#even fics don't go this far
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Okay but this line from Firestorm by L.A. Graf is driving me insane?? What do you mean Spock lifted McCoy's foot instead of just asking him to move it??? What was the logic behind that??

#unhinged behavior#spones#the rituals are intricate#oh surely the doctor keeps his foot on the desk for an important reason even though it's literally on top of the record tapes i need#i'll just lift it real quick totally normal behavior for a vulcan#just get married already#even fics don't go this far#tos novels blow my mind
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Obsessed with what America and England have going on in HetaOni. America's like "I keep having to watch my dad die from overusing his magic in past timelines and not knowing how to stop it is killing me inside but I'm not going to talk to him about it" and England's like "I can't seem to hold a conversation with my son without insulting him but I won't hesitate to use my dying breath to ensure I can protect him from beyond the grave"
#good morning i still have hetaoni on the brain#that scene where it looks like america's going to die but turns out past loop england used the last of his strength to cast a shield on him#(+italy and germany) before sending them back to the present.... godddd#and then current loop england goes and takes on the monster america was worried about and succeeds. at the cost of going blind.#one of the very things america was afraid would happen!! he was so relieved when england survived the fight before finding that out too!!!#i don't know if this is coherent im just. they care about each other so much even though they won't say it and 😭😭😭 it makes me ill#sigh. rotating both them and hetaoni in my mind at the same time makes me so. waaughh#(also obligatory disclaimer that hetaoni doesn't label their relationship in any way them being father and son is just canon in my brain)#hetalia#hetaoni#hws america#hws england#tea dad n coffee son#personal#i have an old hetaoni wip fic that i think i intended to do more with but was mostly just about america and england as far as i got...#i can't remember the rest of my plans for it so maybe i'll shift the focus to them and try to get it finished sometime
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you guys like me going off on random DA tangents and musings, right?? because I've been awake too long so you're getting another one
I have been sat here trying to figure out Why Lucanis' prison looks like a bunch of ice and why it was so far away from the "lab" settings for a while now. (arguably two rooms fit this description, the one where Lucanis tells you about Zara and the one right outside his phylactery room) Like, even without that bridge being broken, it's in such a bizarre corner of the Ossuary. And I mean, it wouldn't really matter with a normal prisoner, but Lucanis was a notorious Crow and mage killer on top of that, plus he was Zara's special little guy to fuck with. You would not want to take him for a long walk to experience the worst shit on earth every few days. Maybe it's close enough to the little room where he mentions Zara and maybe she wanted him close to the door so she didn't have to go far to torture him, but again, leaving such a challenging subject close to the exit seems like a bad choice. You want him to have to get through so many guys and doors before escaping so you have time to take him down.
This also ignores the magic required to leave, but they're not clear on what that is and not all the Venatori are mages so there's gotta be a mundane way out he could snatch off a guard. I digress, the whole ice cage and far off room doesn't make sense. But we know they were shipping demons to Zara. (I'm pretty sure the few demons you confront in Minrathous were Zara's little pets set loose so we can assume she wanted them in the capital for the eventual Venatori coup on the crown) If Zara was about to be stuck in Minrathous for the foreseeable future, setting things into motion for Elgar'nan, I could see her wanting her pet Crow at her side. Especially if you consider the initial idea for Lucanis: he was going to be a mind controlled murder puppet before you break him out.
Sure, Spite didn't crack open his ribcage and crawl out like some new horror, but having a demon in Lucanis lets her control him via the phylactery if not just outright with her blood magic. Maybe his will was too strong for mundane control, but the phylactery works. We know it works based off of Lucanis' dialogue about it. So we know she had a surefire way to keep him under control. (There's a whole other post exploring the amount of dead Venatori and the fact that Lucanis still has his leathers and weapons [which would make sense if he was Zara's murder puppet, but alas] and whether Lucanis recently made a break for it or if the loose demons/spirits/undead killed them all) Maybe he kept his leathers because Zara wanted him presentable upon delivery, I don't know.
But I do think he was being prepped to move. The Ossuary is falling apart, Zara is pulling all the best results, they're losing personnel and servants without being given more; Zara was clearly moving on from that location. But she wanted her little Antivan prize. He's too dangerous to move normally, a Crow is likely to escape if given an inch especially a skilled one like Lucanis, so they need to lock him down somehow. Ropes and chains aren't reliable, not with a Crow, but he's not a mage. You can use magic. You can literally put him on ice. I think they were packaging him up in an ice cube and doing it next(ish) to the door so they could more easily move him. I think Zara was going to take him and his phylactery to Minrathous and use him to cause some absolutely ruthless mayhem in the city before her cult took it over.
I think Rook showing up weakened the spell being cast just enough for Lucanis and Spite to break out, and I think it saved a whole lot of lives.
#I had to scroll so far back in a group chat for that screenshot because 1) I think it's funny and 2) it's what made me think of this#like the Ossuary makes very little sense layout wise for what they claim it is#even as repurposed ruins they really just assigned random rooms for stuff#they don't even have that many cells! it should have been far more harrowing imo#but I may be biased here#anyways I continue to scramble for breadcrumbs about Zara and Lucanis#she could also have just wanted him as a trophy and that was more like crystal and not ice#which means he probably wasn't going to survive that whole thing lol#why she remained in Treviso after the breakout- I'm not sure#maybe she just wanted to see Illario squirm lol#or maybe she was going to send Lucanis ahead while she tidied up in Antiva#I'm not really sure what else she was doing in the city since we don't get much on her#things I've been thinking about while writing the fic etc etc#lucanis dellamorte#lucanis#yeah I am tagging it be subjected to my ramblings#Dragon Age#Dragon Age Veilguard#DAV#DAV Posting
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Something I think is extremely interesting thematically when it comes to connecting what Downfall and the ideas it tackled to the overarching narrative of campaign three is that the things Downfall made a point to showcase of Aeor—Cassida, Hallis, the visual of an aeormaton proposing to her partner, the specific and intentional decision to shed light on a far from insignificant amount of the population being civilians or refugees—is that it plays in perfect parallel across from what is happening (and, really, has been happening) to the ruidusborn on Exandria in present.
Bear with me for a moment. Aeor is ultimately a city that was collectively punished for the decisions of its leadership. We could (and, judging by the amount of discourse around this particular topic already, probably will) argue about what the Gods’ motivation for all of this was—whether it be that they could not, in the end, bear to kill their siblings or that they were terrified at the prospect of mortality—for me it is a very healthy dose of both—but for this I am much more interested in the latter. They were scared. That, really, is the driving force behind both this arc and their role in c3 as a whole.
Why I point this out is: It is far more interesting to me, especially as we go back to Bells Hells this week, to dissect the Gods and their decisions not purely on sympathetic motivation alone but as beings in the highest seat of power in the highest social class in Exandria.
