#eve unrepentant

[wallacepolsom]

Wallace Polsom, Eve Unrepentant (2023), paper collage, 21.2 x 25.8 cm.

[sezja]

Sometimes I remember I have an OC who is the bastard half-brother of Count Baurendouin de Haillenarte, who ran away from Ishgard to become a bard

And I Love Him

[renardtrickster]

Also because bringing up "I watched Hazbin Hotel" and only talking about discourse is a Bad Look, here's my thoughts on the pilot and the four episodes thus far released.

I've seen some people say the animation in the show is less fluid in the pilot, but I think I like the show's animation more? It's a lot more consistent, the characters are shaded so they stand out from the background more (and kind of "pop"), but honestly a passing vibe I got in the pilot now and then was that it was "too fluid", like it moved too fast at places or like it had a lot of "flourishes" that felt off. I can't accurately explain it, but point is, I like the show's vibes more.

I also like the redesigns. I didn't notice anything too drastic with say Dust, Alastor, or Charlie, but Vaggie's was an upgrade. The red shirt breaks up the white, and she's looking much more Moth (the more Moth your characters look the better).

I don't really have anything to say about the voices, my attention was divided elsewhere. I will be committing seppuku later for not being able to have a strong, belligerent opinion on this matter.

Speaking of Vaggie, now that I've seen more of her character, I've grown to appreciate her more. There's a sort of 4-section graph where Charlie and Vaggie believe in the Hotel's success, with Charlie being much more personally emotionally invested in it while Vaggie's more cynical and seems to be doing it more for Charlie's sake. Meanwhile Angel Dust and Alastor don't believe the Hotel can succeed, but Alastor still helps while Angel Dust just blows things off.

Also everyone who did the "she's an Angry Latina stereotype" thing can eat shit now. She was angry in the pilot because Angel Dust publicly embarrassed her girlfriend, tarnished any credibility the Hotel had, and then insulted her to her face while being unrepentant the entire time. Now that we've seen more from her, she's just grumpy and more willing to put her foot down (as opposed to Charlie who is bubbly and more accommodating). I knew this specific accusation was bad faith from day 1.

I genuinely don't think the show is edgy. It "appears" edgy, but Charlie's a disney princess who walked onto the wrong set and is shifting the genre through her presence. The fact that her goal is to show that people in Hell can change and become better people isn't just portrayed as earnest (instead of naive) but it is in fact achievable (as shown by Pentious and the others over time) adds onto this. The show is a fundamentally hopeful and positive one and I respect it for that.

In line with that, I appreciate the musical numbers. They bop, I didn't need to tell you this, but they also fall into the category of "endearing through earnesty". Like Charlie singing to Pentious about how change begins with an apology is the corniest shit on earth, but I couldn't help but smile about it.

I do like the speed of the plot, both the "redeeming people" plot and the "expedited extermination" one. I cynically expected Pentious' redemption to be a red herring, but the fact that he stuck around and is turning over is something I approve of. It is a bit fast at times though, I do know that this is because there's only 8 episodes, but I choose to blame the studio/streaming platform over the writers on this one. Also, we should throw bricks through the window of every streaming service headquarters.

I did like Adam's portrayal. The original Adam and Eve myths, whether or not Lilith is there, do lend themselves to misogyny, both in terms of reading and "what influenced some doctrine". Between Lilith being cast out for not wanting to be subservient to a man/wanting to top and then having sex with animals and demons or something, and Eve getting duped by the snake and now humanity's been cursed with original sin because femoids are dumb and bad and men should make the decisions, etc. etc. Adam being depicted as a misogynistic frat bro-type who is obsessed with his dick and brags about his conquests to random people reads to me more as "a clever take/commentary on christian mythology and culture" instead of "gratuitous edginess".

Honest to god, I think they're better at using swear words now. My principle criticism of Helluva Boss (which I like) is that they sometimes use "fuck" like it's punctuation, and it can get grating or become "noise" that doesn't register, which is Bad when it's your funny dialogue. Cursing is still casual, but I feel like characters only turn on the capslock and start screaming FUCKING SHITASS when they're emotionally compromised or intentionally meant to come across as crude and unlikeable. If they took notes and course-corrected on this, I will never wear a hat because it's going to be off to them forever.

Angel Dusts' voice direction in episode 4 was really good. He usually speaks in a somewhat high-pitched, New York ("new yoike") accent, but when he was yelling at Charlie to leave I noticed that it seemed to get a bit deeper and he lost the accent, as though he was so upset he couldn't keep up the affect anymore. I got chills.

TL;DR Hazbin Hotel is good, actually.

Maybe people should take more breaks from using the internet, for their mental health.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 8: I Just Need A Stronger Dose]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), angsttttttttttt!

Both the series and chapter titles are lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

“What’s it about?” Aegon purrs in your ear, his ivory-and-red scarred arms circling around your waist, his fingers lacing over the lowest part of your belly, kindling heat and hunger that he draws out of your bones like water from a well, his ring of gold wings and jade eyes glinting in the sunlight that pours in through the library windows.

Smiling, you turn a page in the archaic, dusty book that’s cradled in your arms. It’s not on a subject you’ve ever seen before; of course it would only be here, where the Targaryens once worshiped their own gods and practiced rituals of fire and blood, that the occult would not be torn up and discarded like weeds. “Witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?!” Aegon feigns being scandalized as he kisses your neck, soft lips and seeking hands. He’s been out in the courtyard sparring with a guard; he smells like salt and wine and rose oil and the ocean. “I do hope you don’t turn out to be an unrepentant sinner. I’d hate to have to burn you.”

“We’d match then.” You turn another page, sketches of different types of sage, dark forbidden recipes that promise to hurt or heal or protect. “I can’t say I am persuaded by the more mystical elements. But there are some interesting insights into herbology, I think.”

“You don’t believe in magic?” Aegon muses, pulling up the skirts of your pale, ashy blue gown, his palms on your bare thighs. His lips curl mischieviously against your throat. “You reside on an island of dragons, in an oppressively gloomy castle built by spellcasters, and you don’t believe in magic?”

“You have it, perhaps,” you say. “Your family. Your house. I don’t believe in it as something that is real to the rest of us.”

“Don’t the Celtigars claim to possess a trumpet that summons a sea monster or something?”

“A horn,” you say, amused. “To wake krakens. And yet as much as my father enjoys boasting about it, he’s in no hurry to prove its efficacy, is he?”

Aegon turns your face to his and kisses you with a fierce, greedy hunger. “You’re magic,” he says as his hands move to loosen the laces of your gown. “You heal people. You bring them back from the dead.”

You’ve forgotten the book entirely. It tumbles out of your grasp. As Aegon tugs off your gown and it falls with a rustle to the stone floor, you reach back to touch him: white-blond hair, scarred cheek, his voice and his heat and his flesh that you need more of. Sunlight and late-summer air, a weakening red-tinged gold, hit your bare skin. Aegon is undressing himself too, and now his shirt and trousers are gone, and now he is leaving euphoric indigo shadows on your neck and shoulders, ghosts of pleasure that will haunt you long after this moment has passed, and now as he stands behind you his fingers find the warm, yearning wetness between your legs and stroke you there, parting folds, plunging between them, retreating just as you feel yourself climbing towards a peak, beginning the divine cycle over again.

“Yes,” you beg, hushed and hidden between the shelves of this ancient library, taboo texts and stories no one else remembers. You push your hips back against Aegon and he inhales sharply, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the bookshelf as the other teases you, readies you, drives you mad with red ravenous lust. You can feel that he is hard. You can feel your fingers buried in his hair, the rough scar tissue of his chest against your spine, your bodies moving with an easy, harmless rhythm. “Please, Aegon, please, I need you…”

“Do you believe in magic now, wife?” he murmurs, a grin in his voice; and the shock of it drags you into a climax, a whirlpool, a storm, a fever that singes and scalds. He has never called you this before. His wife, his queen.

You cry out as the pleasure pulses through you, as your muscles unravel and your skull is cleared of the knowledge of all the ways in which the world is so irretrievably wrong, as you drink up every drop of Aegon with your eyes, lungs, spiraled fingerprints, the pores of your skin.

“Well, do you?” he asks again. He kisses you forcefully, possessively, biting at your lower lip. “Have I convinced you? Do you believe in magic now?”

And you smile dazedly as you answer: “I believe in you.”

“That will suffice, I suppose.”

