#compass point studio

[gachael]

Chief Inspector (Nomad Soul Remix) / Wally Badarou

Inspector Nomad

[dickinson-devotee]

Nassau — 1984

[addictedtorobertpalmer]

Moon Martin and Robert Palmer recording Palmer's cover of "Bad Case Of Loving You", 1979, Compass Point Studios, Nassau, Bahamas.

[starful-emporium]

that finale made me so emotional. i cried at all of their scenes in Ankarna's realm. anyway, here's some bad kids senior year head canons.

Kristen: Her wish for a sister is filled by Bucky, crying in her room late at night and praying together. After talking to Jawbone they learn that there are grounds to remove Bricker and Cork from their parents' home. Kristen is the only one given the option of emancipation--instead, she asks Jawbone to adopt her as well.

She falls back onto old patterns with Tracker. But they're a little older and wiser, so they see it happening and take a step back. Not a break up, but a readjustment. With her academics finally not reliant on deadlines, Kristen dedicates herself to her pantheon. They work with Lucy to bring Ruvina back to her sister, and Kristen finds herself in awe of the dedication she sees.

Fig: She puts all her time into the Bottomless Pit, something it desperately needs. Often she tells Sandra-Lynn she's sleeping at Gilear's, and vice versa, and stays with Ayda instead. On her 18th birthday her parents sit her down and explain that she can live with Ayda officially, if she wants to. Just as long as she remembers she'll always have a room with both of them.

She brings Sandra-Lynn on Complicated Women, first to interview, and then as a permanent guest host. They talk about womanhood as something living and changing and queer and complicated. It's her mom who encourages her when Lola Embers drops Ruben. They rally all the rock-hating souls and cordon off part of the recording studio. Fig never goes in there, but from what she's heard, his music has gotten better in the absence of Kipperlilly's judgement.

Fabian: Somehow, he ends up being the one to train the new dog. The Hangman is jealous to a ridiculous degree, so he spends a lot of time managing that. He starts looking into a sea-worthy vessel for after graduation, spends hours at the Compass Points Library learning how to navigate. Learning sea shanties is part of all that, of course, and has nothing to do with the way his baby sibling stares at him while he practices.

Mazey teaches dance to kids while he finishes school. She's so kind it almost hurts, and Fabian has no choice but to learn to accept love. He "lets" Gorgug skip Bloodrush under the condition of weekly movie nights, which only sometimes are expanded to the rest of the Bad Kids. The radio in his room crackle to life sometimes, with little messages from Bill when he's close enough to the material plane.

Riz: Appointed as vice president, he quits all but the AV club. He makes a bedtime pact with Sklonda, and for the first time in a very long time, they are both getting enough sleep. Someone mentions ace and aro identities to him, and he's awake enough for it click.

He finds a new scholarship for Aguefort students, and it looks scam-y so he does some investigating. It easily traces right back to Seacaster gold and Fabian. He's thankful for the cover and accepts the money with an understanding that they won't talk about it. He doesn't check, but the scholarship is offered every year after that.

Adaine: She spends the summer with Aelwyn tracking down their mom. She doesn't need revenge, but she needs to know her mom will never hurt anyone ever again. She feels Ankarna in the hot sun and wonders if that's the difference between revenge and justice. They take the long way back to Solace, the Hand-van paddling across the ocean.

When school starts, she works with Kristen to turn her inheritance into resources. Student who can pay for some of their components still do, but everyone gets what they need to learn. On the first day of class, she's asked about her summer prophecies, and tells off Tiberia for relying on her for lessons.

Gorgug: His senior year MCAT is signed on the first day by Lydia, who's teaching barbarian classes for the year. She gives him permission for independent study, and Henry gives him a shop key so he can do classwork whenever he wants. The rest of his time is spent perfecting Barbificer skills and creating a program to run at Aguefort the next year.

Mary Ann offers her quokky pet skills to help remodel his homonculous. The result is much cuter and more functional than before. She still names her highest level pet Cloaca in honor of the original, much to Gorgug's chagrin.

After graduation, the Bad Kids move in trios and pairs, and they always reconvene on the Summer Solstice, the anniversary of Ankarna's resurrection.

Kristen splits her time between Solace and Fallinel and Mountains of Chaos, the places where temples to her pantheon stand. Adaine and Riz rent an apartment in Bastion City, where they both continue school. Gorgug stays in Elmville, teaching at Aguefort and working on the side to start his own school. Fabian takes to the sea, bringing Fig and Ayda and Mazey with him.

They save the world again, a few times, but only when they want to.

[antinousletmehit]

Don't be shy give us the drafts 😈

Telemachus adjusted his drafting table, the low hum of the college studio room filling the air as he meticulously worked on his latest architectural blueprint. He had a midterm project due, and Professor Hephaestus had made it clear that he expected perfection. “Still drawing your little squares and triangles, Telemachus?” came a familiar, mocking voice from behind.

Telemachus sighed but didn’t look up. “Hello, Antinous.” Antinous, y/n’s older brother, sauntered into the room, his forensic textbooks tucked under his arm. His sharp grin made it clear he was in the mood to antagonize. “You know, while you’re busy doodling, some of us are out here studying real sciences. Forensics, the stuff that actually solves mysteries and makes a difference.”

Telemachus rolled his eyes. “And yet, here you are, interrupting me instead of solving mysteries.”

“Antinous!” Y/n’s voice cut through the room like a knife. She strode in, her physcology notes in hand and an exasperated expression on her face. “Are you seriously bothering Telemachus again?”

Antinous leaned casually against the wall, clearly unfazed. “I’m just trying to inspire the kid. Maybe he’ll switch to a major with some… weight.”

“Being an architect requires more creativity and discipline than you’ll ever understand,” she snapped, planting her hands on her hips. “You can’t just tear people down because you think your major is better. Also, maybe focus on your own work instead of harassing others.”

Telemachus smirked at her lecture but quickly covered it with a cough. “It’s fine, y/n. I’m used to it.”

“No, it’s not fine,” she said, glaring at her brother.

Antinous groaned, dramatically throwing his hands up. “Fine, fine! I’m leaving. Have fun with your rulers and compasses, Telemachus.”

As Antinous strolled out, she sighed and sat next to Telemachus. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous because you’re better at focusing than he is.”

Telemachus chuckled. “I appreciate the backup. I don’t know how you deal with him.”

She shrugged. “He’s my brother. It’s a full-time job keeping him in line. Anyway, need a break? I brought coffee.”

“Please,” Telemachus said, setting his pencil down. “You’re a lifesaver.” And as they sipped their coffee, Antinous’ teasing was quickly forgotten—at least until the next time he decided to crash their study session.

——

In Antinous and Eurymachus’ shared dorm, the atmosphere was a mix of chaos and disarray. Girl’s panties were strewn across the floor, empty takeout containers balanced precariously on the edge of the desk, and the faint smell of cologne hung in the air. Eurymachus was sprawled on his bed, scrolling through his phone, clearly uninterested in the pile of ELA assignments stacked on his desk. Antinous paced the room like a caged lion, his arms flailing as he launched into yet another rant.

“I’m telling you, Eurymachus,” Antinous started, his voice sharp with frustration, “y/n is way too young to be hanging out with guys like Telemachus. She’s barely even out of high school, and now she thinks she can just… what? Be friends with him like it’s nothing?”

