#but their live-actions have been lackluster

[nomairuins]

thank GODDD the doctor is taking time to work on himself maybe now he can stop ruining womens lives .

[spectresrise]

i'm leaning towards making the ah.soka show canon-ish to my portrayal of hera with some divergences. i really like what the narrative is doing with her and i agree with a lot of the decisions , however i don't think the physical direction and acting for her is where i would want it to be. also anna diop will always be my hera.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

[kipkoh]

I know it’s fairly popularized that Hunter liked being the Golden Guard but there was a line in Hunting Palisman that he says to Luz that has always captivated me: “At least you can figure out your own (future).”

This (not very subtle) statement of wishing to make his own decisions coupled with the fact that Hunter was studying wild magic even while he was still in the Coven is heavily indicative of the fact that he was dissatisfied with his role in life. I’m sure he was proud of being Golden Guard and really did want to help Belos in whatever way possible, but a big part of him did wish things could have been different for him. Those desires he announced in Thanks to Them were probably not spur of the moment ideas he wished he could have experienced before what he thought was going to be his death, but rather long term wants he’d been imagining himself taking part in even before he defected.

I’m bringing this idea up mostly because I keep thinking about Hunter’s life in the castle and the rare moments when he got to witness what normal kids lives were like. If the school tours of the castle were a common occurrence, I imagine he'd be curious enough to watch them when he could. At first he'd secretly trail them and observe how the kids interacted with each other, how they joked around with their friends, and overall how carefree they appeared. He'd watch the way they'd awe at the castle in a feeling of excitement he'd never gotten to share having grown up within those walls - the castle being all he’d ever known. Sometimes he'd imagine himself in one of their places - just a normal kid whose biggest worry was getting his homework finished before it was due instead of how he might be tossed aside and replaced by the one he called his family the second he was no longer of any use to him. At some point, maybe he would start avoiding the tours whenever they happened, not wanting to feel that painful yearning for a life that was never even within his grasp and instead choosing to try and forget about it completely in order to convince himself he was content being the person Belos wanted him to be.

Sometimes on his weekend missions he would encounter parents with their children just going about their everyday lives, smiling and happy and completely juxtaposed to his own experience with familial adults. He'd watch the ease of how a child's hand would slip into their parent's as if it was such a natural and common action, without even a hint of fear of negative consequence for the touch. Hunter would look down at his own hands mummified in leather and wonder why he'd never felt the gentle press of someone's loving palm against his own.

He'd watch two young children play fight with loose branches. He'd envy how their battle was pretend and the fact that neither of them were in any real danger. He'd silently scrutinize their battle form before offering to teach them proper tactics, only to be harshly turned away and reminded of the fact that normal kids didn't care, nor have a need, to know how to fight. He'd scoff at their lackluster ambitions and comment about how they would never join a decent Coven with attitudes like that, blatantly ignoring the fact that not everyone was forced to worry about proving their worth to everyone around them.

I don’t think Hunter going to Hexside to find new recruits in Any Sport In a Storm was just a random choice on his part. While there is some evidence that kids can choose to join the Covens early, it doesn’t seem like it’s something they’re forced to do before they at least finish school. Maybe they can be forced, which is what is implied when Hunter kidnapped the Emerald Entrails, but wouldn’t it be easier to seek out new recruits who would actually be willing to join of their own accord? Otherwise there would be no guarantee they would care enough to do their job well.

Hunter did try to recruit them naturally at first but when no one seemed interested, instead of moving on to a different group of people, he just chose to kidnap a group of kids and force them. He has this intense longing for a normal life but no way to reasonably go out and get it for himself, so instead he tries to bring that life to him instead. Maybe if there were other people his age around, it could be possible for him to experience even a taste of the camaraderie he’s seen the students on tours have towards one another. Of course a bunch of kidnapped kids might not want anything to do with him, but Hunter is probably desperate enough to where he didn’t really think it through that much. Either way, even if he can’t have that life for himself, maybe he’d feel less alone if he knew there were other kids experiencing the same struggles he was. Maybe he wouldn’t feel out of place if he wasn’t the only kid being forced to train for regular battles and missions. Maybe he wouldn’t feel as bad about not having the kind of parent-child relationships he sees in the streets if there were other kids around who never got to see their parents anyway. He wouldn’t be the only kid lost in a sea of adults at the castle who refused to respect him partly due to his age.

Of course we know it wouldn’t end up being the catharsis he’s seeking, but he’s willing to try. He’s spent over a decade in a life he wasn’t sure he wanted, constantly yearning for something more with other people always (though unwittingly) waving around their happy, normal lives in front of his face. He’s sad, he’s alone, he probably feels super guilty about it because he still wants to be what Belos wants and can’t… He’s probably spent his whole life in a constant internal struggle trying to either ignore his own desires or attempt to find a balance between his personal wants and his job that never truly existed.

[aixeko]

❣ " Your Strength Won't Die With You. The Torch Will Be Carried On… By Me. " ❣

| Starring | Scout!Arlecchino x Scout!Reader

| Setting | AOT Alternative Universe 

| Scenario | [ DRABBLE ] ANGST! Hurt no comfort.  Pronouns are not used. Mention of Clervie. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

× Since I haven’t posted in a while might as well. Maybe once I’m done with work then I will probably turn this into a oneshot.  × I imagine Arlecchino as Levi Ackerman and the reader as Hange Zoë, like it’s so right to me. Levihan, my beloved doomed couple.  × Please bare with the quality, I'm writing this half awake at midnight 😭😭

[ Word count: 2009 ] | Art credit: Anko on Twitter

The sun hung high in the azure sky, no longer obscured by the thick roiling clouds, casting the world in its muted, almost sickly warmth. The haze once clouding the environment now reveals the onslaught accursed by humanity's exterminator, known as the Titan. Your comrades, individuals with a name, a family, and a lifetime of histories, are now nothing more than indistinguishable pieces, the Titan's mnemonic of their victorious reign over humanity.

You stand tall in front of a headless comrade, your expression unreadable, yet the heart telltale a great difference. You have been doing this for years; yes, you have seen your ally die in dedication to their heart to push forth humankind for a chance at advancement, but the experience does not account for the hardship the mortal heart has to endure.

You crouch down and wrap their head in a blanket, preserving all that remains to honor their life with a proper burial. One of the scouts came to retrieve the corpse from you, a solemn expression displayed on his face, exactly mirroring the rest of the regiment.

In the corner of your perception, you observe a hint of pink. Your eyes soften ever so slightly at the familiar identification of the fallen scout. So that's why that Titan is beaten hollow. You thought, your gaze turning to the carcass of bones and to the slaughterer of said carcass.

Arlecchino? The first time her name rolled off your tongue, it was with an inquiry rather than a declaration. It was an unfamiliar hesitation as if in fear of mispronunciation, leaving an unwanted first impression.

She was a new addition to the scout regiment, someone from the lowest part of the three divine walls separating humanity from its destructor, the underground. Arlecchino had come with another, a pink-haired girl by the name of Clervie. The duo had ill intentions to assassinate the scout regiment commander in exchange for gaining citizenship in the wall farthest from Titan territory and the most extravagant of the three.

In turn, the outcome of the attempted extermination led to this: Clervie's unfortunate death and an outraged, newly reawakened Arlecchino. It was pitiful, really, to harbor such confidence in one's own ability with such lackluster experience in Titan territory; their fate was always bound to end in tragedy.

You perform the same repetitive, heartfelt action you've carried out on hundreds and thousands of fallen soldiers. A blanket wrapped around their cadaver, a funeral to release their soul, and a flame carried on by the living.

You give the body to a scout, and with Clervie's cloak in hand, you make your way to the living corpse that is Arlecchino.

"Welcome to the life of the Survey Corps."

At the feeling of the cloak dropping onto her lap and the reverberation emitted from your voice, Arlecchino's head slowly tilted up to gaze at you. The intensity of those unique crimson-marked eyes is fuming with seemingly all of humanity's rage, and you can't help but admit the overwhelming predatory and prey-like dynamic in the air.