He follows you down to the floor. You roll onto your back, pull him between your open thighs, cradle his face with your hands and kiss him deeply as he enters you, fills you, moves blissfully inside you. Long-dormant dust swirls into the air; specks of it float in aisles of sunlight like ships bobbing in the open ocean. The stone floor is cold and unforgiving, Aegon warm and kind. You arch into him, your hips rolling in time with his, your tongue tasting wine on his lips and salt on his flushed cheeks.

“You feel fucking incredible,” Aegon gasps. His braid is tucked behind his ear; you moved it there, or he did, it doesn’t matter, it belongs to both of you. Each time he thrusts, there is an indistinct sort of pleasure—low, muted somehow, like rocks covered by the sea at high tide—that builds, yes, but agonizingly slowly. You know he wants to make you come again. He’s trying to last, he’s battling against himself; but his face is already blood-red and his hands are trembling. He never discusses the pain with you, but it’s still there. He goes to the maesters when he has sunburn to be soothed or wounds to be cleaned and bandaged, he goes to Lord Larys Strong with his fears. He does not want you to think he is weak. He does not want to disappoint you.

You whisper through his mess of silver hair: “It’s alright, Aegon.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, tiny oceans erased. “No, no, oh fuck, I’m so sorry—”

“I want it,” you insist. Your hips rock more quickly, taking the blame away from him, easing his burdens. “I want you to come, I want you to finish inside me, please, please, I want to feel you dripping out of me tomorrow, I want to remember this, I want you, I want you, I want you—”

Aegon moans, shudders, pours himself into you, a rush of energy and heat, a closeness you never believed was possible for two people to share. His unsteady hands constrict into fists against the stone floor. His teeth close around your collarbone, more violet blooms like the colors of a garden, more tokens of him that you carry around like gemstones. The waves wash over him, and then they recede; the tension evaporates from every scrap of him and Aegon collapses onto the floor beside you.

Skating his thumb along the line of your jaw, marveling at you in the dreamlike haze of the afterglow, he says softly: “We have to talk, Angel.”

Fear settles in the cage of your ribs, a cold heavy thing like the iron dragons that preside over the dark corridors of the castle, ominous leers and bared fangs. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do with you.” His words are serene, his murky-blue eyes drowsy; his scarred chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. “When I leave to rejoin the war effort, I don’t know where you should go. I don’t know if you should stay here. I don’t know if I should have Larys try to take you to Storm’s End, or maybe Tarth or Estermont. I don’t know if you should return Claw Isle and wait out the bloodshed with your mother and sisters. I don’t know anything. And I can’t choose wrong. I can’t lose you. I can’t be responsible for your ruin.”

“I think I should stay on Dragonstone,” you say. “As long as you and Aemond are in the Riverlands, you would be able to fly back to see me.” And I might be able to help if Aegon is injured again.

He smirks, sadly, regretfully. “That would be my preference as well. But I fear it’s unwise. What if Daemon or Rhaenyra decide to come back to the island? They’re both far too preoccupied at the moment—Daemon fucking Nettles at Harrenhal, Rhaenyra stomping out rebellions in King’s Landing—but circumstances could change. Even if the Blacks believe you to be my unwilling captive, I don’t trust Daemon to treat you with decency. I don’t trust Rhaenyra’s paranoia to spare you.”

“I want to stay here. It’s our home now. It’s where I belong.” And you nestle into him, tangle up in him, will him to help win the war and then return to you.

Aegon chuckles, kissing your forehead. “Can you believe I was worried about whether this would work?” This: love as something physical, not just words or allegiances, not just something that changes how you see the world like peering through mist or smoke. “You had such a fear of it. Such adamant dread.”

“I feel safe with you.”

“Because I am a sad, weak, floppy little man?”

“No,” you say, smiling. “Because you’re a good man. Even if no one else has ever seen it. I see it all. I see you.”

There is the echoing noise of a door opening, then slow, laborious footsteps. “Your Grace?” Larys says reticently from the other side of the bookshelf.

“Stop,” Aegon orders. “Wait.” He grabs your gown off the floor and helps you into it, then yanks on his own shirt and trousers. “Approach,” he tells his Master of Whisperers.

Larys appears, resting his interwoven hands on the handle of his cane. He bows, tactfully averting his gaze from your wrinkled dress, untidy hair, glistening sheen of shared sweat.

Aegon says: “Your timing is impeccable as always, Lord Larys.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. You have a guest and I did not want him to…catch you unawares.”

“Ah. And of course I have no idea who that could be.”

The library door opens again; you hear its archaic iron hinges creak. Swift light footsteps cross the room. Aemond breezes into the aisle between bookshelves and stands there, tall and willowy and watchful and with his long hair plaited into a thick silver braid. His clear blue eye shifts between Aegon and you, stoic, betraying nothing. Of course Aegon does not know about Aemond’s proposition. You would never tell him as long as the war wages on. It would be a distraction, a danger, an unnecessary wedge to drive between two people who desperately need each other.

“Back already?” Aegon says. “I’m sure the people of the Riverlands miss you dearly. They’re probably waiting outside with their livestock all in a row just waiting for you to soar by and cook their supper for them.”

Aemond ignores this. He stares at you, then looks back to his brother. “I’m starving from the journey.”

“How fortuitous, we’re famished as well.”

Larys notes helpfully: “The cooks have prepared soft-shelled crabs, seasoned, battered, and fried in oil. They’re ready now.”

“They’ve prepared what?” Aemond asks, nauseated.

“You’ll like the crabs,” Aegon says, and as he walks past Aemond he thumps him roughly on the shoulder. “You’ll see how much I enjoy them and you’ll suddenly want every last one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the courtyard, under the next day’s late-afternoon sun, Aegon is sparring with a strapping knight supplied by House Chyttering, one of the noble families you inspired Larys to bring surreptitiously into the Greens’ service. When the king practices like this, his opponents go easy on him. They assail him with halfhearted swings of their blades and feeble shield arms. The goal is not to turn Aegon into a robust warrior; he would need years for that, and he will not go into battle on his feet anyway. He just needs to be strong enough to ride a dragon.

Near where you stand, Lord Larys and Aemond are deep in conversation. Aemond is saying: “It is my understanding that she and Daemon are operating almost entirely independently at this point. Is that consistent with what you’ve heard?”

Larys nods. “When Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White betrayed her side, Rhaenyra lost faith in all the Dragonseeds. She ordered the arrest of Addam Velaryon, but Corlys warned the boy before he could be imprisoned and he escaped on Seasmoke. For protecting his bastard son’s life, Rhaenyra had Corlys thrown in the dungeons. A curious lack of empathy from someone who has so recently lost three sons of her own. The Velaryon fleet has abandoned her. Rhaenyra has offered a substantial reward to anyone who brings Nettles to her, dead or alive, as the girl has been sentenced to death for treason.”

“Treason?” Aemond echoes doubtfully.

“Seducing the so-called queen’s husband.”

“Right,” Aemond says, thoughtful. In the center of the courtyard, Aegon is beating back the Chyttering lad with clumsy (yet determined) strikes of his sword. “What will Daemon do now, I wonder. Has he tired of the girl yet? She is a nobody, unlearned and of ignoble birth. Surely she cannot hold his interest for long, even if she is a dragonrider.”

“Time will reveal all, my prince,” Larys replies. “Perhaps Daemon will abandon Nettles. Perhaps he will defend her against Rhaenyra’s wrath. Perhaps he will send her away to safety.”

This heartens Aemond; it brightens his face like cool ethereal moonlight. “If she leaves, Sheepstealer will no longer be a threat to us. I can meet Daemon in battle. And in a fair fight, Vhagar will annihilate Caraxes.”

“I urge you to proceed cautiously,” Larys says. “You are the Greens’ greatest military asset, you are the prince regent, we need your leadership. If anything was to happen to you…” The Master of Whisperers trails off.

Aemond acts as if he hasn’t heard him. Instead, he unsheathes his sword and announces: “I think my brother needs more of a challenge. Allow me to assess the status of his recovery.” Then he takes a step towards the king.

Your hand juts out and closes around Aemond’s wrist. He blinks down at it, stunned that you have voluntarily touched him, perhaps. It is not an affectionate gesture, but it is a familiar one. You command Aemond, your voice low: “Don’t hurt him.”

“I never do,” Aemond replies, bewildered. Then he goes to meet Aegon in the center of the courtyard. The Chyttering knight retreats as Aemond approaches, twirling his sword effortlessly.

