The sounds that uttered from your throat went right to his dick.

The same flesh that sprung out stiffly as he pulled his pants down.

Pumping into you carefully, it was you that clutched to him as he held you tight. He picked up the pace that made you sigh and whisper out his name. Gripping each other’s skin, his thrusts were powerful but full of passion.

As you both sit up and hugged each other, a deep and passionate kiss was shared between you two. You both saw stars as both set of hips met each other again and again. It looked and felt as if you two were all time lovers.

He kept his eyes open. He begged you to keep your eyes open. He wanted you to remember this moment, remember that you were making him feel this way. He didn’t want you to forget. You didn’t want to forget.

[nyxelestia]

Tacking onto all of this, I do find it off-putting that a lot of fics ignore that he had a life before HYDRA and before the war. It only ever seems to come up in relation to Steve but not his own sense of self.

If he is going to define himself by consumer choices, why not explore what it means that he actually does have a sense of self within that paradigm...but all the things he wants to choose for himself are gone, lost to the passage of time? Why is his sense of self and identity less valid just because the ravages of time and capitalism have rendered all his preferences and choices unavailable? Is he really free to define himself if his options are limited to what is available today, but do not include what feels true to him and his live experiences?

I will add that I also suspect a lot of these fics are being heavily informed and biased by the personal experiences of the community that they were written by and for. In short, this community has way more survivors of sexual abuse and domestic violence that it has survivors of war and multigenerational poverty, and it shows. The way fandom in general tends to understand and write PTSD has less to do with war -- even the specifically American military-industrial version of it -- and more in common with surviving abuse.

I think some of that is an understandable product of the story. Most survivors of war and soldiers with PTSD were not in a long-term, on-going psychological manipulation that systematically and intentionally deconstructed their sense of self; yet that description, while extreme, is very applicable to what it feels like to be in and escape from an abusive relationships (whether a family dynamic or an intimate partner relationship).

There are many significant differences between "abuse/assault survivor PTSD" vs "war/external conflict PTSD," but I think one of the most relevant differences is the nature of the cause of trauma denying victims autonomy, agency, and self-determination.

This may not be easy to see at first because the military is so conformist. Everyone has the same uniform, code of conduct, and often the exact same lifestyle or schedule. But that's relatively superficial; it's almost a stereotype that as soon as soldiers with their first military paychecks get off base for the first time, they make a lot of bad but self-determining purchases like fancy cars and high-end consumer electronics. One of the reasons why the military as an institution is so enduring is because after this initial period of intense conformity and trauma, it's often a path of self-determination (or at least marketed as such): loans for housing, support for education, multiple career paths, etc. (The flipside being, of course, that the military can just as easily lock you into a career you don't want, or the trauma from it can make achieving any semblance of life after violence anywhere from difficult to impossible.) Meanwhile, abusive families and relationships are often exactly the opposite: superficially giving victims all the freedom in the world or only very few restrictions (at least as compared to the military), yet in practice locking victims into a specific lifestyle or path preferred by the abuser.

This manifests in the way a lot of fanfic authors write Bucky recovering from the Winter Soldier ordeal. He exercises a lot of autonomy and agency in his superficial consumer choices, yet often exercises very little real agency in the course of his life. Either he remains a superhero / supersoldier of some variety, or he has to take the extreme measure of completely dropping off the grid (and out of public eye, and often well away from everyone else in the world) to achieve any sense of peace.

A lot of Bucky Recovery fics don't really feel like a traumatized veteran or even traumatized abuse survivor moving on with their life or recovering anything significant. Instead, they have the same vibes as a military fresh recruit making dumb high-interest big purchases off-base while rushing back to base in time for PT, or someone in an abusive relationship celebrating a fancy haircut their partner likes while putting their education and career on hold for said partner. A lot of these fics feel like they make Bucky celebrate superficial appearances of autonomy and agency to obfuscate just how little self-determination he really has even after escaping HYDRA.

In a weird way, this feels like an apt metaphor not for the character but for the authors. Much like Bucky post-Winter Soldier, they cannot fathom a life of true independence from capitalism, and so envision the closest thing to it they can imagine while still remaining under the umbrella of capitalism and calling that freedom.

I am still pretty buried in work, but dropping in to comment on a trope I’ve seen popping up again and again in CA: TWS fic, which is: the horror and totality of Bucky’s deconstruction as a person is shown through the revelation that he doesn’t know what [food, clothes, music, coffee, etc] he likes, and a significant part of his reconstruction involves correcting this. 

This is very attractive trope. I enjoy reading it! But I want to turn a critical eye on it, and on my own enjoyment of it. This will surprise no one who’s been reading my blog for a long time, since I’m persistently and heavily critical of the selfist/consumerist ideology that underlies Western capitalist society. And that’s what’s going on here, really, I think: this trope is an expression of our understanding of what it means to be a person, and our anxieties about person-ness.

Keep reading

[taldigi]

how do you feel about yu’s parents?? What do you think they’re like?

I think they're really interesting to explore- believe it or not. I've seen a lot of different interpretations of his parents, ranging from straight up negligent, to being abusive-- or just simply too busy. I've even seen interpretations where they're perfectly fine parents, and that the year abroad is an unusual circumstance.

The game itself, which is what I would consider primary canon (sequels being secondary and manga and anime being tertiary) never touches on it more than it needs to to justify Yu's presence in Inaba/being new. I think Yu's mother is briefly mentioned once or twice and they are said to have called Dojima once.

I made the observation (previously when theorizing about Ren's parents) that it's completely possible that during the downtime that you don't get to see between transition stages (where, theoretically, the main protagonists would do homework or take a shower or tend to other daily needs) it's totally possible that they call or interact with their parents.

All interpretations are possible, but I know Souji Seta's (the protagonist from the Manga) parents are always moving around- and lot of folks have taken this to heart- and yeah, I can see it and I too like this idea- even though it's worth considering the fact that the manga is mostly secondary to the games (and even the anime!) and it's not definite canon.

That being said, I definitely like the idea that they are a sort of echo of the conflict between Nanako and Dojima. Both suggest career oriented people that probably shouldn't have had a kid in the first place who prioritize their work over their family.. and that, in turn, leading to neglect- with Yu and Nanako both being self sufficient. mature for their ages, and complacent.

Behaviors Yu exhibits- like his ability to cook meals beyond what is expected of a teenage boy, becoming incredibly attached to Nanako (he is one wrong dialog choice away from killing someone over her!) and Inaba, the insatiable need to people please, his initial desire to push people away or ignore others, and his otherworldly emotional control and ability to not express himself.. -is stuff like that echos of a kid who's had to grow up way too fast and not cause any trouble and keep to himself.

So personally, I subscribe to that concept: Yu's a kid who's been raised to be seen, not heard- developing complexes and anxieties over being praised for being responsible and mature even though he's only barely meeting that expectation by the skin of his teeth. Nothing less that being perfect for the Narukamis, after all- there's no time to make friends or have many interests when time is better spent on studying.

So... the Narukamis are parents who fufill those concepts. Parents who withhold attention and praise because those are things reserved for truly impressive successes.. and when exemplary is the expected baseline, such rewards are never actually acted upon.

Yu does have a taste in cooking, though- and a selection of music he likes. He doodles in his notes and reads magazines- I feel it expresses that while his parents don't police his interests, it also means that they really care much about their son's interests... as long as they don't interfere with work (and, by extension- Yu's grades or behavior, as he can be considered an asset in said jobs)

Jobs that leave them busy more often than not, leaving Yu alone.. but he's mature for his age, so it's okay. He prolly does a fried egg and toast and then goes and sits in front of the TV to do his homework. Yu seeing this in Nanako... is a lot, and makes their relationship that much more sweet and aajhksdkjasf

His parent's cruelty is best decided on a story by story basis. The level of willfulness in their work (genuinely needed often vs choosing work over family for example) or the level of regret they express upon leaving-- informing many interesting stories.

so yeah thats my thoughts on that.

side tangent, thats why souyo's so nice tbh. Yu always has to be the inconquerable senpai, the perfect big brother, noble leader, and everyone's rock- only to have Yosuke waltz up , hang off of him like a drunk girlfriend, and go "yeah he's amazing, but he's also the world's weirdest man and he's my best friend about it."

[therogueflame]

The Diplomat

Hi friends,

Since I'm a Daemon girly through and through and horny as fuck, I imagined what it would be like to have terrible, angry sex with Daemon. None of the fics were hitting the spot, so I wrote one instead. There are two parts to this story, but the second part can be read as a standalone if you squint a little. Here is part one, enjoy!

✨My Masterlist✨

WC: 9.4k

Warnings: 18+, just fluff and a lil suggestiveness, no use of y/n, light descriptions of fem!reader, kind of a little jumping around (let me know if i put too many sword dividers in)

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The small council chamber was thick with unease. Though the warm spring breeze drifted through the high windows, stirring the black banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, it did little to lighten the atmosphere. The men gathered around the long oak table wore the weight of the discussion in their stiff shoulders and furrowed brows.

Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, spoke first, his voice measured but edged with authority. “The Blackwoods insist their knight acted in self-defense. He claims the Bracken lord drew steel first and would have struck him down had he not defended himself.”

Across the table, Lord Lyman Beesbury adjusted his spectacles, his aged face lined with worry. “Regardless of intent, a Bracken heir lies dead. His father demands retribution, and he’s mustered men to see it done. This feud risks spilling over into open conflict, my lords.”

“It has always been this way between the Brackens and Blackwoods,” chimed in Lord Tyland Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He leaned back in his chair with an air of indifference. “Their hatred for one another is practically tradition. Why should the crown involve itself in their petty quarrels?”

“Because they are sworn to the crown,” Otto replied sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Their lands and titles are held in service to the Iron Throne. If we do not intervene, their conflict will destabilize the Riverlands and undermine royal authority.”

Daemon scoffed loudly, drawing every gaze in the room. He lounged in his chair, though his posture was more calculated than relaxed. His dark eyes glittered with impatience. “Destabilize? Spare me your dramatics, Otto. This is nothing more than two dogs fighting over scraps. Let them tire themselves out.”

“And when those scraps include burnt villages and dead smallfolk?” Otto countered, his tone clipped. “You would have the crown turn a blind eye while the Riverlands descend into chaos?”

Daemon leaned forward then, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “I would have the crown remind them who they answer to. Send riders, summon their lords to kneel before the throne. If they refuse, then you send swords.”

Lord Beesbury sputtered, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted his quill. “Violence is hardly the answer, my prince. Surely, diplomacy—”

“Diplomacy has done nothing but embolden them,” Daemon snapped, cutting him off. “Every year, it’s the same. Bracken blames Blackwood, Blackwood blames Bracken. It’s a waste of the crown’s time and patience. They need to be reminded that their squabbles end where the Iron Throne begins.”

“You speak of violence as though it’s the only solution,” Tyland interjected smoothly. “The Riverlands are already tense. A heavy hand might unite them—against us.”

Viserys, who had remained silent until now, raised a hand, commanding the room’s attention. His weary expression spoke of a man burdened by the crown he wore. “Enough,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This matter is not so easily solved. Both houses have their grievances, and both claim to act in the right. I will need time to consider our response.”

Daemon’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he rose, his movements sharp with irritation. “While you consider, brother, they will act. And your indecision will be seen as weakness.”

Viserys’s gaze hardened. “Do not mistake thoughtfulness for weakness, Daemon.”

