#but the temptation to be dramatic is too powerful

[lxgentlefolkcomic]

Wilhelm, while your in hell, may you please tell that impaling jerk I said hi?

[rey-jake-therapist]

Galadriel going off with Sauron into the sunset as full “dark couple” not only seems highly unlikely to me, but doesn’t make sense storywise, honestly. I know a lot of Saurondriel fans want this, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. I mean, Tolkien fans would indeed lose their minds, like the Polish reviewer says, but that’s way too extreme, in my opinion.

I do think she will temporarily succumb to Sauron’s temptation (that’s also lore-breaking, because in the books Galadriel sees right through him), and she might be willing to go with him and be his queen (messing up genealogies as created by Tolkien), but something will break it off: herself, Elrond or even Nenya itself (proving once and for all the Elven Rings are not under Sauron’s influence). Galadriel not being able to resist Sauron would also show how powerful he truly is to the audience, and how powerful Galadriel herself is going to become in the future.

If they go with S1 finale 2.0. it would be extremely disappointing, and boring. Not to mention it would undermine both characters, and destroy all the foreshadowing and build-up S2 has been preparing so far.

Also, Sauron will most likely forge the One Ring after this. He poured all of his cruelty, malice and evilness, as well as a huge part of his soul and power, into the ring, binding it to his very being. Him being full of anger, hatred and grief after Galadriel being denied to him makes perfect sense (meaning she won’t be by his side), even more so than simply Galadriel saying “no” again (S1 finale rehash). The One Ring destroys and poisons the mind of every being who takes a hold of it, and takes away the very will to live; Sauron should have been in the depths of “f*ck you all, Imma burning it all down” when he forged it. The “precious” tempts power, but power is also a form of lust, obsession and unrequited love up to 100. I think, thematically, this all makes sense with what RoP is doing with Galadriel and Sauron dynamic/connection and how it will remain a core part for the series until the end.

I might go off anon and use my main account in here if I’m right 😂

Yup, I agree with all of this. Galadriel going full dark, even for a short period of time, would be very OOC imho. I love Saurondriel but I don't want that. I want a story that stays true to the characters, especially Galadriel. I'm not a Tolkienist by any means, I don't mind all the changes that were brought to the lore so far and I'm just enjoying the show ; but doing this would do a disservice to the character of Galadriel, I think, regarding what we know of her even within the show itself.

I'm still wondering if it's already in Sauron's plans to forge the One Ring, or if it's something that will come later, as you suggest... But I love the idea that the show brings, even if it's not explicit (yet...) : that Sauron's first idea was to forge two rings for him and Galadriel, but decided to forge one very powerful ring for him and him alone, once he knew he would have to rule by himself. And if your instinct is right and that for a moment, he believes he can win her back... It makes the whole story even more dramatic !

[elsfleur]

⋆·˚ ༘ * COOL ABOUT IT - PART TWO

ellie williams x reader

summary: it was an odd thing to enjoy your work, but with a passion for music and a fling with your coworker the days at the record store seemed bright, until of course you meet her girlfriend.

content warning: i guess it’s angsty, very filthy smut with sub!ellie and dom!reader, mentions of cheating and bad self image, implies of degradation, mentions of masturbation

word count: 1,749 and previous part here

📼 ʾ ⠀

she would come to you in dreams, pale green eyes pointed at you like a weapon, body soft as a menace, reach out towards your face and in tenderness you’d surrender as though you never meant to have walked away in the first place. you’d wake up panting the nights you’d forgive her, you’d shower away the disgust the nights you thought to have felt her tongue– traitor was a dramatic word, but your heart claimed it as ellie’s synonym.

work had become insufferable but you grew into an astoundingly good employee, never at the break room as to not encourage ellie into a conversation, constantly roaming around and chatting up clients with entire discography conversations going as far as escorting them to their car in odd fashion, you appeared sparkling and every glance of your shine that reached ellie’s senses immediately sent her skin on fire. she had been miserable and lazy, escaping from her thoughts only through deafening music as to drown out the distance between you, you too a constant in her nightly affairs, forgiving, beautiful, near.

she melted into the couch imagining it your embrace, let the melody transport her into better times, hated herself for replacing her songs with your laugh as a favourite track, for indulging in temptation through entirely wrong means. she thought herself a symptom of disease, wreckening plague in the lives of those she cherished that once established could only widespread devastation. the idea that perhaps keeping you casual and secret would make it unknown to the universe and therefore not give it the power to ruin it was stupid, once she fully thought it out, but it had been comforting. allowing your affection to fill in the broken cracks of her being as though glueing them together was a sensation she knew selfishly not deserved but craved as a drug addict. you thought she called you her angel as a bit, but she felt it pulsing through her veins.

tears prickled her eyes for the eleventh time that shift, heavy metal not enough. turning the volume down her body rolled sideways and she begged it into slumber for moments of peace.

“wake the fuck up williams we’re mid shift” you cursed taking hold of her headphones and tossing them aside rather agressively, the girl immediately stood up overwhelmed, a scoff being her immediate response to your turned back heading out the room.

“what the fuck? you haven’t spoken to me for fucking weeks those are the first words you say to me since you left this place before i could even explain anything and you just go walking away again?”

“jesus christ, i’m sorry someone woke up cranky from their midday nap but what the fuck else do you even want me to say? oh right i’m sorry, how about how’s your girlfriend?”

“we broke up” ellie stated simply before interruption.

“great! and i suppose you want me to run into your arms straight into a sunset beach now while it rains unicorns and rainbows, isn’t that right?”

“oh my god you are the most insufferable human being i have ever met! i fucking hate you and i hate the way every time we walk to work together you have to stop and pick out a flower at every single bush we walk by and if i don’t put it behind my ear your feelings gets hurt and you have the goofiest smile making fun of me, and i hate the stupid witchy herbs you make me ruin my weed with that makes it taste so girly and like you and i hate the way my mouth memorized your fucking lipgloss to the point i can’t do anything without feeling you on my lips and it drives me fucking insane, i hate your frilly little love songs that only start sounding not so bad by the hundredth listen and i hate that i fucking know the lyrics to taylor swift now and you made me relate to them! i hate your smile and i hate that fruity perfume you wear that always gets stuck to my clothes and i hate the way you looked at me like i’m a good person to the point i almost believed you for a second and and i hate your lame ass sense of humour and how you’re the only one who laughs at my fucking jokes and god worst of all i hate the way i can’t even begin to hate you at all!”

you opened your mouth to reply though not quite sure what words would escape you, but she was quicker, pacing around and heightening her tone in complete desperation that cracked knuckles in soothing.

“no and you know what? yes i fucked up and i cheated on my three year relationship but we were fucking done! we have been done for years! and we haven’t been more done since the day i first laid eyes on you and thought this girl is going to fucking ruin my life! i am worse than a cheater, yes, i’m a coward! because guess what angel, it has always been you. god, it probably has been you since before i even knew you existed and you don’t understand how insane it is to say this because you’re the one who believes the whole soulmate bullshit! i’m a mess and i’m fucked up and i’m too much and still not enough and-“

“ellie” you called out, her eyes finally meeting your own as you felt immersed in the same light green dreams you have ferociously tried to escape from, the pink lips you knew so intimately quivering at your stare as though taunting you to kiss its fear away, you had heard enough for an answer “kneel.”

“what, do you want me to beg for your forgiveness now?” ellie asked ironic though her legs were compliant, lowering themselves till she fell on her knees, running a hand through her messy hair to keep it from falling on her face staring up at you in clear shot.

“take off your shirt” you demanded, watching intently as she lifted up her arms to remove the fabric obeying though deeply confused, her cheeks flushing red with the attention, eyes drifting everywhere except for your face until your hand found the edge of her chin and forced it up to meet your eye “you’ve done enough talking”

“i fucking hate that you lied to me” you started impossibly close to her face “i hate the way you ruined this job for me, i hate that i can’t look at you without feeling sick with desire like a desperate whore pulsating at flashes of skin, i hate that i’m so used to moaning your name that you may aswell have ruined sex for me aswell, and i fucking hate how your little girlfriend kissed you infront of me and doesn’t even know your mouth was sucking on me minutes earlier, take off your pants”

she slowly rose up to detach herself from the jeans squeezing her figure, only to be pushed back down once fully rid of them back onto the ground, you weren’t finished.

“i hate that i can see how wet you are right now, i hate that you have made it so i feel disgusted to touch you, i hate that i still want to do it so fucking bad as if your moans in my ear would erase your dumb mistakes from my memory. just a question, were you fucking her when you were with me too? nevermind that’s silly, of course you were, unless you spent six months making her believe you have gone celibate-“

ellie shook her head hard, gulping down “n-no i didn’t, i told you angel it was a façade relationship all i wanted-“

“shut up. touch yourself” you ordered as she slid a hand under her underwear, lightly rubbing on her clit and silencing own whimpers through biting down her lip “i hate that i have to ask myself if she made you feel good like i did, if she knows your whole dominant archetype is actually just hiding a brat who wanted to be ordered around and fucked so bad, right els? did she get you on her knees for her too, touching yourself to the thought of her before she even took off her clothes? or am i just special?”

“angel” ellie moaned out, inserting a finger into herself.

“does she know about the freckles on your hipbone that look like the gemini constellation? did she see the bite mark i left there last time we fucked? does she know you like it when i spell my name on your pussy with my tongue, has she tried it? do you remember what it feels like to be inside me as opposed to her, remember begging to add more fingers so you could feel my walls closing in on you, remember staying inside even after i came because you wanted to feel the warmth around you, was she warm for you, ellie?” you asked, warm breath hitting her face like a makeout.

“angel, please” she begged embarrassingly.

“please what? use your fucking words since you wanted to have the last one so fucking bad”

“please fuck me” ellie moaned out arching her back with a gasp as you easily slid one of your own fingers inside her alongside hers, the sounds of wetness with your every thrust bordering filthy.

“i hate that i can’t fucking stop dreaming about you, that you’re so fucking wet for me you’re drenched, that i’m thinking after all this making me an idiot i shouldn’t let you cum, how’s that?” you asked curling your fingers inside her which lead to a near pornographic moan escaping past her lips and an aggressive head shook to your words “i hate your stupid lake eyes and how they shine like galaxies, i hate the way you hold my hand to cross the street because you know i get distracted, i hate the way you effortlessly played my favourite song on the guitar although you claimed before to not like it, i hate how badly i want to fuck the attitude out of you until my heart stops hurting about this”

“i’m sorry, my angel, i’m so sorry” she croaked out whimpering, swaying her hips for friction with your fingers every movement making it harder to keep a cleared mind, dizzy in desire “fuck, i’m here now please please let me show you i can be good i want to be yours”

“want?” you chuckled removing your fingers and shoving them by her mouth so she’d taste herself on them, sucking slowly “you are mine, ellie. i just haven’t decided if i’m yours”

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

The World Shrinks to the Circle of Your Arms

Happy Dorym Week 2024! Today's drabble is inspired by the prompt "I miss you. (I love you.)" and the song May I by Trading Yesterday

I'll post all my drabbles to AO3 later, but for now enjoy them here on tumblr.

