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sweet-as-an-angel · 9 months ago

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MW Reaction to You Leading Them On

Warnings: 18+, Implied Smut, Dark! Modern Warfare, Horny! Modern Warfare, Possessive Behaviour, Territorial Behaviour, Entitled Behaviour, Threatening Behaviour, Incel-Coded! Modern Warfare, Dub-Con Themes, Implied Age Gap (Price), Physical Restraining, Kidnapping, Breaking and Entering, Reader Being Held Hostage, Abuse of Physical Power, Slut Shaming, Pet Names, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Ghost

You’d only just noticed that Ghost stood at the front door of his apartment as if he were guarding it. Perhaps from your attempts at leaving.

You’d tried apologising to him for ‘stringing him along’ as long as you had, but you genuinely believed the two of you were just being friendly, bantering. Nothing more to it.

Obviously, Simon hadn’t seen it that way. You know that now as you watch his hand slip down the front of his sweatpants, palming his erection through them.

“Why don’cha come and show me how sorry you are with that pretty little mouth of yours.” He’s so monotone when he says it that you think he’s joking. His face tells you otherwise.

Of course, you’re speechless. But Simon cares little for your bewilderment. He looks down at you, his eyes narrowing. When you don’t come to him, he steps towards you.

“You know,” he says, coming closer. You step back. “Y’hear about pretty little things like you wandering into a man’s trap. Gettin’ ravaged.”

He’s before you, now, all but chest-to-chest. His eyes are black. Gone is the man you’ve been playfully flirting with these last few months; who you’d tried to push over the edge with your accidental grazes, your unintentional whines, the batting of your eyelashes.

None of that will save you now. His voice carries the weight of a dark star.

“How do you know this isn’t exactly where I want you.”

König

König was eerily silent upon your rejection.

You both stood in his kitchen where, after watching you cook, his heart swelling beyond reason and fathom, König had blurted out that he liked you. A lot.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t return those feelings, only viewing König as a good friend at most.

And now, he stands sentinel over a reaction you can’t possibly predict. Especially as his eyes, usually crinkled with a smile and laughter, seem lighter than usual, as if drained of all their warmth.

“I see,” is all König says. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He leans back against the kitchen counter, one hand gripping its rounded edge while the other remains free.

“I suppose I only have one option, then.”

König stands to his full height, approaching you, invading your personal space. He’s almost chest-to-chest with you, the bulk of his frame, the size of his biceps becoming glaringly obvious to you now as his shirt struggles to contain him, pulled taut over his musculature.

“I’ll just have to destroy you for any other man you try to whore around with.”

The way in which he says it suggests indifference; as if this is something he’s done or thought about a million times before. He presses you into the counter, hands coming to rest either side of you. He bears down on you, jaw clenched and teeth gritted behind straight lips.

“Then you’ll have no choice but to come limping back to me.”

Soap

“Oh aye, Bonnie? You’re gonna drop me, just like that?”

The look Johnny gives you is one of incredulous disbelief. Yet, in some way, you feel that he already knew you weren’t dedicated to the idea of a relationship with him. Even after all the time you’d spent together, the many nights you’d enjoyed sleeping over at his apartment, the many treats you’d baked for him; these were all things one could easily mistake for friendship.

You’d considered that perhaps tonight hadn’t been the best time to let him down, regardless of how gently you did it, considering it was your weekly movie night and it was his turn to host.

You wish you’d listened to your inner self. Especially now as Johnny watches you, his eyes silver and sharp like a wolf’s. Without warning, he pounces on you, taking your wrists and planting them into the sofa cushions.

He lies atop you, heavy. Unmoving. Struggling only makes him grunt, a spark flashing in his eye.

“Tell you what,” he proposes. “If y’can still remember yer name by the time I’m through with you,” he presses his hips against yours. You gasp at the feeling of something heavy and pointed catching you.

“We’ll see how willing y’are to try’n lead me astray.”

Valeria

“I see how it is,” she sighs, arms crossed over her front. She has you tied to a chair in her office, mouth gagged as you try to plead with her through your tears, your eyes. “You thought you could have your cake and eat it too. Thought you could have me while trying to fuck every other bitch that crosses your path.”

You’d dared to try and break things off with Valeria – ‘things’ referring to the one-sided pursual of your love by a certain cartel mommy. But alas, your efforts to repel her had only strengthened her resolve – her need – to have you.

“I’ve dealt with your type before,” she says, bringing her face down to your level. You swear her eyes are black, devoid of the slivers of humanity she still possesses – somewhere. The wrinkle in her nose forecasts disgust, an emotion you know first-hand does not bode well with Valeria.

“I thought you were different. Thought you’d know to shut up and take what’s handed to you – especially when you’ve worked yourself so hard to get it.” Valeria’s hand comes down between your legs, her fingers wrapping around the meat of your thigh. Gripping. Tight.

“Maybe the you I’m looking for is buried in there somewhere.” You can taste the venom in her voice as her scrutinising gaze roves over your bound form. She brings her mouth to your ear, intentional and without haste.

“And all I need to do is fuck it out of you.”

Price

You considered for a moment that John hadn’t actually heard you. What, with his lax demeanour and total lack of acknowledgement of your rejection.

Of course, you were glad he wasn't reacting poorly, but to see him not reacting at all worried you.

“I could have you hidden away somewhere–” Price starts, lighting his cigar and not even looking at you, “–where you’d be for my eyes only.”

The fact that he says it so casually almost has you believing that you’ve misheard him. You blink, wait for him to prove you wrong

Much to your shock, he does nothing to quell your growing anxiety.

“Bet you’d like that – having the attention of an older man. ‘Specially since you’ve worked so hard to get it.”

Now, he looks at you, with eyes hard and sharp as diamond, half-lidded, a glare that could cut glass.

“Sitting on my lap, wearing those tight little shorts around me. Bet you wanted this to happen, didn’t’ya.”

When you don’t respond, too shocked to even conjure a response that could cover even a fraction of what John had said, he spoke for you.

“Well, Love, got anything to say for yourself?”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He took his legs off his desk and stood, staring at you.

“Better say it now since y’won’t be able to say much by the time I’m done with you.”

Horangi

“I just can’t believe you thought this would end well for you.” Hong-Jin paces before you as you sit on the edge of your bed, a hostage in your own home. Clearly, your rejection of his proposal to become his partner hadn’t ended well, hence the lock on your front door now lay broken, your security system disarmed.

“Especially after all I’ve spent on you, after all I’ve done to you – for you.”

His eyes never left you, staring you down. You tried not to shake, tried not to make a run for the door that, while open and tantalising in its beckoning for your escape, a steel model of a man patrolled it, patrolled you. Had you prisoner.

He stops before you, stands just inches from where your knees are jittering. His hands come down to grip them, giving them a squeeze. If it’s meant to be comforting, his intentions are lost in translation.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with you,” he says. Offers you an out. “Maybe I’ve given you too much freedom.”

At that, he sinks to his knees before you and, without warning, parts your legs. You yelp, trying to pull away, but he keeps you tethered to the spot. His hands shoot to the top of your thighs and you can feel his fingers hooking over the sides of your bed shorts.

You try to reason with him, try to tell him you’ll do whatever he wants, so long as he doesn’t hurt you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Only want to show you–” he pulls the sides of your shorts down– “what you’re missing.”

Alejandro

The instigator of such a cold reception from Alejandro had been your refusal of a date with him. One which, unbeknownst to you, he’d been planning and psyching himself up for for the past week.

“I see.” Alejandro’s face was stern, thunder clouds rolling over him, making his features dark and pointed. The onset of a storm.

You didn’t know what to say, what to do, as Alejandro stood by your front door, dressed as if he was prepared to take you out right now.

You could see his jaw clench, his eye twitch.

“Is there someone else?” he asks.

You know that getting rejected solely because someone favours another over you is bad, but being rejected without competition is worse. You swallow, unsure of which option will infuriate Alejandro more. When you fail to answer, he sighs.

“You know, I always thought you were smarter than this, (Y/N).” His voice is low and intentional, like a plane flying too close to the ground. You look up, only to find him staring down at you, taking up all the space of your doorway with his hand perched on top of it like it’s nothing.

“But maybe I just have to teach you.”

You try to speak up for yourself, try to ask Alejandro what he’s playing at, but he shushes you. Steps into your home.

“I’ll have you crawling back to me by the night’s end, Cariño.” His words carry a weight that roots you in place. “I promise you that.”

Rodolfo

“Oh, I know,” he says with all the certainty in the world. You’re in his apartment, coming to break the news to him that you can’t accept his boyfriend proposal; the one he’d sent you in a five-page-long love letter.

You blink, befuddled. “You…you know?” Your brow raises. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

Rudy gives a hum, a smiling one. He puts his hands in his pockets, leans against the wall behind him.

“That’s because I know you don’t mean it.” He gives you little time to contemplate his statement before he’s descending upon you like a solar eclipse. “I just needed an excuse to get you somewhere we wouldn’t be…” He searches for the right word. “Disturbed.”