“Call it what you will,” Daemon muttered, turning on his heel and striding from the chamber, his dark cloak billowing behind him. The remaining lords exchanged wary glances but said nothing, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

Viserys sighed heavily, the sound of a man long accustomed to the burdens of the throne. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair as he watched the doors swing closed behind Daemon’s retreating figure. For a moment, the chamber was silent, save for the distant cries of gulls from Blackwater Bay and the faint murmur of activity in the Red Keep below.

“This council is concluded,” Viserys said at last, his voice quieter now, the fight drained from it. He rose from his chair, and the lords followed suit, their expressions a mix of relief and unease.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, stepping forward as the rest of the council prepared to file out. His tone was deferential, but the gleam in his eye betrayed his eagerness to press his point. “Might I suggest—”

“Not now, Otto,” Viserys interrupted, waving him off. “I’ve heard enough for today.”

The Hand of the King inclined his head, though the tightening of his lips spoke volumes about his displeasure. One by one, the council members departed, their whispered conversations trailing behind them like smoke.

Viserys lingered for a moment after the chamber was empty. The answers would come, but not today. 

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Daemon stormed through the halls of the Red Keep, his boots striking the stone floor with forceful purpose. Servants and courtiers scattered at the sight of him, their eyes darting to the crimson and black of his cloak, the Targaryen sigil embroidered in rich gold on his tunic.

The prince’s mind churned with frustration, the council’s deliberations replaying in his head like a wound he couldn’t stop picking at. Otto’s pompous tone, Tyland’s smug indifference, Viserys’s endless dithering—all of it grated against his pride.

By the time he reached the chambers he shared with you, the heat of his temper had reached its peak. He flung the doors open with enough force to make them shudder against the stone walls.

Inside, the room was a picture of calm. Sunlight filtered through the open windows, casting soft, golden light across the chamber. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet warmth of spring.

You sat near the hearth, cradling your young son in your arms. His small fingers grasped at a strand of your hair, his innocent laughter filling the room as you smiled down at him. The sight was a balm to any who might witness it—anyone but Daemon in his current state.

The nursemaid, standing a few paces away, froze at the sight of the prince’s thunderous expression. Her hands faltered mid-curtsy, and she looked to you for guidance, her face pale.

“Out,” Daemon barked, his voice sharp enough to cut. He didn’t bother looking at her as he strode into the room, his dark eyes locked on you.

The nursemaid hesitated for only a moment before gathering the child in her arms and retreating swiftly, her footsteps nearly silent against the rush of Daemon’s presence.

When the door closed behind her, Daemon’s pacing began, each step a sharp, deliberate motion that mirrored the storm in his mind. His hands flexed at his sides, as though longing to grip the hilt of Dark Sister and channel his anger into something tangible.

“This is what passes for leadership now,” he began, his voice low but vibrating with suppressed rage. “My brother, the king, sitting in that gods-damned chair, twiddling his thumbs while the Riverlands teeter on the edge of chaos!”

You set your book aside, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. You had seen Daemon in this mood before, his temper a force of nature that could not be stopped but only weathered. It was better to let him speak, to let the storm rage until it spent itself.

“I told them what needed to be done,” he continued, his pacing growing faster. “Ride out, demand their fealty, remind them who they serve. But no—Viserys would rather sit and think.” His lip curled as he spat the word, as though it were a curse.

Daemon’s pacing was relentless, his steps carving invisible lines into the chamber floor. His voice rose as he continued, his words dripping with scorn. “Otto’s solution? Send letters. As if words written on parchment will mend generations of blood feuds! And Tyland—he all but shrugged! ‘Let them fight it out,’ he said, as though it’s his lands that will burn when the fighting starts. Useless, the lot of them.”

He paused, finally turning to you, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and expectation. “And my brother,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. “The great Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms, paralyzed by his own fear of making the wrong choice. He’ll sit there until it’s too late, as he always does, and then expect me to clean up his mess.”

You met his gaze calmly, though you could feel the weight of his fury pressing against you like a tangible force. “Daemon,” you said gently, your tone an attempt to temper the flames threatening to consume him.

But he wasn’t ready to be calmed. “No,” he snapped, cutting you off before you could say more. “Don’t tell me to let it go. You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way they looked at me—like I was some brash fool for speaking sense. They undermine me at every turn, and Viserys allows it!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and for a moment, the room fell silent. The distant sounds of the Red Keep seemed impossibly far away, muted by the tension that filled the space between you.

You rose from your seat slowly, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you crossed the room to stand before him. He watched you, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger, his jaw tight.

“I’m not telling you to let it go,” you said softly, placing a hand on his chest. His tunic was warm beneath your palm, the steady thrum of his heartbeat betraying the tempest within. “I’m asking you to save it for when it matters most. You’ll have your chance to be heard again. But not if you burn yourself out now.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. His eyes searched yours, his expression still tight with frustration, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He placed a hand over yours, his fingers curling around it as if anchoring himself.

“They don’t listen,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled. “Not to me. Not unless I force them to.”

“Then make them listen,” you replied, your tone firm but kind. “But not like this. Not in anger.”

His lips twisted into a smirk, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “You think you know me so well,” he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing.

“I do,” you replied simply, holding his gaze.

Daemon sighed, the last of his anger bleeding away as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was strong, almost possessive, as if you were the only thing grounding him in that moment.

“You’re too clever for your own good,” he murmured into your hair.

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you replied, earning a low chuckle from him.

When he pulled back, his expression was lighter, though the frustration lingered in his eyes. “The feast,” you said gently, steering him toward a different focus. “Rhaenyra’s wedding is in a few days. You should be thinking about that, not letting the council get under your skin.”

Daemon snorted, but there was no heat behind it. “Unity,” he muttered, echoing words he had likely heard too many times already. “A grand spectacle to pretend the realm isn’t fracturing beneath us.”

You arched a brow. “Then let them believe otherwise. Isn’t that the game of thrones you so enjoy?”

He let out a short laugh, the sound both bitter and amused. “You’ve been spending too much time around me.”

You smiled, brushing a hand along his arm. “Perhaps.”

Daemon released a long breath, the tension in his shoulders finally softening as he stepped away, his gaze drifting toward the open window. The warm spring breeze ruffled his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked less like the fearsome rogue prince and more like the restless man you had come to know so intimately.

“The wedding feast,” he said, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “A spectacle of union for a realm that can’t even decide which house to favor in a petty feud.”

You stepped closer, your tone light yet pointed. “And yet it’s not the realm’s union we’re celebrating, is it? It’s Rhaenyra’s.”

Daemon turned back to you, his expression softening further at the mention of his niece. His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he tilted his head. “I’ll admit, the girl’s managed to surprise me. Agreeing to wed Laenor Velaryon of all people. I thought she’d have burnt the keep to ashes before conceding.”

You chuckled softly, reaching for his hand. “Perhaps she learned from someone that rebellion isn’t always about fire and blood. Sometimes, it’s about choosing when to bend, so you can strike harder later.”

He raised a brow at that, his smirk deepening. “If you’re insinuating that I’ve taught her anything resembling restraint, I fear you’ve misunderstood me, my lady.”

“Not restraint,” you countered, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Strategy. She’s clever, your niece. As clever as you are, and just as stubborn.”

Daemon’s gaze softened further, and he let out a quiet laugh. “She’ll need that stubbornness to endure what’s ahead. The Velaryons are not without their pride.”

“And neither are the Targaryens,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s fitting, really—a match to unite two ancient houses and bolster the realm’s strength. A necessary union, no matter how imperfect it may seem.”

He sighed, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A necessary union,” he echoed. “And yet, Viserys sees it as more than that. He thinks it’ll heal old wounds and inspire loyalty. As if a feast and a wedding can undo years of division.”

“Maybe it can’t,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But it can remind people of what’s worth fighting for—family, unity, the realm’s future. Even if it’s only for a night.”

Daemon looked at you then, his expression unreadable. But there was a warmth in his gaze, one that seemed to melt away the last of his earlier frustration. He pulled you closer, his hands settling on your waist.

“You have a way of making everything seem simpler,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Even when it’s not.”

“It’s a gift,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Now, will you let me dress you in something appropriate for the feast, or will I have to endure your complaints the entire evening?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Oh, you’ll endure them regardless. But yes, my dear, I’ll wear whatever ridiculous finery you deem fit. I wouldn’t want to shame you in front of the court.”

“Nonsense, perish the thought,” you said with a grin, resting your forehead against his.

For now, the storm had truly passed, and in its wake, a fragile peace remained. The feast loomed ahead, a symbol of hope for some and an illusion for others. But in this moment, there was only you and Daemon, and that was enough.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The grand hall of the Red Keep was resplendent, its vaulted ceilings adorned with streaming banners bearing the sigils of the realm’s great houses. Flickering torchlight and the warm glow of chandeliers lit the space, casting dancing shadows over the lavish feast laid upon long trestle tables. The scent of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Rhaenyra sat at the head table beside her new husband, Laenor Velaryon, her expression poised but faintly distant, as though she carried the weight of the realm’s gaze with practiced indifference. Her silver hair was woven with pearls, and her gown shimmered with dragonfire embroidery, every inch the picture of Targaryen majesty.

The lords and ladies of the realm had gathered in full force, a sea of vibrant colors and glittering jewels, their movements a choreographed dance of subtle rivalries and unspoken alliances. Among them sat the Brackens and Blackwoods, carefully separated and positioned at opposite ends of the hall. Their faces were schooled into neutrality, their hands busy with goblets of wine or trencher bread, but the tension between the two houses was palpable to those who knew where to look.

You were seated at Daemon’s side at a table reserved for the royal family, a position that afforded you a perfect view of the festivities—and the undercurrents of unease beneath them. Daemon was dressed impeccably in dark crimson and black, his usual defiance tempered into a sharp elegance that suited him well. His expression was unreadable as he sipped his wine, but you could see the way his gaze flickered over the room, cataloging every interaction, every veiled slight.

“They’ve managed not to kill each other—for now,” Daemon murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. His eyes flicked toward the Brackens and Blackwoods, a glint of amusement mingling with his sharp scrutiny.

“Give them time,” you replied dryly, reaching for your own goblet. “The wine hasn’t yet worked its magic.”

Daemon chuckled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer. “Or its mischief.”

You arched a brow at him, though you couldn’t help but smile. “You seem far too entertained by the prospect of chaos at your niece’s wedding.”

He shrugged, his gaze shifting back to the hall. “Chaos keeps the night interesting.”

Before you could respond, a herald’s voice rang out, calling for the first dance. All eyes turned to Rhaenyra and Laenor as they rose from their seats, their movements graceful as they stepped onto the polished floor. The music began, a lively tune that seemed to ripple through the hall like a spark catching fire.

The lords and ladies soon followed, filling the floor with a swirl of color and movement. Laughter and applause echoed as couples spun and twirled, their steps weaving together in intricate patterns.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against the table. “Are you going to make me dance, too?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You smirked, leaning closer to him. “I was going to let you off easy tonight. But if you insist…”

He groaned in mock exasperation, earning a soft laugh from you. For a moment, the tension of the evening faded, replaced by the warmth of shared humor.

But even as the festivities unfolded, you couldn’t shake the sense that the peace was fragile, a veneer that could crack at any moment. The Brackens and Blackwoods were not the only ones walking a fine line tonight, and in the shadow of the Iron Throne, every move felt like a gamble.