(Beware spoilers for Episode 95)

-----

“She’ll be alright.”

Dorian kneels down in front of Orym, who in the aftermath of Laudna’s dramatic window exit has stumbled over to the wall opposite and slid down to sit on the floor. He barely glances at Dorian, instead his eyes are locked on the inky black square of night beyond the window.

“I don’t think any of us have been alright for a long time, Dorian.” he says, voice cracking with exhaustion. His eyes don’t leave the window. “I just wish I could understand why she’s so determined about this.”

Sighing, Dorian reaches out and brushes his fingers against the side of Orym’s face. His heart flutters at the way his friend leans into the contact, but he tamps the feeling down. It’s just comfort, friendly comfort. After the night he’s had, Orym just needs a friend.

He swallows hard and says, “Probably for the same reasons you’re determined. You’re both grieving, you just have different ways of showing it.” 

Orym finally tears his eyes away from the window, ducking his head with a small wry smile playing at his lips. “Gods. I’ve missed you. You always know what to say.”

“I wish that were true,” Dorian moves to Orym’s side and slides down the wall next to him, pulling the blanket from his bedroll over their laps against the night-time chill. He lets his head thump back against the wood paneling. If he knew what to say Cyrus would probably still be alive. Opal would still have all the feelings and memories that had been torn away by the spider queen. At least Dariax was fine. There, that was one person he’d used the right words for, one person he’d managed to save from the landslide that had become his life… 

Dorian is pulled away from his spiraling thoughts by Orym (probably unconsciously, Dorian thinks) leaning into his side, forcing him to pull his arm out of the way before it gets pinned in an uncomfortable position. He holds it in the air for a moment, unsure, then gives into temptation and wraps it around Orym’s shoulders.

Orym hums softly and leans harder into him. “I mean it. I missed you. I… I thought about you every day.”

“Even on the moon?” Dorian asks with a quiet chuckle.

“Even then,” says Orym, pausing as he yawns so widely Dorian thinks he can hear his jaw creak. Orym presses a palm against his eyes and Dorian can see a faint tremor to his normally steady hands. When he speaks again his voice is quieter, tone approaching dreamlike. “Did you know they call Exandria the ‘blue promise’? They look up at us and have hope for the future. I…”

He cuts off abruptly, turning his face away, though Dorian can still see the flush staining his cheekbones.

They sit quietly for a long moment, then Dorian swallows hard and gathers his courage. “I missed you every day too, Orym. There… there wasn’t a single day I didn’t wish you were by my side.” 

He feels Orym slump against his side, his breath finally evening out into exhausted slumber. With an amused huff the genasi tucks their shared blanket more firmly around them both and rests his cheek against the top of Orym’s head.  

“Hope for the future,” he whispers, breath ruffling Orym’s hair. “There’s worse things to wish for.”

Try as he might, though, sleep is not so quick to claim Dorian. He holds Orym tucked close into his side and thinks of friends lost to objects of immense and powerful darkness. The last thing he remembers before his eyes finally, blissfully, slide shut is the pale streaks of dawn peaking through the window and the creak of floorboards as his wayward companions return. 

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Trouble maker

X Men Masterlist

It is a dark, rainy night when Y/N suddenly appears in the field. With a soft *pop*, she materializes right next to Charles and Erik, in the middle of their mission. Charles spins around, his eyes widening as he sees her.

“Y/N?” he asks, surprised, his voice gentle but concerned. “What are you doing here?”

Erik raises an eyebrow but keeps a hand hovering slightly in the air, ready to use his powers. “Did you get lost, or did you intentionally come here to spoil our fun?” His voice is as deep as ever, laced with that ironic undertone.

Y/N grins and steps closer, water dripping from her clothes. “Fun? Did you really think I’d let you go off without me?” She leans in slightly, letting her fingers playfully glide over Charles’s arm. “What kind of mission would it be without me?”

Charles’s face remains serious, but his lips twitch slightly. “I just didn’t want to put you in danger.” His gaze softens as he looks at Y/N.

Y/N sighs dramatically, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “You and your eternal caution,” she whispers before kissing him on the lips. The kiss is slow and intense, the tension between them immediately palpable.

Erik, observing this, smirks. “Really? In the middle of the mission?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Y/N pulls away from Charles, turns to Erik, and smirks. “Maybe you shouldn’t complain so much. You could be next.” She teleports directly in front of Erik, grabs his jacket, and pulls him down towards her. “Or what do you think, Magneto?” she whispers seductively and presses her lips against his.

Erik hesitates for a moment before returning the kiss, his hands firmly resting on her hips. But after a moment, he pulls away and grins. “That could be distracting,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” Y/N says, her eyes sparkling with delight. “But you like it when I distract you, don’t you?” She lightly trails her fingers over his chest before pulling back.

Charles clears his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “Let’s focus. We have a job to do.”

Y/N takes a step back, tossing her wet hair over her shoulder. “So, what’s the plan, you two tactical geniuses? Let me guess: Erik causes chaos, and you, Charles, sneak into people’s minds?”

Charles nods, his eyes serious. “Erik distracts the guards, I penetrate their thoughts. You, Y/N, can teleport us into the more difficult areas. We need to get this done quickly and efficiently.”

Y/N clicks her tongue. “How boring. Where’s the fun in that?” She grins widely and playfully teleports around the two of them. “I could make this so much more interesting.”

Erik watches her, his eyes dark and intense. “If you cause too much trouble, you’ll be the one who gets punished.”

Y/N blinks innocently and teleports directly into his arms. “Oh, please,” she murmurs, lightly stroking his jawline. “Will you promise me that?”

Erik narrows his eyes but says nothing. Instead, he gently pushes her away while Charles sighs. “Focus, Y/N,” he warns, though there’s a faint smile in his voice.

---

They enter the building, and immediately spring into action. Erik raises his hand and hurls a massive metal plate at the guards before they can react. Y/N teleports between them, skillfully kicking a guard to the ground and winking at Erik. “See? I can cause a bit of chaos too.”

Charles stands still for a moment, closing his eyes. “There are more in the next room. Be ready.”

Y/N teleports to Charles and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m keeping an eye on you.” Then she teleports back next to Erik and whispers in his ear, “And you too, Magneto.”

Erik gives a slight grin and raises his hands defensively. “Always with the temptation. But first, the mission.”

---

In the central room, they finally reach the weapon, a menacing machine surrounded by a shimmering barrier. Erik tries to manipulate the metal structure, but the barrier is stronger than expected.

“It looks like I could use some help here,” he murmurs.

Y/N steps closer and examines the barrier. “Can you crack it, Charles?”

Charles closes his eyes, his face tense with concentration. “Maybe… It’s complicated. Give me a moment.”

Y/N teleports behind the barrier while Charles tries to weaken the energy mentally. She looks at Erik, who is watching her, and grins. “Ready to save my life, Magneto?”

Erik snorts. “Isn’t that more my job?” He raises his hand as the barrier flickers.

Y/N teleports into the barrier, grabs the device, and destroys it with a precise blow. The apparatus explodes, and the energy barrier dissipates in a shower of sparks.

She teleports back to Charles and Erik just as the building around them begins to shake slightly. “Done,” she pants and leans casually against Erik.

Charles takes a deep breath, his forehead sweaty, but he smiles. “You saved us once again.”

Y/N winks at him. “Of course. What would you two do without me?”

Erik steps closer, placing a hand on her hip and looking at her intently. “Well done, Trouble maker,” he says, his voice deep and quiet.

Y/N laughs softly, one hand on Erik’s chest, the other stroking Charles’s arm. “Alright, boys. If you’re so grateful… how about you make it up to me?” Her eyes sparkle challengingly.

Charles tilts his head slightly and pulls Y/N closer. “I think we’ll find a way to show you how grateful we are,” he says, his voice gentle and earnest.

Erik grins wider, his eyes dark with desire. “But be sure, love … you’ll need rest afterward.”

Y/N’s smile widens, and she teleports between the two of them, her arms loosely draped over their shoulders. “I’m curious how long you will last.”

With one last mischievous grin, she lets herself be drawn deeper into the darkness by the two men, ready for her own special mission.

[beneathashadytree]

CLUMSY LOVE - LEON DOMPTEUR X READER

Warnings : mentions of injuries, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff <3

Word count : 0.9K words

Additional notes : This was born after seeing @leonscape ‘s posts, reminding me of how criminally underrated this man is in the fandom. His kind of safe, warm love is right up my alley, because I can’t imagine anything more comforting.

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

Leon Dompteur was a prince in all but blood. He had the refined poise and power over every room he walked into, the indelible charm that pulled everyone in, the wicked spirit that thrummed underneath his skin and fought to make it out, and the bravery to serve one’s country as one would lay his own life down.

But one thing he was not even remotely princely in, was fine motor skills. With big calloused hands, long and thick fingers, and hardened palms over the years, so used to handling roughness and sharpness, it made perfect sense that he would find it difficult to handle the smaller things that required immense concentration and deftness.

That, however, did not necessarily stop him from trying. For what it’s worth, it seemed that he was hellbent on changing that one shortcoming of his, constantly trying to do things his hands frankly weren’t meant to do.

Many a time did the kitchen staff stumble upon the fourth prince trying to pipe saccharine icing ontop of the cookies Yves had just pulled out of the oven, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tried to scribble sugar lines. In the end, they always looked wonky, but Yves helplessly sighed every time and patted him on the back for trying.

Sometimes, Jin would be nursing a bottle of expensive wine in melancholy, a despondent look on his face, and Leon would then offer to take his paperwork and finish it up for him. Though he tried his best to imitate his eldest brother’s manner of writing, he simply wasn’t made for the tiny, neat calligraphy that Jin often resorted to, and his attempts at doing so only made the writing all the more illegible.

And though Licht was adamant to always hide his countless injuries from his brothers, Leon’s keen eye always caught sight of at least a few unhealed wounds littering his pale skin. It was up to him as his caring older brother to offer to patch up his bloodied forearms (something that was always met with a bit of push and pull), but he probably did more harm than good, what with all the loose tiny bandages and squiggly lines of ointment on the infinitely small wounds.

Still, nothing seemed to deter him from trying, even if he knew that—realistically speaking—his chances of success were incredibly low. Leon best expressed himself through actions that bared his big heart, and he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. If anything, his failures only made him more determined to try and share his brothers’ burdens even more.

And that little quirk of his also extended to his beloved, of course. After all, in his eyes, there wasn’t a single person in the world more worthy of his attention and care. To others, it was a great shame for a prince to supposedly “debase himself by serving another”, but the mere idea made his blood boil. If anything, he—a prince made of nothing—would give the world to them should they show a sliver of interest in it.