Strange, considering how he was disturbing you right now. He went on.

“I mean, how else was I going to get you here? If I’d just text you, you could shoot me down without coming anywhere near me. But now,” he’s close enough that his hands rest on your arms when he reaches for you, pulling him closer to him. You stumble on uncertain legs.

His grip is soft but you feel trapped, even if Rudy is one of the few people you’d feel comfortable being trapped with.

“Now,” he says, voice low. He pulls you into his chest, hard with years of training.

“I can show you how well I can please you.”

Graves

Graves is far more used to being the player, not the played. So when he discovered that you were, in fact, engaging in what could be construed as promiscuous behaviour with him without the intention of falling for his charms, he went silent. His stare hardened.

He’d never admit it, but he’d actually grown to like you in the time you’d been together. A lot.

“So that’s it?” he says. His voice, usually rounded with his southern charm and honeyed words, strikes you like an arrow, ice and sharp. “We have a good thing goin’ and you’re just gonna throw it all away?”

You’d tried to explain to him that no, that wasn’t what you meant when you’d suggested some time apart. You just wanted to explore other options, is all.

He gives a whiplash, humourless laugh.

“Can tell you’re lyin’ from a mile away. I know you want me, need me.”

When you roll your eyes, ready to back out of the conversation altogether, he’s on you, closing the gap between you and gripping you by your shoulders. He presses you against the wall.

“Fight it all you want, but we both know you’re just gonna come crawlin’ back, so why don’t I make this easy for ya.” His breath is hot against your cheeks, a bull on the prowl. His fingers dig into your shoulders and he gives you an impish smile. One that seems to substitute something much more insidious.

“I’ll have you begging me to fuck you by the end of the night,” he promises. “One way or another, whether you like it or not, m’gonna make you all mine.”

Gaz

Gaz has played the nice guy for far too long. This, he realises as he watches someone try to chat you up from across the bar, only to make the fatal mistake he himself had made: leaving you unattended.

Gaz wasted no time. He slithered through the crowded bar to you, taking your wrist in his hand on his way. He dragged you to a small room, dark and out of the way. He locked the door behind him.

“What was all that about, then.”

He faces away from you, but even through the dim light of the one, flickering light bulb above you, you could see his shoulders heaving, his hands clenched into fists as he awaits your response.

A friend, just some guy – it doesn’t matter. Gaz turns and bears down on you, backing you against the wall. Your hands fly up to his chest to try and quell him, to put some distance between the two of you. His heart pounds and so does yours, albeit for different reasons.

“You’re mine,” he says. He pens you in, his form broad and sculpted by horrors unknown. A hand comes to take your chin between its fingers, jerking your gaze to meet his. “Have I not worked hard enough to be able to have you yet.”

His voice cracks, though he shows no signs of crying. No, Instead he presses his front to yours. Something catches your thigh and you gasp.

“Maybe you just need reminding,” he tells you, “of how much I’ve done for you.” He rolls his hips against you, his hands coming to bolt themselves on the wall behind you, caging you.

“How much I can do.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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sagaduwyrm · 5 months ago

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Something that interests me about Girl Genius is the way that the Heterodynes are consistently portrayed as the worst of the worst despite being pretty reasonable by Spark standards.

This is not to say that they are reasonable by normal people standards, or that they were anything approaching decent people. This is pointing out that compared to other sparks, who figured out they could conquer places and immediately started the Long War, the Heterodynes have had little to no large scale negative effect on the world.

Evidence: Zumzum

While in Zumzum Agatha finds out that the Heterodyne raids rolled through the town "every four years or so, sure as the moonrise" (Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess). Despite this the town is, though small, prosperous. They have a fully staffed guard and enough spare income that the circus was initially planning to remain for three days.

Compare this to the numerous dead towns noted to be littering the wastelands. Sparks regularly render towns unlivable or dead. The Heterodynes, however traumatize them and steal their stuff, but still leave the towns they raid capable of functioning. From this we can assume that, despite what we are told, the Heterodynes are not only capable of self-restraint, they're good at it.

Evidence 2: Heterodyne Creations

The Heterodynes left an enduring legacy in the form of constructs, clanks, and the castle. Many of these are hundreds of years old and yet have little trouble functioning. This means that the Heterodynes not only build to last, but their descendants are willing to put in the time for upkeep rather than get distracted and focus on the next big thing.

The Heterodynes are the only sparks with so many creations still running around. Other sparks, like Van Rijn, do have some creations that have lasted the ages, but nothing compared to the sheer quantity of the Heterodynes.

Also, consider the jägerkin. The jägers are some of the most important Heterodyne constructs, and have acted as the core of their army and their honor guard for more than half a millennia. Despite this, they don't have levels of speed or strength much beyond average, at least as far as spark constructs go. Instead, they're noted for their remarkable survivability. This again suggests that Heterodynes prioritize longevity to a remarkable level for sparks.

Evidence the Last: Europa still Exists

I repeat myself, after two centuries of off and on spark warfare, significant amounts of Europa is unlivable. The Heterodynes had ten centuries and Europa was fine. Do the math.

However, despite this show of consistent reason, the Heterodynes are constantly described in story as evil incarnate. I'd like to posit that this suggests both that in-story lore should be taken as unreliable, but also that the most dangerous sparks aren't the flashy, fire and brimstone assholes. It's the consistent, intelligent ones who know when to back off and when to press that are the real danger, and it's for this reason that the continent fears Heterodynes. Not because they're uniquely capable of destruction, but because they know when not to destroy.

The Heterodynes are the oldest dynasty in Europa. To everyone with the slightest understanding of how sparks work, this is terrifying.

Also, here's a post that tries to answer why the Heterodynes are uniquely like this. You should read it. It partially inspired this.

#girl genius #heterodyne family #the heterodynes #meta analysis #my thoughts #fandom analysis

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technoarcanist · 2 months ago

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WAR NEVER CHANGES. BUT,

WARFARE NEVER STOPS CHANGING

"I've seen countless reasons why most mech pilots don't make the cut, but one of the largest hurdles are the physical alterations. The implants and modifications done to the fleshware is so extreme that it's enough to push most would-be pilots away from day 1.

Back in the day, when mech tech was still in its wild west years, when the technology was still in its infancy, things were different. Levers, joysticks, switches, a chair, most of the first models were something between the cockpit of a construction vehicle and a fighter ship.

Pilots in those days still consisted largely of the usual suspects. Test pilots, army jocks, space force veterans looking for something new, the occasional crazy who lucked their way up the ranks. All you needed back then was to be fit enough to work complex machinery. 'Handler's wouldn't be a coined phrase for nearly a decade. I still remember being a kid and seeing repurposed older models in the mech fighting streams.

Everything changed with the Bidirectional Cerebellum Computer Interface. To say nothing of how it changed civilian life, it was a military marvel. The BiCCI saw the creation of Mechs as we understand them today. The first generation were just retrofits, older models with a pilot's chair, and even manual controls to use in an emergency, but even then we knew that was only temporary. Before long, sleek frames of sharp angles, railguns and plasma cannons were rolling off the factory floor.

Like many things, it began small, optimising first for cockpit space by removing the manual controls. Before long, my then-supervisors thought, "Why have this glass? Why not hook the pilot's eyesight right into the advanced multi-spectral camera system? Before long, cockpits were but soft harnesses made to house a living body, their very soul wired into the machinery. Obviously, for security reasons, I cannot tell you everything about how our latest cockpits work, but suffice to say we've been further blurring the line between pilot and frame ever since.

This drew a very different crowd. Out were the army jocks and powerlifters. The only ones who even dared to have the interface hardware installed into their brainstem and spinal cord were the dispossessed, the misanthropes, those who sought not to control their new body, but to be controlled by it. No AI can work a mech properly on its own, but our pilots are never really in full control either anymore. Those who do try to go against the symbiosis get a nosebleed at best, and vegetative seizures at worst.

And that was that. The only people left who pilots these things are those who had already been broken, those who sougt a permenant reprive from being anything resembling human. A lot of my department quit around this time. I've lost a few friends over it, I'm not shy to say. Did we knew we'd be bringing in the more vulnerable people? Of course we did. But, the wheels of progress must turn, as they say, and it wasn't like we were shy of volunteers.

In our latest models, we have refined an even more advanced frame. Again, security detail prevents me from divulging too much, but one breakthrough we've made is decreasing action latency by approximately 0.02s by amputating the limbs from our pilots and replacing them with neural interface pads.

Using the pads where the limbs once were, pilots are screwed directly into the cockpit, which itself can now be 30% smaller thanks to the saved space. And, of course, we provide basic humanoid cybernetics as part of their employment contract while they are with us. Not that most of them are ever voluntarily out of their cockpits long enough to make use of them. Even removing the tubes from their orifices for routine cleaning incurs a large level of resistence.