So, having established that the Gods (in relation to mortals) are more a higher social class than anything we could compare to our real life understanding of divinity and that Aeor was eviscerated largely because of their fear—what is the difference between those innocents in Aeor caught in the trappings of their autocratic government leadership and a divine war on the ground, and those of the ruidusborn being manipulated both by Ludinus and by the very thing that inspired such visceral fear in the Gods to start with. I would argue very little.
I think of Cassida, doing what she genuinely thought was right and good and would save people, her son, and the object of her worship—and how that did not matter enough to any of them to spare her because of the fear they held at the very concept of mortality. I think of Liliana and Imogen, one of which we know begged for the gods to help her or send her a sign for years on years, and how every single one of their largest struggles could have been avoided had the gods loved them, their supposed children, as much as they feared what they could be. I think of how the thing that did save Imogen, in the end, was a woman who herself existed in direct defiance of the gods will. I think of that young boy, sixteen years old, that Laudna exalted on Ruidus.
I think it’s completely fair to judge Aeor’s overall society as deeply corrupt—it was!—but its leadership and police force are not a reflection of every one of its citizens. Similarly, it is fair to judge the Ruby Vanguard as corrupt—it is!—but its multiple heads of leadership and even the god-eater further are not a reflection of every one of its members.
Notably, and what I think the Hells will latch onto, this did not matter to the Gods. It did not matter that Cassida was trying to help. She was still too much of a risk. Will it matter, what Imogen does? Will it matter, if that young boy is in the blast radius when they decide to take no further chances?
I’ve seen a lot of people say that the Hells will side with the gods and I don’t think I agree. Especially as Imogen has been scolded and villainized over and over for daring to try and save her mother—who herself has been seen by some as an irredeemable evil in spite of her drive being the exact same—her family—but when it’s the Gods it’s justified? When it’s the Gods, it’s sympathetic? Too sympathetic to criticize further than “they’re family”?
I obviously do not think the Gods should die or be eaten or what have you, and I certainly don’t agree with Ludinus (though I find him much more compelling than just a variation of hubris wizard), but when talking about the Gods in Aeor and in present it isn’t really at all about their motivation or their family. It can’t be. Too many people, including our active protagonists, lives have been effected for it to be as cut and dry as “they’re family”. These are your children. They are your family, too.
#critical role#cr meta#cr spoilers#critical role spoilers#imogen temult#liliana temult#ludinus da'leth#does this make sense. I feel like i lost my initial thread somewhere around the middle bc my brain is currently spread very thin#but tldr: it is extremely interesting to me that the fall of aeor is such a perfect parallel to the ruidusborn#i could also go on endlessly ENDLESSLY about how cassida and liliana play the exact same role#and also i could go on even longer on what divinity as a concept even means in a world like exandria#and how trying to compare it to our real life understanding of divinity is a bit fruitless#on the basis that a person can become a god alone but also that they themselves undeniably exist#but its so good. it ties in so well. brennan did a fucking fantastic job at capturing the abject horror of it all#also aabria iyengar if you can hear me PLEASE bring deanna back i will send you fifty dollars#and also hello i very briefly said hello at the live show and wanted to tell you how incredible i think you are but alas#where did these tags go#anyway#WOAH this is long. I should’ve been writing fic. alas.#really I don't think any of the hells are gonna be able to just. gloss over the casualties of it all. but especially mog and ashton and lau#tal has even already said that downfall made some things better for ash and some things Worse so I know I'm not too far off#I have. many many thought on how laudna will see it all too.#truly think she is going to be the most vocally horrified
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#tw: god eden#should i just start using that#i swear to sangoku's mom this place gets more fucked up the more i think about it#like this isn't too far outside the realm of possibility right#anyways. i'm having a lot of fun multiplying this guy's trauma tenfold the deeper i get into his past. yaaay#idk who's even reading the tags but this is a fun headcanon just for you:#he was an orphan before being sent to god eden. his last name is of course unknown but his first name is kohaku#bc i recently rewatched spirited away and remembered how madly in love i was with haku at age 10#i was obsessed w his coolguy swag#and i remembered the thing about his name and how he was made to forget it. and haha. well#looks at hakuryuu with my big eyes 👁👁#anyways. uhh like and subscribe actually don't like bc likes don't do anything. reblog if you enjoyed or smth#suuga's fics#hakuryuu#inazuma eleven#inazuma eleven go#ina11 go#has alt text
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guys. i need your opinion of this. because i'm genuinely so confused now
what time period is the professor layton series in?? the prequel trilogy and the main trilogy. when are they supposed to be taking place
i could've sworn one of the games (though i forget which) mentions that someone's been to the moon already which would put them at least in the late 60s into the 70s going by our world's timeline... but i don't know maybe space travel was discovered earlier in this universe???
#melonposting#professor layton#it would be useful if i just had a comprehensive timeline of events in this series so it would be easier to plot things out#but just for the sake of argument... just for funzies...#let's say randall disappeared in 1949#then miracle mask takes place in 1967 (18 years after randall's disappearance in 1949)#and then extrapolating backwards - if luke is 11 and hershel is 35 in miracle mask#then luke was born in 1956 and hershel in 1932#luke is 15 when katrielle is born. so she's born in 1971#he and layton go missing ten years later. that'd be 1981#and then it's another eleven years (when she's 21) that kat has her mystery-solving agency and finds her father and everything. so 1992#(which makes the more modern nonsense we see in her game/anime more plausible)#and just for the heck of it. if we're presuming alfendi is 29 at the same time that katrielle is 21 then he's 8 years older than her#putting his birth year somewhere around 1963#and then... hm... luke is 13 in unwound future. and the explosion in which claire died was said to have happened 10 years prior#so when luke was 3 years old... in 1959#and clive was 13 at that time. exactly 10 years older than luke. so he would've been born around 1946#of course it's hard to pinpoint exact dates when you don't know anyone's birthday or what month a game is taking place in#and of course this is making a ton of assumptions#among other things that the moon landing really did take place in 1969 in this universe#i don't even remember which game mentioned the moon landing! which is annoying!#i think it was unwound future so i tried to have it in the ballpark of 1969 (by placing miracle mask two years prior in 1967)#(going off of luke's ages of 11 in miracle mask and 13 in unwound future as reference of the time passage between them)#at the very least i'm sure the moon landing was referenced somewhere within the prequel or main triologies#so unwound future is the last game it could've been mentioned in. so either it takes place in 1969 or an earlier game in the timeline does#but i'm willing to allow for the moon landing to have taken place before 1969 in the laytonverse. their technology is very weird after all#if i place it somewhere earlier in the 60s then the dates can be pushed back. and this fic i'm reading would be totally canon-compliant!#cuz it describes angela & henry 5 years after randall's disappearance being somewhere in the 1940s#which would only be possible if the moon landing takes place earlier for the dates to be pushed back that far#(of course a minor decade discrepancy does nothing to ruin my enjoyment of the fic. i just think it would be nice to make it all work out)
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Semi-silly, semi-serious fic idea.