Aegon takes a defensive stance, both hands clutching the hilt of his own weapon. He’s grinning, but you don’t think he’s taking this seriously. He already knows he’s lost. “No great contest. I just have to aim for your left side.”

“Good thing I’ve never trained with my maiming in mind.” Aemond lunges and you yelp, started and fearful; he moves staggeringly quickly, his blade cutting through the air to clang against Aegon’s once, twice, and then the king is knocked to the ground with the point of Aemond’s sword at his throat.

“I yield,” Aegon says from where he’s sprawled on the gravel. “You win. You are superior. You could still easily murder me if you chose to.”

“As long as you are aware of it.” Then Aemond takes his brother’s hand and pulls him to his feet, helping to brush pebbles from Aegon’s light armor.

“I should order you executed,” Aegon jests. “You’ve humiliated me in front of my wife.”

“I’m sure she was already well acquainted with your myriad of failings.”

“They are rather evident,” Aegon admits.

“Hm,” Aemond says to himself. Then he stalks back inside the castle with his silver hair flowing out behind him: to consult books, to plan battles, to console himself with wine, to put on Aegon’s crown and admire himself in a mirror, to brood as he glares at the walls, you aren’t sure.

Aegon slides his sword back into its scabbard and joins you by Lord Larys. When he speaks, his words are smug and anxious and eager and heartbroken. “I think I’m ready to go, Angel.”

“Tomorrow? When Aemond leaves?”

“Tomorrow,” Aegon agrees. He smiles, off-balanced and sad-eyed, as he takes your hands in his. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, but as always, he is still wearing his tiny braid; right now it is stained with dark gravel dust like soot, like ash. You can feel the chill of his gold dragon ring under your fingertips. “I have to help them win this war, Aemond, Criston, Daeron, Mother. I have to try to stop the end of the world.”

You mean to say something—I understand, I’m proud of you, I love you now and I’ll love you forever—but your voice breaks and you have nothing to offer him.

“I know,” Aegon says gently, cleaning a tear from your cheek with his thumbprint. “Come and walk with me. There’s one last thing I have to make sure I can do.”

On the long stone staircase that leads from the main castle entrance down to the beach, Sunfyre the Golden is waiting for his rider. He makes those alien sounds that unnerve you—clicks, growls, squeals, whistles—but Aegon seems to comprehend them. He rests a palm on his dragon’s gleaming face, just between his reptilian, liquid-metal eyes. Rain is rolling in off the ocean; the sky is thick with dark, low clouds. Cold wind claws at your hair and unfurls in your lungs, proof of the rapidly approaching end of summer. Winter Is Coming, you think, words that you have grown to hate.

“Would you like to go too?” Aegon asks as he prepares to climb up into the dragon’s saddle; and to your surprise, he is only half-joking. “I know Sunfyre won’t hurt you now. He understands what you mean to me.”

“I personally abhor dragons.” And all the destruction that only they can curse the earth with.

Sunfyre snorts; steam rises from his nostrils and he stretches out his wings, pale pink membranes that match your gown. Aegon laughs. “You will have to learn to appreciate them. Your house is the same as mine now. And we owe everything to these beasts.”

“Perhaps I’ll accompany you next time.” But no, you will never ride a dragon; you know that absolutely, unquestioningly.

“I’ll be back in time for supper,” Aegon says. “And then I intend to keep you awake all night with—”

He cuts off like a severed limb. There is a scream in the sky, not of a man but of a dragon: too shrill to be Vhagar, too unfamiliar to be Tessarion, tinny but fierce, hostile, growing louder. The creature zooms by with blinding speed, a blur of pale pearlescent green, the fastest dragon you’ve ever witnessed, small but lethal.

Moondancer. That has to be Baela and Moondancer.

A column of fire bursts from Moondancer’s gaping jaws as she hurtles past Sunfyre, but just a sliver of an instant too late, narrowly missing him; still, the inferno is close enough that you can feel the apocalyptic heat, can see the air wrinkle and warp like the fabric of existence wearing thin. High above the ocean—her shadow like a bruise on slate-colored waves—Moondancer banks and begins to turn back towards where you stand.

“Get inside the castle!” Aegon is roaring at you. You are too terrified to move. “Go, go!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight them alone—!”

“Go!” He gives you a hard, frantic shove. “You get inside the castle and you stay there!” Then as you sprint up the staircase towards the entranceway, he clambers into Sunfyre’s saddle and takes off into the churning, thunderous sky.

You can hear them overhead: shrieking dragons, human shouts, flames crackling and billowing, wings flapping like the sails of a ship. You stagger into Dragonstone screaming for Aemond. Larys rushes to you, the guards materialize like vultures around a corpse, but none of them can help Aegon. Only Aemond can. Only he and Vhagar.

You tear through the castle. You are banging on doors with your open palms, racing up steps, calling for Aemond until your throat is raw and you can taste the coppery sting of blood. Aemond comes running and grips your shoulders to steady you. He is panicked, he is petrified. “What, what is it—?!”

“Baela, Moondancer!”

Aemond understands immediately. He bolts for the castle entranceway, you following close behind him. He does not tell you to remain within the towering, mist-sopped walls of Dragonstone. Perhaps it does not occur to him; perhaps he knows you would not listen.

“Your Grace!” Larys is imploring you. Not my lady, not Lady Celtigar. Your Grace, because Aegon believes I am his queen. “Your Grace, please, I beg you, stay here where it is safe!”

When you and Aemond cross through the doorway and out into the windswept, iron-grey air, you look up to see it just as it happens. Sunfyre and Moondancer are gnarled together like a sailor’s knot, hissing and snapping, drawing blood from each other, clawing and clinging with suicidal rage. Now their wings are little more than shredded ribbons of thin membranous flesh. Now the dragons are plummeting towards the beach. And Aegon is falling, falling, falling from an impossible height, his hands reaching to grab for a rope that doesn’t exist, his legs kicking as if through water. He is crashing to the earth like a bird shot through with an arrow, like an angel whose wings have been sheared off, ripped out by the root, burned away.

You are shrieking his name, but you know this is useless, that you are useless, that nothing you’ve ever learned or practiced can stop this. You and Aemond are racing down to the beach, clutching each other’s arms on the staircase so neither of you trip and stumble off of it. You are dimly aware that there are guards and maesters behind you, and Lord Larys too, and that they are speaking in frenzied phrases that you cannot understand. You and Aemond are united in that. You are both beyond words.

Aegon is on the sand. He isn’t dead; he isn’t even unconscious. He is screaming like he was on the day you met him, when half his skin had been scorched by Meleys’ flames, when he was near death and you were the only reason he lived. Now he is not burned; but his legs are destroyed. They are not just broken. They are shattered, grotesque bulges everywhere, moon-white bone splitting through the skin in two places on his left leg and three on his right. His trousers hang in bloody tatters. Someone is wailing, someone sounds like they have lost their mind. Someone is raking their fingernails against your face until your cheeks are bleeding. Oh, it’s you, it’s you, but you don’t feel real, and neither does this moment, and neither does the knowledge that Aegon will not leave tomorrow to help win the war, may never walk again, may not be alive by midnight. You have dragged men back from the brink of death, countless men, and you have done so with almost supernatural composure; but this is no anonymous doomed soldier. This is Aegon, and he is ruined.

Down at the other end of the beach, Sunfyre is tearing out Moondancer’s throat with his teeth, loosing a vicious subterranean snarl. From the surf, a seemingly uninjured Baela emerges, coughing seawater from her lungs and reeling on her hands and knees. Larys is instructing someone to take her to the castle dungeons. The maesters and guards are swarming around their fallen king and trying to decide how to move him without damaging his legs further. Aegon, meanwhile, is reaching for his brother.

“Aemond—”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Aemond drops to his knees and tenderly sweeps Aegon’s shaggy silver hair out of his eyes. “We’re going to get you inside and the maesters will set your legs. You’re going to be alright. We’re going to help you.”

Aegon howls, tears flooding down his face. He snaps at Aemond as he grabs his hand and squeezes it: “When the fuck is it going to be your turn to get hurt?!”

“It will happen eventually, I’m sure,” Aemond replies grimly. Then he glances up at you. You have to free yourself from this shock, this horror. You have to help Aegon.

