#could be something they agreed upon or not!

[hoernypie]

Sleeping Beauty (¦3[▓▓]

tags: dark content, non-con, somno, virgin y/n, creamp!e, happy ending lol

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess. After getting tricked by an evil witch she pricked her finger and dropped down on the floor before falling asleep - seemingly forever. As years passed, her family died and the castle started crumbling as the legend of Sleeping Beauty began to get forgotten. One day the son of the new king was hunting in nearby woods before discovering the ruins hidden in a thick wood. His curiosity won over and slowly he made his way to the castle. As he walked through the halls he carefully studied the destroyed paintings and other ornaments that once adorned the castle. After entering one of the rooms in the tower he stood in astonishment seeing a young beautiful woman peacefully sleeping. He leaned, gently caressing her cheek and admiring the beauty.

The young prince had heard whispers of the legend from his nursemaid as a child, but never truly believed that they could be true. Kento’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in your delicate features, your long lashes fanning out against soft skin, and her lips, slightly parted as if awaiting a kiss. “So beautiful,” he said while admiring your face “I guess that she stopped aging while asleep. Unfortunately, her family passed away, leaving only her. I wonder if the sorcerers can break this spell,” Kento wondered loudly.

He slowly moved his hand from your cheek to the neck, moving his lips closer to yours, gently brushing them with his. He felt like fate pushed him to you, to claim your destiny and get you awakened. Hoovering, he pressed his lips to yours, at first the kiss was gentle but the sweet taste was so addicting for Kento that he couldn’t stop. Kiss after kiss - he couldn’t stop as he felt his body heating up, his other hand gently caressing and squeezing your breast through the fabric of the dress. Yet despite the kisses getting sloppy, you remained unresponsive, continuing the eternal slumber. His heart sank with the realization that perhaps the stories had been exaggerated, or that he was not the one destined to wake you. Kento sighed softly, feeling tightness in his pants, before gently touching himself through the fabric of his pants, seeking relief. He slowly slid up your dress, leaving kisses on every inch of your body before stopping between your thighs, gently nuzzling his nose against your core. His hands delicately spread your legs before his tongue swirled around your clit.

Kento lapped on your wet cunt, savoring the sweetness that gushed out of you. He teased your clit before finally plunging his tongue into you, tasting your innocence. You remained as still as a statue, lost in your dream despite your body clearly enjoying his touch. His big hands copper your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth as he devoured your pussy, his teeth gently grazing the soft skin of your thighs. Kento’s arousal grew with each moment as he feasted on your untouched pussy, as you remained blissfully asleep. He marveled at the way your juices filled his mouth. He knew that if this and kissing hadn't worked then he had to try something more. “More…?” he said loudly, partially snapping out of his instincts, “I can’t do something like that to her when she can’t resist or agree… Although… It doesn’t seem that it’s unpleasant for her…” Kento continued his loud wondering. He started gently undressing you, and his hands continued exploring your body, “Don’t be angry at me, I’m doing this just to wake you up.” Kento shook his head, spreading your legs “Besides it's the legend's fault. It says that you need a seed in your womb to break the curse,” he said loudly, trying to rationalize his reasoning. His fingers slid into your pussy without any problem as he started stretching you out, a wet squelching sounds filled the bedroom, “Princess, you’re soaking,” he hummed while pumping his digits in and out of your heat, curling it to find that secret spot that would make you moan and squirm, waking you up from the curse. His cock throbbed painfully against the fabric of his breeches, begging for release, but his focus remained on your pleasure. 

Kento now fully lost in need to feel your cunt tightly hugging his dick, kissed a path down your body as he whispered sweet nothings, hoping they would reach you in your slumber. He positioned himself between your legs and with a gentle push he parted your folds, the tip brushing against your hole. He bit the bottom lip, seeing as your chest softly rose and fell. He paused for a moment before plunging into the warmth of your virgin pussy. The sound of his hips slapping against your thighs echoed through the chamber. He knew he was crossing a line, but the thought of being the one to break the curse and claim you as his own was too tempting to resist. He buried himself deeper, feeling the tightness of your walls clench around him, and he couldn't help but let out a low growl.

Kento’s eyes rolled back as he felt the velvety walls, gripping him like a vise. He thrusted into you like an animal, his hips pistoning as he claimed your innocence with each stroke. 

Despite the guilt gnawing at him, he couldn’t stop, driven by a primal need to conquer and possess. His hand found its way back to your clit, teasing it with the same rhythm as his thrusts, hoping it would be enough to bring you out of your slumber. With each pump, he grew more desperate, his hips slapping against yours with a fervent need. He whispered apologies and promises of love into the stillness of the room, his breath hot against your skin, as he continued to seek the response he so craved. As he thrust into you the final time, he felt your body tense beneath him. Your gasp filled the air, and your eyes fluttered open. Your walls fluttered around his dick as he emptied inside you, filling you with ropes of his pearly-thick cum. When your eyes met he fell onto his knees, covering his face with trembling hands as he realized what he had done. You looked at him with wondering eyes, “Is it you, my prince? I’ve waited for you.” He peeked at you feeling guilt and shame, as you smiled gently despite your disheveled looks and the horrible act he just committed. Slowly you tried to get off the bed before falling onto your knees, clinging to him as your legs gave up, “My hero,” you hummed nuzzling your face against his chest. Despite the shock, Kento hugged you, delicately caressing your back as the reality of the state that castle was in started sinking into your mind. Tears started rolling off your cheeks while he comforted you.

As minutes turned into hours, you two started talking hour after hour. The next day he took you back to his castle and the King and the Queen fell in love with you, ordering and preparing things for your wedding that happened that very evening. And the two of you got to live happily ever after.

[sadhornydemons]

The Other Possible Stepfather and Daughter

Because it may be awhile until we see Blitz and Via interacting, I wonder what (if any) relationship Loona and Stolas could develop, living under the same roof, working at the same job and basically being two of the most closest individuals in Blitz's life currently.

I've seen some harsh takes, some claiming that Stolas simply thought of Loona as Blitz's pet, not knowing she was his daughter until the hug moment in Mastermind, ect, ect.

The current storyline hasn't given us many clues or interactions, but here's what I've gathered and some of my own thoughts:

The first among the few times these two shared the screen was in Truth Seekers were they don't really interact but Loona manages to record Stolas in his full demon form as he possesses and terrorizes their captors.

She's among the group as Stolas scolds them for getting caught, but Blitz, Moxxie and Millie seemed to receive most of his focus for these few seconds.

Grimoire in hand, Loona leaves the portal before Stolas can pick up Blitz to have an exchange of words and tongues.

Seeing Stars is when Loona shines as the only one with the nose and social media skills to locate Stolas' runaway daughter. (Nevermind that she was the one who allowed Octavia to break in and steal the Grimoire, because Blitz is certainly not going to tell Stolas this.)

And despite being a low ranking demon by Hell's standards, she's the only one besides Stolas who can take on a human disguise.

(not that anyone comments on this in universe)

So yeah, until the group is separated, they share a few scenes, but no dialogue.

Later when Loona does finds Via, she defends Stolas a little, while also reflecting on her own relationship with Blitz.

"You know, your dad's really worried about you."

"..try to cut your dad some slack."

That said, Loona still decided her own father needed a nice kick to the groan to make things right upon seeing him next, something which seems to freaks Stolas out a bit:

But Loona seems to brighten upon seeing seeing Via, whom she recently bonded with, making peace with her dad.

In Western Energy, Stolas' kidnapping takes place the same time as Loona's hellbies shot appointment, which took Blitz 5 years to book. During their phone call, Blitz explains this, to which Stolas responses:

"Oh, ha, ha. Well, I do agree that is very important…But, I-" Before Striker takes his phone away.

Which, while not the best reaction, is pretty short to base a lot of opinions about. Does Stolas know what a hellbies shot is? I'd say definitely not. Does Stolas believe he's in real danger at this point? Seemingly not, since he utters "Oh, shit. Am I in danger right now?" in realization after Striker crushes his phone.

Full Moon opens with Loona waking up to her father making breakfast while singing about his "Nice arrangement," situationship with Stolas,

But upon hearing at work that Stolas been giving Blitz excuses to not see him, she brings up the idea that Stolas is getting bored of him.

Blitzo: "Whaaaat?"

Loona: "Yeah, man. If someone wants to see you less and less, big red flag. If they give you chances to ditch, they probably want out themselves. Just wanna be more passive aggressive about it. Dicks."

Later in the episode, Loona is seen with Moxxie and Millie, following Blitz, in which they encounter and fight the members of C.H.E.R.U.B.

Loona: "Find ya? We were already following our dumbass boss to make sure he doesn't fuck up and lose our meal ticket."

Unfortunately the falling out of that night leads to Blitz abandoning his job duties and spending all the company's money on frivolous purchases including 300 taxidermy owls that he makes Loona burn.

Blitz eventually is able to recover emotionally, but his involvement with the grimoire is used to bring him to trial, sentencing him to death until Stolas intercepts,

taking the blame and losing his power, title and home as a result.

Upon hearing that Stolas needed a place to live, Blitz walks him back to his and Loona's apartment.

Blitz is greeted with cheers from the crowd, while they throw things at Stolas. Loona, rather wisely, tries to step away from the two, less she gets pelted with anything herself.

But when they are back home, she takes the time to embrace the father she nearly lost:

"Hey, um. I'm so glad you're okay."

"I love you, Dad."

Already in a depressed state, Stolas is further reminded that he is separated from his own daughter and appears to shut down physically and mentally, resulting in Blitz helping him clean off in the bath. During that, he hears a knock.

Unprompted, Loona gives Blitz two pieces of her own clothes so that Stolas has something to change into, apart from his old stained royal attire. Stolas gets a lot of use out of this outfit until Blitz attempts to purchase him more (which instead turns into a theft).

Weeks pass, and when Sinsmas comes, Blitz brings Stolas into the office with him and Loona, with the intention of Stolas helping or learning Loona's job.

Stolas is none too pleased about going to work, but gives a nervous wave to the room when Blitz introduces him and a second wave to Loona when Blitz asks her to teach Stolas how to "secretate".

Loona: *sighs* "It's literally this: Ring, ring. 'Hello? I.M.P. Yeah, we can kill that asshole. Wanna schedule an appointment? Thursday cool? See you then, dipshit.' Click. It's easy as sin."

However, after being placed at the desk, Stolas manages to have a breakdown upon realizing that he no longer has any of his personal wealth. An action that doesn't go over well with his new coworkers, all whom are all among the lower or middle class money bracket:

After an aborted mission, the group return to find Stolas missing and discover he went back to his mansion in an attempt to see his daughter. However, in the process, he is captured by Andrealphus. Blitz instructs the group to separate before fighting and Loona makes the first attempt to free Stolas:

Andrealphus is ultimately defeated, by Stolas is left devastated by Octavia informing him that she no longer wants to see him.

Blitz, Loona and Stolas return home, where Loona announces plans for the rest of the holiday.

Loona: "Whew. That was intense. I'm gonna see if my friends can still come tonight. I need some drinks after what happened today."

Despite being preoccupied with Stolas once again shutting down, Blitz makes sure to give Loona the okay. Seemingly, he spends the rest of the evening with Stolas until the party starts. But someone does gradually put Sinsmas decorations throughout the apartment.

And we've reached our end.

So, Loona and Stolas. Not many interactions, but I don't see any bad blood between these two.

Loona appears to have some respect that Stolas tries to be a good father. And although Stolas' relationship with her own adopted father started out in a very messy transactional manner, their disastrous fallout following the Full Moon episode, and fomer's actions in Mastermind might have clued her in that from Blitz's perspective, Stolas had become more than the company's "meal ticket".

Loaning out her own clothes at the end of Mastermind, speaks volumes, even for someone like Loona who doesn't hesitate to speak her mind. Her father suddenly brings his complicated, homeless ex home to live with them, but Loona shows her support.

She keeps her space, living her own life, but still supports her father as he begins something new in his own.

Stolas seems nervous around Loona. I think, despite them living together, Loona may spend the majority of the time in her room, while Blitz is constantly keeping watch over Stolas. Blitz's affection for Loona as his daughter is quite obvious. Stolas was even witness to it as each ran to their daughters at the end of Seeing Stars, so I doubt he would be unaware of how important Loona is to Blitz. I think that that may be where some of the nervousness, which wasn't present in their early scenes, comes from.

Time will tell if these two will have reason to interact or work together in the coming seasons. Or if Loona's brief bonding with Stolas' daughter will come up again.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Book Cover

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover!” We’ve all heard the phrase and we all know that’s impossible. Because the cover of a book is the first thing a potential reader sees—it should stop them in their tracks. It’s a very powerful marketing tool; having a well-designed book cover is crucial.

Tips for Making a Great Book Cover Design

Using more than two to three typefaces on a cover is discouraged, as it can look really messy.

Keep things simple. Your cover will be in a sea of other covers so try to keep your design from getting muddy and make sure it stands out.

Show your designs to people who have a design eye and/or you trust. It’s great to get feedback.