Daemon’s groan was followed by a mischievous grin, the kind that always made your chest tighten and your resolve weaken. “You’re insufferable,” he said, though there was no heat to his words as he extended a hand toward you.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered, placing your hand in his. His fingers wrapped around yours, firm yet careful, as he guided you from your seat.

The music shifted as you both stepped onto the dance floor, the melody lilting into a slower, more intimate tune. The crowd parted, eyes subtly following your movements as you took your place in the center of the floor with the rogue prince at your side. You could feel the weight of their attention, but you were no stranger to it.

Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other holding yours as he began to lead you in the dance. His steps were confident, fluid, each movement purposeful yet unhurried. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice low and for your ears alone.

“They always are,” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re hard to ignore.”

His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing against your hand. “And you,” he said, his tone softer now, “make it impossible.”

You rolled your eyes at his flattery but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. The dance brought you closer, his hand at your waist pulling you just shy of propriety, but enough to make your heart race.

The world around you seemed to fade, the music and laughter becoming a distant hum as you moved together. Daemon’s presence was magnetic, his intensity grounding yet exhilarating, as though the two of you existed in a world apart from the one where alliances were made and broken over cups of wine.

“You’re rather light on your feet for someone who pretends to loathe courtly things,” you teased, letting him spin you gently before drawing you back into his arms.

“Don’t mistake talent for affection,” he replied, though his smirk betrayed him. “I’d burn this entire hall if it meant avoiding another round of politics.”

“And yet, here you are,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Dancing at a wedding, pretending to tolerate the people you claim to despise.”

“For you,” he said simply, his voice low and sincere in a way that made your breath hitch. “Always for you.”

For a moment, the tension of the feast melted away, replaced by the warmth of his confession. But it was fleeting, a stolen moment in a night that promised anything but peace.

As the dance came to an end, Daemon held your gaze, his hand lingering at your waist. Applause filled the hall, but you barely heard it, your focus locked on the man before you.

“You’re going to set tongues wagging,” you said softly, stepping back as decorum demanded.

“Let them wag,” he replied, his smirk returning. “They’d do it anyway.”

The spell was broken as the music shifted again, and other couples moved to fill the floor. Daemon led you back to your seat, his hand brushing against yours one last time before he turned his attention back to the feast.

The hall was alive with revelry, yet beneath the surface, you could feel the fragile balance of the evening teetering. The Brackens and Blackwoods had kept to themselves so far, but there was no denying the sharp glances exchanged across the room, nor the tension lingering like a storm on the horizon.

Daemon, of course, noticed it too. He leaned toward you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “How long do you think it’ll take before someone breaks the peace?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Hopefully not before dessert.”

His laughter was soft but genuine, a rare moment of levity in a night that felt like a game played on the edge of a knife.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The revelry continued unabated, the music and laughter rising to fill the cavernous hall. Goblets were refilled, plates heaped with delicacies, and the scent of roasted quail and sweet pastries hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the vibrant atmosphere, an undercurrent of unease persisted—an unspoken tension that seemed to ripple just beneath the surface.

At opposite ends of the hall, the Brackens and Blackwoods remained in their carefully orchestrated positions. Their eyes rarely wandered toward one another, but when they did, it was with the kind of simmering disdain that no amount of protocol could conceal.

Daemon leaned lazily back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of your seat. His eyes roamed the hall, sharp and assessing despite the deceptively casual posture. He sipped his wine, his smirk growing as his gaze lingered on the Bracken table.

“They’re twitching like hounds on a short leash,” he muttered, the words meant only for you.

“You’re not helping,” you replied, though your own gaze flickered toward the Blackwoods, where a young lord’s hand gripped the stem of his goblet just a little too tightly.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a raised voice—a sharp, mocking laugh from the Bracken side of the hall. Heads turned as Ser Amos Bracken, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned back in his chair, his booming voice carrying over the din.

“Tell me, young Blackwood,” Amos said, his words dripping with condescension, “is it true your family still claims descent from the First Men? Seems a bold thing to boast when all it’s earned you is a table in the corner.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed, and for a moment, it seemed as though the insult might go unanswered. But then, a young Blackwood lord—tall, lean, and barely out of boyhood—rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger.

“And yet we’re here,” the Blackwood retorted, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Unlike your ancestors, who’d sooner kneel to any conqueror who offered them a scrap of power.”

The hall fell silent.

Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned closer to you, his voice a low murmur. “Here we go.”

You shot him a sharp look, but before you could reply, the tension in the hall snapped like a drawn bowstring.

Ser Amos Bracken surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a boy who hides behind his mother’s skirts!” he barked, his meaty hand slamming down on the table.

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve for a man whose house clings to its titles like barnacles to a sinking ship!” the Blackwood shot back, stepping forward.

The two were separated by the breadth of the hall, but the air between them was charged, their mutual hatred igniting like dry kindling.

From his place at the head table, Viserys rose, his voice booming over the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, his face flushed with the effort of asserting authority. “This is a wedding feast, not a battlefield!”

The hall quieted, though the tension lingered like smoke after a fire. The Bracken and Blackwood men glared at one another, their hands twitching near their sword hilts despite the king’s warning.

Beside you, Daemon watched with unveiled amusement, his smirk never faltering. “Viserys will tire of this soon enough,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And when he does, the real fun begins.”

You sighed, your hand reaching for your goblet. “It’s a wonder we ever manage to call ourselves united,” you muttered.

The feast continued, but the mood had shifted. The Brackens and Blackwoods returned to their seats, though their tempers simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest provocation to boil over.

And in the shadows of the great hall, as wine flowed and music played, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace would last.

The feast dragged on long after the first sparks of conflict had settled into the deep, tense silence of uneasy truce. The Brackens and Blackwoods remained seated at opposite ends of the hall, their eyes darting sideways, but never meeting. The music played, but it seemed faint, muted by the hum of strained politeness. The air was thick with the weight of unsaid words and the knowledge that the night was not done with its drama yet.

Daemon’s hand never left your side, though he barely spoke throughout the evening. His gaze, sharp and watchful, moved across the hall with the same intensity he had shown in the small council, as if he were cataloging every movement, every slight. Yet, when he turned to you, the ever-present amusement lingered in his eyes, softened by the flicker of warmth that only you could evoke.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Finally, the night wore on long enough that the revelers began to tire. The hall was slowly emptied of its guests, many of them still nursing their drinks, their conversations lowered to murmurs. It was only then that you and Daemon rose from the table, both of you feeling the weight of the evening—its many unspoken tensions—and the need to retreat from it all.

As you made your way through the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, your thoughts were heavy, your feet quickening to match the pace of Daemon’s long strides. The air had cooled slightly, but the heat of the feast still lingered in your chest, the pressing weight of what had transpired and what might yet come. You were both silent, the quiet of the corridors filled only with the faint sound of your footfalls.

Upon reaching your chambers, the door was barely shut before Daemon’s mouth found yours in a fierce kiss, a hungry press of lips that spoke more than words could. It was a fire that hadn’t been stoked since the tension of the council, since the weight of the evening’s events, and now, it erupted between you both, a spark turning into a blaze.

His hands were quick, unhurried but firm, as they sought the fastenings of your gown, the fabric brushing over your skin like a whisper. He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear, as he murmured words that had no need for meaning—just the undeniable presence of him, the demand of his touch. You responded in kind, your hands threading through his silver hair, pulling him even closer, your own lips demanding, pushing, surrendering.

The world beyond your chambers ceased to exist, only the feel of his body pressed against yours, the heat of your skin mingling in the dim light of the room. The frantic pace, the shared desperation—this was the only way to truly escape the suffocating expectations of the night, of the court, of the world that always surrounded you both.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as you moved together, your bodies in perfect sync, the world beyond the stone walls forgotten. And when it was over, when the storm had finally subsided, you lay together in the coolness of the sheets, breathing heavily, the weight of the night still lingering but now softened, shared between you.

For a moment, there was only quiet, the kind that spoke of an intimacy deeper than any words. But eventually, Daemon’s voice broke the silence, his tone low and thoughtful.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his fingers trailing lazily down your arm. “I expected you to have more to say about tonight.”

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow as you looked at him, his silver eyes darkened by the faint candlelight, the weight of the evening still present but subdued now. “What more is there to say?” you asked, your voice soft, though a trace of the earlier tension remained in it. “It’s all a game, isn’t it? A dance between houses, between power, between… everything we can’t control.”

Daemon’s lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. “Not everything is a game,” he said, his voice low, his hand coming to rest on your waist. “But sometimes it’s the only thing worth playing.”

You let out a small laugh, but it was tinged with weariness. “And we’re all just pawns.”

He turned toward you fully now, his eyes sharp but softer, the edges of his smirk fading into something more sincere. “Not pawns. We’re the ones pulling the strings, whether we admit it or not.”

You met his gaze, searching his face for any sign of doubt or calculation, but found none. For all his cynical remarks, for all his posturing, Daemon was a man who knew the weight of power—and the way it could be wielded.

And yet, there was a part of you that wondered if, beneath it all, he still feared being pulled into the same web of politics, of manipulation, of being a player rather than a kingmaker.

“I suppose we have no choice but to play,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, more resigned. “And if we can’t win, we make sure no one else does.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and dark, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “That’s the spirit. And if the night’s mischief didn’t satisfy you, you can always count on me to make things interesting tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers idly tracing patterns along his chest. “Let’s sleep first,” you said, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you. “We can fight the battles tomorrow.”

Daemon’s arms tightened around you as he kissed your hair softly. “Tomorrow, then. But for tonight, let’s leave the world outside.”

And as the flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, you closed your eyes, the weight of the night finally lifting, knowing that come the dawn, the battles would still await—but for now, you were content to simply rest beside him, the world outside a distant echo. ▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The next morning, the tension that had hung heavy over the wedding feast still clung to the air in the Red Keep. Even the rays of sunlight filtering through the high windows of the small council chamber seemed to carry an oppressive weight, as if the very castle itself was holding its breath. The room, normally filled with the dull murmur of routine affairs, now buzzed with the friction of yesterday’s simmering conflict.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, his usually placid expression marred by a faint crease between his brows. The day after Rhaenyra’s wedding feast, it seemed the wounds were still fresh, not just in the eyes of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but in the silent resentments of the council members who had grown all too accustomed to the tense dance of alliances.

Daemon sat with his usual relaxed posture, though there was no hiding the coldness that lingered in his eyes. He had never been one to mince words or tolerate the games of court, and today, it seemed, his patience was thinner than ever.

The council’s discussion was still focused on the aftermath of the previous evening’s altercation. Some spoke of ways to soothe the ruffled egos of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but it was clear no one quite knew how to do so without further escalating the situation.

Lord Mervyn, a portly noble with the tendency to speak before thinking, suggested, "Perhaps we should offer them gold—some measure of coin to settle their quarrels, a show of goodwill."

The Master of Coin, Lord Ormund, a sharp-eyed man with a wry sense of humor, laughed aloud, his voice cutting through the tension. “Gold?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “And where, pray tell, do you expect to find this coin? We are in a constant state of debt, Mervyn. Should we start selling off the castle to please the Brackens and Blackwoods?”

The room shifted uncomfortably, though Lord Mervyn, his cheeks growing redder by the second, remained silent, his suggestion now hanging in the air like a poorly timed joke.