You kneel down in wet, bloodied sand and begin to examine him. In a trembling voice, you tell Larys and the maesters and the guards how he must be carried—feet-first when going up the staircase, lessening the strain of gravity on his legs—and that the wounds must be painstakingly cleaned before the fractures are set to prevent infection. You try to say more, but you can’t. Your gaze lands on Aegon’s agonized face and is trapped there, a mutual recognition of the death of one future and the bleak, torturous nightfall of another.

Why couldn’t I stop this? I love him, I love him, why can’t I stop him from suffering?

Aegon looks to Aemond and says something in High Valyrian, something halting and with immense effort. Whatever Aegon asks for, Aemond is momentarily taken aback by it. Then he nods, understanding. And when the guards lift Aegon—Larys and the maesters supervising, the king shrieking until the pain knocks him unconscious—Aemond links his arms around you and stops you from following them up the jagged stone staircase.

“No! Let me go, let me go!” You fight him, and you don’t just fight, you screech and claw and strike at him, you scratch at his face until you rip his eyepatch away and Aemond’s glittering sapphire shines in the fading light. Raindrops are beginning to fall. You’re crying; tears fill your eyes until your sight is hopelessly obscured, until the world is nothing but a grey like smoke, ashes, storms.

Aemond is murmuring to you patiently: “Shh. Stop, stop. Please don’t fight me. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.”

“Aemond, let me go!”

“He doesn’t want you to think of him as someone helpless, someone weak—”

“You did this!” you scream into Aemond as he entombs you in his arms, unbreakable like steel. Your fists drum futilely against his chest. “You started this war, you murdered Luke, you started it and it’s going to kill Aegon, you did this, you did this, it’s going to kill him and it’s all your fucking fault!”

“I know,” Aemond whispers, lips to your ear, his heartbeat thudding against yours. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to kill him,” you moan, sobs ripping through you; and at some point you stop fighting Aemond and begin holding onto him, not because what you’ve said isn’t true but because he understands, and because he’s the only person you have left who can.

I want Autumn, you think powerlessly, miserably. And I want her child to have another chance at life. I want Everett. I want Alicent and Jaehaera. I want Helaena and Maelor and Jaehaerys and Otto. I want wisdom, guidance, innocence, hope. I want the future and I want the past.

“I can end this war,” Aemond swears to you as the full moon rises and the waves crash against the shore. “I can make things right again. I can end it. I can win.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It is hours later when Aemond allows you into the room, illuminated by flickering candles and ghostly moonlight. Aegon lies unconscious in the same bed where he made love to you for the first time, where he might never again, where he showed you that there is something besides fear and pain and surrender to be found in marriage.

His legs have been set as well as they can be, bandaged, elevated. You would have done nothing differently if it had been you to tend him in place of the maesters: Jasper from House Hardy, Lothair of House Stokeworth, men you have taught everything you know to just as they shared their expertise with you. Aegon has been given as much milk of the poppy as his body can endure without his heartbeat slowing until it stops. You sit on the edge of the bed and untie his braid, weave a new one, undo it again, knit and unknit glistening silver strands like the strings of a spider’s web. You can’t imagine what will happen next. You don’t want to.

When Aegon stirs, you clasp his hand, letting him know that you’re here. His dragon ring is missing, you notice; no gold wings, no jade eyes. It must have slipped off when he tumbled from the sky. And you remember what Aegon told you about his dreams of Helaena, about the warning she imparted to him, her ghost or her memory or something else wearing her face: Don’t fall, don’t fall.

“I’m sorry, Angel.” His voice is hoarse and whisper-thin. He’s trying to smile but can’t quite manage it. “I wanted to be strong enough. I wanted to start over with you.”

Start over how, Aegon? In peacetime? As a dynasty? With retribution or forgiveness? With children? “You will. You still can.”

“I knew I’d disappoint you.”

“Aegon, I’m not disappointed,” you say, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I just want to help you. I want to take care of you. I love you.”

But he blacks out again before he can give you his familiar refrain, something in High Valyrian that he doesn’t know Aemond has provided you with the translation of. To your misfortune. And is Aegon wrong when he says this? Is he really?

You drift into a fitful sleep beside Aegon, wake up only a few hours later with sore, damp eyes, make sure he’s still breathing. It’s raining heavily now; sheets of it patter against the windows and thunder quakes the castle. You rise from the bed and walk without knowing where you’re going. When you find yourself sitting on a stone bench in the gardens, drenched with rain and freckled with fiery torchlight from the mouth of an iron dragon, you don’t remember how you got there. You are cold and shivering; you are so profoundly, numbly despondent that you cannot move, cannot think, can only sit with your arms curled around your bent knees and your eyes vacant.

By the time Aemond finds you, your dusky pink gown—stained with splotches of Aegon’s blood—is soaked through. Aemond lurks just inside the doorway of the castle that opens into the gardens, sheltered from the storm. “Why are you sitting in the rain?”

You do not answer. You cannot answer. You stare blankly out into the night as droplets pelt you, stinging your skin like needles.

“You should come inside,” Aemond tells you. “You’ll get pneumonia.”

Nothing he says matters. Will going inside cure Aegon? Will catching pneumonia rob you of any life worth living?

Aemond sighs and strides out into the rain to meet you. “I have to go back to the Riverlands now. Will you be alright here?”

Your words are a question, but your tone isn’t. You speak bitterly and without looking at him. “Why would you care.”

“I care intensely,” Aemond says, kindly now. “If you don’t know why, you haven’t been listening.”

“You don’t want me. You just want to feel like you’re better than him. That you’re worthy of being chosen, worthy of fathering the heir.”

He shrugs. “Nothing in life is without ambition. Love is never entirely selfless.”

“Mine is.”

“No,” Aemond says severely. “No, you want things for yourself. You want a choice in who you marry. You want to escape the burden of bedding someone dull or repugnant or cruel. What makes you think you’re so high above the fate that the rest of us have suffered? Do you have any idea how desperately few people get to marry for love? But you can’t endure that resignation. You have to covet something more. Even if it gets you killed.”

Have suffered, Aemond said. Not will suffer. Have suffered. At last, you turn to him. “You’ve never had a wife. When were you ever forced to lie with someone?”

He stares at you and does not answer, cold rain dripping from his face, a vulnerable childlike apprehension in his lone blue eye.

Then you remember: the madam at the brothel, Aemond’s aversion to her unmistakable familiarity. What had he said when he apologized for leaving you there? It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. “At the brothel,” you realize. “The Pink Pearl.”

“Yes,” Aemond says, very quietly.

“How old were you?”

“Barely thirteen.”

He was a boy, you think, horrified. Not a man. Just a boy. “Who took you there?”

“Who do you think?”

There is only one true possibility. Aegon, just a few years older and already corrupted in every sense of the word, drunk and miserable and lustful and lost.

“He thought he was doing me a kindness,” Aemond says. “He didn’t intend for there to be any harm, I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t mean no harm occurred.”

“That should never have happened to you. I’m sorry.”

“A lot of things should never have happened.” Aemond’s hair hangs in long, disheveled waves. Now his clothes are sodden with rain too, not a pale pink like exposed organs or half-healed burns but a verdant, jealous green. “I can’t leave until you come inside out of the rain.”

It doesn’t matter where I am. I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop the world from crashing down. “If he’s dead I want to be too.”

“He’s not dying,” Aemond insists. “He won’t be able to fight, but he will live.”

He won’t, you think, lifeless words that are cold and grey like tombstones. The suffering is too great. The trauma is too dire. It stacks up like blood-red coins in his liver, his heart, his lungs, his kidneys. And eventually the scales will tip, and it will kill him, and I’ll have to watch it happen.

Aemond offers you his hand. “Let me walk you back inside.”

“Please leave me.”

“I can’t,” Aemond replies, distressed.

You are weeping now; your own words choke you. “I want to stay here.”

“No you don’t. The pain just feels so heavy you can’t find your way out from under it.”

He is still holding out a hand to you. At last, you take it. And you make a confession, dark, venomous, unfamiliar like the voice of a stranger. “I used to believe war was hell for everyone. I used to want the suffering to end. But I don’t think I do anymore. I think I want the Blacks to suffer greatly. I want them to suffer more than they ever knew was possible.”

And in the maelstrom of the driving rain, Aemond grins until his teeth look like fangs in the shifting, rageful, rust-and-blood glow of the firelight.