(I swear somebody has done something similar to this but I do not have the time nor spoons to sift through 20 years of jak fanfic)
Time travel shenanigans.
Jak, well into his adulthood at this point, finally accepts the fact that he's got to go back in time and become The Mar who builds Haven City and all that other stuff. And he's been dragging his feet because 1. We have time travel, what's the rush and 2. He Does Not want to uproot his life again and leave friends and family behind.
Unfortunately, he can't say No forever (idk maybe some back to the future type shit starts happening and stuff is disappearing)
So Jak and Co. go back in time (he is NOT doing this solo), and do some Sneaky Shenanigans to avoid getting caught by their younger time-selves. And by god is it SO tempting to just sabotage the rift gate and make it so the metal heads never come back this far into the past and Jak doesn't have to go through All That Shit. But, alas, the timeline must be preserved because Time Travel Reasons. So that sucks.
But anyways Jak and everyone he can convince to come back to the past begin sneaking in some fortifications to Sandover to ensure it survives the initial wave of metal heads. Tess has to come back to the past and go "Hello peaceful world! I have brought guns!"
There's a lot of "pay no mind to these weird middle-aged folks behind the curtain." Going on.
Eventually Jak has to enlist the Sages to help because Tess is a miracle worker but to fight the metal heads they need the power of eco. Which naturally leads to the realization that they'll even need a Sage of Dark Eco, and well... they did drop one in a big silo a little while ago.
So Jak goes to Gol's citadel, and fishes Gol and Maia out of the Dark Eco Silo. And that is just A Whole Thing.
(Let's pretend the dark eco preserved Gol and Maia ratherthan killed them, since Samos seemed unsure about their destruction at the end of TPL.)
It takes a minute for Gol to come to his senses and realize that he recognizes the man and the ottsel on his shoulder and has a whole "its you! The boy and his rat! You destroyed my plans! Wait... why are you old? What year is it!?"
And Jak, fully realized sage of light eco and absolutely confident in himself, ever so smugly says "calm down, it's been like six months for you. Chill. But listen. In a week or two something awful is going to be unleashed on the world and we need the power of all the sages to make sure everything is not fucking destroyed. Can we have a truce? Enemy of my enemy and all that? Or do i have to put you back in the fucking soup?"
After some deliberation Gol and Maia decide they play along with the truce and protect the world from the metal heads. Because no way in hell some stupid ass space bugs are going to destroy the world. That's their plot! They called first dibs!
And like. Naturally there's a betrayal at some point. But Jak's too busy trying to build up the mythos and legacy of Mar. And let's be honest, he sat down and studies history at some point and there was definitely tales of the great sages of Mar's era playing their part, even the dark eco sage so like, he knows how the story goes. He's got a schedule to keep to make history happen on time. If Gol's gonna attempt to kill him then he could at least hurry it up. Mar's a busy guy.
#jak and daxter#i swear this was a fic i read or a comic i saw AGES ago#like... back pre ao3 so either on fanficdotnet or deviant art?#there was so much stuff back then. i don't think I'd even found it even if I looked#god now I'm remembering a comic that was on dA thay was also time travely#but different timelines.#i feel like it only ever went like 2 or 3 pages#a beautiful and ambitious project that didn't get far#i remember jak doing something like going back in time with his infant son? crashing in sandover wrecking the time machine?#he hands his son off to someone else to take care of and then like a sick dog wandered off into the woods to die#i haven't thought about that in DECADES god i wonder if I actually remember any details correctly?
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The degree to which Davos and Brienne are going to become reluctant BFFs, because their lieges keep coming to them complaining about each other, is UNREAL
or, more from this fic that's slowly eating my life
~
Their journey to the Northern army's camp had revealed a great deal about Lady Stark and her lords and petty chieftains: their patronizing generosity, their gruff suspicion of outsiders, and above all their mind-boggling obstinacy. Ned and Lyanna had been much the same, from what he remembered, and Stannis had seen shades of it in Jon Snow, though couched more gently than he'd expected from a bastard. He'd imagined — insofar as he'd imagined her at all — that Lady Stark would be gentler still, her mother's line warming that chilled Northern blood.
He had been disastrously mistaken. It was a wonder only one Stark had survived, but it was already clear that she had gathered the entire share of Stark mulishness.
"I have conditions, Your Grace," said Lady Stark. "If this alliance is to succeed in retaking Winterfell, I feel it right that you hear them." She placed the parchment in her hand carefully on his table and stepped back, hands folded primly.
She had requested, and been granted, this conference shortly after Stannis's army had made camp alongside the Northern soldiers. Stannis's tent had barely been erected when she came to him with this parchment, her wolf, and a determined expression. He had thought he'd listened to her enough on the journey as she'd prattled away with Shireen, but he was in the mood to be permissive.
Reading through her list of demands, he could feel the headache building along his jaw and up through his skull. "Have you lost your mind?" he said, for the second time in a week to an unreasonable woman.
Melisandre had brushed his question aside, but Lady Stark was not made of such supple stuff; she stiffened and glowered at him. "That is a peculiar way to agree to my terms, Your Grace."
"Your terms are rather more than peculiar, my lady," he said, tossing the parchment back on the table.
In truth, the first one was not so peculiar: it said that should they regain the Keep, he would recognize Sansa Stark as Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North in her own right. He would not pass her over in favor of some lesser Northern male relative, nor would he obligate her to marry and rule only as companion to her husband. Considering Stannis's own intention to ensure Shireen sat on the Iron Throne after his death, he could hardly begrudge her this.
Considering the other two stipulations, however, he felt very much inclined to begrudge her everything.
"Supposing your younger brothers turn up?" he asked, thrusting his chin at the parchment. "Or Jon Snow is legitimized?"
This question didn't faze her, he suspected because it was a question of logistics and protocol rather than a personal remark. "If Jon is made legitimate, I don't believe he would want Winterfell—"
"Duty is not a question of wanting, Lady Stark," he reminded her. "And the Lord Commander is—"
"The Lord Commander, as you say, is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," she retorted. "His life has already been pledged to the Wall. If he didn't abandon that cause in aid of my brother Robb, he won't abandon it now."
Stannis observed her. There was bitterness there, certainly, though less than he would have thought. Lady Stark clearly understood the ties that bound men to their duty, even if she did not like them.