Daemon rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps we should all just stop speaking entirely, seeing as it’s become a contest to see who can drone on the longest about the same petty squabbles.” His words were not aimed at anyone in particular, but they struck a chord in the room.

The rest of the council fell into a strained silence. Viserys sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as if to ward off the growing headache he surely felt. “Enough,” he commanded, his voice quiet but firm. “Let us take a break for now. I will consider all your suggestions and call upon you when I have come to a decision.”

The meeting, like so many before it, ended without resolution. There were no clear answers, no easy solutions to the brewing tensions in the realm. The room emptied slowly, each member of the council filing out, their faces etched with the same frustrations.

Daemon stood quickly, brushing past his fellow lords without a glance, his movements sharp and restless. He had never been one to tolerate idle chatter, least of all in a place that made him feel like a caged animal.

With a grunt, he headed for the exit, intent on blowing off steam in the training yard. It was there that he could find his peace, if only for a moment—away from the endless plotting and bickering of the council.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The council meeting had ended in a tense, uncertain silence. Daemon’s comments had left the room heavy with discomfort, and the usual murmurs among the lords had subsided into a quiet unease. The entire realm could feel the tension as it thickened in the Red Keep, especially with the lords now speaking in hushed tones about Daemon’s latest tantrum. His temper, unchecked and untamed, was becoming too much even for his own family to ignore.

You, however, were no stranger to Daemon’s anger, and as much as it threatened to boil over, you knew something had to be done. The matter was already critical—his pride had endangered everything, and the last thing you could afford was another of his impulsive decisions damaging the realm.

You had not attended the council meeting; there was no need. You knew that the key to solving this issue would lie not in words spoken around the council table, but in private action, taken swiftly and subtly.

When the last of the councilors had left the chamber, you’d already made your way to Viserys’s solar, your mind fixed on a plan. The moment you stepped into the room, you could sense the quiet weight of the king’s exhaustion. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the crown, and there was a weariness in his eyes that had grown familiar over the years.

He turned slowly as you entered, a faint glimmer of recognition in his gaze. “So, it’s done then,” Viserys remarked, his voice low and heavy with the same tension that clung to the walls. He knew. The moment Daemon’s rage had been unleashed, it had been clear that something would need to be done, but you had taken no part in the council’s discussion.

You closed the door softly behind you, moving closer to the king. “Daemon’s actions cannot go unchecked any longer, Your Grace. The Brackens and Blackwoods have made their demands clear, and the council is growing restless. This will escalate if we don’t step in quickly.”

Viserys’s lips tightened in a frown. “And you have a solution?” he asked, though the weariness in his voice suggested he was more than ready to hear one.

You nodded, settling yourself beside him at the table. “I do. I’ve already considered it carefully.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity but no doubt. “Speak plainly, then. What do you propose?”

You hesitated for a moment before diving into the details, your voice steady and measured. “The Brackens are proud. They demand recognition, something that will soothe their wounded egos and quell their desire for vengeance. We offer them a royal boon—a land claim that will satisfy their pride and keep them from seeking bloodshed.”

Viserys listened intently, his gaze not wavering. You knew that he understood the importance of keeping the peace, especially in the wake of Daemon’s volatile temper. “And the Blackwoods?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he sought clarification.

“The Blackwoods are more about justice. They’ll demand the life of the knight who wronged them, but we can’t allow that. Instead, I will offer them exile to the Night’s Watch. It’s a compromise—justice without bloodshed.”

Viserys nodded slowly, considering the weight of your words. “And how do we prevent Daemon from knowing about this?”

You smiled softly, though there was no humor in it. “That’s where you come in, Your Grace. This needs to be seen as your decision—your action. We will stage a public reconciliation ceremony, where both the Brackens and Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace before the Iron Throne. The realm will believe it was your command. Daemon will not suspect a thing.”

Viserys stared at you for a long moment, his expression shifting as he absorbed the intricacies of your plan. You could see the internal conflict on his face—he had always strived to maintain the appearance of unity between himself and his brother, but there was no denying the mounting pressure to act swiftly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“This will anger Daemon,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of a decision he knew he would have to make. “He will not take kindly to being excluded from such an important matter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I know. But we cannot afford to let his temper ruin everything. We need to act swiftly, before the situation spirals beyond our control. The realm depends on it.”

Viserys stood slowly, walking to the window and staring out over the city below. You could see the exhaustion and the weariness of ruling in his every movement. Finally, he turned back to you, his expression resolute.

“Very well,” he said, his voice carrying the heavy authority of a king. “I will handle it. But you must understand, this may not be the last time we face such a challenge with Daemon.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” you replied quietly, your voice resolute. “But for now, we act. This will prevent any further escalation, and it will protect the realm.”

Viserys gave a small nod, a faint trace of a smile appearing on his lips as he stepped forward, his resolve hardening. “Then we proceed as you’ve outlined. You’ve made it clear that Daemon cannot know, and I’ll ensure that the public sees this as my decision, not his. It will work.”

You bowed your head slightly. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is the only way forward.”

As Viserys turned back to his window, the weight of the crown settling back on his shoulders, you knew that the plan was in motion. The Riverlands would be pacified, the Brackens and Blackwoods would be brought to heel, and Daemon would never suspect that it was you who had orchestrated it all behind his back.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The quiet hum of the Red Keep was always present in the early morning hours—footsteps echoing down long hallways, servants bustling with preparations, the distant sound of metal clashing as the guards went through their drills. But in the stillness of your chambers, there was no sign of movement save for the careful glide of your quill as it moved across the parchment. The dim light of the hearth flickered, casting shadows across the room, and the quiet whisper of ink meeting paper was the only sound you allowed yourself to hear.

The plan had been set into motion after a whispered discussion in Viserys’s solar. He had agreed, reluctantly, that action needed to be taken—but he had trusted you to carry it out. You had laid out the details of the diplomatic approach, and while it was Viserys’s seal that would adorn the letters, the intricate work, the precise wording, and the careful manipulation were all your doing. The king, though burdened by his crown, knew you were the one with the strength to handle the delicate negotiations.

You’d already sent word to the Brackens, a carefully worded letter crafted with precision. To them, you’d extended an olive branch wrapped in gold. A recognition of a contested land claim, something that would soothe their pride without pushing them too far. You had given them a reason to let go of their anger, without allowing them to feel they’d lost face.

Now, it was time to turn your attention to the Blackwoods.

You dipped your quill in ink once more, the tip gliding across the parchment. This letter was more delicate—more intricate. The Blackwoods had a deep sense of honor, and while they were willing to settle, their thirst for justice could not be ignored. You’d offered them the exile of the offending knight to the Night’s Watch, a compromise that would keep his life intact while still serving a form of justice. It would appease their pride, for their enemy would face punishment, but without the bloodshed that would only fan the flames of rebellion.

Each stroke of the quill was deliberate, forming words that sounded gentle but carried the weight of authority. You wrote as Viserys would, sealing your words in the king’s name, though it was clear to both of you that it was your own hands guiding the outcome. Viserys’s approval had been given with the understanding that the matter would be handled quietly, behind closed doors. The lords wouldn’t question the king’s actions—they would simply follow his lead, as they always did.

The letters were ready, each addressed to their respective families. You carefully rolled them, ensuring no trace of ink stained the edges, before sealing them with the king’s seal. You paused for a moment, looking at the waxen emblem, the sign of Viserys’s rule. It was a symbol of power, but it also carried the weight of everything you were trying to protect.

Ravens were summoned, and you entrusted them with the sealed letters. They would carry your carefully crafted words far from the Red Keep, bearing messages that would shape the future of the realm. And while Viserys would ultimately take credit for the decision, it was you who had orchestrated it all.

With the letters dispatched, you turned your attention to the next step of the plan: ensuring that the public reconciliation ceremony would go smoothly. But for now, you allowed yourself a rare moment of quiet. The ravens were on their way, and there was no turning back.

The small council chamber fell silent as Viserys took his seat at the head of the table, his weary eyes scanning the gathered lords. The air was thick with tension, remnants of Daemon’s outburst still hanging in the room.

“Let us be clear,” Viserys began, his voice steady but firm. “The situation with the Brackens and the Blackwoods has been resolved. There will be no bloodshed, no more open hostilities.”

Daemon, who had been sitting quietly, his expression simmering with frustration, leaned forward slightly, his voice low but sharp. “And you believe you can simply end this, without consulting me?”

Viserys’s gaze met his brother’s, unwavering. “I did not consult you, because this matter required swift and delicate action. It needed to be handled quietly, with the authority of the crown, not driven by emotion or pride.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but Viserys continued, his voice cool. “I’ve sent a message to both houses. The Blackwoods will receive the justice they desire, but in a way that preserves peace. The Brackens, meanwhile, will be granted a significant boon—a recognition of their claim to disputed lands. A small price to pay to prevent further bloodshed.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “And what of my role in this, brother? What role do I play in this ‘delicate’ matter?”

Viserys looked at him, unflinching. “Your role, Daemon, is not to interfere. You are the Commander of the City Watch, but this was not a matter for the City Watch. It was a matter of diplomacy. Of keeping the peace.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle in the air. “The reconciliation ceremony will take place before the Iron Throne. Both the Brackens and the Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace, under my direct orders.”

Daemon opened his mouth to speak, but Viserys raised a hand, silencing him. “The matter is settled. There will be no further discussion. The lords of the realm will see this as a wise move—one that ensures peace in the Riverlands.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he glanced around the room. “Now, we move on. We have more important matters to discuss. The realm cannot wait.”

The silence in the room was palpable as Daemon, his temper barely contained, stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stormed out, leaving a tense stillness behind him.

Viserys turned to the remaining council members, his voice once again calm. “Let us proceed with the agenda.”

And with that, the council resumed, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

You weren’t expecting to find yourself outside the council chambers today, but the moment you heard raised voices echoing through the halls, you knew something was amiss. You didn’t need to hear the words to understand what was happening—Daemon and Viserys were locked in yet another heated argument.

As you neared the door, you paused, quietly listening to the tension that hung thick in the air between the two brothers. You knew this wasn’t a casual disagreement. No, this was deeper, more volatile than anything that had come before. Daemon’s temper was a fire that could not easily be quenched, and Viserys’s patience had long since reached its breaking point.

“—and you’re willing to let them do this without me?” Daemon’s voice rang out, full of disbelief and fury. “You sit there in your throne and make decisions that should be mine to make!”

Viserys’s voice followed, sharper, colder. “I am the king, Daemon! Not you. And you’re not in charge of the Riverlands. You’ve made it abundantly clear that your temper will only make matters worse, and I will not let you jeopardize everything we’ve worked for.”

You couldn’t help the tightness in your chest as you slowly opened the door. You knew that Viserys had been under pressure, but hearing the raw anger in both of their voices made your heart ache.

Daemon’s eyes snapped to you as you entered, his features momentarily softening when he saw you. But it didn’t last long. His frustration was too much to hide.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” he growled, his words aimed not at you but at the air around him. “He undermines me, as always.”

Viserys, still seated at the council table, gave a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s for the good of the realm, Daemon. Your actions, your temper... they’ve made it impossible to move forward.”

Daemon took a step toward him, eyes blazing. “And you think I haven’t sacrificed enough for this family? For you?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm gently, though the weight of the argument still hung between the brothers.