Eurymachus didn’t even look up from his phone. “Dude, she’s in college. Same as you. She’s not a kid.”

“She is a kid,” Antinous snapped, pointing an accusatory finger in the air. “She’s my baby sister. She has no idea how guys think, how manipulative they can be. And Telemachus? Don’t even get me started. He’s got that whole quiet, ‘I’m-so-serious’ vibe going on. It’s suspicious!”

Eurymachus finally glanced up, smirking lazily. “Suspicious? Or are you just jealous she’s spending more time with him than with you?”

Antinous froze mid pace, glaring at Eurymachus. “Jealous? Of Telemachus? Don’t be ridiculous. I just think she’s too naïve to see through people’s motives. She doesn’t need to be wasting her time on some guy who spends all day drawing buildings.”

Eurymachus shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “Look, man, you can’t micromanage her life forever. She’s not a kid anymore, and she’s gonna make her own choices. If Telemachus is the guy she wants to hang out with, what’s the big deal?”

Antinous groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “The big deal is that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. And don’t act like you’d be fine if your sister was hanging out with some random guy.”

Eurymachus chuckled, setting his phone down. “Good thing I don’t have a sister, then. But if I did? I’d probably trust her to figure it out on her own. You’re just being overprotective, man. Let her live a little.”

Antinous shook his head, still unconvinced. “You don’t get it. She’s y/n. She’s too young, too trusting. And Telemachus is probably just pretending to be nice so he can—”

“Can what?” Eurymachus interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Ask her out? Fall in love? God forbid, right? What’s the worst that could happen, Antinous? She’s not some helpless little kid anymore.” Antinous scowled but didn’t respond. Instead, he resumed his pacing, muttering under his breath about “reckless friendships” and “guys who think they’re smarter than they are.”

Eurymachus, clearly amused by the entire situation, grabbed his phone again and settled back into his bed. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack, man. Just let it go. Who knows? Maybe Telemachus isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Unlikely,” Antinous muttered, though his pacing slowed slightly. Still, the thought of his baby sister being anywhere near Telemachus—or any guy—left him bristling with frustration.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Gay Cheerleaders AU

Y'all knew it was coming.

I'm thinking Lena would be the... third(?) year veteran, who is a legacy. Her mom Lillian was also a cheerleader, and then became the head honcho in charge of the cheerleading division. Lena grew up with the expectation of eventually joining the organization as a dancer, and naturally becomes a group leader (the youngest 1st group leader in the history of the organization?) through her sense of responsibility, magnetism, and compassion, even if she remains a little distant-- she doesn't share her whole self with the team, as she's constantly aware of needing to present the image of a perfect cheerleader, a perfect leader.

Kara would be the rookie, immediately awed by Lena's performance during tryouts. She's not in Lena's group, but her own group leader faces some... personality challenges, lets say, that have Kara taking on more of a responsibility than would normally be allocated to a first year dancer.

But when Kara and Lena end up bumping into each other in the studio for some solo practice, they agree to share the space and work together. Of course they end up bonding, and those practices lead to coffees, lunches, some movie nights.

They eventually become the darlings of the team, inseperably so. Young fans try to catch glimpses of them standing together on the sidelines, loving to see Kara acting herself (aka goofy) and seeing Lena laughing in response. Behind the scenes they become romantically and sexually involved, but they keep it hidden because while it's not explicitly forbidden, they do cheer for a very conservative state, and they know it would impact not only their squad but the team overall.

In their day jobs, Lena is a children's dance teacher-- she wants to do more, but Lillian wants it for the community-service image it presents. Kara would be a fitness trainer I think, something lucrative but flexible and reflective of her athletic and exuberant nature whereas Lena is a bit more reserved.

Kara and Lena span multiple seasons/classes, and in the off season Lena pops up on Kara's instagram a little bit here and there, which only fuels the quiet online rumors about them. Like, the people who clock them are also queer in a conservative region of the country, so it's not a mass pop-culture phenomenon-- yet.

That all changes when one night Lena is grabbed inappropriately by a cameraman or other stadium employee, and can't manage to extricate herself despite her obvious and vocal discomfort. Kara sees red. She slugs the man right across the jaw with a proper right hook. The cameras had only just started to pan over to Lena's commotion and catches the exact moment Kara lunges for him and spins Lena out of his reach.

Kara is the champion/brute of the moment, depending on who's talking. Some laud her for both her protectiveness of her teammate and her technique, while others condemn her for unladylike vigilantism. Why didn't she let the security team deal with it, she serves a role model for young girls what is she teaching them the thug life?

Most importantly-- and most dire, perhaps-- is that it clues Lillian into the deeper nature of their relationship. She corners Lena, and interrogates her as Lena tries and tries to deflect. Lillian all but tells her that she'll be watching Lena through a microscope, and terrifies Lena to the point she breaks up with Kara in an attempt to protect her tenure with the organization.

Kara doesn't really care about all that, but when Lena says it's what she wants, she respects that. Until the team goes to the superbowl, and in the height of emotions at the winning touchdown, Lena forgets herself and throws her arms around Kara's neck and kisses her.

She's stunned at herself, horrified even, but before she can even try to apologize Kara recovers and kisses her again, this time long and slow. The cameras not on the players or stadium stands are focused on them, and the next day and weeks they are the only ones anyone can talk about, for better or worse.

Lillian uses Lena's next year, her fifth and final, as leverage. Apologize publicly for her lapse in judgement, confirm it was only ever friendship, condemn Kara for assault-- or she's out.

Lena listens calmly, then smoothly rises.

"Then I'm out."

She walks out without a second glance.

[mariacallous]

Why has Disney’s new live-action remake of “Snow White” flopped at the box office? Is it because the dull trailer looked A.I.-generated, or because the film’s stars, Rachel Zegler and Gal Gadot, appear to have sourced their costumes and makeup from Party City? Is it because the film personifies Hollywood’s status as a bottle-and-can redemption center for moldering I.P.? Is it for being a movie nobody asked for, about a princess who falls asleep?

The prospect of the “Snow White” reboot has been irritating various constituencies for some time. Conservative critics griped that Zegler, who is partly of Colombian descent, wasn’t white (these kinds of complaints were louder a few years back, when the Black actress Halle Bailey was cast in Disney’s live-action “Little Mermaid”). Some were offended that Zegler talked trash about the 1937 original. The actor Peter Dinklage questioned why the story was being dusted off at all. “You’re progressive in one way,” Dinklage said, referring to Zegler’s casting, “but you’re still making that fucking backward story about seven dwarves living in a cave—what the fuck are you doing?”

At some point, Disney started asking itself the same question. Despite the film’s two-hundred-and-seventy-million-dollar budget, the studio scaled back the première and promotional blitz and may have delayed making tickets available for pre-order. Currently, on IMDb, “Snow White” is being “review-bombed,” with more than ninety-one per cent of users giving it the lowest rating: one out of ten.

Recent articles in Hollywood’s top industry broadsheets pin much of the blame on Zegler. The Hollywood Reporter observed that the movie “has been under fire for years on social media due to a combination of the film’s progressive creative decisions”—presumably referring to Zegler’s casting—“and star Rachel Zegler’s controversial comments.” In a Variety article, which promised to take readers “Inside Disney’s ‘Snow White’ Fiasco,” a “top agent” rebuked the studio for permitting the twenty-three-year-old actress to “control the narrative” by making a lighthearted quip to a reporter about the stalker-like qualities of the original movie’s Prince Florian. “The first time she shoots her mouth off, you nip it in the bud,” this agent said. (Incidentally, the screenwriter of the new “Snow White,” Erin Cressida Wilson, has said that she centered the character’s journey toward “discovering and trusting her own voice and her own purpose with compassion and strength.”)