"The loss of the one dearest to you is the tragic reality as humankind hopes. The scout regiment has long lived with losses since the founding of its creation, but does that result ever dwindle the flame? No, it doesn't."

Your hand lifts from its position and outstretches in a proposition for her acceptance.

"Losing is all we ever know, and those who brave through it are the ones to continue igniting the flame of the passing and the living. Become the strongest," the corner of your lip curves upward in a smile, "and lead your comrade to a victorious battle; that's what they lived and died for; that is what she would have wanted for you."

Arlecchino The second time her name left your lips, your tongue rolled with expectation for the capabilities the woman held in those limbs of hers and for the beginning of a profound bond between soldiers.

A lifetime seemed to fly by before there was some sort of reaction or action. Arlecchino wraps Clervie's cloak around herself and goes onto her feet without accepting your hand.

"Fine. I will follow you," she says, standing beside you, her once-lowered head now raised to the sky. "Foolish, suicidal bastards."

Like second nature, your posture straightens, a widening smile stretching all over as you clench your right fist and strike your chest just above your heart with firmness.

"Dedicate your heart."

Arlecchino made a sound of disapproval, a clear indication that she did not resonate with the Survey Corps salute. She moves from her position and makes her way to her horse. You shake your head with the smile still on your face; soon enough, you follow suit onto your own horse, making your way back to the safety of the divine walls' protection.

Days, months, and then years passed by since that day; you both aged together in the weak and strength, the mature and the experiences. Death scythes had struck many times at the both of you and each time survival was granted, an invisible thread seemed to tighten around the two of you, especially in the most vital and fragile part of the human body, the heart itself. If it ever dared to break, then the consequence of its utter annihilation would be so great that death would be a gentler fate.

It was meant to be another mission, a normal and non-risky one; nothing should have gone wrong according to the commander's calculations.

You're mounted on your horse alongside your fellow soldiers, and beside you is your partner, Arlecchino, the strength to your weakness and vice versa. You wave to the awing citizens, awaiting the gate of the wall to open so your expedition to survey outside can begin.

"You see that, sister? The crest on their cloak—those are the wings of freedom! It shows that they are our saviors; I want to be like them when I grow up!"

Your gaze softens upon overhearing the conversation between a young boy and his sister. Oh, how pure and innocent a child's mind is; if only they knew the nightmare that each member of the scout regiment has to endure every expedition.

The gate lifted up, and every soldier turned their attention to it, and simultaneously, every horse began building momentum to charge out.

"Isn't that Captain Arlecchino? They say she's worth more than hundreds of soldiers; if only there were more of her, then our taxes wouldn't be wasted on dead corpses."

Your eyes furrow at the backhanded compliment as you pass by the gossiping citizens. You shake your head in disapproval, and it seems Arlecchino has heard it too; sharing the same displeasure, she mutters a distasteful comment about their words. You turn your head to her, a knowing smile stretched upon you; in turn, she gives you her usual nearly unreadable expression; at least to everyone else, it's unreadable.

"You achieved what you sought; are you not satisfied with the compliment?"

The gate fully opened, and the commander's voice boomed in announcement of the beginning of the Survey Corps expedition outside the wall. Soldiers roared, and horses soared in determination.

"You're one to talk."

Arlecchino sprints past you, making you let out a laugh as you follow behind her. The outside wind blows against your hair, and your eyes are set forward, shining with hope and perseverance.

It was meant to be a normal and safe mission, so why did this happen?

ARLECCHINO The third time her name slipped past your lips, it was an involuntary one, sparked out of fear and anxiety for your closest ally's life—feelings that you hadn't truly felt in a long time.

With your two blades in hand, you strike the nape of the Titan looming over Arlecchino. A hint of relief flashes, and I'm grateful you weren't too late. You retrieve your omni-directional mobility gear [ ODM ] and land beside the injured Arlecchino.

"What happened? Can you move? Is it your arms, your head, or your legs?" Questions spur out at an inhumanly rapid pace, faster than you have ever talked. You were scared; you were so scared.

Arlecchino placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"My legs, but it will be fine. A horde of Titans came my way; other groups came to help me and tried to fend them off, but unfortunately couldn't. What about your group? Where are they?"

You were going to answer her with the same regrettable answer; your entire group had also been completely wiped out, but your words would forever be left in the void because the next thing you knew, Arlecchino shoved you away.

A sound of pain is produced from your mouth as your body makes contact with a tree. Your hand clutched your chest as you tilted your head upward from the ground. You're left gaping as a 15-meter titan has its foul mouth clutch around Arlecchino's hand. Without thinking, a sudden phenomenal rush of adrenaline submerged you against all logic; you used the last ounce of strength left in you and charged with your broken ODM straight at the titan's nape. Due to the malfunction, your ODM wasn't fast enough, and because of this nonstrategic decision, you served yourself on a silver platter to the beastly abomination.

"Idiot," Arlecchino grumbled under her breath.

With only a single available hand, she manages to strike the Titan's nape, releasing you from its grip. Arlecchino crumbles to the ground as her bleeding intensifies at a substantial rate. Sweat and blood bead on your face; you push yourself and slowly drag your battered body to Arlecchino. You wrap a hand around her in a protective manner; the very moment your eyes set on hers, tears stream down your face. With great speed, you scan for the purple signal flare, a smoke indicating an emergency of some kind.

"Stay alive for me—okay...? Help will be here soon, please- I.."

Before you could say anything more, Arlecchino fired the purple smoke signal for you.

"Take my gear; yours is damaged. You can still save yourself."

"What-?"

"You know better than anyone else that my injuries are too grave. By the time we reach the wall for help, I won't be alive."

Your eyes meet hers; no longer does it share the same characteristics as the one you saw all those years ago. No longer were they fuming with rage equivalent to humanity, but rather a reflection of tranquility and delicacy as that of a hare.

"Don't do this to me... please Arle-"

She brought a hand to silence you. Her gaze softened, and following along, there was a small smile.

"My real name is Peruere," she uttered in a hushed tone.

A wider smile spread across her parched lips. With her fist clenched, she struck your chest, exactly where your heart is located.

"Dedicate your heart."

With a final, whispered breath of your name, the weight of her eyelids, burdened with exhaustion, at last forced her eyes shut. The realization finally dawned on you at her modified version of the Survey Corps' salute.

Peruere. The last time her name escaped your lips, it was a cry of anguish and betrayal soaring through the dimming sky. The grief gnaws at your fragile heart from the crushing fact that you failed to protect and save one of the only people who ever genuinely mattered to you. The sting of betrayal scorches your soul because she will never get to experience the entirety of your life while you get to live through every moment of hers. Soon enough, the memory of her eyes, her features, the memories, everything, will be lost to the world, haunting you forever, a thorn in your side at the price of freedom that came with the loss of your love.

And in the end, the only solace you have is the weight of her absence, one that echoes louder than words ever could. All that is left is emptiness, a void that can never be filled by anyone else.

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ] × Originally, I didn't intend to kill Arle but rather the reader. It just came to suddenly and since I couldn't decide I spun the wheel lmfao.

[genderkoolaid]

hey! if you have the spoons, would you happen to have any posts/anecdotes refuting this thread? https://www.tumblr.com/neondyke/719263498717233152/nonhoration?source=share

so. one of my big problems with how we talk about TERFs is the sort of conspiratorial energy some people have towards them- not in that TERFs don't lie about their beliefs, but the idea that all radical feminists are part of this huge conspiracy where none of them actually believe any of what they say. The idea that no TERF actually, genuinely cares about women, or gender non-conforming people- or that none of them hate men.

Just because TERFism is misogynistic, harmful to GNC people, and often allies with conservative men, does not mean every TERF hates other women, GNC people, and likes men. Its vital to be critical of what TERFs say vs what their actions say- but we do ourselves and them a disservice by shoving our fingers in our ears and essentially saying that no TERF can be genuine, and I actually know what they really believe in their hearts. This is especially important when you aren't interacting with high-level TERFs (especially those making bank off public appearances & books & shit), but like. regular smegular everyday women who got radicalized, or people who are on the verge of being radicalized and are put-off by people who seem to be incapable of seeing TERFs as having genuine beliefs.