In a less dramatic manner, he resorted to doing little things, like that he did on one particularly pleasant spring manner. The weather was too good to pass up on a nice stroll in the gardens with his lover. Said stroll slowly crumbled with the temptation of laziness, and soon turned into lazing around in the freshly cut grass in the midday sun.

Their hand was brushing through his ebony locks, twirling strands between their fingers as their other hand flipped page after page of their book. With all the duties planted on their shoulders, they had little time left to read and relax like this. Thankfully, that meant that they paid Leon no mind as he fiddled with something.

A few minutes passed, maybe half an hour (they did have a habit of losing track of time while reading), and he turned to face them in their lap. His bright smile was almost as blinding as the afternoon sun above, and when he tugged at their sleeve, they didn’t know what to expect—but it certainly wasn’t whatever it was that he presented them with.

Curiously inspecting it for a beat or two, they didn’t know what to call it. After all, Leon was never good with his hands, and that was common knowledge by now. Anything he made was practically unrecognizable without an introduction.

“That’s a…?”

He took their discontinued sentence as an invitation to elaborate. “A ring made out of flowers.” He grinned even wider as he pointed at it. “See. All daisies.”

“Well, they’re not very… sturdy, I think,” they laughed out, turning it around in their fingers. “It’s the thought that counts though. So thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Leon shook his head, before he took their hand gracefully in his, slipping on the makeshift ring with less than half of that grace. A quick prayer was sent above to whoever was listening, hoping that it would not fall apart—and, much to his relief, it stayed in place, wonky daises with half-broken stems and all.

“Is this a proposal?” They jokingly nudged him with their newly-adorned ring finger, not expecting the soft look he returned them with, nor the gentle kiss he pressed against their knuckles.

“A place-holder, until I find you the perfect ring.”

And though he was never quite good with small things or fine skills, he clearly was well-versed in the art of getting their heart to pound furiously against their ribcage, threatening to spill into his hands; for him to have and hold. Only he—and no one else—had the ability to make them fall head over heels, over and over again, slowly and then all at once, just like it were the first time.

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[blckfyres]

Hi hi! Okay so those song prompts are magnificent. How about ‘17. And at once I knew, I was not magnificent - Holocene, Bon Iver’

It would be good to have something where Aemond l sees the reader for the first time at a ball or something and his own little view that he is superior to others comes crashing down because he is in absolute awe of her? Feel free to alter/tweak/change whatever!

thank you so much @littlemisscaptainfandom ! i ran wild with this one. feral. i love the idea of aemond being outplayed because of his smugness, and the ball idea - enjoy!

request a song prompt!

Magnificent

Warnings: Aemond being in deep denial lmao WC: 3333 (nice)

Prompt 17: "And at once I knew, I was not magnificent" - Holocene, Bon Iver

He heard you long before he saw you – the uneven heel clacking of a noble’s daughter who had shirked one too many dance lessons. 

“No,” he heard a lilting voice laugh, impatiently. “Like this - right foot second, you dolt.”

Dolt indeed – the instruction was lost on the girl, whoever in the Seven she was. Yet another sacrificial lamb to lure the unwed dragon into marriage, no doubt. Even with one eye and a turned back, Aemond could practically smell her family’s pathetic attempt at temptation – a corset two sizes too small and a family ambition two leagues too large. 

The prince didn’t deign to watch the scene. He preferred the game of gleaning, observation – seeing without seeing. Creating the tapestry in his mind and tracing the threads to know which to pull to watch it all unravel. It had long been said by the Maesters that when one loses a sense, the others bolster themselves, and indeed, all he had to do was listen.

Aemond heard the Dolt relinquish a dramatic sigh. “It seems that I simply must retire to the fray then Elyana, lest I bring shame upon our most noble house.” 

The younger – Elyana – huffed.

“It would be wise. How father expects to make you a dragon bride, I will never know. You cannot dance, or sing, or embroider –” 

“Yes, and lest we forget my stunning lack of maternal instinct,” you lamented. “Remember when Darya’s little one bit me?”

Aemond smiled – smug, slight, vulpine. He was right, of course, as he always was. 

The sudden sound of shattered glass upon flagstones jerked Aemond out of his wager. He acted on instinct, as he always did, head whipping towards the drunken laughter and breaking his reverie. Behind him indeed stood two girls, as different as the sun and moon. The younger, dressed in fine lilac gossamer and silver, swiftly began to chase the bard and beg for another song. 

And then there was you. Aemond’s eye roamed your figure, appraising the rich, dark olive of your gown and its deep, square neckline – Braavosi velvet, he’d wager, a show of wealth to have such long sleeves of the stuff. A little demure for an attempted seduction, he mused. Perhaps her family thought to appeal to mother’s piousness. 

The prince would never admit that this was the longest he had stared at a woman. He simply wanted to improve his skill of gleaning, listening, to compare the observations he made with the reality before him. It was imperative to absorb every detail; the way that your gold pendant heaved with your shallow, shocked breathing, and the sliver of hair resting on your cheek. There was a power in your tensed shoulders - coiled, reactive, ready for the threat of weight. Aemond felt his fingers twitch against his will, a yearning to carry it for you. 

He snapped himself back to reality with an internal grimace - the dragon cannot lie with the lamb. The music had begun again, and you finally turned towards him, face blanching at his discovered proximity. 

“Prince Aemond,” you started, eyes wide, muscles coiled – caught in the courtly snare. 

The lamb is too stunned to curtsey, he mused, watching your quick fingers wringing the golden band on your thumb. You certainly were the most radiant of the sacrifices offered to him so far. Though, he parried, there would be little use in marrying a fool.

Aemond hummed, relishing in your panic for a few seconds longer than any decent gentleman would.

“I’m half-blind, not half-deaf,” he said lowly, taking a step closer. “One would do well to be wary of the court, my lady. You never know who might be listening.” 

Your eyes narrowed imperceptibly – a flash of something Aemond didn’t quite recognise, gone as quickly as it appeared. Idiots have trouble accepting their transgressions, he supposed, but her polite smile had something hidden behind it, like the dark side of the moon. Deep within the tides of the fray, Alicent observed the scene with a ghost of a smile. She watched the girl hide fire and intelligence in her muscles like a coiled serpent, and bitterly wished that she had the same instinct as a girl. Perhaps then she could have avoided her fate of staring at ceilings and dancing with dragons.

Her prayer was silent as she observed you, implored with eyes instead of the tongue: Keep buying your time, sweet girl. Her second son was much too perceptive not to see through your mummer’s moronity eventually – she could already see Aemond’s eye probing your mask.

“Aemond,” the Queen beckoned with a regal nod of her head.

Time. She thought, noting the way your minds danced around each other, palpable. Love matches were rare, mind matches even more so – but she could see the way you looked at one another. Time and choice. She would gift you the mercy the gods denied her. 

The prince pried his eye away from you with great effort, waiting for you to answer him. You remained silent, gaze unwavering.

Interesting. He conceded as he walked towards his mother. For a dolt.

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

Your eyes narrowed through the dim candlelight. The crowd ebbed and heaved like fresh seafoam, and you searched for your sister, your anchor in the waves, like the Oldtown lightower would a lost ship. In truth, you felt uneasy without Ely, your sworn shield against courtly attentions. It had been like this ever since you were children – a symbiotic relationship, the tide to your moon. She would sing and whirl through your father’s halls, a gossamer dervish, drawing the attention to herself and leaving you free to pursue your histories and hidden halls, and hone your sharp tongue.

You finally spotted the girl by a large table of ale, humouring a dark haired young lord who had not yet grown into his long limbs. You weaved your way through the crowd to reach her, forming a courtly, waxen smile to begin your manoeuvre. 

“Sister!” You gasped, watching Elyana’s dark eyes twinkle as she recognised your ruse. “Mother requires you at once–” You cocked your head, silently wondering how every little lord fell for it. “Something about Ser Randyll?” 

The little lord – Arryn, you’d wager by his gleaming brooch – blanched at the sight of your mother in deep conversation with Lord Reyne and his son. You stifled a laugh watching his chest puff up slightly at the challenge – your work was done. You pried your sister away from the little falcon’s talons, barely managing to stifle your laughing fit until he was out of earshot. 

“Seven hells, Y/N, it took you long enough!” she huffed, preening over your shoulder to make sure that the young Lord Lannister hadn’t seen the exchange and think her spoken for. She had always been a romantic, excessively so, even for her six and ten years.

You pinched her dimpled cheek with a grin. “That’s for having far too much mirth in calling me a dolt earlier.” 

Elyana rolled her eyes, batting your hand away. “It was your grand strategy, if I recall.”

“Yes, and I accounted for the pinch.” You said wickedly, before surveying the hall.

“A job well done I’d say, The Prince heard our performance. I even refused to curtsey. He’ll no doubt relay my idiocy to the Queen, and we’ll be home in no time at all.” 

Elyana regarded you pensively, gently taking hold of your hand. Her gentleness felt like a cage to you, sometimes – perceptive, inescapable. “You know you will have to marry one day.” 

Your sister watched your eyes flutter, soaking in your surroundings like a sponge. Your reply was barely audible over the internal hum of your own thoughts. “Not like this.” 

You had decided that long ago. You knew you couldn’t escape a married fate – all women were cursed with the knowledge of how their lives would go from the moment they stepped into their first etiquette lesson with the septa. But, if you were to be married, it would be on your terms.

Impossible, father often branded you, but always with a fond smile.  If you could not escape your fate, you would fiercely guard the little time you had with your freedom as the kingsguard would protect the king.

Though sometimes, when alone in the vespertine hush of your chambers, you could admit the presence of a longing in yourself, a desire to be seen for who you were by whoever you might be sold off to. Such longing is dangerous, you told yourself. Expect the swing of the sword, never mercy. Especially if you found yourself drawn to the wielder like a moth to flame – you were lucky to have honed your courtly mask so well upon seeing his handsome face. Though you had heard takes of the “one-eyed brute”, there was little account of  the beautiful shadow his cheekbones cast, and his knowing, surveying gaze. 

Your sister pulled you out of your thoughts, head nodding to a balcony alcove. She knew the price you paid for duty as the eldest. “Go. Take your refuge. I’ll be with mother.” 

You offered her a tired, grateful smile before wading through the crowd towards your sanctuary, too close to paradise to be aware of the shark circling. 

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

It wasn’t as though Aemond had been watching you. Mother had always taught him to be an attentive host - he was merely cultivating good will, bolstering support for the war to come. He watched you grab your third - no, fourth - glass of wine, an irritated huff escaping his nose. He supposed there was little use in lying to himself any longer - he felt pulled to you the same way he felt called to the skies. Perhaps this was the lust that seemed to drive Aegon to the depths of Fleabottom every night - maddening.