Variety also zoomed in on an episode from August, shortly after a teaser for the movie dropped, when Zegler shared a message of gratitude to fans on X, adding, in a separate post, “and always remember, free palestine.” The article implied that Zegler’s post fuelled death threats against her co-star Gadot, who is Israeli. It also reported that one of the film’s producers, Marc Platt, was so incensed by Zegler’s pro-Palestine message that he flew to New York to admonish her in person about it.

The detail about Platt seemed to strain credulity, but it was later confirmed by his son Jonah, who wrote on Instagram, “Yeah, my dad, the producer of enormous piece of Disney IP with hundreds of millions of dollars on the line, had to leave his family to to fly across the country to reprimand his 20 year old employee for dragging her personal politics into the middle of promoting the movie for which she signed a multi-million dollar contract to get paid and do publicity for. This is called adult responsibility and accountability. And her actions clearly hurt the film’s box office.” The younger Platt may have also been alluding to an Instagram post that Zegler made following the November elections, in which she lamented the “deep, deep sickness in this country that is shown in the sheer amount of people who showed up for this man who threatens our democracy.” She concluded, “Fuck Donald Trump.” Zegler later apologized for her Trump-related remarks, saying, “I let my emotions get the best of me.”

Placing the failure of “Snow White” largely at Zegler’s feet—as many insiders in Hollywood are evidently eager to do—is almost perversely flattering to her. The Walt Disney Company has a market cap of nearly a hundred and eighty billion dollars, and yet, in Variety’s telling, this international conglomerate could not “overcome the backlash that had been brewing like a fairy tale cauldron.” I am no box-office analyst, but, for what it’s worth, my kids are squarely in the “Snow White” demographic, and I don’t think they were lukewarm on going to see it because its star has insufficiently nuanced opinions about Prince Florian, President Trump, or the Israel-Hamas war. (An open letter from film journalists criticizing Variety’s coverage of Zegler has about a hundred and eighty signatures.)

The reasons behind the implosion of “Snow White” are structural and multifaceted, and emblematic of an industry that has no new concepts and poor judgment about which of its old ideas warrant revival. For example, Disney recently pulled the plug on a streaming series based on “The Princess and the Frog,” which is easily the best and most modern of the Disney-princess movies: glorious New Orleans blues-jazz-gospel soundtrack, outrageously stacked cast, makes an airtight case for marrying for money—the works. (And no dwarves in caves!) Whether it’s the fate of “Snow White” to become a symbol of the anti-woke, anti-D.E.I. fervor that characterizes the Trump II era or it’s simply a casualty of reboot fatigue, the identity and political views of one performer could never have sunk the film on their own.

The Platt anecdote and the framing of the Variety article in which it first appeared point to what is perhaps the most interesting aspect of the “Snow White” debacle: the film’s position in a larger narrative about which kinds of views on the Israel-Palestine conflict are acceptable in Hollywood—or anywhere in the U.S. circa 2025, really—and who is permitted to air them. The top Hollywood agent Maha Dakhil stepped away from her role as co-chief of C.A.A.’s motion-pictures department after she shared—and then deleted and profusely apologized for—an Instagram post that referred to Israel’s military attack on Gaza as “genocide.” The actress Melissa Barrera was fired from the “Scream” franchise for expressing pro-Palestinian sentiments online. In contrast, the actor Mark Ruffalo won his fourth Oscar nomination in 2024 despite vocal opposition on social media and elsewhere to Israel’s military actions in Gaza. Ruffalo’s fellow-actor Guy Pearce, one of the most prominent pro-Palestine voices in the film world, earned his first Academy Award nomination this year and sat in the front row at the ceremony, where “No Other Land,” about the I.D.F.’s demolition of a Palestinian community in the West Bank, won the Oscar for documentary feature.

In other words, there would appear to be space in Hollywood to demonstrate sympathy for the more than fifty thousand human beings that Israeli military forces have killed in Gaza, as well as for the roughly twelve hundred human beings that Hamas killed in its October 7th terror attack on Israel. But you must be the right sort of person to demonstrate such sympathies, and you must use the correct terminology. One might speculate that Ruffalo and Pearce have more latitude than Dakhil and Barerra because they are both middle-aged white men. And yet, last year, after the director Jonathan Glazer won an Oscar for his astonishing Holocaust film, “The Zone of Interest,” an open letter circulated in Hollywood to condemn his acceptance speech as supporting a “blood libel,” attracting more than a thousand signatories (Jonah Platt among them). One Academy member likened Glazer’s measured words to a “Hamas rally.” Among Glazer’s offenses was in using the word “occupation” to refer to the occupied territories and invoking the “dehumanization” of both Israelis and Palestinians in the ongoing war.

The tenor of this conversation presumably informed a recent statement issued by the C.E.O. and president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, after Hamdan Ballal, the Palestinian co-director of “No Other Land,” was badly beaten by Israeli settlers in his West Bank village and then detained overnight on an Israeli military base, his whereabouts unknown to family and friends for hours. “Understandably, we are often asked to speak on behalf of the Academy in response to social, political, and economic events,” the AMPAS statement read in part. “In these instances, it is important to note that the Academy represents close to 11,000 global members with many unique viewpoints.” The text did not mention Ballal by name, or enumerate any of the unique viewpoints one might have on his terrifying situation. (After an outcry by hundreds of Academy members, AMPAS issued an apology for neglecting to name Ballal.)

The organization released its non-statement of non-support on behalf of a freshly minted Oscar winner on the same day that video emerged of a Tufts University student, Rumeysa Ozturk, being accosted outside her apartment building by masked, plainclothes ICE agents; she was handcuffed, detained, and flown to a facility in Louisiana, reportedly for co-authoring an op-ed in a student newspaper citing Israel’s “clear violations of international law” in Gaza. Ozturk’s arrest, which has sparked worldwide condemnation, was made possible by precisely the two conditions that Zegler’s controversial posts acknowledged: the subjugation of Palestinians and the election of Donald Trump.

The attacks on a wealthy young actor like Zegler for her political stance may scarcely bear direct comparison to the violations of human rights allegedly endured by Ozturk, or Mahmoud Khalil, a Palestinian green-card holder who, in early March, was arrested by ICE agents in the lobby of his Columbia University–owned apartment building and now faces deportation. But a commonality between them is that they work within ostensibly powerful cultural institutions that are now under assault by the Trump Administration. Columbia, along with Harvard and other universities, may lose hundreds of millions of dollars in federal funding owing to allegations that they allowed antisemitism to flourish on their campuses during the antiwar protests of late 2023 and 2024. Disney and its subsidiary ABC—which settled a defamation lawsuit with Trump in December for fifteen million dollars—is now under F.C.C. investigation for possibly breaching “equal employment opportunity regulations by promoting invidious forms of DEI discrimination,” according to Brendan Carr, the agency’s new chair. In a letter addressed to Disney’s C.E.O., Carr cited ABC’s “Inclusion Standards,” which called for the network to draw from “underrepresented groups” for its casts and crews, and in creating its characters. In other words, we may now be living in a world in which casting a Latina actress as Snow White is not only infuriating to online edgelords but a purported violation of federal law. And, if a Ph.D. candidate can be jailed for speech and threatened with deportation, it may follow that so can a showrunner, a filmmaker, or an actress who “shoots her mouth off.” 