If you hire a professional designer, write a brief and send them info. Be really clear on what you want. Designers usually do a certain number of design rounds included in the agreed upon fee and any extra rounds of design will be extra.

If you hire a professional designer, they will likely have ideas about printing and may have connections to printers. They are a resource so don’t forget to ask questions.

Don’t forget: a book cover is an important part of selling any book. Whether you decide to do it yourself or collaborate with a professional, pay special attention to this part of the process, as a great cover goes a long way.

6-Step Guide: Professional Book Cover

STEP ONE Generate Ideas. Look around at book covers you like. Go to a bookshop and peruse what’s currently happening in book cover design. Take notes of what elements you like on the cover image. A certain typeface? Color? Do you prefer an image or an illustration or something purely typographic on the cover? Another option is to create a mood board. You can use a platform like Pinterest or Evernote, or create a folder on your desktop, and pull book cover inspiration from the web. While you’re gathering inspiration, keep in mind what genre your book is and what kind of book design feels appropriate.

STEP TWO Find a Designer (Who Could Be You!). Do you have design skills? If so, your next step is to begin layouts and mock-ups of the covers. You should use whatever software program you are comfortable with. Most professional book cover designers use a program from the Adobe Creative Suite:

InDesign. InDesign is a multi-page design platform but can also be used for single page design.

Photoshop. Used to manipulate and experiment with photography.

Illustrator. Illustrator is a vector-based program, which means you can create graphic art that can be scaled up or down without loss of quality.

Photoshop and Illustrator. These can also be used together as you can bring your Photoshop file into Illustrator to set the type after you have worked with your cover image.

If you don’t have design skills, now is a great time to hire a book cover designer. The first step is to figure out what kind of budget you have for this. A designer’s fee will range depending on their expertise. Get a figure in mind and then write a design brief which should include the book specs:

Size

Print-run

Intended audience

Where and how the book will be published

Anticipated publish date

You should also include a summary of what the book is about and what you are looking for in a cover. Also share the inspiration you’ve gathered with the designer.

If you don’t have design skills but want to create the cover without the help of a professional, there are a few software programs you can use, such as Canva or 100 Covers, design tools that allow you to DIY the cover (for free or a fee).

STEP THREE Decide on the Dimensions. If you’re self-publishing and printing with a local printer you can work with them to make sure your book dimensions will fit on their printer (remember a book prints front, back, and spine in one sheet of paper). It’s also a good idea to find examples of books whose size you like and feels good to hold. Use that as a jumping off point for your book.

Book Cover Dimensions List. If you are printing for a specific market, from print to ebook, here is a handy list:

Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing File Format: JPEG or TIFF Cover Size (Recommended): 2560x1600 pixels Cover Size Requirements: between 1000x625 pixels and 10,000x10,000 pixels (one side must be at least 1000)

Apple iBooks File Format: JPEG or PNG Cover Size (Recommended): 1400x1873 or 1600x2400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: at least 1400 pixels wide

Barnes & Noble File Format: JPEG or PNG Cover Size (Recommended): Rectangle height and width, at least 1400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: Min. 750 pixels height and width

Kobo Books File Format: JPEG or PNG Cover Size (Recommended): 1600x2400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: Min. 1400 pixels width

Smashwords File Format: JPEG or PNG Cover Size (Recommended): 1600x2400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: Min. 1400 pixels width Draft2Digital

File Format: JPEG Cover Size (Recommended): 1600x2400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: Tall rectangle

STEP FOUR Choose Your Style

Photo-based cover. If you’re creating an photo-based book cover, you’ll need to source stock imagery. There are lots of great resources online to find stock imagery including ShutterStock, Getty Images, and Adobe Stock. (Keep in mind: most photography archives require payment to use their images. Always investigate the copyright of images you’re interested in using.) Look for images that convey or allude to your book’s genre. You can use programs like Photoshop to manipulate your image, making it black and white instead of color or cropping it in a certain way.

Illustration-based cover. If you’re considering a more graphic approach to your cover, Illustrator is the tool to use. You can bring hand-drawn drawings into it and outline them to create scale-able, high-res illustrations which you can manipulate within the program. You can also create shapes, patterns, experiment with typography within illustrator and play with color, transparency, size and much more.

Typography-based cover. Finally, many successful book covers use typography as the main graphic device. This takes some skill and knowledge of typefaces, the historical context of a typeface, and how to manipulate it thoughtfully. That said, using type as a graphic can be very impactful.

STEP FIVE Pick a Typeface (Font). No matter what kind of cover you are designing, you are going to need the title of the book and the author’s name on the cover. As mentioned above, picking an appropriate typeface is very important. You want to pick something that feels right for your book—is it a sans serif or serif? A heavy weight or lighter weight? You want to make sure it’s not something with a lot of baggage, like Comic Sans or Papyrus. It is a good idea to actually do a little research on when, where, and who your typeface was designed by to give you context and feel out if it will be right for your book. You might also consider using up to two different typefaces, one for the title and one for your name. A serif and sans-serif mix can give a bit of contrast and visual interest. There are some typefaces that pair really well together. Check out the website TypeWolf to get ideas of what fonts pair well together.

STEP SIX Test, Tweak, and Repeat. Once you have a few versions of your cover, print them out on your home printer and take a look with a critical eye. Does the type size feel chunky? Too bold? Too small? How does your image look? Is it cropped right? Are the lines of your illustrations too thin and not showing up? Go back and refine your design and then repeat! Don’t forget to look at your book cover as a small thumbnail as well. People are on their mobile phones and you want to make sure your cover still stands out and is impactful.

Book Cover - serves as your first impression with potential readers—and though book covers don’t always look the same, they do tend to contain the same essential elements.

Design standards may be different in the world of traditional publishing than they are in self publishing, and book cover templates for physical paper books may differ from those of ebooks—but they all serve the same purpose.

Some Functions of a Book Cover

A book’s cover provides essential information. At its most elemental, a good cover includes a book’s title, the author’s name, the publisher, and the price.

A good cover offers clues about your book’s content and tone. Your cover design indicates whether your book is a work of high-minded literary fiction, a pulpy page turner, or a compelling work of non-fiction.

A front cover reveals a book’s genre. You can usually tell if you’re holding a thriller, a memoir, a sci-fi epic, or a nineteenth century classic just by looking at a book’s cover art and typography.

A back cover offers broader context. It may feature quotes from reviewers and fellow authors. Softcover books may contain a plot summary or author biography on the back; those summaries and bios are typically moved to the inner flaps of a hardcover book.

How to Hire a Professional Book Cover Designer

Book covers are marketing materials, and a well-designed professional cover can make your book stand out among the competition. If you want someone with expertise in the realm of cover design to work on your book, you may want to hire a professional book cover designer. Here are some steps to consider when hiring creatives to design your book cover:

Hire a cover artist. A cover artist produces the cover art and imagery that will appear on your book cover, either on their own or with heavy input from an author or publisher.

Hire a graphic designer. Certain graphic designers specialize in layout; they incorporate cover art that you provide them—whether that’s an original illustration, photograph, or even a stock image—into the overall design of the cover.

Find a cover designer online. Reedsy is one of a number of online resources for independent authors, self-publishers, and anyone connected to the world of books. Many professional book designers list their services on Reedsy.

Use your personal network. Seek out writers’ groups, either locally or on Facebook. In these groups, people share professional referrals and help support one another when a member has a new book in the works. A group of like-minded individuals can be an invaluable resource when creating your own book cover for the first time.

When to Call a Pro:

You have a budget (a designer’s fee will vary depending on experience and location).

You have enough time to work with the designer.

You have a clear idea of what you want or at least what you don’t want.

You don’t have any design skills.

You don’t want to invest in the design software.

Your book isn’t selling.

How to Design a Book Cover Yourself

If you don’t have the budget for a pro designer or just have a DIY itch you want to scratch, it is easier than ever to design your own book cover. While it may not be quite as rudimentary as when you covered your textbooks in a brown paper bag back in fifth grade, modern technology has made cover image design accessible to anyone with a computer. Here are some tips:

Use a template. There are numerous websites that offer book cover templates and step-by-step tutorials covering basic cover design skills. Some even have a free book cover creator tool, along with cover ideas, design tips, pre-made design templates, and digital cover image tools.

Use standard design software. Book covers can also be made using standard home computing software including Photoshop, Microsoft Word, and even (with a little sweat equity) Google Docs. This is particularly easy if you are importing a pre-made cover image from another source.

Make a prototype. The process for assembling a book is straightforward and satisfying. If you want to test out how your book will appear in print, you can learn to bind a copy yourself.

When to DIY:

You don’t have any budget for design.

You have design skills to do it yourself.

You have the design software.

You have a template and know exactly what you want.

You have people with an eye for design that can guide you.

How to Make a Hardcover Book

So you’re ready to bind your own book. Here’s what you’ll need:

Content, of course.

Uncoated printer paper for book pages

Decorative paper for endpapers, such as wrapping paper or cardstock

Davey board (aka bookbinder’s board), thin chipboard, or cardboard for the book covers

Craft knife

Polyvinyl acetate (PVA) glue such as Elmer’s glue

Hot glue gun and glue sticks

Ruler or straight edge

A long stapler

Thin fabric or book cloth for cover

Binder clips

Thick decorative paper (optional, for dust jacket)

Paper trimmer (optional, for trimming book pages)

Paintbrush (optional, for spreading glue)

There’s more than one way to bind a book, and you’ll find tons of great tutorials online for making homemade books, including Japanese bookbinding and perfect bound softcover books. The most popular style of hardcover book binding is called case binding, which is traditionally done by stitching pages together with thread. Here is how to make a hardcover book step-by-step—no sewing or special materials required:

Assemble the content. The number of pages and the type of paper you work with depends on whether you’re binding a novel, a full-color photo book, or a sketchbook. Familiarize yourself with the format by taking some hardcover books down from your bookshelf and observing how they were made.

Format your pages. If you’re creating a blank book, you can skip this step. If you’re printing a book with text, you'll need to format the text so that you can print it into a book. You can get help with this at a copy shop, or you can download book design software and print at home. Eventually, you’ll end up with a PDF with a page count. This page count has to be divisible by four so that your book can be bound as folios made up of eight sheets of paper (32 pages) each. You may need to add some blank pages at the end of the book to keep your page count correct for the folios.

Print and fold. Once all of your pages are printed, fold pages in half and stack eight within each other, making sure the pages are in the correct order. Staple the folios together in the folds, alternating the location of the staples so that you don’t end up with a bulge in the spine.

Bind your folios together. Arrange all of the folios in the correct order and flatten them between heavy books. Once your folios are flat, it’s time to glue them together. Hold the folios together with binder clips and use a glue gun to glue the folios together along the stapled edge. This will become your book’s spine. Be careful not to overdo it on the glue: Use just enough to keep the folios together. Before the glue cools, use a thin piece of fabric to cover the spine only.

Even out the pages. Carefully trim the edges of the pages with a paper trimmer or craft knife, if needed.

Make the hardcovers. Cut two pieces of cardboard for the front and back covers of your book. For the spine, cut a piece of cardboard that is the same height as the front and back covers, with a width equal to the thickness of the spine plus the front and back covers.

Attach the hardcovers. Paint the cardboard (both covers and the spine piece) with a thin layer of PVA glue and attach to the cloth you’ll use to cover your book, leaving a space between the covers and the spine equal to one and a half times the thickness of the cardboard. Let dry.

Assemble the book. Use PVA glue to attach the fabric-lined spine of your bound folios to the cardboard spine. Keep the book propped up between other books while you wait for it to dry.

Attach the endpapers. Trim the paper lining so that it’s twice the size of the first page and fold it in half. Paint glue onto the inside of the front cover and the front page, and attach paper lining. Repeat with the back cover.

Make the dust jacket. If you’d like to cover your book with a dust jacket, measure a piece of thick decorative paper as tall as your book and as wide as the entire book, plus a few extra inches to fold over the edge of the cover. Fold the dust jacket over the bound book. Lay another heavy book on top of it to help the dust jacket keep its shape. This is the place to add a cover design, if you’d like.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[madhatterbri]

Always | D.P.

Summary: can you please write an Damian Priest X Fem Reader Story where Reader and him are best friends, (Reader is around Rhea's Age) and reader is also an Wrestler on the RAW Brand. Damian got tickets to see reader favorite band in town (something metal of course) and asks her to join him for the concert, which she accepts, when Damian wanna pick reader up that evening Damian is too stunned by the way she got dressed (all sexy and seductive). At the concert while jamming to the songs he lays his hands on her hips and she pulls him towards her lips and kiss him.

Requested by: Anonymous

Happy Monday Night RAW, babes. ❤️

Damian Priest Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @mrsarcherofinfamy @terrortwinunicorn @brideofinfamy @miss-kuki-nz @hotwheels1108 @new-zealand-chic @magicalbuttertarts @eringobragh420 @missbmc94 @surdelcielo @hodgepodge-musings

"Killswitch Engage?" She asked with a huge grin on her face. Her eyes could see the tickets in Damian's phone, but she couldn't believe he had spent all that money on her. "You want me to go with you to see Killswitch Engage?"

