#hello I would die for malice

[alastors-antlers]

a brief take on the whole "Alastor's smile is permanent" discussion

hello all!

I've seen a lot of people theorizing lately that Alastor actually smiles all the time because his smile is magically, physically fixed onto his face. All of this seems to come from the fact that he's practically grimacing rather than smiling during the scene where he breaks down in ep8:

As well as this frame of his deal with Charlie: (lower res sorry)

I will say, I do like some of the implications of this theory. The sheer spite of his creditor forcing him to smile as an addition to their deal, almost like a sort of forced silence, is a neat concept. It's fun and dramatic. Plus, of all things, of course Alastor would claim the "smile at all times" policy and make it his own to pretend that it was his decision all along lol.

To be fair, though, I don't think we even need any magical compulsion to explain why he's smiling while he's having a mental breakdown. Actually, if we assume magical compulsion, I think we lose a bit of dimension from Alastor's character. (No judgement to anyone's take though, of course -- I just think this works in the direction of his established characterization, but obviously all personal takes <3)

Hear me out:

Alastor's persona is not just for others to see.

"A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends; keeps your enemies guessing; and ensures that whatever comes your way, you're the one in control."

That makes sense given what we know about him. If he's always smiling, he seems like he has it together. You can't read him very well, especially not when he's actively trying to keep up appearances.

Now consider that when you think about ep8's fight with Heaven, we see that he's already been through so much in this one day.

He fights an army of angels, presumably not even at his own whim (if we go by his blurb about freedom in the Finale song); he loses to Adam, who he considers sloppy and mediocre; his staff, which we can assume holds some part of his power, is snapped; he comes close to being Angelic-power-killed; and to top it all off, he knows that others watched him get injured and then apparently die or flee, all of which would ruin the public image that he's trying to maintain. It wouldn't even be unreasonable for us to assume that he knows Vox was watching, given that Vox kind of has eyes everywhere.

In a moment like this, in the finale, you could say that Alastor has lost (at least on some level) everything that we know matters to him. He doesn't have access to all of his magic, and it's limiting him. He's reminded that he doesn't have freedom or control over his own destiny. He certainly has taken massive hits to his powerful, composed persona. But he's desperate, and furious, and terrified, and clinging on.

That's why he's smiling.

It's not that he can't stop because he physically can't. It's that he can't stop because to him, the smile is the last thing that is still within his power. When there are so many moving parts that he can't predict what happens to him next, he can control how he responds to it. In these last fragments of autonomy, there is solace.

He needs to keep telling himself that he has it together and that he'll eventually scheme his way free, that there's a solution, that he won't be in chains forever; because letting his pretense slip would be admitting that it's all starting to actually get to him. That maybe this time, he doesn't have an escape plan.

In addition, if you read his interactions throughout the series, we also see something else: Alastor's reputation is of paramount importance to him. At multiple points throughout the series, when others disrespect him by discounting his power or presence, he gets visibly annoyed. And in the battle, we see a glimpse of the part of his personality he seems to be trying to leave behind - a normal Alastor, who's just some guy from Louisiana. No transatlantic accent; no unflappable malice; no sharp wit waiting at the ready. Maybe even unremarkable.

Dropping his smile - arguably the most prominent part of his brand - would be admitting that in reality, he's not the Radio Demon of legend that he aspires to project. And if he doesn't have that... where would he be?

[rax-writes]

↬ desperation

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ !! Smut, afab!reader, p in v sex, oral (f!receiving), not proofread, whole lotta breeding kink because my girlie @drizztdohurtin needed a fix

Upon deciding to turn in for the night, you only managed to remove one singular piece of jewelry before your husband's hands were on your hips, and his lips were on your neck, trailing desperate kisses along the curve of it.

"Hello to you, too," you jested, only earning a hum in response. It seemed Daemon's focus lay outside of pleasantries. 

Unsurprising.

Daemon made quick work of your dress, and the moment he got to your thin linen shift, he was ripping it in two, wrenching it apart at the front and earning a small gasp from you.

"Gods, what's gotten into you today?" you inquired, although your voice held no agitation or malice.

"A burning desire for my beautiful wife. What else?" Daemon replied simply, groaning softly as he cupped your breasts in both of his hands, massaging them and leaving more kisses upon your neck and shoulder. Moments later, he pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear before earnestly whispering, "I need you, ābrazȳrys. You'll let me have you, won't you, ñuha jorrāeliarzy? I'll make it good for you, you know I will, my love...."

As he whispered these promises to you, one hand trailed down to your still-clothed sex, his middle finger rubbing you through the ever-dampening fabric. 

Somehow, you managed to breathe out "Yes," and that was all it took for Daemon to hoist you into his arms and carry you to the bed. He all but threw you upon the mattress, and he hastily removed your underwear, throwing it so harshly that you'd think the garment itself had wronged him in some way. 

Daemon dove between your thighs then, throwing them on his shoulders in a hurried manner, as though he couldn't get his mouth to your cunt fast enough. It was immediately clear that he did not intend to take his time tasting you as he normally would, but that did not mean it was unenjoyable. No, Daemon knew precisely how to get you off as quickly as possible, and he accomplished that goal in record time, moaning against you as his hot, desperate tongue hastily lapped up the juices that spilled from you. 

You had half a mind to wonder if there was some sort of time crunch you were unaware of, as you watched him rip off his own clothing through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Once he was bare, Daemon met your gaze, and he had this... almost feral look in his eyes, as though he would either die or kill someone if he didn't bury himself inside you this very instant. 

You had seen that look before. You knew what he was desperate for – what he was desperate to do. 

Before you could address it, he was caging you with his arms and his body, moving your legs to his shoulders as he situated his knees on either side of your waist, already ensuring that he would reach as deep inside of you as possible, before the act had even begun. His eyes closed for a moment, and he exhaled very slowly, as he rubbed his cock against your wet warmth, before notching the head of it against your still-quivering cunt. He glanced at you, waiting for either confirmation or denial, and as soon as he saw your small nod, he filled you to the hilt in one swift thrust.

Daemon was not a meekly-endowed man, and the sudden sizable intrusion stole the air from your lungs. He usually rocked himself into you slowly, letting you adjust to his size before continuing. Even after countless experiences with bedding him, it was still a lot. It burned – just enough to feel positively fucking glorious. The gasp you'd let out faded to a moan, and Daemon knew that was a sufficient cue for him to continue, and he began a brutal pace. 

Finally, he revealed the truth you'd already surmised, cradling your face a little while asking, "Issa dōna ābrazȳrys... will you give me another? Another child. I've spent all day picturing you with a rounded belly and swollen tits, and it's driven me to madness, my love. I need it. I need to see you so beautiful and so fucking full of me again. Please, ābrazȳrys, let me.... Let me fuck another babe into you...."

As though to sweeten the offer, he stopped cradling your face to reach down and begin rubbing your clit. Your ability to respond was cut off with another moan, and Daemon added another "Please." The way he wasn't quite begging, but still making it obvious that he would only do it if you were agreeable to it.... That had you throbbing around him. The mere notion that this man, this Rogue Prince that so many fear, is seeking your approval for finishing inside of you and giving you another child, for no other reason than he's desperate to see the way you look while carrying them. It was dizzying.

"Yes," you breathed, and Daemon's eyes met yours, an unmistakable glimmer of excitement in them. "Yes, my love. Give me another baby. Let everyone who looks at my rounded belly know that I belong to you, and you to me." 

Daemon practically growled upon hearing your words, and removed his hand from your clit to move both hands behind the base of your head and grab two fistfuls of your hair in a tight grip, pounding into you with a newfound vigor. It didn't take him long to finish inside of you, the sensation and the positively feral look upon his face – the slight snarl of his upper lip, the way his teeth were clenched, the sheen of sweat on his brow – it all sent you hurtling over the edge as well, milking him until he had nothing left to give, his seed so abundant that it was spilling out of you as he continued to fuck the rest deeper, harder, desperate to ensure his seed takes hold within your womb. 

[radioactive-earthshine]

Orla's Non-Bat Comic Recs.

Hello folks, in light of the 'all published comics are BAD' wave that has been swept everywhere recently I would like to share a collection of comics that are good actually and are generally isolated (you don't need a spreadsheet to read them).

1.) Impulse (1995)

Why: This is about a neurodiverse coded teenage refugee from the future who cannot live with his blood family in the 20th century due to circumstances that are beyond his control. It is about learning to adapt to a world that doesn't make sense, and learning to love it too. As time goes on Bart learns how to love and he discovers who he is and what is important to him really. All the while some of the most chaotic things happen that you may ever see in a comic (Bart tricks the whole school into getting into a brawl and drives a car off a cliff). Primary themes: Found family (for real), loss, immigration coding, neurodiversity, foster homes, friendship, self discovery, school. Trigger warnings: child abuse, ableism, ptsd, gangs and gun violence (a shocking amount) mental illness. Available in Trade Paperback: Partially. Reckless Youth - collects Bart's first appearances from The Flash plus issues #1-#6 in Impulse. Flash/Impulse: Runs in the Family - collects Impulse #1-#12 plus supplementary issues from The Flash. Mercury Falling - Collects the entire Mercury Falling arc.

2.) Jack Kirby's New Gods (1971)

Why: This is the epic that started it all with Darkseid as he scours the earth in search of the Anti-Life Equation. It is about many deep layers of history involving the New Gods, the divide between New Genesis and Apokolips. In desperation to stop an endless war Darkseid and Highfather of New Genesis agree to a pact - to trade sons and in return a long period of truce and a ceasefire would pass between worlds. Highfather agreed, trading his son for Darkseid's whom he raised with love on New Genesis. Orion, years later, is a god of war and he fights for New Genesis and he fights for Earth, undogged he persists in vanquishing Darkseid's evil wherever it dwells. But Orion has a secret, and deep shame, for he experiences anger and wrath like no other on New Genesis but there is deep compassion and love that tempers it. As Orion fights for Earth he uncovers many secrets about himself, and at his side is his 'friend' Lightray who knows the darkness in him but never turns away. Primary themes: war, anger, ptsd, secrets, space opera, family, anti-war, malice, self discovery Trigger warnings: ptsd, this was written in the 70s but was pretty liberal for its time, still has some awkward moments that are slightly sexist and racist (mostly with names of black characters Vykin the Black and Black Racer which some people are uncomfortable with). Available in Trade Paperback: Complete. 1 book. Jack Kirby's New Gods - Collects all issues of Jack's 1971 series plus Even Gods Must Die and The Hunger Dogs. NOTE: Jack Kirby's entire Fourth World epic with Mr. Miracle and The Forever People is also highly recommended and is part of the New Gods tale. All 3 series has been complied into one massive trade called Jack Kirby's Fourth World, and all are available individually as well. Either way you might be able to find these at your library, or on Hooplah.

3.) Orion by Walter Simonson

Why: Decades after Jack Kirby wrote his final chapter for New Gods Orion finally gets his solo where he faces his father on Apokolips and steps up as its ruler. Now the leader of Apokolips Orion begins the arduous task of cleansing it of its malice and cruelty, a feat that is not easy and even more so when he does it without aid. With sinister deception at every turn Orion struggles and finds himself being tempted to use the very force that he was sworn to protect everyone from; the very anti-life equation itself. Primary themes; deceit, temptation, rebirth, life and death, redemption, mercy, compassion, love, forgiveness. Trigger warnings: torture, sexual assault implications. Available in Trade Paperback - Complete. 2 books.

4.) Barda by Ngozi Ukazu (NEW!!)

Why: This is a graphic novel and is a retelling of Barda as she comes to understand love and what she really wants from her life all while navigating the cruelty of Apokolips. Primary themes: love, cruelty, malice, torture, imprisonment, hope Trigger Warnings: torture, execution. Single complete graphic novel.

5.) Superman: The Harvests of Youth by Sina Grace

Why: This is a heartbreaking coming of age story about Clark Kent as a teenager in Smallville as he finds his place among his friends, family and himself as an alien during a time of death and hatred. It is a young Superman story that is incredibly relevant today in an age of internet toxicity and leaves you feeling hopeful. This blends some elements from Smallville (the show) but tweaks them to make this its own unique bubble world that feels believable and fresh. Primary Themes: toxic masculinity, incels, bullying, suicide, capitalism, teenage coming of age, teenage romance, high school Single complete graphic novel

6.) Superman Smashes The Klan by Gene Luen Yang

Why: In the 1940s the Superman Radio Show released the story "Clan of the Fiery Cross" that told a terrifying story about the KKK targeting a Chinese-American family that moved from Chinatown into Metropolis white-dominated suburbs following WWII. This is a graphic novel that is based on the same story. Primary Themes: racism, identity issues, internalized racism, police brutality. Single complete graphic novel, and also has 3 separate novels.

7.) Bad Dream: A Dreamer Story by Nicole Maines (New!!)