[delirious-donna]

They Call Him The Reaper [Hanma Shuji]

an: after many discussions on discord with @unknownspecies over Shuji and especially soft Shuji in the past few days, this idea was born. A huge thanks to Zoya for helping a ton with the inspiration and characterisation.

pairing: Hanma Shuji x female reader

warnings: SFW, suggestive at best but only in one section, canon level violence mentioned, fluff, photographer timeline Shuji, soft Shuji, self-indulgence

Masterlist

They call him the Reaper.

A title bestowed upon him when he was only an adolescent. A delinquent with seemingly no moral compass, little compassion and a desire to watch the world burn, but only after being the one to strike the match. Nothing but a thug with no qualms about being used by others to enact their worst ideations.

Even now, in his mid-thirties, the namesake remains.

Sure, he isn’t the most upstanding citizen, but he is a far cry from those youthful years when he would pull the wings off insects just to watch them writhe. He found his passion, and it wasn’t taking orders without question. Perhaps those years helped him capture the world in a way that others couldn’t, a unique take on the subject of his photographs that no one but he could draw out because he didn’t see the world like anyone else. 

His studio was full of his favourite shots, landscapes blown up to cover large sections of the walls with small intimate photos scattered around in what seemed like a haphazard way when, in fact, there was a logic and pattern that only made sense to him. Photos taken with a polarizing filter caught your eye amongst the raw scenes on display. Natural sunsets stood out against a sea of cityscapes with twinkling lights, the pure magic of the sun outshining any number of neon lights that covered the glittering buildings.

It was safe to say that he had an eye for photography, and his fully booked calendar only highlighted that fact. However, he hadn’t entirely turned away from his criminal past. He would still lend out favours to those he called friends and they weren’t many. Those that did make the exclusive list were some of the most powerful men in the entire country and the majority of their wealth was stained in crimson, not that he cared.

An enforcer, a dangerous presence or sometimes the kindling to spark the flames of a dispute that had taken too long to reach this point. He played the role well, and it would be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy it when he was called upon. His fingers itched for a good fight often, and whilst he could now channel that energy in other, less violent ways, sometimes nothing could quell the bloodlust than a brawl where his knuckles split wide and smears of his opponent's blood covered his golden-hued skin.

Of course, he was still the Reaper. To be feared simply from how he smiled when he entered a room. It didn’t matter who occupied it or how high up the tree they might be, his smile was crazed, a warning and a threat rolled into one. The wolf called in when things were growing arms and legs, when attention was being drawn and a conclusion was needed sooner rather than later.

One flash of his perfectly white and deadly sharp teeth was enough to silence a room and he got off on that feeling. A glance at the stark black ink decorating the backs of his hands was more than ample to strike fear into the most hardened criminals. They all knew the atrocities those hands had committed, the blood that had long been washed away but still evident on the slender fingers by reputation alone.

An animal. A hired thug. A monster.

Except, he wasn’t those things, at least, not to you. He was gentle, a good listener and a whirlwind of his own making. Not always, and he had his moments when he was far from gentle, but you loved those times nearly as much as you coveted the soft times.

He liked the sound of rainstorms and would pull you to bed simply to lay in his arms and talk whilst the heavy thud of raindrops pelted against the roof and lashed the windows. He was a curious creature and often questioned you over things that seemed trivial but somehow were important to him. What had you eaten for lunch in middle school? What had you wanted to be when you were a kid? Which was your favourite ice cream flavour? 

You’d laugh and press your hand against his shoulder in a playful shove, he couldn’t seriously want to know those things but he truly did. His nose rubbed into your hair as warm laughter met your ear, the arm around your waist tightening until you yielded and gifted him the answers he sought. Did he remember them? You weren’t sure and you didn’t test him on it, it was enough that he had asked in the first place.

The man called the Reaper thought about you and not just when he needed something from you. It had taken some time to sink in but the evidence was plain to see as the little trinkets grew on your vanity. He had an uncanny ability to sense you weren’t in the best of moods, perhaps it was a hard week at work or your monthly cycle kicking your ass. It didn’t matter the reason, simply that in these instances he would appear on your doorstep with that wicked grin curving his lips and a small bag or box in hand. It was never a random item either, always something you had previously spoken about like the hobbies and interests he teased you over or an item you had lingered at whilst out together.

Someone considered a monster couldn’t be that sweet, but he was. Perfect he was not but soft, measured when it counted and open with his affection. He didn’t shy away from twining his fingers with yours, thumb stroking over your knuckles while you swung your joined hands happily. What a funny pair you made when out walking, but he didn’t mind one jot when you had a spring in your step or you pulled him to stop over something you had spied. Maybe you couldn’t see the secret smile that he wore only for you but the ghost of it caught your eye now and then.

For everything that made him hard, dominating and the master of his universe, there was a parallel to be drawn. All you had to do was look within the box tucked away beneath his bed to know that to you, he was no monster to be feared. Inside a frayed box that had been opened and closed so many times that the stiff cardboard was now peeling in places, scuffed and overused, was a thick stack of photos. Polaroids and glossy photos sat in a jumble and the subject of every single one… you.

Some only showed the curve of your shoulder as the morning sun streamed through a bedroom window to bounce off your skin and the rumpled white sheets. Others were candid shots that you remembered fondly. Being chased around your apartment whilst he snapped photos that you tried playfully to avoid. Bright smiles and splayed fingers across the lens blurred the surroundings but did nothing to dampen the happiness they exuded. You’d blush at the intimate ones carefully thumbed by long fingers. Hair spread out on pillows like a halo, features twisted in bliss and uncaring for the camera poised above you. 

Yes, there were lewd images of the two of your bodies joined and the decadent mess such a joining resulted in. Streaks of saliva on heated flesh, a pink tongue painted in creamy white, a hand painted with ‘punishment’ wrapped around an eager throat and other things that made you blush to even think of. 

He even kept the photos you had taken, the ones from a lazy Sunday morning when you had grabbed his camera and snapped away at his tousled hair and carefree expression. Capturing the curls of smoke that rose from one of his morning cigarettes and asking him to try and blow smoke rings just to amuse you. The ones where you kissed his cheek and peeked at the camera with a wink and others where you made stupid faces together until you couldn’t breathe from the laughter.

Despite it all, the violence he was capable of and the times he tested your patience and sanity to the very limit, he had stolen your attention but you had gifted him your love.

They called him the Reaper, but you called him Hanma Shuji.