I say that all because the idea that TERFs aren't misandrists, that they don't really hate men, is just straight-up ridiculous. It assumes that radical feminism was born exclusively as a reaction to trans women, that none of its theorists or activists were genuinely trying to apply Marxist analysis to gender/sex dynamics and create a better world for women. Which ignores other parts of radical feminism, like their anti-sex work rhetoric/whorephobia. (If you have access to JSTOR, I recommend reading "Radical Feminism and Feminist Radicalism" by Ellen Willis, a former radfem; it dives into the problems with 60s radical feminism from an inside perspective).

I absolutely think TERF hatred for trans women is not exclusively a result of their misandry. This is because all transphobia is systematic, and everyone born and raised in transphobic society has transphobia woven into their thinking. So if you are a cis woman, probably one who has had traumatic experiences with misogyny coming from cis men- probably one with some interest in leftism, who is annoyed by liberal #girlboss feminism which feels lackluster, who is envious of the subversive, direct-action, "tear the system down" feminism of the past- and you have an unexamined, ingrained bias against trans people, well. TERFism will provide explanation and affirmation for your trauma and the promise of the radical feminist action of your dreams to allow you to lash out at your oppressors with the logic of the guillotine. Your unexamined bias against trans women will mean you don't see their transmisogyny as unreasonable, and even if you never really thought about trans women before, its gonna be real easy for you to accept them as a threat to Real Women.

But to assume that every time a TERF says "men" or "male," she means "trans woman," is just ignorant. TERFs are surrounded by cis men, because they live in the same society as us. They see cis men acting misogynistic, many of them have been personally hurt by cis men, they very much mean "cis men" when they say things like "all men should be castrated" or "all male babies should be aborted"- how exactly can you talk about males as a sex and never refer to cis men? When they talk about how using dildos or any sort of penetrative sex is patriarchal and Bad, that's not because they hate trans women, its because they see anything that could be associated with maleness as bad.

Here's a quote from Sylvia Riveria's very important work "Queens in Exile, The Forgotten Ones":

"Oh, yeah, we mixed with lesbians. We always got along back then. All the division between lesbian women and queens came after 1974 when Jean O'Leary and the radical lesbians came up. The radicals did not accept us or masculine-looking women who dressed like men. And those lesbian women might not even have been trans."

TERF hatred for transmasculinity goes back far before ROGD and the idea of transmasculinity as a social disease affecting "innocent young girls." Here's a quote from Leslie Feinberg's Transgender Warriors:

"A view that the primary division of society is between women and men leads some women to fear that transsexual women are men in sheep's clothing coming across their border, or that female-to-male transsexuals are going over to the enemy, or that I look the same as the enemy."

If TERFs have no real hatred for men or masculinity, why did/do they attack butches & transmascs? Why, before ROGD was the trendy way to attack transmasculinity, did they specifically attack us for being too masculine and therefore imitating the oppressor? The idea that trans women are the only ones blamed by TERFs for ROGD is also false- adult trans men, especially those with any public influence, are frequently blamed for "preying" on young "girls." (Also, fun fact: that last quoted paragraph ends with: "Trans people of all sexes and genders are not oppressors: they, like women, rank among the oppressed.")

Lastly, I feel like we- all trans people- have an issue of trying to match our genders & the way our genders do impact how we are treated, with the way our sexual/gendered misgendering also impacts how we are treated. For example, I am often frustrated by trans men who are resistant to talking about how trans men face misogyny because "it feels like misgendering." I don't think we can really deal with transphobia unless we cope with the fact that we are trans people- we are socially placed between genders and punished for that, and that means that we will be attacked because of our relationship to our gender assigned at birth (although not exclusively). See this post for more of my thoughts on that.

Obligatory "please don't harass any of the people in the screenshot above, just block them & move on" notice

[ateriblewriter]

"You can't just lose your temper like this every time you get a little bit upset!" With Luke Hughes please

😊 I hope this is okay, i feel as though i could have done better. its kinda messy. idk. sorry. first time really writing for luke. it's longer than the others blurbs for the celly but I was challenging myself. 😅

A Broken Glass

he was supposed to be better this season. better than the child he felt he was in the few games he played in at the end of the prior season. he made sure to put in the work over the summer, improving upon an already impressive skill set. but it still wasn't good enough.

luke was having a bit of a hard time recently, making mistakes that were in his words stupid and should never have happened. getting himself into trouble on the ice, uncharacteristic actions set off by the littlest things. he had been putting a lot of pressure on himself and instead of being better he was getting worse.

everything came to a head on a tuesday evening after the devils had lost again and luke gave another lackluster performance. once again on the brink of being benched for someone else who could perform at the caliber they were looking for.

jack had decided to seek the comfort of another human being, having gone over to their place for the evening. this left the whole place to just you and luke. which was great because you finally wanted to pick your boyfriends mind about how he was feeling about everything recently.

“are you okay?” you inquire watching him.

"i'm fine." he scowled.

"do you want to talk about it?" you ask starting to ramble. of course you didn't believe him and just because he shut you down right away didn't mean you were going to stop trying to get him to say more than a few words to you. "because you really should at some point. im worried about you. you don't even have to talk to me. is it the team? is it something im doing? is it-"

"just go away." luke interrupted you. he was so in his head, he didn't notice the glass he had been holding, slip from his hand and crashing to the ground. luke wasn't necessarily mad. he was mainly just frustrated with his situation and really didn't like talking about it. the way he showed it may not have been the best way.

you're too shocked for words at the glass on the floor, opting to crouch down to clean up the little pieces of glass from the broken cup instead of using your words. you tried to be as careful as you but while brushing the tiny bits together with the back of your hand, a little piece embedded itself in between you index finger and middle, causing it to bleed a lot.

you could feel luke rolling his eyes, frustration still radiating off of him. he was looking for an argument. you heard him mumbling something but couldn't really tell what was said.

"what was that? you need to speak up."

"i said that you don't understand the pressure i am under. i am supposed to be better. and i'm not. you wouldn't understand that. I'm not like you I just don't give up on my dreams."

"that's not true and you know it." you clench your teeth together, trying your hardest not to give into what he wanted, a fight. because luke knew you were an athlete and that you had big dreams of making it big. only to have them crushed by a devastating injury, that led you to pursue other dreams.

"you know what? call me when you want to actually talk and not start a fight." you grab your set of house keys to leave, the small cut in between your fingers still dripping little droplets of red stuff on the floor. you didn't want to be around him if he was going to act like that.

you didn’t go far that night. instead of going somewhere like a bar, you opted to go over to the neighboring apartment. where it just so happened that your best friend, since moving to jersey, lived. Of course she wasn’t home, but you still had a key and helped yourself to her couch for the rest of the night.

it wasn’t until the next morning that you started getting messages from jack. you hadn’t intended on responding to him but he seemed instant on talking, worried about his little brother and the girl who had become like a sister to him.

jack- where are you

jack- why is there glass on the floor and is that blood

jack- what happened dot

y/n- ask your brother

jack- he said you left

jack- what’s going on

you could have responded more to jack or you could just walked the few feet home and talk to him yourself. the later would most likely include seeing luke. you knew you'd have to talk to him eventually, why not rip the band-aid off now.

jack practically tackled you when you re-entered the apartment and luke was no where to be seen at that time. once he let you go, you told him all about what had happened the night before. he tried to reassure you that his brother was an idiot and that he didn't mean what he said.

"y/n? can we talk?” nodding you guide him over to the couch. "i'm sorry about last night. i shouldn't have said that. it wasn't nice."

"i know luke. but you can't just lose your temper like that every time your get a little bit upset." you cradled his head in your lap. you ran your fingers through the longer curls. "they are going to keep eating you alive if you do. and it'll only get worse."