"However," she continued, "Should any of my brothers wish to make a claim to Winterfell in my place, I won't stand against them." She paused for a moment, and added, "I have no wish to die at their hands out of misplaced pride."
Stannis clenched his jaw but let that go for the moment — it would be addressed soon enough. "You call me 'Your Grace,'" he said, tapping at the parchment, "Yet your second stipulation says that you will not bend the knee to me, even if I regain Winterfell for you."
"No, it says that I will not bend the knee to any claimant to the throne until they hold the majority of the kingdoms," she shot back. "The Lannisters hold the Crownlands, the Westerlands and the Reach at present. The Riverlands are still in chaos, the Vale has withdrawn from all alliances to sulk in their mountains, and both Dorne and the Iron Islands have declared for themselves, more or less. You can, at best, claim that the Stormlands still support you, though I've seen no evidence for it — they didn't march under your banner at first, did they?"
That was the second time she had brought up Renly, however obliquely. If she were trying to drive him mad, she couldn't go about it any better. "When I hold the North, my lady, I will have more land—"
"Setting aside the notion that it will be you alone who holds the North, you'll have more land and fewer men than any other region. If you wish to win against the Lannisters, you'll need more than mountains and glaciers fighting your battles. And if I wish to be Warden of the North, I can't keep the respect of my lords by swearing fealty to a man who has yet to earn it."
"I could have you burned for such talk," he said, getting to his feet and pouring himself some water, hoping it would ease the throbbing in his head.
"You don't burn nobles, you behead them," she replied cooly. "I should know. I was there when the Lannisters took my own father's head for supporting your claim to the Iron Throne. I have no intention of sharing his fate." She took a deep breath, and only then did he note that her hands had been clenched together, her right covering the balled-up fist of her left. "I won't take arms against you now or in the future, on that I give my word."
"And if I do have you beheaded?" he asked, putting the tin cup down before he crumpled it in his hand.
It seemed to amuse her. "Then my words will mean even less than they do now."
"They mean nothing, because you will not give them!" He pinched his nose and attempted to regain his composure. Surprisingly difficult, with this — child.
She regarded him for a moment. "You call me Lady Stark, Your Grace," she said, "but tell me, have you heard anyone else call me that?"
Stannis, thrown by the question, was forced to consider it. In truth, he had heard only Lady Sansa, though said with more reverence by her men and lords than he could ever recall being addressed himself. "You are Lady Stark."
"Not without Winterfell," she said, shaking her head. "It's more than just the home of the Starks, it is our…place in the world. We belong nowhere else. Just as there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, so too do we need Winterfell to truly be Starks." She gave him a pointed look. "Just as Your Grace needs the Iron Throne, and the fealty of all the Seven Kingdoms, to truly be king."
She was wrong, of course, but Stannis felt the same lurch in his belly whenever his footing slipped during a bout. "Perhaps your reticence has something to do with this last stipulation," he said instead, going back to the table and jabbing his finger at the third line. "Falsely accusing a king is treason."
"Is Lady Brienne falsely accusing you, Your Grace?" she asked, smooth as ice. Her hands were still clenched, he noted.
"I was nowhere near Renly's camp when he died," Stannis said, with perfect truth, even as he felt himself balanced on a knife's edge.
He had been nowhere near. He had woken up just before dawn with the lead weight of certainty in his belly, knowing what had happened — what the Red Woman had said must happen — and lying there, staring up at the tent's canvas, he had wept. Wept for the brothers he had loved and who had never loved him back. He would never know if Renly had had a hand in Robert's death; just as he would never know if he himself had had a hand in Renly's. Had he ordered Melisandre to kill him? Had he believed her when she said she could make such a thing come to pass? Davos had begged to tell him of what had happened in the cave that night, what monstrous thing the Red Woman had done to bring Renly's death about. Stannis had refused to hear it. Perhaps there was a sort of rough justice in facing his accuser now, the only one living who knew the truth.
"Lady Brienne has served me faithfully," said Lady Stark, "and my mother before me, at great cost to herself. I believe her testimony, Your Grace."
"Her testimony that I murdered my own brother."
Lady Stark regarded him steadily. "I will not insult either of you by declaring one more honorable than the other. But when I regain Winterfell, my duty as Warden of the North will be to adjudicate all such matters, and this falls under my purview. Even if you were crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms in the Red Keep itself, the North holds all persons, regardless of title, under its laws while they reside here."
"Renly didn't die in the North," was all he could manage to say.
"He died, Your Grace." Lady Stark looked almost pitying. "And for that, I'm sorry. I know what it is to lose your brothers. But on this point I will not waver."
"Is there any point on which you have?" he asked, curious.
She continued serenely. "Lady Brienne will be permitted to make her accusation publicly; how you respond to it is your affair, but if you prevail, you must give me your word now that she will not be held guilty of treason, nor will she be killed by any member of your party by any means." She put enough emphasis on the last two words to make her meaning plain.
"And if she prevails?" Stannis asked. "Your stipulations do not mention the outcome of the trial, only that it will take place." He smiled grimly. "Your father always said that he who passes the sentence should swing the sword, my lady. Will you behead me yourself?"
"I doubt either of us would find that a pleasant exercise, Your Grace," she said, her lip curling slightly. She didn't blanch, however; young as she was, she had seen worse. Had possibly done worse, if the rumors about the Purple Wedding were true. He'd not asked. "If you are found guilty, then you will ride south. If you win the support of the other kingdoms, the North will bend the knee to you. But you'll never come north of the Neck again. Does that satisfy?"
Stannis glanced down at the parchment again. There it all was, in black and white: the price he must pay for the North. The blasted girl had even provided a space for him to sign at the bottom.
"Not remotely," he said, but reached for his pen.
#got: bitches get stuff done#game of thrones motherfuckers#the more I write these two together the more I'm mad that they never got to meet#same with Tywin and Daenerys#(although that's mostly due to watching too many Charles Dance interviews where he gushes over Clarke's performances)#(as he should!)#but some of the most interesting characters never got a chance to meet and it's a TRAVESTY#anyway#I've read a fair amount of GOT fic and none of them so far have written Stannis-Sansa interactions the way I feel that they would go#which is as you can tell: poorly#just let them be bitches!!! god!!!!!!#also don't even worry brienne is absolutely going to kick stannis's ass even if she doesn't kill him#she should get little an attempted murder as a treat
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HOLY FORKING SHIRTBALLS THE DRAFT IS COMPLETE
26,673 words total. 12,512 words just for the last chapter.