[starberry-cupcake]

I could have just gone ahead and finished the book, but I adult life is interrupting so I stopped mid-fight and that's what you're getting, since I think it'll be a more sensible length this way.

previously, in gideon the ninth

this happened (also, this is the tag for all of the stuff)

currently, somewhere before ending the penultimate chapter, I think:

WELL, WELL, WELL

GUESS WHO WAS RIGHT ABOUT DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO SORAYA MONTENEGRO SEPTIMUS

I GOT YOU, BITCH

YOU DIDN'T GET PAST ME

ok, let's back it up a bit, but I needed to get that out of my chest for a sec

out of my guts, like the key she hid in the 5th necro bride's body

(too soon)

anyway, after yandere simulator w/inner chad left the room, gideon, harrowbean and my qp wife realized palmolive was gone

and everyone knows where he went because his dick has been a compass the whole time

or, like gideon puts it, he's been a weenie

camilla, the light in the dark, the sun to my moon, tells gideon and harrow that palmolive has been corresponding with dulcinea since he was like 8 and she was like 15 and he's been in love with her the whole time

and that he's made his lifelong purpose to save her life

there are many levels of Issues here

but at this point, we don't have time to unpack any suitcases

all this just proves to me that camilla has been carrying all the weight of the world on her shoulders even more, but anyway

they also feel confused as to why dulcinea has been ghosting palmolive massively since HE PROPOSED TO HER

palmolive, my man, my dude, just...what the fuck is your life

what are you doing, my guy

anyway, I immediately started thinking some soul possessing or some stuff like that could be going on, like she's not herself, but there's no time to theorize much

gideon feels terrible because she's been flirting with dulcinea in front of palmolive's salad all along and says something like "why do I have to be so attractive?" to which harrow answers something like "if you weren't, people would deck you after 5 minutes" which is a very good read

so gideon goes to find palmolive and he stops her with necro magic and enters dulcinea's room and outs her as the murderer

who is surprised??? not me, of course

so, basically, ducinea The Real One died at some point before arriving like protozoa, and this bitch here is a previous lyctor whose name I cannot remember so we will call her not!dulcinea

the real dulcinea was the other roasted body in the furnace

and protozoa was killed by her also which, again, the sword through the heart was a good indicator it wasn't an accident, but harrow was the only one who saw the body

non!dulcinea is a lyctor of the seventh that served the emperor and did the soul slurping thingy and already has her cav within her ("inside her" sounds...not great)

and she wanted to stir some shit up to get the man of the hour to show up and get revenge and whatnot

the emperor, coming back to canaan house from some holidays that took longer than he expected

it's not totally clear, because there's still a lot we don't know, but it sounds a bit like a toxic relationship with an authority figure

palmolive then proceeds to immolate himself like superman going super solar flare, but not being able to heal himself after, unlike superman

after that, all hell breaks loose

not!dulcinea tries to kill gideon

camilla tries to kill not!dulcinea

harrow also enters the fight and brings gideon's sword

like, the real one

you can hear the audience cheering when she catches her sword like it was filmed in front of a live studio audience

gideon and harrow team up against the mega massive monster junji ito concoction that killed isaac

they do the mind mesh thingy

harrow unlocks a new power

like in the sims

she also passes out for a bit

gideon gets her knee and shoulder fucked up

camilla is amazing and does amazing things

non!dulcinea seems to be too tough to win against

yandere simulator twin w/inner chad enters the chat

they fight like goku and vegeta for a while but non!dulcinea ends up using her like a battery

which is, to me, the revenge of duracell bunny nephew from beyond the veil or wherever he went

like, poetic cinema fate

I have no idea where regina george twin is at this point

last we saw of her, she was crying in a corner

which, mood tbh

so, where I left off for now, we've got three survivors accounted for: gideon, harrowbean and my qp wife, there's a lost twin somewhere in there and then there's yandere simulator twin being used as a charging pad by non!dulcinea

I want to take a moment to point out something, though

I want to briefly point out how MASSIVELY FUCKED UP EVERYONE WAS COMING INTO THIS

like, harrow was "oh no, we mustn't let people know you're not actually my cavalier and that I puppeteered my parents and that there's a frozen barbie in the ninth" and gideon was "oh no, I mustn't let people know I'm not a ninth cav and I don't use a rapier and I have a complicated relationship with my necro"

and everyone else LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE WAS BEYOND FUCKED UP

maybe the second weren't because they were ignorant asshats, but EVERYONE WAS MESSED UP

NOBODY HERE WAS FINE

you got the third, with a non necro princess and a feral real necro doing the work of both and chad as their support, look how that turned out so far

the fourth, who weren't tall enough to reach the top shelf and weren't even allowed their keys

the fifth who knew too much so they were goners after throwing a party

the sixth, with a guy who had the hots for a woman twice his age that he had a grey's anatomy fantasy to save that powered his entire reason to be there (and a cav who didn't use the right equipment but is great 10/10 no notes)

the seventh, who's THIS MESS

and the eight, who were doing the creepiest thing possible at all times and couldn't even do it properly

the only ones here who came in without dirty laundry were the second and that's why they were easy targets

everyone else was shady af

the best reality show you've ever watched

anyway, see you for the next one when we'll know who wins between one old lyctor and 3 bad bitches (or 4, if yandere twin is still alive, or 5 if regina george twin shows up again)

[maybe-itll-be-someday]

“You, with all your academic pursuits, you wouldn’t think less of me if I dropped out?”

She says it jokingly, a smirk on her face that doesn’t betray the insecurity that’s rolled around in her head for weeks. Ayda thrived on learning, thrived on the collection of books that lined the high shelves at Compass Points. Fig can remember the stolen moments amongst that cramped space in Leviathan, Ayda speaking with such a wonder about each book and the knowledge each contained. She didn’t want to be a disappointment, slotting back into her role of “doesn’t really fit anywhere” amongst Ayda’s academic pursuits.

But Ayda just looks at her, with that steely determination when she truly believed something. God, Fig loved that look on her.

“Learning no more belongs to academia than joy belongs to recreation facilities. They are dedicated to a thing that exists in all places, and with all people.”

Hell yeah are the only words she can say because she’s still trying to figure out how to say words out loud. Just like that, the aching feeling of not being enough, seeps out of her. How is it that Ayda always knew what to say, despite her constant fear that she would never say the right thing?

She thinks back to the words etched in the stars, smiling as she instructs Rip to get the fuck out of her studio because it was hot tub time.

We have been on our way to save us since the lights of our world were first lit.

Fig hopes Ayda takes her to those stars someday, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll rearrange a bunch of rocks to tell her just how much she’s been saved since the day they first met.

[lynns-bonkle-blog]

Turaga-staff ideas for each element that I might make at some point as custom Studio parts

Fire - flaming torch

Water - anchor

Earth - shovel

Air - propeller

Stone - crystal-holder

Ice - ice-drill

Light - lantern

Shadow - umbrella

Sonics - microphone

Gravity - flail

Plasma - blowtorch

Magnetism - compass

Plantlife - flowerpot

Lightning - lightning-rod

Iron - bardiche

Psionics - radar-dish

[gachael]

Pride / Robert Palmer (2012 Remaster Paper Sleeve)

You Are In My System

[saintbleeding]

You know what you have to do now. (write the jg au for it)

Gerry doesn’t really like nerds, as a rule.

Gerry also doesn’t really like rules.

So you see the problem.

Like, okay, obviously if the rules fall within “safe and sanitary tattooing practices” then they’re inviolable, but if the rules are the only things stopping him from admitting he’s crushing a little bit on the dweeby audio engineer who works next door, then they were made to be broken.

The guy’s got a nice voice, even if he does dress like a divorced geography teacher. Mind you, Gerry’s only heard his voice in two contexts: sometimes, snatches of it drifting sonorously through the wall—which doesn’t bode well for the supposed soundproofing—as he… records? Rehearses? Whatever it is an archival audio engineer does.