[demonanddominion]

Anyone else had new thoughts on who Crowley was before the ‘fall’ since Season 2 aired…

I know the Raphael theory is still knocking about (actually had a weird epiphany regarding this last night so more of that later) but I think Crowley was an entirely different angel.

From Season 2 we now know he was a very powerful angel indeed (dominion, throne or greater) thanks to his classified document clearance in heaven, but also because of the seriously powerful miracle he and Aziraphale cooked up with very minimal effort.

After an initial idea and since doing some research, I’m leaning towards him being Samael, Angel of Death.

Now I don’t mean Samael as in the one who becomes Lucifer - there are many texts that see these as two separate entities, with Lucifer falling thanks to his pride and Samael… well did he even fall at all?

Samael is one of the Angels of Creation alongside Orifiel, Anael, Zachariah, Raphael, Gabriel and Michael. In Season 2 in episode 1 we see Crowley as an Angel playing a pretty big part in the creation of the cosmos, in collaboration with others.

Samael is the ruler of the Fifth Heaven, which happens to be Earth.

Samael is known as the “Venom of God” and is executioner of death sentences as decreed by God. He is the accuser, seducer and destroyer. As a seducer, Samael tempts humans into committing evil deeds. Through Samael, God tests humanity and the Archangel draws out the sinful and unrepentant, then God judges then and Samael destroys them.

In seducing humanity into acts of evil, Samael is just doing his job. He is both good and evil and is highly loyal to God’s word, doing his bidding without question - he mostly destroys sinners.

Samael is also the one who planted the Tree of Knowledge in the garden of Eden to tempt Adam. God however forbade Adam to touch it and punished Samael by banishing him. In retaliation, Samael took the form of the serpent and tempted Eve to eat the fruit from the tree.

When Abraham’s faith was tested by God and commanded to sacrifice his son Isaac, it was Samael who whispered in his ear to disobey.

So where does Crowley fit into this then? Well Samael hasn’t exactly ‘fallen’ from heaven, his angelic role took him down to Earth, performing deeds considered demonic and evil and his refusal to bow down to God’s creation led to his banishment. You could say he ‘sauntered vaguely down’?

We know from Season 1 that Crowley was the serpent that tempted Eve so he fits into the Samael theory there.

In Season 2 we see that Crowley had a ‘permit’ from God to destroy Job’s children and possessions to test his faith in God.

In Season 1, Crowley talks to God and says “I know you’re testing them, you said you were going to be testing them. But you shouldn’t test them to destruction. Not to the end of the world.”

So whilst Samael is an Angel, he very much has the role and characteristics of a demon and can be described as a fugitive or wanderer.

Regarding Samael planting the Tree of Knowledge, who else do we know with a bit of a plant fetish?!

Some other fun facts: Samael has red hair, and is associated with the planet Mars. He is also associated with the left side, the North and Tuesday.

It’s also said that Samael’s name shouldn’t be spoken aloud so as not to draw his attention - is this why Crowley chose a different name and doesn’t introduce himself to Aziraphale at the Horsehead nebula?

——————————————-

So here’s the slightly scary part and if Crowley actually was/is Samael…

In the Second Coming (as was mentioned as Heavens next focus at the end of season 2) the messiah is supposed to deliver everyone from death and everyone will be resurrected. But he’ll do more than bring life, he’s supposed to bring an end to death itself, including the very concept of it. Without the finality of destruction, the Angel of Death (Samael) serves no purpose and is himself, annihilated. Thus, with death undone, Samael becomes the Anti-Christ.

Could season 3 see Aziraphale finally forced to make a choice between heaven and the one he loves?

[hils79]

Hils Watches Only Friends - Ep 12

Well I'm glad someone hasn't forgotten

That is not how rehab for alcohol addiction works. "It's okay if you have a little tipple but only if you're at home."

Oh please you were hitting on Mew literally 5 minutes ago

DUDE! Honestly, if I was Sand I would bail on both of them right the fuck now.

Look, normally I am in favour of a love triangle being solved with an OT3 but Boeing is the absolute worst and Sand deserves better.

GOOD!

This is a weird thing to add to the final episode of a drama. Things should be wrapping up not adding angst for the sake of it

Oh here we go. Mew about to tell them what Boeing did to him and Top. Chaos vengeance is back on the menu where is my popcorn

Hehe. It's funny because this is a drama

I mean he might not have sexually assaulted her brother but he still deserved to be slapped

I can't believe he just called rollerblading a vintage sport. Fuck, I'm old. I remember when rollerblades were a fancy new invention and everyone switched from skates to blades

YAY! The three of them teaming up to take down Boeing. I hope this is the last we will see of him

Oh no! I thought we were done with this. Well, I suppose he needs to fuck with Boston and Nick's admittedly cute 'let's be boyfriends until I love to the US' relationship

I mean they are basically the same person so sure. FFS Boston you couldn't keep it in your pants for a few weeks?

Honestly I think Nick's story is the most heartbreaking in this entire drama

Boston's like 'what all I did was stick my tongue in another man's mouth'

Sand speaks the truth

Wow okay I was not expecting them to make me cry yet here we are. Stupid emotions making me feel things.

I'm not sure a friendship group with this much fucked up history should be drunkenly playing truth or dare on New Year's Eve

Honestly you have to give props to Neo for playing such an unrepentant asshole so well. Look at him he's a puppy when he's not bastarding.

He is such a good boyfriend

Mew still a stone cold badass I see. Love it.

Nick is absolutely making the right decision but I'm still sad for reasons I don't even really understand. I think it's mostly Neo's puppy face

Uh...I was not expecting Top's hotel to catch fire 5 mins from the end wtf

I shouldn't laugh but they just evacuated an entire hotel and apparently these are the only people who were in the building

Oh, shit, I really shouldn't be laughing. I totally forgot Top has trauma from being involved in a fire when he was a kid

AHHHHHHHHHHHH! IT'S MIX! This just made my heart so happy!

You know what? I actually loved this drama! Everyone is a hot mess disaster gay but it was fun even when it was frustrating. I had a great time

And this is good timing because I'm going out of town tomorrow for my sister's wedding. I'll start a new drama when I get back in a few days

[broodwolf221]

Happy friday!!! For Calpernia/Solas, "monachopsis [ the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place ]" from the eerie loneliness prompts?

oooooh thank you! this is such a good prompt for them <3 @dadrunkwriting 1129 words cws: none notes: no spoilers for her arc/the templar route

She didn't fit here. A loose piece of the puzzle, her edges incongruous with the rest, a frustration. A discordant note. A distraction.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to ally herself with the Inquisition after all had been made clear—not that she regretted switching sides, but she worried that her presence here weakened the organization.

The Tevinter altus, Dorian, he treated her well enough, but in his gaze lay a pity that she struggled to tolerate. She supposed that she should be pleased that any highly ranked Tevene mage would look at an ex-slave in such a way, but it rankled more than it soothed and she tried to avoid him whenever possible.

The others were less welcoming—with one notable exception. She did not know why the elven apostate seemed so at ease around her, but his company alone left her feeling seen in a way that no one else did. Over time she found herself in the base of the rotunda more frequently than not. Eventually she read there, seated against the wall—an unpainted portion—until one day he offered his couch. A few days later he was seated there reading when she came in and without meeting her eyes he just patted the seat beside him.

So it was that they developed a habit of reading together in peace. On occasion they would discuss what they were reading, and over time those discussions spiraled to become debates—never heated ones, for he was a calm conversationalist who seemed to invite different perspectives rather than spurn them. But they were intense. Sometimes she felt woefully out of her depth, being introduced to so many concepts she had never considered before—but there were a few times that she had surprised him, too. Moments where his mouth opened to respond before he closed it and considered her words. She loved those moments, watching him puzzle over some small twist of logic she'd presented him with, or a wholly unfamiliar perspective.

During one such conversation she had let slip a note of frustration in how limited her magical education had been, how cursory, only enough to keep her from becoming a risk to her magister and what she had learned on her own through dedication, observation, and experimentation. He had met her eyes then, seemingly considering something before he nodded to himself and stood. He gestured for her to follow him and she did, curious. He led her down to the courtyard and then further, pausing only long enough to grab two basic mage staves from the armory.

