#havent been writing having been planning

[avnasace]

no but the way viserys continues to haunt the story through rhaenyra and alicents conflict, which gets passed down to both of their children, is crazy good content.

the irony in that viserys the peaceful was the one who started this war, and the downfall of the dragons/his family in the first place.

viserys and daemon had their own conflict, but when viserys alienated rhaenyra initially by marrying her best friend, he then ignored his and alicents children, eventually later his actions leading to rhaenyra marrying his brother (who he'd also taken for granted and ignored).

he then kept doting on rhaenyra up until the moment he died, further seperating himself from his own children by alicent.

alicent knows of rhaenyras affairs, grows hateful and takes that resentment out on her own children instead, while her father otto is further poisoning her and them for his own ends to scheme for the throne.

so then alicents children learnt to grow up disliking rhaenyra's. the only time you see them even remotely amicable is when theyre bullying aemond, another bond made through cruelty instead of kindness. this is ironic considering at laenas funeral you can see that aemond actually thinks about trying to offer comfort to i think baela and rhaena (if i remember correctly?)

aegon and helaena couldnt care less, which to me makes it even more sad. if aemond had, he might not have then been so quick to rub his claiming of vhagar in their faces, and he might not have lost an eye.

the taking of the eye plus viserys' incompetence reignites and cements alicents hatred for rhaenyra even more. viserys takes rhaenyras side, not defending his hurt child at all, even going as far as to shout at aegon for even the mention that he might have said something against rhaenyra. this causes alicent to attack her, and later making her then double down on her efforts to pressure aegon into hating rhaenyra, further distancing him from her.

later we see with aegon that his mothers pressure leads him to find affection in other very unhealthy and harmful ways, assaulting his maids, excessive drinking, brothel going, and assumably fathering many bastards, leading him tho the child fighting rings as well. aemond too starts going to the brothel and avoiding alicent, but for platonic affection instead of anything more.

helaena is the one who received the most of her mothers love and the least of her cruelty, however their relationship is similarly screwed up because shes the only child that doesnt actually want affection from her...

meanwhile rhaenyra is a very loving and fiercely protective mother to her children, fighting for them above all else, especially when their parentage is concerned. she does anything for them, and it shows in their natures that their upbringing, other than the scrutiny from other nobles about their father, that they were raised kindly and wisely.

whats also completely different is that rhaenyras children have not one but three father figures, all of which love them in different ways, which is three more than alicents children have. you could make an argument for cole being a prominent male figure in their lives but he is also quite cruel and hateful.

we see team greens children grow up to be anxious, affection starved control freaks, with mummy and daddy issues, with not one of them knowing how to be a leader even though they are all in some way forced to be one.

aegon is an incompetent drunkard of a king who knows nothing of court or war or politics, not even high valyrian. he is only a figurehead, but is strangely empathetic towards his subjects and loves his children.

aemond is cruel and objective, a fierce fighter and being the most studied and educated of them all, but with no care to his subjects and far too willing to disregard or maim his own blood for his own ambitions.

helaena is the gentlest but she herself has no ambition to rule, she is kind but also an outcast of their society because of her prophecies. she also does not particularly care for her subjects, even being scared of them and their willingness to get to know her.

meanwhile in complete contrast jacaerys and lucerys are kind, more than willing to learn, theyre fluent in high valyrian, they are very interested in their histories and heritage and they learn sword fighting from harwin and assumably laenor? later probably daemon too.

they stand in the war council room with their mother and learn, and even baela and rhaena are involved by rhaenyra to both take part and learn.

the generational trauma goes crazy in this show, but all these characters are so compelling. i dont think there is a single main character that doesnt interest me. yes most of them are bad people and have done awful things, but its also so interesting to see how they got that way and see how one fathers actions, or lack thereof, caused so much destruction.

[seiwas]

just a lil bit of a share ! i’ve been feeling really down lately about not writing that much 🥲 and keeping up with posting more frequently/updating a few of my series more regularly 🥲 but i looked at my masterlists and noticed almost 60% of my fics are actually from this year and we’re only half-way in 🥺

anyway ! the point of this is, if you’re being too hard on yourself today, i hope you’re reminded that you’re doing much better than you think 🥺

[magnolia-sunrise]

the halloween special, i mean, Medieval AU continues>> the arrival of the grievously wounded Kingsguard disrupts Bastien's very isolated, very drunk rural village life - but in much different way than he expected. somehow, miraculously, Wolfgang slowly recovers, and the two of them spend many evenings sharing wine and stories by the fireside, finding each other to be pleasant company.

but how long will the vampire be able to resist the call of the priest's blood >:3

[liloinkoink]

today i offer you a dramatic no context scene from the middle of a beauty and the beast au. tomorrow? who knows...