Oh, and other times, while the guy is smoking out the front on his break, he’ll be on the phone, either with this treacly, measured tone that drips customer service, or in a much more genuine and irritated one, seemingly complaining about whoever he’s got to use the fake voice on. The duality of nerd, Gerry sometimes thinks, and smiles to himself as he works. It’s like there’s a silent, unacknowledged solidarity between them—strangers, but near enough that they can share the thought that people are a right bunch of dickheads.

It’s comfy. Companionable.

Easier than the mess of trying to do anything mental like having a conversation. He might be a wanker. He might be a Tory. Not worth the risk.

Or, rather, not till Sasha comes in one day. Gerry knows her. She’s come in more often as a hand-holder for her mates who are getting their first tats, but he’s worked on her once or twice too. On this day—on her lunch break, she says, but tells Gerry not to rush, she doesn’t mind being late back—she’s come in for text on her inner forearm. I am here, it’s going to say, in all-caps, with an arrow pointing up the arm, towards her. Gerry asks, genuinely curious, what it means.

“Easy to get lost,” she says. “‘Specially in my job. So it’s kind of a compass.”

Cool.

Gerry thinks that’s cool.

So they get to work on it. It’s not exactly painstaking, but given she said so, he takes his time on it. Lot of straight lines.

“Do you talk to Jon much?” Sasha says out of the blue.

“Who’s Jon?” Gerry says, without looking up.

“Oh! Works in the studio, next door?”

Gerry smiles without meaning to. “Oh, Mr A-Levels-History? Nah, haven’t had a chance.”

Sasha turns her head, sniggering. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

They lapse back into silence for a bit.

“Friend of yours?” Gerry asks breezily after what he sincerely hopes isn’t an awkwardly timed pause.

“Mm. Sort of,” Sasha says, in the same tone someone might insist they’re sort of friends with a panther. “He does a lot of recording for my company, and I’m usually the one who brings him our documents. He’s nicer than he looks.”

Gerry’s smile grows. “Doesn’t seem all that chatty.”

Sasha grins back. “Get him complaining and you won’t be able to shut him up.”

Gerry nods thoughtfully, and then the conversation drifts away from the topic.

But that evening, as he’s about to go, the nerd—sorry, Jon, apparently—is standing out the front, smoking, but not on the phone.

Gerry locks the door, pockets his keys, and turns around to face him in a way he hopes doesn’t look too orchestrated.

“Oh,” he says, “Could I bum one?”

Jon looks up like he’s surprised to remember he’s still on the physical plane, then exhales.

“Um,” he says, “Uh. Yes.”

He fumbles in his coat for a second, then pulls out his carton, which he hands over, looking away with a frown. Gerry takes a cigarette and puts it between his lips. When Jon takes the carton back, Gerry mimes for a light, and unthinkingly, rather than handing it over, Jon produces a zippo from somewhere and ignites it, holding it to the tip of Gerry’s smoke.

Not that Gerry is complaining about this, obviously. It gives him ample excuse to really properly look at Jon’s face for the first time. Stubbly chin, lines beneath his eyes and in the corners of his mouth, glasses in need of a polish. Their eyes meet, and Jon smiles awkwardly.

It’s right about then that Gerry decides fuck the rules, he’s got a crush.

“Long day?” he asks as Jon turns away, taking a drag of his own smoke.

“They’re all long,” Jon says wearily, then clears his throat. “I—mm. Yeah. Yes, you could say that.”

“And here I thought archiving reports from weird faceless organisations would be a barrel of laughs.”

Jon gives him a weird, silent look.

Classic bloody Gerry.

“Oh,” he continues, glancing away. “Um, you know Sasha? She, uh, talks about work a lot.”

When he dares to glance back, Jon is nodding, and if he’s still perturbed, he’s going to efforts not to look it.

“Friend of yours?” Jon asks.

Gerry smiles. “Sort of, yeah.”

They smoke in silence for a minute.

“I’m Jon, by the way,” Jon says, and Gerry nearly says I know, until he remembers what a weird fucking response that would be.

“Gerard,” he says instead, then, after a second, “Um, Gerry. I’m Gerry.”

They don’t shake hands.

“Strange,” Jon says, “That you spend all day jabbing people with needles, and I’m still hard-pressed to convince myself that my work is less violent.”

Gerry laughs. “How violent can things get in a recording studio, exactly?”

Jon smirks ruefully. “You might be surprised.”

Oh, cool, so he’s a freak. That’s kind of a huge relief.

“Anyway,” Gerry says, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve only ever had, like, three people pass out, so I’m doing pretty well. I’m basically a pacifist of tattooing.”

“You deserve the Need-el Peace Prize,” Jon says, then immediately cringes. “Sorry. Sorry. Christ, I tried to do something with needle and Nobel. Jesus Christ.”

Gerry laughs anyway.

“Not my finest work,” Jon concludes, lifting his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Eh, it’s fine. You’ll just have to keep trying.”

Jon gives a bemused smile, bending to butt out his cigarette on the concrete.

“I suppose I will,” he says, and straightens his coat. “In the meantime, though, I’ve got some life choices to go home and question.”

They smile, and Gerry instantly prefers the kind of companionable solidarity the two of them share when they have actually had a conversation.

“Nice to meet you, Jon,” Gerry says.

“Likewise,” Jon replies, then he turns and goes.

Gerry watches him till he’s out of sight, and as he walks home alone that night, he nails down the preference list.

He likes nerds a lot more than he likes rules.

[horizon-verizon]

I'm still on my self-imposed Tumblr writing break but I had to share this comedy gold mine where Condal tells us all about "impostor syndrome" before I'm overtaken by the urge to write an essay on it instead. I have no time to cook. Fortunately, we've been served a meal on a silver platter.

https://bigthink.com/high-culture/house-of-the-dragon-ryan-condal/

House of the Dragon, which premiered in 2022, might have continued that [Game of Thrones] trend. Instead, the show proved a return to form, offering the same Shakespearean dialogue and political intrigue that made people fall in love with Martin’s fictional universe back in 2011. The second season is just as good, if not better.

I can see that this is going to be a very fair assessment of Condal and his work.

“Every day,” Condal confesses when asked if he suffers from imposter syndrome. “For me, though, it was less the scale and scope of House of the Dragon and more its visibility that intimidated me."

😭😭😭 It's okay! He wasn't worried about whether he'd do a good job! He was just worried about how visible his ingenious work would be.

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

The business major is about to tell us about historiography. The question is, does he understand historiography? Or does he think he's inventing a new concept?

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated.

Yes, we know. It's actually very related. Especially the way Condal does it. I'll also point out here that his university was a private Catholic institution. I don't feel the need to connect those dots right now.

"I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there."

I... this tells us two things about the writing process and attitude behind it. Two things we already knew. But... it's sure telling.

"I was able to navigate challenges that some of my colleagues with filmmaking and art history degrees maybe weren’t prepped for."

In theory, nothing wrong with this^ statement. But in context...

While some criticism is valuable, too much can lead to creative paralysis. “I tend more towards the negative than the positive, so I made a conscious decision to stay away from social media when I got this job,” Condal says. If anything, he believes the healthy distance he maintains between himself and his audience has improved the show: “Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

I repeat my prior sentiment.