Damian smiled at her reaction. The younger woman was over the moon about this. He had it all planned out. They would go to the concert and board the plane for their next RAW show. No one would miss work. She couldn't afford to miss work now that she had the women's championship belt.

"Think of it as a gift for your accomplishment this year," he smiled.

She returned his phone to him. The two wrestlers embraced. "You are the best, D."

"I've been told that a couple of times. I'll pick you up around 7, alright?"

"It's a date," she answered. Her cheeks burned as she walked away. It wasn't a date. She told herself so many times that nothing would ever happen between them.

He laughed yet stared as she walked away. "Yeah, it's a date."

With any luck, it would certainly turn into one.

The night of the concert, Damian drove to her house at the agreed upon time. He wore a Killswitch Engage shirt and black pants. The archer of infamy leaned against the car as he waited. He texted her that he was waiting outside. Nothing could have prepared him for when he saw her.

She wore a black choker with metal studs. Matching bracelets clung to her wrists. A Killswitch Engage shirt that was torn on the sides gripped her curves just right. A belt that matched her choker and bracelet held her pants to her. Her entire outfit was complemented by black boots.

"Is it bad?" She asked sheepishly. "I can change if you think so."

Damian shook his head. He never even realized that she was walking to him. It was like she stopped time. "Don't think for a second that you look awful. You look.... amazing."

Her cheeks burned again as she whispered a thank you.

The car ride to the stadium was filled with excitement. The car's speakers played Killswitch Engage songs that they hoped the band would play live before them. She thanked him again for getting the tickets and driving them there.

"Of course, it's a date, remember?" He winked at her. She smiled at him and looked out the window.

They walked inside the busy stadium. He splurged and bought them floor passes. Ever the protective one, he stood behind her to make sure no idiots would hurt her. The audience nearly blew the roof down when the band walked on stage.

Killswitch Engage played a couple of songs before playing her all-time favorite. The song was called Always. It was a simple song that always had such a hold on her. She didn't dare play the song in the car. There was no way that Damian could hear this song.

Despite the noise of the crowd, she heard him singing the song. This wasn't unusual, except for the fact that he seemed to be singing it to her. His lips close to her ears. For the first time that night, his hands were on her hips.

"I am with you always, from the darkness of night until the morning,"

He had always been there for her. The veteran took her under his wing and was there for her darkest times. When all hope felt lost that she would never get a title reign, he was there. Even while she is championship, he always stepped up.

Feeling brave, she turned around to look at him. Their eyes locked together. He stopped singing. The world around them melted away into a blur of colors. They were no longer in a concert full of Killswitch Engage fans. They were alone.

She ran her hand up his chest and behind his back.

"Damian," she breathed. Her eyes lowered to his lips. She stood on her toes as she guided him towards her face. Their lips locked in a kiss. She wrapped her other hand around the back of his neck. This is how she wanted their newfound relationship to be.

Always.

[throatgoat4u]

that's my spot!

word count: 0.6k

summary: some other hoe who thought she was better than you took your spot on the piano.

warnings: profanities, a girl getting dragged

matt had been paired up with tessa for a project. it was a known fact that tessa has a crush on matt ever since his glow up in sophomore year. but it’s not like matt have a fuck. he already had one lovesick puppy chasing after him, he didn’t need to entertain another.

matt and tessa were in matt’s piano room—him playing the piano and tessa sitting on the lid, her feet dangling. matt wanted to tell her to get off as it felt weird that someone who isn’t you is sitting this, but he instead bit his tongue

tessa—like you—took it upon herself to talk his ear off. usually, he’d find the background noise helpful, but right now, it was anything but that. he found himself continuously hitting the wrong keys or completing blanking out in the middle of a song—even if he knew it like the back of his hand.

a moment later, he heard the door of the room open, though he didn’t really care to look up, assuming it was one of his brothers. but when he heard tessa mumble “not this bitch,” he looked up to see you standing there, looking upset and hurt. when matt’s eyes met yours, you scoffed. how could he? he was your future husband, and you were his future wife! he wasn’t allowed to have another woman there! that was your spot! with a sigh, and tear filled eyes, you turned around on the balls of your gets and left. matt opened his mouth to say something, but you were already gone. tessa looked back at matt with a stupid grin on her face. “finally she’s gone.” she whined, with her stupid high pitched voice that made his ears bleed.

he pressed his lips into a straight line and nodded, though he didn’t agree. he went back to whatever song he had left off on, in hopes of drowning her whiny voice out.

matt was racking his brain for the keys, and notes, and sharps, and flats, and how to play the song in general but that proved to be hard as tessa seemed to overpower the piano with her godawful rambling.

about ten minutes go by and he can’t take it anymore. just as he’s about to say something, the door opens and he sees you walk in, not saying a single word as you walk toward the piano

tessa looks back to see you and she scoffs, following with an eye roll. frustrated that you interrupted her and matt’s “intimate time” she began to speak, “what are you doi-“ but is cut off by a scream as you grabs her by the hair and drag her off the piano.

matt stares at the scene unfolding before him in pure and utter shock (and also a hint of admiration). tessa is punching and kicking at you, screaming obscenities at you, but to no avail. he watches as you disappear out of the room, shutting the door.

“wow… she really does love me. huh.” he mumbles under his breath, a small toothless grin forming on his face. but as soon as you enter the room again, it quickly fell. 

you walked over to the piano, propping yourself onto the lid, dangling your feet off the piano as you began to speak—like you didn’t just drag a girl out of here by her hair.

“matthew you will not believe the day i just had.” you declare in a huff, gesturing your hands around for dramatics.

“yeah?” he quips.

“yeah!” you exclaim

“hm, tell me about it.” 

“well first i…” you go on, rambling about your day starting from the very moment you woke up. matt listens intently as he starts playing again—this time not messing up—hitting every key without much thought. maybe it was tessa’s mindless chattering that was messing him up. maybe it was because it was tessa. maybe it was because it wasn’t you. no one could replace you.

taglist: @sturns-mermaid. @chonicallyalone. @storyteller32. @mattscoquette. @55sturn. @queen-of-beees. @xoxopetalzblog. @lilysturn. @ilavlilpeep. @weepingdelusionobject. @ju2tm30. @funkybananas101. @xxkylie906xx. @courta13. @p3r3j1l. @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan. @ireadtoofast. @rippeanuts1950-2000. @reigengyattataka. @a-s-h-t-o-n. @anime-4-u. @maggot3647. @watercolorskyy. @matthewsturnsgf. @lemonhoney2460. @snoopychris

a/n: whipped this up real quick, so it's not proofread but that's okay! i hope you guys like it! my writing's bad as shit so tips are appreciated (and needed). love yall 💋

toodles sluts :)

[paishoeyeroh]

Bearer And The Bound

☰ Pairings: Sukuna x Reader, Slight Megumi x Reader

✧ Summary: When you stumble upon an ancient ring in an abandoned house, you unknowingly bind yourself to a cruel, powerful demon who thrives on torment. Trapped in a reluctant bond and forced to navigate a shared existence, Sukuna plots your downfall while you fight to survive his sadistic games. But as your fates entwine and secrets of Sukuna’s dark past begin to unravel, the lines between enemy and ally start to blur.

✧ Tags: True form Sukuna, Enemies to Lovers, Dark Romance, Demonic Bonds, Heavy Angst, Slow Burn, Sukuna is Bad at Feelings, Possessive Sukuna, Tension, Forced Proximity, Eventual Smut, College/University AU, More Tags To Be Added Later

✧ Status: Ongoing

✧ You can also read it on AO3

☰ CHAPTER ONE: The First Command

Chapter Summary: A seemingly harmless trip to an abandoned house takes a dark turn when you stumble upon a mysterious ring.

☰ Masterlist | Next Chapter

“There is no way I’m going into some creepy old house. What is wrong with you, Yuji?” Nobara says, her arms crossing over her chest defiantly. “Do you know how many diseases I could get just from walking around in a place like that? It’s probably crawling with mold and rats.” She wrinkles her nose, making a face as if she’s disgusted just thinking about it. And to be honest, you have to agree with her. Yuji first brought up visiting the “haunted house” as he had called it earlier in the day, after having heard about it from his classmates.

“I heard some of the other students talking about it in class,” he exclaimed excitedly. “Apparently, people keep hearing things late at night coming from that old house. They said no one’s gone inside in years, because anyone who does comes out freaked out of their minds. Sounds like the perfect place to check out, right?!”

Since then, he had continued to bring it up, trying to convince you, Nobara, and Megumi to join him.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!” He looks around at everyone animatedly, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Just think about it—it’s like the perfect adventure! People say it’s haunted by some ancient spirit or something. Doesn’t that sound awesome? I’ve always wanted to see a ghost!”

Nobara scoffs, still unimpressed. “A ghost? Seriously? You think some lame ghost story is gonna get me to go into that dump?” She flips her hair over her shoulder, rolling her eyes.

Yuji copies her stance, crossing his own arms, a teasing grin taking over his face. “I mean, if you’re too chicken, Nobara, it’s fine. Just say that.”

“Excuse me? Chicken? What are you, twelve?” Nobara snaps, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not scared of some old building or dumb ghosts. I just don’t want to waste my time with pointless bullshit.”

She looks over to you and Megumi—who’ve been watching this whole ordeal in silence—for support, but when she only gets blank stares in response, she sighs in exasperation.

“Fine. But if I’m going, they’re going too.” She points a perfectly manicured finger towards you and Megumi.

You shift on your feet, feeling nervous about the idea of going into a creepy abandoned house, haunted or not. You enjoy watching the occasional scary movie about ghosts or other paranormal entities, but when it comes to the real thing, you’d rather stay as far away as possible.

“I don’t know, guys… what if something goes wrong?”

Yuji turns his attention to you, placing a warm, reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Look, we’ll be in and out. Just a quick look around, and then we can say we did it. It’ll be an adventure! Plus, what if something really does happen, and you miss it? You’ll regret it for sure.”

You chew your lip, mulling over Yuji’s words. Man, he’s more manipulative than anyone gives him credit for, and it’s working. After all, you wouldn’t want to be the only one hearing the story secondhand if something exciting actually did happen. You hate missing out.

“Alright… I’ll go,” you answer, looking to the ground nervously.

“That’s the spirit!” He pats you on the shoulder a little too enthusiastically with the hand that’s still lingering there, making you jolt. He turns to Megumi, expectantly. “Megumi? Whaddya say?”

Megumi rolls his eyes and sighs, looking thoroughly irritated, though that isn’t an out of the ordinary expression for the dark haired boy.

“I had a feeling you’d drag me into this. I’ll come. But—“ he interrupts Yuji mid cheer, “I’m only coming because if I don’t, someone,” he gives the pink-haired boy a pointed look, “is going to end up getting himself in trouble.”

“Yes! This is gonna be so fun!” Yuji exclaims, ignoring Megumi's comment as he punches the air in victory. “Come on, I’ll drive,” he exclaims over his shoulder, already heading to his car.

“Yeah, fun…” Megumi mutters under his breath, as you all start following after him, “until we’re all running for our lives.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Once you arrive at the house, it’s nearing dusk. The sun paints the sky a bright orange, and as you climb out of the car, you can hear the cicadas chirping around you, hidden away in the tall, long-forgotten grass that grows around the abandoned house in front of you. You thank whatever powers may be that Yuji has decided to drag you all here while there’s still daylight, because honestly, it looks creepy enough even now.

The house looms in front of you, a decaying remnant of what must have once been an impressive structure, though time has not been kind to it. The roof sags in the middle, as the weight over the years has bowed it down, and several of the windows are shattered, jagged shards of glass still clinging to the frames like broken teeth. Vines crawl up the sides of the house, their tendrils weaving through the cracked wooden siding as though they’ve been trying to pull the house down into the earth.

The front porch is an even sadder sight, the wood rotted and splintered from years of exposure to the elements. A broken rocking chair lies on its side, one leg missing, and the front door hangs slightly ajar, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze, the action producing the faintest creaking noise.

Even the air around the house feels different—thicker, heavier. The chirping of the cicadas and the rustle of leaves seems to die off as you approach, leaving an unnatural silence hanging in the air, as if even nature itself is avoiding it.

“Alright, let’s get this over with before I change my mind,” Nobara says, standing in front of the house tapping her foot impatiently, her voice firm.

Yuji grins wide as he steps ahead, pushing the door open further with a loud creak, revealing the dark, dust-filled interior. The door scrapes against the floor, half off its hinges, and it stirs up a cloud of debris, making you choke.

Megumi waves a hand in front of his face, trying to clear up the dust cloud. “Jesus. Watch where you step, guys. This place looks like it could collapse at any minute.” His voice is laced with caution as he glances around warily, his eyes scanning the decaying wood that makes up the floor.

Your nervousness increases as you step inside, the heavy scent of mildew making your nostrils flare. The floor groans underneath every step you take. You look around, surveying the environment. The wallpaper is peeling in long strips, and there’s holes in the walls underneath, revealing the skeletal remains of the structure. The furniture, looking like it was once grand, now lies in tatters, draped in cobwebs.