The more he watched you, the more his one good eye narrowed in bewilderment. Supposedly too dim to follow a septa’s simple instruction and notice the ears of court, yet cunning enough to weave your way through this nest of dancing vipers and their hungry sons. You could redirect the attention of a young lord with a single word, and charm your father with the raise of an eyebrow. You moulded the scenes that unfolded around you, parrying dance requests with a skill he’d only seen with Ser Cole and his morningstar. 

So why the overt blundering before him?  He leaned against the pillar, pensive. The only rational explanation he could fathom was that you had heard stories of him and thought to demean yourself as a marriage prospect. The prince scowled. Of course. What woman such as her would want a one-eyed beast as a husband?  Aemond felt his insides twist and his fingers twitch, barely containing the ire towards himself. 

Despite your repulsion of him, Aemond felt his curiosity turning ravenous in his stomach as he watched you approach your sister. He could not help but want to map you as The Conqueror once did his lands – even if you did not want him, he could watch your mind work from afar. So watch he did, as your sister held your hand in hers like water. He mapped it all to memory – your hushed words, the steely set of your eyes and jaw, your deceptive smile; a sliver of his favourite crescent moon.

The hour was late and the candles burnt low. Nobody would begrudge any of the young ladies for retiring for the night – the young Tyrell girl had already sunk so far into her cups that she had to be carried to her chambers like an overwatered rose. Yet there you slithered to the alcove, alone, alert with empty company and a full cup. 

Aemond had begun to follow you long before his mind registered the movement of his legs. He followed your trail through the flurry of bright skirts, drunk on the hunt. His long legs strode with a purpose that was lost to his conscious mind, stopping when he reached the boundary of the lush, red drapery. Aemond stood outside of your sanctuary for a long while before breaching it, in an act that almost reminded him of protection. From what, he did not know. A mangled dragon guarding its hoard, he thought wryly, before stepping onto the balcony with the silence of a predator. 

The prince wasn’t sure what he expected. A maiden in tears after being shunned at court, perhaps – he wasn’t sure how far you’d go to keep up the show. But there you were, in the furthest corner of the alcove, with your elbows on the dark stone and your eyes to the stars. He glanced at your now-empty cup before clearing his throat. 

You sighed imperceptibly before turning to face him. So you knew I was here, then. The thought made him hide a smile - the idea of you sensing his presence and ignoring him anyway, even if you tried to hide that fact. Insolent. He thought. Magnificent.

You bowed this time, with a tired, chagrin smile - an apology for earlier. “Forgive me, my Prince. It has been a while since my sister and I have been in the capital. The intricacies of court politics appear to be lost on me.”  

Aemond hummed, ignoring the way his innards clenched - my prince. He rather liked the sound of that. “Yet not so unhoned that you managed to avoid that Lannister whelp,” he paused, brow raised. It made him feel less shame to know he was not the only one you rebuked. “Not to mention that little Manderly lordling.” 

The Prince enjoyed watching you war with yourself - needing to keep your shield up, yet too tired and full of ire to keep up the ruse for much longer. 

“Evading them hardly requires a honed mind, my Prince.” You snorted. A clever answer. He thought. Too clever. 

“Aemond.” He corrected. You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious.  “If I am to play along with your farce, let the rest of it be real.” He amended, making his way next to you but never prying his eye away.

You breathed a laugh, toying with your rings again. “You see more with one eye than most do with two, Aemond.”

The prince hummed. “It is of little consequence. They still brand me “one-eye” after all.”

“Little,” you snorted again, a glorious sound. Real, he thought, the soft skin of your hand calling him as your voice did. Real enough to touch. “Perhaps everything seems little to the rider of the largest dragon alive.”

The mention of Vhagar earnt you a small smile - a true one that you couldn’t quite look away from. Somehow you knew that it was Aemond’s version of a face-splitting grin.

You basked in comfortable silence for a while, noting how he had placed you on his right side – away from his eyepatch. The revelation made you frown, but left your vision unobstructed. It gave you a better look at the way his hair fell, an estuary of molten silver. You committed his profile to memory - the sharp edges that were strong, true, until he suddenly met your eyes. For once, you were speechless - the lush darkness of the night and the sweet smell of gardenias were suddenly oppressive.

“I really can’t dance, you know.” You blurted. 

Aemond artfully raised an eyebrow in question. 

“Earlier,” you clarified. “what you heard.” You tucked your hair behind your ear with what you hoped was a self-effacing smile. “I really am a terrible dancer, it was no lie.” 

Aemond nodded grimly in understanding. “There is no need, my Lady, I understand your distaste for the match.” He stood taller, and tapped his eyepatch lightly. 

Aemond watched ten emotions cross your face at once, until you settled on the one that most puzzled him; anger. Your eyebrows furrowed deliciously, something he noticed you did before you wielded your barbed tongue, and your lips parted. He did not see how your heart caught in your throat, nor the way your hands almost sprung to hold his shoulders. You slapped your palms onto the cold stone instead.

“Gods no. No, that is,” you breathed, warring with yourself before finally conceding. “It is not you, Aemond. Nor the sapphire eye that likely costs more than my entire dowry,” you jested half-heartedly. 

You steeled yourself for honesty, looking into the sky once again and sneering in defiance at the gods who watched.  “If I am to be sold off, I at least want to choose my buyer.” 

Aemond’s gaze never left you, probing your truth as if he were caught in its net. He finally understood, and you knew he did. There was little that could be said, he thought.

Your eyes were almost crazed with a repressed frustration that was finally breaching the walls of your dutiful facade. A longing to be understood that matched his own. He saw fire – not that of ‘fire and blood’, but the fire of lightning. Beautiful, terrible, calculated in its strikes. Magnificent. 

You trembled as if to cull the rage from erupting out of you. Years of playing placater, unable to unleash the true potential of your mind and spirit. Aemond’s eye flitted down to the stone, observing the shaking of your hands.

He did the only thing he knew how to and rested his hand gently over yours, the same way he would calm Vhagar. Real, he thought. Warm. Much too warm. You calmed under his touch. He understood, you know he did – years at court culling your own ambition at the expense of duty. Aemond created the “one-eyed brute”, just as you created the “little dolt of a lamb”. 

You placed your hand over his. Horribly improper – it made you smile under the valleys of his scars and callouses. You wondered if you could map them in your mind as the maesters mapped the stars – a sky that was your own. Aemond felt your pulse thrum under his fingers and let it reverberate – his hands, his ears, his heart, his bones, it was all you. He knew you would have to leave soon enough, but for now, he would bask in you, knowing you’ve scorched him for life. 

“Aemond,” You said, hushed. “How far can a dragon fly?” You looked up to meet his faraway gaze, relishing in catching him off guard. His lips were slightly parted as he stared at your own. It took every ounce of his steel restraint not to pull you to him and show you the meaning of fire and blood. 

Instead, he hummed. “Vhagar has been known to make the trip from here to Dorne in a day, give or take - ”

He stilled at the interrupting shake of your head. If you had met his eyes, you would have noticed the questioning squint of his eye. Instead, your eyes were now trained above him, not wavering from the star-spittled sky.

“No,” you began, the gold of your necklace jingling as you craned your neck - as if the stars would be able to hear you better that way. “How high? Your maesters would not tell me.” 

Aemond stared at you for a moment, finally following your gaze upwards with a slight smile. You asked the maesters. Of course you did. The thought of you badgering them in the palace library filled him with a disturbing level of fondness. 

“Perhaps we could find out.”  

Your head whipped towards him, eyes sparkling in the dark. “We?”

Aemond hummed again, this time in affirmation as he took your hand in silent question. “If I’m steering Vhagar, who will take note of the scientific observations? Maybe you are a dolt after all, my lady.”  You squeezed his hand in your own, and your answering grin was like the sun. Magnificent.

[someonesblog1555]

MOST INTENSE SYNASTRY ASPECTS:

Mars opposite Pluto: This aspect isn’t talked about much because it tends to be somewhat rare. The best way to describe it is a taboo and magnetizing attraction to one another. One partner may be very intimidated by the other. In my personal relationship I have found the Pluto partner to be the obsessive one, while the mars partner tends to rebel against Pluto’s controlling nature. The sexual connection here isn’t over exaggerated. Sex is a power play. Sex is a mode of control and manipulation from both sides. This aspect can also breed vengeance. The Pluto partner desperately wants to possess the mars partner, and in doing so can become aggressive, and needlessly cruel to the mars partner. Overall this relationship includes dramatic displays of affection, and an overall taboo vibe to the entire relationship. The best way to describe this relationship is the famous quote “all is fair in love and war” because when this aspect is present the partners will do whatever it takes to win. Regardless of who gets caught in the middle.

Mars/Venus conjunct Lilith: From the very start the attraction here can feel as magnetizing as it is frightening. It can create an intense and raw connection between two people. Although there is clearly darkness creeping into the intimate moments together. With this aspect you may question if this relationship is right. You feel so drawn to each other, yet there is a repulsion that you can’t quite put your finger on. A relationship filled with intense stares, and indescribable tension. It’s the unbelievable sex that’s followed by a horrible gut feeling afterwards. Its giving into your temptation even though you know it’s wrong. This person, although they may be attractive, just irks you. Not in the way that would make you grossed out, but something deeper. Nonetheless, the sexual connection is incredible. It’s the type that keeps both partners coming back for more even after countless betrayals, and no matter how many people have been hurt. For some reason you can never shake the thought and this person, and they can never shake the thought of you.

Moon conjunct Lilith: This emotional connection. The type they write about in movies. The type you write home about. I see the darkest parts of myself reflected back to me when I am with you. You probably know this person better than they know themselves. You probably see their motives long before they can even recognize them. This bond is intuitive. It’s deep. A lot of time can pass, but when you reunite it feels as if you just saw each other days ago. It’s home as a person. You know each other. Too well. You know what they think, and what they feel, but since Lilith is involved things quickly get complicated. Both the moon and Lilith person have an extreme emotional attachment to one another. So much so that they can never truly close the book on their relationship. It’s always a farewell, but never a forever. With this connection. You always come back together. There is no final goodbye.

Venus trine Neptune: “I see stars in your eyes.” Was poetry written by Venus-Neptune people? Or was it written for them? Probably a mix of both. When these two planets meet in Synastry it feels as though actual magic is present within the relationship. It might as well be a perfectly written novel. There are tragedies. Passion. An overwhelming love for one another, and just an overall ethereal vibe to the entire relationship especially in the beginning. If you had any dreams or hopes for what love would be, then Venus trine Neptune would make those dreams a reality. In fact it would probably exceed your expectations for what love could be. Still this aspect signifies delusion. It also tells of an unconditional love. No matter what your partner does. You still love them. And the same is applied vice versa. Almost nothing could make you despise this person, you will always see the good in them.

[officialraylynn]

Love... Is in the air.

Also posted on AO3!!