Ultimately, Condal’s own passion for Martin’s writing outweighed any doubt he had about his own. “I’m trying to make the type of show I would enjoy as a fan, which I am. And while I realize my ideal fan show will be different from someone else’s, I still think that it’s a good true north heading on my compass. Actually, I think that’s why HBO hired me in the first place.”

Oh, we know.

“It was hugely intimidating, moving to a new country [the U.K.] and working with a new but also hugely talented crew that I had to — not tell them what to do, exactly, but lead them; collaborate with them. I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show — those relationships were easy to establish.”

Make it stop.

The most important part of making a successful fantasy show isn’t the sets, costumes, or special effects, but lore. Fictional places like Westeros have their own unique cultures, customs, and social institutions, all of which help create the illusion that this fantasy world is as real and complex as our own. To transfer that illusion from page to screen, the writers must know Martin’s work as thoroughly as Martin himself. “It’s not just me,” Condal says. “We are all deeply entrenched fans of George. One of our writers has worked with him for many years. If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

Well that explains why they're worse than Gyldayn.

Condal: “Textual references are best done in light touches to remind people that this is a fully realized society with hundreds of years of mapped-out history to it. And you don’t need an entire scene to do that. Instead of writing, you can communicate details environmentally through props like heraldry. For the fans, these little touches tell them they are in good hands. Better yet, they know the details are there just for them, the hardcore fans. For everyone else, the casual viewers, this stuff is flying by 100 miles an hour, and they probably won’t notice it. But it’s there.”

Again, there's nothing wrong with this^ in theory. In. Theory.

“I’m definitely an architect,” says Condal, “and I think I have to be as a screenwriter, because our life is so deadline-driven. The literal definition of a playwright, W-R-I-G-H-T, is ‘one who builds plays.’ A dramatic writer is almost by necessity a structuralist, and I very much fall into that camp.”

Now wait for it... wait for it... Keep in mind these are Brinkhof's (article author) words. But wait for it.

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall. Sticking to Martin’s analogy, “gardening stories” grow like trees, their narratives branching out in an exponential number of paths, making them difficult to finish. As of today, Martin has spent more than 14 years on the next installment in the Song of Ice and Fire series, his prolonged bout of writer’s block forcing Weiss and Benioff to come up with their own ending.

No words. Now back to Condal.

“The advantage we have over them is that we’re dealing with a finished text, where they were working with an unfinished, living work,” Condal says. “Where the Game of Thrones team had to trim down 5,000 pages into a few dozen scripts, we’re challenged in the opposite direction, turning around 100 pages into a multi-season arc of television, and that requires a lot of invention.”

Oh? So... you do know where it's going. Which means your "inventions" should... probably lead there?

Condal treats Fire & Blood like a real-world historian might treat a manuscript from the Middle Ages. “These three writers all had personal agendas which, to me, seem to reflect one of the main themes of our show: powerful women living in an unbreakable patriarchy. The writers, particularly the priest, appear to blame the war on the squabbling between Rhaenyra and Alicent.”

No comment for now. No... comment...

House of the Dragon pretends to show the real history that Fire & Blood recorded and distorted. Some events happen the way the one of the three authors describe it, while others contain elements of all three conflicting accounts. Others still indicate that none of them got it right. As a rule, every character in the show is far more complex than the jester, maester, and priest made them out to be.

I... I... I... I... I...

��Alicent can be the stereotypical evil stepmother at times,” says Condal, “just as King Viserys, played by Paddy Considine in season 1, can come across at weak. However, the thing that in-universe historians don’t get about Viserys is that he was carrying the burden of a prophecy passed down through generations and couldn’t tell anybody about it. A lot of his supposedly weak decision-making was actually in service of this secret prophecy. We were trying to show that there was more to him, that multiple things about him could be true at the same time.”

Must... Resist... Urge... To... Write... Essay...

“We have to arrive at the same endpoint as the book,” he reminds himself. “Whoever George said becomes king must become king at the end of the war. Hopefully, though, we have a bit of latitude leading up to that, to show how history has been interpreted differently at different times by different historians. I realize I’m playing with fire, but it does excite and fascinate me — to be able to comment on how history is made, not just this fictional history, but all history. It’s all propaganda to some degree.”

😭 The clownery.

Historiographers weep.

@rhaenin-time, you must be stopped. Ryan should be , too, but you have decided to bring me in close proximity to this nonsense. I am sitting here, eating chewy ChipsAhoy, and you came in here like a wrecking ball with this news....I hate you. [read, this is a joke]

I don't think I'll be able to address every thing I want to address in this. I want to be done with this show, I have been tired since the 6th epi of the last season.

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated. [...]

I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there. [...] Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

Who tf does this man think he is?!!! Yes, I needed mother-son coochie eating. I needed to have a brown girl erased for a rapist to become a family man with a sick child. I needed Cole fucking Alicent at least 3 times instead of a brown haired Targ make instrumental alliances with more people to add to his stepfather's armies in the Riverlands. I needed to see nonexistent and sterile parallels. I needed to see a black woman be burned alive when she actually died at least surrounded by family, her ignored by her husband so his later marriage to a white girl be that much more special. I needed to see a disabled man jerk it over a queen's bare feet like she's in OnlyFans and doesn't know where her next meal is. I needed to see a pretteen prince jerk it over a window and barely even tell what his brother was doing later with Vhagar, instead of another preteen girl bond with the most powerful dragon of the then living ones. I needed to see a woman so much more hypocritical than her book counterpart be framed as one of the wisest women to exist while she praises Jaehaerys I of all people for having a peaceful reign, as if his decision to have that council has no responsibility for the now burgeouning war--OR that she still wouldn't be more resentful of Jaehaerys' actions ot pass her over, yes even now when they are deliberating war..bc praising Jaehaerys itself is NOT as important or more moral than her feeling "some type of way"...why did we need Jaehaerys praise now instead fo actual strategy?!--coming up right now.

He can't even properly write character ACTION as opposed to REACTION (Seth Abramson's article on substack):

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

And yet Daemon dislikes his daughter or grow impatient with her bec she doesn't have a dragon....while he only claimed one at 16 or a bit younger with Caraxes AND Targs don't actually bond with dragons in the cradle that often, actually usually doing it in preteens to teens AND Aegon I definitely had to bond later in life as well. And said that Aegon I lived/was alive when Old Valyria still existed. Allowed Criston Cole to be called Dornish both by Alicent and the fans without giving us any explanation or exploration of that identity esp when canonically he came from the Stormlander part of the Dornish Marches. "Encyclopedic" my nonexistent ballsack! He has no authority to claim that F&B is so unreliable that he can't tell truth form agenda-motivated fiction and then claim himself intelligent or "brilliant" at the same time!

"avant-garde"...yes bc it's so revoluntionary and creative to have a man lick his former home from his own mother in a "vision". As if making a woman her son's character tool wasn't something HBO already did with its female characters and perform male gaze....okay...As if he's special and different from other male writers and it not just keeping with ASoIaF adaptation tradition. It added so much to the story other than the sick eroticism of something already cleared up last season.

I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show

No you didn't. If you did, you wouldn't have had a such a problem with the pacing, the numerous inconsistencies, plotholes, the [if true] possible merge of Rhaena and Nettles and many episodes would't contradict each other as if one writer disagreed and vetoed another. And you'd see why/how show!Rhaena's purpose must be kept more or less the exact same as her in the bk for the post-Dance environment. We'd have Maelor. We'd have Daeron mentioned and described much earlier, not as some sort of random ass surprise that is bound to thrown so many locals off when he does appear.