Why: This is Nia Nal's solo and origin story that has been confirmed to take place in the main verse for the current comics. Nia was born and raised in a small heavily isolated Sanctuary where aliens live safely. Even among dozens of alien species Nia is still seen as different as she is the only person who is trans. To complicate everything even more, Nia inherits her people's precognitive powers when her sister Maeve was raised her entire life to accept the powers into her. Terrified of her new powers and destroying her family by revealing them she inherited them instead of her sister, she flees from her hometown to Metropolis where she for the first time in her life meets other queer people. But there is a threat to her family on the horizon, and in order to protect them she must go back and face her fears. Primary Themes: transphobia, self discovery, xenophobia, acceptance, fearfulness, family, secrets, deceit. Trigger Warnings: see above, also internalized queerphobia. Single Complete Graphic Novel

8.) Static: Season One

Why: This is a modern retelling of Milestone Comic's Static as bullied nerd Virgil Hawkins comes into his powers at a protest when police discharge an experimental tear gas. The gas leaves many of his classmates dead, but some like him gain amazing powers - unfortunately some other people, like his bullies, also gain powers. Caught between law enforcement, capitalism, and the complexities of being a new teenage superhero Virgil works to uplift his community and stay strong within his nerdy friend group. This series is heavily based on the Static Shock TV show so fans of that show will be delighted with familiar faces, and names. And yes, Richie Foley is gay. Primary Themes: racism, police brutality, bullying, anger, frustration, dehumanization. Trigger Warnings: See above Available in Trade Paperback - Complete in Static: Season One which collects all six issues. Note: We also have its sequel Static: Shadows of Dakota out as well.

9.) Superman: American Alien

Why: This is a collection of short stories about Clark at varying stages of his life that range from funny to incredibly heartfelt. Primary Themes: finding ones self, self discovery, compassion Trigger warnings: I cannot think of one Available in Trade Paperback - Complete as Superman: American Alien which collects all 7 stories.

10.) Legion of Super-Heroes: Post-Zero Hour Reboot

Why: In the 30th century R.J. Brande Industries creates the Star Gate System, finally connecting the galaxy closer than it ever had before. Travel that once took months or years to complete now could only take hours and with it came the United Planets with Earth as its home headquarters. In an effort to promote the United Planets and unify the galaxy, the Legion of Super-Heroes was formed by Brande as a peacekeeping unit and an inspiration to cooperation. Sadly, it was co-opted by political parties and turned into a draft for talented teenagers to serve, or risk their planet's enrollment in the U.P. Over the course of over 200 issues teenage super heroes are given unfathomable responsibility and power while unifying to protect their galaxy and friendships while combating xenophobia and political corruption. This series is everything people wanted TTv3 to be but never got. Primary Themes: Dehumanization, loss of autonomy, death, life, space, technology, capitalism, political corruption, manipulation, deceit, hope, romance, found family Trigger Warnings: See above plus ableism and teenage pregnancy. Available in Trade Paperback: Partially. We have 2 volumes called Legionnaires which collect approximately 20 issues, plus extra content, of this run. We also have various other trade collections such as Legion Lost in its entirety.

11.) Ascender and Descender by Jeff Lemire and Dustin Nguyen

Why: Tired of superheroes? These are two separate series that follow the same story about a young companion robot named Tim who was assigned to be his human brother's best friend and companion. Unfortunately, during a mining accident his entire colony had to flee and leave him behind as they attempted to escape toxic gas. 10 years have gone by since then, and a lot has changed in the world since he was shut down. Mostly being 95% of all robots have been destroyed and are targeted for destruction after a mysterious robotic alien force attacked all sentient worlds and obliterated the populations down to catastrophic levels. All Tim wants to do is find his brother Andy, but what has become of Andy in 10 years, and what will happen to him in 10 more years after they reunite? This story takes place over 20 years as Tim and Andy both grow and change, as they face the challenges before them and unravel the mystery of the Artificial Intelligence that swore to destroy all organic life. Oh, and magic is also involved too. Primary themes: hatred, violence, abuse, xenophobia, forgiveness, found family, brothers, dehumanization, life, death, magic, balance, manipulation, deceit, mysteries, will probably remind you of Mass Effect. Trigger Warnings: see above Available in Trade Paperback: the entire series is available across multiple books.

That's all I have for now folks, I'm tired of writing.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Good 4 U (2)

Hello everyone!

Some of you asked for a second part for Good 4 U, so here it is! I will have the song running in my head for days again, but it's ok.

Tumblr was a pain in my ass today, I had to repost this like four time, so I hope everything is ok!

Enjoy ♥

TW : Menstrual pain, loss of consciousness, suggestive mention

PART 1 | PART 3

______________________________________________________________

After your first kisses, you and Katie kept seeing each other every day. Your departure from London having been rejected for the beautiful eyes of the Irish, you decided to find yourself a job, not wishing to live off your sister any longer. You could have taken a hotel, but Lia seemed so hurt when you made that suggestion that you quickly backed off. And because you love spending time with your sister, you decided to keep you two days a week just for the two of you, with no one around. Including her girlfriend and your… maybe girlfriend?

Katie never officially offered you to be, but your dates are punctuated with affectionate gestures, looks that you would qualify yourself as sappy and kisses. Katie regularly takes you to look at the stars in different places in London and you strongly suspect her of doing research of the best spots for it in London. But you think it’s really cute.

Just like the fact that Katie always finds a time to come see you in the cafe where you work when she is not far from London for her football matches. This morning is no exception. You automatically raise your eyes towards the front door when the bell rings and you smile when Katie appears. Dressed in Arsenal training, ready for training.

"It’s for you I think"

Liam, your colleague with whom you are almost always in doubles during your schedules, gives you a playful elbow in the ribs, making you roll your eyes. But you don’t hesitate to approach the counter with a little smile.

"Good morning Ma'am. What can I serve you today?"

"It’s Miss for the moment, thank you very much. And I will gladly have a mango-strawberry-banana smoothie."

Her eyes sparkle with malice and her smile is to die for. Your smile expands as you grab the ingredients you need to prepare Katie’s order.

"What time are you done?" Katie asked while you cut the banana into pieces.

"At 4:00. What about you?"

"Almost the same. I’ll pick you up and we’ll spend the evening together, is it ok?"

You glance at her with a little smile, finishing her order before placing it on the counter.

"With pleasure"

Katie gives you a satisfied smile before carrying the straw of her drink to her lips to drink, looking at you straight in your eyes. Sometimes you feel like she knows how overwhelmed you are by your own attraction to her and that she loves to play with it. But it amuses you as much as it does for her, once the heat waves she gives you have passed.

Peeking around to make sure no client or staff members are looking at you, Katie leans over you to drop a quick kiss on your lips as goodbye. Her lips smell like strawberries and you almost mechanically say goodbye to her hand when she leaves the establishment.

***

The rest of your day has been more complicated. As long as you can remember, your menstrual period has always been complicated for you. Over time, you have discovered that you suffer from endometriosis and sometimes the treatment you have been given is not really strong enough to relieve you. This is the case today, even though you took your treatment on time.

As time passes and the hour of the end of your service approaches, you are mixed between relief and anxiety. The pain is escalating and you’re glad you can get out of there, but you don’t have the guts to tell Katie that you need to cancel your date.

You really want to see her and you cross your fingers so that the pain disappears throughout the day.

Katie is smiling when you join her and you let her pass her arms around your shoulders to squeeze you against her, as you pass yours around her waist. Closing your eyes briefly, you bury your face in the hollow of her neck before releasing her. You then realize that Katie is studying you carefully, her eyebrows slightly gathered.

"You look tired"

You smile at her and shrug your shoulders, trying to adopt a light tone so as not to attract her suspicions any longer.

"A little, but it’s okay. I’m glad to see you"

"I’m glad to see you too" Katie smile back, kissing your cheek.

Taking you by the waist, Katie trains you to her car in which you settle with relief. Standing up when you have your cramps is always particularly difficult. You ask Katie about her day to keep her busy, discreetly massaging your upper thighs with your hands, hoping to relieve your pain. But we cannot say that it works very well.

You feel guilty when Katie announces that she has planned a walk in a park near you. A walk is probably the worst thing possible for you right now, but you didn’t tell Katie about your situation when you found her so you don’t dare to do it now either.

You manage not to attract the attention of Katie during the first part of the walk, clinging to her arm who probably took your behavior for affection. But the pain begins to be unmanageable. You can’t even focus on what Katie is telling you, her voice and accent making you feel like she’s away from you and not just by your side.

"Y/N?"

You try to shake yourself mentally, but you can’t. Your vision is black and you feel yourself falling. It’s only thanks to Katie’s arms that you don’t crash on the floor. When you regained consciousness a few seconds later, the Irish woman made you sit on a bench.

"Y/N what’s going on?"

The worry is audible in Katie’s voice and you feel uncomfortable having imposed this vision on her. You who hoped to continue to make her addicted to you, we cannot say that this is the best way to do it. You are embarrassed when you answer her, not finding the courage to look into her eyes.

"I… It’s nothing, I just have my period. Cramps are bad sometimes. I better go home"

You try to get up but Katie imitates you, her arm instantly finding place in the hollow of your back.

"I’ll take you home"

You don’t know if it’s a good idea, not sure Lia enjoys seeing you go home with Katie, but the tone of the latter clearly lets you understand that you have no choice. And you still have to admit that walking with Katie half-carrying you is a lot easier than walking alone.

"Thank you" you mumble to Katie when she parks in front of your home. "I’m sorry about our date. Can I still call you tomorrow?"

Katie doesn’t answer your question right away, which makes you look up at her. Again, she’s watching you carefully and you feel a little uncomfortable, writhing in your seat.

"I thought I’d stay with you"

You bite your lip briefly, hesitating between accepting and enjoying her comforting presence or refusing and keeping some of your pride. But you end up nodding and Katie literally jumps out of the vehicle to help you get out in turn.

On your way home, you come across a post-it note from Lia, informing you that she and Caitlin will be home late and that they went to the cinema and the restaurant. It’s probably better this way, so that Katie will have time to go home without getting anyone into trouble. You didn’t hide from your sister that you see Katie regularly and Lia always seems a little suspicious, but without judging or trying to forbid you anything. You know that there is only the desire to protect you there-behind and anyway the most wicked look of Lia is probably equivalent to that of a kitten.

"Tell me what I can do for you" Katie asks after accompanying you to your bed.

"This wasn’t how I imagined bringing you in my room for the first time" you point out while lying on your bed, watching Katie.

The Irish girl rolls her eyes with an amused smile but seems determined not to move until she has had a task. You stand up to rummage through your bedside table and get out your treatment.

"Water" finally decides Katie, leaving your room to go to the kitchen.

Katie knows Lia’s house pretty well, before you started dating Lia and Katie were friends for a while.

When you hear the characteristic noise of the kettle, you imagine that Katie decided to make you hot tea. So you take the opportunity to undress, putting on clothes much more comfortable than those you wore until now. When you lie down, Katie joins you and you quickly realize that it is not with a tea that she returns, but bottles of hot water.

"To ease the pain" informs Katie by giving them to you and you finally wonder if you will not propose to her.

"Thank you" you say however simply, hoping that the gratitude you feel is audible in your voice.

You pat the bed next to you, inviting Katie to lay down next to you.

The latter does not beg, getting rid of their shoes before settling next to you. Taking care to wrap you in your down, she then attracts you against her and you take advantage of the situation by burying your face in the hollow of her neck.

Her caresses on the back help you relax and you close your eyes for a few moments. You feel like you hear Katie’s brain smoking and you try to get out of your torpor to speak again.

"You don’t have to stay, you know?"

"I know. But I want to, if you agree, obviously"

You answer only with a vague throat noise, trying to get a little closer physically to her, in search of comfort. Katie is sweet and hot against you and this brings you a form of relief that you did not expect.

"You’re soft" you mumble

Katie laughs when she hears you and you open an eye so you can look at her.

"I’m not sure anyone called me soft before"

You smile despite yourself, moving slightly to be even more glued against her. Katie willingly lets you do it, tightening her arms around your waist.

"You're soft, and warm, and comfy"

"I'm a little hot" Katie confess. "Is it ok if I take my shirt off?"

You open an eye and nod, sitting in your bed to let Katie making herself comfortable. Deciding to get rid of her pants too, the Irish slips under the sheets and takes you against her. You seem to have read somewhere that the heat helps relieve cramps and you do not know if it is true or if it is also the case for menstrual cramps, but you enjoy feeling her skin against yours.

"Are you feeling better?"

"A little" you mumble

Your eyes are suddenly heavy, which is not surprising because you just took your medication and it make you feel sleepy. You still want to stay awake to be with Katie anyway, but it seems like she knows better.

"Sleep, Beautiful. You need to rest"

You mumble something about not wanting to sleep, but four seconds later and you're dead asleep. Katie stayed with you every single second of the time of your nap.

But you wake up an hour later, the pain starting again even stronger than before. You wake up wincing, your agitation having already attracted Katie’s concerns. Her caresses in your hair and on your face are pleasant and you appreciate the freshness of her hands, but it does not work to remove all the pain.

"I hate to see you hurt like that. What can I do?"

You don’t know, but you feel like that answer is definitely not going to work for Katie.

"Maybe a little more hot water for the bottles?"

"I'll be right back"

Katie slips out of bed, not without gently kissing you before, and you follow her with the look when she leaves the room. Katie lost in her thoughts and you fell asleep, you didn’t hear Caitlin and Lia coming home. If that were the case you probably wouldn’t have sent Katie dressed only in a t-shirt and her underwear to warm you up a little water.

Moreover, when she arrives in the kitchen, Katie almost makes a seizure by falling face to face with Lia. Under the surprise, Katie drops one of the bottles on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" Lia asks, frowning.

"The question I ask myself is more like why is she half dressed" laughs Caitlin, enjoying a yogurt, sitting on the stool next to the central island.

Your big sister’s gaze slips on the lower part of Katie, then suddenly rising to the height of her eyes, ready to shoot at the Irish woman.

"It’s not what you think" Katie immediately says, passing next to her to access the kettle. "We were walking in the park when Y/N started to feel bad"

"What’s wrong with her?" Lia immediately gets alarmed. "Why didn’t she write to me?"