The house seems to breathe around you, the creaks and groans making it hard to tell if someone, or something, might be lurking inside. It makes your skin start to crawl.

Nobara walks ahead of you, waving a hand in front of her face to swat away a cobweb. “Ugh, this place is disgusting! I swear to god, Yuji, if I get tetanus from this…”

Yuji, already way ahead of both of you, clearly excited to explore, is shining his phone’s flashlight over every corner of the room. “You won’t! And just think of the story we’ll get to tell afterward.”

“Assuming we all make it out without the house collapsing on us,” Megumi replies dryly, trailing behind everyone. The beam from his light reveals a staircase over to the left, looking like it might crumble if anyone dared to step on it.

The group moves through the entryway and into what looks like an old living room. Everything is covered in thick layers of dust, and the once ornate carpet is faded, stained, and torn. Your flashlights cast long, eery shadows across the room.

Suddenly, there’s a faint sound, a soft scraping noise that seems to come from the far corner of the room.

Nobara spins around. “Did you guys hear that?” she asks quietly, her eyes wide.

Everyone freezes, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent house. You grip your phone tighter as your heart rate increases.

“It’s probably just the wind, right?” Yuji laughs nervously, his grin faltering.

Megumi looks at him, his voice tense. “Wind doesn’t make that kind of noise.”

You all stand still, listening intently. The scraping noise comes again, followed by rustling. Nobara raises her flashlight, shining it toward the noise, and just as she does, something small and quick darts out from behind a piece of furniture.

A rat.

“God, seriously? It’s a fucking rat,” Nobara groans in disgust, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”

Yuji laughs, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “Phew, for a second there I thought we were gonna see something really freaky.”

You continue to explore the house, passing by broken picture frames, shattered glass, and the remnants of what was once someone’s home. Everything seems frozen in time, like the house has been abandoned for centuries. It fills you with a sense of sorrow, knowing that a family probably lived here once, creating happy memories within these walls.

You enter another room. A small, dusty study, by the looks of it. The wallpaper here is even more faded than the living room, barely clinging to the walls. Shelves line the walls, filled with old, crumbling books, and there’s a desk in the corner covered in papers that look too fragile to touch.

Your flashlight sweeps over the room, and as the beam lands on a small, unassuming wooden box in the corner, something catches your eye. The moment the light hits it, a soft glow reflects back at you. A ring.

The ruby stone set in the center gleams with a beautiful glow, as if it’s beckoning you toward it.

You kneel down, your fingers hesitating just over the ring.

“Woah,” you exclaim, mostly to yourself.

You carefully pick it up, turning it over in your hand. The metal feels cool and heavy, and the stone is striking—a deep, blood-red ruby that catches the light in a beautifully mesmerizing manner.

Nobara peers over your shoulder. “That’s actually… pretty nice. You should take it. I bet it’s worth something.”

“Can it really be worth something if it was left in a place like this?” Megumi asks, stepping closer to inspect the ring.

He’s probably right, you think. Although, maybe someone dropped it accidentally while they were inspecting the place, much like you’re doing now. The chances of that are slim, though, as it seems as if it was placed perfectly in the center of the wooden box you plucked it from. Like it was waiting for someone to find it.

Despite the warning signs rising in your gut, you slip it onto your right ring finger, just to keep it safe. It fits perfectly.

After another fruitless search through the rest of the house, you all decide it’s time to go.

Yuji looks disappointed, his hands shoved into his pockets as you make your way out the front door.

“Aw, man,” he pouts, glancing back at the house, “I really thought we’d see something cool. All that build up for nothing.” He throws his hands up toward the sky, falling to his knees dramatically. “This sucks big time!”

Megumi sighs exasperatedly, pulling Yuji back up to his feet by the collar of his shirt, pushing him toward his car.

“Like I said, it’s just an old house, idiot. What, did you expect some ghosts to come running out to greet you?” Nobara scolds, shaking her head.

You all pile into Yuji’s car, the atmosphere lighter now that you’re outside again, and as you drive away, you can’t stop glancing down at the ring on your finger. It seems to shimmer faintly, even in the dark. Almost like it’s alive.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You step inside your apartment and flick the lights on, happy to finally be home. As you kick your shoes off and make your way over to your bedroom, you let out a yawn, rubbing your tired eyes.

The adrenaline rush from being in that house has left you exhausted; you don’t even bother with your usual nightly routine, instead preferring to slide underneath the blankets and straight into your bed. As you switch your bedside lamp off and the room is engulfed in darkness, you can’t help but feel like something is… off.

An unsettling feeling has suddenly washed over you. You try to shake it off.

Relax, you tell yourself, you’re just on edge from the events of the night.

Even if nothing paranormal happened in that house, it was still utterly creepy.

A few moments pass. Just as your eyes start to feel heavy, the wind outside your windows lulling you into the beginnings of sleep, your consciousness starting to fade…

You hear something.

What, you’re not sure. It’s faint at first. A creak of the floorboards, perhaps, or a barely-there whisper you can’t quite make out. It makes your heart skip a beat, a sense of dread settling itself in your gut as you lay there, unmoving, waiting to see if you hear anything else.

And you do. Louder this time.

A low, rumbling laugh. It’s mocking, and it cuts through the silence like a knife.

Your eyes snap open, panic fully rushing through you now. A sudden chill spreads through the room, the air now feeling heavy and cold. The ring, still placed on your finger, long forgotten in your exhaustion, suddenly burns hot, a searing pulse spreading from the ruby stone through your hand, making it throb. You hiss as you flex your fingers to try to ease the pain as you sit up in bed, your eyes quickly darting around the darkened room, trying to find the source of the sound.

And once your eyes fully adjust, you find it.

In the corner, just barely illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering in through your blinds, stands a figure. Tall, imposing, and unmistakably not human. His form is casted in shadow from the night, but his four glowing red eyes pierce through the darkness, locking right onto you. His grin, wide and sinister, is the only other thing you can make out in the darkness.

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, your breath caught in your throat. He then speaks, his voice deep, rough, and dripping with cruelty.

“Did you really think that ring was yours to take, little girl?”

The malicious, pure evil in his tone makes your blood run cold. You hastily reach over to flip your lamp back on, hoping the warm light will save you, prove to you that this is a dream, that you’re just hallucinating. Surely this cannot actually be happening. But the light provides you no such comfort. If anything, it only sharpens the nightmare before you.

In the now dimly lit room, you can make out the details of the creature standing before you. His size is massive, his stature incredibly broad, with tattoo-like markings adorning his forehead, running down his cheeks, all the way to his chin, and a lone streak swiping across his nose. Blush pink hair adorns his head, flicking up off his forehead haphazardly. He looks to be wearing some sort of traditional Japanese robes, the color of deep crimson, embroidered with ancient looking symbols. That’s when you notice this entity has an extra set of arms, each of the fingers long and clawed, each nail sharp and black as night. He stands motionless, ominous energy rolling off of him in waves that make it hard for you to breathe.

Your scream finally breaks free from your throat, as his sinister laughter fills the space around you. You scramble backwards on the bed in the opposite direction of him, your instincts taking over in a rush to get as far away from him as possible. You fall off the bed with a heavy thud, landing on your back, pulling another sharp cry from your lips, this time from pain.

In one swift movement, faster than you can blink, the figure stands over you crumpled on the floor, his face gleaming with a wicked delight. He raises one of his hands, his long, clawed fingers curling, as if preparing to strike. Your arms fly over your head in response, trying to protect yourself from whatever impending blow he was no doubt about to impose on you. You shut your eyes tight as frightened tears start to spill down your cheeks.

“Please,” you sob, “don’t kill me.”

Your voice cracks with desperation, and to your surprise, the room falls eerily silent. You stay like that, waiting.

Nothing happens.

After a moment, you peek through your fingers. Sure enough, the entity is still there, his hand still raised mid-strike, as if he’s frozen. A look of frustration has overcome his features as he lowers his hand, taking a step back. He studies you for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

“Now look what you’ve done, foolish little human,” he spits. “Don’t get too comfortable. This game is far from over.”

Without another word, he turns to head back to the darkest corner of your room, his form melting into the shadow, and then he's gone.

The room falls silent once more. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, your body trembling uncontrollably as you remain huddled on the floor, tears still streaming down your face. Your mind spins, trying to make sense of what just happened.

What the fuck was that?

The figure—no, the monster—had just disappeared into the shadows as though he had never been there at all, but the weight of his presence still lingers, making it feel cold, empty, wrong. Your eyes dart around the room, waiting for him to reappear at any moment to finish what he started.

But nothing happens. He’s gone.

You sit up slowly, wiping at your face with shaky hands, trying to gather yourself, but your fear doesn’t fade. The memory of his cruel laughter, his piercing red eyes, and the sheer malice radiating from him is burned into your mind. You can still feel the heat from the ring pulsing against your skin, a reminder of what just took place.

Did you really think that ring was yours to take, little girl?

His words echo in your head. Your eyes fall to the ruby stone on your finger, shimmering in the faint light. You try to pull it off, figuring the ring was the reason any of this was happening in the first place. You tug as hard as you can, nearly dislocating your finger in the process, but it’s no use. It doesn’t budge. It’s as if it has shrunk, melding itself into your skin.

You give up, crawling back onto your bed, hugging your knees to your chest as you try to steady your heart, but your thoughts are a jumbled mess. Why was it doing this? Why was he doing this?

You think back to the way he moved, the way he seemed to freeze when you begged him not to kill you. There had been a clear look of frustration in his eyes when he lowered his hand. Why did he stop?

The questions swirl in your mind, each one heavier than the last, with you realizing there’s something you’re missing. Some piece of the puzzle you can’t quite see.

There’s no way you’re getting any sleep, not with this fear still gnawing at you. The room feels too small, too suffocating, and every tiny sound makes you jump. The wind outside rattles your window, making you flinch.

All you can do is wait, now. Wait for morning. Wait for answers.

Wait for him to return.

[vidavalor]

That night in 1941... is the night that Crowley (temporarily) died?

What is the dramatic thing that happens to Crowley on that night in 1941 that causes Aziraphale to still feel guilt and regret over it into the present?

Could it be that one of the reasons why 1941 is so significant to them is because it was as Furfur foreshadowed in Part 2-- their last night on Earth-- because it was, for a time, the last night of Crowley's life?

So, I think we all agree that something very, very major has to happen in the inevitable 1941, Part 3. I don't just mean only the inevitable canoodling. There's something more that these flashbacks are building towards because this is the big flashback that we're watching across all the seasons. It parallels and underlines the story in the present. Crowley and Aziraphale have had over 6,000 years on Earth but it's this night in 1941 that runs through the story so there has to be a big reason for that.

While there's plenty of suggestion that these two are going to bed in Part 3, there's another scene in the present of S2 that indicates that that's not at all what The Big Thing about this night actually is.

It might be a pretty big thing to some of the audience but it's not going to be any sort of romantic first for Crowley and Aziraphale and it's not the only thing that 1941 is building towards. What makes me think this?

The context of the scene in S2 wherein one of them-- Aziraphale-- actually directly mentions 1941 and Aziraphale's tone when he does.

While we have watched two very, very romantic parts of this night of 1941 so far-- and while we know it was that to them, too-- look at how Aziraphale refers to it in the present of S2...

There's a regret to this, a sense that he was the one in the wrong about something in 1941, even if Crowley might not agree with that.

I think that it's suggestive of Part 3 involving something related to Crowley about which Aziraphale is still regretful into the present of S2-- something he feels he was wrong about. This would be something we still haven't seen yet because, so far, Crowley and Aziraphale are winning at 1941. We've just watched two parts of them helping one another and emerging victorious from trouble, right?

We last left them in Part 2 flirting and drinking Chateauneuf-de-Pape... yet, also, we also still have the Zombie Nazis, an embarrassed Furfur, and a Chekhov's gun Derringer still in play ahead of Part 3. It doesn't bode well, then, when Aziraphale mentions the 1941 night aloud in the present of S2 with the tone that he used when he did. So, what might have happened that night in 1941, based on what other times Aziraphale mentioned during that same scene?

While we don't know what happened in 1650 right now and, depending upon what's in The Finale, it might always be speculative, we do know what happened in 1793. We know why Aziraphale would feel the need to apologize and see himself as having made a mistake. It's evident that Aziraphale regrets miscalculating the scenario in The Bastille in such a way that he wound up unintentionally triggering Crowley with Jean-Claude the Executioner.

While he and Crowley were ultimately alright and had a nice, crepes-laden time in Paris to a point that "Paris, 1793" was memorable enough to be shorthand in the 2008 story in the first episode, it's also an example in Aziraphale's mind where he feels he made a mistake in his care of Crowley and so was the one apologizing-- doing a metaphorical apology dance.

So, this might be telling us that something happened to Crowley in 1941... something pretty bad, as Aziraphale's tone when he mentions it indicates that he considers it worse than 1793. Given what we've seen so far, this something bad is part of what's coming in 1941, Part 3 in The Finale. Something big enough that it's really to where our watching of this night during both scenes has been leading.