And, yes, some of them scream, some of them break, some become so catatonic that they might as well be a peripheral processor for their mech's AI. But not a single one, not even one pilot, in all the dolls i've ever trained, have ever accepted the holidays we offer, the retirement packages, the stipends.

As you say, there are those who like to call me a monster for my work. I can see why. After all, they don't see the way my pilots' crotches dribble when I tell them I'll be cutting away their limbs, or the little moans they try to hide when we first meet and I explain that they'd forever be on the same resource level as a machine hereafter.

Those who call me a monster don't realise that, even after going public with how we operate our pilots, even after ramping up mech frame production, we still have more than twice as many volunteers as frames.

Those who call me a monster cannot accept that my pilots are far happier as a piece of meat in a machine of death than as the shell of a human they once were.

Those who call me a monster never consider the world my pilots grew up in to make them suitable candidates in the first place."

-Dr Francine Heathwich EngD

Dept. Cybernetic Technologies @ Dynaframe Industries

[In response to human rights violations accusations levied by the Pilot Rehabilitation Foundation]

#mechagirlposting #mechposting #mecha #empty spaces #techno arcanist stories #mechanophilia #horror #short story #creative writing #writing #writing on tumblr #mech pilot #dollposting

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yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy · 1 month ago

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It’s been discussed before yes yes yes but the fact that in Trespasser Solas declines your Lavellan from joining him because he doesn’t her want to see what he will become.

a) All Lavellan knows is the moral, ethical, and principled Solas, the Solas who acts defensively and practically. Solas has and will act/order others to act in such a way that would break many Geneva conventions if it means succeeding, and he doesn’t want to test Lavellan’s love for him by making her bear witness to that, to choose him when she has no idea the true cost of what she is demanding, not only of herself, but of the world that will be ravaged by all of the terrorism and political maneuverings meant to destabilize and destroy the only world she has ever known. There is nothing more heart-breaking than someone you love forsaking you, to reach that limit one has for another. But equally so, Solas does not want to be in the position where he may be left with the choice between choosing Lavellan or his mission. What he will become may just be a man that would sacrifice her for his plans. He will not let her potentially put her heart on the line like that.

b) He doesn’t want to make her a monster that participates or allows such things, because part of the reason he fell in love with her was because of her goodness. It wouldn’t be difficult to groom her into evil if love was added to the mix. Love can compel you to do terrible things for the sake of a loved one, and Solas does not want to take advantage of her in that way, does not even want to have that temptation or that possibility involved. He is distancing himself to avoid accidentally corrupting the nature of what he believes to be a good, pure spirit. Evil inevitably poisons goodness. The Evil he wields is utilitarian and remorseful and necessary but evil all the same because it will do harm to thousands via the removal of the Veil. The man is planning what is potential omnicide. You cannot participate in that and not have something about you change irrevocably to allow it to happen. Solas, again, thinks of Lavellan as a good spirit. He wants to keep as many “good-spirited people” (kind, good people) intact as possible before he executes his plan. Why, I do not know, but I suppose because he believes that possessing a good spirit means your life will be happier. To be good is to exist well, and as Solas explains, to be good of heart means you will attract good spirits in the Fade and thus your experience in the Fade will be more pleasant, so by this logic he believes that, ideally (strictly ideally, he knows how much reality does not reflect ideals), goodness begets goodness begets peace.

Solas needs to be a monster because truly effective warfare is conducted when principles and ethics are thrown out the window. He does not want Lavellan to witness that and be confirmed in how much of a monster he was, is, and is willing to be. He wants her to remember him as a civilian, as Solas the humble apostate, not Fen’Harel the shadowed and conniving guerrilla war general. Selfishly, he wants her to only love a part of him, the best parts of him, because he is afraid of the whole of him being rejected, because who he is in totality is so storied and convoluted and repugnant that it would require the most extreme cognitive dissonance to be able to love him, and if there is anything Solas hates, it’s people who ignore reality in favor of their own self-serving fantasies. Lavellan would be right to disavow him, and by the same token it would be so terribly selfish of them both if she forgave him of his crimes and he accepted that forgiveness, because his sins cannot be absolved with a single individual’s love. That is the tragedy of their love, because love cannot overcome all that has happened. It cannot redeem or wipe away what he has done, not unless he kills a significant part of who he is, the Ancient Elf, the Rebel, the Failure, the Veil Maker, the Doomer of the World.

#solas #solavellan

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painted-flag · 2 months ago

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OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 5: The Young Elf

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 3.1k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ you work to recover from the previous night of celebration and meet a new patient in the sick hall.

Your vision was blurry upon opening your eyes. You felt your brain being pounded within your skull and your body ached. You let out a soft whine and rolled over in your bed, the soft sheets offering little comfort. The room was still fairly dark, with only a few candles lit. The memories of the night prior were hazy. You remember going to the party, but soon after your second drink, it all became incomprehensible. It was all a haze of music, candlelight, and dance.

It must have taken you an hour to will yourself out of bed, the only motivation being a pitcher of water that was placed all the way in the living space. It had forced you to get out of bed all so you could quench your thirst. You found yourself sitting on one of the couches, nursing a cup of water when Amara and Liriel skipped into the room.

They wore happy faces and presented no visible signs of wear from the party. It was as if they did not drink and dance heavily, but rather got a full night of rest. It was likely due to their experience - who knows how many times they had done that in their lives.

“Good morrow, dear friend.” Amara sang happily while opening the curtains to your room. The light from torches and fireflies outside - which happened to be surprisingly bright - invaded your room. You could do nothing but grunt in response and hold a hand out to block the light from your eyes.

“Well, you are taking it surprisingly better than I thought,” Liriel stated as she placed a tray of food on the table, “For the amount that you drank, I was sure you would be on the brink of death.”

“Really?” You responded with a thick coat of sarcasm. It felt like you were dead already. You reached out and grabbed a slice of bread. It was an elvish bread and you had come to deeply love them over your stay. The emptiness in your stomach hurt and you were glad to eat.

“Get some food in you and you’ll be better. You’re the talk of the castle today.” At Amara’s words, you dropped the piece of bread and looked at her with alertness in your eyes.

“Please tell me I did not do anything stupid or embarrassing.” You crossed your fingers in a silent prayer. It would be awful if you had done anything bad, as your actions may be taken to represent all humans. You did not want to carry the weight of the image of humanity in front of such esteemed beings.

“Not bad, on the contrary. Everyone is praising your ability to handle elven wine. It is an impressive feat.” Amara reassured you.

You raised one brow before gesturing to your slumped body, “Does this look like someone who is handling it well?”

“Oh, be thankful they are speaking highly of you.” Liriel laughed as she began to look through your wardrobe.

“I’d much rather have my work praised, than my ability to handle my cups.” You reasoned as you ate a few more pieces of fruit. Amara had gone to your vanity to select jewelry.

“Then you best get ready for the day.” Liriel turned around with a dress in her grasp and laid it out on the settee in front of you. Your eyes trailed over the light sage fabric. It had a silk underside with some sort of tulle layering on top. It looked like the dress you had worn on your first day there, but a much better colour. You gave Liriel a gracious smile at her selection and rose to your feet to change.

You had hoped to gain your bearings before leaving your room. However, after leaving, you had only just begun to feel better. The pounding in your head had subsided, but the aches in your joints from the hours of dancing still affected you. Your footsteps echoed across the stone hall as two guards escorted you through the caste. Before your morning rounds with the patients, you had to pick up some books from the library that you found the other day. The guards opened the doors and allowed you to enter without their presence.

You were so wrapped up in your task and struggling to recover from your night that you failed to notice the figure sitting at one of the tables, flipping through a large ornate book. You walked past them while rubbing your eyes. Once at the shelf you needed, you grabbed the three books and stacked them in your arms. Their weight felt heavier than you expected, but you recovered easily and moved to turn back. Your gaze swept across the wide-ranging room before it settled on a body in a seat. His back was to you and facing the entrance door.

His long silver hair draped pin straight down his back and you could see the top half tied up. A familiar strap of leather banded around his head, which you knew belonged to his eyepatch. His back was broad and he had on a leather tunic dyed a rich dark green. His sword was strapped to his side and rested on the bench with him. You cursed yourself for having such luck. Out of all of the libraries in this castle, Aemond had to choose the one that happened to be right next to your study. Of course your luck would be so rotten.

You took in a breath. Perhaps you could quietly make your way out of the library. You did not wish to disturb the king in whatever task he was enraptured with. Your hold on the books tightened as you moved to swiftly and quietly vacate the area. You passed by him with your gaze down on the floor.

Lately, however, your victories seemed to be short-lived.

“Do you think you are here to drink your weight in wine?” His smooth voice drawled out right as you had managed to reach up for the door handle. Your fingers squeezed the air in a desperate attempt to calm yourself. You spun on your heels, only to regret it immediately by the temporary loss of vision. The ache in your head returned. Aemond sat a few metres in front of you. He was staring down at the pages of parchment below him. His agile fingers swept at the page and turned it.