"It’s her period" explains the Irish, filling the bottles with hot water.

Lia makes a grimace when hearing the information, she too is aware of the pain of your menstruation. She saw you struggling all your life with it.

"I brought her back here and stayed with her, but I don’t know what else I can do" the Irishwoman confesses before looking up at Lia. "Is there something that could help?"

"No, sometimes her medicine just doesn't work" made Lia sadly shrugging her shoulders while Caitlin makes a grimace as a sign of compassion "Hot water is a good idea"

Lia's voice is soft when she looks at her and Katie nods before apologizing to her teammates to come back to you quickly. Still in the same position, you watch her enter the room and look with a sigh of relief at the newly hot bottles.

"Thank you" you whisper with gratitude

You were going to take it, but Katie makes you lie on your back, gently pushing you by the shoulder, gently rolling the bottles on the different painful parts of your body.

"Oh god" you mumble, feeling the contraction of your muscles relax a little bit.

Katie answers nothing, content to smile softly when seeing that what she imagined seems to work. Her hands sometimes replace bottles and you find yourself being much more relaxed than you’ve been all day.

"It may be that your sister saw me leave the room in this outfit" informs you Katie

You can’t help but smile when you hear the information, trying to imagine Lia’s face. Katie seems worried about your reaction, but if things keep going the way you want, chances are the Irish girl will spend a lot of time at your home.

"It doesn’t matter" you assure nicely

Katie gives you a smile and now that she has managed to relax you a little, you are dying to feel her skin against yours. Your eyes cross and Katie’s movements with her bottle are interrupted.

"Can you hold me?" you whisper shyly.

"Of course"

You don't let her get back on her back, drawing her against you so that she feels pressed against you. Between that and the hot water bottles, the pain is almost tolerable. Head right next to yours, Katie looks at you a few moments before she resumes talking.

"I wanted to ask you something today"

"What is it?" you ask curiously.

You turn your eyes towards her when she puts one of your strands of hair back, trying to imagine what she might want to ask you. But she seems to hesitate and you bite your lower lip before talking again.

"Have you changed your mind?"

"No" quickly answers Katie "But first, I have another question to ask you"

"Go ahead?"

Looking at you carefully, Katie takes a small breath. You can feel the tension emanating from her body, even if it seems to be related to stress and not to pain, like yours.

"You said you weren’t planning on leaving London yet" Katie starts as you nod "But… Does that mean you’re going leave at some point?"

After you kissed in the halls of Meadow Park, you had a little chat. Deciding to see where your story will take you, you pushed back your departure to an unknown date.

You open your mouth to answer her, but Katie puts a finger on your lips, intimating you silence.

"Because the first question I wanted to ask you was whether you wanted to be my girlfriend. But I’m not sure I want a long-distance relationship. But I really like you and I need to know if the time we have together is short or if I, we, can hope for more"

Your heart accelerated when you heard Katie’s confessions, and you feel a little bad about not being clear enough with her. When Lia spoke to you briefly about Katie, she always described the young woman as being attentive to her friends and very loyal. You are happy to see that she was right and that there is a difference between Katie the hothead that can be seen on the football fields and the Katie outside.

"I’m sorry to talk about it now, I know this may not be the best timing"

"No, no, it’s fine" you say, finally speaking. "I’m sorry I misspoke. When I told you I didn’t know when I would leave London, it was because I didn’t plan to. I don’t know where our story is going, but I really want to explore it"

A wave of relief passes over Katie’s face as she looks at you with a new ray of hope in her eyes. You didn’t answer the rest of her sentence, the girlfriend part, because you don’t really know if it’s an official question or not. You don’t have to wait long though.

"Then would you agree to be my girlfriend?"

A smile on your lips, you bite your lower lip before answering.

"I would love to"

With a big smile on her lips, Katie gently puts her hand on your cheek and gently draws your face against hers. This is clearly not the first time you kiss, but this kiss has another flavor. Katie is your girlfriend. You are Katie McCabe's girlfriend.

***

"Y/N we're leaving in ten, you better being dressed and not naked in your bed making disgusting business!"

Groaning, you roll off your girlfriend, on which you were still deep asleep.

"I don’t know how Cait stand her" you grumble as you rub your eyes

"Stop it, you know you love her. And we were right to do our disgusting business last night" Katie comments, stretching before yawning.

You smile softly as you get out of bed, digging through your cupboard to choose your clothes. This year, your parents decided to leave your native Switzerland to celebrate Christmas with Lia and you in London. Katie and Caitlin are also there, as are some of Katie’s family members and Caitlin’s mother and sister. All this little world cannot fit in one house, so Caitlin’s family will sleep in her house, yours in Lia’s and yours, and Katie’s in her house as well.

In order to enjoy yourself longer, your parents are already arriving today and it has been agreed that you will pick them up at the airport.

"Do you really have to go in ten minutes?"

You turn towards Katie who looks at your almost naked body without the slightest bit of shame and discretion, making you laugh softly. You put on a t-shirt and pants and climb on four leg on the bed to put a kiss on your girlfriend’s lips. You knew before your lips touched that you wouldn’t come out of bed so soon, but you laugh when Katie’s arms wrap around your waist to draw you against her.

"Oh for the love of God"

Your sister’s voice sounds behind you and you roll on your back to get rid of Katie’s embrace, with whom you were always exchanging kisses. You may have lost track of time. The cushion that Lia throws at you bounces off your hands when you place them in front of your face to protect you, landing on Katie’s legs. You’re both very amused.

Even Lia cannot hold back her amused smile when she speaks again.

"Let’s go. Now."

Lia wait for you to get out of bed before leaving your room again. You hear her saying goodbye to Caitlin in the kitchen when you put on a sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to you.

"Hey, it’s mine! I’ve been looking for it for weeks!"

"Oops" you smile maliciously at Katie

You make a quick journey through the bathroom to refresh yourself and you are tying your hair in a messy bun when you return to your bedroom. Meanwhile, Katie stands up and doesn’t seem disturbed by your hands in your hair when she grabs you by the waist to draw you against her. Sometimes you wonder if she has Spanish origins, between her easy tanning and how tactile she can be with you.

"Will you still be here when we get back?" you ask Katie while she kisses your cheek and you finish to do your hair.

"You want me to?"

"Yes, but no pressure. You’ll have time to meet my parents later, if you prefer."

Now that your hair is tied properly, you gently put your arms around Katie’s neck.

"Then I’ll be there" Katie replies before kissing you affectionately.

"Y/N!"

Lia’s voice, although usually sweet, sounds from the front door, making you both laugh softly. That’s when Caitlin's head goes through your door frame.

"Although I like to take the time to relax after you annoy her, Y/N, out."

[cripplecharacters]

One of my characters in a fanfic is Harriet Hook, daughter of Captain Hook. I was going to have her lose her left hand in an assassination attempt, where someone tried to burn down her house with her brother and sister in it as collateral. The door was barred shut with planks of wood, and, long story short, the fastest way she could get out left her hand severely burned and lacerated, with several shattered bones. If they had access to modern medicine they might have been able to save her hand but, because there wasn't even a way for them to keep if clean until the skin healed, the best they could really do was just amputate it. Like her father she replaced her hand with a hook (having one hand and no hook would make being a pirate kind of difficult,) and then she went from there. I just have a few questions.

Is it reasonable for her to be more angry about the assassination attempt than upset about her hand? Her father has been getting around fine with his hook for her entire life and he raised all three of them with either one hand or a hand and a hook, so she knows it's not the end of the world and that she has a good source on how to adapt to it. She's just more pissed that someone tried to burn her alive.

She later becomes a queen after the war (the war is why someone tried to assassinate her, because she's leading an uprising.) Would it make sense for her to either keep the hook or just go without rather than get a fancier prosthetic? She'll have the option but she already knows how to adapt to life with hook or with just one hand, but a fancy prosthetic, she's never seen anyone with those so it would be uncharted territory and I was thinking she'd prefer to just stick with what works.

Does this fall into the accident trope? I know it happened because someone was purposefully trying to kill her and she purposefully injured her hand because it was either that or let her siblings die and her children grow up without their mother, but it might still count. If so, is there a way I can make it better? I don't want to be disrespectful.

I get this is a long ask and you don't have amputee mods. Hope you all are having a great day!

Hello asker,

Making a note before my answer that we currently do not have any mods who are amputees!

So, to answer your question in parts:

Is it reasonable for her to be more angry about the assassination attempt than upset about her hand?

Yes, this makes sense. People can have a lot of complicated feelings about their disabilities, and to me it makes sense that one of her feelings about the event that caused hers is that what upsets her the most is that someone tried to kill her. Injuries do suck, but when they're caused by someone else's carelessness or malice, knowing or thinking about that can definitely be more upsetting than the injury itself. (Not that it has to be – different people will have different feelings about their respective injuries.)

Would it make sense for her to either keep the hook or just go without rather than get a fancier prosthetic?

Yes, this is definitely something many people in real life do. Here is a link to a post by cy-cyborg on why not all amputees use prosthetics, which also addresses that not all prosthetics work best for all people. In general, people like to stick with familiar things. If she has adapted to using just one hand or one hand and a hook, it makes sense that she could choose to continue doing so. "If it ain't broke don't fix it" type of situation. And as a character decision, her father's use of a hook as opposed to any other kind of prosthetic might influence her decision as well.

Does this fall into the accident trope?

When it comes to upper limb amputations that are not congenital, trauma is one of the more common reasons for them. Trauma (by which i mean physical trauma to the limb) is often accidental, so this isn't necessarily an inaccurate reason for your character to lose her hand.

So while it is an accident, I don't think that makes it automatically a disrespectful portrayal. In fact, your ask makes me think that it is a pretty respectful one. She has adapted to life with her injury and a hook is a common prosthetic even today. I think you've got some good character building blocks here!

Hope this helps,

– mod sparrow

[hannahbarberra162]

Struck Twice By Lightning, Chapter 9

18+ MDNI

On Ao3

Shanks would probably hand you a dirty washcloth and think that's aftercare. I love him, but it's true.

A few hours and many orgasms later, you were depleted. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to walk normally again. Shanks, for his part, was also calm now. You were laying on your back, with your head on the pillows, legs bent. He was laying down between your legs, with his head resting on your stomach. You were carding through his beautiful red hair, gently detangling the messy strands. You were both quiet, enjoying the afterglow of a night well spent. 

Shanks used his hand to lightly grasp the outside of your right hip, jiggling it. He picked his head up a few inches to look at it. 

“Hello, old friend. Nice to see you again.” You exhaled sharply through your nose. You had a tattoo of his jolly roger there, done long ago. 

“Well, it's not like I could get rid of it.”

“That’s right, can’t get rid of the ol’ Red Haired Pirates.” Shanks jiggled your leg again, then lightly smacked the tattoo. You squeezed his head between your thighs mischievously. You were in a great mood - multiple orgasms would do that to a woman.

“You can suffocate me between your legs, I’d die happy.” Shanks put his chin on your belly, facing you. You took one hand out of his hair to reach out and touched his facial scars. He smiled and looked like he wanted to purr. 

“Can you do that thing I love?” he asked, trying to use your good mood to his advantage.

“Pff. Fine. Lay down.” Shanks pumped his arm in the air and rolled off you, onto his stomach. He put his hand under his chin and closed his eyes. You got up rooted around until you found some body oil you’d brought with you. You spread some drops on your hands to warm it up, then straddled Shank’s lower back. You used firm pressure to massage his neck and shoulders. Shanks moaned.

“This is the best part of it all,” Shanks sighed, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, maybe for you.” Shanks was good at a lot of things, but you’d never gotten a back massage from him that didn’t end in another kind of massage. You slowly worked your way down his neck to his back, with Shanks sighing every few seconds for dramatic effect.

“Shanks, the left side of your back is really messed up,” you said in a serious tone. The knots on the side with his missing arm were awful, he was likely always in pain. Shanks hummed but didn’t reply.

“No, really. You should have Benn help you. Or at least Hongo. It doesn't have to be this bad.”

“But you’re so much better at it. And they don’t sit on me naked, even when I ask nicely.” You laughed, but were still going to talk to Hongo on his behalf. You continued to work his muscle knots.

“Why were the guns still here?” You were genuinely curious. Shanks never used them, maybe someone else on the crew could have.

“Forgot them in here, you know me.” 

“That can’t be true, someone’s been maintaining them.” 

“Why did you bring body oil? You use lotion.”

“Oh hush,” you said without malice. You had moved farther down, using your thumbs to massage his lower back. He yelped and squirmed.

“Quit moving!” you smacked his arm mildly.

“But it hurts!”

“Stop being such a baby, I thought you were an Emperor.” You did lighten your pressure and use a more gentle touch.

“Yeah, your Emperor. So I can complain as much as I want. If you don’t like it, you can move to Big Mom’s.”

“Hey! I was on my island way before you were Emperor! Why should I move? You put your territory around my island! But I hear Big Mom has good desserts. Maybe I’ll put the moves on another Yonko…”

You squealed as Shanks playfully growled and rolled you over so you were under him, his thighs between yours. He leaned down to kiss and nibble your neck, making you laugh more.

“No way. I’ve already tried. She’s immune to charm and roguish good looks.” He continued kissing you, moving up towards your jaw.

“Maybe I am, too.” You wrapped your legs loosely around his waist as he dotted your jaw with wet kisses.