He then led her across the drawbridge and out of Skyhold, and she shivered at the cutting wind—and stared at his barefoot ease with the weather, the sight making her feel the cold all the more intensely. He turned to face her, studying the way she had tightly crossed her arms over her chest, the staff held at an angle as she attempted to contain her quickly dissipating body heat. She regretted not having questioned him, but he looked entirely unrepentant. “Hold your staff like so,” he told her after a moment, positioning his own in front of him. She narrowed her eyes before doing as she was bid, hoping to finish whatever he wanted from her in short order and retreat to Skyhold’s comforting hearths. “Good. Do you know how to create a barrier?”

“Of course,” she said sharply. Barriers were one of the easiest spells, the most intuitive. A simple protection. He said nothing, apparently waiting, and she sighed before casting a barrier across herself. He examined it for a moment before nodding a little.

“Good. It is strong. But you can see that it is already fading.” So it was, but that was their nature. Was it not? “Try it again, but don't put it around yourself and don't make it so strong. Imagine it like water running down your body. An even, thin coating.” She frowned before closing her eyes, trying to find her way to what he was describing. The cold was making it hard to think, her arms and face stinging, and she could barely feel her hands. She'd have to leave soon, for her own safety– “Concentrate,” he interrupted her musings sternly. She thought about opening her eyes to glare at him, but her curiosity got the better of her.

So she concentrated. Like water running down her skin… an even, thin coating… “You're getting there,” he told her approvingly. “Bring it in a little tighter– yes, just so.” Her eyes snapped open as the cold vanished and she stared at him, at his little smile, with wide eyes. Did he look smug, or proud? “You can maintain this one for much longer. Eventually, it will become second-nature to cast and maintain.”

“How did you learn this?” She didn't mind the awe in her voice, not just now. Especially not when it brought just a hint of color to his cheeks.

“Ah… it is an ancient Elvhen technique. I came across it while exploring the depths of the Fade.”

“It's so… comfortable.” He nodded approvingly at her observation, a warmth in his eyes that she found herself surprisingly moved by. 

“A second skin to maintain one's temperature. It works in hot climes as well—although you should not expect it to protect you from sunburn,” he noted wryly and she smirked, suspecting he spoke from experience.

She was curious about something, but was uncertain about whether or not to test it. She did not wish to destroy this delicate comfort that had grown between them, but nor did she think the way he looked at her was without desire. Feeling a deep hesitance that she did her utmost to not display, she approached him—he arched a brow but did not otherwise react. And when she reached out to touch his face he frowned, puzzled, but did not withdraw. “Calpernia,” he said after a moment, the weight he gave her chosen name thrilling, “what are you doing?”

“I was curious whether it blocked sensation,” she explained simply, staring at his lips. He was a bit taller than her… most unusual, for an elf. But she found it as intriguing as everything else about him. She met his eyes for a long moment before she pressed herself against him, their staves held to the side. She felt his sharp inhale as much as she heard it, his chest pressed tighter against her own for a moment, but he did not step away as she had feared.

“We should not…” he said softly, but she shook her head.

“Have I misinterpreted your interest, Solas?” She asked him quietly, making a point of using his name now. He glanced away for a moment before sighing, meeting her eyes once more before shaking his head.

“You have not,” he confirmed. “But it does not make this wise.”

“Then let us be foolish,” she insisted, watching the struggle play out across his face before he sighed again.

He bent down.

She angled up.

Kissing him for the first time was a profound relief. She let her staff fall to the snowy ground in order to wrap her arms around him, pulling him even closer—a moment later he followed her lead, staff dropped and his hands at the small of her back and her neck.

[thelonesomequeen]

Can confirm the Chris/Scarjo people are still very much a thing. Some just kind of stick to their fantasy world and don't encourage harassment of the real partners, but there are plenty who are nasty and vicious and send blind items to Enty or Deuxmoi all the time. It's the same thing every time: they hook up every time they see each other, or have been in a secret relationship for 20 years, Chris is the father of her kids, etc. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the delulus who scream about Chris and Alba not being married are secret Ev*nss*n shippers.

The ones that really make my skin crawl are the ones who accept that Scarlett is married, but get off on the thought of her cheating on Colin with Chris (and now the thought of Chris cheating on Alba, I guess). Because that's the kind of couple they want to stan, I guess. Unrepentant cheaters.

[zahri-melitor]

Watching @androxys fall down the Manhunter hole after me has been an exhilarating week. I’ve been giggling gleefully every time she screamed over another reference.

I only picked it up in my mega reread as I remembered scans_daily all truthing about it back in 2007-2008 as one of those comics that everyone nods and goes ‘yeah it’s awesome, you should read it’, but I had not at the time. (Like go back to 2008, it was mentioned in the same breath and tone as Blue Beetle 2006 and Batgirl 2000)

Found the first couple of issues “ok that is interesting but I don’t get the hype” only to get smacked over the head by the second story arc and it never let up. It has range. It has lore. It has continuity injokes across DC. It has fascinating characters. It’s got a heroine who’s largely unrepentant about extrajudicially murdering a villain who fell through the legal system one too many times but also who legally defended Dr Psycho. It’s got a cast and appearance list that you look at and go “why on earth is X crossed over into this” and it works!

I desperately want the Kate Spencer and Dick Grayson date we were promised and never saw (god it would have been SUCH a bad idea).

I want to shove Manhunter into the hands of every Helena and Renée fan.

It basically existed on the eve of cancellation the entire way through its run, it got a continuation as a BACKUP over in Streets of Gotham and then an unofficial finale in Birds of Prey. Marc Andreyko is clearly obsessed with his little cast and doesn’t miss a moment to use them.

It’s not a book I’d hand a newbie to DC, heck I wouldn’t hand it to a DC fan who only reads a single family, but if you either read widely or enjoy going into stories ready to open wiki when you need an assist, it’s a delightful story just waiting for you.

Manhunter #15, Costume Drama, holds my whole soul for being one huge continuity injoke issue discussing where all the components of Kate’s costume come from and how she’s completely oblivious to most of the implications.

[cricketnationrise]

Cricket's Deck the Haus Fics! ❄️🎄❄️🎄

Hey y'all! I had am absolute blast participating in the @deckthehaus fest and here are all my fics in for it in one place now that creators have been revealed!

...on the first day of christmas Tango/Whiskey, 2188 Words, Advent Calendars, Getting Together, POV Whiskey, Tadpoles, Legends Only Prompt: Tango gives Whiskey an Advent Calendar of Questions that ends on asking Whiskey on a date.

to dance under sparkling lights Nursey/Dex, 4694 Words, Charmer, Hallmark Vibes, Getting Together, Dex Didn't Go To Samwell, Diner Owner Dex, NHL Player Chris Chow, Publisher Rep Nursey, Alternating POV, Small Towns, Pining, Idiots In Love, Cameos from SMH/Falconers Prompt: Hallmark movie vibes please!! Maybe Nursey owns a small, struggling bookstore and Dex is the manager of the chain bookstore that just opened up in town. Maybe Nursey just moved to Dex's small town from the big city. Any cheesy Hallmark plot will do, as long as they fall in love just in time for Christmas!

Ringing In Polyfrogs, 582 Words, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Getting Together, Captain Dex, First Kiss, Senior Frogs, Dex POV Prompt: A New Year's Eve kiss between the ship of your choice!

knit one, purl cthulhu Nursey/Dex, 495 Words, Nursey POV, Fiber Arts (sort of), Fluff and Humor Prompt: Nursey is always cold so Dex decides to learn how to knit to make him a scarf (or hat or mittens). Up to you whether Dex is great at knitting or terrible, but either way Nursey loves it!

never gonna find me a better day Nursey/Dex/Chowder/Farmer, 2898 Words, Dex POV, PolyFarms has a snow day, Senior Frogs, they're all in love, and its snowing, The Haus, Samwell Campus, Jerry's Brunch, Sledding, Snowball Fights, Snowman Building, Fire Pit, Hot Chocolate, Fluff, Unrepentant Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Calendar Finale: OTP To OT3

Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! It's time to talk about the final date on the Valice (r) Calendar post I made to celebrate 15 years of shipping my Valice OTP, and two years of shipping the Valicer OT3! So what's the significance of New Year's Eve to my OTP/OT3?

Well, it's basically the date I feel like my OTP became an OT3. XD This is basically how it all went down at the end of 2021, when I first learned about The Smiler coaster:

December 26th: I watch "One Night In Alton Towers" with my parents (a show where comedians Josh Widdicombe and Alex Brooker, accompanied by a guest comedian -- in this case it was Roisin Conaty -- spend the night at whatever UK attraction happens to be in the title) and see the fabled theme park in action for the first time. The show itself does NOT contain the group going on The Smiler (I believe the entrance is shown briefly in a montage, but the X-Sector ride they actually hit is Oblivion), but my family and I are intrigued and start looking up videos showing what riding the coaster feels like. Along the way, we discover The Smiler, and while we don't watch a video on it...