"i know. it's just." it was hard for him to be this vulnerable, especially with you. but if he wanted to get past this bump in the road he was going to need to at times. "everyone is comparing me to them. and i try and be like them and im not."

"exactly. you're not like your brothers. you're luke. not quinn. not jack. you are luke. you need to play like luke. you need to be luke."

“how do i do that?” he turned his face to look up at yours. he still regretted his words and decisions from the night before. but he needed to find a way to find himself again and stop comparing himself to his family.

“i don’t know exactly lu. but we’ll figure it out together yeah?” you boop the tip of his nose with your finger eliciting a slight smirk and a head nod from him.

[canonicallyobserving911]

Hello @krisbrenet and thank you for the ask.

I'm not sure why but I couldn't respond to the actual ask, so I took a screenshot of it.

I agree with you, T*mmy is UNPLEASANT and IMO, he's an asshat. He's a racist and a bigot and I don't like him at all. Therefore, I wish his role would have remained as originally intended so he would have been gone after 7x6 but for whatever reason, TM turned him into another one of Buck’s lackluster love interests and Buck's still on the hamster wheel repeating the same relationship mistakes. At this point, it all seems like more delay tactics to keep veiwers watching but I'm tired of the "will they, won't they" with Buck and Eddie. It's been 6 years and I'm not a fan of pining. No shade to those who are but it shouldn't take another 1, 2 or 3 years to get them to the point where they're ready to be in a relationship. It's a TV show not real life and I want to see them growing and moving forward instead of their same old wash, rinse and repeat actions.

I stopped watching live after 7x4 but I did watch the finale when it aired and I live blogged but I wish I hadn't since it was a HUGE WASTE OF MY TIME. I fast-forward through the scenes with T*mmy and Buck, Eddie and Marisol and those with Eddie and that doppelganger Kim because I refuse to sit through them during live viewings because those scenes were ridiculous.

I'm still pissed at the way they handled Eddie’s and Eddie’s and Chris' storylines about Shannon and I wish TM would let her R.I.P. and stop rehashing those season 2 arcs. Eddie should have dealt with his grief in season 6 since they didn't give him anything else to do. Also, it was evident they edited more scenes of them out since the scene of them talking in Chris' room wasn't included.

Then bringing the Diaz parents back so they can just take him to El Paso was asinine and it's like the writer's have no idea of the things that happened in the past. Eddie DIDN'T WANT CHRIS STAYING WITH THEM and he said it in 4x14 during the will reveal but apparently TM or someone wants the audience to forget that fact since it hasn't been discussed in three years 🙄. When did Eddie identify Helena's part of the problem? Oh, that's right he didn't and just like all the other unseen parent redemptions, she magically got one like the Buckleys, Sang Han and Shannon did with that inconsistent retconned f~ckery.

Season 7 was a cluster f~ck and it ended on the same notes as season 6 did, underwhelming, exhausting and frustrating.

I still haven't decided if I'll watch season 8 and if I do, I'll treat it like I did season 5... I'll watch it whenever I get ready after the episodes air that way I can fast-forward through the stuff I don't want to see.

Thanks again for the ask and have a great day.

[synchodai]

I will say that the while it's clear issues were present during the making of hotd s2, it's still a shame that the cregan/jace adventures in the north weren't given any attention. I thought they would capitalize on a stark/targaryen pairing considering how popular each respective side is

Also looking at s2... jace just did so little lol because other than his conversation with his mother towards the end, his presence this season was just so lackluster. I can't even lie, but that house Frey scene felt like a bit of a consolation prize for his lack of initiative everywhere else. In my opinion, I think it's easy to like jace after you read f&b and his death definitely adds to his appeal, but I really enjoyed how his actions (that were said to be done by him ig) have extreme consequences even when you could tell the incentive to do them were either for his family's safety or to prove himself. There's just so much more you could have done with that than just his feelings about being a bastard. These were admirable attempts during war, but they were shortsighted as well, and it's interesting to think about how if he had lived, he could have had the opportunity to grow and change

I think he could have returned after rhaenys dies maybe they use his short temper that we saw in s1 that after hearing about luke's death, he tries to do something stupid, but cregan, feeling sorry for him stops him and he stays there until he has his head on midly straight. They could've had some bond during his stay and jace's character could have been plain about any anger or guilt over luke, being a bastard, etc. We could have done more with cregan (like it's funny as a show only you know nothing about his story), but that can be changed when he comes back in season 4 probably

Idk but the prophecy having so much relevance as you finish s1 and s2 just makes me wish for a story where these highly privileged people with dragons acted for reasons for a cause that THEY believed were valid as they dragged everyone else into it including the smallfolk because tbqh even though they waged war all over, you can still feel this immense sadness over the fate of many of these characters

either way, I understand that much goes into making a TV show so I try to take it in good faith about choices they make, but idk I'm still so disappointed about this season

sorry for the word vomit :)

Yeah, there's a whole camp of the fandom that's disappointed Jace didn't get his flirty side quest. That being said, I do like the scenes that we do get of Jace in the show — even waaaaaaaaay back in season one, I loved how they characterized him.

You're right, anon; he IS shortsighted. Way back in the dinner scene in season one, we see Jace can play a political game of nuance and subtle jabs when he invites Helaena to dance as an insult to Aegon, but we also see him be the one to escalate things to violence by throwing the first punch. He's not above throwing petty insults, but he also throws a tantrum when those insults are returned in kind. He's not the innocent, even-keeled political savant some people think he is.

Even when I read the book, I always imagined Jace as a bit of an asshole in the same way a lot of insecure teenage boys are. Every political player in this overly privileged family is some level of asshole. (Which is also why I disagree with a lot of fans who say he would have made for a perfect king but that's another rant for another time.) And that's what makes them compelling characters.

That's why we needed to see that northern sojourn where Jace learns to somewhat chill. There's an obvious change in demeanor between season one Jace and season two Jace, and you can totally attribute that to him being given the space not to be on the defense all the time. The writers could have gone with the Sara Snow story, the Brokeback Winterfell angle, or something else entirely, and any of it would have worked.

Alas, the show's priorities are really obvious at this point. If it's not about Rhaenyra/Dany being the prophesized chosen one, they're not interested.

[velandvithestarlightgullwings]

To the Pro-Palestine Protestors...

So, I've noticed that everyone has been so angry in regards to Gaza and looking at people voting for Kamala (never Trump btw) and excuse them every which way of being Zionist, colonizers, and how people don't care about Gaza.

In all honesty, I think people are missing the forest from the trees. Americans of all sides of the political left spectrum live in a place of privilege. And to be more specific, white lefties and liberals' live in a place of privilege.

When you bring up Gaza and voting, you hear a lot of white liberals crying "How can you vote for "Killer" Kamala? I'm not voting! I'm voting third party! They have to earn my vote! BLUE MAGA! BlueAnon!" Not aware that many people are scared about where the country they were born and raised are going through.

Many people have just "woken" up to the devastation that was caused from Trump's presidency after refusing to vote/voting third party in 2016. From getting rid of RvW by forcing through two Supreme Court Justices, removing Affirmative action, actively targeting trans people with horrible laws, trying to control women's bodies, targeting protections for Climate Change, the rise of incels culture (ask South Korea how bad that's going for them), the gutting of the Postal service, book burning, the gutting of pandemic response (right before COVID), turning D.E.I into the latest dog whistle. People are finally understanding the damage don't want to lose any more, especially with Project 2025 on the horizon if he wins again.

And a lot of these things often hurt minorities to a crippling degree and will hurt them if Trump wins again.

Because of this, when Kamala stepped in when Biden stepped down, people threw their weight behind her because they don't want to live in a world where Trump wins again.

On the flipside, you have Palestine.

The Israel-Palestine conflict has been ongoing for 75 years now, with the recent attack by Hamas inflaming things to a full on genocide for the Palestinian people by local colonizers, Israel, led by Benjamin "I have to fight so I don't go to prison for crimes" Netanyahu.

Many aren't aware that during Trump's four years of horror, he actually caused October 7th to happen. On December 6, 2017, President Trump formally recognized Jerusalem as the capital of Israel and moved the American embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem.