After the seventh time Ren falls asleep in with Martyn in his room, Ren gives him back his knife.

He’d taken it the day they met, along with all the other trinkets Martyn had been collecting since he first stepped foot in the castle. Martyn hadn’t understood the point, then—sure, take back everything he stole, but what is Martyn going to do with a knife? With deadly claws and a long reach, Ren could tear his throat out long before he could do anything with a dagger. Martyn wouldn’t even dream of being able to get close with his stupid knife. Why even bother taking it except to demoralize him even further?

Lying against Ren’s sleeping body, Martyn understands.

It would be easy, is the thing. Ren sleeps light, but he’s adjusted to having Martyn around. He’s no longer cracking his eye open every time Martyn shifts his legs, doesn’t raise his head whenever Martyn touches his side. He wouldn’t see it coming at all, and it would be his own fault for trusting a stranger to brush the dirt and knots out of his hair.

Ren is an idiot. Giving Martyn his dagger back will be the last thing he ever does.

Martyn sits up slowly, listening to the sound of Ren breathing. It doesn’t change, not even as Martyn pushes Ren’s tail out of his lap.

He always sleeps well on the nights Martyn is in here, doesn’t he? Might have something to do with how long he fights falling asleep, trying his best to talk to Martyn for as long as possible. Martyn is starting to recognize the signs of when he’s losing that fight—his eyes close, though he shakes his head to try to keep them open, to keep his gaze on Martyn as long as he can. His words start to trail off, no matter how desperately he struggles to keep up their conversation, until his words turn dreamlike, incomprehensible. The constant wagging of his tail slows to a gentle tap, then stops entirely.

Ren’s insistence on fighting off sleep has never made any sense to Martyn, either, but so few things about Ren do.

Not that it matters now, anyway.

Martyn turns, as slowly as possible, back toward Ren. Still, he doesn’t react, not even a twitch of his ear. He’s fast asleep, has no idea what’s coming for him.

Carefully, without breaking his stare, Martyn reaches for his dagger.

Ren hadn’t thought anything of Martyn setting it on the side table, in the place where the brush usually goes. Hadn’t thought anything of giving it to Martyn at all, the little blade held proudly between his teeth.

Maybe it had been a taunt—Just one of his own fangs had been the size of Martyn’s weapon. Martyn isn’t sure if he believes that, though.

Ren… doesn’t seem the type.

Ren is trusting. Far, far too trusting. Martyn had lasted one day, one day of Ren’s posturing, and the king had folded immediately to following him like a pup. Bringing his meals, assigning him easy tasks, accompanying him throughout the day, convincing him to rest when the sun sinks to the tree line, inviting Martyn to sleep at his side.

Martyn holds the dagger in his right hand, now, knuckles white around the hilt.

For a monster, Ren is naive. His eyes shine with joy as he stands at Martyn’s side, as though that’s something he should be happy about. Didn’t anyone ever tell him? There are things crueler than beasts running around these woods.

Martyn reaches out, slowly, with his left hand. He feels around Ren’s fur with his fingers, looking for Ren’s pulse. He feels it under his fingers, a steady rhythm. Martyn glances to Ren’s face—Still does nothing. There’s not even a flicker of his eyelids as Martyn feels for Ren’s ribs, finding the space between them.

It’s the smart thing to do. Martyn needs a safe place to stay, one where he won’t be found. This place is safe…ish, minus the beast whose mercy Martyn lives at. Ren may be kind for now, but the limits he places on Martyn’s freedoms are dangerous.

Martyn can’t eat, not properly, not when Ren can't cook and keeps him from the kitchen. Keeps him from the gardens, too, and the armory, and that keeps his strength in check. He’s constantly helping clean and repair the dusty, crumbling rooms, which gives him less energy to fight back. There’s a lot of this castle Martyn doesn’t know, and Ren has been here for years. Ren is powerful, and Martyn knows from running his hands through the fur that Ren is all muscle beneath the coat.

Martyn can’t leave. He can’t go home, and he has no one else to hide with. He needs this castle. He needs this place, all of it. Ren stands between him and the perfect haven.

And Ren, fool that he is, has given Martyn a knife.

Martyn draws his hand back, away from Ren’s heart. Both hands close around the dagger’s hilt. He'll never need to worry about a thing again, so long as he buries it up to the guard.

