#i dreamt i killed him and set his body on fire

[ballcrusher74]

hey you can't be hauling that sign around !!!!

speedran a little suit retexture for inspector based off this drawing I did. also bonus lil screenshots teehee !

[driftwooddestiel]

made this the other day btw

[bugmin]

i fear i will never be normal abt miss rudy pankow..... he makes me feel like a deranged chimpanzee like a pic of him popped up on pinterest with no warning and i started chewing on my kitchen counter

[give-grian-rights]

and this, too, is yuri

[falsepirit]

anything for you 💣 [junkrat]

content warning: yandere, typical junkrat shenanigans.

You weren’t sure why this was happening. You weren’t sure why you didn’t catch on earlier.

Everywhere you went, catastrophe would follow you. You thought you were merely down on your luck, moving to areas often targeted by criminals. You should’ve realized something was off when acts of arson, murder, and thievery would live in your shadows no matter which country you were in.

This leads you to now: curled up, hiding inside a cardboard box in your bedroom that you never bothered unpacking, knowing you were bound to move once again eventually. You just didn’t think you’d ever meet the reason why you’ve had to keep yourself on the run, keep your name from being tied to crimes you never even dreamt of doing.

“C’mon, love. Won’tcha make it easy for a good bloke like me? I’ve been trying real hard to find you!”

His voice is harsh, strident words roaring through your apartment’s thin walls. You’re not sure what’s worse; the sound of uneven footsteps getting louder or the smell of gunpowder and fumes that’s begun to seep into your room. You feel your eyes well up in tears—you can’t tell if it’s from the smoke or sheer fear of your current predicament.

It’s not long before your door is kicked open, the man stomping into your room and bringing the smell of fire with him. “Come on out already, I’m dyin’ to take a gander at that pretty lil’ face of yours again,” you hear him call out, a crazed giggle following—and when you stay quiet and hidden out of sight, you flinch at the sound of him taking out his frustration on your possessions.

“Please, please, please,” he says. Metal clinks and creaks with each word; you wonder what on earth he’s got on him to be making such mechanical noises. “I’ve gotta see ya again. You've got me all out of sorts n’ you're the pick-me-up I swear I need bad.”

You can hear him cursing, crying out incoherent sentences out of desperation, maybe even insanity. No sane man would follow you across the globe, leaving bomb attacks in his wake.

Thud, thud, thud. The sounds of your belongings being thrown left and right, most likely with intentions of looking for any traces of you still in the room. Then goes the sound of your mirror shattering, your wardrobe’s doors being thrown open, your desk being shoved onto the ground, all the items you left on top coming down with it—

—then, there is nothing.

Your panicked heartbeat thrums in your ears. You can vaguely make out the cracking of fire, the man’s heavy breathing. Swallowing hard, you bundle up into yourself, praying that maybe, just maybe, he would give up on you and leave. Then, you’d pack up the remains of your things, move out of the country again, this time somewhere more rural, more off the map. Maybe if you had initially done that, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Oh, who were you kidding? This maniac had killed hundreds, set fire to a plentiful number of neighborhoods just to catch your attention. You have a gut feeling that if you tried escaping to the moon, he’d be there, too, bloodthirsty spree and all.

The thought of it—of him sacrificing so many innocent lives, so many homes just for your sake—makes you sick. The more you think about your neighbors all possibly being dead, the more your composure trembles, barely clinging onto a thread. It was too much. Too much responsibility for things you never asked to happen.

Before you realize it, you let out a terrified sob, tears spilling down your cheeks.

A relieved cackle echoes with the fire crackling. In an almost nauseatingly sweet tone, the man coos: “There you are! Been looking everywhere for you, love. I've nearly torn the whole damn place apart.”

You never asked for this. You never asked to be stuck in this situation. You never asked to be dragged out of the box by your arms, you never asked to be pressed against a lean body that belonged to a ruthless murderer.

You want to struggle and push him away, but all you can manage is a weak-hearted jab to his arm, only to hit metal instead of flesh. The sensation of warm metal leaves you confused, blinking away your tears, finally looking up at the man who’s been terrorizing you for the past few years.