In the age of the internet, people are more connected than ever to the plights of those around the world, Ukraine being one, Congo another, and Palestine, which the latter eclipsing the first two.

Israel's anger over October 7th, which many Israeli's compare to 9-11, caused them to lash out at the many innocent people of Palestine. Because of Biden's lackluster response to trying to quell the continuing of a 75 year old issue, many have taken to the streets in protest of the conditions and indignities that Palestinians have gone through.

With the threat of another Trump presidency brushing up against Palestine supporters, its caused a divide with many pointing fingers.

As a black woman, who is engaged to another woman and has a trans brother, I am deeply aware of what a Trump presidency can do and the harms that have come from it and what will come from it. I've posted plenty of articles, both writing by myself, along with those from reputable sources, going over what we can expect if Trump wins while also showing my support for Palestine and her people. I've done protests, I've donated and I do the best I can to uplift their voices.

With that said, I've recently realized that the Pro-Palestine movement has been invaded by influencers, bad faith actors, those that believe in accelerationism, and those that are deep in the Antisemitism sauce. Vultures, essentially, and what was a just case has morphed into a case that would rather see the United States and those who live there perish so that Palestine can stay alive.

So when you have a group that doesn't want their rights being taken away just after realizing how bad it's become because of one party vs a group who are protesting the rights of another, things will get a little hard.

Here's a little story.

My grandparents was part of the Civil Rights movement with my Grandfather quickly going to Vietnam in the short time they overlapped. I've heard the horror stories from them for years.

How they were beaten, hosed, bitten by dogs, called all sorts of slurs, spat on, just the absolute worse that humanity can offer. Not to mention the many lives that were lost around them.

But, because of their sacrifices, and the sacrifices of those around them, they were able to succeed in their mission and now we have civil rights for not just black people, but for all people in the united states.

Black people are aware of what our elders had to fight for and when my grandparents, people who are on the last years of their lives, heard the rhetoric Trump and his party were saying, they were horrified. It took them back to that turbulent period in their lives.

I remember shortly before Biden stepped down, my grandmother busting into tears, asking how this country could elect a monster like Trump and how he could even be in the position he is now where he could win and how all they fought for was about to be ripped from them.

I argued in the defense of Palestine, but my grandfather asked me a question. "What good is trying to fill a cup from your cup when your cup is empty?"

It was at that time I realized that despite Gaza going through the trauma and pain they were going through, I couldn't just withhold my vote because of my feelings. Because he was right. America, whether people disagree or not, influences the world. We've seen it with Civil Rights, we've seen it with Gay Marriage, we've seen it with MAGA. we do, everyone else shortly follows. It's why a lot of people despise the United States.

We're the stone and the rest of the world is the water. We cause ripples with everything that we do. and if we allow ourselves to fall to Facisim, the rest of the world will follow suit. You may think it's arrogant, but it's not. It's a factual observation of the world.

As I mentioned before, black people know what is at risk. All of us aren't voting for Kamala because she's black or because of the "Vibes." For some, that may play a part, but for the majority, we do it because we know what is at risk if Trump wins and we know who will be first to feel his dictatorship.

As much as I hate to say it, white LGB people can always return back to the closet. They are white first, and their orientation second. It would hurt them deeply to do it, especially after living free for years, but they can always hid who they are. Trans people and minorities, not so much.

We have to protect ourselves and a lot of people on the Pro-Palestine side are upset by this fact. Maya, a known pro-palestine supporter and Palestine herself, came out with two videos.

Basically calling black people (especially black woman) colonizers and to let ourselves die to uphold Palestine. She resorted to bigotry and in turn, spat in the face of many of us who not only was down with the cause, but also used our voices to defend it.

I use this as an example because this is what many of the protestors want for the American people as a whole who are terrified for the rights they are losing by telling them not to vote or vote third party.

"To hell with your worries and fears risk of losing everything wanting to save yourself! What about them?! Both sides are evil! This is 1st world problem! River to the s-"

Stop.

So many people live in a place of privilege thinking that what happened to Germany can't happen here so they feel that they can sit it out or actively hurt the only way people can fight back against Trump and his RNC rule but they literally aren't paying attention.

Every day, the RNC and the Supreme Court Trump set empowered are stripping away our rights.

I'm not saying not to care.

Protest for Gaza, donate to their causes, uplift them every chance that you can get. Because Israel is doing evil and is actively committing genocide and colonization on a group that they have hurt for so many years.

But you can't condemn people wanting and needing to protect themselves as well. Especially when you have someone who is promising to become a dictator day one. Not voting or voting third party is not an option. If we start toa grassroots option for someone third party the second the election ends, then show up four years later, then we might have a shot. But until then, we only have two choices.

Kamala.

Trump.

They are the two that will sitting as president when the election is over. and there is only one choice in order to protect ourselves.

Because Trump is in record wanting to give police immunity. He is on record wanting to deport pro-Palestinian protestors and protestors of any kind.

He already even tried a Muslim ban.

This man is evil and this is our only shot to defeat him.

Make the right choice.

I posted two videos that TL:DR my thoughts on things by two beautiful women. At least watch those.

[emotionallychargedtowel]

Sato Ryuga in Kamen Rider Geats - an overview for non-toku folks

Now that Living with Him (Kare no Iru Seikatsu) has premiered has a couple of episodes out and is getting a good response from a lot of the folks I know on here, I thought it might be a good time to do one of those posts I do sometimes. I should probably have a name for this. Like, a tokusatsu actor overview post? My imagined audience for posts like this is made up of BL fans who haven't watched toku but would like to know more about their favorite actors' pasts in that genre. But I hope they're interesting for others as well.

The tokusatsu-to-BL pipeline has been getting shorter lately, with a lot of recent toku alums getting into BLs within the first year or so after their toku series has ended. Sato Ryuga falls into this category. He was on Kamen Rider Geats, which stopped airing last August. His costar Kan Hideyoshi, who played the lead rider in that series (Ukiyo Ace, a.k.a. Kamen Rider Geats), made the leap so quickly that the BL he was in, Although I Love You, and You? a.k.a. Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka, finished airing a while ago. That show had its moments but was a bit on the lackluster side (through no fault of Kan's--I thought he was charming, funny, and showed an admirable commitment to the role). I'm a lot more hopeful about Living with Him. In addition to its promising start, it was written by the screenwriter of Old Fashion Cupcake and directed by the director of My Personal Weatherman.

But even if it weren't for these positive indicators, I would have been excited to see Sato in a BL, or just about anything. He was really impressive in Geats. He showed a lot of range on that series, handling action, high drama, and occasional comedy really well. And it doesn't hurt that he's cute as hell.

By the way, I'm going to keep the spoilers vague in this post, but I can't really avoid them entirely while doing this type of overview. If relatively mild/general spoilers don't bother you, you should be OK to continue. And of course, if you don't think you'll ever watch Geats, you don't have to worry either way.

Sato and Kan together during Keiwa's villain era.

Sato's Geats character was named Sakurai Keiwa. Keiwa starts out as a sort of proxy for the audience. The premise of Geats involves a high-stakes competition called the Desire Grand Prix where the winner gets to magically change the world. Most of the time, most people don't know this competition is going on. It's already in progress when Keiwa encounters the players for the first time and he has zero context. As he learns about the game, and ends up joining in as Kamen Rider Tycoon (a pun on the fact that his suit form is modeled after a tanuki), the audience learns about it alongside him. Keiwa comes into the story as an idealistic sweetheart so it's easy to root for him right away. (This is less true of the other characters. Geats's biggest weakness, to my mind, is that it starts out conspicuously lacking in any sort of bonds between characters or truly relatable characters other than Keiwa. This gets a lot better by the latter part of the series, but I found it somewhat rough going to get to that point, and it took longer than it needed to.)

One interesting thing about Keiwa is that you can tell a lot about what's going on with him by his hair. You'll see what I mean. I didn't notice this until I was doing screenshots for this post and then it really stood out to me.