There are a few, other scenes that I think might be providing us with some Clues as to what that thing is.

One Clue is Furfur saying: "Enjoy your last night on Earth."

At present, we think that Crowley and Aziraphale have evaded this threat because Aziraphale got the evidence photo away from Furfur... but there's still a Part 3.

This would be a big twist because we're not expecting this right now. We last left them drinking wine in the bookshop. Most of our theories (including a couple of my own) have been centered around more romantic aspects of Part 3-- and those could all still well hold up. But while it might be the first time we are shown that more directly, it's not the first time any of it's happened. Anything romantic in a new way wouldn't really explain Aziraphale's regret over this night in the present of S2.

What if the reason why, of all the very romantic nights that Crowley and Aziraphale have had over the years, we're watching this one in 1941 is because this was, for a time, until Aziraphale brought him back, their last night on Earth together because it was the last day of Crowley's life?

Still shuffling out there are The Nazi Zombie Flesheaters and we've got two different guns-- The Bullet Catch and Aziraphale's Chekhov's gun of a Derringer-- in play in the bookshop. Greta can get into the bookshop because Aziraphale let her in when she recruited him. If some kind of conflict happens and a gun goes off, what if Crowley got shot and, worse, died for a little while?

Aziraphale will blame himself for that forever, no matter how much Crowley will tell him not to. To Aziraphale, Crowley will have only been there with him that night and in danger because he showed up in the church to rescue Aziraphale from the Nazis. It would explain how Aziraphale feels about 1941 in the present.

There's also the dramatic irony of them doing The Bullet Catch successfully... only for Crowley to then get shot later that night...

...as well as the way the photograph Furfur took of the two of them on stage would change if it was this one picture of the two of them living life together that ended up being taken just hours before Crowley died.

We also had the stakes raised for us in Part 2 by Furfur explaining that Aziraphale being shot could have real, deadly consequences. It's something that we think right now that we just needed to know to understand the stakes of them doing The Bullet Catch in Part 2 but it might also have been set up to make us understand the severity of the situation if Crowley were to get shot, say, right near the heart, in Part 3.

And speaking of getting shot near the heart... the show has a bunch of other scenes that seem like they might look different in retrospect if we see a 1941, Part 3 wherein Crowley was temporarily killed during a probable confrontation with some, ah... *checks thematic notes* well, with some other dead people who also came back to life on this night in 1941...

There's the foreshadowing of Crowley getting shot in the chest with the paint in Tadfield and the way he instinctively clutches his heart...

...there's Crowley getting shot in the chest in the bookshop with the fire hose's water...

...there's maybe even a tie to it in Aziraphale petting Crowley's chest over his heart in The Dirty Donkey.

So, let's say Crowley does get shot somehow during all of this. Maybe there's a miracle block that Furfur put on the bookshop so the zombies could get inside or something so Aziraphale can't just fix it with a miracle. We could then get this whole, angsty and perfect scene of Aziraphale trying to save Crowley the human way because they're stuck there with no miracles and Crowley's too wounded to move. Crowley dies, Aziraphale's a mess, and somehow eventually brings him back... maybe like how Aziraphale's parallel, Beez, brought back Shax on Crowley's couch in 2.06? Not sure if that's connected but it has the feeling like it might be.

Finally, there's the sex-and-death of it all, which is something I looked at in this meta. If there is ever a time in Good Omens where one of them is going to die, it's so going to be the same night as when we first go into Aziraphale's bedroom, and the end of 1941, Part 2 has dialogue that pretty heavily suggests they're going to be upstairs, ah, retiring the act in Part 3. Having some metaphorical "little death" and then getting some literal death would be the most Good Omens thing to ever Good Omens. 😂

Why do I get the feeling that the above might not be the first time that Aziraphale's said that in the bookshop about a feared dead Crowley?

[bunkahi]

Sorry to write such a lengthy reply, but when I see an opportunity to deep dive about ffxiv, I take it. Before reading any of this, know that I don't think you're wrong, nor is your preference to more grounded writing. I honestly kind of agree that final fantasy needs to steer itself back to it's older writing a little bit, but I think ShB is a huge exception to this rule. Tl;dr ShB is 98% a metaphorical narrative that is meant to be the exploration of a silent protagonist's trauma, both experienced and witnessed.

The reason why for ShB's two dimensional world is because ShB is meant to be more metaphorical story telling than direct and realistic. While the events are all canon, every piece is chosen deliberately to tell a narrative of grief and the ways one overcomes it. The story doesn't exist to tell the environment. The environment exists to tell the story.

The protagonist is taken from the middle of a horrific war to a completely different world. One that is still bleeding from a natural disaster of untold proportions. One full of fear, loss, and so much pain. Already, this environment lends itself to a looser narrative, as it is mostly unbound by the rules and conventions of all that comes before it.

The main villain of the narrative is a character who refuses to move on from a similar tragedy as the first. An entire world lost in a blink of an eye. Everything he knew and loved warped beyond recognition. He represents the negative method of coping with tragedy by glorifying and living in the past.

Eulmore represents valuing momentary bliss in blindness. Instead of using their wealth and resources to better the world and themselves, something that is hard and takes effort, they would rather indulge until the end crashes around them.

The WoL also represents a negative way of coping within the narrative, putting too much upon themselves with little to no help. Though they have comrades surrounding them and accept their help in certain ways, they do not inform them of the poison that festers inside as the Warrior attempts to handle what is considered to most impossible. The Warrior's friends notice this change in Warrior, but they can only do so much to help. Little by little, burden by burden they fall apart.

The Warrior breaks as they are told that they have no fight left to fight. No life left to live. Everything they've done to this point was fight for others, even as the pain of it festered within them. If they can't handle the burden of that pain, if they can't continue the fight, why are they alive? Emet-Selch tells them that the light will not be denied. Rise up in madness and fury.

But Ryne, the character who we know has struggled with suicidal ideations, who has struggled with purpose and identity, the only one who has been able to help the Warrior maintain themself tells them to hold on. There they ask themself, if you had the strength to take another step, could you do it?

The Warrior accepts the help of others. Accepts that they must share this burden to have the strength to bear it. Just as Minfilia stated: "Not even the most valiant heroes can stand alone. Only together may you change the fate of two worlds."

In conclusion all of ShB (and Endwalker honestly) is meant to represent what humanity can accomplish should they accept grief and aspire to overcome it in a manner that is healthy and lasts, even should it be a struggle. Hence why Eulmore changes so drastically, and why those of the lower class are willing to accept it, especially when they're already proving to take steps in the right direction (fixing the elevator and trying to stop Vauthry).

And just to put this out there since I hear this a lot, I personally don't find the change of Eulmorean citizens to be that unrealistic when you consider: 1. The habitable world is currently the size of a dorito chip

2. That these are all people who were working until just recently. Vauthry's complete rule over Eulmore is a recent development all things considered.

3. They just lost their main method of control (Vauthry and sin eaters). The Eulmorean army is canonically on the useless side. With no way to maintain power over the dorito chip, it is only natural for the wealthy to cut their losses and attempt to maintain what they have, even if it means adapting.

4. Even with everything said above... these motherfuckers still didn't change that much all things considered lol. None of them wanted to take charge and unanimously voted on Chai Nuzz dealing with it.

Anyways, I could say a lot more, but I'm tired and this is already probably too long and unsolicited as is... even if this abbreviated because there's actually a lot more I could say about the Warrior, the burden of light, and their strong connection with Ryne. The only other thing I will say is that despite what others say, I do believe this was 100% planned and intentional since 2.0, at least vaguely. I will say that a lot of the hints of this though are lost in localization. But some still remain if you look out for them, mostly surrounding Midgardsomr, Hydaelyn, Elidibus (the one most lost in localization), a lot of HW, and optional content that involves the Garland Ironworks.

Anyways, if you read this, thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

ok replaying ARR RIGHT after being done with the dawntrail MSQ really shows how sanitized and two-dimensional the world has become over time

[heylittleriotact]

To Die as Lovers May - Chapter 2

A year after the defeat of the Elvhen gods and the salvation of Thedas, Emmrich and Amina are engaged and living happily in the Necropolis, serving the Watch and planning their upcoming wedding. All is well in their respective worlds until they stumble upon an ancient monster deep in the Necropolis, and Amina begins to feel unwell. Thus begins their adventure to find a cure for vampirism - all while juggling the new day-to-day reality of Amina's condition, and Emmrich's own struggle with the fact that his beloved has been unwittingly granted the immortality he has longed for his entire life - and she wants nothing more than to relinquish it.

Let's lean hard into gothic romance, shall we? We're talking dark, sexy, moody, and beautiful. These two were made for it.

“Are you quite certain you’re feeling all right, darling? You’ve barely touched your dinner.” 

Amina nudged a chunk of roasted sweet potato on her plate with her fork. “Hm? Oh, yes I’m fine, Emmrich. Just a little tired. I feel much better though now, thanks to you.” 

Emmrich wasted no time ordering Amina out of her armour and onto their bed when they returned to their apartment. As much as the idea of being told to strip down and get into bed by Emmrich was traditionally one that made her stomach flutter, in this case she rather sulkily obeyed, pouting the entire time she peeled off her armour and Emmrich fetched his kit of medical supplies. 

The gash on her head posed no trouble to him, nor did the large bruise that had begun darkening the left side of her face. The bite wound on her neck, however, turned out to be curiously resistant to healing. Emmrich had said he’d never seen a wound like it before, and was only able to heal it halfway before he needed to rest for a time. 

Amina knew he was trying to appear studiously unperturbed by the mysterious nature of the injury in an attempt to save her from worrying, but she knew Emmrich - knew that furrowed gaze and the way his mouth quirked to the right when he was completely tangled up in something. He’d insisted on checking on it no fewer than three times as they prepared dinner together, lifting the square of dressing he’d placed over it to keep the open wound clean and surveying it for any signs of improvement - or deterioration. 

He posited that it was possible the teeth or saliva of creature they’d fought in the catacombs possessed venomous qualities designed to inhibit the healing process, and once again asked Amina if he could please just take her to the infirmary and have a matron look her over to put his mind at ease. 

The rest under the cut or on ao3

‘I’m not hauling my sore bones all the way to the infirmary to be told to strip down, wait in a cramped room for an hour in my smalls, and then told that I’m having a slight reaction but I’ll be fine with a good night’s sleep and plenty of fluids,’ she’d argued. ’If it gets worse overnight, I’ll stop in and see someone on our way back from our chat with Myrna and Vorgoth tomorrow.’

She didn’t like saying no to him, especially after the nearly disastrous outcome of their venture to the lower levels, but she wanted to take the evening to lick her wounds in private before facing the surely embarrassing quantity of questions Myrna would have, and the inevitably astute suggestion from Vorgoth that their close call could have been avoided had proper protocol been followed in the first place. You know… like she wasn’t Amina Ingellvar, the Watcher that was temporarily exiled from the order that other time for refusing to follow the strictly enforced procedures of the Mourn Watch.

He agreed - grudgingly - but only on the condition that Amina alert him if she felt anything out of the norm. 

She swirled her glass of wine and took a sip of the garnet vintage, wrinkling her nose as it washed over her tongue, a biting, vinegary taste lingering and then morphing into something eggy and sulfurous after she swallowed. “I think this wine is corked, does it taste off to you?” 

Emmrich frowned at his own glass and took a sip, let the wine play over his tongue, swallowed, and said, “It tastes fine to me, dear.” 

“Really? Perhaps I’m just not in the mood for wine after today.” She slid the glass away from herself, unable to get the bitter scent of it out of her nose: it smelled as bad as it tasted - how was Emmrich enjoying this?

They finished dinner in lethargic silence - it wasn’t tense or awkward: sometimes they just didn’t have anything to talk about and no call to fill the emptiness with forced conversation. It spoke to the ease of their partnership: the ability to just exist in the same space together without feeling compelled to fill the space for the sake of filling it. 

She excused herself from the table to draw a bath. “I’ll clear away the dishes later, love. I just need a hot soak to ward off the chill of being so deep today.” 

It was widely accepted that the Necropolis had a tendency to steal the warmth from your very bones the further you plunged into its incalculable levels - nothing about the cold that dogged her since they returned home was particularly out of place, but she longed for the comforting heat of water scented with relaxing oils, and the soothing caress of steam curling around her face as she inhaled the warm humid air that would thaw her from the inside out. She’d cleaned the gore from her face and hair earlier, but the horror of what they’d encountered still clung to her, hanging around her head like a miasma. 

“Would you care for company, dear?” It wasn’t that he wasn’t genuinely interested in joining her, she knew that - but he was almost certainly asking in this case because he wanted to keep his eyes on her.

“No, no - just make yourself comfortable, love. I’m sure Manfred would like to tell you all about his day. Why don’t you go check in on him?” He was currently in his room, studying, but Amina knew their skeletal ward was chomping at the bit to tell Emmrich everything he’d learned that day - he had been so worried about Amina that he hadn’t had his regular end-of-day chat with Manfred, and she would hate for the lad to feel neglected.