He’s tall. Much taller than you. Where your head only reaches his shirtless chest, he has to look down just to get a good look at you; you’re faced with a blond man with sharp features, soot-stained skin, a wicked grin, and hazel eyes filled with a fondness that leaves you sick to your stomach.

“God, fuck, you’re way prettier up close,” the man says, a little breathless. A gloved hand runs up the spine of your back to hold you closer to him, resting at the nape of your neck. His smile grows wider at the way you shudder at his touch. “Can’t believe I’ve finally got ya in me arms. Pinch me if this is all a dream.”

Oh, how badly you wished this were all a dream. You try to pull your body away from his, but he only brings his body closer, his other hand—a prosthetic, but much more old-fashioned than most prosthetics you were familiar with—coming to rest under your thigh. You wiggle around in his grasp in an attempt to shake off the hand on your thigh, shaking your head in fear when he holds on tighter.

With a sudden heave, you squeak as you’re lifted into the air. On instinct, you wrap your legs around his body and cling onto his neck to keep yourself from falling off; the hand on your neck runs through your hair tenderly, almost like a reward for your cooperation.

The man hushes you while he cradles you against his body. “S’alright, babe, Jamison’s got ya. We’re gonna live happily ever after once I get you back home, you and I. Won’t have ta worry yer pretty lil’ head off now that I’m ‘ere.”

Sniffling, you raise your head to peer over this psychopath’s—no, Jamison’s shoulder. Your breath is caught in your throat when you notice the number of explosives strapped onto his body, a stark contrast to the way his hand comfortingly pets you. Any attempt at thrashing about would result in a bang and your limbs missing.

Your eyes flit across your room, from the rubble of your walls to your ruined furniture, until you manage to find the window.

Breath heavy from panic, you break down at the sight outside your apartment complex: almost every building within a nearby vicinity has smoke coming from it, some barely on the verge of standing and some completely collapsed. Smoke rises from the trail of wreckage left behind by Jamison, with corpses of humans and omnics alike following.

It’s all too surreal. This can’t be what he’s been doing continuously for years, stalking you to every place you’ve moved to—no, it can’t be. You couldn’t believe you were the sole reason for all the deaths and destruction Jamison’s caused just to come and claim you as his. It’s too much to comprehend, too much guilt resting heavy on your shoulders.

You don’t know what to do. You’re not sure what you’re capable of doing to save yourself anymore.

Humming, Jamison pulls the both of you away from the window and out of your bedroom. “I like ya so much love, so fucking much,” he says along the way, but it sounds almost sardonic with the devastation surrounding you. “I really do. I've never felt this hot n’ heavy ‘bout anybody else, swear on me dead body.”

He presses his lips against your neck, teeth grazing over your skin. Terrified, you hide your face against his chest, refusing to look at the horror this man could cause. “Need you to know I adore every part of ya, how lucky of a man ya make me feel with you ‘ere in me arms, fuck, darl, I’d do anything for ya, I need you to know that.”

“You’re probably knackered from all the ruckus, arent’cha? Sorry ‘bout that, I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I was dyin’ to meet ya again,” Jamison continues on. He’s right; you’re too exhausted to even sob anymore. “But we’re all good now! All that’s left is to blow this fuckin’ place to smithereens n’ we’ll be on our way to home sweet home!”

Too overwhelmed, too full of guilt—you let him take you to wherever home sweet home is.

[iridescentscarecrow]

ok. chainsaw man chapter 155 tatsuki fujimoto rips my heart out of my chest edition.

makima’s search for intimacy in p1 mirrors denji’s. this search is their shared dream, a dream which is negotiated by their respective ideals: the girlfriend that denji wishes for, the Chainsaw Man makima “sought.” 

both these ideals for them signifies in essence a deviation from the lives they both lead (first image set: carted to and fro from their meetings with the yakuza/the higher ups, the ones they’re enslaved to) in both a luxury and love denji never allows himself, a freedom and a chaotic that’s anthitetical to makima’s own performance of order.

and this for fujimoto is something that permeates all his text, this subversion of what is signified by connection, by family and intimacy, ultimately dragging you into the same cycle, chaining you to it. it’s agni & luna in fire punch: their love for each other being what makes them carve up their bodies, extending to togata (also existing in idealisation) who frames and directs the Story (the structure) in an effort to feel intimacy.