I'm gonna go pass out now *flops to the floor*
#The word counts do include the AO3 html codes for line breaks#But given how that word count is guaranteed to go up when I edit this I don't think that really matters#Certainly this is too far over 25k for me to even try and edit it down#so side quest failed. This fic is just going to be as long as it's going to be 🤷♀️
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Another case of the "I'm not done"-s seems to have possessed me, because the immortality and rebirth of elven souls and this fucking elf/vampire!elf romance I'm doing right now is kind of ruining me.
Because, well... look.
This shit is ripe for angst.
For so long, there is no real reason to think much about the passage of time. Death, it's but an abstract far in the future- a bridge to be burned when they get to it. It's easy enough to practically forget that mortality is a thing to account for: with both the endless stretch of centuries they have and her body as unchanging as his, that thought can be kicked further down the road for what feels like it might even be an indefinite amount of time. Their lives just inch along, endlessly, and twine together like the roots of an ancient forest, building around- and with one another. Friends come and go, live and die, and yet, every moment, every day, is permeated by the other's presence: even in their "sleep", they're reliving shared memories (there is scarcely another kind, by now) while holding one another.
Talking about which of their adventures they chose to remember in Reverie is one of his favorite parts of the night.
Until one evening, as she opens her eyes to greet both him and the nightfall with a smile, he catches... just the faintest opaque, silvery glint in her pupils. It's barely a flash, gone in an instant, as if it was merely a trick of the light, but the thought, like a pesky insect, begins buzzing in his head. It will not let him rest.
With this new thought gnawing at him, he can't not see that there's almost a... strange distance, to her now. Even with this hazy half-awareness, it would have slipped his note if he hadn't come to know her quite so intimately over the past half millenium, if he hadn't memorized her cadence and heard her every loving thought as if it was his own. But he's attuned to her: even as her fingers glide through his hair, and her lips speak her words of love like they have so many times before, the same words, they... ring slightly hollow, robotic, automatic in their sweetness now, and once the dreaded Sun begins inching over the horizon and he's forced back into the shadows once more, her kiss goodbye lingers just one second longer, she holds him just a touch tighter before she'd be out the door.
All day, he circles the darkened room like a trapped animal, mind flush with thoughts of robotic words, silver glints, and a creeping dread. Surely, it cannot be what he thinks. It cannot. It wasn't a half-moon, it's not the Transendence, it was merely a... a reflection off something, moonlight bouncing off a silvered picture frame, or the twinkle of a magelight lighting the street glancing through an improperly closed curtain, a... a stomach bug that she's toughing out and is too stubborn to say anything about, something. It cannot be what he thinks, fears that it was.
The day drags on, the hour he'd expect her back comes and then passes, and when she returns, it is closer to sundown than it normally would be. Usually when she must leave for the day, she tries to time her return so that they can rest together, and then emerge from their chambers at the exact moment of nightfall to maximize the amount of time shared, the time he can walk free with her on his arm, but today, she returns with darkness on her heels, and bittersweet sorrow marring her face.
"Arael, we need to talk," she says, and the beloved endearment in their shared native tongue, 'heart' and 'hearth', 'center' and 'lover' in a single word, turns to acid in his ears. Instantly, he knows what she's going to say.
"How long have you known." It's not a question in tone, only phrasing- the hiss of his own voice feels alien in his throat. "When were you planning on telling me."
"It's been... a few days."
A few days. A few days, she's been...! He can't bring himself to think the word 'dying'. He can't. His knees give way under the weight of her words, and he crumples onto the nearest chair.
"You.... should have told me right away." He wants so dearly to be furious. His hands itch to rip, to tear, to destroy everything, his tongue aches to spit bile that'd make her feel exactly the pain he does in this moment... Gods, it was so easy to grow complacent and start believing in forever, to stop counting the hours, the days, the years, and still, it's her godsdamned near-forgotten mortality that's come knocking-- now, that his life is inexorably intertwined with hers, that she's been the other half of his soul for long enough to see the birth and death of friends and enemies, the rise and fall of monarchs, nations. And yet, her life's thread is soon to be clipped, while his must stretch on, infinite.
He buries his face in itching palms and swallows the bile to make room for the flood of grief. "I could have prevented this," he whispers now, "We could have had the chance, at forever... forever, if I could have turned you, if only I had-- if I--"
A soft hand on his shoulder stills him now. "Arael," she repeats, and traces a line to his chin, gently urging him to look at her. "I could not have dreamed of a more blissful, blessed life, than the one I shared with you. But--"
"Don't say it!" She winces as he snaps, and his hand is now grasping her wrist, insistent, hard enough to almost hurt, as he presses her palm against his cheek. "Don't, it's not over yet-- she may be calling, but you don't have to answer, you can stay--"
"I can't, my love."
"But--!"
"Arvandor is calling my soul, Astarion. The Gate is open. Sehanine has shown me; I must answer."
"But not yet, there's still time, you--!"
Her thumb gliding feather-light over his lips cuts off his desperate shout. "I have time enough to get my affairs in order," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I can delay it no longer than maybe another tenday. For now, please... simply be with me."
~
That night, they make love. Tender, aching love that leaves them both tearful in one another's arms- his whole body shakes, racked with heavy sobs as he buries his face in her chest, as if that way he could melt into her, to keep her here, keep her safe, keep her for himself, or... or follow her, anchor his soul to hers, stow away and smuggle himself into the afterlife that rejected him, so they can be reborn together, find one another again, have another six hundred years, and another, and another...
Hopeless. A fool's desperation, no more. There's no tricking the Seldarine: he had rejected rebirth in favor of this wretched, eternal half-life the moment Cazador's fangs sunk into his flesh so long ago now, and his soul was rent from Arvandor. There's no changing that now, no fighting it, and no putting it off longer either. So he kisses her through the sobs once more, makes love to her once more, and drinks deep from her once more, willing his tongue to carve this memory of her taste, her essence, her love as deep into his mind as it may.
She takes the promised tenday to get her affairs in order, and to set up all that may only be done during sunlit hours: she organizes herself a nighttime funeral, arranges for her assets to be dealt with as she may, and makes sure to hold him tight, to mourn with him as if she herself wasn't the one dying. And each night, she speaks sweet, reassuring nonsense of the permanence of memory, of rebirth, and the aching, heartrending beauty of gentle endings.
And once no more minutiae is left to handle, there is no more delaying the inevitable.
She is laid to rest in a modest ceremony, in a small circle of trusted friends, under the light of a waning moon.
~
He mourns, bitter and alone, for years- barely leaving his chambers out of necessity, flitting through the nights as a ghost not entirely unlike the one he was so long ago, until one evening he wakes to find the pain... bearable. There will quite possibly never not be a wound on his soul now, but even the deepest wounds, they scar over: there's new, tender flesh, pink and gnarled, stretching over the void of her absence now. And life, it continues as it does, relentless.