“Mmm. Then I need to keep trying.” He cupped your cheek and leaned down, kissing you tenderly on the mouth. 

~~~~~

Benn POV

Benn had been Shanks’s first mate for a long time. He had pledged his life to Shanks, willing to die by his side. He had no doubt that Shanks was the most powerful Yonko alive, and could get the One Piece if he so chose. Shanks was brilliant in battle, both due to raw talent as well as learning from Gol D. Roger himself. Benn was still in awe of Shanks when they fought, regardless of the opponent. He was a pirate in a class of his own - formidable, terrifying, accomplished, dynamic, and influential.

And a complete fucking idiot. 

From his spot on watch in the crow’s nest, he watched Shanks saunter out of his cabin, relaxed and at ease. Benn could practically see the hearts radiating off of him. Benn struck a match - from the touristy matchbook you had given him - to light a cigarette. He kept the empty matchbooks as souvenirs once the matches were gone - it was a silly collection he’d started long before he’d even met Shanks. He wasn’t surprised you remembered it after all these years. That was just like you - thoughtful, kind, and compassionate, all hidden under layers of annoyed attitude. 

Benn liked you. He always had, since the moment Shanks introduced you to the crew. You balanced Shanks well, and it was clear there was a strong connection between the two of you. He hoped he didn’t have to watch Shanks fuck it up all over again. And listen to his Captain drunkenly tell the sob story for the rest of their lives. 

In his own way, Shanks had never stopped loving you. Sure, he was a huge flirt and was known for finding his way into beds up and down the Grand Line. But, he’d never let another lover into his cabin. Not even Makino, and she’d been with him longer than any other. Shanks himself maintained your guns, until he lost his arm, after which he asked Benn to do it monthly. He never stopped at your island, but he made sure it wasn’t attacked by pirates or Marines. There was always at least one fleet ship nearby, ready for action if anything happened. If anyone was foolish enough to try, Shanks ruthlessly decimated the entire crew. 

Once, he even begged the Whitebeard Commander Marco to check on you when Shanks found out you were ill. How Shanks heard you were sick, Benn didn’t know. But whatever he said to Marco was enough to get The Phoenix to make a “surprise” visit to see you. Shanks kept his distance, but was always ready to help and protect you, even if you didn’t know it. 

Which was why you were sent to the cabin for such a small battle. Benn knew that Shanks wouldn’t bother fighting a mediocre crew like the one from yesterday if you weren’t around.  But with you on board, Shanks was ready to defend the ship to the ends of the earth. 

But none of that was the issue. You had been unhappy enough to leave without so much as an argument before. You never came to Benn for romantic advice - you kept your own council. But he’d seen you upset at Shanks ignoring you, or caught you crying in the crow’s nest, night after night. Shanks hadn’t noticed in time that you were serious about your hurt emotions, taking you for granted. So you left. Benn didn’t blame you.

Benn wasn’t sure Shanks could win you over again. Sure, the two of you had just as much chemistry as the first time. But he could tell you weren’t acting the same. You weren’t as emotionally involved with the crew, with him, and with Shanks. You were more guarded, keeping more of yourself private. It felt like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Shanks to show his true colors again, protecting yourself from getting hurt. He knew Shanks had grown up during the years you were gone. But Benn wasn’t sure it would be enough.

He watched Shanks bringing some snacks back to the cabin, whistling a merry tune. At least with you around, they didn’t have to give him alcohol for hours until he relaxed after a battle. Peeling his Captain off the floor was definitely one of his least favorite activities as first mate.

~~~~~

Shanks presented you with some snacks he probably stole from Beckman’s cabin while you lounged on the couch.

“Yum…thanks, I’m starving.” You grabbed the plate from him and started munching on some dried fruit.

“That’s for sharing! Gimme some,” he yanked the plate back and began eating some jerky, sitting next to you, facing the same direction.

You chewed in silence together, enjoying the comfortable stillness. You ate all the fruit, and he ate all the jerky. Looking down at the plate, Shanks leaned back and said “some things never change.”

You thought for a minute. That was the problem in a nutshell - you were worried that he never changed. Sure, he was being attentive for the past two or so weeks, but that didn’t really mean anything. 

“So what does all this mean?” you said, gesturing between the two of you. You were going to have to talk about the sex sooner or later, anyway. Might as well get it over with.

“What do you want it to mean?” Shanks leaned back and crossed one foot over his knee. You didn’t answer right away and Shanks continued. 