 and here too: denji’s idea of partnership creates Versions of makima for him: her girlishness, her, presented. and makima’s vision of Chainsaw Man informs denji’s own reality. 

this Chainsaw Man runs over into part 2 as does makima. and nayuta, concentrated in how she reforms makima, is specifically family. the very family makima concocted for denji as vessels for happiness. 

family and happiness, context based connection are what immerses you in structure. unbalancing this utterly iconizes you. the icon makima hoped to create with this rupture was the Chainsaw Man. she tells him that he is incapable of normality because he killed his family, and in this chapter he tells himself that – she aims to author this rupture with her concoction of family but she herself is so intertwined in it. nayuta’s Makima in part 2 is this very intimacy, this family. the thing makima too craves.

and do you see here? the cycle? the way this worth in connection is what makes nayuta sacrifice herself for denji? togata sacrifice himself for agni? aki sacrifice himself for the hayakawa family as people cheer on the chainsaw man? the way in the end the rupture is self inflicted, the icon is self formed, and the protagonist is left forming context out of nothing? how so many of fujimoto’s relationships build upon idealisation of the other?

do you see here? the way they’ve all made dogs out of each other? denji holding pochita close, denji the dog. makima the dog, and the pets she dotes upon. nayuta and denji, walking the dogs together: they’re the culmination of the two’s part one relationship, the fulfillment of all their wishes in each other, and yet, yet

yet barem. the Dead Wife barem. building a mockery, a reproduction of makima’s self onto himself, tearing away homes, contexts to force them all back into this cycle. i said he didn’t understand the intimacy she wanted when i called him the Dead Wife to makima’s performance of Woman. the Woman, forever iconicised, obsessed over, suspected, subjugated…

the question: “who am i?” answered through context (family, connection) not identity intrinsic to oneself. dreams as dreamt through each other, “make my dreams come true for me!” denji tells pochita next to wanting him to live a normal life in his body. makima in the end, wanting to eat together, live together with the CSM, smoking a cigarette (uncharacteristic) in the graveyard. 

all of part 2 then, cast over by this shadow. asa, navigating both solitude and connection through war. parasocial relationships. yuko becoming Justice for asa. the theatre scene, aspiration on screen viewed alongside the response of the person next to you. and asa in the orphanage, told that she can’t have a family, that she must exist decontextualised – and now structure, hunger, reproduction doing just that, part 2's deconstruction to part 1's construction, ripping it all away, backing you into this cycle.

[peachdues]

Kyojuro’s Nightmare — Tell Me to Stop (pre-part 2?)

Part 2 is slowly coming along (I think I’m like 75-80% done with it?) but unfortunately I keep wanting to expand other things that I probably don’t need to include in the story. So here’s an example of something from an earlier draft of Part 2 that probably won’t make it in the Final Cut. Really this just helps set up his attitude more than anything (and also my first stab at horror?)

Massive TW: violent nightmares/death/corpse

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Kyojuro POV

Every night for the last two months, he has dreamt of her.

They are not pretty dreams, not like those he had before, when he’d wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she laughed, the two of them living in a monster-free world and at peace.

Now, he dreams of vacant eyes tinged blue, unseeing and unblinking and frozen, just like the rest of her. He dreams of iced skin and blood and poison pouring from her mouth and her nose until she chokes, her chest rising once with a final rattle before it falls still.

He dreams of Upper Three, smiling deviously as he aims his fist to deal his final blow, and Kyojuro wrenches his blade down, desperate to finally win.

Only, his blade decapitates Y/N, not Upper Three and he is helpless to watch her head bounce pathetically to the ground. His hands are covered in her blood, and instead of disintegrating, her body falls uselessly to the side. Human.

As quickly as he kills her, the dream changes. He is in a lively street, filled to the brim with street vendors and women and men offering their services. It is night but the lights of the shops and gambling dens and pleasure houses are so bright that it looks like daytime.

He recognizes her by the back of her haori, and his feet move towards her, relieved to see her amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. He reaches out to touch her shoulder, her name whispering on his lips. But she turns before he can make contact, and though she appears as beautiful and as healthy as ever, she looks at him with eyes that are white and unseeing.