“Daemon,” you said softly, “let’s not do this now.” Your voice was calm, but firm, a gentle anchor amidst the storm. “You can talk about this later, after you've both had time to breathe.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his eyes still locked on his brother, but his posture softened ever so slightly as your touch worked its magic. He exhaled deeply, frustration still etched in every line of his face, but he made no further move toward his brother.

Viserys looked between the two of you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. There was a faint flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he stood, straightening his robes. “I’m done with this conversation for today,” he said coldly, and Daemon shot him one last, bitter glance before Viserys turned to leave.

As the door closed behind the king, the weight of the room seemed to lift, but Daemon’s anger still simmered beneath the surface. You could see it in his clenched fists, his furrowed brow, and the way his shoulders tensed with each breath.

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you gave him a moment to calm himself, knowing all too well that a conversation now would only lead to more frustration. Slowly, Daemon turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were softer, though still clouded with the storm of emotion he was struggling to contain.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the anger in it fading, replaced by a weariness that had settled deep within him. “It’s not for you to hear.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “I know you’re frustrated, Daemon. I don’t like seeing you like this.” You paused, your gaze steady. “But this fight... it’s not one you’re going to win. Not now.”

Daemon was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this,” he admitted, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

You held him a little tighter, feeling the weight of everything pressing on him. “I know. But we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His arms tightened around you as he buried his face in your hair. For a moment, the tension seemed to lift, and all that remained was the two of you, holding on to each other in the quiet aftermath.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

A week passed since the resolution of the Bracken and Blackwood dispute, and while Daemon’s anger had simmered down to a quiet brooding, the tension in the Red Keep was palpable. The lords had spoken their piece, the council had concluded their deliberations, and the kingdom, for now, appeared to be at rest. Yet you knew better than to believe in a calm that came too easily. The peace had been achieved—quietly, subtly—without Daemon’s direct knowledge.

It had been your plan, executed with careful precision. The letters sent under the king’s seal, the meetings with the Brackens and the Blackwoods, the subtle maneuvering to avoid bloodshed—all of it was your doing. Daemon remained unaware of your role in it, and you intended to keep it that way. His temper, as volatile as ever, had quieted somewhat since the ceremony in the throne room. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet between you both was fragile, and the whispers of the court only added to the unease.

The public reconciliation between the Brackens and the Blackwoods had been nothing short of a spectacle. The Iron Throne witnessed their sworn oaths of peace, pledging loyalty to the crown under Viserys’s direction. And while the ceremony had been regal and well-executed, the true work—the work done behind the scenes—remained a mystery to most.

But not to you. The weight of the success felt heavy, and you knew it would not stay secret for long. Even as you stood in the shadows of the throne room, observing the lords of the Riverlands make their pledges, you could hear the faint murmurs beginning to stir. First, it was a passing remark. A raised brow. Then, it grew louder, until it was impossible to ignore.

It was Daemon’s wife who had orchestrated it, they said. Not Viserys, not the king—Daemon’s wife. The rumors spread like wildfire. How had she managed to bring two feuding houses to the table? How had she secured the peace when all seemed lost? The whispers spoke not of Daemon’s involvement, but of your quiet influence. It was you who had orchestrated the peace—through your diplomacy, your steady resolve, and your deep understanding of the delicate balance that held the realm together.

At first, the whispers were faint, almost unnoticeable. But the longer the court simmered in its quiet post-celebration lull, the louder they became. A glance here, a sidelong comment there, as courtiers spoke behind their hands, careful not to draw too much attention. You overheard their theories—the reader of the letters, the one who had soothed the lords’ tempers, the one who had convinced the Brackens and the Blackwoods to lay down their swords.

Daemon had been busy in the training yard, his mind focused elsewhere, and so the whispers were a quiet storm that he hadn’t yet noticed. Yet, you knew it was only a matter of time before he pieced it together. For now, you kept to your silence. Your role in the peace had been deliberate. The credit, you were certain, would fall to Viserys. He was the king, after all, and it was his decision in the eyes of the realm. But it didn’t make the whispers any less insistent, nor did it quiet the growing suspicion in your heart that your husband might soon learn the truth.

You didn’t seek attention for your actions; your only goal had been the realm’s safety. But with each passing day, you could feel the weight of what you had done. Viserys had given you the freedom to act, trusting you to handle it, and you had. But now, as the court grew more talkative and the truth became less veiled, you couldn’t help but wonder: When would Daemon learn the full extent of your involvement? And what would his reaction be when he did?

The whispers only grew louder as the days wore on, echoing in the hallways and chambers, but for now, you remained tight-lipped. The peace had been secured. The rest, for the moment, didn’t matter.

[zvezdacito]

First analysis on Sebek's attitude towards humans that actually takes the human colonization of the Briarlands into account instead of stopping at "its internalized racism because nocturnal fae are just conservatives clearly🤓☝️". I'm genuinely so thankful for this💀😭🙏

I don't blame people for misunderstanding the power dynamics between humans and fae here before Book 7 because there was literally no info/they SEEMED to be leaning on the "biracial kid hates his other half" trope/them leaving it so the initially elf-like fae could be interpreted as elitist snobs to human innovation, so the Briar Valley's history was intentionally set up to be a surprising revelation as to what actually motivates all of the afformentioned. But Book 7 has been out for 2 whole years; 2 whole years worth of time to actually catch up on lore. Twst is literally spoonfeeding its sympathetic stance to how the fae feel about their history the entire time too, its not as if its easy-to-miss subtext😭

Some real world tension Sebek's case is *more* comparable to is probably like Korean, Chinese and SEAsian elders having a strong grudge against Japanese people because of all their warcrimes in our countries, but it technically becoming "less relevant" to the daily lives of succeeding generations (and it seemingly being irrelevant to Japan from the start with the historical revisionism + refusal to acknowledge and apologize for said warcrimes) thus leading to some today seeing that hatred as some sort of reverse racism (even if it isn't)

I don't think it's comparable to the dynamic of racial oppressor and racially oppressed in western countries since its still very structurally relevant/less malleable between positions I'd say? (Even tho this is people's default when thinking about Sebek's "racism")

And Sebek's position is more similar to the mixed children of occupying soldiers/settlers with native women being conflicted about their identity and place (less because the "white" side being a (statistical) minority in the colonized-majority community, but a sense of guilt that their very existence feels like a reminder of the brutality and suffering that community faced). Though I'm not claiming it's a DIRECT parallel or allegory for these, since Mr. Zigvolt is not a soldier and may not even be part of the soldiers' descendants, just bringing it up to illustrate Sebek's actual place in the dynamics implied by Book 7 lore

Ngl I think twst fans have this issue of understanding stories where systemic issues contextualize why characters do what they do based entirely on how "nice" or "polite" that character is as an individual😭 Same reason people think Jamil (a literal modern day slave) is evil and "should've just talked to Kalim", or attempt to downplay the Dawn Knight's accountability in the invasion because he did lip service to wanting peace between species (even though it's likely a white-saviory idea of peace where human ideas take the lead and there's no trust for fae's autonomy. Just the bare minimum that they survive and get along with everyone else at their own cultural expense, if the loss of Fae tongue to Common even in the BV is anything to go by)

Idk I guess this is just my long comment about my pet peeve on people oversimplifying Sebek's attitude to "racism" because historically fae were not the ones with the systemic power and authority to discriminate and control the humans on the basis of them being human (which is what racism is systemically, it's more than just personal feelings of dislike lmao. And either way it was more the other way around for humans vs fae but fanon ignores this because "well, sebek is annoying")

Is sebek racist? Only a fun question, do not take seriously

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question, I have been so excited to discuss Sebek's speech patterns since Book 7 reached EN~🥳

Silver says outright that Sebek can be prejudiced at times and Lilia states in the beginning of Book 7 that Sebek is the very picture of his grandfather, from the way he talks to the way he thinks.

We as the players do not realize how literally he means this comment until later in Book 7 when we meet Baul Zigvolt and realize that their speech patterns have a lot in common:

While maybe difficult to put across in the English-language adaptation of the game, Sebek has always spoken very old fashioned.

(Ace: "Okay grandpa, you gonna take her for a buggy ride next?")

He will occasionally say "this Sebek" in reference to himself, which Baul also does. (They are also both canonically quite loud, possibly another trait that Sebek adopted from Baul).

Sebek will also infamously refer to others using the 貴様 form of "you," which doesn't really exist outside of fiction and is such a rude form that it is practically a swear word. More here ->

Sebek uses it constantly, in everyday conversation.

And see Baul using it in Book 7 just all the time, with everyone except his superiors such as Lilia and Maleanor (there is even a time he becomes very angry and uses it with the senate).

Also like Baul, Sebek will switch to the extremely old-fashioned and formal "kiden" to refer to people who have impressed him. More here ->

Sebek's battle cry of "I'll swallow you whole" even seems to come from Baul!

And another thing Baul did in Book 7: refer to Sebek as human rather than by his name until Sebek earned his respect, which we have also seen happen between Sebek and Azul.

(In a Nightmare Before Christmas voiceline Sebek refers to Zero as a ghost and then a dog, eventually settling on his name, while he refers to Jack Skellington as "Bones." Is Sebek not just calling out humans, but referring to everyone by what they are rather than who they are?*)

(Does he simply yell human more than "dog," "ghost," etc., because humans are the species we have seen him interact with the most? It was confirmed in the novels that mermaids, beast-people, etc., are all referred to as "human" within the Twst universe, which has yet to be confirmed by the game but also has yet to be disproved.)

Sebek also refers to Grim as "dire beast."

There is a significant moment where he shifts to calling both Grim and the prefect by their names in Book 7, which the prefect even has the option of acknowledging aloud: "Whoa, you called me by my name?"

In a Harveston sub-plot Sebek even refuses to use an honorific with Epel's grandmother Marja until she proves herself worth of his respect.

Silver calls Sebek out on his inappropriate use of "kisama," while both Riddle and Sebek scold him for referring to people as "humans."

Whereas Epel's rude speech patterns can be explained by how it is a part of the dialect he was raised to speak and therefore he doesn't know any better (more here ->) Sebek is consciously and intentionally speaking down to others until they prove themselves worthy--is this something he learned from Baul?

Sebek says that Baul provided him with "an enriching education," but what exactly did that education entail?

Lilia expresses frustration with Sebek's inability to adapt to society, but canonically Sebek has only been outside of Briar Valley for 6 months, while he's been emulating his grandfather for 16 years.

Lilia says that Sebek has always been close to Baul and Jamil has a line of, "When admiration goes too far, the consequences can be dire."

I always assumed this was meant to be about Malleus, and while it still might be, is it also a reference to Sebek's devoted imitation of his beloved grandfather?

And we can go even deeper if we want, though this goes into theoretical territory:

Sebek was born after Briarland had already fallen to its invaders, but he was raised in a community where the war is still living memory.

Baul fought to protect his home against those who overran the land, exploited its resources, labeled him a monster, and drove them all into a fraction of their former territory.

He remembers what Briarland was before it the invasion, he fought to save it, he failed, and he survived to help put what was left of the country back together.

And then his daughter married someone who is potentially a direct descendent of the very invaders who had spent years killing anyone who looked like him and destroying everything he'd known (with even his native language possibly disappearing: Sebek says that speakers are "somewhat rare" in modern day, as the fae have generally adopted Common as their language of choice).