Commission for @farmernotafarmer of Sable Ward and Danny Olsen (Ghostface) in their AU that was super fun to dabble in :D

Warnings and tags: Macabre Muse; first kiss, obsession, violent thoughts, violent urges, discussions of murder, trust, vulnerability, temptation, dreams and nightmares, the entity, bruises, fluff, wholesome, worship

Summary:

Sable is, apparently, the one urge Danny struggles to deny himself.

It was the perfect evening.

Through the open window, past the curtains wafting from a gentle breeze, the sky bled beautiful and vibrant across the horizon. Night was approaching, swallowing the hues of sunset in its abyssal maw, glistening teeth of stars soon to shine.

As the sunlight faded (soft glow replaced by the harsh white of the streetlights outside) the humidity plaguing Sable's small bedroom faded with it. With it gone, the lazily lounging (for even with the open window it had been too hot and humid for any activity) couple were given reprieve, were finally given the chance to take advantage of their day off.

For Danny, that meant getting messy.

Hauling his sketchbook out and plopping into a well-worn beanbag chair in the corner, his charcoals (current preferred medium) and sketch pencils within arm's reach. He started sketching with nothing specific in mind, trusting that before long something would spark inspiration— especially once Sable was finally ready to begin recording her podcast.

Sable never failed to inspire him, but like this? Headphones nestled among messy hair; pale legs awkwardly criss-crossed with her knees poking out from under the arms of her computer chair, the look of deep concentration on her face highlighted by the artificial glow of her monitor... She was breathtaking.

Mind you, Danny always thought Sable was attractive, there was simply something about her like this. Dressed down in a tank top and sleep shorts; emotions so free on her face, relaxed and open for him to see every flaw and perfect imperfection. Her vulnerability, her faith and trust in him— how could he ever ask for a more graceful, more beautiful sight?

"Good evening fine listeners."

Sable's voice broke Danny out of his starry-eyed staring, and he ducked his head to return his attention back to his sketchbook. He wouldn't want to psyche her out by so blatantly reminding her of her physical audience, after all.

"Tonight, I'll be talking about the mysterious "Love Letter Murderer". Strap yourselves in folks, this one's not your average serial killer- and if you're triggered by stalking, this is your warning to stop listening now."

For her, Danny had tried to resist. Had kept his gaze firmly on the paper in his hands, refused to be swayed... But Sable's voice (the passion, the melodic lilt, how powerful she made her words) was a siren's song his valiant attempts crumbled beneath.

By the time Sable was describing the murders, voice low and hushed for both dramatic effect and respect for the dead, Danny was ensnared. His hands skimmed listlessly over his sketchbook; his eyes transfixed on the way Sable gestured as she spoke, his ears hearing her voice but not taking in her words. She was beautiful, ethereal even. Something not of this world, brought into his life to tempt him— tempt him into what, he wasn't sure, but he had fallen hard.

Fallen into fantasies, his thoughts consumed by her. Thoughts of date nights and cozy mornings in. Of her pale skin, how easily it would bruise, how beautiful it would look blooming purple in the shape of his handprints. Of her voice, lovely and serene— the sounds of her screams (of pleasure, of pain) beneath him (his hands, his knife).

Danny didn't hear his sketchbook clatter to the ground as he stood, abrupt and urgent like a man entranced. Sable (headphones on and engrossed with her podcast) didn't notice his approach, his presence looming behind her or his hands reaching towards her.

"— One of many unanswered questions about these killings, is 'were they crimes of passion?'— huh?"

Danny's fingers pushed against Sable's jaw, tilting her head back so she could see him standing behind her. Confusion flickered across her face, but before she could finish asking "What's up?" Danny leaned in and rendered her silent by melding his mouth against hers.

Sable gasped, but didn't draw away. For those few heartbeats, this blissful eternity, nothing but this precious first kiss existed in the world.

It couldn't last forever, though, and soon Sable was pulling away from his touch and removing her headphones— the soft, fond look on her face was one Danny would cherish.

"What brought this on?" She asked, voice as gentle as her expression.

Danny shrugged and settled his hands on her shoulders, thumbs idly rubbing circles into them. "You're just..." he waffled for words before settling on kissing her forehead. "So damn beautiful."

Sable’s hands rose and settled over his, giving them an affectionate squeeze. “Am I now?” The bemused tone of her voice made Danny kiss her cheek, something very much like love unfurling in his chest.

“You’re spectacular.” Another kiss to her cheek, causing her to laugh oh-so-sweetly. “Breathtaking, inspirational,” his kisses swept over her face and pressed against her jaw, “simply amazing.”

“My my~” Sable laughed and titled her head to give him more room at her throat. “Should I talk about murderers more—” she cut herself off with a strangled sound, flailing slightly as she pulled away from Danny “—I’m still recording!”

Danny laughed and leaned over her shoulder, watching as she fussed with her recording and adjusted her equipment. Like this, flustered and huffy and real, she was less a fantasy and more… A tether to reality. This was what he wanted. Laughter, tender touches, the trust in her eyes when she gazed up at him with his hands so close to her neck.

“—I think if I just re-record from here, it should be fine—”

Content, he rested his head against Sable’s, soaking in her presence, allowing the warmth in his chest to take root. Maybe it wasn’t a fairy tale first kiss, but he was no Prince, and Sable was a witch not a Princess. He may have been charmed, swayed by dark temptation, but just as she had unwittingly bewitched him she had brought him to the light again.

Like this, Danny affectionately by Sable’s side, their perfect evening faded into a domestic night in. When the yawns seemed to never stop, when eyes were more closed than open, the couple retreated to bed. Sleep came for them quickly, but while Sable’s was restful and calm, Danny’s was plagued by murky dreams.

Dreams of a sketchbook filled with haunting and grotesque images, each page a different depiction of him intimately and violently murdering his muse, his beloved. A voice, timeless and ancient, spoke to him in these dreams, commanding him to follow, guiding him to a fog so dark it was a misty abyss.

If it wasn’t for Sable’s voice, faint yet pure and pleading, calling for him, a beacon for him to find his way home to her… Who knows if morning’s light would have shone on him again.

[lafemmemacabre]

(Not accusing the OP of the Metal subgenres poll of this, it just reminded me of the following.)

I really hate that most people have no fucking idea what Gothic Metal even is, they'll call anything heavier than Butt-Rock with pretty female vocals That to the point some include heavily Nu Metal influenced acts with NO influences from Death or Doom Metal in there (yes I'm talking about Evanescence) as a Gothic Metal band.

Don't even get me started on the Symphonic Metal ones. I get that the theatricality and romantics of most Symphonic Metal bands matches people's imaginary of a "gothic" band that plays Metal music, especially since fashion and often times theme-wise they're very similar, and at times Gothic Metal bands do mix in Symphonic elements, but it's not! The same! Sound! Symphonic Metal comes primarily from Power Metal and it fucking shows, Gothic Metal comes from Death Metal and Doom Metal with some goth music influences sometimes.

Like, Tristania sounds great with the strong symphonic elements they added from their second album onwards, but they still sounded Like Tristania in their first album when they pretty much weren't there, and that's still the base sound they kept having until the band went to shit later on. Even with the symphonics, they sounded very little like, say, Nightwish, post-debut Within Temptation or Delain, except for Pretty Lady Singing Dramatically And Lyrically To Heavy Guitars In A Long Dress.

ESPECIALLY don't get me started on the snobby goths who call any dark and gloomy Rock band that feels too heavy for their particular taste (because they only listen to Post-Punk and Deathrock) Gothic "Metal" when any self-respecting metalhead would explode at hearing, say, having The 69 Eyes be referred to as any sort of Metal at all. Or fucking Wisborg of all bands.

Aaaaaanything with deeper clean vocals and slightly more distorted guitar riffs is Gothic Metal to them no matter how obvious of a Gothic Rock shoe-in the band is, especially since it's not even common for Gothic Metal to have deep and clean "male" vocals. All in the spirit of decrying any goth band they don't personally fancy as Not Real Goth.

Where are the somewhat downturned guitar riffs? Where's the Death Metal growling? Where's the heaviness? The dramatics? The somberness? NOWHERE. If the band sounds less like Candlemass or My Dying Bride and more like Sonata Arctica, OR more like late Sisters of Mercy? IT'S NOT GOTHIC METAL.

[gffa]

Hi!  I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be because my view of the sequel trilogy lives in kind of a nebulous space, where I really like the characters and I actually like a lot of the potential of the storyline, but I dislike TFA, greatly dislike TLJ, and was actually pretty okay with TROS all things considered. I don't want to dig too deep into the negativity of my feelings but they're basically - TFA was too much of a repainting of ANH for me, the initial shine of it was through its potential, but when that didn't pay off in the other movies, the shine came off TFA, too. - TLJ was set too close to TFA, Finn's character should have been tied into the Canto Bight plot (which was exhausting as it was), as a stolen child soldier he has the most reason to hate the rich, but absolutely nothing was done with him, Luke being on that island for that long was out of character for him, Rey's entire story became wrapped up in Kylo Ren, neither of those characters had nearly enough connections with others despite having very good reasons to, like why do we not spend more time on Luke & Kylo?? and it played at being subversive but it absolutely was not, it's all been done before (and I really hated the way Force abilities worked in the movie) and killing off your main villain in the second act was a baffling decision - TROS' biggest problem is that it should have been two movies instead of one, it was a series of trailers rather than a story with breathing room, and it suffered the most from the lack of planning + the main villain being killed off in the second movie But here's why I still like The Rise of Skywalker the best:  The bones of what's there are a pretty good Star Wars story!  Yes, Rey Palpatine came out of nowhere and was very silly, but if you can't handle silly, I don't know how you can make it as a Star Wars fan, it's such a silly franchise! I'm not afraid to love a scene I laugh out loud at--and, yeah, I laughed RIGHT OUT LOUD the first time Kylo dramatically said, "You're a Palpatine."  I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes and let me tell you, I fucking LOVE that scene now. Or how the last words of any Skywalker, the last word Ben Solo/Kylo Ren ever says in the movies' franchise is, "Ow."  I am laughing RIGHT NOW, please, p l e a s e, that is so on-brand, I can't handle it, it's too funny. But I also like the basic storyline because Rey's story in TROS is her struggling with her own inner darkness, that she feels there's something dark in her soul because she's Palpatine's granddaughter.  The movie isn't saying that's true, but that Rey struggles with thinking it's true, and she has to wrestle with her dark side, just like every Jedi before her has as they're coming into their power. Anakin wrestled with his dark side and lost in Attack of the Clones and even worse in Revenge of the Sith. Luke wrestled with his dark side in the vision he sees of himself in Vader's helmet in the cave in ESB and in the climactic scene of ROTJ, where he nearly hacks his father's arm off in rage after his sister and friends are threatened.  He has to claw his way back out of that. Ezra Bridger struggles with the dark side in Rebels as he comes into his power and he has to claw his way out of it as well. Rey has to struggle with her own lure towards the dark side as she comes into her power--she rips a ship apart in the sky because she was so determined that Chewie was hers, she was so angry at Kylo that Force lightning burst out of her.  She's seeing Sith visions of herself on the wreckage of the Death Star.  This is a theme that has been there since the very beginning, that Jedi have to struggle through a temptation to the dark, and her relation to Palpatine preys on that. That's kind of why I wound up loving Ben's scene with Han as well, because that was an entirely imagined scene, but it represents that the way the Force works, you have to dig yourself out of the hole you're in, that Ben using the memory of his father, the last moments of connection he had with his mother, to pull himself out of the dark, really worked for me.  And I'm okay with his death, because this is Star Wars, people die before they should all the time. I even liked the political message of the final movie, yes, Rey vs Palpatine was the big Jedi vs Sith showdown, but the main galactic battle?  Had people showing up.  Just... people.  One of the themes I've talked a lot about, especially because The Clone Wars kind of has it as a running theme is that the average galactic citizen doesn't do jack shit about the state of the galaxy they live in.  The Rebellion had people starting to stand up, but it was an organized effort, it recruited people. TROS had just people showing up, that Leia and the Resistance had been trying to rally the cause, but ultimately it was the galactic public finally, finally saying, "We have to stand up and fight for ourselves, not depend on other people to do it."  Was it ham-fisted and not nearly as polished as it should have been?  Oh, no doubt.  But the message.  Just people showing up to fight against the First Order that was trying to bring back the Empire.  That meant a lot to me. And I loved Luke's character here, that he admitted when he was wrong, and gave us that banger line that's spot on:  "Confronting fear is the destiny of a Jedi."  Yes.  Yes.  FUCKING YES.  LUKE SKYWALKER AND JEDI PHILOSOPHY.  MY HEART.  Nailed it. Does this movie hang together as well as it should?  Absolutely not.  It needed a stronger writer, it needed more time than it got, and it needed better build-up.  But the bones of what was there were actually pretty good and, man, any movie that has Daisy Ridley in that white outfit with the hood where she looked practically ethereal cannot be all bad, in my opinion.