“No, your grace. I was simply being cordial, having been invited to it by his grace Prince Ageon.” You defended. It was true, Aegon extended a branch your way and you decided to seize it. You had not planned to drink, but you were an incredibly curious person and succumbed to the curiosity of what their wine tasted like.

“It is not a surprise Aegon would do that. Again, do not forget the task set forth on you.” Aemond had not bothered to spare you a single glance yet. His focus largely was on the book at his table.

The ache in your head worsened and you wanted nothing but to escape, but you knew you had to be cordial to the king, “I am thankful for this opportunity and take it seriously. I will be here for a year, so I thought it best to forge friendships.” Your response seemed to elicit a dry chuckle from the elf.

“Friends with…” He finally looked at you, piercing you with the intensity of his eye, “your kind? You are nothing more than an oddity to them right now, a silly little human way in over her head. As soon as they are bored of you, you will be nothing again. They have forgotten the threats your kind poses.”

It was likely the effects of your aching body that caused you to stick up just slightly for yourself, “If I am nothing but a silly little human in over her head, what threat do I truly pose, your grace?” While your words had been aggressive, you coated them in the most flattering voice you could muster; the call of an innocent animal hiding their violence.

Aemond regarded you for a moment as you stood there. You adjusted the weight of the books in your hands. He still was giving you a look that deeply unsettled you. You felt like a bug under his gaze, though you knew he would not treat you as gently as Helaena does to her insects. Aemond would not hesitate to squash you under his foot.

“All humans are a threat.” His voice came out strained, edged with spite and some other unheard charge akin to a lament. You stood strong against the battering waves of his blue-eyed stare; the oceans within his iris in constant turbulence. You had no recourse for his words and could not choose a path to take. To your great relief, tinged with an ounce of disappointment, Aemond appeared unwilling to speak further. His attention went back to the book in front of him and you took that as an opportunity to leave.

Why, out of all the libraries in this castle, did he choose the one by your work?

His figure consumed your mind as you walked a short distance to the laboratory you shared with Daeron. Aemond was, in some ways, a walking contradiction to the stories you grew up with. There was truth in the mutterings of his immoral attitude and penchant for aggression. Yet, you had not seen any physical aggression so talked about. His paragon of brutality was unseen.

Aemond was calm and calculating, his refrain from violence you had seen so far instilled a greater fear within. If he was like the stories - quick to barbarity - you could count on that predictability. It would be comforting in a sense, to place your bet on wanton aggression. Men, regardless of human or elf, could be counted on for that predictable nature.

However, he had not shown you his hand in whatever game he was playing. In Aemond’s cunning sense, there was no predictability. It frightened you, to be at the mercy of nothing short of an enigma. You could not place a bet on what he will do and what he is capable of. Sure, you can rely on the stories, but they have already proven to ring with some semblance of inaccuracy. You began to doubt even your own memory.

In your contemplation, you had dropped the books off in the laboratory and swung into the sick hall to make your rounds with the patients. You carried your notebook with you, along with a fitted bag at your waist to carry any small utility item that could be needed to help the sick elves. You had realized that elf physiology is surprisingly much like humans - minus the ability to live for multiple millenniums.

You had begun your move through the rows of countless beds. At each one, you sat with the elf and recorded their symptoms to keep track of their progression. To the ones you were able to, you administered some pain relief. Unfortunately, for those who had been sick for long, no type of pain relief would do them any good.

In your rounds, you moved to a bed with a new patient. It was a young elf. Though likely centuries old, she appeared as a child. Her hair was as golden as the light of the lanterns in the room, but oily from the relentless sweat caused by a fever. Her skin showed obvious signs of taint progression. Its glass-like appearance was underscored by intermingling cracks. Dark purple, near black, tint washed over the skin, with some areas more concentrated than others giving the appearance of bruises.

She was the youngest you had seen in your time here.

Something in you never even thought about the possibility of younger elves getting it. That was not a place your mind wandered to and you had gotten used to treating the older elves. Your heart ached at such a youthful being having their life slowly drained.

You moved towards the bed to see her, “Hello,” You introduced yourself before standing next to her laying form, “I have not been granted the pleasure of meeting you yet.” You kept your voice kind and cheerful to ease the emotions of the young elf. The little girl slowly turned her head in your direction. Despite her weakened state, the girl looked cheerful.

“I’m Lyra,” She paused to cough, “You’re a human.” Lyra’s voice was gentle, with notes that sounded like windchimes on a calm day.

“Yes, I am. I’m here to help.” You sat at the edge of the bed and reached out for a bowl of water and a cloth. You moved the rag through the water and got rid of the excess water. The back of your hand rested on her forehead. Lyra was burning up. You laid the cloth down where your hand had been and she let out a breathless sigh of relief.

“You look like an angel.” Lyra’s words were covered in the haze of a fever, but you took them to heart. This whole time, being surrounded by naturally beautiful beings, you had begun to feel worse about your appearance. There was something so pure and true when the words came from such an innocent child.

“That is kind, especially from a girl as pretty as you.” You watched as the corners of Lyra’s mouth rose faintly. She was in obvious pain, but taking it with graceful strength.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” Her question was so abrupt that it halted your movements as you tended to adjust the blanket over her. You paused, unsure of how to handle the situation. With all of your other patients, they understood their time was limited. The taint only spread to bodies through openings and you wondered what could have happened for a little elf such as Lyra to be infected.

“I and the other healers are working towards a cure, you need not worry, darling.” While not a direct answer, it was sufficient enough to get Lyra to rest her head back down against her pillow and close her eyes. You backed away to allow her to sleep and went about aiding the other sick elves.

During your rounds, your eyes kept wandering back to Lyra’s form. You were plagued with an even heavier burden. Your goal had been clear for many years, to find a cure. However, there was always an air of impersonality in your work. While the driving force had been to help people and carry on your father’s work, your motivation was still disconnected. The taint - other than destroying the lands of your kingdom - had never deeply affected you personally.

With Lyra, you felt perhaps the same driving force your father did. He worked to help, but mainly to make sure you had a future. You saw that same sense of need to safeguard that future when looking into Lyra’s eyes. While old from a human perspective, she was a young elf who had barely begun her life. Your father wanted a future for you, you wish to provide the same for her.

After a few hours of menial tasks in upkeep for the patients, you found yourself in the laboratory. In your hands was a simple vial, lilac and gleaming with specs of light. It was a newer version of your previous concoction that proved to be of little success. There was a hope - in fiddling with the ratios of ingredients - that it could be more effective than the last.

You looked down upon a sample of taint kept in a glass case. It was a bundle of flowers and weeds that had lost their colour of life, covered in the black mould and goo so familiar. You tilted the vial in your hand and allowed a few drops to spill upon the sample. You took a step back and watched as nothing happened. Your eyebrows furrowed.

You were overcome with frustration and anger. The events of your stay, your inability to make progress, and the new added weight of the reality of lives on your shoulders caused you to boil over. You let out a grunt and slammed your firsts on the table.

Just as you expressed your anger, Daeron strolled into the room. He saw your actions and raised his hands in feigned surrender.

“Surely the table did not deserve such violence,” He joked. You glanced up at him and felt the ache in your hands from striking the wood so fiercely. You rubbed your knuckles and could see some skin was scratched off, but not enough to require any special attention.

“I tried messing with the ratios of that last experiment. It did not make it any better, on the contrary.” You voiced.

Daeron walked to where you stood and picked up the vial. He inspected it for a moment. “You tried, that is what matters. If it's any consolation, none of mine have been as successful as yours was.” He patted you on the shoulder and you sent him a look of appreciation.

“Thank you, but I think I am going to spend the day doing more research.” You wanted to leave the laboratory. The walls felt like they were closing in on you and you could not bear to look at any more ingredients, vials, or damned samples of tainted nature. It was a curse, a plague on you.

Daeron spoke, “Go on, I have some of my ideas to work on.” You backed away from the table and turned to your right to leave the room. Your hand gripped the wrought iron door handle with extra strength as you yanked it open and found yourself in the ever-familiar hallway.

Despite being given the limited freedom of your room, laboratory, library, and sick hall, this place began to feel more and more like a prison. Your adventure into another area of the castle last night to attend the party was allowed, but you doubted your freedom could extend beyond that.

You felt guilty, for thinking so negatively about a truly once-in-a-lifetime experience, but the whole castle felt like a gilded cage. It was beautiful, there was no denying that. This kingdom, with its connection to nature and elevated lifestyle, was beyond what you could dream of and served as a trap for you. On the one hand, you relished in the good parts, but on the other, you knew this would never be a home.

You would never belong here. Your humanness, the mortality that came with it, will only be nothing but a blink in time for these people and their kingdom. Unless you found a cure, there would be nothing left but the faint memories of your form walking down these halls. Eventually, it would be lost to the annals of time.

How fickle a human life was when compared to the immortality of nature.