Sebek: "This has been weighing on me ever since we entered Lilia's dream. That my own father's distant ancestors may very well have been involved in all this too..."

And due to the long lifespans of the fae he isn't the only one with trauma and loss that feels both recent and personal.

Sebek and his siblings were not raised amongst the offspring of those who survived the war but the literal survivors themselves, unlike the humans to whom the wars are ancient history.

Sebek: "You must remember: from Lilia, Grandfather, and Malleus's perspectives...the Dawn Knight is not likely someone they consider to belong to the 'distant past.'"

While not confirmed in-game, it is not too wild to imagine that Sebek has chosen to ally himself with the survivors rather the invaders, and especially when he has been raised to idolize Malleus, whose own mother they killed not very long ago by fae standards.

While humans have been reproducing and dying at such a rapid pace that the current generation might not know that dragons are real, the same fae that managed to escape the slaughter are still there, and are now being met with the people born of those who stole their country but to whom there doesn't seem to be much significance to it all beyond a chapter in a history book.

And that might all be very well tied up in Sebek's use of "human"! (Disclaimer: this is all just a personal analysis and one of many possible explanations!)

Not only does it seem to be a speech pattern that Sebek has adopted directly from the grandfather he adores (and from Lilia and Malleus, who are also known to refer to non-fae as "humans" and whom he idolizes), but it may also be a reminder both to himself and to everyone around that while he may be two worlds in one, he does not approve of those that tore apart the community he grew up in, lest someone wrongfully assume that he agrees with the actions of his human ancestors.

Which would make it a form of self-preservation while growing up in a predominantly fae area.

Sebek's speech patterns and behaviors might be serving as a way for him to assert his loyalty to the fae, the people whom he admires, identifies with and was raised by, and distance himself from the humans who tried to eradicate them.

(If Sebek’s mother brought his father to Briar Valley from somewhere else (possibly Sunset Savanna) as has been implied, it’s possible Sebek’s human lineage isn’t tied to the invaders at all, but this is still vague.)

*Sebek refers to Sally as "Sally" throughout the Halloween event, using her name without an honorific but at least using it, much like he did with Marja. He also chastises Trey for failing to offer his hand to Sally and help her to her feet when she falls to the ground. Does Sebek possibly have a chivalrous side, not dissimilar to Leona? Memo: must check.

[quirekey]

Can I request for D-16 with a tomboy femme s/o where she has a crush on him.

Okay i may or may have not done one-sided love until i saw the s/o… 😀 my bad I HOPE THIS WORKS

[ D16 ] x [ FEMME!READER ]

[ d16 x cybertronian!femme!tomboy!reader ]

READER INTRO

You were one of the casual miners who never really got involved. You had a small friend group that consisted of both mechs, femmes (this includes D16). You put consistent effort into your work and only rebelled every once in a while. You were sometimes mistaken as a mech instead of a femme considering you had many traits that conflicted with the typical femme cybertronian. You had a deeper audio box, you never cared for your looks and you were more brave and rebellious than even some mechs. Because of this, you were quite popular and seen as charismatic between other miners.

HEADCANONS

- When you invited D16 to the group, he was honestly surprised. You liked his enthusiasm when it came to his idols and Sentinel and he was just a cute guy. D16 saw you as a cool miner and you reminded him of Orion so he was glad he could make a new friend. You both agreed and you didn’t know that this simple miner would make you go insane.

- Coincidentally you guys had the same shifts so you guys had a lot of one-on-one time. Because of this, you two got to know each other faster than your average friendship.

- D16’s fanboying was so dumb but cute due to how often he’d do it. Sure, he’s independent, but he’s also pretty reliant on cybertronians who remain famous for their actions. You aren’t the type to fangirl so you’d silently listen as he went on and on about every tiny detail about some bot you never even knew existed.

- Your liking for him grew big pretty fast. He was way too cute and maybe even hot for a simple bot like him. He had so much more personality than anybody else in your group and the way he gets flustered is so fun.

- Ever since you gained a crush on him, you started to tease him more. You would call him names and playfully give him light punches as greetings. This does irritate D16 quite a bit and he tells you to stop often.

- Giving him kisses was something you could never do. You may be bold for a femme, but you still had a thing called anxiety. Your charm of being a masculine femme doesn’t help nor does it stop you, and that charm was the only thing that actually could’ve helped you try to confess.

- D16 introduced you to his close friend Orion quite a while ago, so you both got along quite well. Orion always saw you coming onto D16 and shipped both of you, calling you guys a couple and perfect sparkmates. Oh, how you would get so flustered, chuckling it off while D16 argued with Orion. This only wavered your hope that D16 would like you back.

- You always were giving hints. These hints weren’t straightforward but they were there. You thought they were noticeable but they always skimmed over D16. You would hold his hands or talk about stuff that you think he would like. You would polish yourself before seeing him but he just assumes that you wanted to get a change.

- This crush thing stayed untold till the war. Seeing the guy you loved turn into the villain of the story was devastating, especially because he was unaware of your love for him. You knew you couldn’t tell him now or ever. You felt your optics dim and your spark drop when the somebody you saw as your world was banished from Iacon. You told yourself something that would linger with you for the rest of your life.

“Why did I have to be so scared?”

[ruegarding]

for context, @rosabell14 is referring to tags on this post.

ok we're going off-road w this one

generally speaking, i like the concept of "some things aren't meant to be controlled," which annabeth says to percy after he controls the poison. this is said and then immediately forgotten abt, however, this could be another angle of change, a reoccurring theme in hoo, as well as a continued theme from pjo.

obviously, from pjo, the change is addressed w the myths, the theme of yielding, and w the conclusion of the story:

hoo continues this concept of change w the percy-jason switch, the greek-roman conflict, the idea of what an identity is and how to change it, etc. there's a lot of individual character work w this idea, but there's less of a mythological concept attached to it. gaea is a static and flatly written antagonist, octavian becomes incredibly flat as a character and his development into this sort of fanatical antagonist that is never explored, there's a lot of teeth-gritting abt how the gods are gods and they never change and everyone just has to accept it, the myths aren't challenged in the same way they were in pjo, etc. there's a few major exceptions, i'll get to that.

this is a glaring issue i have w hoo. it wouldn't be as bad as a standalone, but hoo makes the entirety of the previous series meaningless. in tlo, percy asks for kids to get claimed and be trained so when (or if) they have to go on dangerous quests/fight monsters/etc they're both older and more experienced. this is the conclusion to the war and how the status quo is changed (disability accommodations expanded to reach more ppl and work more effectively).

hoo, however, does not do this. camp jupiter infamously has a child army while the adults are retired, all of the new characters are younger than percy (who is still 16), and only two of them have spent a long period of time training, although hazel's isn't formal/in a camp (and piper doesn't even learn how to fight until book four ffs). this sort of immediately bastardizes pjo in a way that is never acknowledge by the series and makes it, and anything after it, a failure as a continuation of pjo.

and that's where this theme could've come in. when bob is remembering who he is, him and percy have this back-and-forth abt identity. percy relates to bob bc he, too, just had his memory erased and that vulnerability exploited (annabeth's perspective in this conversation is very different bc she doesn't have this same experience nor does she understand percy's feelings abt it. a good way to build tension using different povs, but, once again, doesn't get fully utilized). in the conclusion that conversation, there's an interesting moment:

this is that idea again, "some things aren't meant to be controlled," like fate, like identity. titans are meant to "be the same...forever." and here percy is, not only as the catalyst for change by throwing bob into the river lethe, but also by encouraging him to commit to this change once bob should know better. this was percy's role in the previous series, as well, where he constantly challenges the perspective of other characters to be more quote human unquote.

afterwards, annabeth has a similar moment w damasen:

i also think these are very funny to have side-by-side, just as character analysis, bc percy is very much both insecure and empathetic like u can choose ur future, it's up to u, etc, whereas annabeth is like i am right, listen to me.

anyway, both of these moments repeat the idea from pjo/tlo: immortals can't change. but they are changing. and they will change. the rules of the world are malleable (i also think hazel's monologue abt seeing the minotaur as a victim would be another aspect of this to explore). what abt traditions? what abt camp jupiter's child army? how should these change? going back to the og thought, tho, what shouldn't change? what are the "some things" that aren't meant to be controlled? how do you balance traditions and reform (great opportunity to use octavian btw!)? why can't a god be human, act human? why are the ancient rules important? that's an important discussion to have if we're growing this universe.

i don't particularly like that hoo immediately reverts back w the premise of the story, like i was talking abt earlier, nor do i think these characters were introduced or used well in canon, but using these characters, these moments, these conversations, rick could've salvaged this mess by embracing change isn't a static thing. he doesn't, tho, so it's all lost potential.

separately, something i've always liked abt the akhlys fight is that percy wins the literal, physical fight against her, but loses the metaphorical fight. he gets to walk away, but he walks away miserable. and this is bc the gods aren't ppl, they're physical representations of concepts. and percy has this thought abt tartarus and gaea while in tartarus, and i believe it's brought up in boo, but it's barely relevant. it's something i wish was explored more.

now onto specific characters. i talk abt my general idea here, ie this moment in tartarus is forcing percy and annabeth to confront their worst-case scenarios.

for annabeth, i've repeatedly gone on record to say i hate the way annabeth is written in hoo, here is an example, ie her fatal flaw does not come thru in her character (i also think she and percy switched characterizations from pjo to hoo, but...). separate issue is that annabeth's character revolves around percy a lot. so there are two issues i would focus on, largely bc she's not written well and doesn't have established unique conflicts. like,

this is a big revelation at the end of hoh, that she has to "step back" and she can't "protect everyone she love[s]." except it doesn't make any sense. tlo ended w annabeth telling percy to give luke her knife which luke uses to kill himself. not to mention, thalia's sacrifice on hbh. ALSO. percy accepting the prophecy and "taking the brunt of the danger"! and finally. annabeth has been at camp for 7-8 years. 1) she should have relationships w these ppl and 2) she should care that some of the ogs died in the previous war (which would also require rick to figure out who died lol). but the point is, this isn't a new conflict for annabeth!

the thought she had in moa abt having to accept she's not always the best person for the job:

this is not built up nor is it delivered on, but would be interesting, given that she demanded to be on the quest and if there was an actual power struggle instead of writing her as the de facto leader. this would be a better conflict than accepting that "she couldn't protect everyone she loved" when she has historically not been able to protect everyone she loved.

anyway, back on topic.

first, this moment exists to challenge her perception of percy, which is important to challenge bc she quite frankly has an unhealthy attachment to him. other ppl have said this better than i, so here's a post abt codependency and p*rcabeth and here's another one i rbed a while ago.

tldr; rick treats annabeth's abandonment issues/possessiveness/codependency as like. cute, peak romance. and he's been doing this since pjo, right, like annabeth's abandonment issues and possessiveness didn't matter when it was thalia joining the hunters,—bc there's no romance trope here w thalia—but gods forbid percy speak to rachel.

and this doesn't change in hoo. in fact, it's worse. like,

i'm going to [statement redacted] rick for this. what part of this is cute??? i'm killing it with fire.

so anyway, i want to treat annabeth's possessiveness/etc as an actual, consistent, character flaw, that she can grow out of, even. maybe even connect it to her hubris or her rsd. explore her feelings abt luke now that we have her pov to do it in. the fallout from this moment w akhlys is a great way to begin delving into that bc it's a shocking moment for her.