Her fingers tightened on the back of her chair when her vision went hazy and she felt strangely disconnected from herself. 

“Darling?” Emmrich’s voice was distant, as though he was speaking to her through a wall.

“I’m fine.” Her vision cleared and feeling returned to her, but she felt colder still than she had moments earlier: she could feel her skin prickling with goose flesh. “Just stood up too quickly.” She smiled at Emmrich in an attempt to reassure him. “Please stop fretting, love. It’s been a long day for both of us: you need to relax too.” 

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Yes, dear, but—“

“‘Yes dear’ — that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” She rounded the small ebony dining table and took his face in her hands, standing on her toes and brushing her lips against the tip of his nose before kissing him properly - deeply. “Leave the dishes - I’ll see to them after, and then perhaps if you’re still up for it and aren’t too upset with me, we can turn our minds to my earlier suggestion…” Her hand drifted from his smooth cheek and skimmed down between them coming to rest between his legs to underscore her implication. 

He made a soft, muffled sound and his fingers wrapped around her wrist as his other hand squeezed a handful of her rear. He stooped slightly, bringing his lips close to her ear so she could clearly hear him when he whispered, “We shall have to see about that, won’t we? You have been rather naughty today…”

Amina let out a small squeak at the innuendo laced through his tone; the heat of his breath as it danced over her chilled ear; and the awareness of him beginning to harden under her hand. 

“Dammit Emmrich,” she breathed, massaging him through his pants, eyes locked on his, noting the sly, clever smile playing around his lips. 

“Go have your bath, dearest, and we’ll discuss your proposition afterwards.” He pulled her hand away from his crotch and maneuvered her around so she was facing the hallway. “Off you go,” he bid her with a firm swat to her backside. 

“I won’t be long,” she promised, looking over her shoulder at him as she exited the dining room. She reappeared around the doorframe a moment after walking through it. “I love you, Emmrich.”

Oh and how she meant it. He looked so perfectly wonderful standing there by the dining table, his eyes soft and affectionate, his cock half-hard, bulging through his trousers as he scooped up his wine glass and drained it, his Adam’s Apple bobbing.

“I love you too, dear. Take as long as you need - I’m not going anywhere.” 

She shivered in the bathwater, turning the image of the horror they had fought in the tomb over in her mind.

She’d never seen anything like it - never fought anything like it. It wasn’t darkspawn, it wasn’t a maligned spirit given physical form; nor was it a possessed corpse. 

It had no aura.

Everything had an aura, right down to the little snails - no bigger than an apple seed - that lived on the sides of the rocks of the little stream that ran behind Reda’s house. 

That thing though… it was surrounded by blatant, vacuous nothing. Sheer entropy. As though what aura it might have had was gobbled up by its existence alone.

And Emmrich was just as baffled by it as she was. He knew things about the Necropolis, history and secrets he had literally filled books with. How could it be that he hadn’t even heard so much as a whisper of the existence of such a creature in all his years of communing with the dead? 

Her stomach grumbled insistently under the water, and a pang of hunger followed: she hadn’t finished her dinner. Sweet peppers stuffed with beans and rice was her favourite comfort meal, and Emmrich’s spiced, roasted sweet potato was a household staple, but she couldn’t bring herself to clear her plate tonight, and the few bites she’d had weren’t sitting well in her belly. Too tired, she supposed, for such a rich meal. She'd pay for it in the morning when she woke, shaky and sluggish… especially after the amount of energy she’d expended today. 

Perhaps she’d snack on some veggies and nuts before bed to tide herself over till morning, but first…

She bent her knees and slid her back further down into the black marble bathtub, submerging herself deeper into the heat of the nearly scalding water as she tried to ward the annoyingly persistent chill from her marrow - it wasn’t usually so difficult to warm up after a day in the lower levels. Perhaps she was fighting off the beginnings of a bout of sickness - that was the last thing she needed: Emmrich having kittens over achy muscles and a runny nose. 

It wasn’t that she resented him for his concern for her wellbeing - she loved it, actually: he had a way of making her feel seen and valued that no one else ever had - but at times she suspected that he used his seemingly boundless compassion for others as a bulwark to shield himself from facing the realities of his own fears and insecurities. An effective solution, really: one couldn’t be expected to confront their own problems when they were endlessly occupied with altruistically shouldering the burdens of others who were also struggling…

Despite this suspicion, he was well within his rights to be cross with her after the events of the day, likely because he knew just as well as she that had she possessed the ability to do so, she would have disabled those wards on her own the day before and encountered that thing by herself, and the odds of her surviving alone wouldn’t have been nearly as good as her surviving with Emmrich.

She drew a deep breath and clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Steam wafted over the surface of the lavender scented water, but she still felt so bloody cold…

If she was getting sick she was going to be furious - she didn’t have time right now to be laid up in bed for days. She had work to do, a wedding to plan… a fiancé to make love to. They were going on that trip to Orlais, and they had hired a dancing instructor because Amina wanted to learn how to waltz properly for their first dance, and she had a dress fitting next week, and - and, and, and…

She cursed softly and dragged her wet hands through her damp hair, startling herself with how warm they felt against her forehead and her scalp after being submerged for as long as they had. She pressed her palms to her cheeks and frowned at the curious sensation of her body parts being so intensely different in temperature. 

She heaved a sigh, acknowledging the growing tightness in her chest, and the feeling of her heart beginning to race, pumping aggressively to circulate blood through her circulatory system and fight off whatever illness was coursing through her veins. 

“I’m definitely getting sick,” she murmured to nobody, disappointment weighing down each word. “Just my luck.” She toed the brass faucet and hot water began flowing from the tap again as she slipped further into the water, leaving only her face above the surface now as water rushed into the tub and her straight black hair drifted whimsically around her head making her look like a nymph from a fairytale, wild and free. 

Her stomach made another protestation that she could feel but not hear over the sound of the water, and she closed her eyes, giving herself to the peace of her surroundings and quiet, empty thoughts. 

He’d never lived with a partner before Amina, but they had combined their lives with nearly effortless ease following the defeat of Elgar’nan and their return to the Necropolis. 

They meshed well into one another’s space and routines, encountering very little friction in the initial weeks of acclimating to their new arrangement. 

Because of this, Emmrich didn’t feel pressed to check in on Amina during her bath: he picked up early on that the time she spent in the bath was not solely to maintain good personal hygiene, but it was akin to a ritual - sacrosanct and deliberate - where she recalibrated her balance and grounded herself, washing away the filth and grime that clung to her soul after she opened herself to the brutal and jarring emotions that she drew upon to channel her powers as a Reaper. 

Also, she liked to smell nice.

It was her space - her time. For him to impose himself upon it would be unkind. 

So he caught up with Manfred for the better part of an hour as Amina had suggested, sitting on a stool beside him in his bedroom and listening patiently as Manfred read back his notes on Transversal Atmospheric Anomalies, unable to keep the beaming pride from his face as his - their - ward recited what he had written himself today with only occasional assistance from Emmrich in matters of pronunciation. He had come so far in such a short time: it was remarkable that just over a year earlier he had begun to speak, and now he could carry on proper - albeit brief - conversations. Every day he learned more, became a bit more… surprised Emmrich more than he thought possible. 

“Where’s Rook?” He looked from his untidily scrawled notes - penmanship was an ongoing study - to Emmrich, his ever-grinning visage curious and benign.

“She’s having a bath. Now, I see you’ve written ‘unbalanse’ here when you clearly intended to write ‘imbalance’ - so let’s try and spell it out together shall we—?”

But Manfred was no longer paying attention to his notes: he was looking over Emmrich’s shoulder, into the hallway. 

“Puddle!” He exclaimed giddily, pointing a gloved finger. “Inside-rain!” 

“Dear me, Manfred - you didn’t make it rain in the house again, did you?” Emmrich twisted in his seat to look at where Manfred was pointing, fully prepared to lecture the neophyte mage once more on the discretion one must use when utilizing elemental magicks indoors, but the words died in his throat at the sight of the slowly spreading pool of water seeping from under the closed door of the bathroom, advancing over the dark wooden floor. “Stay here, Manfred,” he instructed, hoping he sounded calm, but knowing the icy terror flooding through him had robbed him of any of the authority he could normally call upon with such ease. 

He darted from his seat, the stool toppling behind him, crossing Manfred’s room in two long strides, his bare feet splashing through the warm water that continued to seep from under the door. 

The door was unlocked - Amina knew she had no need to lock it to guarantee her privacy - and he flung it open, slipping over the threshold with the urgency of his momentum. 

“Darling—?”

He was met with the sight of the black marble bathtub built into the wall opposite him, overflowing, water still cascading from the brass faucet.

He might have shouted her name when he realized he couldn’t see her in the bath, and he slipped on the slick stone floor, falling to one knee when he surged forward. 

No, no, no…

Clothes drenched, he clamoured gracelessly over the floor and closed the distance between himself and the tub, gripping the sharp stone edge and hauling himself up, a wail of absolute horror tearing  from him at the sight that met his eyes: Amina laying on the floor of the tub, her creamy skin standing in morbid contrast against the backdrop of black, her dark hair almost indiscernible as it drifted placidly around her still face, her wide gaping eyes, and slightly open mouth: a peaceful mockery of the sheer panic that had overtaken him.

“No!” Emmrich choked, voice breaking in that single syllable, arms plunging into the water. “No-no-no-no… no, please… no, Amina—“ Her skin under his fingers was the same temperature as the tepid water that surrounded her, and he hauled her from the tub, yanking her sodden, lifeless weight over the side and onto the floor. 

A mortified sob fell from his lips as water sloshed over the edge of the tub, washing over them both; landing in her open mouth and splattering over her limp form as her uncannily empty green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. 

Having seen enough death to know better, he still jammed his index and middle finger against her carotid artery, then the radial, brachial, femoral, popliteal - even the dorsalis pedis and posterior tibial. 

Utter, damning stillness met his fingertips in every location that should bear a pulse. 

Refusing to accept this confirmation of her death, he let her waterlogged ankle slip from his grip - it fell to the floor with a wet thud - and lifted his hands, parting the Veil and drawing on the Fade, channeling decades of skill and mastery into what he knew was a potent spell that could drag a person back from the threshold of death if too much time had not elapsed since their demise - a maximum of a few minutes at most. 

He speared the magic through her, directly into her chest where her heart lay, not bothering with typical conventions of propriety or gentle bedside manner: he needed this to work and he needed it to work now. 

Her bare chest arced upwards at the impact of the brilliant green light, and as wisps of necrotic shadow dispersed and faded, Emmrich’s anguished scream reverberated around the smooth walls of the bathroom when it became clear that the magic had failed and his beloved remained still and empty, the glorious temple of her body macabre in its unnatural, unholy silence. 

His fingers curled around her upper arms and he shook her, sobbing her name, beseeching her uselessly for a response that would never come. 

“Please darling, please…” He found the base of her skull and tilted her chin to the ceiling, stabilizing his other hand on her forehead and pinching her nose shut before inhaling deeply and clamping his mouth over hers, sending his breath into her water-logged lungs in a frantic attempt to impart vital oxygen to her. He repeated this a few more times before clasping his hands over the middle of her chest and leaning over her, bracing his elbows and compressing abruptly, again and again and again, his hands slipping over her wet skin, hot tears dripping down his nose and splashing onto her naked abdomen as he attempted to mechanically will life back into her body if magic wouldn’t do it. 

Water burbled out of her mouth, accompanied by chunks of her paltry meal that evening. It dribbled down her chin and clung to her skin, and he tilted her head to the side as he continued compressing her chest with enough force that he heard cartilage pop under his thrusts - felt ribs crack. 

“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded, hardly able to see her through the tears obscuring his vision.

He was distantly aware of Manfred standing behind him, peering over his shoulder politely, drawn by the unexpected cacophony.

He breathed into her again, uncaring of the rush of water and sick that purged past her lips against his.  

He screamed her name, pleading for her to return, not with his magic, but his very soul. He could not - would not - attempt his Corpse Whispering on her, because that would require accepting that she was gone.

He pumped her chest until he physically couldn’t anymore, and collapsed in a heap on top of her, cradling her against him, twining his fingers through her heavy, wet hair and stroking her cold, lifeless cheek. 

“I need you, Amina…” he wept against her cool skin, uncaring of the water that continued to pool around them, flooding outwards into the apartment. He rocked on his knees, removed from himself, fully and completely at the mercy of grief and horror. 

“I love you.” He squeezed her tightly against him and more water poured from her mouth that lolled open grotesquely. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he chanted brokenly, as if the words might undo what had been done. 

Even despite the rushing water and the steady trickle of it cascading over the edge of the tub, there was a particular brand of silence that was dominating this space, weighing on it - crushing it in its immense gravity as Emmrich cried over the corpse of his beloved.

What would he do? Who would he alert first to this tragedy? Could anything else be done? Surely the sacrifices she made to save the world from the gods merited special consideration. Someone could… they should—

He yelped when cold fingers gripped his wet shirt and Amina’s body spasmed, going rigid for a moment, her eyes blinking once, twice, as the perceiving spark of cognizance returned to them and her jaw worked soundlessly, struggling to speak through the deluge of water that spewed forth from her lungs. 