Chapter 6: A Snake in the Garden Preview

Like a cloud blocking the sun, a body stood just behind your kneeled figure and blocked the light from the lanterns strung above. You ceased yourself from cutting a leaf from a plant and turned around. An elf stood, his eyes piercing you with simmering hatred. You recognized him from just a few short days prior. It was the same elf that had been walking beside Aemond when you passed him in the hall. His skin looked sunkissed, despite there being little sun that actually penetrated through the canopy of trees. His dark hair matched the darkness of the deep forest beyond the settled lands.

He was altogether the embodiment of the elvish characteristic of beauty, but there was something wrong about the energy he gave off; it was almost predatorial.

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

taglist: @izzicle @arriettys-song @ggukiespace @wasntpriscilla @marielahurtado @shamelessblazecrown @peachysunrize @lolliespocketfullofpollies @lanadragon04 @kokosg @sinistersnakey @Aemondtargaryenwifey @m-riaa @sarcasticwitch11 @coriellesmarya @simpinonyouz @scrumptiousloser @gcdofchaos @whorrorbellee

#hotd imagine #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #elf #dark elf #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction

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autistichalsin · 2 months ago

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And again:

The death penalty should not exist.

Not just because of the risk of innocent people being killed wrongfully, though yes, that is a part of it. But guilty people shouldn't die either.

Yes, that includes those ones. The ones who did the worst crimes imaginable, who harmed children, who killed innocent people- them, too.

Why?

Because no one has the right to kill another human being, and two wrongs don't make a right.

Because the instant you give a government entity the authority to determine who is and isn't worthy of life, you have already handed them the framework to get rid of undesirables. As we're seeing now the "pedophiles deserve the death penalty -> LGBT people existing next to children is pedophilia" pipeline.

Because if your government can kill you, they already have too much power over you.

Because the death penalty does nothing to actually deter crimes, and some studies suggest it might actually make the rates of violent crime increase.

Because our tax dollars shouldn't go to depriving people of their lives.

Because the only method of execution that comes close to being humane is lethal injection, and even that has a high failure rates as well as requiring medical professionals to break their respective ethical codes; in fact, pharmacists have started refusing to provide various DOJs with murder euthanasia cocktails precisely precisely because this goes against the principles of "do no harm."

Because it usually takes 20 years from sentencing to execution, and that constitutes psychological warfare/torture on prisoners.

Because there is nothing a death sentence will "accomplish" that can't also be done by a life sentence, minus the ultimate cruelty and power-trip for government officials and cops/wardens/etc. If the goal is punishment, deprivation of freedom already does that, let alone the rest of the mistreatment prisoners face. If the goal is sequestering from society, that is literally the definition of imprisonment.

Because, this bears repeating, if the government can kill you, they already have too much power over you.

Because forensic science is nowhere near as perfect as people want you to believe.

Because even when it is proven that there is sufficient cause to release an innocent person, those in power still will (as we saw today with Marcellus Williams) do everything in their power to murder them anyway for the sheer power-high.

Because it is better to let 100 guilty men go free than it is to convict one innocent one.

Because there are huge inequities in who gets the death penalty. Racism is baked into the entire "criminal justice" structure, and capital punishment is no different.

Because, by definition, anyone willing to execute another person is the last person who should be given the power to do so.

Because, it bears repeating, once you introduce a framework to remove undesirables from society, it will be expanded at the first opportunity.

Because the death penalty is, by definition, cruel and unusual punishment.

Because the death penalty is often carried out on innocent people (like Marcellus Williams) who have been wrongfully convicted as a way of silencing them and ensuring they can't file a wrongful imprisonment suit against the state.

Because the existence of a death penalty gives people who committed a single violent crime a motive to do more; if they're already going to die, why not take more people out with them?

Because the entire mindset of death being an acceptable punishment filters down into day-to-day life and encourages proliferation of distancing, dehumanizing language against people some don't dislike, which is part of the reason why so many teenagers have no problem saying "kill yourself" to others.

Because there is no accountability in the prison system for how those on death row are treated, and any abuse inflicted on these prisoners in their last days will never come to light.

Because it is wrong. If a private citizen can't kill another person, who can a private citizen employed by and acting on behalf of the government do it?

Because, it bears repeating, if your government has the power to kill you, they already have too much power.

There are zero good reasons to support the death penalty, and hundreds of good reasons not to.

#death penalty #Marcellus Williams #anti death penalty #capital punishment #anti capital punishment #human rights

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starlitvick · 2 months ago

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The In-Universe Implications of What Odysseus Says in My Goodbye

Okay so during My Goodbye Odysseus says a lot but one thing that as of recent has started sticking out to me is him saying "at least I know what I'm fighting for while you're fighting to be known" and when you actually think more about that line it doesn't really make sense that Odysseus would say this to Athena because back in Ancient Greece Athena was one of the most well known and well respected goddesses, I mean she had a whole city named after her and any warrior/soldier with half a brain would pray to her for strength and wisdom in battle (ofc they'd also pray to Ares for strength but this post isn't about him). So it wasn't like Athena was disrespected (no gods really ever were because that's like a huge no no) or not largely recognized by people which honestly leaves a pretty big question: WHY did Odysseus say that? It wasn't him just saying stuff to say stuff because that combined with him saying how Athena was alone actually upset her. This is where God Games comes in, yeah, God Games.

In the original Odyssey for anyone who doesn't know, nothing anything like God Games happened. That was all Jorge adding new points to the story (and I absolutely love it) but for the sake of digging into this I'll be going a little into the original source material. In Greek Mythology in general Athena was said to have been Zeus' favorite or at the least one of his most favored children, so in The Odyssey when Athena asks him to free Odysseus he actually just kind does it with very little hassle, he kinda mentions how "hey yk kiddo Poseidon's still pretty pissed at the guy but I'll still let him go". No multi-step debate, no getting beaten by lightning. In EPIC however, Athena goes to Zeus and he decides to make a game out of freeing Odysseus and when Athena wins that game Zeus feels like she's shaming him and he strikes her with lightning. Which is actually crazy work tbh, but anyways, the entire existence of God Games and Zeus making the game up to begin with at surface level just seems like Zeus wanting to mess with Athena but if you think about it along with Odysseus saying Athena is "fighting to be known" it can kinda be read more as Zeus not really taking her seriously and not thinking she can do it. I mean he had at least three people he was probably pretty solid wouldn't agree with her: Aphrodite (her and Athena don't get along), Ares (Ares and Athena are often at odds in many interpretations of the gods due to them being on opposites of the aspect of warfare), and Hera (who is famous for being the biggest hater of like 90% of Zeus bastard children). Hephaestus and Apollo agreeing or disagreeing was probably a toss up, but in the end all five gods agreed to have Odysseus released and Zeus was left for some reason: angry. Now ik a lot of people think its just because of the jab about the whole faithfulness thing and I mean it could be, but that would only answer the "to make me feel shame" part. not the whole "you dare to defy me" and "nobody beats me, nobody wins my game". Overall it sounds more like Zeus didn't want Athena to win, but why? Because despite her importance: he doesn't take her seriously, and possibly neither does... well, anyone.

Go back to Warrior of The Mind and Athena talks about how her life has one mission: to create the greatest warrior. Why though? Why is this her life's ONE mission? Because she wants to be recognized by her fellow gods maybe?

Because remember during WOTM she also says "Maybe one day they'll follow me and we'll make a greater tomorrow" which if I'm on the right brain track here could possibly mean "maybe one day they'll take me seriously/respect me" like maybe if she makes the greatest warrior other gods will actually recognize her for who she is. Because Athena also switches to saying "we'll" and "cause WE are the warriors of the mind"

Basically to summarize: Possibly, in EPIC, Athena isn't as well respected as she is in mythology (because remember Jorge takes creative liberties when he wants to) and her whole thing her entire life has been trying to gain that respect and have people take her seriously, because even despite her being the goddess of wisdom and a crucial deity to have on your side during warfare, outside of that nobody really cares. She's only respected when she's needed but like anyone would she hates that and wants to be known and respected all the time, not only during wars when soldiers want her good will and at some point in time Athena may have actually opened up to Odysseus about this or talked about it and THATS why she got upset at the end of My Goodbye, because not only did Odysseus legit just call her lonely after calling her selfish, prideful, vain, and a plague; He used something she'd told him in most likely confidence and maybe even in a moment of weakness against her.

I don't know if this rant makes much sense but yeah, have me spitting words onto Tumblr about the fact that Odysseus saying that Athena is "fighting to be known" has some interesting in-universe implications.

#epic the musical #epic #epic athena #epic the musical theory #epic the musical rant #jorge rivera herrans #my goodbye #epic cyclops saga #epic the musical cyclops saga #epic the cyclops saga #the cyclops saga #epic odysseus #epic zeus #epic theory

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scumbagjaeger · 2 years ago

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Rating: 18+ mdni!