[owlseeyoulaterpal]

Like Real People Do, Chapter 7

Gale Dekarios x Named! Tav x Astarion Ancunín

Chapter Synopsis: Seraphina spends the night of the party with Astarion and does some introspection.

NSFW | 18+

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Four and a Half. Chapter Five. Chapter Six.

Read on ao3.

Word Count: 2.8k

Learn more about my Tav, Seraphina.

Chapter Seven: Eyes Always Seeking

“Seraphina!”

The sorcerer turned her head. Alfira was hopping and waving her hand at her. 

Oh gods she thought as she sipped her wine and walked over towards her, Lakrissa, and Astarion. She enjoyed Alfira, but being summoned over near Astarion’s tent right after speaking with Gale so honestly made her stomach churn. She didn’t know if it would be possible to have such an open conversation with Astarion and get a sense of how he felt about what this was between them.

“Hello, loves. Do you mind if I steal him for a bit?” Seraphina asked. 

“Go ahead but promise me you’ll help me with the song I’m writing about you!” Alfira exclaimed. 

“Write a song about our people, Alfira. But yes, I’ll come help you soon,” Seraphina smiled, squeezing Alfira’s arm as Lakrissa dragged her away.

“My savior,” Astarion sighed dramatically, looping an arm around her waist and yanking her close, their bodies pressed against each other. “I thought you were going to let me perish under the weight of all this praise and adoration.”

“Could never let that happen.”

He took a sip of his wine and leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

“It would be such an unsatisfying way to die. I’d much prefer a little death with you tonight,” he whispered. 

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Isn’t that what you want? Or am I the delusional one for thinking of our last night together ceaselessly?” His hand on her waist began to stroke up and down her torso, his fingers brushing against the side of her breast.

Seraphina giggled and pressed her forehead to his chest. 

“No. I’ve thought about it too,” she confessed. For a moment, he didn’t respond. She heard a quiet clink as he sat down his glass and his other hand pushed up against her chin, forcing her eyes up. He was smirking down at her.

“Then let’s get out of our heads and experience each other’s full portfolio of talents again,” he purred. “Though honestly, I was beginning to get worried the wizard had swooped in and stolen your affections for the night.”

“Worried? And why would that be?”

“I’d prefer for him to continue sticking his nose in books rather than between your legs. I quite like that spot,” Astarion said, his thumb gliding along the edges of her lips.

“Do you now?” she teased.

“Yes. Now, you will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?” Astarion asked directly.

“Hmm…maybe. I don’t think I’ve made my mind up yet about where I’ll spend my night,” Seraphina hummed, twisting her lips as if she was in deep in thought.

“Ah, you need to be seduced. Let me see,” Astarion pulled away from her and straightened his posture, pushing his shoulders back. “All these accolades from the refugees are nothing compared to the sound of my name cried from your lips.”

Seraphina sputtered and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“You can do better than that,” she said, raising an eyebrow and straightening her lips in mock disapproval. Astarion smirked at the challenge.

“Your perfect body is the embodiment of temptation. Tymora herself must have made you just to ruin me,” he orated dramatically. 

“You’re actually quite silly, Astarion,” she laughed.

“Still not good enough? Then how about three words? Everyone’s favorite,” Astarion’s smirk slowly fell.

“I love you.”

Seraphina’s chest tightened. The world was spinning, but not from the wine. She hadn’t heard those words from someone who wasn’t her family in months. What was she doing? In all the lovers she’d had, she’d never been with someone like Astarion. He was brash, selfish, and morally bankrupt. Her attempts to temper his urges towards power and bloodlust and his efforts to pull her away from altruism and modesty had become a tug-of-war. 

How was she supposed to reconcile that harsh reality with how he made her laugh and the ways he made her heart race, like right now? Or with all the instances so far that he’d saved her life in combat? Or the connection she felt when they talked and he let her in, even the smallest bit? He reminded somewhat her of Awe, the ice mage who had been a whirlwind of a distraction from Vadan a few months ago. Maybe it was time to admit she had a type – people she definitely shouldn’t be with.

She snapped out of it and met Astarion’s concerned gaze, probably wondering if he’d taken it too far.

Seraphina smiled to hide her unease.

“Having fun, are you?”

A gentle smile spread on his face.

“It’s hard not to with you,” Astarion said softly.

Her heart soared.

“I’ll find you later,” Seraphina whispered. She turned on her heel before he could respond and let her feet carry her over to Alfira, Lakrissa, Cal, and Zevlor. She let the children swing around her in dance. She let Alfira sing, sing, and sing. 

Anything to keep from hearing Astarion’s beautiful lie over and over again in her head.

x x x

When the chatter died down, the bottles of wine ran dry, and the campfire began to turn to embers, Seraphina felt anything but tired. Their guests in camp laid out their bedrolls and the members of their party began to retreat to their tents. The cleric was idly kneeling by her tent, as if she was soon going to retire to bed soon, when she made eye contact with Astarion. He winked at her and crooked his finger, urging her to come over, as he crawled inside of his own tent.

She quickly did a scan of camp and all the tired eyes around her had a singular focus that was not at all where she was going to spend her night. Gale had turned in some time ago. 

Seraphina quickly and, as discreetly as possible, scrambled across camp and slipped into Astarion’s tent. Save for two candles providing a small halo of light, it was incredibly dark inside. The earthy, musky scent of camp was replaced by the subtle perfume of bergamot and brandy – Astarion’s scent that she had come to enjoy.

The one that she sought out was lying on his bedroll, propped up on his elbows, his back surrounded by a semicircle of plush pillows, only wearing his pants with the pearlescent skin of his sculpted torso and defined arms bathed in dim golden light. Her eyes traced the muscles of his abdomen up to his wide chest, to his pouty lips, and finally landing on his crimson eyes, half-lidded and unabashedly hungry – in more ways than one.

“There you are,” Astarion said. Seraphina smiled at him as she clasped the tent flaps shut.

“Get over here. I’ve been waiting all night,” he continued, sitting up and grabbing her hips. He pulled the tiefling into his lap, squeezing her ass as she straddled him.

“You think I haven’t been?” she said as her hands traced a path from his neck, over his chest, and down his front. One of his hands grabbed her hair and pulled her lips down to his, Astarion grunting in satisfaction as Seraphina rolled her hips.

“You seemed content with spending the rest of the night singing songs around the campfire. You could’ve been in here hours ago singing my name instead,” Astarion breathed as he began to kiss down her neck. He stopped in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply, letting out a sigh as he exhaled.

“Feed,” Seraphina said, one hand cupping the back of his head and the other beginning to unlace his trousers. He wiggled slightly while she pulled down his pants just enough to free his half-hard length. Once he settled, Astarion licked over Seraphina’s pulse point before he bit down. 

Seraphina moaned as the familiar mix of pain and pleasure filled her as he began to drink. She spit into her hand before reaching down and beginning to slowly stroke his cock, forcing a gurgled moan out of Astarion as he continued to feed. Hearing the sweet sound from him was enough to make her clench around nothing, desperation for him to be inside her already starting to sink in. 

She moved her hand faster, and his hips began to rock, pumping into her hand. He pulled away from her neck with a gasp, licking and kissing over the bite marks. 

“I can smell you, you know,” Astarion whispered, his hand moving from her ass to cup her sex. Seraphina whined as the ball of his hand rubbed her clit through her pants.

“I can smell how badly you want it,” he went on, his head dipping down to her chest. His tongue licked over the ridges and bumps that went across her collarbone and between her breasts. He hissed and his hips jerked as she continued stroking him. Astarion grabbed her hand, forcing her to stop, before he pulled her shirt from her trousers, peeling it off her skin, and tossing it somewhere in the tent before diving back to her chest, his lips now firmly suckling one of her nipples while one hand groped at her other breast.

“I don’t want it. I want you,” Seraphina moaned, throwing her head back. 

“They’re one in the same, darling.”

She leaned away from him and Astarion continued sucking at her breast, arching his back until he finally let go with a ‘pop.’ She smiled devilishly at him as she crawled backwards on her knees before settling on her stomach between his legs. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

Seraphina said nothing as she reached out and gently gripped the base of his cock. He let out a small breath and his eyes followed her every movement. She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on his, as she slowly licked the underside of his shaft from base to tip, a hiss escaping from his lips again. 

Her tongue swirled around his tip, licking through the slit, before going down the side and licking another long stripe. Astarion’s breaths turned into pants as Seraphina’s teasing went on, licking and swirling her tongue but never closing her lips around his cock.

“Seraphina, you beautiful minx,” Astarion panted, his hands tangling in her hair. She smirked at him before she opened her mouth wide and took his cock into her mouth. He moaned as she began to move, but then she saw a flash of mischief in his eyes. He smirked at her now as he flipped his hands, palms up, and his fingers wrapped around the base of her horns.

Carefully, Astarion began to move her head up and down his cock, his eyes trained on hers. She let out a moan as he pulled her all the way down, the tip of him nearly reaching the back of her throat. She let her neck go limp, fully giving him control. 