If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

....what the fuck does this even mean?! There are no fucking graduates of anything in Westeros and there are no archmaesters of real life bc the set ups in education of EU medieval history vs Westeros are so different it's not even funny. there are no universities for one to even imagine there are Westerosi "graduates", and there is no way you can tell if a graduate would be more or less educated than a grandmaester, bc we don't have rules of "graduation" or gradations of maestership exactly like the modern one. There are archmaesters, the Gran Maesters, acolytes, novices, and finally regular maesters who may or may not go ut to be the personal assistant and tutor in other lords' households. The modern school system can never be properly equalized in structure or depth or habits to Westerosi maestership, the instituton.

Therefore trying to create some sort of analogy as if grads exist in Westeros by immediately using "grandmaester" for another you're aligning yourself with is just so stupid. Worst part is, I know exactly what he's trying to say, but his use of this device is so wrong that I'm mad and sure people will just take this at face value instead of see how inept this man is with literature analysis and thus creative writing. Reminds me, ironically, of his saying he's inspired by PARADISE LOST in writing S2...if you don't sit yourself down to hell, sir!

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall.

And there it is, Ryan is prepping to use the ole fan excuse of "not much story left" excuse people had for D&D, and it makes sense how he would considering how F&B is considered to unreliable to adapt even the clearest events and characterizations as they are given....

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Wrap LA in Love: Quilts for Wildfire Victims The devastating wildfires in Los Angeles have left countless families displaced, heartbroken, and struggling to rebuild. As quilters, we know the power of a handmade quilt to bring warmth, comfort, and love to those in need. That’s why I’m reaching out to our incredible quilting community to join me in providing quilts for these families.

Why Quilts? A quilt is more than just a blanket. It’s a symbol of care, hope, and resilience. For families who have lost their homes and belongings, receiving a handmade quilt is a reminder that they are not alone. This winter, as they begin the difficult journey of rebuilding, your quilt can offer them both physical and emotional warmth. How You Can Help I’m coordinating a quilt donation drive to get these quilts into the hands of those who need them most. Here’s how you can participate: -Donate Crib-Size or Larger Quilts: We’re accepting new or gently used quilts that are lap-size or larger. These will provide the warmth and comfort families need. Ship or Drop off Your Quilts to: Debbie Harris c/o San Diego Sewn Quilt Drive 17601 Santa Rosalia St. Fountain Valley, CA 92708 - Deadline: Please ensure your quilts arrive by February 1st.

- Want to drop off in the L.A. area? Stephanie can help. Click here for more

-Want to drop off in San Diego? Email me Amanda@sandiegosewn.com and let's coordinate.

Distribution Once your quilts arrive, my mom, Debbie, has graciously offered her home as a sorting and collection point. Several quilt guilds are partnering with me to ensure that the quilts are distributed directly to families in need through trusted local organizations. This effort is personal to me, and I’m committed to ensuring your generosity reaches those who need it most. Can't ship a quilt and want to help? Donate here A Personal Connection Jennyth of Pasadena Quilt Studio is at the heart of this devastation. Though she is safe, her community has been deeply affected. Jennyth and I started our fabric shops around the same time and have always supported each other. While she isn’t in a position to organize something like this right now, I want her and her community to know that we’ve got their back. Let’s show her the strength and love of our quilting community. Spread the Word If you can’t donate a quilt, you can still help by sharing this effort with others. Whether it’s your quilt guild, sewing friends, or social media followers, every bit of support makes a difference. Together, we can provide hope and warmth to families who have lost so much. Thank You Your kindness and generosity mean the world to me and to the families who will receive your beautiful quilts. Let’s come together and show that, even in the face of disaster, love and compassion prevail. For updates on this effort, or to ask questions, feel free to contact me directly at amanda@sandiegosewn.com or ig @sandiego.sewn Thank you for being part of this meaningful initiative. Let’s wrap LA in love, one quilt at a time. Warmly, Amanda San Diego Sewn

[theficpusher]

Good boy by 28sunflowers | E | 2768 Harry is startled out of his thoughts by the needle going over one of his ribs. Thankfully, he catches himself and manages to stay still, but accidentally lets out a whimper at the unexpected stronger burn. He exhales slowly when Louis takes the gun off his skin, trying to remain calm. “Good boy,” Louis tells him automatically, giving him a pat to the hip.

Soft Wings by kingsofeverything | G | 4375 Harry is a Dolly Parton fan who wants to get a tattoo in tribute to her. Louis is the tattoo artist.

take your whole life then you put a line through it by sunflower_lwt | M | 5332 an AU with trans harry, an all-knowing cousin, and tattoo artist louis.

lemongrass and sleep by moonshinelouis | E | 5370 Louis is a tattoo artist and Harry wants a rose tattoo.

I See Your Colours and I'm Dying of Thirst by taking_sweet_time | nr | 6244 Harry asks Louis for a tattoo, but forgets to mention that he's got a little bit of a... problem when it comes getting inked. Shenanigans ensue. Or, a very dumb fic about Harry's fucking whale (maybe) tattoo.

Makes Me Feel Alive by hazzahtomlinson | E | 8372 Louis hated when people came in to get tattooed and couldn’t sit still— bunch of fucking squares is what they were. If only that had been the issue for his newest client.

A Simple Twisted Fate by Cyantific | E | 18125 Global rock star Harry Styles has some time to kill between tour dates and stumbles into a Doncaster tattoo shop with a desire for some new ink. He has a few other desires as well, but those he must keep to himself. Louis Tomlinson, owner of Twisted Fate Tattoos, has seen enough of the tabloids and thinks he knows everything there is to know about this world-famous rock star, and he’s not impressed. Harry may be one of the world's biggest stars known for a lavish lifestyle, crazy parties and entourages of women wherever he goes, but he’s more than just what his image and wild reputation suggests. Things take an interesting turn when Louis finds out he’s been helping satisfy Harry’s voracious pain kink. Bet he'd love to know that not only is Louis a gifted tattoo artist, but an experienced Dom as well. Perhaps they both have something to learn from each other, if only Louis would give Harry a chance. Maybe their paths crossing was more than just a twist of fate, but the universe’s plan all along.

Necessity is the mother of invention by words_of_my_own | E | 87502 Louis is the owner of a couple of tattoo studios that are not for tattooing purposes only. Harry works as a policeofficer and infiltrator, currently on a case that really only should be straight forward. What happens when things aren't what they seem, morals come into play, and when you fall in love with the one person you just shouldn't?

no hand on the reign by tempolarriefics | E | 137051 Then, he sees it. His eyes lock on the tattoo and he sucks in a sharp breath, unable to look away. His brain screeches to a halt, and not just because of the sight that is a half-naked Harry. There, on Harry’s outer arm, is an intricate tattoo of a large ship. A large ship which perfectly complements the compass tattoo hidden on Louis’ own forearm. “It’s that one.” Louis breathes, reaching out a shaky finger to point to the ship on Harry’s left outer arm. “You’re sure?” Harry asks. Louis nods. He’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He has found his soulmate. Or, a twist on a soulmate au where louis is a newly independent tattoo artist and harry just wants his soulmate tattoo removed. Of course, they're soulmates.