Whatever you do, do not imagine Porco realizing he has a breeding kink after inheriting the Jaw Titan (but in an angsty way)

Imagine knowing the Warriors, being friends with Reiner and the others but Porco always hating you for some reason? Like the constant bickering between you two, nothing you say will ever be right in his eyes, etc. You're friends with them all but you're vocal about how heartbreaking their line of work is. Thirteen year lifespan? Porco's adamant that it's their duty to protect and serve Marley, and that it's their legacy to do so, but their abandoning their families and giving up the chance to have families of their own? He just thinks your selfish for putting your own needs before your country.

After Fort Slava, Porco and the other Warriors return, now Porco has inherited the Jaw Titan and there's is a power and honor that he has, but he does feel the weight of his choice as well, and sometimes it keeps him up at night when he thinks about the clock that has started counting down in his mind? And about what you had said about legacy?

Sometime during the first battle in Liberio, Porco is in his titan form and he spots you rushing into a building that's too close to the fighting for his comfort, and he feels an overpowering urge to scream, to emerge from his titan and pull you out of there himself, before you get hurt. But then you're quickly running out, holding a child in your arms? He watches you bring the crying infant to the mother and father. They envelop you with open arms and are crying too, thanking you for saving their child, just moments before the house you were in gets crushed as the battle continues. He thinks about that at night too, how you risked your life to save another. He also can't get the imagine of you holding that child so close to your chest. He remembers you smiling as you discussed your desire for a child someday, and rather shamefully he can feel his chest tighten, a familiar pool of heat forming in his abdomen as he lets his thoughts wander.

Days later, you're with the Warriors again, still fazed with how close you were the warfare and the brutality of it all, and Porco can't even look at you because he's realizing now how close he got to losing you? But you're not even his, what is he talking about. He excuses himself from dinner as soon as you set your plate down next to him, and he can feel your gaze on him as he heads to his room.

Not too long after, there's a knock on his door and it's you, and it's like a dam has opened up. He unleashes everything onto you. How stupid are you, you could have gotten yourself killed, what is he supposed to do with himself if you're gone. It slips out before he can even think about it, but you're holding him, trying to calm him down because somewhere during his meltdown at you he's begun to cry, but he can't help himself from grabbing your jaw and bringing your lips to meet his.

When he feels your hands make their way through his hair, he wastes no time leading you to his bed, not breaking the kiss for a second until you are both panting for air, your back pressed against the cool sheets on his bed and he's already undoing the buttons on your shirt. He's not thinking straight, too delirious and drunk on you to even remove it entirely, so he undoes as many buttons as he can manage before dipping his hand under your shirt and letting the other hand tug down your pants.

Do not think about how messy and sporadic he would be desperately clinging to you as he ruts you into the mattress, biting and leaving marks up and down your body that he wants to stay forever. He wants to stay in your forever, buried deep inside you as your legs are wrapped around him, eyes rolled back and you're letting the prettiest sounds escape your lips.

The request probably falls out of his mouth before he can even process it, all in one go, can-I-cum-in-you and he can hardly contain himself as he hears you whine back yes, please, Porco, cum inside me.

Do not imagine him letting out a whimper when he cums, letting his head fall in the crook of your neck as he shakes, trying to fill you up as much as possible. Not long afterwards he feels your walls tighten around him as you climax and he continues to thrust into you, helping you ride out your orgasm while feeding his own arousal once more.

He'd beg you to let him fuck you once more, just to fill you up further with his cum, and to make sure he's put a baby in you. His logic is already out the window but his hands find their way to your jaw and he kisses you so gently as he begs to breed you. His body shakes at the idea and he rambles, half out of his mind in post sex haze and delirium as he babbles about putting a baby in you, his baby, making you his and giving you that child that you so desperately want.

And you let him fuck you again, bringing another orgasm out of the both of you that makes him ache. If you feel your neck start to moisten, the cloth of your shirt dampening as he cries into it, you never say anything. You rub his back and kiss his hair as he fucks into you with the last of his strength, even staying buried in you for a moment after.

After he finally pulls out, he stays in between your legs, resting on top of you, holding you so close it's almost like he's melting into you. He might even snake a hand down and coax his cum back into you as it seeps down your thighs.

Do not think about the type of pillow talk you have with Porco afterwards, where he tells you that you should leave Liberio and find somewhere safer. He promises that he'll find you, no matter where you go, and that maybe you two can even run away together. He'll promise that you'll never work another day in your life and that he'll keep you safe, always.

Whatever you do, do not think about the quiet voice that fills the room as Porco looks up at you and asks, "if it's a boy, d'you think we can name him after Marcel?", and do not think about how his eyes light up when you agree. And do not think about waking up as he's preparing to leave in the morning, promising to be there, but then he's not. Do not think about Reiner looking at you with dread as you ask him where Porco is after the next battle in Liberio. Do not imagine waking up alone the days to come.

#I feel really weird about tagging my friends in this so I won't oops #like ece and rose both just posted about porco and got me thinking about this but I can't be like #hey this is inspired by my friends! *SEX SEX SEX*#idk is that just me?#I was going to write a fic about this #maybe I still will #in the fic reiner would end up falling for YN and end up taking care of the baby with her though oop #porco galliard #mdni #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard smut #mine

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delusional-mushroom · 11 months ago

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爪乇ᗪㄩ丂卂 — introduction

———————————————————————

You are Medusa. A beautiful priestess of Lady Athena: the virgin goddess of wisdom, strategic warfare, handicraft, and practical reason.

To honour your goddess, you have sworn an oath of celibacy, to forever stay chaste and pure, like your patron. This is the cause of dismay to many frequent visitors of Athena’s temple, as news of your gorgeous looks have spread near and far, to the point where many visit the temple simply to gaze upon the face laughter-loving Aphrodite has blessed so heavily.

Grey-eyed Athena, having noticed the unconventional intentions of her so-called “worshipers” could scoff at their pointless lusting.

Her vassals were not to be ravished, and any mortal who did not heed rejection would be plagued by suffering for the rest of their mortal lives, before facing the torment spun by iron-fisted Persephone in the house of hades.

You had always loved serpents, their long, scaly bodies and their forked tongues, flicking in and out tasting the air for signs of danger.

Despite most being small and feeble, they were adequately adept at protecting themselves against external threats, predators rarely being able to seize one in their grip and do ghastly things to her- them.

Some had venom, death dripping from their mouths with a desperate hiss that held nothing but the wish to survive.

Most had fangs, sharpand curved and bared when faced with a man wanting to watch the life leave her eyes, via death or other, more vile deeds.

All of them however, had thick, scale-laced skin, which could block the man's attempts to penetrate her.

Whenever a woman collapsed to your arms, sobbing breathlessly and spluttering the barbarity committed against her, circular bruises forming on her neck beneath left over slobber and wrists aching from being seized tightly in a calloused, tight grip, you could feel your heart ache.

Whether this would happen at the temple, the woman seeking refuge and the protection of Athena, or be it at your humble home, being soaked with the tears of your neighbours, you wanted to burst into tears yourself.

You wanted to find the man who did it and make his feel the same pain—

—But you couldn’t, unfortunately, murder (unlike the horrid atrocities which were passed off as ‘uncontrollable desire’) was in fact, against the law.

Every time this happened, the same question pranced it’s way around your mind: ‘Why couldn’t we be more like snakes?’

One day, you were making your way to your patron’s temple, treading up the stones path to the holy building in the distance. The route you always took was a long one. It was a narrow stone-covered path that overlapped with the coast at several points, sometimes meandering into the thrashing ocean itself.

Whenever you took this route you always felt like someone was watching you, eyes trailing on your every move. However, when you turned to look your stalker, you would be met with nothing but the crashing waves.

You had left home a few hours before sun rise, and when you arrived, Helios’ golden glow peeled behind the horizon as Eos’ rosy fingers heralded a new day.

There were only a few workers of the temple present at the time. Mostly cleaners and senior vassals, one or two over-achieving newly ordained priestesses. All were either idly chatting away or kneeling before statues and monuments, eyes closed and palms clasped in prayer.

Hours passed and eventually your duties came to an end. You were preparing to leave when all of a sudden-

“Medusa!” The high priest called as he staggered over. He was a frail old man, constantly hunched over a walking stick.

“Hm?” You hummed in response, turning and waiting for him to reach you.

“I was wondering if you could stay behind tonight to place the offerings. If you’re up to it that is.”

“Oh I‘m sorry but I don’t think I can stay on my feet any longer, if I don’t go home now I’ll collapse”

“Sure, I don’t have any plans today”

#fanfiction #dating sim #greek mythology #greek myths #greek mythology x reader #medusa #Medusa reader

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backjustforberena · 5 months ago

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i sigh when i see people blaming rhaenys for not escaping with meleys like her main objective wasn't to protect the damn castle. what message would that have sent to the black supporters if the soldiers see a dragon rider run away?

There are many, many reasons why Rhaenys doesn't run away. You're right, that's one of them. I think what's strange, for me, is seeing people call her "stupid" because she "had the chance" - when, clearly, she wasn't looking for a chance. It wasn't a case of her looking for a means of escape and not seeing it, despite it being right there in front of her. It was her knowing that she could leave but knowing, in her heart of hearts, that she can't.