Martyn raises his weapon high above his head. In the faint light of the moon, the blade glows a dim, cold white.

Martyn is calm as he holds the blade in the air. His breathing is silent, mouth set into a firm line. His eyes are steely sharp, zeroed in on the space between Ren’s ribs. It’s basically black, dark fur hidden by the shadow of Ren’s legs, where Ren is curled around himself. He'd be curled up entirely into himself, hiding his heart and every other vital thing, if it weren't for the fact he left space for Martyn to lean against him.

Martyn, fool that he is, takes a glance at Ren’s face.

Ren looks content. His snout lies in the square of light from the window, gently illuminated against the white sheets, soaking in the midnight moonlight. In the still of the night, Martyn can see clearly his soft breathing. If Martyn had to guess, he would say Ren isn’t even dreaming, at a sort of peace second only to that found by the dead.

Not that Ren’s death will be peaceful. It will be fast, sure—he’ll be dead before the stain of his own blood sullies his snout, but bleed he will. Will he be able to move, Martyn wonders? Should Martyn be prepared to dodge? Or will Ren’s body continue to hold as if to fit him, even in death?

Will he even have time to know who killed him?

Martyn hadn’t understood the point of taking his knife. The weapon is too close, too personal—he’d never get a chance to use it, not before Ren could stop him, not unless Ren was an idiot.

Will Ren have time to open his eyes? He’ll see Martyn immediately. He’ll know what Martyn has done, what Ren has allowed him to do so very easily. Even as quickly as Ren will die, he will know what Martyn has done. He’ll understand his mistake.

Knives are personal like that.

Personal enough Martyn knows that he’ll see Ren’s eyes, when they open. Martyn himself will know, intimately, the exact moment Ren understands what Martyn has done.

Ren’s eyes, when he’s happy, seem to glow. It counters the fact he can’t smile without looking like a monster, the way they shine with the light of the sun. What will they look like, in the dim glow of the moon, as that light fades? Will it die with him? Or will it go just a beat too soon, in the moment Ren understands what Martyn has done to him?

If Ren opened his eyes now, what would he see?

Martyn holds the knife above his head, though he does not manage to keep it very high. He frowns, biting his lip on the inside of his mouth. His eyes are wide with a growing, pleading horror.

The only thing that stops Martyn from slamming the knife back down onto the nightstand is the fear Ren will hear it.

Tomorrow, Martyn will take Ren’s face into both of his own and scratch every spot he knows Ren likes, listening to his laugh and to the way his tail thumps against the bed. He’ll move to Ren’s back when the weight of Ren’s eyes starts to crush him, running his nails up and down along Ren’s spine, keeping his hands from following Ren’s ribs too far down. Ren will laugh, will relax, will sigh and roll so that Martyn can more easily access his stomach, and Martyn will feel so suddenly and violently ill that he has to leave the room.

Tomorrow, Martyn will duck away the moment he’s able, taking the mop and bucket to the worst, dirtiest, most disgusting corner of the castle he can find, and he'll scrub away like it will clear red-black shadows from the back of his mind. He’ll wave Ren off once, twice, three times, shooing away his food and his company, up until all the blood is gone and there’s nothing left to clean.

Tonight, Martyn settles back into the space Ren makes for him at his side. He pulls Ren’s tail back across his lap, and notices, not for the first time, how perfectly he fits.

[leqclerc]

Monaco 🇲🇨, 5th September 2023

[artheresy]

I have a oneshot about Yunli meeting Blade slow cooking like a roasted turkey in my brain right now and I'm feeling a bit insane

[reading-writing-dying]

Writing... hard......

[cloudysfluffs]

Don’t listen to haters, everything ever spread about Vivzie was disproven. Your art is cute.

LMAOOOOOOOO NO IT WASNT????????!!??!?!?

[modern-oedipus]

Gonna update Conflict on Norman's birthday March 21st

[inthewychelm]

wait, has anyone done eddie leaving hawkins after the events of season4, be it government pressure or just hightails it bc fuck hawkins, but like instead of going to the city(chicago or indianapolis) or out west to make it big, no he goes south, back to tennessee, he ends up making the right connections with producers and such and eventually makes it big as a musician/songwriter except the party never finds out because he's working under a pseudonym And in a totally different genre (im learning towards folk/bluegrass)

anyway this specific blorbo thought was brought to you by "who will sing for me" by the stanley brothers playing at work a lot recently