“I know you don’t trust me. And you have good reason. I’ve spent the last ten years regretting my behavior, regretting how I treated you. I can tell you I’ve changed but that’s not worth much, hm? Sex between us can mean whatever you want, I know it doesn’t mean you love me or that you’re staying. I’m just taking it as a sign that I might have a chance.” With that, he kissed the top of your head, got up and left to put the empty plate in the kitchen. 

~~~~

Early the next morning, you were mulling Shanks’s words over in your head while lying next to him in bed. Your plan was supposed to be straight forward. You were supposed to stay on the ship, get divorced, and start your official business, cutting ties once and for all with your former husband. But now memories of Shanks saying sweet nothings to you, making love to you, and saying he’ll fight for you swirled around in your mind. You glanced over at his peaceful form, relaxed in sleep. You still had time left on the ship to figure things out.

You carefully got up and went over to his desk. You really wanted a cigarette - you’d kicked the habit but you felt you deserved one after all that haki sex. If he kept everything the same as it was when you left, there should be a pack in the way back of the first drawer on the right. Was it gross to smoke old cigarettes? Yes. Were you still going to check? Yes. You carefully opened the drawer, remembering that it sometimes squeaked. There were some loose papers that you needed to move to get to your treasure. You looked briefly at the few papers on top - old newspaper articles, a couple of his crew’s wanted posters, and stopped when you saw what was underneath the first layer.

It was a photo of the two of you on your wedding day. You ran your finger over the photo, remembering the moment vividly. You weren’t wearing wedding attire but you held your hands up in the picture, showing off your rings. Shanks was smiling broadly and you were kissing his cheek. Yasopp had taken the picture on an old snail, stolen from a bar the night before. You were young and in love and so overwhelmingly happy that you’d married the man of your dreams. You picked up the picture for a closer look and something else floated down. 

It was your vivre card, kept safe all these years. Just like you’d kept his. 

[heartfullofleeches]

Imagine the immense amount of fan mails pop star!creep!Darling get, lol

Your manager pops their shoulder as they drop the bag of mail at your feet - a tide of papers and gift boxes spilling from its opening. "Mail's here... My back's killing me. Remind me why I'm stuck being your personal maid again?"

"Read."

They don't budge. Your manager is used to.. whatever you have going on is, but even they had their limits - mainly the dull ache in their spine. Without missing a beat, you pick up your stage mask conveniently sitting next to you and slide it on; clearing your throat as your voice climbs.

"Manager~ Please read for me. I'm really tired and I want to hear the words of my adoring fans plus I like your voice. You should've gone into voice acting. I promise I'll be good if you do."

Always with the voice. You know they can't resist the voice. The mask hides the malice in your eyes as intended, but honestly they'd prefer to see it that not. Grumbling to themselves, your manager grab a letter off the top and opens it.

"Hello,

I'm sure you get tons of letter, but if mine is one you read I can die happy. Your music has gotten me throughout so much this years. Not trying to be dramatic, but you saved my life. I love you.

Your biggest fan-"

"Next."

"Dear Y/n,

If you're reading this- ohmygosh I'm your biggest fan! I love you, I love, you, I love you! I have every single piece of your merch and I've never missed a show! You saved my life. I even picked up that rock I saw you throwing at something after your last set. When I kiss it, I imagine I'm kissing your beautiful hands. Please choke me out at your next show. Stuff one of your gloves down my throat and shove me in a bin outside your home. I want to be close to you."

Your manager looks like they swallowed a lemon whole. You pick through a box of treats another fan had sent without so much as blinking.

"Next..."

For the next half hour your manager reads your letters aloud. You allow them a break by hand feeding them various snacks, relishing in the destruction of their blissful expression as you joke about them being poisoned or filled with needles. Without anything to drink as they down cookies and crackers, their throat eventually goes dry on top of the fatigue from all this reading. You come to an agreement on reading one more letter and then you'll take them out for a proper meal. Hold their hand if it's a good. From the look on their face as they read to themselves, it could be frame worthy.

"Y/n.

I can't go on without you. I've sent you countless letters. I change my writing style and handwriting as much as I could so that you would notice me more, but your songs are always about loving yourself for who you are. You don't want what I pretended to be. You want me. What's inside of me. I'll give you every piece of me and more. Love me. Let me love you. Love me."

They turn paper around. You could see the handprint through the thin sheet. It's amazing it held up with that much blood soaked into it, but with enough time to dry it made since. You snag it from them, holding it to your chest like you just won the lottery. Your smile mirrors that same energy, laughter muted by the ceramic masking your features. This is what you preformed for. Your manager should be terrified, but it's so rare to see you genuinely happy - breathtaking in all its tragedy. They want to punch themselves in the ribs for the organ betraying every rational thought to flee, but without you they....

Your smile reaches your eyes as you remove your mask. "Looks like you'll be getting a kiss tonight instead."

And there goes their last shred of dignity. Why do the crazy ones always have to be the most attractive people?

[gremio0]

your limbus oc looks SO cool do you have any info on him.... he compels me i want to know more about him

HI HELLO thank you for opening the floodgates I have a lot to say about Bentinho actually. in the wise words of oomf I’m like a vampire and need to be invited into talking about my ocs otherwise I physically cannot do it

Don’t expect any structure from this I’m not particularly sure half of the words I’m saying even exist

Alright. So.

He’s based on the book Dom Casmurro by Machado de Assis (actually my favorite author of all time! I have a physical silver medal from a national literature olympic on this shit). Though it’s not really possible to directly translate the title, “Dom Casmurro” is a nickname given to Bentinho in his old age, “Dom” being a mockery of his high status and “Casmurro” meaning something between “stubborn”, “spiteful” and “grumpy”. His full name Bento Santiago is also interesting with “bento(a)” being a rarely used word for “holy” (as in “holy water”/“água benta”) and “Santiago” being derived from the word for “saint”, neither of which actually fucking apply to him; “Bentinho” is the diminutive form of the name. As an LCB Sinner, Bento is kind of an insufferable little bitch who I created with the explicit purpose of suffering the consequences of his actions as much as possible because he doesn’t get nearly enough shit in the book for being such an asshole all the time.

The Sinner Bentinho has a rather erratic demeanor, always literally and figuratively looking over his shoulder. He’s an arrogant and bitter man who doesn’t seem to be looking forward to much in his life. Although he does his best to maintain an appearance of collected elegance, his paranoia and jealousy often slip through the very plentiful cracks for all to see. He’s distrusting of most of everyone, and a pathological liar; talking to him can be rather difficult if you’re not careful with your words, as he has a way of finding non-existent malice in every other sentence, but it’s not particularly difficult to gain his favor if you know how to stroke his ego.

As for general Limbus stuff:

He has Midnight Green (#004952) as his signature color, and I generally use ☕️ as the emoji to represent him. The reference should be clear if you’ve read Dom Casmurro <33

He does not have a sinner number yet, but I’ve been considering #18 (because Machado de Assis, and consequently Bentinho, lived around the 1800s)

The word engraved in the hilt of his rapier, “Desprezo” (NOT to be confused with “depressed” it’s happened too many times by now) is, in portuguese, the feeling of despising something or someone.

His base EGO is called “Tu Serás Feliz”; “You Shall be Happy"

In his LCB Sinner Identity, he has Lust, Pride and Envy sin affinities.

His Canto is called “The Truth Revealing”. It would be placed somewhere from mid to end game, as the way it’s structured would require Bento to already have established relationships with the other sinners. I’ve taken a lot of inspiration from the philosophy he presents in one of the earlier chapters in the book: “life itself is much like an Opera”. Notably, the majority of it takes place in a theater, visually inspired by the Rio de Janeiro municipal thetaer. I’ve reduced the cast of the book a bit to focus on the conflict between Bentinho, Capitu and Escobar, though characters like Ezequiel, José Dias and Dona Glória also play a part.

He has a lot of associations with opera and theater but it’s hard to elaborate on those without a full summary of his Canto. Maybe one day.

I think that’s just about enough information for a decent introduction but I’d be very happy to elaborate if there happen to be any questions. wink wink nudge nudge. He’s been very rudely occupying my brain without my consent for the past few weeks and I doubt he’ll be going away any time soon. He should die one of these days that would be great.

[diabolikloversreactto]

Can you please write sakamaki brother's reaction to having a little sister? She was made artificially in a lab by Karlheinz and he wanted to take her heart/blood for an experiment. One day she wished to meet her brothers before she dies. What will their reaction be when they see that she genuinely loves them, cares for them and how will they react after knowing the truth that she is going to die soon?

Little picrew of what I think she would look like! (credit: This image was created with Picrew’s “mimzies picrew #2“!! https://picrew.me/share?cd=jjMUVHDueZ #Picrew #mimzies_picrew_2 )

“This little girl is our sister and you’re planning on harvesting her? How annoying…just leave her here and go find another little test subject.” Shu holds the girl on his chest as he lays there. This was the first time he ever felt a genuine connection with a sibling. All he wanted to do now was protect her.

“Father I know I take your orders without fail. You know that I am loyal to you. I cannot allow you to do this though. She was created to be a lab rat I know but can’t you figure out something else?” Reiji runs his gloved fingers through the girls tangled hair. For the first time he felt genuine love for another being. He knew that ultimately it was his father’s choice but he would regret his choices if he didn’t try.

“Yo! Get your fucking hands off of her! You aren’t going to do that to her!” He picks up the small girl and cradles her in his arms. “Don’t worry…your awesome big brother will protect you always…” Despite just meeting her he felt soft for her. The tears in her eyes filled him with rage. Rage that was towards the man he and this girl called “Father”.

“No! She’s my sister! She’s my best friend!” The boy locked eyes with the man much bigger than him. “If you hurt her I will kill you. That is a promise. You aren’t taking her away from me!” The small girl stood beside him while holding the side of his shirt for comfort.

“Ahhh! Just when I thought you weren’t going to have anymore kids! Well she’s here now. Unfortunately for you she’s a little darling! We won’t let you hurt her.” He looked down at the girls scars and bandages. “She’s better off with us anyway…”

“Her hair the same as mine…” Subaru knelt down to the girls level and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “It’s alright, Little one. We will handle this.” Despite Subarus tough exterior he had a soft spot for children. He would rather die than have her put in any danger. “You need to go. You need to leave NOW.” The boy looked at his father with a strange glow in his eyes. His voice was filled with malice.

[women-of-malevolent]

I genuinely don’t mean this from a place of malice, and do think the podcast both has a history of handling its women characters poorly and would like if it were better in that aspect. But I don’t understand the specific criticism of the work having a running theme of “male characters uncritically sacrificing their daughters.” (Key word uncritically.)

The titular Bella episode directly forces Arthur to confront the idea that him and Larson are similar, that the callousness they showed to their loved ones is intentionally paralleled. I don’t think it’s something the story is unaware of, and I’d hesitate to argue that Arthur (or Daniel, later) is presented as being in the definitive right. (In this regard.)

I don’t think you have to love the prevalence of the concept in the narrative, but I do think some of your critique feels like you’re taking the worst interpretation you could from the story and arguing that because the characters themselves don’t actively stop the plot to condemn it (and honestly, they do sometimes) it means the actions are presented as wholly value neutral. Some of your analysis feels like you’re starting from a conclusion and working your way back.

I want to reiterate: I really enjoy most of your critiques, and it’s refreshing to have someone in the fandom both document female presence in the podcast and speak candidly about its flaws. I’d honestly love to know if/why you disagree, either with regards to intentionality or necessity of inclusion.

Hello! Thanks for writing in!

I'm not sure which post you're referencing where I said the daughter-sacrifice theme was uncritically portrayed? Because I don't think it is. The story portrays daughter-sacrifice as varying shades of terrible, graded according to intent. These less-than-ideal men keep hurting the women they should have protected.

My problem with the daughter-sacrifice theme is the same as my problem the rest of the show: it's exclusively about men. Daughters aren't people, they're glass sculptures for men to carry for 18 years, and what those men do with that piece of glass in that time tells you about the character of that man.

Who are Addison, Faroe, Emily, Samantha, Murdered Daughter Of A Senator, fuck even Sarah, if you take away the men who hurt them? Looking at just the text of Malevolent, none of the liveplay games lore or headcanons etc, there's little to nothing to these girls.

You're not invited to spend time inhabiting any woman's life like you are with Arthur (or John, to a significantly lesser extent). You can, and I do, but it feels like reading against the text because their lives are boring, horrible, difficult to parse, and they usually end in childbirth or femicide. It's fucking miserable!

The men are trapped in the same bleak, violent story, and a lot of them die graphically and onscreen, but most of them also get some combo of moments of triumph, personalities, voices, independence, quirks that narratively make that violence go down smoother. (Also smoother because there are so many fun and fascinating male characters)

Also, honestly, I don't enjoy how the theme is explored. It feels shallow and lame to me. I personally, as a listener, don't feel like this specific story has ~earned~ (in my personal, idiosyncratic, things-I-like-in-fiction, subjective assessment) exploring the horror of femicide when 1) there are zero normal, living female characters (Marie is very close, but no cigar); 2) all it seems to really say is basically… murder is bad (sometimes) (usually?) (sometimes, at least), and it's extra bad when men kill their dependent women?

Standard disclaimer that it ain't over 'til it's over, what we got is not great so far but it ain't over

Thank you again and I'd be so happy to continue this conversation if you want!

[agentrouka-blog]

Hello,

While referring to the Battle of the Bastards episode when Sansa tells Jon that they need more men, would that be a moot point for her to be right as there were no more men?

He listens to her when she said they didn’t have enough men, and he agreed. But there were no other men available to them.

Jon saw his baby brother running away from Ramsey who was throwing arrows at him to kill and tried to save him (“oh better just let him die cause someone told me not to do what Ramsey wants”?? Saw this somewhere), I’d like to ask if you think what he did was rational considering his brother was going to die, or is there something else he could’ve done instead of messing up his battle plans in one move?

Sansa is primarily criticizing that Jon is going into this battle overconfident and expecting it to go according to what he could expect from a "normal" enemy. With his little "I wanted to make him angry" line, thinking he could easily provoke Ramsay into a mistake. He is not scared enough, cautious enough, for her taste.

Sansa is trying to tell him that only an overwhelming force would predictably work to defeat Ramsay, everything else is extremely risky because of how manipulative and ruthless Ramsay is. She doesn't like that Jon is taking the chance of battle in this circumstance and that he isn't planning according to what the situation requires, i.e. "he's the one who lays traps". Jon hasn't planned for that at all. She assures him that Rickon is a lost cause. That what he wants and expects from this won't happen, that "Battles have been won against greater odds" is irresponsible.

Jon reacts defensively, takes her criticism and worry as an attack against his own level of experience, uses an angry and condescending tone. He's not open to thinking about the situation together, talking over options and applying his own expertise to what she is telling him about the enemy. When she signals her sense of despair and resignation, he offers reassurances that ring hollow. There is no avoiding what will happen, she realizes.

And, predictably, the thing Sansa warned him about happens: Rickon is a lost cause, Ramsay is playing a diabolical mind game. Jon has not prepared for that option, made any contingency for it. Of course, his response wasn't rational, it was entirely emotional and it got a ton of people killed, as Ramsay wanted.

Jon wasn't willing or able to adjust to the situation. He made it clear beforehand and he proved it later. There is no malice in it and he was very human in how he acted. He lacked Sansa experience to anticipate Ramsay's capacity for cruelty. He had no way to mentally detach from Rickon's survival the way Sansa automatically could, knowing Ramsay. Jon never thought to take advantage of her insight. He simply fell exactly into the trap that was laid out for him, a normal human being, and they all would have died.