“Darling, your mouth…ah,” Astarion’s eyebrows furrowed, and his face twisted in pleasure, his mouth falling open as he continued to move her head, now thrusting into her mouth to meet her halfway.

Seraphina whined, all the sounds from him making her wetter. He thrusted one final time, making her gag. Slowly, he pulled out of her mouth, his hands falling from her horns to grab her waist, pulling her up into his lap.

“You sweet thing,” Astarion breathed, cupping her face and kissing her. His passion and fervor left her panting and moaning into his mouth, as he moved her legs to remove her pants and smallclothes, leaving her bare in his lap. A finger dipped into her folds, making Seraphina gasp as he carefully stroked around her hole and clit. 

“Astarion,” Seraphina moaned.

“What is it, darling?”

“Please put it in. Give me something, anything.”

“Louder.”

“There are people sleeping ou –”

“I don’t care.”

One finger slid in. His thumb started circling her clit. The finger, agonizingly slowly, pumping in and out.

“If you want more, say it louder,” Astarion growled, kissing and sucking at her neck.

Seraphina’s head was fuzzy, her panting and whining already too loud as she desperately grasped at Astarion’s shoulders. She was too far gone with her inhibitions lowered, courtesy of the wine. She tilted her head back and moaned loudly.

“Astarion!”

A second finger entered her. She looked at him, only to see a wicked grin. He wound her up as easily as he picked a lock.

“I didn’t expect you to do it, but you keep surprising me,” Astarion nuzzled her neck as she started to ride his hand. “May I?”

“Yes.”

His teeth sunk into her. His fingers moved faster; the rhythm set by her moans. Whenever she bit back a moan or a whine, his movements would cease. When she cried out his name, surely loud enough that people sleeping close to Astarion’s tent would hear, he would reward her with quicker, deeper strokes.

In this moment, pleasure hummed through Seraphina’s body as much as magic did. When she came undone on Astarion’s fingers, he unlatched his mouth from her, licked her blood from his lips, and kissed her. She could taste the iron of her blood, but all she could think of was how she never wanted this to end.

He flipped them over, putting her head into the pile of pillows, before turning her pliant body over onto her stomach, his hands pulling her onto her knees and elbows. She was still whining from reaching her peak as he removed his pants and she felt his hands return to her hips, stroking and squeezing at the skin, still bruised and battered from the battle.

Seraphina gasped as Astarion’s cold, wet tongue licked from her clit to her hole. She arched her back and pushed back onto his face as he continued to lap, suck, and kiss at her core. His tongue fucked her in a cycle that made her see stars – circling her clit until she was close to her climax, only to flit away to stroke at her walls and then back again.

His reciprocal moans sent vibrations through her core that finally tipped her over the edge. She grinded against his face as she rode out her climax, Astarion’s grip on her hips keeping her up in the air as her legs weakened.

“Please fuck me. Gods, I need it,” Seraphina moaned. She felt Astarion pull away and she could hear the smug grin on his face when he spoke.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He pushed himself inside her and the sounds of their skin and moans filled the tent. Seraphina clutched at the pillows, holding on to anything to keep herself up against the force of Astarion’s thrusts. She tilted her head slightly to look back at him and her whining paused. 

She saw it again. The look on Astarion’s face that she had only glimpsed last time. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused, as if he was looking at her without really seeing or thinking about her or this moment at all. 

“Astarion,” Seraphina whispered breathlessly.

He blinked and it was like he came back to himself as his thrusts slowed. 

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Astarion panted. 

Seraphina gently pushed him away and turned onto her back. She spread her legs and reached for him, pulling him on top of her. His sweat-slick chest pressed against hers, the undead cold of his body cooling the heat radiating off her. He looked perplexed as she wrapped her legs around his hips, not pushing him inside quite yet, while her hands softly carded through his hair. It took a few moments, but eventually he sighed, closing his eyes, as her fingers massaged his scalp, traced over the points of his ears, and settled on his cheeks.

Seraphina gazed into his eyes, trying to decipher what secrets he held in that beautiful head of his. She looked at the creases that framed his crimson eyes, the pinkness of his lips courtesy of her blood coursing through him.

 She felt her heart flutter and then, she knew for sure.

 She was falling. 

This vampire had her wrapped around his finger. Just as the wizard did. What a curse it was to have a heart that sought love as freely and carelessly as hers did.

“Do you want this?” Astarion murmured.

“Yes. Do you –” 

Astarion covered her mouth with his hand, thrusting back inside her and dipping his face to her neck. His thrusts were merciless and determined. Each one pushed a wanton moan out of her, making her clench around his cock, and with each clench, he responded with a groan, creating a sinful symphony. When a wave of pleasure washed over both of them, Seraphina didn’t leave his tent. He didn’t ask her to. Instead, he put out the candles and laid down next to her. 

Their skin wasn’t touching, but she could still feel the ghost of his hands all over her. She wanted to be close to him. She could touch him if she reached out her hand, but it was like Astarion was leagues away. She wanted to open her heart to him. 

But she could already tell that he wasn’t ready to do the same. 

[dadrielle]

I’m not worried about Imogen.

It’s probably no surprise that I think that expecting Imogen to go evil at this point, or even to consider it, is a misread of her character. I think there’s something very much missing from conversations that try to parse where she’s at, what her questioning of the worth of the gods means, through a lens of a fight the Vanguard/join the Vanguard binary. It’s actually incredibly strange to me not to see this mentioned more since it is like, one of the cornerstones of Imogen’s arc.

Because the one thing Imogen’s mother has always told her is to run.

That’s been a through line of Imogen’s whole journey through her powers; she started getting answers when she stopped running from the storm, stopped listening to her mother.  But before that? She ran in every dream. And as a highly anxious character, she’s also prone to getting too caught up in spiraling what-ifs to the point of not being decisive. So if we want to keep it simple, the question, I think, isn’t Oppose/Join; it’s Fight/Flight/Freeze. I think that’s the real temptation here for Imogen - not to JOIN the Verity, but to do as her mother has always told her, and run from this. From the responsibility of making the choice, from the pain of opposing her mother, from the fear of fighting Otohan again. If losing the gods isn’t THAT bad, then maybe she could live with inaction. We all know that the idea of the Hells as a party of NPCs is one the cast likes, and while Imogen is definitely less that in terms of story beats, a key thing is that she wants to be one. The freedom her mother showed her as a temptation was the freedom from her powers, yeah, but even more from being someone who is fate touched. It’s the freedom not to have to choose (which of course isn’t a freedom at all).

That’s part of why Imogen’s talk with Laudna is so damn important. Laudna, beyond recognizing how Imogen thinks and needs to talk things out - which, don’t get me wrong, that is SO SO IMPORTANT as well, and I could wax poetic on it for days - recognizes where Imogen’s struggle really lies. Laudna hammers on choice, not just because she wants Imogen to know that she supports her and trusts her, but because she knows that the real temptation here for Imogen is to run, to abdicate the choice. That’s the real power she’d give up, that’s why she says “don’t let them get in your head and make you think otherwise” specifically about choice, rather than anything about the character of the Vanguard’s mission. Laudna reminds her you always have a choice, and that that is a gift, that is real freedom.

I understand why people want to talk about Evil Imogen. It’s super dramatic. And I think we might have gotten it if dealing with Delilah was the only way to get Laudna back. But I also think that time’s past, and stuffing her reactions to her mother being a true believer in the cult into that mold requires either ignoring a lot of what Imogen has said or done throughout canon, or operating with an assumption that she is always lying about everything. And look, I think it’s important to note that every time the Vanguard has come up in any capacity, Imogen has reiterated her opposition to Ludinus et al and their methods. She’s done that immediately every time, it just gets forgotten because it isn’t an impressive speech on their morality like, say, Ashton’s. It’s easy to remember those speeches and think they must have been dunks on her, that she was arguing with them, but that’s simply not what happened.

The first time she showed any kind of sympathy for the Ruby Vanguard’s anti-god sentiment, it was simply because she felt bad about the idea of murdering Tuldus, because he had been abused in the name of piety. And so she….turned him over to the Verity to be further interrogated instead - not exactly a pro-vanguard action. When she spoke with Ludinus not long after they had discussed her potentially acting as a mole, she was demonstrably lying her ass off - saying her mother had been asking her to join them - so to take any comment from her about possibly joining them or being sympathetic as proof of a potential defection ignores the context. And when Ludinus left, she almost immediately said “we have to stop him, I have to find my mother.” Up until the point her mother pushes a vision with feeling into her brain, she was working on the assumption that her mother was caught up in something she felt trapped by, something she didn’t believe in - and she just wanted to get her out. And that vision pushed into her brain - immediately after she blurt out “what if it’s not that bad, what if we’re just fighting change-” Orym snaps her out of it, and she apologizes, says it was just overwhelming, that she wanted to see this through. She says Predathos is selfish, it just wants to eat. Nothing, nothing she says absolves the Vanguard of any crime, or indicates support for them.

You don’t have to care about the gods to oppose the Vanguard. Most of the other Hells don’t care much about the gods, either. I think Imogen’s word choice is interesting too, and feeds into my point. What if they’re just fighting change? She swears she wants to see this through. She asks Laudna if they want to do this. Those phrases to me imply that she’s wondering if they should just bow out of the fight, not swap sides. Those are phrases about whether or not to abort an action in motion, not to do an about face.

And I think it makes sense for Orym and Fearne to be misreading this struggle, too, because they are both people of action. Fearne’s action is more impulse,yeah, but it’s still action. And Orym is the man of duty, who doesn’t think of himself as a big player but can’t even really conceive of not answering the call to make heroic choices. He’s been steadfast in working towards a goal, and taking down these people who took his family from him is that goal. I don’t think in this moment he can quite conceptualize that running might be an option for any of them.

Imogen’s talk with Orym wasn’t about the gods. It was about what Orym fights for, and whether it’s still worth it. Imogen’s talk with Laudna wasn’t about the goodness or usefulness of the gods, it was about choice, and wanting a future. That’s significant. Imogen needed to crystalize why she should fight rather than run, to solidify her convictions so she won’t freeze.

I also think there are actually 3 key things that happened for Imogen in episode 49 that will keep her from running or freezing. Her talks with Orym and Laudna, obviously, but also? The fact that Keyleth is coming. Because up until Keyleth told them she was coming with the calvary? The choice wasn’t just between loosing Predathos, or ignoring it, or stopping it - it was also a choice between martyrdom and possible survival. Until that point, it had the makings of a suicide mission. 7 slapdicks and an untrustworthy Fey against an army, with a big clock hanging over their heads? When the cause is protecting gods you don’t much care about, and you don’t know for sure it will even result in anything that will hurt the people you care about? That will muck up the calculus real quick if you’re not keen to die. But now “It feels hopeful.” They don’t have to be martyrs, just part of the fight. Removing almost certain death takes some of the weight off the decision.