She's not looking to flee. She has a job to do: she took that responsibility on and even though the stakes change significantly at various points (I think, probably about three or four times) throughout that battle, the job and her commitment to that job remain the same, even as the parameters shift and it becomes clear that to finish this job, it will probably cost her her life.

Rhaenys is a character with a certain amount of honour. An amount of nobility and always, always a character who prioritised others over herself. A character who always had her eye on the bigger picture and her eye on the duty she had to others. So, turning back and facing Vhagar was the right thing to do, in her heart. It was the most truthful action she could do within that moment.

People talk about her going back and getting back-up: why the hell would she want to put either of her grandkids (because that's who it would have to be, given Daemon is MIA, and Rhaenyra is too valuable) in this situation? Not just in terms of danger but in terms of morality and asking them to cause devastation and death, when there's every chance that, by laying down her life, she can stop that?

She doing it because she's fighting to protect the keep. She's doing it because she's fighting for her Queen and her cause. She's doing it to potentially prevent more escalation, especially in regard to dragons and dragon warfare, now that the can of worms has been opened and all bets are off. There's a reason that she volunteered in the first place. It's such a complex choice but it comes down to a moment of clarity - she has to go back in. And once that choice is made, it's non-negotiable.

This was not a blind, half-hearted attempt. She was aiming, and utterly capable, of taking down Vhagar. Not easily, of course. It's not a slam dunk, it probably would have killed her, but she has got the capability: they both have. When Meleys and Rhaenys turn back, it is with every intention of taking that dragon down. The moves she does! The tactics! She uses all her skill and strength to make the most calculated moves and she does a ruddy good job of it: she drew blood, she sent Vhagar crashing down. She used Vhagar's weaknesses against her. That's not nothing.

Even on the flight, just before Meleys is snatched, Rhaenys hasn't let her guard down. She's exhausted, and shares that look with Meleys, but then she rallies again: she looks around, she focuses. She's not getting the heck out of there, and she's not thinking that she's out of danger. In my opinion, she'd turn back around and survey the site again until she got sight of Vhagar and then it would just be another round - she's not fleeing. She's just circling.

Here are some quotes from Eve:

"It is the most efficient way of ending the war with the least bloodshed and the least serious risk and loss."

"The choice to go, that second return to plunge in with Vhagar — that’s an absolute kamikaze mission. To me, that was when she felt very samurai. It was that last stand of the noble warrior. She could have just about escaped, and they could have maybe left everybody to deal with it. But she turns because she knows that’s what she has to do, morally and spiritually."

"The honorable thing is that she could have escaped, and then she's like, ‘No, we've got to go back.' Because there's the potential to end it. I think she knows she's going back to die, but she has to try because if Vhagar can be taken down, then it's done. It's cauterized. The potential for nuclear war is cut down.”

Rhaenys didn't escape because she wasn't looking to escape. She didn't want to escape. She wanted to do everything she could do and honour herself and the people she loves and make a stand.

#house of the dragon #rhaenys targaryen #hotd spoilers #house of the dragon spoilers

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buckybarnesss · 1 year ago

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Even the framing of that shot fucking kills me: the nogitsune confidently staring at Chris, almost amused, and then Derek comes into frame and he's visibly frightened

And he's not looking at Stiles. He's scared of what Chris is going to do TO Stiles. This is really his biggest fear, what he's been worried about this entire time. And what can he do??

the whole thing is just a masterful stroke on the nogitstune's part. it's torturing everyone in that scene including stiles.

like, of course it's obvious how these events hurt the sheriff. that's his child being tortured by an ancient creature and forced to do terrible, terrible things and also who is clearly becoming more like a walking corpse every minute. it used claudia's illness against both him and stiles to make them lose hope. how he maintained any composure i don't know. i'd be a fucking wreck of a human seeing my loved one worn like an ill fitting suit to prom.

for chris? this is a guy who we've seen intimidate teenagers for no real reason other than because he can. he's held scott at gunpoint for daring to be with allison and nothing else but he hesitates here. he hesitates despite hedging with derek earlier about what he would do.

this moment such an inverse to season 1 going all the way back to that confrontation in code breaker between chris and stiles.

i can guarantee chris was recalling it.

argent: let me ask you a question, stiles... have you ever seen a rabid dog? stiles: no. i could put it on my to-do list, if you just let me go. argent: well, i have. and the only thing i've ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon. do you wanna know what happened? stiles: not really... no offense to your storytelling skills... argent: he tried to kill me, and i was forced to put a bullet in his head. the whole while that he lay there dying, he was still trying to claw his way toward me, still trying to kill me, like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath. can you imagine that?

and allison? allison's already made the horrible decision of harming boyd and erica that started the dominos that led to erica and boyd being taken by the alphas and erica being killed.

now she's confronted with this monster wearing her friend's face toying with their emotions. she tries to subdue it but all that does is piss the nogitsune off and annoy him.

she's been manipulated by both kate and gerard to see her friends as being enemies when they weren't only to be faced with the reality of it here.

allison wants to save her friends so badly to make up for her mistakes but with this she might not be able to.

derek's position is just heartbreaking. this is really his greatest fear and failures playing out again.

we don't often see derek express fear. he usually expresses anger rather than let anyone know he's afraid but here? here derek is afraid.

3A set up that derek and stiles had become friends, that stiles had been working with him over the summer to look for eric and boyd, that derek trusted stiles so much it broke jennifer's magic over him ---

and the nogitsune brings itself to derek's loft for protection because it knows derek will do anything to protect stiles.

he's already lost so many people. he's had to mercy kill people he cared about before. again stiles is one of the few who know about paige, stiles witnessed what happened with boyd and peter and jackson. he knows all of this about derek which means the nogitsune does too.

i'm not really sure what kind of derek we would've seen if stiles had died due to the nogitsune.

of course the person often lost in the psychological warfare of the nogitune is stiles.

stiles had to watch all this. had to see his knowledge used against the people he cared about over and over. his hands and body used for terrible things. the nogitsune fed off that more than anything. stiles's fear and confusion and pain. stiles was dying.

it's why the nogitsune was the best villain lol

#my blog #thoughts on teen wolf #teen wolf #sterek #otp: you need me to survive

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tinyozlion · 1 year ago

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“And Its Name is επυον”: Where Did Epyon Come From, Literally and Figuratively?

On the pillars before the Oracle of Delphi, the navel of the ancient world, an inscription carved read: “know thyself”.

Inside the Oracle’s inner sanctum sat the Pythia, bent over smoking fissures in the temple floor, breathing the sacred poison that would let Apollo in. It is a dreadful ecstasy– dangerous, body-wracking; gaining knowledge of the future shortens hers.

Far in the future, a man exiled to a gilded oubliette speculates his own worth and relevance to history, surrounded by ghosts, becoming a ghost himself. Alone with his doubt, he looks for the god in the machine, seeking answers: “Why do we fight? For what should I fight?”

But the god he built is silent.

The world of automated warfare becomes increasingly bleak and devoid of reason. He is terrified that the pilots who so inspired him will lose their purpose just as he has, and join him in miserable freefall.

Out of this wild abyss Treize builds the Epyon. Not for himself– he will never pilot it. There is almost nothing of Treize in this suit, not that we can recognize from its exterior. It is not the heroic Tallgeese with its Attic crest– it is something clawed, stygian, one of the bat-winged Erinyes with a torch and whip.

Epyon is not a weapon; it is a punishment. It is retribution for a world that has forgotten its humanity, its rites, its propriety. For its pilot, it is a scourge– the cracking whips of the Furies in their brain, driving them into a frenzy. Madness. Holy poison, to let the future in.

Its name, επυον, is meant to mean "Next", or “After”.

To guide the future, you must shorten yours.

You must not be a victor, when you pilot this suit.

Where did Epyon come from, in the mind of its creator? Everything we see of Treize forms a cohesive aesthetic: Roses, swords, romanticized old-world decadence, heroic motifs, gold, blue, white, red. Where did this thorny, tyrian-purple chimera live in him? Shouldn’t we have seen it lurking somewhere? Or does it seem to come out of nowhere precisely because he designed it to be his antithesis?

Whether or not “Frozen Teardrop”, the novelized sequel to Gundam Wing, can be considered canon is a source of contention amongst many fans, but looking at it purely as a way to judge script-writer Katsuyuki Sumizawa’s intentions when he wrote the series, I find many parts of it to be informative.

To paraphrase the fan-translation, it states that Treize found blue and white to be emblematic of heroism, colors associated with victory, and so their complementary opposites, black and red, could be seen as the colors of the defeated, associated with loss. For Treize, defeat and loss are tied inexorably to his vision of the future: “it was the defeated who changed the era and began the next”, as it says in the novel.