Decades pass. The new flesh, it toughens, thickens, until it can scarcely be seen, unless you know where to look for it: the loss now lives only in the absent-minded seeking of her warmth in his cold slumber, in the automatic gesture of taking two wine glasses from the cabinet only to set one back down; it lives behind the locked door of her untouched workshop and in the slip of parchment left between the yellowed pages of the book she had never finished reading.
Until one evening, shortly after nightfall, there is a knock, hard and insistent, on the door.
His body redies itself for a fight, as if a hunter might be so bold as to announce their arrival- but curiosity, it's too hard to resist, and he scarcely makes an effort.
It's... an elf. But not any elf- a woman, younger, taller, and fuller in figure than she was, and her hair, it's a tightly curled warm chestnut rather than her blood-red waves, but it's unmistakable: her features, they are exactly the same. The same fire amber eyes, the same freckles dotting her cheekbones, even the same raised mark at the edge of her jaw that sits there like an insect had folded its wings and chosen to make its home on her skin. And the stranger speaks, with her voice, before he could find his own.
"So you do live!" she says, equal parts disbelieving and relieved, "Or, well, something like that. I could tell that you were a vampire, from the-" she gestures vaguely to his face, "-fangs and all, but I still wasn't sure I'd ever actually find you."
There's... a prickle of understanding. It's her, but... not quite. Her soul. Her, but born anew. And she returned in a way, to reminisce, to meet him once more- and his mouth opens, but the words, wary and elated and tender at the same time, get lost on their way to his lips.
It's an imperfect replica of her laugh that leaves the woman's mouth. "Gods, don't gape at me like a beached carp like that! I've been seeing nothing but your damn face in my trance for decades now; I was looking for you, hoping you could answer some questions I have." The familiar stranger flashes her mischievous smile. "Can I come in? I feel we have a lot to talk about."
~
There is no love in this. But, there's nevertheless something... bolstering, in the unique opportunity he can present to the new owner of her soul: the opportunity to get to know, truly know, who she once was. Halting and strange as it may be, they do talk quite a long time, and when she leaves, it's with gratitude, and a short, awkward, one-armed hug that she bids her farewell.
And time stretches, infinite yet again.
As long as he may live, her soul, it continues seeking his across however many lifetimes, until one day, the strange elf finds the door in their hazy memories hanging off its hinges, and the home, collapsed and empty, maybe for decades now.
Occasionally, it is still said that in each generation, there may very well be an elf born whose soul feels an irresistible need to make a curious, solitary pilgrimage to the ruins of a city once known as Baldur's Gate, and hope against hope to find a pale man with red eyes wandering the empty streets.
And maybe, a woman who had once lived there so many centuries ago was right: there's an aching, heartrending kind of beauty in that.
#squirrel plays bg3#squirrel writes#astarion#astarion x tav#baldur's gate 3#look it's the closest thing to actual fic that I've written in like 6 years#there needs to be a Cool Internet Slang Abbreviation for 'head in my hands'#i've decided right this second that i'm going to make it happen and just use 'himh'#himh take this away from me#i feel a weird urge to add just one or two more words because this is 2022 words it seems#but even though it's def not perfect i kinda don't want ot keep touching it#ANYWAY have quick and dirty and hastily written angsty fluff sometime far far far into the future
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Please infodump about the JayTimSteph Grotesquerie AU WIP if possible.
OF COURSE i've been thinking about it since i saw the trailer and now it's a little brainworm. (disclaimer i've not watched the first two episodes yet, this is like. solely on the vibes of the trailer. some details might change once i. watch the show depending on if i follow it or just go with the vibes the trailer gave me. which also means there will be no spoilers for the show if you care about that.)
the current idea involves Detective!Tim, Nun!Steph, and Priest!Jason. the vague idea for the plot so far is that a serial killer leaves a *very* artful display of a crime scene inside of the church that Jason and Steph operate out of. Tim is assigned as the leading detective on the case and ends up in a relationship with the both of them as he spirals in madness trying to catch the killer.
for Steph, i want to explore the idea of her father, Cluemaster, being a *very* prolific and artful serial killer who's whole gimmick was sending clues to the police until he was caught when Steph was still a child, and her and her mother were forced to go into witness protection for their own safety, which led her down the path of becoming a nun. it was a defining childhood moment for her to walk in on one of her father's crimes, so when she's the one who finds the crime scene in the church, it *immediately* sends her back to her childhood and she's caught between PTSD-fueled horror and a sick, enticing fascination. she wanted to become a journalist before going into WITSEC but that career was basically all but ruined for her. now she runs the small newspaper for the church and is desperate to write on the first "real" story she's ever had, dragging her into an intense obsession over the crime and trying to prove she can solve it.
for Jason, i want to deal with his history as Bruce. the current idea is that Bruce is Tim's police chief who adopted Jason and Dick from a young-ish age and raised them to be detectives, taking them to crime scenes as teenagers and teaching them the ins and outs of how criminals think. it leads to Dick becoming a detective, but when taking them to crime scenes led to Jason being kidnapped and brutally tortured by "Jack Napier", almost dying. Dick kills Napier to save Jason and it fractures their little family so badly that Dick switches departments to another city and Jason runs away at 17, eventually happening upon joining the clergy. he's the new, young priest in the church who's known for being very pretty but very emotionally distant even if he's nice enough. and he's *pissed* that Bruce is in his church investigating a murder and that no matter where Jason goes, he can't seem to get away from the horrors.
and for Tim, he's the young new detective in his department who is *entirely* unaware that he's been taken under Bruce's wing bc Bruce is treating him as a surrogate replacement for Dick and Jason. haven't fully decided his backstory yet, but it'll likely be similar to canon with losing his mother and father. i kind of want him to be lost and lacking a sense of direction. very gifted in noticing patterns and detective work, but it's clear he doesn't *really* want this job. and when he's assigned as the lead on a case that feels *way* too big for his experience bc Bruce is showing clear favoritism, he's forced to go to Steph for help, which leads to Jason ending up wrapped up with them too.
despite how heavy the plot *sounds*, i honestly want this fic to be like. 40% porn. like the show i want to explore a lot of fucked up sexual interests in Jason who's punishing himself for it, Steph being too interested in things for her own good and desperate for a taste of what "real life" feels like, and Tim just being incredibly repressed. like i want the line between horror and erotic to feel like a jumprope. lots of fucked up sex balanced with like. them actually trying to catch the killer. and then of course the emotional aspect of how Jason's baggage with Bruce works into all of it. also want Tim to have a mild hero worship for "the great Detective Dick Grayson" while being clueless that he's Bruce's son and Jason's brother. i sort of want it to be Steph-centric, but still have POVs from Tim and Jason just to round out their emotional arcs. i haven't fully decided everyone else who'll be in the fic but i know i want Cass to be a fellow nun and friend of Steph's, Babs to also work at the church, Helena to be Tim's favorite coworker, and possibly for Damian to be around somehow. those roles will probably get more fleshed out when i. watch the damn show tho.
anyway TLDR: religious imagery, body horror, kinky sex, and a mystery that might break everyone psychologically once they get to the bottom of it. i have some very specific scenes and dialogue planned out. probably cannibalism as a metaphor for love thrown in there too. idk i just want these three to be as fucked up as possible and unhinged about each other but fighting their repressed side with their unhinged feral side. and since it doesn't exist by god I'll create it.