So, here's Keiwa as a naïve newcomer. Check out the cute mop.

It doesn't take long for him to get kind of intense when he's in a fight and about to henshin (transform into his armored suit form).

Speaking of which, for the first part of the series, his pre-transformation move involves a sort of determined fist gesture, which will be important later.

This is a later example of the henshin fist, but it gets the point across.

Intense henshin face notwithstanding, he's still Mr. Nice Guy for a lot of the series. He might get a bit of a hair part but he's basically a floppy-haired cinnamon roll.

And then something bad happens.

This thing is really hard on Keiwa, and he has a dark night of the soul. He gets estranged from the other lead characters.

The hair is already going a little haywire here.

He does some creepy shit.

Then he gets into an even darker place.

Keiwa switches up his henshin move. He starts snapping his fingers, which is part of Ace's signature move. Ace is a total badass who has won the Desire Grand Prix repeatedly. He's a perpetual contender, the guy everyone else is always gunning for because he's the most likely to come out on top. I mean, his name is Ace. Adopting the snapping part of his henshin move has significant symbolism. It's like Keiwa is saying he's the new badass in town. He also has a new, stronger suit form to go along with this change.

There's a difference in the way Keiwa does the snap that's worth noting. Ace's snap move starts as a fox head hand gesture (think the rock'n'roll devil horns gesture but with a pointed snout) because Geats takes the form of a kitsune when he goes into suit mode. Keiwa's snap starts with his hand upraised, fingers up, the back of his hand facing outward. It's reminiscent of an American-style beckoning motion (the "c'mere" finger thing and its multi-finger equivalent), which I gather is considered extremely rude in Japan. This calls back to the henshin move of a favorite toku character of mine, Sawatari Kazumin/Kamen Rider Grease, who Takeda Kouhei played on Kamen Rider Build. Sawatari just straight up does the rude beckoning motion before transforming. It's a very antagonistic, cocky thing to do.

As you can see, Keiwa's hair is really going haywire at this point.

Keiwa ends up facing off with Ace more and more, including in some scenes like the one below. It doesn't really come off this way to me when I'm watching the scenes, but when I look at these screenshots, these two look about as likely to smooch as they do to come to blows.

Keiwa's hair starts to get a little less poofy at this point but the cute mop hasn't returned. Instead, his hair is almost ready to go into bad guy mode!

Finally, Keiwa tips over into full-on villain territory. This is signaled by his hair getting a defined part. He also starts wearing an earring, just for extra bad boy hotness points.

(I’ve seen this earring thing happen in Japanese media quite a few times and it always seems funny to me, because an actor will have had a very visible hole in his earlobe for a whole series and then when he puts something in it we’re supposed to be all surprised Pikachu about it. It’s an interesting commentary on the cultural significance of earrings on dudes, I guess. Now I’m trying to think of nice boys in toku who get to wear earrings in their highly visible ear holes. Kaito from Zenkaiger is one, at least. I assume there are others?)

He keeps snapping/beckoning.

The beckoning thing is clearer here, and it has that flipping off the audience energy.

He adopts some pretty cold-blooded expressions.

In some scenes, like the one seen above, he seems to have subtle makeup on. I don't know if this is because villains are supposed to be hotter or because they're supposed to be more gender non-conforming. Or both? Well, it suits him.

As you would probably guess, Keiwa doesn't stay bad. The stuff that sent him off the deep end gets resolved and his relationships with other characters get repaired. He also gets his mop back (it's only intermittently messy) and loses the earring. He goes back to his original henshin move.

There you have it! Hopefully this gets across a good bit about Sato's Geats character and some of the shifts he goes through. Of course, I've left out plenty of stuff as well. Anyone who's really curious should definitely check out the series.

[crooked-wasteland]

Hazbin Hotel Live Blog: Overture

. While I am being kind to the show as it is, I cannot push out of my mind the fact that this is still Vivienne Medrano, and while this seems to be an interesting direction the series is considering to take the story, I am lacking any intrigue. Medrano has a knack for interesting ideas, but once executed are often trimmed down from all nuance and then played in the most straight forward and storybook fashion.

Evil existed before and separate from Lucifer

Eve is linked to the root of evil through the animation

Dichotomy of Lilith and Lucifer

Why does Heaven think Hell will rise up?

Charlie is reading the storybook to herself. Aloud. And the reason is because she’s like a child seeking comfort. Also Charlie’s delivery of “Pretty worked up” is just feeling off. Like isn’t this supposed to be a somber moment? Why is it delivered so chipper? The pilot had her crying and singing a lamentation. Downgrade.

Info dump dialogue

“This kingdom was something she really cared about.”

Vaggie’s voice is such a downgrade. She sounds so uninterested.

“Daddy issues by fixing you” So alastor knows about Charlie’s family situation already.

The lineart around Alastor is so distracting. It’s so bizarrely thick.

I wish there was no dialogue

Her dad calls her but she is supposed to have a strained relationship.

I feel like Medrano doesn’t know what Angel Dust is. As in the actual drug. PCP is not Cocaine.

That was the worst segue into a song I ever saw.

“If you dont mind the smell, it’s a happy day in hell.” I hate this line.

Vaggie just never sounds right, does she? Her singing is so nasal dominate it doesn’t sound like her throaty modal voice.

What was the contract? What did it say? Why even have Charlie sign anything if we have no concept of what that is? It is such a rip off from Ariel’s contract in the Little Mermaid that it feels more like an Easter egg than relevant to the story actively being told. You need to show why the actions happening are taking place, you cant just do things and expect us to pick up the pieces for you. Are you trying to get across that Heaven is full of bureaucracy and paperwork? There is no receptionist and no other person in the building until she signs ONE paper. You failed at portraying an overabundance of bureaucratic red tape and it is distracting and infuriating. All I see are the better DISNEY MOVIES that were clearly just plagiarized. Not an homage, not inspired. Plagiarized.

Lucifer calls Charlie to meet Adam. Adam says he knows. So this doesn’t feel like this is Charlie filling in, the way the dialogue is written is that it was specifically planned for Charlie to meet Adam.

Everything has a gradient.

I bet $15 that the Dickmaster portion of Adam’s dialogue was Alex Brightman’s improv. I was not impressed by his Kaiju Dick improv in Oops and this is just as flaccid. Pun intended.

There is a clear discccrepency in talent between Alex and Erika. He has such a smoother voice and range while Erika feels like a Disney understudy where every delivery is pretty much identical to the last. Like the songs themselves are not doing her any favors. They range from bad to mediocre, and even in the better songs, there is always one horrifically bad lyric that just ruins the entire experience.

I like Lute. She feels like Peridot.

RIP Katie Killjoy.

Nifty is cute. The joke for her had a lot of potential of being hilarious but didn’t meet my threshold of comedy due to lacking a feel for Nifty. Imagine if she was in every scene with Vaggie talking her head off and never shutting up. Then when Vaggie is like, “If anyone can sell this hotel, it’s Nifty.” And we had this foundation that Nifty is known for being a huge chatterbox only to then be dead silent when the camera is on her. It would have been hilarious. But we see her once and she has one singular line previous. So it just feels like a cheap visual gag.

As a musical, it is lackluster. I see that Evil is something separate from Lucifer and something he dislikes. Lucifer is said to see free will as a spring of creativity, but humans used it to suck and that killed Lucifer’s love of life. In the meantime, Lilith is empowered by Hell. Hell fuels her sense of freedom, which she spreads through her “songs”. Only for her to just vanish I guess. She just hopes out without a word, Charlie says she must be doing something important over the last 7 years, but no inclination on what important things Lilith would be doing. Additionally, Lilith is said to have loved Hell, like Charlie. So it sets up this idea that Lucifer dislikes Hell or even hates it, while Lilith revels in it. Alluding to their marriage falling apart from this dissonance. At the same time, Lucifer calls Charlie to meet with Heaven, despite the pilot being canon. So we get the impression that Charlie and Lucifer had a falling out (“Maybe dad was right.”) but she doesn’t have much more than surprise at her father calling. Then he just sets up this meeting for her to meet with Adam off screen entirely. It is unclear how this was conveyed, but Lucifer doesn’t believe in Charlie and her meeting Adam has nothing at all to do with her hotel.