So Sansa made her own contingency plan, and it happened to work.

Happy end.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Inej Ghafa x gn! Reader - One deep breath

A/n: you fuckers are lucky, i'm so sick right now but I decided to post anyways

Request: tumblr ate it, sorry anon, the request went something like: Inej and reader dancing around their feelings for each other

Warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of homelessness, mentions of gangs, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, death, swearing, there is religious imagery if you squint (not christian), I think that's it? You have been warned!

The Three P's: [Pronouns used: you/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) inej x reader, (platonic!) crows x reader]

The flowers took up root in your lungs before you began to violently cough them out. You curse as they come out of your throat, chocking you to the point of nausea. Tears fill your vision, and you swear at the saints when you see purple geraniums cover your hands and bed.

In the dead of night you'll slip out of the Slat using the very skills of the person who's killing you and go to a cemetery south of there. It's a quaint little thing, meant for the middle class people in Ketterdam, people who aren't poor enough to be barrel rats, but aren't rich enough to be sleazy sloths. Comfortable.

The grass there is soft, and the dirt warm, the perfect place to plant your geraniums.

Or maybe they were hers.

By day you would collect every flower, washing off the crimson from the purple and by night you would plant them. You planted them in an empty corner of the burial ground. It was nice, and pretty, as a pretty as her eyes. Meaning it was pretty enough to be buried there.

Inej was your dawn, she's what got you to the Dregs, out of your homelessness and back on your feet. Simultaneously she will also be your death, as she sails away on her ship, but comes back often enough for your stupid heart to yearn. Saints, you hate the yearning.

Saints, you hate the saints.

She's coming back again today, she'll be coming back later in the afternoon. Probably closer to midnight, in your bones you feel it might be your last. The flower stems take control of how much air gets in and out, and all you can smell around you is summer.

Inej's mother was right about them smelling like the sweet summer air, but now it wasn't sweet. It was a pounding in your head, a knife to throat, yet it reminded you of her. Of your sweet Inej, and despite the sea now staking it's claim over her scent, she still could smell like the summer air when she was happy. Genuinely, undeniably, happy. You didn't want it to disappear, and you would die because of that. Because you wouldn't let the shadow go, you wouldn't let the untouchable Wraith out of your desperate grasp.

As your time ticked by Inej had climbed into your room in the Slat through your window. The only reason you noticed she was there was the now obvious pattering of the rain outside and the fact that she was looking at you through your mirror across from your bed.

When your eyes met your lungs contracted painfully as those eyes full of everything good in this world enchanted you further into your delusions. They observed every part of your soul, and you couldn't help but look away before you would have to cough up a new round of purple petals.

"Hello, Y/n." She whispered as she came up to give you a friendly hug from behind, her arms wrapping around your middle "I missed you."

Saints, you wished she meant it in the way you did, because you had missed her in ways she wouldn't even be able to comprehend. You missed the burning of your lungs from being in her presence, you missed the way the blood would flow from your lips, because then you knew she was near. Inej wouldn't ever know that loving her was the same as suffering, that every time she looked at you, your chest would heave and you would smile at the clear malice of being in love with her.

Some part of you wanted this to all end, maybe if you had moved away from here, from her, so she could never find you then. But your heart has learned that a life without the Wraith, is not one worth living, so you'll take the flowers in exchange for seeing her.

Even if your life is to end, you'd rather take her pain, than leave, and take her love, because when you've lived for so long doing the same thing you get comfortable. The pain gives you solace, consolation that you won't ever have to see life without her, even if yours is too short for comfort.

"I missed you too." You nuzzle your head into her neck, your whispers the only sound other than the rain. Ketterdam for once is quiet, as if even she knows what is to come. "Tell me about your trip." You ask, as if it were any other normal night.

She grins and launches into a whole story about the new slavers she had been hunting, and some of the new recruits on her ship. Her stories took many twists and turns, and often they were long, but you would listen even if they went on for hours. During the time she was telling her tales of the sea, you two had drifted over to your bed, where you both now sat comfortably. Side by side, knees touching, bodies leaned forward, faces almost touching.

If you didn't know any better you would say you looked like lovers, but you did know better.

Eventually, it all comes to an end when her account of her sailing activities had finally dwindled away. All your left with is her goodbye, and those goddamn eyes, staring straight into your soul.

"Get some rest too, Y/n, it seems like you need it." She comments before she leaves.

You only roll your eyes at the Suli Girl. "If you insist."

I love you.

"Goodbye Inej."

As soon as she leaps from the windowsill you're on the floor coughing, more and more flowers, more than ever before. Purple geraniums flood your lungs and all you can think about is her.

_____________

Inej couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong when you didn't see her off when she left the next day.

She's felt like something has been bothering you for a while now, but she could never pinpoint what the problem was. Now she was back at sea, feeling as uneasy as ever, and she just couldn't shake off the feeling. That something just wasn't right, that there was something she had missed. It was as if she'd seen a shooting star in the sky, but turned around to view the moon instead.

Decidedly, she followed her gut, and her crew was now docking the decks of Ketterdam once more, and much more earlier than the last time.

When the Slat came into view, she noticed there were no lights in your room. Perhaps you were still sleeping, or maybe you were on a job.

Maybe her little lover is sick.

Although when she finds no trace of you in your room, her unease grows, finally she goes down to the crow club to try and find Kaz and see where he might know where you are.

His answer is not the one she is expecting.

It's not one she would ever dream of hearing.

"Y/n's dead," He spoke flatly, but even he, couldn't keep the grief from his voice. "They had the hanahaki disease, and chocked to death." He hands Inej a note, addressed to her. "Wylan found this when we were trying to figure out what killed them."

You were dead? But that wasn't possible! You couldn't be- you couldn't-

Snatching the letter out of Kaz's hands she begins to read, albeit with trembling hands, making everything so much harder than it already was.

Dear Inej,

If you're reading this, it means I'm gone. This letter is for you, to let you know that none of this is your fault.

I'm sorry that this is the way you found out, but it was always meant to end this way. Your love is like the sun, and I am nothing but to burn underneath your touch. For another it wouldn't have, but to me your love burns like the scorching sun.

That is not to say it is your fault, my lovely Inej, it is not your burden to bare the blame. If anything it is mine because of the choices I made. I decided that I wanted to live out the rest of my days loving you, (even if in secret) than living apart and trying to love someone else. The truth is Inej, I wouldn't have found anyone else even if I tried.

May your life be overflowing with love,

Y/n

____________

Inej was back on her ship, she had been for the last four months after your death.

Now, to fill the ever growing void in her chest she would throw herself into her work. While she's neglected to dock back at Ketterdam as it had brought too many memories. Your grin, your laughter, your stuttering smile - the way your lips had probably trembled as you chocked.

If her crew saw the bloody, black chrysanthemums she had been coughing up, they didn't say anything. Not even as her ship had started to leave a trail of beautiful carnations, because they had heard the news about her late lover. They all knew their great Wraith was now living on burrowed time.

In a corner of a cemetery for people living comfortably, purple geraniums were growing wild, as they bloomed and created more. All of it pretty enough to have your corpse laid. Where she too, in time would lay beside you, black chrysanthemums surrounding her tomb.

Lovers, too late.

Words 1577

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[delimeful]

in sickness and in health (6)

warnings: remus-typical gore/nsfw mentions, injury mention, captivity, panic, logan mad scientist moments: mini edition, cliffhanger

-

The situation had spiraled out of control faster than Virgil’s self esteem mid-mental breakdown.

His mind kept replaying the last few moments, trying to find the choice that would have saved him. There were a hundred obvious answers, and ones that had been obvious even before he’d landed himself in his own worst case scenario.

He should have realized something was wrong with the stranger’s act before they’d gotten to the point of trying to stab each other. He should have been less harsh with the tackle, going by the wince-worthy crack of skull against marble. Most of all, he should have just cut his losses and ran the moment he’d realized the other borrower wasn’t even listening, but—

“You don’t get to take anything else from me,” he’d said, squinting against the light, each movement more stumble than step.

The guy was trying to protect Patton and his friends. He’d clearly had a run in with the Monoxide group before, had lost people to them before, and he’d still decided to confront Virgil.

Murder attempt or not, he couldn’t just leave the stranger there to get caught.

Now that he was squarely in the palm of a hand big enough to crush him in one motion, he was admittedly having some regrets.

“Woah there, Goth Thumbelina, no need to panic,” said Remus, hurriedly moving his other hand close to form a wall as Virgil attempted to duck away from the fingers curling over him. “A guy as small as you does not want to fall from this height, trust me. We’d turn the kitchen into a total splatter zone.”

And here Virgil had thought his heart couldn’t beat any faster. Life was always surprising him in the worst ways possible.

“Hello? Can you hear me, little guy?” Remus asked, lifting his hands to face level in a motion quick enough to shake what little balance Virgil had left. “You’re not dying of shock, are you? If I accidentally murder a fairy in Patty’s house, I’m pretty sure I’ll legally have to commit some kind of elaborate ritual suicide to atone.”

Well. His parents would probably be happy to know that he’d taken one last human down with him, at least.

Virgil drew all his limbs in until he felt more pillbug than person, his mind too full of mindless panicked shrieking for anything resembling a plan to form.

He couldn’t get away. He couldn’t fight the human off. He couldn’t even say anything, not unless he wanted to make this even worse for every other borrower in the world.

In the end, for all their malice and arrogance, a borrower from the Monoxide group was the same as any other borrower. There still wasn’t a single technique that would save them when they were in the clutches of a human.

All he could do was wait and see what the human decided to do with him.

… At the moment, Remus mostly seemed to be intent on poking him, over and over.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t kill us both in the world’s bizarrest murder-suicide! I haven’t even gotten to third base with a ghost yet!” The finger prodded lightly at the curve of his back again. “If we both die here, we’ll have to haunt this house together. Is that what you want? Because I will inevitably make it weird.”

Do not bite the human, Virgil reminded himself. Do not bite the human. That is a one-way ticket to getting thrown against a wall. Do not bite the human—

“Wow, you are way more polite than most of the small creatures I’ve held,” Remus noted enthusiastically. “On a completely unrelated note, are you venomous?”

Maybe one bite would be fine.

“Remus, if you’re cavorting with rodents in Pat’s kitchen, I swear—,” an annoyed grumble came from the entryway.

“Au contraire, less fair brother of mine,” Remus replied as he spun around to face his twin, “Any true rodent would have given me rabies twice over by now.”

Roman, who had a blanket cape draped over his shoulders and a cranky expression draped over his face, didn’t even glance down at Remus’s cupped hands. “Well, unless you’ve found a mouse-sized poltergeist, my beauty sleep—,”

“Huh.” Remus tilted his head, as though considering Virgil from a new angle. “Actually… maybe this is Patty’s mystery polterguest! Come look!”

He beckoned his twin over with a jerk of the head, and Roman’s suspicion deepened immediately. “Remus. If you are about to throw a cockroach at me, the repercussions will be severe and without mercy.”

“Heh,” Remus looked as if he was indulging in a fond memory. “Nah, I don’t want to ruin my intact-window streak by making you scream like an opera singer in a saw trap.”

Roman edged closer, eyes narrowed. “I still don’t see what kind of ghost would be that small—,”

“Tsk, tsk! Don’t judge a home invader by their size, RoBro!”

Virgil barely bit back a yelp as the human promptly stuck his cupped hands out, nearly knocking his kneeling form right back over. He ducked his head slightly, as though he could somehow prevent them from seeing what he was when he was literally being displayed at that very moment.

Roman’s eyes went wide as quarters as he peered down at him. “Holy Heracles. Is that a fairy?! Patton really is a Disney Princess!”

“That’s what I thought, too, but check it,” Remus nudged Virgil onto his side, revealing his back more clearly. “No wings, or even wing stumps. Plus, they live in the walls.”

Great, he’d noticed that. Still halfway to a panic attack, Virgil spared a pitying thought for all of borrowerkind.

“I feel like there was a Barbie movie that addressed the validity of wingless fairies,” Roman mused, before pausing to frown. “What do you mean, the walls? Tell me you didn’t try eating drywall again. This is not our house.”

“Nobody ever wants to try my fun sleepover activities,” Remus pouted, before rolling his eyes at Roman’s glare. “Don’t get your crown-patterned boxers in a twist, I caught them pre-wall entry.”

“‘Caught them’?” Roman echoed, glancing back down at Virgil, whose body had decided to start trembling hard enough to hopefully vibrate him right out of existence. “Oh my god, you traumatized the fairy. We are so gonna get cursed.”

“Awesome!” cheered Remus. “I hope it’s something with boils.”

“I am not re-enacting the Princess and the Frog as the more amphibious role!” Roman snapped, and lunged forward as though planning to snatch Virgil right out of Remus’s grasp.

Virgil had managed to keep his screaming internal thus far, but the strangled noise of terror that escaped him at the motion was entirely involuntary. Luckily, it was also probably high-pitched enough to bypass human hearing entirely.

“Woah!” Remus recoiled sharply, his hands cupping together to completely surround Virgil, like a child holding a firefly. “Do you even know how breakable itty-bitty creatures are? If I wanted to play tug of war with someone’s guts, I’d kidnap a politician!”

“If I shouldn’t be trusted with delicate creatures, you definitely shouldn’t be,” Roman shot back, though going by the distance of his muffled voice, he’d aborted his grabbing attempts. “Just put them down, they can’t even fly!”

The two of them exchanged some petulant, mostly-indistinct muttering, and then Remus shuffled to the side before placing his clasped hands down on something solid and slowly shifting them out from underneath Virgil.

Rather than fight the motion, Virgil pulled himself upright and let tension coil in every muscle, prepared to take off the instant he felt stable countertop under his feet again.

Sure, running hadn’t worked out for him the first time, but the first time, he’d been dragging the majority of a concussed stranger’s weight along with him. Seeing as Remus had barely caught him even with that handicap, he was more than willing to give fleeing for his life another shot.

His weight dropped onto a surface that was distinctly smoother and slicker than a kitchen counter, and his heart dropped along with it.

Sure enough, when Remus’s hands pulled back, he found himself standing at the bottom of a glass lemonade pitcher, no closer to escape than he’d been when a human hand had been the only thing between him and a fatal fall.

The twins were looming close enough to make his heart stutter, but they were also currently too preoccupied bickering with each other to pay their captive too much attention. Virgil backed up until his shoulders met glass, and slowly slid down into a sitting position, tucking his knees up against his chest.

He was never getting out of this.

–

“Janus,” Logan started, from where he was peering out the wallpaper doorway. “Haven’t we always agreed that we wouldn’t wish our humans on our worst enemy?”

“I don’t recall agreeing to that,” Janus countered halfheartedly, squinting past his near-blinding headache to follow Logan’s gaze. “Really, if you think about it, our worst enemies deserve to be faced with our least merciful weapons.”

In the kitchen, Remus cheerfully put his brother in a vicious headlock.

Also in the kitchen, the borrower Janus had totally and utterly screwed over flinched and flattened themself further against their glass prison.

Logan hummed in a way that did not make Janus feel like he was winning the argument. “And is this solitary borrower our worst enemy?”

“They could be,” Janus replied, indulging in as much of a sulk as his dignity would allow. “They have the mark, they knew what I was talking about. This could all be part of a long con.”

“A long con,” Logan echoed, “to get captured by humans.”

Humans that could have easily caught Janus instead, he pointedly didn’t say.

Janus felt the phantom pressure of a pair of hands shoving him to safety at the last moment, and nausea bubbled up in his throat. He felt fairly certain that it was only partially because of the alleged concussion Logan insisted he absolutely did have. “Anything’s possible.”