#necrotic answerings#necrotic works in progress#jaytimsteph grotesquerie au#<- temp tag until this fic gets a real name#jaytimsteph#when i shared this idea with my partner they were like. this should just be an original book#and yeah they're right but given it's derrivative of a show i don't think it *can* be. ergo. fanfic.#and i'm *already* writing one fucked up romance book with serial killers and a nun okay i've hit my quota.#but tysm for asking about this anon i was so excited to talk about it.#also! one scene idea i have in my head involves the three of them getting attacked#and jason killing the attacker with tim's firearm. which tim basically snatches from him and takes the blame for the kill#and even tho he's in the clear legally bruce sitll forces him to do a psyche eval that he hates.#and meanwhile jason asks tim to “punish him” not bc he killed the guy but bc he *enjoyed* it.#very fun scene for like. the descent into madness of the three of them getting more and more unhinged trying to solve this case.#like how far are they willing to go type shit#also i have a *lot* of sex scenes planned.#don't ask me who the killer is i haven't decided yet#i'm leaning on it being someone connected to tim tho#just to flesh out his backstory more. so we'll see#anyway i'mso happy to ramble about this fic idea to anyone who wants to ask more about it bc it'll help me develop it more#i've got the basics down but i'm an outline girlie at heart so i need evertrhing planned out for it to work yk.#this is my petition to make more ppl care about jaytimsteph. they're so cool i swear.
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most annoying thing about being me is that i cannot engage with like. any fanon shit about dennis because i'm constantly on some advanced derangement and the stuff i thought two years ago when i was first getting comfy in the fandom is still the way everyone else looks at dennis but i'm like. yes but its Worse than this. you're like a quarter of the way there. this isn't the interesting bit, this is a symptom of it, keep going.
#ada speaks#i tried reading fic. i got probably 5 minutes in and was like hm i dont think i can do this#it doesnt like. piss me off. it just also does not interest me in the least#that post going around the other day got me thinking too like fjsmbfkfkj#i think maybe macbrain often causes ppl to come to the wrong conclusions too but 🥴#like i see so many people apply the same logic that makes sense with mac to dennis and it's like whoa. wait a minute. huh??#we're doing the catholic guilt thing here with him...? you think he's got a complex with that?#you think den's been anything other than openly queer since the show began ?? jdehkbfjkherbfjh i dont know man. where are you getting that.#dennis' shit is so far removed from anything else i think you NEED to understand him in a vacuum before applying individual circumstances#ie. when trying to understand dennis' behaviour Around Mac i don't actually think it has much to do with mac at all#or at least nowhere near as much as ppl give him credit for lol#he's just. like that. he's behaving perfectly in line with himself just not. with anything else. its not that complicated really#i also don't think that he hates himself nearly as much as everyone seems to think#conversely. also nowhere near the narcissist everyone makes him out to be.#still cant get over the absolute deranged interaction i had on twitter a while back where it was like.#''dennis isnt legitimately interested in Anyone because he's too in love with himself.'' like hdksbkfngmdjshdkfjfndj LOVES HIMSELF??#first of all the SINNED system is right there and those steps and that GOAL Mean Something secondly fhkfnskjrjdkbsnsnfnfk#meanwhile i was talking about some fic concepts & hcs a while back with a friend and they were like youre straight up writing plural dennis#like. ah. yeah. victoria is an alter. somehow i've written this while being like. hm. what IS victoria to him.#these two are distinct people coexisting in this body and dennis still *exists* even after coming out and transitioning...?#but how can i even begin to talk about this when i don't agree that much of anything in canon points to this. it's like.#i dont think brian lefevre or hugh honey or his random personas are alters. its specifically victoria and a few other instances#and victoria isn't even. a thing. glenn just conveniently gave a 'canon' name to a thing i was Already conceptualizing but its? not canon#anyway golden god firefighter and victoria manager. hello. anyone. dennis and victoria co-fronting.#this is more about. IFS than DID but it's.#idgaf about the macden other ppl froth at the mouth over im inside dennis' brain poking around i find them fascinating but not like that#(there is something wrong with me)#genuinely wish i could enjoy the stuff in the tag and the stuff that showed up on my dashboard regularly this is a curse DBKSBFMF
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When you figure out have to characterise Gale Dekarios without getting a headache lmk
honestly soothing to know this is a Universal Experience
#gale dekarios#baldur's gate 3#bg3#oakweave#I think it's also when you put him next to Halsin that it becomes so much harder#because a lot of popular fic including Gale is Bloodweave and then you can easily fall back onto a bouba/kiki dynamic#but these two are some bouba/bouba motherfuckers#so you have to define them beyond that but ALSO beyond their magical capabilities#because both of their characters are so rooted in having a complicated relationship with being defined by their abilities#while at the same time allowing them to be coloured by their experiences?#which is INSANE because I don't have a 17 intelligence!!!!#I'm not even a native speaker!!! how the fuck am I supposed to emulate Gale's speech pattern in a SECOND LANGUAGE smh#at least halsin has the fucking decency to have an 8 intelligence. thank you good sir#but yeah no this rarepair is a puzzle that I cannot figure out#compels me though#(in other words I've veeerrrrry slowly been working on something while procrastinating all the cleaning I have to do in my house)#(it is deeply self-indulgent and so far Gale has been Entirely Too Quiet to be in character)#(and honestly? I am going to try and Care Less because hey man. come on.)#(do try to let your hobbies be FUN)#flipcitrus#sorry i forgot to tag you i am Bad at Tagging
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I snatched a headcanon from @shitposting-puppet on the LU Discord server and went absolutely bonkers. It made more sense in my brain but then again it's like four am and I haven't written in a while. Hope you enjoy the little thing that grabbed me by the throat and shook me until I put exhausted fingers to work. I behold- The headcanon of Four having an oral fixation on putting metal in his mouth to chew on.
XXX
They noticed immediately that Four was a little different. Then again, they all were different. Whether it be gender, tics, mannerisms, you name it. Everyone was a bit different. Some more than most. Four was a little more noticeable than the others.
Four specifically had a habit with chewing metal, and anything at all metal that they could get their hands on.