But the way Adam talks about the meeting is unusual in that it gives the impression that it wasn’t about Charlie “filling in”, but that this whole meeting was specifically set for Charlie and Adam. This is compounded by how the ending reads like they didn’t know if the angel was dead until that moment. So the extermination being moved up has nothing to do with the angel’s death. Maybe I’m wrong, but this all feels really disjointed.

But Lute really is just Peridot. So much so that when asked what I liked about the episode, I literally said “Peridot”, not Lute. The one good aspect of this episode is another stolen concept from a better show with a more competent creator. But I also like Alex Brightman’s singing. He is very talented and he does elevate the material by really playing with his delivery, but it’s still at best Mid due to the weak lyrics,

3/10

[thankskenpenders]

Thoughts on what has been revealed so far for the Zelda movie?

They're going for live action instead of animation, and the only Hollywood names attached right now are the director of the Maze Runner movies, one of the writers for the Jurassic World trilogy, and one of the architects of the Sony Spider-Man Universe (who was also the guy who forced Sam Raimi to put Venom in Spider-Man 3). All signs are pointing towards it being another lackluster video game movie that everyone forgets about a month after release

I mean, I'd love to be wrong! It'd be great to have a good Zelda movie. The director has apparently wanted to do a Zelda movie for years, so that's something. But I don't see any point in getting my hopes up, especially when it's still several years away. If it actually looks good when they release the first trailer, great, but until then it's not something that needs to take up space in my brain

[inconspicious-random-thoughts]

Do you think Lilith had a good reason for leaving and still loves her family?

Hello there!

I fully believe Lilith is a loving mother and wife. I believe the fan base that is rallied against her and hate her will only turn around next season when truth comes to light next season and she will become "Best mom/wife Lilith". I would cackle wickedly, if that comes to fruition. I low key interpret her as a basic white girl, sipping on pumpkin spice lattes and putting up the "live, laugh, love" sign around the hotel if given the chance to.

Lucifer and Lilith probably have the sickenly display of pda. Nothing overly sexual. But like baby talk and nicknames, and being overly cutesy that it just becomes grating to bare witness.

I will admit, her absence for seven years and the ending of season one looks suspicious. But I think its fully intentional by the creators to not only give the audience guessing what's up and look forward to know more, but it purposely make her look like antagonist only to get a plot twist and season 2 that she isn't.

I seems like the fanbase think she abandoned her family for her own selfish desires. Which to be fair, might be. It is Hell, and not full of good people. Lilith being the first 'sinner'. But I don't think that's the storyline. For one, I think a important figure like Lilith would be a heck of a lot more dimensional and layered. Not a "Hell sucks, and family isn't enough to make me want to stay." then peace out of it. Just seem lackluster.

I think she was forced to leave her family and home for the greater good. The beginning of the series she painted as a political figure who wants Hell to thrive like she is. Which, again, to be fair, could be a plot twist that she isn't. That she isn't interested in the well being of sinners and was a ploy to rally Hell for her own personal revenge on Heaven. Which, to be honest, I don't mind that storyline.

But I strongly believe Lilith is not a antagonist and is only made to look like one. I think Heaven gave the Morningstar family an ultimatum that threaten Hell (extended past sinners and include Hellborne?) and most importantly, Charlie. So, they complied, Lilith sacrifice her time with her family and home to keep everyone safe.

Or a similar scenario but something involving Roo. To keep Roo at bay, Heaven have to harbor Lilith so Roo remain trapped? Roo, a being that threaten both Heaven and Hell, as well as the living world of Earth.

Given the scenario above, Lucifer completely aware where Lilith is and why. Lucifer choose to keep it quiet to Charlie. Which in turn, she would feel betrayed by her father for his silence when she most likely questioned her mother's whereabouts and Lucifer redirects the conversations in the past. All the time Charlie spent wondering and worrying about her mother and questioning her mothers love for her could been avoided if Lucifer revealed the truth to her. It not a surprise it will cause some tension in their relationship they were trying to rebuild and mend.

Alastor may be aware of Lilith whereabouts as well as their absence being gone and missing at the sime times is suspicious. So Alastor may somehow be involved. (I personally think he in cahoots with Roo, and Roo the cause of Lilith absence. Alastor reluctant in his part and regret that decision with his deal with Roo) Again, Charlie feels betrayed by this.

If the off chance, Lilith is an antagonist, and Lilith is working against Heaven. I think Lilith still loves her family dearly. If she is an antagonist, I think its more that she became narrow minded what she believe is the right and just cause for Hell (and keeping Charlie and her family safe), that she blinded to how misguided her actions became. Like she believed her cause is for the greater good for Hell, unaware how wrong she went about things. Basically, the end justify the means. But Lilith was un aware how wrong her means since she was so narrow minded and focus ahead until she looked at it in retrospect. Her actions were wrong even if it was doing it from her heart, out of love and concern for those she held dear. Basically right reason,done in the wrong way. So even if she was a "bad guy" she doing it for she believe is the only way. A good guy making hard choices, to get what needs to be done to achieve peace in Hell (?)

Everything is lined up, all the pieces on the board situated, only for Lilith not follow through on her last step with Charlie instistace and imploring her mother that its not the way. Lilith didn't follow through in favor for Charlie's dream. Lilith apologises (it starts with sorry!) and ask for forgiveness from everyone and they start to rebuild and mend and live as a whole family again alongside with Charlies found family.

[cross-my-heartt]

okay so I slept on it... and as much as I hate to say it I think I'm disappointed with episode five

really disappointed

putting my thoughts under a cut, they're mostly critical but there's some praise in there too

I'm not gonna lie some parts of this episode were fantastic. I legitimately started crying when Crosshair picked up Mayday's helmet and started lining them all up. but as much as I wanted to feel the same way about the other emotional moments in this episode (and they were a lot) I just didn't and it's weird because they feel right from a storytelling perspective but execution wise?... yeah, I have some thoughts

for starters I'm getting really frustrated with Corbett and co's aversion to showing us characters reacting to major events. I fully expected this episode to pick up where we left off but instead we went straight to the timeskip, foregoing all the initial stages of Crosshair's reintegration into the team (similarly people have pointed out how disappointing it is that we didn't see Crosshair react to the news of Tech's death. or Echo reacting to the news of Fives’ death. can we see the pattern here?)

we're supposed to feel like this tension in the team has been going on for a while but instead we're just told that it has. yes, it makes sense for this to be the case but when you think that the whole thing is resolved in one single episode, you start to realize just how damn rushed it is

so much of this episode relied on clunky exposition to fill us in on what's happening instead of just taking the time to show us. imagine if instead of one episode we had three episodes to develop this story line. one on Pabu, one on Barton and one final one for the mission where Crosshiar and Hunter's tension comes to a head. just imagine.

we have so much room for side quests where these characters' conflicts can broil and stew and develop in the background and we can get a real sense of time passing and a sense of how this affects them. we got a whole episode dedicated to showing us what Omega's imprisonment was like on Tantiss, imagine if they'd put the same effort into setting up Crosshair's return the same way

instead this is really starting to feel like we're trying to get Crosshair's arc out of the way so we can move on to the next one (which I presume will be about Tech) and if we do get episodes where this could have been developed as a background subplot I will chew my socks off

also if I see another giant worm creature living underground in a star wars media, I will throw myself off a cliff