His heart leapt in his chest: she was alive - by some incredible miracle she was alive despite her lack of a pulse, the water she’d inhaled, and the not insignificant amount of time she had been at the bottom of the bathtub.

Remarkable.

He helped her lean forward so she could continue retching up stream after stream of water, holding her dark hair from her face even though he knew there was little point in it - the fact he was able to mentally function at all was a miracle too.

When she was done, Amina shuddered intensely and collapsed back into his arms, voice weak as she croaked out his name through ravaged vocal cords. 

“W-what happened?” She rasped, pressing her cold body against him, seeming to almost subconsciously seek his heat as she wrapped herself around him, uncaring of her nakedness. “I m-must have drifted off… and I woke up to you c-crying, and— wh-why is the floor all w-wet?” 

Her teeth chattered together violently between words, and he could feel her shivering against him - partly from adrenaline, surely, but he could feel her through the wet material of his clothing, and he had never felt anyone so cold - no one living, at least. 

He leaned back on one hand and tilted her chin up from where she had buried her face in his chest to get a better look at her, knowing at once that even though she was conscious again, something was not right: her lips were bloodless and blue, the biggest giveaway that her circulatory system was not adequately managing her internal temperature. Her skin, exceptionally pale to begin with, seemed to have lost any colour that it had, leaving it with a semi-translucent, milky, opalescent appearance. 

“Emmrich?” 

And her eyes… those lively celedon orbs, now made different - an anemic, sickly green almost as void of pigment as her skin - haunting by their very existence and the fact that they had replaced the eyes he had come to know so intimately.

“Emmrich,” she repeated, panic edging into her hoarse voice when he continued to stare down at her, unable to speak because he was desperately trying to comprehend what was going on. “Why were you crying?” It wasn’t a question: it was a demand.

His hand drifted from the smooth, cold surface of her cheek, over her jaw, and past her throat, coming to rest just to the right of her windpipe, index and middle finger pressed flat against the place where her pulse should be.

Should be.

With a gasp he drew his hand away, letting it fall to his side as confirmed fact and direct contradiction collided, refuting and simultaneously verifying the evidence before him. 

Amina was still staring at him expectantly, pleading silently for an answer with those strange eyes of hers. 

Emmrich’s voice shook when he finally tried to say what he never in his wildest dreams imagined he’d be saying. He took her icy hands in his, squeezing them gently in some foolish hope that the simple action would soften the reality of his next words.

“I was crying because…” He faltered, tried again. “Because you are dead, darling.”

[toocringeforinstagram]

My interpretation of 'Would you fall in love with me again'

So I have seen a lot of interpretations of Penelope's stunt with the wedding bed, but I haven't seen anyone echo my own so I thought I'd share? This is just my opinion though.

I think that the wedding bed thing was not just Penelope's way of saying Odysseus is always her husband no matter how much of a monster he thinks he is. I think she was calling his bluff.

Because throughout Epic, Ody's arc has him becoming a monster to get back home to his family. In Monster, he explicitly gives up his humanity to make it back home. And for the majority of act two, he stays true to this conviction. He is a monster, and he is ok with this, because it is what helps him to get back home.

However, when he sees Penelope again, he loses his conviction. As he faces his sweet and gentle wife, the woman he has been dreaming about for all these years and placing upon a pedestal, he falters. Because he feels he doesn't deserve her now that he has become a monster.

So even though it breaks his heart, he pushes her away. He tells her that he isn't the man she once knew and he questions whether she would ever fall in love with the version of him that he has become. In all of his lyrics in this song, he expresses how she could never fall in love with him again after everything he's done. He plays the part of a martyr, willing to give up his one true love because she should not be forced to love a monster.

Now, Odysseus is a rather selfish character. I think we can all agree on this, yes? It was selfish of him to taunt the cyclops, selfish of him to approach Aeolus alone and to keep the windbag to himself, selfish of him to refuse to listen to Eury when they first arrived at Circe's, selfish of him to sacrifice six men to Scylla, the list goes on. He isn't afraid to do what he has to to get what he wants.

And Penelope knows this.

So she rejects him, and she does it in the most hurtful way possible - telling him to literally uproot their lives, that she can't stand him to the point that she wants every reminder of him gone, even if that means basically destroying their room by removing the bed. This was 'a symbol of their love everlasting' so by asking him to get rid of it, she is saying that she really never could fall in love with him again.

And Odysseus fights back, because he is still selfish. He still wants his wife to love him. Despite pushing her away, he actually can't stand the idea of losing her after everything he went through to get back home to her. He cannot give her up.

Penelope points this out to him. You are my husband. Do not try to say that you don't deserve me, do not try to shy away from me because of what you have done. Don't play the part of a martyr now, when you have martyred others just to get back home to me.

You are selfish. You are a monster. But I love you regardless.

Because Odysseus will always be her husband. And just the fact that he feels he doesn't deserve her proves that her 'kind and gentle husband' is still in there, somewhere. She'll help him to return to a place of love and empathy one day. But it's something they'll do together, not apart.

And I think that's beautiful.

[livefromthedas]

(Full Chapter Here on AO3)

“We… are going to run out of chess pieces,” Rook mused.

“I swear I saw another set in Emmrich’s study,” Harding stood, leaning to leave her teacup on the table, “I’ll go ask him.”

“Thanks, Lace,” Evka smiled.

It had become a very long, very full day. By late evening, the Lighthouse had fielded a visit from a trio of Mourn Watchers (Another haunting reported in Antiva), while Neve and Taash had left for Docktown, chasing a lead about Venatori movements from the Threads. Rook had nearly gone with them, in fact, when a bottleneck at the Vi’Revas had resulted in Davrin, Antoine and Evka arriving just as Neve had been ready to depart. With word that the blight ruptures were, despite all efforts, only worsening in the Hossberg Wetlands, Rook made the call to stay behind and help problem-solve.

Now, well past a dinner of leftover stew, with Bellara’s big brain energy for added assistance, Rook and her fellow Veil Jumper, Davrin, Antoine and Evka huddled at the center of the Library, upon chairs pulled close to the table between them. That table was strewn with coffee, tea, and more importantly, a series of exhaustively detailed, interconnected maps. Details had been scrawled by hand on parchments and maps alike, and after hours of comparing notes on successfully eradicated blight boils in the area, the group had created an intricate pattern of chess pieces across the mapped landscape, tracking its spread.

It was not unusual for the Lighthouse to play host to the Grey Wardens, particularly in recent weeks. The Hossberg Wetlands were, physically speaking, cold, wet, and miserably blighted. And, Rook had reasoned, there was nothing about planning their next move there that couldn’t be done far more comfortably from “home.”

As such, it had become commonplace to host Antoine and Evka as guests over hot drinks, warm food, and a massive pile of Grey Warden missives. Evka had noted to Rook in confidence, since, that she’d come to look forward to those visits. The time away from the eerie chatter from the Blight that her husband was especially sensitive to had been doing Antoine quite a bit of good.

“Oh, oh no,” Bellara said, shuffling through papers, “There’s three more. We missed the well near the east gate, and look, just like we said when we found it,” she moved a book aside that had found use as a paperweight, and traced a finger down the course of their maps to the west, “That eruption from the north river is still infecting the farm to the south, even though we helped clear out the source.”

Rook sighed, suddenly fumbling with a few of the various pockets in her vest - she had to have something she could use.

“Ah!” She grinned, “Here.”

Slim hands freed various weird looking nuts and bolts of old Elven tech she’d picked up as a Veil Jumper and simply never discarded in the off chance they’d find some use. She placed three on the spots Bellara had noted.

“And as I suspected,” Antoine grinned with that thick Orlesian accent of his, “The blight may be chaotic at a glance, but it is still organic. And anything organic,” he stood, tall and lanky, rounding the table amid his study of the map, “Works in patterns.”

“If that’s the case, we’re clearly missing some pieces to the puzzle,” Davrin leaned forward, “Here, here, and two more to the south. Likely in caves we just haven’t managed to scout yet, this far into the foothills.”

“And maybe a well or basement we haven’t managed to pinpoint yet in the fields,” Rook agreed.

“Well, that certainly narrows our search,” Evka grinned.

Davrin agreed, looking relieved, sparing a chin-scratch to the Griffon napping at his feet, “By a lot, actually.”

“We can have wardens scout these areas by morning,” Said Evka.

Antoine grinned, “We may get ahead of this yet, my love.”

“Oooh.”

Rook glanced up suddenly at Bellara’s conspiratorial whisper and nudge. After hours of problem solving and concessions with houses Cantori and De Riva, Lucanis had come jogging up the stairs from the Eluvian room below.

“I say we got this, right?” Bel grinned, gathering the missives from Rook’s lap.

“Right,” Rook laughed. She was quick to apologize to their guests, but happy to at least leave them with more answers than questions, “Excuse me, everyone.”

“That went long - did you at least eat?”

Lucanis chuckled at the immediate fussing, fully lifting the elf from her feet in a hug, and already pacing for the door before he’d set her down again, “Well, in fact. Viago insisted on Atardecer Roja.”

Rook was familiar with the bistro, at least in passing. She’d heard Teia insist the place was the “only decent Antivan food in Minrathos” more than once.

“Something is stirring at Villa Dellamorte, though we are not yet sure what for,” Lucanis said as they made their way across the courtyard, “Valentin arrived around dinner, mentioned much of the help getting roped into preparations. And Illario has requested security assistance from Viago and Teia both, on standby.”

“Illario moves fast,” Rook said.

“When he can be bothered.”

Lucanis was clearly ready to pack it in after such a long day. He had himself free of a number of belts and daggers, an elegant burgundy half-cape and gloves by the time they strode into the Dining Hall.

“Mierda, the quiet,” he muttered gratefully to the otherwise unoccupied space. He then glanced back over his shoulder bemusedly - Rook was already pulling at the ties of the corset beneath his coat.

While the man’s rigorous daily fitness routine assured there was nothing for the corset to keep contained in a traditional sense… It was fantastic for posture. Or, so he had explained.

“There,” she gave him an affectionate pat as lacings came loose, “Go, get comfortable. I’ll put on a kettle.”

It was always funny to Rook, Lucanis’s idea of “Comfortable.” It usually just meant “Less Knives.”

Within five minutes the assassin came wading back out of the pantry looking immaculately dressed as ever, expensive looking vest, shirt and slacks tailored perfectly and worn even better, and adorned with intricate silver crow skulls for buttons.

Ever the busy-body, Rook already had beans ground and coffee cups at the ready, and was fishing around shelves for Lucanis’s stash of chocolate.

“It is late,” he mused, pausing to watch her work with a lazy, endeared smile, “Have you considered maybe taking it easy?”

“Hey, you know taking it easy would be better with chocolate,” Rook joked amongst her search.

She heard him sigh, but ignored it. Rook only paused when Lucanis strode up behind her and reached over her shoulder to pull the right tin from its place. She nearly went to take it from him, too, but he set it on the counter instead, wrapping both arms around her middle in a warm, protective hug, his beard tickling a bit of bare shoulder as he pressed a lingering kiss there. Rook grinned, eyelids growing heavy on comfort - this was new. This was nice.

The kettle began to whistle. Lucanis broke to fetch it before she could.

“I knew a Veil Jumper for a while,” she said, breaking into the tin, “Who absolutely insisted that the best cup of coffee he ever had came mixed with a bit of chocolate and cream. And since Bellara and I were able to swing by the market on the way home this morning— What?”

Lucanis guided her to face him, his dark eyes full of mischief. She realized the kettle had been left beside the stove.

“In a bit,” he purred quietly, and something about his tone made the butterflies wake in her belly, “I think I have an even better idea.”

Rook laughed daftly, “Better than coffee and chocolate?”

“Rumor has it.”

She squint at him slyly as he ushered her off toward the pantry, teasing, “Ok, fella - who are you, and what have you done with Lucanis Dellam—“

She had barely turned to greet him past the pantry’s threshold when a gasp was stolen from her lips. Without a breath’s thought, Lucanis had stepped into her space, hands rising reverently to her jaw, guiding her into a kiss.

A tiny, genuinely startled murmur escaped her with the heated blush that swept her face to the tips of her ears. Rook forgot how to breathe.

Tender. Warm. Incredibly gentle. Rook melted into that kiss, in defiance of a swimming head and a quickening pulse, reveling in the taste and feel of him, and the endearing way his thumbs brushed lovingly at her cheeks. Only once he pulled back, ever slightly, to look at her did she manage a breath. Her glassy gaze caught his, and she found herself searching dark eyes that were both adoring and heated at once.

“Hey,” she barely managed, voice cracking. Her eyes had already wandered back to his lips, which teased a smile from the assassin.

“Hey,” he chuckled back.

Her heart rate did not slow, and their composure did not last. Rook pulled him right back in for the kiss she had been craving for months. The rumble of a groan he breathed into that contact - headier than she expected - only egged them on further.