Legend had gone off on them one time because she found dents in one of her rings after Four had got a hold of them. Four had also freaked Sky out when they were caught chewing on a small dagger. (It wasn't sharp, Four had tried to explain, but no one listened.)
Warriors had given Four an old key, after a while of this, and had tied it to a chord. "Just chew on this, instead of taking a dagger or a ring to your mouth? We've all got the little stims, the little actions that comfort. If you need to chew on metal, we want it to be safe, yeah?" Four had agreed, perfectly content with their new key. Before the night was over they'd already started working dents into the surface of it. It stayed around their neck always, when it wasn't in their mouth.
XXX
By the time they'd reached Four's Hyrule again, the key had been worn to bits. Harsh dents, and slightly sharp sides were not at all pleasing to be chewing on anymore. Four had been using the key less and less, and had gone back to stealing Legend's rings- he really had too many- and some of the metal spoons.
No matter how good it was to be home, Four wanted to get into the workshop. They could make themselves something better than a key! Something less dangerous and more appealing. After socializing with their grandpa for a good while, Four went off to the workshop, donning an apron when they got inside and pulling out the Four Sword.
They always got stuff done faster when there were four.
As always, Vio tried grabbing the nearest metal object- a drill bit- and before it could get to their mouth Red had put a firm metal sheet the size of their palm in Vio's hands. The sheet was already covered in teeth marks.
Green got to work as soon as he figured out what to do. He donned glasses- he was the only one who needed reading glasses- and started going through metal sheets.
Blue started going through molds right next to Green, while Red started firing up the furnace. Seemed like lots of work for such a small object.
The mold was eventually settled on, as was the metal. They all got to work on it, Vio doing a few engravings and Red braiding the chord it would rest on.
XXX
When it was done, and Four was merged again, they were quite impressed with themself.
It was a small, circular thing. A few texture bumps across the surface, and it was the size of Four's palm. It would keep them occupied for a while.
Four left the smithy satisfied, with his creation firmly between his teeth.
#it's so short but I'm eeby#I became a really big fanboy of the headcanons alarmingly fast#four linked universe#four lu#tagging is not my strong suit and especially not at four am#I will definitely go back and revise this once I have a good braincell to do so#for now this is what you have because TIRED#linked universe#linkeduniverse#honestly this is so far from my best that when I have caffeine and my medicine back in my system I might cry#I might post the fic I've already got cued up to make me feel better#anyway gn you guys#Don't ask about Legend's gender#even she doesn't know#they/them for Four because colors#I had a plot#where was I going with this#FORGET ABOUT IT AUGH#I gave up halfway through I think#REVISIONS WILL HAPPEN AND IT'LL BE SNIPPETS OF THE CHAIN TELLING FOUR NOT TO CHEW ON THINGS#helpmeomg
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there are two moments that are too anticlimactic that are driving me up the FUCKING WALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! bc other than that the fic is READY TO POST. BUT THOSE TWO MOMENTS. GOD
#and they're Important Moments so i can't just say fuck it and post it anyways#fic: loves like a kicked dog#i also need a synonym for the word caught. but besides that the fic is FUCKING READY. ITS SO CLOSE. I FEEL INSANE#also i kind of don't know if i'm being too heavy-handed with this one Moment of Realization that amber has#or if i'm crazy for expecting ppl to pick up what im putting down without the heavy-handedness#it's not even like overly heavy-handed it's just DIRECTLY stating the conclusion amber comes to. BUT THAT FEELS HEAVY-HANDED TO ME#bc 'show don't tell' has drilled a hole in my skull#wait fuck okay there's also a fourth thing. which is just. amber listing [redacted] and i needed a second thing#bc my current second thing is way too long-winded and has zero flow and distracts from the focus and is just not what i want#u know what fuck it. here's the sentence (w semicolons as stand-ins for commas):#He had to have a hell of a lot more experience with this—parties that went too far at Quantico; the literal heroin withdrawal Charlie'd let#slip during a drunken night on Amber's couch; years of holding her hair back and calming her down.#like okay first off. 'had to have a hell of a lot' say that five times fast. stupid ass tongue twister. gotta fix that#two. i feel like the 2nd example i give w the heroin withdrawal distracts from the charliebriggs focus that the examples r supposed to have#bc they're supposed to highlight their history in comparison to amber's lack thereof#i also jsut feel like it's too wordy but i already kinda said that#(side note. i feel like there is no way that charlie doesn't eventually tell amber about whistler. but that's like in a world where#amber doesn't go to fucking jail lmao. but with that being said i feel like there just isn't room to explore that headcanon in this fic)#SO. i need a second example. maybe something that is also quantico-centric like the first one is#wait actually yes def quantico-centric. bc then it's about IMAGINED scenarios between charlie and briggs#also briggs wasn't even actually there for any of the times charlie threw up. which they did just to fuck with me bc they hate me#she was ALONE for it and MISERABLE :( anyways. my jeff beefstin (beef w jeff eastin) aside#i also don't know if the end of this one scene gets across what it needs to or if the Moment (bc trust it is a Moment) it ends on#needs to be continued to be explored for like a few sentences after. or maybe the impact alone is enough and everyone will pick up#what im putting down bc im sooo beautiful and smart and cool#so basically. just those four things (two moments that r too anticlimactic; a synonym for caught; and a 2nd cb quantico moment)#and then the fic is FUCKING DONE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i REALLY REALLY REALLY wanna post tonight rawrrrrrrrrr
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Omega junho in heat should the fuck out of whoever he’s with until they pass out and keep going
glad someone else sees my visions. yes absolutely the moment he goes into heat aboard that ship the first alpha that sees him is like "oh no this is Not happening" but ofc his pheromones are just too sweet they can't resist. and junho pleads so desperately and so pained it makes them feel so bad (and makes them hard as a rock Awooga) so they fuck him for a few rounds before they start feeling exhausted and way oversensitive but he's nowhere near done and flips them over so he can ride them senseless until they pass out from pain and exhaustion. and then he keeps going until he's shaking and can barely breathe. and then he Still goes.
#unfortch my fic is just gonna be junho going into heat but insisting on investigating one of the islands#and he intends to go alone but kim is like#that's. fucking stupid you don't send an omega into the wilderness Alone when he's close to his heat and esp not when he's fully in it#so he goes with. and junho sinks into it Fast with no one but an attractive alpha around and none of the more calming beta's scents#so kim is like Fuck dude we gotta get you back to the ship and junho refuses. and by the time he finally agrees it's already too late#and junho's so far into his heat he can't even consider anything but getting bred. and kim can't carry 69kg of writhing omega back aboard so#yk. he fucks him. in the middle of the woods on the island they were checking#allfatherly guidance#answered prayers#mary
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