Logan turned from the nightmare scene in the kitchen to give Janus the look that comment deserved. “There were no passages to window box gardens or stores of harvested poisons in their home. All of the equipment I found was intended for borrowing, not assassination. There’s only signs of a single borrower residing here, when Monoxide members favor traveling in pairs or trios.”

Janus hissed under his breath. “We can’t just dismiss the possibility that they’re an outlier. A really strange, ineffective, idiotic outlier.”

“Perhaps, but looking at the current evidence offers us a far more plausible conclusion,” Logan said, and then paused, taking in Janus’s grim, hunched-over posture. “... Of course, we can’t truly confirm any theories without investigating our suspect further.”

“Our humans seem entirely too willing to interrogate them for us,” Janus replied bitterly.

Logan turned away from the doorway, dragging his oversized pack in front of him and rummaging through one of the side pockets. “In my experience, our humans have also been very susceptible to distraction.”

Janus perked up, recognizing something familiar in Logan’s tone. That was the tone that preceded a scheme risky enough to make typical borrowers faint just thinking about it.

“Of course,” Logan continued, pulling what looked like miniature explosive prototypes out of his bag, “a distraction loud and flashy enough to divert the twins would only worsen your concussion. I, however, am not concussed.” He paused to give one of the prototypes a dubious glance. “Yet.”

Janus leaned forward to try and inspect one of the devices, and received an armful of coiled thread and a meaningful look from Logan instead.

“Oh, sure,” he complained. “Leave the guy with the head injury with the job of convincing the stranger he tried to stab to participate in the rescue attempt, that makes perfect sense.”

“I have utmost faith in your persuasive abilities,” Logan said in that deadpan way that always made Janus doubt his claim to not understand sarcasm. “Be ready to move as soon as the twins are lured away; I haven't tested the new formula and I’m not sure how long they’ll burn.”

With that extremely concerning statement, the borrower tucked a pair of matches under his armpit, turned, and vanished around the nearest corner.

Janus pulled the thick loop of thread over one shoulder, crouched by the kitchen entrance, and waited.

To Logan’s credit, he worked fast. A series of crackling pops went off, distant but distinct, and their humans only exchanged the briefest of glances before haring off in an unspoken competition to get to the mysterious noises first. Truly, they were predictable in the most amusing ways.

Running had proven to be highly disorienting, so Janus speed walked across the counter to where the borrower’s prison sat. Undignified, but effective.

It hardly mattered; the stranger had crossed the width of the pitcher to peer after the twins and thus was facing the entirely wrong direction to notice Janus’s approach.

They did notice the weighted end of the thread clunk onto the glass behind them, going by how high they jumped and their vehement, half-wheezed swear. They glanced between him and the rope several times in bewilderment.

Janus waggled his fingers in an obnoxious little wave, just because he could. “Any day now. Unless you prefer your current accommodations, I suppose.”

“You’re… helping me?” they asked, with far more dubiousness than Janus felt was warranted. He hadn’t even managed to actually stab them.

“Do you really have the luxury of suspicion right now?” he asked back, shaking the rope for emphasis.

That seemed to snap them out of it. In the next moment, they were wrapping the end of the rope around their wrist and planting their feet on the glass wall, hauling themself up with impressive speed.

Janus leaned back, planting himself as a firmer counterbalance, and then paused.

He could still hear the muted bangs of borrower-sized chemical warfare going on in the other room, but that was it. For a space inhabited by both twins at the same time, there was a suspicious lack of shouting.

Unless…

A chill ran up his spine, and he resisted the urge to yank pointlessly on his end of the rope. “Hurry.”

“I’m trying,” the stranger bit back, grunting as they got a grip on the edge of the pitcher and pulled themself up. They lifted their head and froze in place, all the blood draining from their face.

Janus knew what he'd see before he even turned his head. 

“I knew it,” Roman crowed from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, “you do talk!”

[catsafari25]

A/N: Hello again, and with this I think (?) I may have succeeded in writing enough bionicle fic to get it out of my system (unless another plot bunny hits me like a cannonball, but... eh, we'll see) and thus, here is the companion piece to the Vakama & Roodaka oneshot.

This time, exploring the scene where Vakama entered the Great Temple, from his side of things! This was also partially inspired by the scene in Challenge of the Hordika where Nokama is almost physically repulsed in trying to enter the Great Temple :)

x

In the tunnels beneath the temple, Vakama must stoop.

At first he shuffles, mutated arm tucked against him and his sole hand brushing only briefly along the floor to steady himself, but the passages are dark and deep and lined with creatures which seek out the weak. The eyes that watch him are not hungry. They keep their bellies too full for that.

In the end, it is easier quicker to drop to all fours, to share the weight between claw and tool that feet alone cannot. His altered form folds into the new stance with frightening familiarity. It's comfortable.

Natural.

The crown of his mask grazes the tunnel's ceiling, but only in passing. His gait is sure. Well. Surer than the ungainly slouch it had been before.

It was said – back when Matoran were awake to say such things – that even the strongest swimmers of Ga-Metru would hesitate before plunging into the depths of the protodermis sea. Not because the creatures there had any fondness for the taste of Matoran. In truth, it was thought that the rahi actively disliked the flavour. No, it was because the way Matoran swam was indistinguishable from the rahi's usual prey. Only when they had sunk tooth and jaw into their meal would they realise their mistake.

It was an annoying, if harmless mistake for the rahi.

Matoran couldn't say the same.

Vakama's early crawl through the passage had been like that of a Matoran swimmer: functional, but slow and indiscernible from wounded prey. Creatures drag themselves down into these depths to die, in hopes that they will be devoured only when they are too far gone to feel it. The eyes are patient. They will wait to see if this newcomer is similarly inclined.

And so when Vakama drops to his haunches, the eyes blink. Reassess. He moves less like the hunted and more like the hunter now, more predator than prey, and the eyes – and teeth – keep their distance after that.

The path Vakama stalks through was once a protodermis pipe, made obsolete even before the cataclysm. Newer conduits had been built, more efficient, more resilient, and this one had been disconnected but never dismantled. When he reaches its origin, it takes some effort – and his blazer claw – to break the seal across the hatchway, but when he does, one of the temple's protodermis purification chambers looms above him.

The room beyond is quiet.

Unmarked.

He doesn't realise he's stopped until the chittering of his audience draws closer. The snarl he throws back echoes off the pipe's walls, and the eyes retreat, but do not leave.

Vakama curls his hand around the lip of the hatch, and then falters.

Something is wrong.

It's not a pain, because the feeling does not hurt as it ought, but something is undeniably, fundamentally wrong. It causes his breath to catch, his hand to flinch, and it would be so easy, so easy, to turn and walk away, only...

Only he came here for a reason.

The wrongness flares, amplified for a moment, and then he pulls himself up. The eyes watch, but do not follow. Do they feel it too? Can even such base creatures sense the innate malice the temple exudes?

He clambers out of the purification chamber – empty and abandoned now – and stumbles upon his landing. He catches himself, but does not rise back to his feet.

Wrong.

This is wrong.

And at the edge of the wrongness there is a strange sort of terror. It dreads the same way the fire fears the sea, the same way the prey fears the predator; it is the meeting of two primally antithetical forces where only one can survive. It whispers turn back through his mind.

He moves into the next room.

It's one he knows well. Light filters down from the rot-stained windows, centering – as it had the day he'd first seen it – on the suva, and casting long sentinel shadows of the columns standing to attention around it. A crack mars the suva, its stone dome now split cleanly in two from the quakes, and – drawn by some desire he cannot identify (instinct, curiosity... nostalgia?) – he approaches.

It seems so small now. Even bowed and altered in his Hordika form, he looms over the Ta-Metru symbol he'd once had to stretch to reach.

Unbidden, his hand moves to the niche where once he'd placed a Toa Stone – where once he had though himself chosen, duty-bound, destiny-gifted – and falters a breath from the stone.

The wrongness spikes.

Screams.

And with a twist of something he will not call horror, he understands it is not originating from himself.

But from the temple.

It is repulsion. It's alienation. It's recognising him, but as other, as rahi.

It's disgust that a monster would dare enter its sanctuary.

In the Ta-Metru carving, stone once polished to the point of fragmented reflection, he sees a glimmer of his own face. Neither Toa nor Matoran. Nothing blessed by Mata Nui.

Vakama recoils.

And then a wave of his own disgust, propelled by that fury that runs so close to the surface now, rolls through him. If you didn't want us as the Toa, you should've stopped Makuta from choosing us, he thinks, and digs his claws into the stonework.

The wrongness sings.

But he knows it for what it is now, and his morphed, clawed hand gorges scars through the carving. The stone is soft. Its makers had never imagined someone would take a blade to it.

There comes a tapping from across the room, echoing brazenly off the ancient stone walls, and Vakama retreats instinctively into the shadows. A Rahaga enters.

Norik?

No, this Rahaga's armour is more akin to a Po-Matoran than a Ta-Matoran's, the colour of dust and stone. Vakama tries to recall the Rahaga's name – and then dismisses the attempt.

It won't matter, in the end.

The Rahaga walks as he always has, stooped and slow, but clearly unhindered by the temple. He passes by the suva and runs one gnarled hand across the stonework, his movements marred by curiosity rather than reverence.

The rage arrives a fully-formed creation. It drowns out the wrongness, floods the apprehension, and he is moving before he's decided that this is the path he wants.

It is not pain, for it does not hurt as it ought.

But it does still hurt.

x

Whatever the Rahaga might once have been, they are old and weak now. Four are captured before Vakama's rage has a chance to cool, but the ire is no less dangerous when it does.

(That's the thing about Ta-Metru; it's not a place of fire so much as it is of magma. And magma doesn't extinguish with the cold; it sets. It moors itself into place, an unmovable, burning force.)

The rage settles, solidifies around his heart and lungs and carves a home between his breaths.

(Magma is not fire. It does not leap blindly from one source to the next. Instead it advances. Slowly. Steadily. It finds a channel, a destination, and it engulfs all in its path until it reaches it.)

He finds the last two remaining Rahaga, pathetically ignorant to their brothers' fates and still scavenging the temple for answers. He hears the way Norik appraises his sister's translation, relief clear in his voice that they are one step further on this wild rahi chase. Relief, surely, that the Rahaga are one step closer to regaining their Toa form.

(And Vakama's anger has found its destination.)

He does not descend on the Rahaga's leader the way he has the others. No. Norik will know what's coming for him first. He gets to fear. Vakama waits until Gaaki has gone, until Norik is alone, and then he circles. The wrongness thrums in his veins, weighing him down and labouring his breaths. It doesn't matter. Let Norik hear his approach.

Norik doesn't try to run. Vakama will give him that much. (A wise choice. Vakama intends for this encounter to last, but if Norik runs, Vakama cannot be sure he won't chase.) Instead, the malformed once-Toa calls out and actually tries to approach him. Stupid. Doesn't he know that he won't win any fight, transformed as he is? As both of them are? No, instead, he tries to talk. As if they are equals, as if Norik has done anything to deserve his respect rather than his scorn. As if he has earned the temple's forgiveness for his trespassing.

Even when Vakama raises the fate of Norik's fellow Rahaga, Norik attempts to sway him with the illusion of reason, talking of duty and unity, as if he's not using the other Toa Hordika to chase after a rahi myth for his own desires. As if their roles are in any way comparable, both Toa of Fire once, both leaders, it's true, but Vakama hasn't forgone his duty to chase after selfish needs.

And it stops now.

Vakama circles closer, and Norik is still talking, unease in his voice, but not fear. Still searching for the right words to turn Vakama to his bidding as he has the other Toa Hordika. Ever the voice of two-faced logic.

Why won't he just shut up?

Does Norik think him to be as gullible as the others? As quick to desert his duty as them?

And Vakama knows he wants – needs – to shake that assurance, that arrogance out of Norik. Needs to see that facade of self-righteous wisdom crumble into the terror of his situation.

The growl begins deep in his chest and, unleashed, it becomes a roar. He rears out of the darkness, into the weak sphere of light surrounding Norik – and there, there he finally sees true fear fill the old fool's eyes.

Something slams into Vakama and he reels, his roar cut short. His hand reaches automatically, defensively, to his mask. He finds only water there. It clings to him, imbued with some sort of power – he can feel something other in it – but otherwise impotent.

"Leave my brother alone," Gaaki snarls. She stands in the doorway, small and hopelessly overpowered, but her shoulders are tensed with a stubborness Vakama recognises. Already, her spinner is powering up for another shot.

Well. Two can play at that game.

Vakama's rhotuka fires into motion, but the water has seeped into the mechanism, and dowses the fire before it has a chance to catch. He gives it a withering look, before turning the expression onto Gaaki. "Very clever."

Another water spinner hits him, but this time he is braced for it and all it does is wash harmlessly off him.

"Is that all you have?" he asks. His blazer claw splutters, but the claws on his hand flex. After all, there's more than one way to defang a muaka...

Gaaki steps back. Good. She knows she's outmatched. "It's a devastating attack underwater," she offers, and her words are strong but there is a cracked edge to them.

"Then you'd better start finding a puddle," Vakama growls, "before my claws find you," and he drops into a run, feet pounding and fangs bared and that ever-present wrongness humming about him.

She doesn't flee. Just like Norik, she stands her ground, gnarled fingers wrapped tight around her staff. Her eyes are hard, but he sees the way her hands shake.

How long will her resolve last, Vakama wonders. Before or after the claws find their mark?

He never finds out.

He's knocked off his feet before he reaches her, and when he hits the ground, ropes of energy pin him to the earth, like a water-bound rahi caught in a net.

What–

Norik.

He'd forgotten Norik.

He thrashes against the restraints, but they hold strong – for now. His blazer claw splutters again, but it does nothing to the energy that binds him.

He stills as he hears footsteps approach.

The two Rahaga hobble into his line of sight. Gaaki is breathing hard, as if only now is she allowing herself to feel the fear. "You left that late, Norik," she says, and even the breath that follows sounds more like a shaken wheeze than a nervous laugh. "Almost too late."

"I only had the one shot. I couldn't afford to miss," Norik replies. "He's got our brothers. Gaaki, go find–"

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," she retorts. "I only went for a moment before, and look what would have happened if I hadn't returned."

Vakama tilts his head as well as the energy net will allow. He grins at the Rahaga, anger curdling it into a sneer. "Yes, Gaaki, you're very good bait, congratulations." He shifts his gaze to Norik. "But you've always been so good at getting others to do your dirty work, haven't you, Norik?"

Norik doesn't even have the decency of guilt. Instead, he simply looks tired. "Whatever you think you know–"

"I know the truth! You don't care about the Matoran, you only care about yourselves!" He strains against the ropes, and although they do not break, there's a little more give in them than before. He slumps back to the ground, breathing hard. "You might have the other Toa fooled. You might even have the temple fooled, but not me," he growls, and the temple's hatred presses down on him, straining his last words.

Gaaki places a frail hand on her brother's arm. "Norik," she says, and there is such unbearable sorrow in her voice. "He looks in pain."

"It's not my doing," Norik assures her softly. "My snare spinner only binds."

Vakama snarls. "I don't need pity from the likes of you. I know what you are."

"We're allies, Vakama," Norik says, in that insufferably reasonable way of his. "Friends."

"You're frauds," Vakama snaps. He twists against his restraints. They slacken, just a touch. "Liars. You don't deserve to walk these floors."

And the Rahaga stand there, unburdened by the temple's hate, strangers to this land, to Metru Nui, and yet it is Vakama the temple repulses? After everything he has forgone, the life he's abandoned, the friendships he's lost, Mata Nui punishes him?

His rhotuka fires off a fire spinner, and it goes wide, cracks a wall. Norik and Gaaki stumble back, Norik preparing another snare shot, but the energy net holding Vakama snaps. Vakama lurches forward, suddenly free, and slams into Norik.

The snare spinner wraps itself around a column. It lights up the room with crackling energy.

A blast of water grazes past his shoulder, too shy of hitting Norik to commit to taking the easy shot, and Vakama reels towards Gaaki. He fires with a snarl, but hears the snare spinner coming again and ducks at the last moment.

Again his own attack misses and the shot cleaves clean through a wall. Something on the other side begins to smoulder.