second, and going back to the theme of change, annabeth is different from percy in the sense that she has a different relationship to the gods than him (which i'm comparing bc i think rick (and fandom) has a hard time giving these two consistent and separate personalities/beliefs post pjo). the two times she has rebelled against the gods directly were bc of percy's influence (again, this is percy's role in pjo), 1) in the zoo truck, a scene that only takes place bc percy challenged her view of the poseidon-athena rivalry and their place in it, and 2) w hera where the first words out of annabeth's mouth are literally "percy is right."

i find this interesting especially bc her fatal flaw is hubris, which is common in mythology and frequently ends up fatal bc ppl challenge the gods. so, annabeth using the gods and these stories to keep her hubris in check makes complete sense.

and it seems like this is the same approach she's using w percy:

percy is directly challenging a god for power, and more than that, he's challenging a domain he's not supposed to have control of at all.

very interesting! does not get explored. such is common for hoo.

for percy, this scene is part of a long-running conversation of his powers (which is a huge part of his disability coding!!!!!). and it doesn't go anywhere.

percy has established anger issues and implied emotional dysregulation. this has been a thing since the beginning, literally chapter one of tlt! punishing percy for this when he's clearly not getting the support he needs is. a choice. also there's the issue that hoo kinda. erases this aspect of percy's character until the confrontation w akhlys, which is a separate but related issue.

there really should've been more buildup to this outburst (eg: in son percy punches a shelf in the library and immediately feels guilty bc he scares frank and hazel. percy is in an incredibly stressful situation; this should've happened more), but that would mean rick would treat it and the disability conversation seriously (which falls flat after son) and do less teeth-gritting abt the whole gods thing.

so, to go back on my "using the different povs to build tension was wildly underutilized" train, a featured part of almost everyone's pov is that percy is very kind, and gentle, and forgiving. i discuss a moment w frank being impressed w percy's selflessness here and he also says that he would follow percy anywhere, jason says percy is "a nice guy" after like 2 days, nico has his whole thing, hazel says "percy was a child of poseidon’s better nature," going on to describe him as gentle, etc.

and all of this praise goes nowhere and kinda just becomes percy is so awesome...and then turns into everything is percy's fault in boo...it's bad writing.

but it's an interesting opportunity to play w perspective. percy in pjo is dehumanized in that he is both villainized and idolized, and obviously hoo is continuing the trend w idolization. rick sets up a great plotline w this in moa:

and this doesn't go anywhere bc apparently percy's problem is that he needs to learn to step back. which. part of this is bc rick recycled plotlines from percy and gave them to other characters, which means that percy cannot be in character anymore without making themlook bad (the recycled plotlines i'm talking abt are the idolization, imposter syndrome, wanting to step back but constantly pushed into the spotlight, being seen as different/elevated status bc of ur parentage, struggling to connect to who your parent is, even the dehumanization as a weapon is straight out of percy's writing in pjo). this is a big problem w hoo in general ie characters becoming ooc by necessity (see: bad writing). the other part to blame is that rick is literally trying to redo tlo what w the whole "you are not the hero." it's all the same from pjo except written worse. it's a running theme of hoo (and a bonus). bad writing all the way down!

ANYWAY. so pjo ends w percy at an elevated status bc he 1) survived an unsurvivable prophecy, 2) was offered godhood, and 3) turned down godhood to improve the lives of the demigods while all the demigods watched. and he has the curse of achilles but. we all know how that went. the point is, all of this puts percy on a pedestal. i like to think it's the biggest reason hera kidnapped percy: if he said no, if he refused, she would've lost the support of almost all the demigods at chb (also the metaphor for the audience lol). i think making percy go on the quest, or at least to new rome, is the only good bit of world building rick did between books.

the problem is, rick is kinda all over the place w how percy is perceived and misses both the point of percy's character (callback to what i said abt his disability) and the world building of the previous series (what happened to power-scaling, narrative consequence, etc fr). that's what creates the flip-flopping "percy is perfect" and "everything is percy's fault," and neither are particularly good reads.

going back to annabeth, i don't think she's an exception in idolizing percy. she has no reason to see percy's vindictive side bc he works hard to hide it. even w crusty, annabeth is preoccupied. annabeth is smart, she's not omniscient. instead, there's the famous "percy is too nice" from som. i also like to think this is why she keeps trying to talk to percy abt luke as if luke is a good person who didn't try to kill percy. she doesn't understand that percy would hate luke for betraying him bc why would he? percy is a good person.

(for the record, i think the exceptions are: 1) grover, who chooses not to bring it up w the exception of his nemesis comment in tlt, 2) rachel, who made a painting where percy's "expression in the picture was fierce—disturbing, even—so it was hard to tell if I was the good guy or the bad guy" and simply said that's how he looked, and 3) arguably nico—considering percy has attacked him before—but i do think "very [dangerous]. to his enemies." does a good job of capturing that, it just doesn't go anywhere).

so, to condense all of this, ppl are idolizing percy in terms of both strength and morals and percy feels stifled by this knowing that he is not as strong or good as ppl think (and also by the fault that he was demonized prior and has corresponding low self-esteem bc of that lol). keep this in mind, i'm changing the topic.

in botl, percy's torture scene is used primarily to set up how powerful he is. he can cause an eruption that necessitates the evacuation of thousands of ppl and wake the biggest threat in greek mythos, but he would never know that if he wasn't back into a corner. bc that's not who he is. he shies away from power and titles. he wins his fights w strategy and very rarely relies on his powers to overpower his opponents.

just to clarify, i categorize percy's powers in two sorts of ways: involuntary and voluntary. involuntary is like speaking to sea creatures, healing in water, things that don't require a lot of energy/effort/focus. he's not scared of this. he's wary of the voluntary, powerful explosions, the things that set him apart from his peers. that's what i'm referring to in this section.

so, percy has to come to terms w the fact that he 1) blew up a mountain, 2) survived blowing up a mountain, and 3) woke typhon. and what does he say immediately after that?

he immediately deflects! he wasn't in control, it wasn't him that's powerful, it was an accident, and besides, he can't do it again bc he almost died. and what's even more interesting is the only time he uses his powers after this (in botl) is when grover asks him to stop the fire in the woods.

so, what lesson did percy actually take from mt saint helens? that he's dangerous. very interesting to use this teaching moment and have the protagonist come to the quote wrong unquote conclusion.

in hoh, we don't have a purpose for the torture scene. there's no significance to confronting how powerful percy is. percy is not addressing his self-sacrificing tendencies nor his propensity for bottling his emotions up. there's no questioning of p*rcabeth's relationship. there's no questioning of the gods. it's a cool scene w no narrative purpose.

so, take two. what is percy supposed to be learning from akhlys? how do we relate this to percy taking the wrong lesson from mt st helens?

at the end of botl, nico comes up w the river styx plan and percy takes almost a full year to agree to it. how much further ahead in the war would they have been if percy had accepted the curse sooner? how many fights could percy have won faster if he used his powers? if he trained his powers? if he trusted his powers?

there's a really interesting comparison w phorcys and akhyls where percy doesn't attempt to fight phorcys bc he assumes he won't be able to overpower him,

but w akhyls he tries anyway,

bc he's backed against a corner. and he succeeds.

percy is a character who very much embodies duality. i've talked abt this before wrt his loyalty being both his greatest strength and greatest weakness and how it clashes w his desire for freedom, but it's true for almost every trait. he's honest and manipulative. he's ruthless and merciful. he's kind and violent. he's looked up to and looked down upon. he's the saint and the scapegoat. etc etc. and percy responds to this by frequently trying to deny his quote worse unquote traits until they eventually bubble up and explode out of him. this is part of why juno calls him a loose-canon (which btw, i love. everyone has been treating him as a loose canon and no one on this side has the balls to say it until then, seven books in).

all this to say, *ethan voice* it's abt balance! this moment should've been abt percy confronting his unfair treatment! the idolization from his peers! the demonization of his flaws/disability!

thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[gold-rhine]

like i dont think mavuika having no personality is the main natlan aq problem, but i think it contributes a lot bc shes often focus of the story and she's just so bland. like a lot of ppl say, she feels like a mary sue oc, like oh shes so brave and cool and hot, she has tragic backstory but it doesnt affect her at all except that she makes sad face sometimes, shes so well adjusted and always knows whats the right thing to do and everyone loves her. like its just boring bc it gets rid of any tension or conflict, you know everything is going to go fine and its not even interesting to watch. its insane how even in her own story quest she got ZERO characterization and instead xbalanque somehow got all the focus and personality. and in the end we had to listen to him just say out loud how she's so great and brighter sun blah blah while shes standing there the whole time like 😐

like one personality trait i can actually think was mentioned for her is that she likes learning to do new stuff and getting better at it to relax. but like she says shes not good at painting, but then draws perfect picture of her family. like??? give it some energy! what if this means she has like 100 hobbies at the same time and she's shit at all of them and shes juggling 35 projects at the same time. shes doing shitty drawing of her family and baking a shitty cake at the same time and then switches to doing like ice sculptures bc its a challenge bc it keeps melting and she's also trying photography and bonsai bc she met someone from inazuma last week. give her crazy high GOGOGO energy with insane drive that pyro archon should have instead of just calmly and serenely standing there, painting a perfect picture

also like she had to abandon her entire life and family and go to completely different time and it didnt fuck her up even a lil bit?? and she has no trouble adjusting???? like??? what if she was retro-styled, like harley instead of just generic modern bike, and it first its just a cool aesthetic, but with time u realise its bc she's from the past, shes a bit out of sync, she doesnt get all modern shit and she still likes thinks she liked in her prev life. and shes pyro, not cryo or hydro, so shes not mopping and brooding about it, shes making it everyone elses problem. shes fighting xilonen for ausx cord to play metallica instead of EDM, shes making "correct" versions of dishes that no one else knows how to make, etc. it can be a fun gimmick or an actual internal conflict of her having to eventually let or. or not! or choosing what of it is clinging to the past and what are just things she loves and wants to have this way. there is a lot to explore!

[inthefoxholes]

I mean, even worse, “a random nobody” who SOMEHOW has the (moral) weight of the Inquisitor without any indication as to why.

I agree that the Inquisitor’s story wasn’t finished but I wouldn’t have minded playing someone new if it had been done well - genuinely someone not embroiled in the politics of a whole continent, with a new and different outlook maybe, who stumbles into this mess and then keeps getting pulled in, I could see that being interesting and a fail safe against too many conflicting player decisions.

But this?? Why does Rook get treated as the savior? Literally anyone can hold the dagger. Why do these people, often written as older/more experienced than Rook, let them decide these momentous things about them (lich or no lich?!?!)? It makes no sense at all and it’s part of why this feels like such a weak story that they present us with a protagonist that’s introduced as one thing and then treated completely differently (while in itself not reacting to said treatment,).

"the Inquisitor couldn't be the protagonist of DA4 because Bioware always changes the protagonist of Dragon Age!" By that logic, Shepard should've been the protagonist of ME4 because Bioware always had Shepard as the protagonist in Mass Effect games.

"oh but Shepard's story was done!" Yes, and the Inquisitor's was not.

If you really wanted a new protagonist for DA4, be happy, you got them, but I will forever feel like we're finishing the Inquisitor's story with some random nobody (not an insult, that is the type of protagonist they wanted Rook to be). And no matter how often someone says 'bioware has always done it this way', it will never change that.