[pyrriax]

hiii tumblr you guys get a little snippet of a thing that will probably never see the proper light of day (since its an oc project) but it does give a little insight into. lavius elyria (not the persona one)

Their house was always warm, filled with comforts and niceties that they'd earned after spending so long struggling. It wasn't long now, before the world would end. But, it was going to be okay. Mortis would be there, and they could comfort each other through it. Everyone that mattered was pulled inside, dragons corralled into the empty wing of the basement, livestock ushered under cover. Lavius knew, he couldn't save them. They are doomed, have been doomed for a long time. The home he's spent so long building up from the ground, bloodied his hands over, it'll be gone, come morning. But, Mortis will be there, and they'll find each other again. The Gods promised, they'll save their people. Save those who've called this world home. He isn't sure he believes them, he's never been a religious man. But, he'll believe it if it means he doesn't lose Mortis. He'd believe anything if it was for Mortis, always. Always, always, always.

did i write this quickly as part of a larger thing? yup. i was gonna do a web weave based off the transition from s2 to s3 and wanted to have some writing to go along with it but. didnt make that. sooooo...... there's more to it but it's for the notes

oh and also mortis is @specialcontainmentdatabase's character ^_^ these two are fucked up and everybody knows it

[baeshijima]

imagine ugly sobbing bc of ur writing haha couldnt be me el em ay oh hahaha

[undermine-the-instinct]

With the Mid-Autumn Moon festival coming up I really want to go back to my Yingxing fic, but the scale of writing it scares me

[katyobsesses]

It's 2:20am and despite my wants I didn't write anything. Did some edits though, which is kinda writing. But wow that stupid argument really leached all of my energy huh?

[steddie-there]

The beginning of a Steddie fix-it fic I'm working on, tentatively called Holding Out For a Hero (ETA: new name - I'd Fall For You Twice)

Steve had acted on instinct. After the quake, he, Robin, and Nancy had raced back to the gate, running as if a pack of demodogs were on their tail, terrified of what they might find there. The reality was so much worse. Spying Dustin in that hellish red light, curled over the broken body on the ground, time seemed to slow to a crawl and Steve's brain went on autopilot. He barely remembers changing course, dropping to his knees beside Eddie, scanning his unmoving form for the worst of the injuries, shoving his jacket into Dustin's hands, pressing those same young - too young - hands to a large, still sluggishly seeping wound in Eddie's side. But each moment after that is preserved in picture perfect clarity - his hands so desperately pushing against Eddie's chest he's sure he feels at least one rib break, pinching shut Eddie's nose and blowing air raspily, forcefully, into his mouth, willing the other boy to just breathe

"Goddamnit, breathe!"

He remembers long minutes of nothing, not even sound. Of Robin and Nancy looking on with lips pressed into thin lines and arms wrapped together, as if holding onto each other could somehow preserve the life slipping away into the dust of the Upside Down. Of Dustin's hand landing on his shoulder, trying to tell him it was okay, they should stop, it was over, they needed to go. But he shrugged it off, kept pushing and breathing and

A flutter. Barely there, but he could feel it when he held his ear over Eddie's mouth, like the first breath of spring after winter. And then, thin and thready, but there, a beat in his wrist and Steve was moving again, gathering Eddie into his arms and racing for the gate.

He'll never be sure how he got Eddie out of there or to the hospital.

But he knows he did because the next time he's aware enough to take in his surroundings, he's sitting in the waiting room, Henderson slumped against his shoulder with a brace on his ankle, Nancy and Robin sitting opposite them, also slumped together. The Sinclairs are there, too, and Steve's heart drops. He almost asks, but Erica is quietly rubbing circles into her brother's shoulder and Steve has never seen Lucas so distraught, so he decides maybe now isn't the time and sinks back into the hard hospital chair.

He closes his eyes and time seems to become a bit wobbly. He's not sure how many minutes, hours, days pass as he sits there. At one point, Dustin gets up, says he's going to the vending machine, asks if anyone wants anything. Nancy and Robin murmur an affirmative, Erica says to bring something for her and Lucas, too, but Steve just shakes his head. Even the idea of food has his stomach rolling.

But, Henderson being Henderson, he comes back with a bottle of water to shove into Steve's hands.

"At least drink something, man. You look like you need it."

So Steve does, takes small sips and, Dustin's right, he does need it, the liquid soothingly cool as it goes down his throat. But he can only handle a few swallows, the water sitting heavy and cold in his stomach. He twists the cap back on and sets the bottle down by his chair, closing his eyes as time seems to disappear again.

[lordsardine]

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