Then it begins to rumble.

It's a low sound at first, as deep as the earth and just as vast. Almost like a distant growl. But then the cracks begin to spiral out across the roof, along the columns, and the room buckles.

The light flickers. The frames of the high windows above collapse.

The world becomes fragmented, filled with flickering images. Falling masonry and toppling pillars and dust – but the sounds never relent. Even in the depths of the passing darkness, the thunder continues.

And when the dust settles, so does an awful silence.

Vakama straightens, or does his best approximation of it. Fragments of cracked protodermis fall from his shoulders, his head, his back. He withdraws the hand which has somehow found itself raised above Gaaki, knocking aside the stone slab caught against his arm.

Where's Norik?

Both Hordika and Rahaga stand side by side, that quietness disturbed only by the skittering of stone shards settling. There is wrongness in his breath, his head, and it's impossible to separate where the temple's ends and his begins. But any moment now, Norik will reappear from the wreckage, bearing that ever-same holier-than-thou look, and the anger will rise anew in Vakama.

Any.

Moment.

Now.

"You've killed him," Gaaki says, and her voice breaks that terrible stillness. She draws in a half-breath that cracks into a sob. "You've... oh, Norik..."

No.

No, it was an accident. He hadn't meant to– Norik had simply been in the wrong place. It wasn't as if he'd taken a blazer claw to Norik, or hit him directly with a fire spinner. He'd only meant to... what? What had he only meant to do?

Something swings towards him and he grabs the staff before he even registers what it is.

"He's not dead," Vakama says, and maybe if he says it, he might even believe it. He snaps his gaze to Gaaki, as if her grief is bringing it to pass. "He's not. He's not as easy to kill as that. When the others– when the Toa find him, he'll be fine. Fools like him always find a way to survive."

Gaaki attempts to pull her staff free, but her strength is no match for Vakama's. He wretches it out of her grasp and tosses it aside.

"Stop that."

She doesn't listen to him, only steps back and charges up her rhotuka. The grief in her eyes fogs into hatred.

The water spinner hits him but does little more than rock him.

"Stop."

Gaaki screams, a sound of rage and anguish, and releases a volley of spinners as ineffectual as the first.

Vakama's patience – or whatever had held him in place until now – snaps. He lunges forward. His claws close around the joints of Gaaki's rhotuka and pins the mechanisms harmlessly into place, in the same manner one might pick up a baby ussal crab by the widest edge of its shell. She thrashes, but Vakama's grip holds.

"I said, stop," he snarls.

She's breathing hard, her gasps sharp-edged with agony. "You killed him," she says, voice hoarse and hateful.

His insides twist, and – Gaaki hauled by his side – he starts the ascent to where the rest of the Rahaga are trapped. He doesn't look back to the rubble. Doesn't glance for one last glimpse of Norik's resting place.

He's not dead. He's not dead he's not dead he's not

The wrongness, the hatred, has woven so deep into him, it's almost a part of him now.

Toa don't kill. Vakama can't remember who taught him that (he recalls, briefly, the flash of a gold mask, but it comes with pain – grief – and he pushes it aside before it can take root) but it gnaws at him like a trapped stone rat. Toa don't kill.

But he was never meant to be one.

And if the Great Temple – if Mata Nui – thinks a mistake was made in Vakama's destiny....

Well. That's somebody else's problem.

x

The Hordika that returns to Roodaka is different from the one she sent out. There's something new in his eyes... or perhaps something lost.

"How was the temple, Vakama?" she asks when it's just the two of them.

He looks to her. Beneath the anger, beneath the rahi, there's almost a haunted look to those eyes. It vanishes a moment later, but Roodaka never doubts her own eyes.

"Unwelcoming," he replies, and Roodaka smiles. She could have suggested Vakama pick the Rahaga off one by one in the chaos of Metru Nui, outside where her Visorak could have been an aid... but the temple had been too good an opportunity to miss.

"Good." She sets a hand on his shoulder. "You owe no loyalty to Mata Nui, Vakama. Not anymore."

He rolls his shoulder, but not sharp enough to dislodge Roodaka's hand.

"One thing I do not understand," she says. "What happened to the sixth Rahaga?"

The Toa growls. It is a gutteral sound, rooted deep in the chest and at home in a way it wasn't before. "You wanted a message left for the other Toa. I needed a messenger."

"Alive?"

Vakama shrugs his shoulder again, and this time she lets him roll her hand loose. "Does it matter, so long as they understand?" he growls.

No, Roodaka concedes as she surveys the remains of the Toa before her. She supposes not.

[atopvisenyashill]

Hello! I have a question and I hoped that you might help me. I’ve seen a lot of posts in the asoiaf tag where people claimed that GRRM is criticising feudalism. My problem is that I don’t understand why would he? Feudalism isn’t a system that actively exists anymore. It’s not like criticising capitalism or totalitarianism which still exist. And it’s a fantasy series and most fantasy series have a somewhat medieval setting. It doesn’t make sense to me.

oo fun question anon.

well, first off, i would say he’s not just critiquing fuedalism. he’s also critiquing monarchies, which unfortunately still exist, and power structures in general, which definitely still exist. for example, that famous broken man section, sorry for length but the whole thing is good:

“Ser? My lady?” said Podrick. “Is a broken man an outlaw?” “More or less,” Brienne answered. Septon Meribald disagreed. “More less than more. There are many sorts of outlaws, just as there are many sorts of birds. A sandpiper and a sea eagle both have wings, but they are not the same. The singers love to sing of good men forced to go outside the law to fight some wicked lord, but most outlaws are more like this ravening Hound than they are the lightning lord. They are evil men, driven by greed, soured by malice, despising the gods and caring only for themselves. Broken men are more deserving of our pity, though they may be just as dangerous. Almost all are common-born, simple folk who had never been more than a mile from the house where they were born until the day some lord came round to take them off to war. Poorly shod and poorly clad, they march away beneath his banners, ofttimes with no better arms than a sickle or a sharpened hoe, or a maul they made themselves by lashing a stone to a stick with strips of hide. Brothers march with brothers, sons with fathers, friends with friends. They’ve heard the songs and stories, so they go off with eager hearts, dreaming of the wonders they will see, of the wealth and glory they will win. War seems a fine adventure, the greatest most of them will ever know. "Then they get a taste of battle. For some, that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years, until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they’ve been gutted by an axe. “They see the lord who led them there cut down, and some other lord shouts that they are his now. They take a wound, and when that’s still half-healed they take another. There is never enough to eat, their shoes fall to pieces from the marching, their clothes are torn and rotting, and half of them are shitting in their breeches from drinking bad water. “If they want new boots or a warmer cloak or maybe a rusted iron halfhelm, they need to take them from a corpse, and before long they are stealing from the living too, from the smallfolk whose lands they’re fighting in, men very like the men they used to be. They slaughter their sheep and steal their chickens, and from there it’s just a short step to carrying off their daughters too. And one day they look around and realize all their friends and kin are gone, that they are fighting beside strangers beneath a banner that they hardly recognize. They don’t know where they are or how to get back home and the lord they’re fighting for does not know their names, yet here he comes, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground. And the knights come down on them, faceless men clad all in steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world… "And the man break. “He turns and runs, or crawls off afterward over the corpses of the slain, or steals away in the black of night, and he finds someplace to hide. All thought of home is gone by then, and kings and lords and gods mean less to him than a haunch of spoiled meat that will let him live another day, or a skin of bad wine that might drown his fear for a few hours. The broken man lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than man. Lady Brienne is not wrong. In times like these, the traveler must beware of broken men, and fear them…but he should pity them as well.”

When Meribald was finished a profound silence fell upon their little band. Brienne could hear the wind rustling through a clump of pussywillows, and farther off the faint cry of a loon. She could hear Dog panting softly as he loped along beside the septon and his donkey, tongue lolling from his mouth. The quiet stretched and stretched, until finally she said, “How old were you when they marched you off to war?” “Why, no older than your boy,” Meribald replied. “Too young for such, in truth, but my brothers were all going, and I would not be left behind. Willam said I could be his squire, though Will was no knight, only a potboy armed with a kitchen knife he’d stolen from the inn. He died upon the Stepstones, and never struck a blow. It was fever did for him, and for my brother Robin. Owen died from a mace that split his head apart, and his friend Jon Pox was hanged for rape.” “The War of the Ninepenny Kings?” asked Hyle Hunt. “So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. It was a war, though. That it was.”

Bolded parts mine! All of it, but especially the bolded parts can apply just as easily to soldiers in the war of the five kings, the war of the roses, world war 2, vietnam, and every war in between. Think about the way military recruiters show up to high schools with cool gadgets and the promise of free college, and the way Meribald talks about the lords showing up pressing young boys into service. Think about the fact that the British military executed three hundred and six soldiers suffering from PTSD after WWI for "cowardice" and the starving soldiers Meribald talks about abandoning their armies just for an extra mouthful of food. when meribald talks about the soldiers looting from peasants, think about the fact that the innocent people in gaza are starving to death while a handful of miles away, there are restaurants booming and food enough to throw away. War is war, regardless of whether it's being waged a thousand years ago or a thousand years from now.

it's important when discussing asoiaf to remember that george is often holding a mirror up against our own society - he is saying that this, the violent patriarchy of westeros, is our natural endpoint if we continue to treat each other the way we do. it's about taking these typical tropes and roles and archetypes and asking what they are really like, how hard they really are, how awful they really are, and if this is the life we want to befall our own children. it is about asking if we, as in the reader, are capable of breaking the cycle of violence as surely as it is about asking if the characters can break that cycle too. There's a reason, for example, Ramsay's story is so tied up in domestic violence, or why Robert's character focuses much more on the way he has failed his family than anything else. There's a reason there's so many sibling groups (Martells, Daynes, Starks, Lannisters, Tullys, Baratheons) that get wrecked by the Rebellion and that the series tracks the way this wreckage seeps out into the realm. Yes, asoiaf is about feudalism but it is about us as well.

second, while feudalism doesn’t technically exist any more, the relics of feudalism still haunt the world; from hereditary noble titles to literal monarchs with absolute power to extreme barriers to social mobility and even serfs. you'll see a lot of academics, especially since the pandemic started, talking about "neo-feudalism" and the idea that just like the middle ages was shaped by pandemics that ravaged populations and made it easier for upper classes to get richer and stop social mobility, the pandemic has enriched the richest people in the world and made everyone else exceedingly poor. while george obviously wasn't writing about the neo feudalism people are talking about today, this is a concept that's been kicking around since the 1980s so I think it is likely that George had done some research into the relics of feudalism and the criticism of modern governments working like corporations. Because this history may seem a long time ago - the war of the roses ended over a thousand years ago, after all - but feudalism and it's relics are still very much within living memory. Russia still had serfs until the 1860s, Bosnia and Herzegovina up until 1918, and Bhutan until the 1950s! There are also still countries all over the world that still have what is basically legalized slavery, whether it's workers stolen from one country and trafficked to another, a minority group that is used as slave labor, or prison labor. I think George is also knocking at the remnants of it as well. I mean, the UK monarchs aren't even that powerful in the grand scheme of things and yet every time they have one of their lil events, they destroy tent cities and mass displace the unhoused populations of London because like, homeless people are gross instead of actually doing anything to help those people. Diana was a teenager when she married Charles. Yeah, that's a far cry from like, poor Rhaella but that doesn't mean it's not still a fucked up institution that is worth taking aim at!

but thirdly!! feudalism exists in fiction constantly still - as you said, a lot of high fantasy has a medieval-ish bent (even books pulling from non western cultures or authors from non western cultures still tend to pull more from history that falls pre-1500s; this is mostly just my opinion as a librarian and fantasy reader, but it's really only been the last decade or so that fantasy has branched out into non medieval time periods like with stuff like babel, six of crows, some of katherine arden's stuff, etc). the divine right of kings is still alive and thriving in fiction and (again, this is my amatuer opinion here) I do think at least part of this is because a lot of american fantasy writers have never lived under a monarchy, so the bad affects of it are far off and easier to romanticize. as well, you get a lot of "times were simpler" PoVs from non americans who have lived under some sort of monarch as well. and that’s why i believe he’s criticizing it - he’s critiquing the genre itself for its romanticization of feudalism, monarchies, kings and queens, and the idea of the divine right of kings. he's saying "look realistically this shit sucked for everyone" and then rubbing your face in how bleak the feudal system actually was. It's the aragorn's tax policies aspect - there is more to being a leader than a watery tart throwing a sword at you!! it's jaime's entire riverlands arc - house lannister won the war on a technicality, and yet the horror, the desolation, the despair are still fresh in the minds of the common people, in the minds of the people who lost their loved ones.

[psicadetterra]

what do you like about chloe and bobby as individual characters or as a dynamic? (im extremely predictable lol)

Oooh, this will be fun. I know you wrote "or" but wound up thinking about Bobby, Chloe, and Bobby AND Chloe because I love thinking/talking about the campers (Did you know? Haha.) I apologize for the impending wall of text.

Bobby is such an unusual character. He has a very grotesque appearance, but that is why I like him. If he looked or acted any other way, I would not like him as much.

I like that beneath all of the grime and malice, he has a heart. He treats Chloe, one of the stranger campers, with kindness. I feel like this speaks volumes. He's not even that good to his "friend" Benny (shoving him, hitting him, ditching him.)

He has a shocking amount of depth. His Campster, his reaction to the GPC button, his fuckin' EYES. He's fascinating. He's like a bacteria to me and I want to study him.

He's also just plain funny. I love the moment after Milka scares them and Raz says, "Don’t make me go get my fish friend again." Bobby replies, "Pfff! I ain’t afraid of no Lungfish. Come on and get me, stupid Lungfish. Oooh! Look at me! I can breathe! Big deal! So can I!"

I just love it, "OOoooh look at meeeee! I can breeEEEAAathe! BIG DEAL! So can I!" If I could animate…

Let's talk about Chloe now. 💫

I love how her design works. She claims to be an alien. She LOOKS alien, but when you see every other character, maybe not… I used to find her lack of mouth vexing, but then I realized that this opens up other avenues with drawing her expressively (although I love her default blank stare lol.)

Her character even seems to be a play on being "alienated" (That's how I interpret it sometimes.) I can't imagine her peers at school are welcoming of her, whether it be due to her psychic abilities or claims of being an alien. At camp she's just a weirdo among weirdos. (Side note but I wonder how she lives at home and goes to school. "Chloe take your helmet off in the building.")

She's kind of a "loner" but it's by choice. She's well-liked at camp (weirdo among weirdos). She just does her own thing. I like that. She knows who she is and she owns it. It's a little difficult for me to express my thoughts about this aspect of her. I hope I'm making sense.

And she's just plain cute. She and Hello Kitty graduated from the same school of having no mouth and wearing a hairbow (and I drew Sanrio-style Chloe once.) She's so liiiiiittle. I just wanna pick her up and hold her like a stuffed animal lol.

Now let's talk about a bit of Bobby AND Chloe.

I don't ship them as kids, but I do like the idea of them being together as adults. I think Bobby is just feeling infatuation since Chloe is genuinely nice to him. Nothing "genuine" if that makes sense. Chloe does not return the feelings because she's too busy with space stuff (and also she's seven.)

Their friendship is very interesting to me. I don't know how well I can describe it without veering directly into headcanon territory (I have a lot of guidelines for myself on how Bobby should be interacting with Chloe in a given situation lol.)

Chloe wants Bobby to behave and he WANTS to behave better for Chloe, but old habits die hard. Disappointing Chloe must feel like hell for him.

I don't think it's all serious for them all the time. I think they can get into some mischief together (but Chloe won't let him go TOO far.)