[afterthelambs]

I didn't think this needs to be said but you can't be the richest person and politician in any country, particularly one with such wealth disparity and police brutality, while also being a "good person." Reasons for that can vary from ignorance or apathy (at best) to malice and deliberate exploitation (at worst). Yes this is about Mel Medarda. Idk why some parts of the arcane fandom try to erase her wrongdoings? Flaws give a character depth. You can recontextualize the nuances, which I love doing too, but thats an entirely different thing than trying to pass it off as being 'good'. She's infinitely more interesting with her flaws than if she were just pure and good like the fandom + writers tried to make her seem.

(This goes for Heimerdinger too, you don't get to be in charge of an entire country since its founding without being responsible for the way it turned out. Yet he got killed off before the story ever grappled with that, which frustrates me to no end. But that has more to do with how the writers mishandled the Piltover v. Zaun conflict and we'd be here all day if we went into that)

Idk, flaws to me are a positive thing. Characters with them are fascinating, and characters without them are dull. I will always prefer and fight for interpretations of characters that accomodate flaws while also staying true to who they are. The more, the better imo (provided they're still in-character, I too dislike seeing people hallucinate flaws/ wrongdoings/ motives that have no basis. "If you're going to hate them then hate them accurately etc. etc").

And personally I much prefer the version of Mel that actually takes into account that she is a powerful and wealthy politician who used different forms of manipulation and exploitation for personal reasons. Those reasons are interesting and incredibly nuanced (stemming from her experience with her mother). I don't really have faith in the arcane writers anymore (stuff that the writers have said really worsened my opinions on s2), so all I have is blind hope that whatever spinoff they do with her goes in that direction.

And before anyone misinterprets this: no this isnt a hate post. Its the opposite actually. Im describing the interpretation of mel that i love and have loved since season 1 (before the writing took a nose dive). If u look thru my blog u can find a post I did before s2 came out where im praising how morally ambiguous she was. So yeah i have receipts. If u dont love mel at her inaction corruption era then you dont deserve her at her magic empath era.

[bonezone44]

hello, my dearest Rad 💛

with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:

may the writing muses be with you,

kissing you on your forehead (if you allow it not then just waving you from the distance!)

a/n: please forgive me, lol! Idk why I wrote Reader like this. thank you for this prompt @iamasaddie from like... last month, lol!

tags: brat tamer!Jack, step-dad!Jack, unprotected p-in-v, spanking, overuse of the word "whore"

!!This story is for ages 21+!!

-----One look from your Uncle Jack could send anyone to their knees. The man had an effortless smolder that weakened even the strongest of bulls.

But you weren't as easily influenced by his wily expressions. Not to say that you weren't weak for the man--you certainly were. But it took more than a stern eye to make you surrender to his whims.

It was spring time and your mother was hosting a garden party. It was any excuse to round up your mother's colleagues and show off her skills (paying people with real skills to do all the work). And while she was parading around the manicured lawn in a tailored linen dress that accentuated her petite hourglass figure, you wandered out the back door half-asleep in cut-off jeans and flip flops, aching for a cold can of brewski.

"Oh my heavens!" Your mother exclaimed with a weary breath, her hand pressed delicately to her chest. She hurried gracefully to her new beau, the man you called Uncle Jack "Jackie!" She cried out in a hushed whisper, tugging him away from his socializing.

Jack did his best not to wince at the sound of your mother's affectionate nickname for him, and just follow along. He learned it was best to do whatever the woman said. "Whats wrong, darlin?"

"Why is she doing this to me?" Your mother cried.

"Who?"

"My daughter!" She pointed one long dainty finger in your direction.

You scratched your belly beneath the crop top loosely covering your chest. You nudged a few party-goers out of the way so you could dig through the cooler that was reserved for the more masculine revelers. You pulled out a silver can, popped it open, and started chugging.

Jack took one look at ya and sighed. 'There ain't no rest for the wicked, is there?'

"Alleged daughter, anyway," your mother huffed and shook the hair from her face. "That child must have been switched at the hospital," she murmured. "No daughter of mine would ever disgrace her mother like that. No, sir!"

Jack rested his hand on your mother's trembling shoulders. "Want me to go talk to her for ya, darlin'?"

"Of course I want you to go talk to her, you imbecile!" your mother strained to keep her voice low. "Take her upstairs and put some decent clothes on her!" She paused, rolled her shoulders back, and plastered a poised smile on her face. She turned about-face and rejoined the party.

Jack sighed again, jaw twisting. With a flurry of conflicting thoughts racing through his mind, he stomped resolutely in your direction.

---

You didn't know what the hell was going on. You had been out all night with your friends and suddenly you wake up and there's a bunch of people at your house. Once you made it downstairs, you figured your mom was having one of those little shindigs she likes to have sometimes and you figured you'd stay out of the way like you usually do.

But hey, if they were all gonna day-drink, you might as well join 'em. So you went and grabbed a Coors from the cooler next to the barbecue and suddenly Jack's got his big hand wrapped around your arm and he's tugging you back inside.

"Ow! What the hell, man?"

"What the hell is right," he growls in your ear, but nods quite politely to the people he passes by in the kitchen with you in tow. He yanks you all the way up the stairs while you desperately try to keep the beer in your hand from spilling on the carpet. He shoves you into your bedroom and slams the door behind you. "What is goin' on in that silly li'l head o' yours, sweetheart?" He points toward your window. "Your mother is entertaining guests and you show up lookin' like you just got ran through by some good for nothin' in the back of his pick-up truck."

You smirk. "Well, I see where your head is at, Uncle Jack." You giggle. "Picturin' me gettin' ran through." you flick your hips back and forth.

"I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, li'l missy, but you better hurry up and get changed before comin' back down to this party." He stands there, between your bed and the door, with his hands on his hips. He doesn't move. He doesn't turn around. He's not leaving the room to let you change your clothes. He plans on watching you do it.

And you decide to let him. You've been teasing him for long enough. The poor man deserves it after all he's been through (putting up with your momma for the past 2 years).

You release an exaggerated sigh. "If it'll make you happy, Uncle Jack--"

"Oh it will," he spits. his nostrils flaring.

You shrug. "Then okay." You lock eyes with him and grab the hem of your crop top. He still doesn't move. You slowly bring the shirt over your head and toss it to the floor.

His chest puffs up. "You were down there around all those people in half a t-shirt and you weren't even wearing a bra?" He snarls.

You cup each breast and pinch at your nipples. "What? A grown man like you has never seen titties before?"

He stomps closer to you. His breaths start heaving. You think he might strangle you with how wild his eyes get. It's kinda cute when he gets all mad at you. "Get. Dressed."

"Well, I'm guessin' Momma doesn't like my shorts, so I gotta take these off, too." Your eyes never leave Jack's. Your gaze is tethered to one another. It keeps you both from looking elsewhere. You know he's hard. You can see it out the corner of your vision. You wonder how far you can push him before he does something about it. You undo your shorts and shimmy them down below your hips--enough that they fall to your feet and allow you to step out of them.

Jack's eyes finally shift down. He turns livid. "And what the hell is this?" He grabs the red strap of your underwear and snaps his against your skin. "What is wrong with you walkin' around like some two-cent whore?"

"Uncle Jack!" you roll your eyes and laugh. "I only wear 'em 'cause of how good they make my ass look." You turn around and bend over onto the bed, sticking your rear in the air. You look at him over your shoulder. "See?"

Next thing you know, your yelping and falling forward from the powerful smacks of Jack's hand against your ass--slapping you again and again. "WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU." His fingers grapple your g-string and he rips it off your body. "After all your momma's done for you?" He growls in your ear, his warm body heavy on top of you. You feel his hard cock pressed against your leg. "This is how you treat her?"

You try to shove him off, but he's too heavy. Your ass stings and all you can do is turn your head to the side and growl at him back. "You have NO IDEA what my momma's done to me!" You cry, tears prickling out.

He yanks you by the hair so he can look you in the eyes again. "I know there ain't no mother on God's green earth that deserves an ungrateful whore of a daughter like you."

Your tears turn into outright sobbing.

He shoves your face into the mattress and gets off of you. "Cryin' don't work on me, little girl. Not no more." You hear his belt buckle jingle and turn over on your back. Your soft sheets feel rough on your sore bottom. "You need some goddamn discipline fucked into you." His zipper is loud as he undoes his pants and pulls out his raging cock. He strokes it above you and your pussy drools. You go to touch yourself and he slaps your hand away. "Goddamnit!" he spits. "Turn over! I can't even stand to fuckin' look at ya right now." You do as your told and he wastes no time spearing himself into you. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he curses and sets a relentless pace. "Your cunt's wetter than a goddamn slice of tres leches. All that spankin' just turned you on? Huh?" You moan and whimper into the thick of the bed beneath you. He stops thrusting and pulls you up again by the hair. "Hey! I'm talkin to you, girl! You better answer if you know what's good for ya!" You nod fervently, scared by the crazed look in his eyes. "No, no. I need to hear it, li'l missy!"

"Yes, Uncle Jack," you blubber through your tears.

"Yes, what?" he grits his teeth. his cock pulses as it sits inside of you. your insides burning deliciously as they accomodate his girth.

"Yes, I--" you swallow your spit. "Yes, a-all that spankin turned me on."

He shakes his head and huffs. "Nothin' but a two-cent whore," he mutters and goes back to fucking you. "Fuckin filthy," he says as one of his hands wraps around your chest, groping and pinching your breasts with imprecision. "Let Uncle Jack's big cock get you right, darlin'." He grunts, his cock stroking your walls and waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "I'll give this tight little cunt what it needs." He groans and leans back. His hands grip your hips and you can feel his balls slapping against you. You wanna reach back and hold them in your hands, lick up the seam of skin in the middle and glide your tongue along his dick. "Goddamn. That cunt's got me lassoed up real tight." His fingers dig deep into your flesh as he hammers into you. "'M 'bout to shoot. Nnnggh--"

"Yeah?" you whimper, excitedly.

Jack's quick to react. His body falls on top of you, wrapping a hand around your mouth, the other around your waist. His thrusts grow deep and erratic. "You shut your goddamn mouth, little whore. This ain't about makin' you feel good. This is about makin' you shut up and do as your fuckin' told, alright?" He doesn't wait for your answer. He's got you wrapped up so tight you can't even move if you wanted to. He stops speaking and all you can hear is him hissing and his teeth clacking together every so often. Then with a loud, deep groan, his hot spend begins pumping inside of you and coating your walls. His grip on you loosens and before you know it, he's gone. Your body is cold. All the goodness you had been feeling has disappeared.

You turn over and see Jack tucking himself back inside his jeans. You both watch as his sticky white cum leaks out of your hole and soaks into the bed sheets. He buckles his belt and asks, "Now what do you say, huh? For makin' Uncle Jack put you right?"

He won't look you in the eyes, still staring between your legs. So you reach down with two fingers and scoop his cum back inside of you. "Thank you, Uncle Jack."

He clears his throat. "That's right." He turns around and before leaving your room he says, "Next time you need to get put right you come find me." He looks over his shoulder. "You don't wanna find out what's gonna happen if I gotta find you first, li'l missy. Now, get dressed." He adjusts his t-shirt in your doorway and the next thing you hear are his bootsteps echoing through the hall and down the stairs.

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additional tags: @xdaddysprincessxx