Lucanis deepened that kiss deliciously. Her lips parted to greet him as he tasted her, one hand lacing possessively into her hair, the other to her hip, pulling her into him, holding her close.

Coffee and whatever expensive wine he’d shared over his talks with the Talons stole Rook’s senses, mingling exquisitely with cologne and a scent that was deeply, intrinsically him. In little time at all, Rook was flustered beyond reason. But Maker, she craved him in whatever fashion he’d allow.

“Rook…”

Minutes later, with his hair in disarray from the gorgeous elf’s wandering hands and with a gaze that had dipped from warm brown to black, Lucanis pulled back, shuttering to catch his breath. He’s become so warm to the touch, Rook mused, every sinew in the man tensed in a manner that felt barely restrained. His hands caressed warmly down the length of her back.

His brow had furrowed, and he pressed his forehead to her own. Lucanis’s eyes searched hers, trying to read her, and she suspected, trying to find the right words.

“You don’t have to stop, vehnan,” she whispered between them, heartbeat a ruckus in her ears. A mischievous smile teased her lips, only to broaden at the breath that escaped him as she baited, “I’d actually rather you didn’t.”

For a brief moment, Lucanis wavered between a curious, wicked flirt, and thoughts that struck him both painfully and enticingly at once.

Grief. Confusion. Anguish. Fear. He had walled up so many barriers against her for so many months, only to have them rendered refuse at their feet, a paltry ash, again and again.

Time and time again Rook had proven - She was safe. She was safety.

She was his.

Realization refused to be denied further - it was safe to believe her. To cave into the want - the need of her. Fuck, did he need her. And now, best of all; he had permission.

Lucanis pulled her to him once again, more heated than ever.

(Read the Rest on AO3)

[scapegoated-if]

How did the band come up with the name “Voyeurs” and why did they choose it? Would the name itself have been controversial in-game at that time, due to the sexual connotation?

This also comes up in the story but I will spoil it because it’s not majorly significant in the grand scheme of things. There will be a scene that explains all of this again, so read at your own discretion.

In the group, their initial idea as a band was ‘The Spectators’, which I got from a 1970 Jim Morrison interview where he said something along the lines of ‘a spectator is the most dangerous thing you can be’—I will reblog this with the specific quote and interview when I get home later (I have spare time on my hands so I’m replying to this at work).

Léon, however, suggests the name ‘The Spectators’ in reference to Oscar Wilde’s Preface from The Picture of Dorian Gray:

‘All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.’

Léon also sees “spectating” as the act of baring witness to the world around him at the time and writing what he’s baring witness to, more so than having anything to openly say about it. He doesn’t see himself as a writer but a vessel.

I imagine Vince thinks it’s too pretentious and, although Léon doesn’t agree with this sentiment, he does agree that the name in particular isn’t right for the band because it’s too on the nose.

Shiloh then suggests ‘The Voyeurs’ as a synonym, without knowing that the actual sadistic meaning refers to sexual voyeurism as well as in a sense enjoying pain inflicted upon others.

Vince would shut it down, interpreting the former. Leon would be open to it in the context of the latter—he would elaborate that he is specifically referring to watching those who suffer at the hands of progression and transgression from capitalism and the discriminatory systems currently in place at the time.

Eventually MC would decide to remove ‘The’ altogether from the name because there are many examples already of groups that have ‘The’ in their names: The Beatles; The Rolling Stones; The Velvet Underground; The Lovin’ Spoonful; The Byrds; The Who; The Doors; and etc, but I could go on.

I have the scene written down for the sake of myself contextually (it was one of the first pieces of writing I did for Scapegoated to grasp a sense of the dynamic between the band), but I’ll share it with you guys at a later time because I want to include space for coding so your MC can decide where she stands in this discussion.

The name is received negatively for a while by others and has a lot of discourse around it. Many record labels receive it negatively in the fear of a lack of marketability. But your label is open to it and loves it for the discourse it can create and the image of your band as very much so a product of your “angry” and “subversive” generation. At the time your band takes this well, especially because it’s a very famous and successful label (evidently), but bad publicity isn’t always good publicity…

I offered a different name to my best friend when I was planning Scapegoated: ‘Pitstop’. It would have been a literal reference to the QE2 and the fact you met Léon on a pit stop along the ship’s schedule. But I didn’t feel that it had the same impact if the MC was from France because you would both be getting on the QE2 at the same time, rather than experiencing the journey without Leon for a day, and then picking him up at the South of France terminal where it massively turns around what the trip is like for you. On the other hand, metaphorically it was meant to be allusive to the fact your group are passing by—you’re dropping an album and then disappearing, which felt too on the nose on my part in terms of the hiatus. The band wouldn’t know they’re going on hiatus when they start it, otherwise it’s like what’s the point in the first place?

Also, I associated the name ‘Pitstop’ as less ‘70s and more ‘00s heavy metal for some reason—maybe I’m subconsciously rhyming it with ‘Slipknot’ or something.

Sorry for how long this has become! A lot to unpack!

Stay groovy!

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari curled up a bit in Miroku's arms when she was caught, though her body was kind of tense even in her sleep.

Kagome blinked. "I asked Inuyasha to set a place up. Inuyasha, where did you set up Kari's spot for her to rest?" Kagome asked while Sango stood up, catching what the monk said.

"Miroku, you are staying here. I will take Kari to get some rest." She ordered with glare. "I've finished me food already. I don't trust you to be alone with her yet. Knowing you, you might do something stupid like with every other girl you meet." The demon slayer huffed, lying about having finished her food since her bowls still clearly half full of rice and stew.

Kagome gave a slight groan. "Sango, I know Miroku has a... reputation, but he hasn't done anything to any girl Kari's age... I don't think. Thats why I asked Kari how old she was, to get that informationout there. And besides, he never actually does anything, just asks that one question. Though, I'll admit, it is very forward and... unnecessary... and Kari has already dealt with a lot as it is... and no child should be asked such a thing. " Kagome thought for a moment then began to feel a shiver down her spine, remembering how she first met the monk. "I agree with Sango. Miroku, you're not allowed to be alone with Kari for the foreseeable future. Give her to someone else so they can tuck her in." The young priestess huffed while Sango nodded in agreement.

Kari whimpered slightly at the noise and tried to move to dampen what noise she could. The child wasn't happy with all the noise then moved to make a grabbing gesture with her hands, letting out a weak whine upon realizing she didn't have her plush rabbit. "Tsu...ki..." The child let out a pitiful whimper, having dropped said plush rabbit when she passed out. Tsukuba had landed next to Inuyasha, face up with it's forever smiling face.

It was a rather adorable bunny upon closer inspection given the circumstance. One eye had long been missing, the other an adorable dark brown button. The body was mostly patch work at this point, sewn together with crude stit hing though some of the original fabric still remained. It was supposed to be a cream colored rabbit, at least mostly, with velvety soft fluffy and cute sewn on pads that had the texture of the thread to provide a bit of a sensory variety. The ears once stood up right, able to be adjusted but now one torn in half and the other tattered but still intact, albeit with some crude patch work. The tail was surprisingly intact with not much change to it aside from some staining. Bits of brown and some dark reds, or was that a weird red-brown? It was hard to determine. Either way this plushie had seen better days but it was clear Kari did her best to fix it up to keep it around for a long time, obviously caring for it deeply.

Again, Kari called out the name of her plush rabbit with a whimper, now moving a bit in Mioku's arms a bit distressed but not fully concious. Her movements were also rather weak and easy to deal with given her current state, on the verge of being in deep sleep.

Miroku, who had been watching the conversation unfold with a calm expression, was quick to act as Kari began to fall. His reflexes kicked in, and he caught her gently just before her head hit the ground. Cradling the now-sleeping child in his arms, he chuckled softly, his warm gaze falling on the little girl. “Well, I suppose that’s decided. Guess we’re going to bed and skipping the bath for tonight.”

He glanced up at the group, his expression a mix of amusement and sympathy. “It seems she’s been carrying a heavy load for someone so young. Can’t blame her for crashing after a good meal. Do we have a place set up for her yet?”

[swcctcrbittcr]

closed: @tripzon3 connection: inspired here

even through the small holes of the mask, brett could see her beauty. it was always something to be admired, to fawn over. she could have anyone she ever wanted, and brett was determined to make sure it was him she chose. he knew he could give her what she wanted, what she needed. stepping closer, a hand reaches out, wrapping around her waist to pull her close. "shhh baby." he coos, fingers spreading across her stomach. "don't be afraid, you know i'm all that you need."

[starry-bi-sky]

Who is the more well-adjusted twin; Damian, or Danyal? Why, it's Damian, of course!

And I have an explanation for this! But first I wanna preface this that this is just me like, rambling about this thought I have and it's not an attack on the trope as a whole. I love the Danyal Al Ghul au which is why i'm so deeply passionate about it, because I think it has a lot of potential to be explored. It's no secret that I've mentioned before that I think Danny's psychological development tends to get overlooked and underutilized in DAG aus, and the impact that growing up in an assassin league often goes ignored. This is just me further expanding on that.

Now lets set the stage! This is specifically for Danny who is adopted by the Fentons later down in life. Lets go twin au. At 10 years old, Damian goes to the Wayne Family, Danny is adopted by the Fentons (regardless of their affiliation with the League). By 14 years old, who ends up the better adjusted, more socially aware, spiritually in-tune with themselves, sibling? Why, Damian is! Why is that?

Because he has the actual support he needs compared to Danny. And I'm not talking about good or bad parents Fentons, because either way my opinion doesn't change. Damian would end up the better off twin, because, frankly, his family knows his background. They know he grew up in the League, they know what the League's teachings are, and they know he's a born and raised assassin. Knowing this, they can then help tackle and dismantle the teachings and lessons he has been given and ingrained into by the League. They may be a dysfunctional family, but they're functional enough to at least actively help deprogram all of the League's teachings that have been ingrained in Damian throughout his childhood.

Can't say the same for Danny.

Lets say Fentons here don't know his background -- and even if they do, the results may just stay the same if they play their cards wrong, -- Danny's now just been thrown into the deep end of a pool and is essentially being told sink or swim. Regardless of how he got there -- undercover, faked death, etc -- he has no proper support. He knows the League is meant to be secret, he's not gonna speak on it for various reasons. Whether it be some still lingering loyalty, fear of harm, or whatever. Whatever the reason is, he does not have a proper support system in the Fentons, no matter how nice they are. They can only tackle the surface level stuff and whatever Danny allows them to see -- if Danny ever lets them see it at all. For what do assassins do when they don't want to be caught? They hide. Sometimes in plain sight.

"But Jazz--" Jazz is a child. She is 2 years older than Danyal and no better at giving him a proper support system than the two adult Fenton parents, even with parentification. We don't know when she got into psychology or how long she'd been studying it by the time Danny's 14. We just know she's really into it. Even then, Jazz is not a licensed or reliable therapist, or even an experienced or implied good therapist, and should not be used as one either. It's a disservice to her character to reduce her down to 'supporting female emotional crutch'. Besides, therapy only works on people who want to get better. Danny, who'd be hiding who he really is, has very little incentive to want to, or to even think something is wrong with his way of thinking, even with exposure to the outside world.

When people's beliefs are outright challenged, they tend to double down on them, and Jazz canonically has a habit of psychoanalyzing her family and declaring what she thinks is the problem -- regardless of whether or not she's right about it. Jazz would get into psychology, try and psychoanalyze Danny, and all it would do is cause him to clam up, shut into himself further, and throw up even more walls so that she can't figure out that he has been lying this whole time. It would do more harm than good, and would actively hinder any progress he'd make in trying to open up to them. Roads and good intentions and all that.

That being said, I think Danny's development and dismantling of the League's teachings would be slower than Damian's. Much slower. Because he would be the one having to pick apart everything and figure out what is right, what is wrong, what he wants to keep, and what he wants to toss. Everything he unlearns would be stuff he has to unlearn himself. If he even gets to that point at all -- depending on his experiences, he very well could not change at all, or change very little. The League acts as a purge for humanity, meant to reign in their hubris and retain balance, they just also happen to be assassins for hire. Danny's time spent in Amity Park could as well strengthen his belief in their teachings just as much as it could weaken it, especially if it goes as canon and he gets bullied.

Regardless, being tossed to a civilian family as someone who is very much not a civilian, without any support, would be actively detrimental to Danny's overall mental health and development. Especially to strangers like the Fentons. Damian was closed off and standoffish even with blood family, and it took him time to open up to them -- Danny, with the Fentons, would be even more so. He doesn't know them, he doesn't trust them, he has no rhyme or reason to open up to them, and since the Fentons don't actually know him, they can't help him the way he needs. Once "Danny Fenton" is made, he has even less reason to open up. So long as Danyal allows it, they will only ever know Danny, and they'll never know Danyal.

TL:DR the Fentons aren't the better family option just because they're civilians, and actually that makes them the worser option between the two because they can't give Danny the proper support he needs. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

[urfavisananimegirl]

walter white from breaking bad

Walter Hartwell White (Breaking Bad) is an Anime Girl!