NO MORE FREAKING CREATURES. we're sick and tired of them. why, why do we have to waste precious screen time on a redundant action scene? it feels so old at this point. not to mention how obviously shoehorned it is because a) it messes with Outpost's plot and b) Outpost never mentioned this being the purpose of the sensors meaning this is obviously something the writers retconned into existence to hastily cobble the plot together

a very predictable one too, I swear to god I expected it to be a worm the moment they showed the ground shake, I swear

yes, it was supposed to show us the batch working together as a yay team moment but I personally feel it was pretty lackluster (none of them actually put their special skills to good use, I'm baffled by how useless Hunter's sense were here). imagine if instead of this we got an episode that was actually interested in exploring the conflict between these two

have them walk off to quarrel after Hunter sees Crosshair acting strange with the helmets (the one piece of setup I would praise) then accidentally fall through a weak point in the ice, plunging them underground. and instead of an action scene we get a long episode of them trying to get out of the maze, walking through the tunnels and struggling to cooperate in between bouts of bickering. have Crosshair internally freaking out because this is all so similar to him and Mayday crawling through the tunnels. maybe have one of them step on an old mine, echoing that same moment in Outpost

have Hunter ask Crosshair why he knows about these mines and who taught him to disarm them. have Crosshair completely reluctant to tell him

seriously there is SO much wasted potential here...

which leads me to the next point which is dialogue. the worst side effect of rushing plot is that most of your dialogue ends up being expository and it really showed. characters saying exactly how they feel, over explaining and pointing out things that could have been shown. it all feels even more egregious when you realize that Crosshair is the one saddled with most of the exposition making him not only weirdly talkative this episode but also nudging him into the out of character territory

because Crosshair has always been taciturn and roundabout in the way he expresses himself and I feel like this was sorely lacking this time. it's a shame because that's one of the main things that made him so complex and interesting to watch

call me crazy but we didn't need Crosshair and Hunter acknowledging their mistakes. a meaningful look or a silent moment shared between them would have sufficed. we didn't need Crossahir saying what he's done, we know what he's done, and knowing Crosshair that shouldn't have come out so earnestly either

I feel like the show has proved that it's really good at conveying these nuances in a subtle way but somehow it forgot all about it in its urge to hurry the plot along

I don't know if I'm wrong or right about this but I really hope I'm not. I'm not saying the writers are neglecting Crosshair as a character, there were moments where I could really feel how much love they have for him. but the telling of that story really fell flat

all in all this episode felt like 'finish crosshair's story arc: speedrun edition'. the right story beats are there - the hug, the confrontation, honoring Mayday, focusing on the tremor - but they're so rushed and the dialogue is so expository and clunky that they left me feeling hollow

(also are we really going to pretend it's okay for AZ to be there?? your sole chip removing droid and it's used as target practice by the man with a hand tremor and a 50% accuracy rate?? hello??? anyway, just a nitpick lol)

all in all there is a lot to love and in a sense we got everything we wanted but I do wish it had been done differently

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Snowflame

(WARNING! This analysis contains C-C-C-COCAINE!)

Imagine this absurd concept: A supervillain cartel boss whose powers are fueled by him getting high off his own supply. Imagine too that this man wears a ridiculous outfit, and exists to be an anti-drug PSA that fails epically because he makes doing drugs look awesome. Now also imagine that everything about him is played completely straight without a single bit of acknowledgment of how absurd and campy the whole thing is.

That, my friends, is Snowflame.

The New Guardians is a comic series that would have been long forgotten as a crusty relic of the late 80s if not for giving the world the absolute coolest villain ever conceived. Snowflame has amassed a cult following the likes of which would make Jim Jones envious, due to the sheer absurdity of his existence and the pure unadulterated action movie villain charm of his dialogue. He’s perhaps one of the most minor villains out there with only a handful of appearances to his name, but he’s loved more than villains who’ve appeared twenty times as much as him.

I’m here to show you why.

Motivation/Goals: Snowflame is a cartel leader, and so he really wants to peddle drugs. Guess which drug is his forte. Go on, guess. And that’s really all there is to him! I need to reiterate that his threat as a cartel leader is played completely and utterly straight even as he spouts off the hammiest dialogue you’ve ever seen and literally gets a power up by snorting coke. This is the very core of his appeal, in that he is something genuinely terrifying and threatening but presented in a way only a comic book can pull off.

Of course, his true motivation is far, far simpler.

Look at this man. That is the face of a man who exists solely to snort illicit substances up his nose. He lives to be high. That is the extent of his desires, and all else is second to that simple goal. As long as he can ignite and continue to be the instrument of cocaine's will, he is satisfied.

Final Fate: Every single time Snowflame shows up, he dies. In his initial appearance, he apparently blows up, but three decades later, he makes his coke-fueled return to do battle with Catwoman, and despite inhaling enough cocaine to kill an elephant, a feat that should theoretically make him nigh invincible, he fucking dies.

...Or does he? Snowflame returns yet again in Peacemaker Tries Hard! Here he does battle with, you guessed it,

...who puts a poison dart frog in his cocaine and kills him.

Maybe. My theory is that Snowflame is the Kenny of the DC universe, and whenever some bastard kills him his coke-fueled powers just respawn him the next day.

Best Scene: While his fight against Catwoman is unfortunately lackluster as ordained by the writers (Selina is not lasting two seconds against Snowflame and his coke-fueled powers under realistic circumstances), it gave us one of the most gorgeous and badass panels ever made:

Really brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?

Best Quote: Yeah, there’s no fucking contest here, it’s this:

Final Thoughts & Score: I think I speak for all of us when I say Snowflame is one of the greatest fucking characters ever conceived.

Everything about him is a towering testament to what makes the medium of comic books great. The best villains tend to be the wildest and most out-there concepts, like a giant alien starfish that mind controls people, or a gay gorilla in love with a brain in a jar, or a giant racist communist egg. And don’t even get me started on the villains the Doom Patrol fights! Snowflame is the epitome of that; he is what would happen if Tony Montana was a DC supervillain by way of Captain Planet. He is absurd, over-the-top, and so goddamn cool.

It’s very obvious they were trying to do an anti-drug PSA here given the time the comic was released, but it absolutely falls flat on its face when the strawman constructed to be defeated so that the lesson might be dispersed is an absolute lunatic who dresses in colorful spandex and spouts off the most epic lines to ever come out of a villain’s mouth. Everything about him is absurd, but unlike something like Egg Fu he’s absurd in a tasteful and cool way rather than a shockingly racist way. Snowflame is just a dude who snorts cocaine to gain superpowers, it’s as simple as that and yet it’s also completely bonkers.

It’s genuinely unsurprising that this guy managed to get such a massive cult following that he spawned a fanmade webcomic and then got to pop up in the comics again over three decades after his supposed death. And it’s said cult following that has allowed him to pop up time and time again, even getting an appearance in the fourth season of Harley Quinn. I’m sure you can guess that I’m part of that massive cult fanbase, and I can only dream of writing a villain as incredible and grandiose as this drug-addled madman. Infinity/10 isn’t a real score, so he’ll have to settle for a 10/10 instead.

...Oh yeah, remember in the Egg Fu review when I said I wasn’t going to review Hemo-Goblin?

Psycho Analysis: Hemo-Goblin

This is gonna be really short, because there is so little to this guy. He is a one-shot, but boy what a fucking shot he is. Hemo-Goblin is a racist vampire created by South African white supremacists to give members of the New Guardians AIDS. You read that right. This is a racist AIDS vampire.

Now, unlike Egg Fu, who was a horrible racist caricature created from topical anti-communist sentiments of the time, Hemo-Goblin was seemingly created with better intentions. But you know what they say about intentions; the road to Hell is paved with good ones. I get wanting to do a commentary on the AIDS crisis, and I don’t think it’s out of the question for a superhero book to handle such a thing, but maybe having an AIDS-powered vampire give HIV to a Jamaican woman and a gay man isn’t the most tasteful and nuanced way to do this.

Oh, and by the end of his only appearance, he dies of AIDS in jail.

I’m not gonna lie, guys: I kinda love this stupid fucking creature. His weird design, the absurdity of his concept, and the awful execution of his premise makes him memorable for all the wrong reasons, but he’s memorable nonetheless. I think if Snowflame didn’t exist and wasn’t the coolest villain ever, more people would talk about the insanity that is Hemo-Goblin, though having a single appearance before dying and never appearing again doesn’t help his case much. Still, he’s just cazy enough to earn himself a 3.5/10, so he’s got that going for him.