So I don’t think, personally, that there is any chance now of Imogen running, unless hope seems lost and that’s all they can do. I don't think there was ever a real chance of her turning. She might still freeze, when confronted with her mother as an enemy, but I think that’s lessened exponentially as well, thanks to Laudna. Hell, I’m not even real worried about Imogen getting charmed into fighting the other Hells because her psychic defenses gives her advantage on those kinds of wisdom saves. I’m not worried about Imogen. Go get ‘em girl. They don’t control you. You are the storm.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tag @racfoam @cringe-queasy @leafiloaf and @reggieblk 🥹 it is always an honour

tagging: everyone 😭 i'm sorry i still don't know a lot of people. and the people i do know have been tagged 🤦

i had a difficult time selecting a wip. i suppose this is my fault for having too many and never getting anything done before starting sixty more 🤦 and how long are these meant to be? i'm not sure. have this:

He didn’t believe in ghosts. Isn’t that how it always starts? Harry didn’t remember the first time. Or the second, the third, fourth, or fifth. Harry did, however, remember meeting him. Though, it’s not a memory he liked to dwell on often.  Harry had gotten quite good at disregarding the stains in his vision. The smudges that sulked just in his periphery. He learned how to ignore them, to avoid the whispers and stares, the pointing fingers from giggling children, and the concerned shared glances of his teachers.  He hadn’t yet grasped an understanding of shifts in reality. Of identifying when very real-looking things were not very real at all. At least not real to anyone else.  Because for Harry, who walked into walls people couldn’t see and whose skin bore scars from his curious nature provoking his detriment, there was no difference. Both realities were single, the same.  It was his…anomalousness that spurred their fated meeting.  As it happened, Harry was an easy ride for the lost, the damned. Something bright, whole, and alive that blipped in and out and promised the sweet, sweet temptation turned attainable chance at a second try—a do-over.  And though these damned, untethered and unable to pass on, appeared mutilated and broken, missing in more than just soul—they were people once. They are people still beneath the guilt and sorrow and anger.  In all, alive or otherwise, there was a desperation that couldn’t be snuffed out. Harry knew they saw him as a saviour, a beacon, a host. He also knew this desperation left them unaware of the harm they caused and the scars they left. Harry was too headstrong to let go. They tried to overpower him and failed. But Harry wasn’t always strong enough to keep himself safe and wasn’t always privy to his powers. He fought for Harry and taught him how to stay alive. “You’re thinking about me again,” a pleased voice interrupted Harry’s thoughts. It laughed at his disgruntled face, the sound humming from just beside him. “I am not,” Harry insisted and continued moving through the rubble of the fallen house around them. Scorched wood and ash still hot and popping.  “Come now, Harry. I’ve known you long enough to know what that look means. Hardly ever is it about anyone else.”  “Says a lot about you, then. Don’t you think?” “Oh, hush,” Voldemort walked a step further, blocking Harry’s path for just a moment. His towering height and dark mass blocked nearly everything else from sight. “You were much cuter as a child, you know. Coming to me for advice, hiding away in my protection, calling us Soulmat—“ Harry pressed his hands to his ears, “Get out of my head! Stop shuffling through my thoughts— you have no right.” Voldemort’s teasing wisps turned sharp. “No right? I have every right. You repressed me for half a decade and summoned my help like no time was lost, expecting me to go along with your desperate little attempts to make friendly with the beings on this side of the line even though we both know you’ll never fit in here or there.” Harry scoffed, “Typical. You’re acting out because I needed a little space? We’ve been attached at the hip longer than I can remember, and you’re throwing a fit because I asked for some time to sort things out—time that, for you, is so stupidly inconsequential that it’s laughable.” “What can I say, Harry?” Voldemort sighed all dramatics and grating callousness. His sarcasm was scathing enough to scatter Harry with the house’s ashes, “Ever since we met, all my time seems to revolve around yours.” “Great. I hope you had a fucking miserable five years.” Voldemort crept even closer. “What a tongue you have in you today. It would be a shame to cut it out so soon when we’ve spent so long apart.” Now Harry was sighing. He pinched the bridge of his nose, disrupting his glasses, “Alright. I’m being an asshole; I get it.” But so was Voldemort.  “I heard that.” You were meant to, Harry thought viciously and stalked around him to survey the damage like they were supposed to be doing. 

[monty-glasses-roxy]

considering how chaotic things get when the animatronics play UNO (cause bonnie never plays fair), do things get just as salty when they play monopoly?

Oh for sure.

Bonnie is banned from being the banker. The banker is always Roxy if she's playing because even if she's losing horribly, she just outright refuses to cheat. There's just no temptation to do it for her so she's always the banker and she prefers it this way. She can make sure no one cheats way easier if the box of monopoly money is right next to her. When she's not playing though, yeah Bonnie is banned from that. No banker role for him. He played banker once and they never let him do it again. Freddy is also not allowed to be the banker. Mostly because Bonnie gets mad about it and unlike Roxy, Freddy would at least be tempted to cheat a little if he suspects Bonnie is. As such, the banker role is usually a toss up with Monty, Chica, Sunny, Moon or Vanessa if they've managed to rope her into it. She's almost as solid a banker as Roxy is so if she's playing and Roxy isn't, she is immediately begged into being the banker.

In the case of who always wins, that would be either Monty or Foxy. They're great at it. They normally end up bankrupting everyone else and owning half the board each, just waiting for the other to land on that one property they've stacked everything on. They never do and the winner is determined by who can whittle the other's funds down to 0 first or who gives up. They end up really close games unless Sunny in particular is playing. Honestly, they forget Sunny is playing sometimes. He owns the electric company or something and thats it. And yet somehow he's always in it right until the last few turns. His luck at Uno carries over to Monopoly too, he just keeps dodging everyone's properties like magic, only to lose as he lands on Mayfair with a hotel on it and loses everything lmao

Moon is just as quiet when playing but he typically owns random properties here and there and will never fucking trade for shit so no one can get a monopoly unless they get him out the game. Or unless it's Roxy. Roxy also never trades with anyone but Moon. These two will hold the whole game hostage for as long as physically possible. They trade with each other so they can both stay in the game and keep as many people from possible from getting a Monopoly. They choose who gets the power in this game. They hold all the cards. They have tormented Monty and Chica so much in a game that they traded all their properties for one before. Roxy won a game purely because she had that one green property that Foxy had been trying to trade her for all game and she finally traded that one green for half the fucking board. Roxy suddenly had all the Monopolies and hotels everywhere and wiped out the whole game. Moon does the same but he primarily pisses off Bonnie and Monty. They are the last resorts. Freddy has never traded with Roxy except for the one time he took a huge risk and lost the game to her. This is how they win they are both infuriating.

Chica is abysmal at Monopoly. She has won maybe once ever and it was because both Monty and Roxy were working together to make sure she did to piss Bonnie off after he was caught cheating. She spends most of the game in jail, only completing her first lap of the board near the end of the game. She's normally the first out and likes to dramatically be like "when I die, when the end comes for me... Roxy can have all I own." when she owns literally nothing. Why Roxy? So she can hold the game hostage even more lmao Chica thinks its hilarious

Freddy is actually the smart guy about this and yet he's always losing because he's stupid unlucky with where he lands. He'll have houses and hotels everywhere but keep landing on fucking luxury tax and everyone else's properties. He likes to create a minefield across one side of the board where he owns the whole thing and keeps building houses and hotels on them so making it through unharmed is like trying to fight a pride of hungry lions with a bouncy ball. The fact Sunny just flies through that section of the board and lands on none of his properties grinds his gears how is he so fucking lucky what the fuck-

Vanessa is actually good at this. She tends to try and get all the railways and utilities, and has a few monopolies with houses on spread out over the board pretty evenly. She's pretty lucky when it comes to landing on community chests and getting good things from them, which is a double edged sword when she's trying to buy property. Like, she'll land on a community chest or chance space literally the space before the property she needs and if it happens enough times she'll just yell "STORY OF MY FUCKING LIFE" while the others laugh at her misery. She normally pulls off a massive comeback at the end to steal a victory right under Monty's nose too it's great. Chica loves playing with her too because she always takes pity on her in jail all the time and gives her 'get out of jail free' cards whenever she can. The others do too, just not as often since they usually don't get many.

Oh yeah and every time someone ends up in jail with Chica she starts acting like 'hey. So what are you in for? Fraud? Oh not me. I'm more of a murder person myself.' and she plays the bit out for the majority of the game it's great fun

Yeah game nights in the Plex are fun.

[auranya]

How to Build Better Habits

Recently, I have been on a journey of kicking bad habits. I literally woke up one day and decided that I didn’t want to do certain things anymore. A lot of these things were negative influences and I was tired of them welding power over me. In coming to this conclusion, I had to do some research on how to build better habits.

I want to note that it’s been almost a month of restructuring my life, but I have seen such a positive change. Here are some ways that have helped me create better habits.

Step One: Identify what you want to change.

I knew I had a phone problem that led to too much negative consumption. A lot of times this presents itself in social media. I knew I wanted to spend less time on social media and achieve goals that made me feel good.

Many times I would find myself getting lost in time through doom scrolling and had no self control. I decided that I wanted my body to be able to know when I’ve been on social media too long. I made a dramatic change over night and set up an hour time limit for TikTok and a 30 minute limit for Instagram. Now, I could have added Tumblr, but I follow a lot more positive driven content and can’t really accidentally come across much negativity (this might not be the case for everyone).

After this I stuck to my time limits strictly. With one or two days going over. I wanted to prove to myself that I could build a consistent habit and not depend on social media as a distraction. I wanted to be present in the moment with people and explore productive things that I could do with my phone.

Step Two: Find a replacement for what you want to change.

After identifying what I wanted to change I found a replacement that could fulfill me in one of three ways.

Creatively

Mentally

Spiritually

To replace the habit of being on social media, I started to draw more. Although, I still use a screen to draw to reduce my paper consumption, I wasn’t letting my brain waste away. I sat down and drew.

For every habit I want to change, I replace it with something more positive. Having this replacement will help rewire the brain and not be dependent on the dopamine rush that bad habits tend to inflict on people.

Step Three: Eliminate triggers

I made it hard for the old habit to creep up. For example, if I’m trying to quit smoking I would not go into a smoke shop. Temptation would be all around me. Instead make it hard to encounter that habit. This is not an easy task, but I know it will be worth it.

Setting time limits might not have been enough. I should have deleted certain apps, but it is about the small steps that are taken to build consistency.

Step Four: Create a goal

When embarking on a journey like this the end goal is the most important. I felt like I was losing my intelligence and constantly depending on my phone. My goal is to read more (or listen to audiobooks), learn, and rediscover parts of me that have been neglected as I have gotten older.

Building better habits that lead to personal growth is my ultimate goal. I constantly want to grow into a better person and that means ditching things that no longer serve me.