December 27th: I am sufficiently intrigued that the next day, my birthday, I start looking up stuff about it in earnest.

I quickly discover that the "brainwashing machine designed to make people permanently happy" theme is, uh, "relevant to my interests." XD Cue me going on a binge on YouTube and tumblr looking up the coaster, its history, its lore, and it's fandom, and getting pretty well obsessed. XD

December 28th: New coaster obsession continues, and I get the idea that I could use it in one of my private little snippets about Victor and Alice having a hypnokinky relationship. After all, I'm pretty sure Victor would like to be brainwashed to be happy, the poor anxious noodle! I start coming up with various scenarios in my head regarding Victor and Alice visiting the park and riding the coaster and using the theming to have some more saucy fun later to add to one of my private docs later, which get gradually more complicated as I look up more and more stuff...

December 29th: And by the very next fucking day, a certain anxious noodle has come up with his own AU within my AU where the coaster has an AI behind it and he and Alice are in a relationship with it. Specifically it's him doing art of that scenario in my AU where, you know, the coaster is just A FUCKING COASTER. I'm like, "excuse me, I'm trying to write down this completely normal scenario where you and Alice just have fun with the coaster theme! What is this bullshit where you want to fuck the roller coaster?"

He is unrepentant.

December 30th: "...would you like me to make the coaster human, because it occurs to me I could do that in Sims 4."

Victor: "I would not object."

December 31st: I've already come up with three different Smilers for three different AUs (the original Modern AU, the VTMB Malkavian!Smiler, and the FO4 Robot/Eldritch Horror!Smiler) and wondering how I completely lost it so freaking fast. XD

Sooo -- yeah. That was the point where I knew this was going to be a Thing. XD (And I hadn't even come up with Smiler's actual human design yet! That was nine days later!) Two years in, and it is still a Thing, as you are all very much aware. XD Here's to my bizarre Things, and the ships that were created from them! I hope to get much enjoyment from them for years to come.

[dannymillerfansite]

Emmerdale's Aaron Dingle sparks concern over his treatment of mum Chas

Paddy and Charles aren't happy.

Emmerdale's Aaron Dingle continues to punish his mum Chas later this month, but his bad attitude starts to backfire.

Paddy Dingle and Charles Anderson are both left unhappy with Aaron when they witness his disrespectful behaviour.

In upcoming scenes, Chas and Paddy discuss their co-parenting plans for the Christmas period.

The former couple's young daughter Eve is scheduled to spend Christmas Day with Paddy and Mandy Dingle. However, Paddy selflessly agrees to share Eve's Christmas with Chas.

Aaron watches on in disgust as this agreement is made, feeling that Paddy is pandering to his ex.

Paddy is displeased by Aaron's intervention and loyally defends Chas. He reminds Chas that he and Eve will always love her, regardless of what Aaron thinks.

Chas is grateful for Paddy's support, but it doesn't take long before she faces even more drama with an unrepentant Aaron.

Local vicar Charles Anderson is taken aback when he witnesses Aaron's attitude towards Chas.

via Digital Spy

[alto-tenure]

But then I tend to slot Eve as fairly badly socialized heroic antagonist and Arthur as the actual villain. Just on grounds of - Eve apparently going out of her way for Jean (Yeah, remove the drugs from the house, no need for a second suicide, letting Jean stay in the house) and in general deciding that the townwide illusion has to end. Arthur meanwhile - well he is the one that apparently set off the golden statue incident with his "story" (especially as he callously using Belduke's home for it)

(Part one here, because I didn't see there was more until I was already answering the first ask.)

I think the ending of the game is best assessed looking at it as a Layton game; there are plenty of revenge-seeking people in Ace Attorney, but it’s easier to see the trends looking at Layton villains in comparison to AA ones.

Since Unwound Future (and arguably earlier, though I wouldn't call Baron Reinhold or Anton truly villains imo), there's been a formula of sorts with two antagonists, one generally lower-level than the other, with different levels of justification & narrative forgiveness. A brief summary:

Unwound Future: What both of these characters did was messed up, but they both come away regretting it. Even though they'll face legal consequences, the narrative is still forgiving of both of them.

Last Specter: Jakes is hopelessly corrupt and gets his Deserved Comeuppance, and we have no idea about Descole’s deal.

Miracle Mask/Eternal Diva: This guy also did some messed up things, but he was being manipulated by Descole, so can you really blame him?

Azran Legacy: A lot of people have already spoken at length about why Bronev's turning point feels like too little too late and more. I think you need to at least be in a position to understand why Layton would choose to forgive him in the end, even if you personally can't.

Azran Legacy came out after the crossover, though they were only a few months apart, which is interesting considering the thematic similarities among their antagonists. (Cut for getting into AL spoilers.)

I agree with you about primary vs secondary antagonist here; I'd argue Eve is more like Descole (revenge; dead family; several different personas/identities) and Arthur is more like Leon (terrible awful father; runs the show; responsible for a great deal of what goes wrong). I think where the crossover goes wrong in comparison to Azran Legacy is in how much Arthur is unequivocally accepted back into the fold. Going back to our comparisons here...Des is never going to forgive Bronev, in my opinion, for the murder of his wife and daughter (among other wrongs). Hershel forgives Leon because he is in a better position to; he was not as personally wronged, and the theme with him is forgiveness. Hershel forgiving Leon is, dare I say, necessary to emphasize the theme of forgiveness in the series, and it would be more out of character for him not to.

But everyone forgives Arthur. Now -- Arthur may not have been directly responsible for anyone's deaths, but what he did was still deeply unethical, and while I am a firm believer in restorative justice over punitive justice, I think it doesn't have to be the case that Eve especially forgives him. Getting forgiven by Espella is important, and as much as I dislike it, it is in character for her. And the emphasis on embracing forgiveness and sympathy and understanding is a Layton theme as a whole.

Ace Attorney is a game about how systems can fail people, but it's not a game in which you can fundamentally change that system just by playing. It's frustratingly realistic in that you can only get rid of corrupt people and not the system that corrupted those people in the first place -- Kristoph Gavin, Gant, von Karma, and even the main antagonist of DGS. And there is also often a divide in AA between the antagonist who did some shit but ultimately is misguided (people like Ini Miney and Acro and Adrian Andrews and Godot) as opposed to the antagonist who is unrepentant and in some ways seeking something more (Matt Engarde, as well as the aforementioned corrupt legal figures).

And I think the collision here between the "Ace Attorney antagonist formula" and the "Professor Layton antagonist formula" in terms of how Eve and Arthur are ultimately written is interesting, because I think ultimately how they're written falls more into how Layton tends to treat its antagonists, but Eve leans slightly more towards the category of "Ace Attorney antagonist who massively screwed up and now has to face that" more so than the analogous Layton category.

But ultimately, as you've said here and as I implied in my previous response...Eve's plans would have been bad for Espella, but they would have been good for Labyrinthia. Arthur's plan involved just...carrying on with the way things were, content to let Espella believe what she would and to keep the fantasy going. It's why Layton and Luke present a more immediate threat to him -- though I don't doubt Eve had some hand in convincing him what exactly to do about them so that she could help Layton escape to the woods.

And in the end -- Eve never wanted Espella dead. She wanted Espella to see the truth, to see the gravity of what was done. We see that in all the times she bails Espella out of bad situations -- aboard the ship, in the courthouse, and at the Bell Tower.

[cerysdelaney]

Becoming a Demon

I was talking about religion with a friend of mine. She’s Jewish. I’m a no longer practicing Catholic.

We were talking about sin. I shared how one of my biggest awakenings out of my religion was meeting a girl who was Wicca. She was my age (13) and a priestess. When she found out I was Catholic, she asked me if I wanted to kill her. ?!?! I didn’t understand. She told me about the passage “Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.” And I was in shock. No, that can’t be real. That’s in there? I’d been in Catholic School for 6 years, went to mass TWICE a week (once in school and once on the weekend). I had never heard this read. And it killed me… well, it started the death of devout me. It was then that I started cherry-picking my belief. And as I grew older and met more diverse people, I cherry-picked more regarding what was sin and what wasn’t.