Epyon is meant to negate the ideal of the conquering hero, the counter for a world beset by victorious cowards who command legions of dolls to do their killing and dying for them. As Treize designed it, Epyon has no projectile weapons; it is a suit purely for one-on-one combat, a suit that demands you risk everything when you fight.

No surprise then, that he gives it to the first Gundam pilot he meets– remarkably, the one whose self detonation caused everyone in his orbit to question their involvement in the war-- though one gets the feeling that any of the pilots would do. Treize hopes that Heero will use the Epyon to navigate the chaos to find the true purpose he is fighting for, and determine what course the future will take.

But Heero has never been concerned with this sort of navel-gazing, and has no interest in discovering whether or not battle itself has a grander purpose or ultimate meaning. He fights the enemy in front of him and will continue to do so until either his life, or the supply of enemies, runs out. Heero does not overthink the future; he does not dwell on consequences. Treize does nothing BUT overthink the future and consider the fractal spread of consequences. They are mutually incomprehensible to each other, but perhaps not at cross purposes.

Heero enters the cockpit convinced that he is expendable and redundant, that his only goal is to survive. When he returns from his test flight in Epyon, he can barely stand or speak. From that point on, he thinks about the future, about who and what will be important for what comes after the fighting has ended.

Eventually, the Epyon passes to the only person more disillusioned and estranged from his sense of purpose than Treize is– to Zechs, where it seems it was always meant to go.

• How And When Was Epyon Built?

Whew! Now that the metaphysical stuff is out of the way, let’s talk about the physical development of Epyon, and how that must have come about.

As we know, after his confinement by Romefeller, Treize, lurking around with the lights out and questioning his place in the universe, uses his now copious free time to build this gundanium dominatrix using only his laptop and the power of depression.

Now, even if we are to accept that Treize is a programming and engineering savant on top of all his other accomplishments, it would still be beyond even His Excellency’s considerable talents to pull an entire Gundam out of a hat in the basement of an abandoned Disney castle.

Where did he get the gundanium? The crew? The construction equipment? Isn’t he under house arrest? Why would Romefeller leave him unsupervised to build a demon robot that predicts the future?

These questions have been annoying the fandom since 1995. But, if you look carefully (VERY carefully, one might even say obsessively), it's possible to find the connective threads that make Epyon’s construction less of a magic trick.

--Let’s go through the list of these unclarified canonical whoopsie-daisies in order of most to least glaring!:

If Treize is being kept in confinement in the Romefeller headquarters, why is he allowed to design and build a mobile suit?

*:･ﾟ✧ Our princess is in another castle! *:･ﾟ✧

The mansion that Treize goes into during episode 27 is NOT the castle that we see him in during episode 34. This switcheroo would probably have happened sometime in the MIDDLE of episode 27– which I guess might as well be the case, since episode 27 is a dreamlike, nonlinear stroll through Treize’s spiraling existential crisis.

Between Treize being confined in the Romefeller headquarters and developing the Epyon, Treize is in fact liberated by the Treize Faction and moved to the blue-roofed castle in the middle of the forest near the Luxembourg Base, which is where the faction has made their headquarters.

Presumably the crew and equipment needed to actually manufacture a new mobile suit were available at the base.

Treize’s confinement at this point is largely self-imposed; he could rally the factions loyal to him and make a move on Romefeller (as he does later), but he doesn’t believe he has the ability or the right to do so. Instead, he builds Epyon, and just kind of winds it up and lets it loose on the world to see if anything interesting happens.

And it does! The interesting very much happens.

Where did Treize get the gundanium alloy to build a Gundam?

The shipment of gundanium that Heero destroys in episode 4 was being transported on an OZ carrier, and it had to have been going somewhere. This gundanium was ordered WAY before Zechs’s gundam rebuilding project, so its purpose is left unidentified– someone in OZ clearly wanted to experiment with this new material for developing mobile suits.

Adding to that, the gundanium that Zechs had access to when he was rebuilding the Wing Gundam had to come from somewhere, and that somewhere was probably the very deep pockets of a guy who likes to keep his best friends happy.

Regardless if any given shipment of gundanium made it home in one piece, what it means is that OZ has a way of obtaining gundanium, and if OZ has it, then Treize has it.

How would Treize know how to build a Gundam?

During the process of rebuilding the Wing Gundam from the ground up, Zechs and his engineers would probably have kept extensive records and made new Gundam blueprints that Treize would know about. Also by this point in the series, several Gundams and their pilots have been captured, and the Gundam’s engineers forced to build Vayeate and Mercurius for Lady Une. OZ would therefore have all the data they need to build a fresh Gundam, and once again: if OZ has it, then Treize has it.

Okay, but how would Treize know enough about the ZERO system to be able to reverse engineer it?

As mentioned in the entry about the ZERO system, the AI of the Taurus mobile suits eventually becomes the Mobile Doll AI. This is a predictive battle algorithm OZ already had in the works long before the Wing ZERO was discovered.

Additionally, Treize is likely to have had access to the data being recorded by Trant while his team was researching the ZERO system, even if he was getting it covertly via a Treize Faction infiltrator, or a member of OZ who was still loyal to him.

How does Treize know so much about designing mobile suits and their cockpit systems?

One has to remember that Treize was the instructor at Lake Victoria Base (the same position Noin holds when we first meet her in the series), responsible for training OZ’s elite pilots, and (according to “Frozen Teardrop”) involved with crucial tactical developments and improvements to OZ’s lineup.

Yes, he’s a fancy-pants aristocrat, but you can’t say he doesn’t know his way around a mobile suit. He’s best friends with Zechs, after all– nerds of a feather flock together.

But how would he know to program the security system to accept Heero Yuy?

Well, ever since he was captured and hospitalized Heero’s biometric data would have been on file with the Alliance military, and therefore available to OZ, and therefore (again) available to Treize– so by now His Excellency will have certainly been made aware that Heero’s bones run on a third-party Adobe Photoshop plug-in.

But who cares about that crusty old data? All of the Gundam pilots have been accounted for and fingerprinted and scanned and microchipped up in Fortress Barge! They could probably 3D print Heero Yuy out of PLA and sell action figures if they wanted.

As to why Treize picked Heero specifically, I have two theories:

The first is that he simply programmed the computer to accept any and all Gundam pilots that might want to drop in for tea and assassination (and probably Zechs too, just in case he was in town).

The second is that Dorothy’s presence in the Sanc Kingdom means that Treize has a little bird keeping him informed about everything happening there, including that both Heero and Quatre are attending the Peacecraft’s School for Wayward Radical Pacifists.

True, Dorothy is technically there to be her grandfather Duke Dremail’s little bird informant, but Dorothy’s loyalties are her own, and she very much likes and respects her cousin Treize. She’s probably beaming news of the Gundam pilots directly to him on their shared eyebrow-frequency the whole time she’s there.

Eyebrow-to-eyebrow communication.

As one final note– I’m aware that the more recent manga adaptation, “Glory of Losers”, contains its own version of events that attempts to reconcile the building of Epyon with other events in the series. However, while I appreciate that they made an attempt to resolve the big, lingering Epyon Questions, I find that like most of their retconned material involving Treize, I…

I don’t like it.

Or to put it less personally, I think it creates an even more dubious timeline of events that is somehow less credible than the original. In this version, Treize begins the planning and construction of both Epyon and Tallgeese at the beginning of the series, before the original Tallgeese has even been brought into play and LONG before the ZERO system is introduced– somehow with the foreknowledge that these suits will be vital for the development of the new era.

I think this is a contrived way of making Treize into an omniscient puppet master who was retroactively steering everything in the correct direction from the very beginning, and was therefore always right and always assured of his role in the future– and I think that does his character an incredible disservice. In a story about the deep significance of changing people’s hearts and minds, the fact that Treize is retroactively scrubbed of his flaws and morally questionable decisions runs counter to the central thesis of Gundam Wing, and what has made it such a memorable story.

“Glory of Losers” is a beautiful manga and I do think it does an incredible job of presenting the rather garbled narrative of the series in a new light, with some truly masterful tweaks that add depth to the characters and story. But it’s also guilty of some egregious changes to canon that serve no purpose other than to reconcile the main series with the events of “Frozen Teardrop”, and as an excuse to redesign all the mobile suits to be cooler and sell more model kits.

…On the other hand, in this version of the story, Treize was already familiar with Tallgeese from his earliest days in OZ.

This is obviously another very unnecessary and suspiciously convenient retcon that I feel is in dubious taste– HOWEVER: it does mean that Howard gets to meet young whippersnapper Treize Khushrenada, who just so happened to be the one to ask him to paint it white because he thinks one day he’d like to pilot a Big Damn Hero Machine himself, and he wants it to be a more "elegant color."

And that is the funniest shit I can possibly imagine. So I’ll give it that.

I'd like it to be at least 20% more elegant

#Epyon #Gundam #gundam wing #treize khushrenada #parsing post #wing watcher's toolkit #tinyozlion pgw #Heero Yuy #Zechs Merquise #HOWARD

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