Yom Kippur is soon, and my friend sent me this after our conversation. She asked “Is it really that different?”

Yes, I replied. I told her I couldn’t imagine my life if sin was explained as just a failure to live up to potential or obligation. That’s so much less… dramatic.

I grew up with sin being evil itself. Literally taking from Genesis the idea of the Devil whispering on your ear. To sin is to commit evil. To not repent is to be evil. And sin was like… everything you do that’s wrong or bad. Talk back to your parents. Evil. Steal a lollipop. Evil. Kill someone. Evil. All of it is evil. All of it is sending you to hell. And even the best of us can become evil at any moment - Lucifer was the brightest Angel, after all.

So what was I supposed to do when I realized I wasn’t straight?

“Hate the sin and not the sinner.”

But I don’t… I don’t think it’s a sin.

It’s who I am. I’m in love.

How can love and caring for someone be evil?

… I am an active sinner, unrepentant and fallen in the eyes of a religion a once loved.

I support others who are “sinful.” I will be the first to point out the Bible was compiled by an Emperor and his elite as a means of control: a Holy Roman Empire that spread religion to enslave the soul as well as the body. It was genius…

I have become the Devil whispering in Eve’s ear that knowledge is worth tasting. Choice is worth having. And sin… the labeling of sins, is a method of control.

I will not be controlled by a book written by men. But perhaps, if sin had been presented differently, I would not feel like I had become a demon.

[papirouge]

all the christians on this app that joke about how they are nazis and think genocide and the holocaust are cool things are so unrepentant about it. its not even a "flaw" they are trying to work on or anything they are proudly proclaiming to be Christian when they know what they are doing constitutes a sin and they are unrepentant about it too. like do you think Jesus is going to be like "lol ur so based bro" when they die and go to the gates and he's showing them the ways they sin and them hurling slurs at people is brought up? like they know its a sin and do it all the time with no remorse yet call themselves Christian. They then turn around and judge others for unrepentant sins they do and say they cant be real christians or anything. Some of them are Catholic too and even by church standards the way they act is considered a sin and they still do it so its not even like they interpret the Bible in a way where they can just be like that and think certain groups of people are genetically just bad despite all of us coming from Adam and Eve or anything they just still believe in their racism and treat people bad all the time and then get on here acting like righteous judges of sin and mocking people for being sinners and talking about their disgust of certain sins while they are just openly evil like that. something about that doesnt sit right with me especially with how quick they are to bring up Biblical quotes or God's wrath when they dont seem to fear it themselves

You're absolutely right anon

That's why I think 99% of people pretending to be Christians on this website aren't truly. And inb4 "you can't decide whether someone is Christian or not!!!" I'll turn them the favor, and ask why these people feel entitled to question gay Christian faith authenticity? ....oh? Suddenly FRUITS/ACTIONS have to match with Jesus commandments? 😯 ..then they better keep that in mind before defending people spiting day after day on the face of Jesus with their attitude. Nailing him on the cross, again and again and again. There's a passage about them on the bible that I don't see talked about enough : Hebrews 6:1-8

(...). It is impossible for those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, who have shared in the Holy Spirit, who have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the coming age and who have fallen away, to be brought back to repentance. To their loss they are crucifying the Son of God all over again and subjecting him to public disgrace. Land that drinks in the rain often falling on it and that produces a crop useful to those for whom it is farmed receives the blessing of God. But land that produces thorns and thistles is worthless and is in danger of being cursed. In the end it will be burned

The bolded part foreseen those foolish "Christians", disgracing Jesus work, and making him a PUBLIC disgrace - see, all the people disgusted by Christianity because of the actions & behavior of those hypocrites. Believe it or not, but the image of Christians -as a collective - is extremely important. That's why I'm getting so angry when I see self ID christians acting like fools, because it will ultimately the whole body of Christ...

Countless times I talked about the hypocrisy of Christians caring about the sanctity of life ONLY when it's convenient to them and appear self righteous or opportunistically bully non believers (ex. pro choice pagans) but then turn around wishing death on people, laugh about someone death, or revel about the demise of people they deem unworthy of Love and repentance. They have an extremely selective charity and this hypocrisy will ultimately bite them in the butt. That being said, they probably believe one saved always saved (that Hebrews 4 that I just quoted contradicts) so they probably don't even conceive having to pay back their toxic behavior one day...

They make their entire personality hating on leftits, liberals, feminists, homosexuals, the government, ANYONE different or inconvenient to them, and still think they are qualified to preach the message of Jesus which is 1) love 2) repenting of our sins for the kindgom of God is getting near. They abide to none of these qualifications.

Christianism isn't about simply caring only about those we're getting along with, who look like us, think like us, etc. It's about crucifying the flesh and invoke God to entirely rewire our life. Christianism isn't supposed to confirm us in our bias - unfortunately, I feel too many people come into Christianism for that purpose (to have an excuse to bully gay, piss off liberals, etc.).

I always said Christianblr is what anti SJW was in 2014. The same brand of insufferable not like other snowflake twats seeking a lane to consistently harrass, mock and bully anyone 'other' than them

Matthew 5:46-48

If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

(I love how Jesus specifically talked about tax collectors, considering how these fake Christians HATE on taxes and look down on tax collecting bureau. That's quite insane how they don't realize they are the ones Jesus talked about in that the passage and basically says "sde, you're actually not better than them" Jesus is lowkey so cheeky, I'm obsessed)

Those people chose Christianity for the worst reason, and I'm absolutely not surprised they don't bear any fruit. I would be curious about their testimony and what evidence they have of getting the holy spirit, because from my perspective,it is pretty nonexistent whenever I stumble upon this flock of people

[freebiblestudies]

Lessons from Cain Lesson 03: The Legacies of Cain and Abel

In our previous Bible study we learned about Cain’s punishment for murdering Abel.  Surprisingly, God spared Cain’s life even though he deserved to die. What happened to Cain afterwards?

Let’s read together Genesis 4:16-18.

Cain left the presence of God and founded a city. He lived on to have sons and daughters.

Did Cain ever feel any remorse for killing Abel? Did he ever repent of his sins?

Let’s read together Genesis 4:19-24; 1 John 3:11-12; and Jude 1:11.

Sadly, Cain remained an unrepentant sinner. There is no record in the Bible of Cain returning to God.  Looking at his family history, his son Lamech twisted God’s act of mercy towards Cain into a defiant boast.  Like his father, Lamech showed no remorse for killing another man.

Let’s read together Genesis 4:25-26; 5:1-32; and 6:1-8.

Adam and Eve had another son named Seth, who had sons and daughters of his own. The Bible implies that for a time Cain’s lineage and Seth’s lineage remained separate.  In a spiritual sense, there were two races of man on the earth - one loyal to God and one disloyal to God.  

However, eventually Seth’s descendants (the sons of God) intermarried with Cain’s descendants. As a result, mankind became corrupt and mostly turned away from God.

It got so bad God ultimately destroyed the world with a flood.  (Even then, God gave mankind one hundred twenty years to repent and one last chance to escape destruction if they entered Noah’s ark in faith.)

Let’s read together 1 John 3:11-12 and Jude 1:11.

The New Testament confirms Cain’s legacy as one of evil.  Cain killed out of jealousy.  His actions revealed a selfish and evil heart.

Let’s read together Matthew 25:35; Luke 11:51; and Hebrews 11:4.

While we have spent much of our time discussing Cain, let us not forget the victim in the story. Abel was the first martyr in history.  He was killed because he faithfully followed God’s commands.

Let’s read together John 16:2-3; 2 Timothy 3:1-5; Hebrews 12:24; and Revelation 12:17.

The story of Cain and Abel will be repeated in the end times on a much grander scale.  In the end times, there will be two groups of people who claim to worship God.  One group will engage in true worship of God, while the other other group will engage in false worship.  The true worshipers of God will be persecuted even to the point of death.  

However, do not fear!  Jesus is coming soon for His people.  He promises to be with us always, even in the midst of persecution.

Let’s read together 1 Samuel 15:22-23; Matthew 12:17; and Revelation 22:12-15

Cain’s life and legacy is an object lesson of what happens when sin is allowed to continue to exist.  Abel’s legacy reminds us God’s people will continue to face trials, persecution, and even death for their faith.  Nevertheless, Jesus will redeem his faithful people in the end times.

Friend, will you learn from the legacies of Cain and Abel?