I don’t understand, she pleads with him, It doesn’t make sense.

Kyojuro looks around in alarm and they are no longer standing amongst eager entertainment seekers, but among flame and wreckage, the once-ornately decorated stalls now smashed to splinters as fire slowly consumes the skeletal remains of the entertainment district.

He turns back to her right as a blade pierces through her gut, lifting her from the ground before letting her drop.

His hands shake as he reaches for her, desperate to check her wounds, but when she looks up at him, he stumbles back.

She is all wrong. Her skin is mottled and rotting from her face, and her hair is gray and matted. Where her eyes once were are black holes, empty and cold.

Why can’t I come with you? Why can’t I go home, Kyojuro?

Please take me home.

Every night for the last two months, he has awoken screaming.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It’s not ✨delivery✨ it’s ✨de-trauma���

[allkordelia]

Keep Me in Your Thoughts (23)

Daemon was standing up looking at rhaelle with a mixture of shock and confusion, what she just told him left him speechless and  he couldn't comprehend the words she spoke to him.

"Kill you? Why–Why would she want to kill you?" He asked.

"It's not hard to figure out, why, daemon."

"Humor me." He said, rhaelle look at him with a exasperating look before sighing and scatching her cheek.

"Aemma was sad. Her husband was spending more time with me and less with her and rhaenyra, so I presume she and Magatha talked one night–"

"Did aemma try to kill you?" He asked disgruntled, the feeling of anger pump through his heart at the thought of it, rhaelle's tap her cheek as she shook her head.

"No, I thought she told magatha to do it at first too but no," rhaelle sigh rubbing her temple, " The queen went into a deep sadness and Magatha blamed me, so she poisoned me and my childern as a result. Rather than I dying it was my sweet jaenara who did, and when I finally found out and confronted Magatha. She told me everything."

"What happened to her?" He asked.

"I killed her." She said simply in deep thought, "and I had otto help me get rid of the body, it took them many moons to find her mostly because her face was unrecognizable and bloated from the water. Honestly I think she was still alive when we threw her in." She finally looked at daemon, she stare into his eyes and saw mixture of emotions.

"After that everything changed, no one bothered me again not otto, not viserys, not even aemma. That was the year I changed for the better and saw my children as my sole priority." She shrug her left shoulder as  she looks out the window, the snow was falling slowly in the night.

The sudden heat crash into her as arms wrapped themselves around her chest, "You didn't deserve that." Daemon spoke quietly as if they were others around to hear the sweets words that was only for her ears.

"No one deserves that." She said back.

"I'm not talking about anyone else I'm talking about you, you didn't deserve to go through that rhaelle. I refuse to believe that what you dreamt will come true," She turn around in his arms and look at him straight in the eye.

"I dreamt of my son getting rip apart in front of my eyes by the lords of the seven kingdoms as they chanted 'heir'. I  called for viserys only for him to do nothing and watch from his seat on the iron throne as they kill my child."

"I felt the dust and broken stone from the ceiling hit my skin as my dragon bust through roof, and  set me and every man in the throne room on fire. I know you are trying to make me feel better but I am no fool I know nothing can save my son and nothing can save me–"

"I will. I'll save you and baelor, even if it means I'll have to die to do it." His hands were grasping her cheeks, so he could stare into her eyes when he said his next words, "And I will do everything in my power to protect you and your children, because...I love you." Rhaelle shook her head pushing away daemon's arms so he could stop.

"....daemon," she sigh in tired, daemon didn't move as he stood in front of her, holding her arms to stop her from leaving.

"I know. I know what your going to say, and I don't fucking care..." rhaelle stop trying to get out of his hold and look at him in surpise, "I came here in hopes to start back where we left off nine years ago. But, I realize I didn't want that you anymore but the you, you are now." He exhale deeply as he grabs her hands and rub his thumb over the back of her hand.

"I am married–" she started.

"But, that doesn't stop you from trying to fill the emptiness you have with those whores, does it?" He asked making her glance away from him, "What do you want me to do to show I am serious about being with you?...Hmmm?" He looks at her, moving his head to try to get her to look at him.

"Must I bend the knee to you? Fine." He got on his knee making rhaelle watch with wide eyes, "Must I abandoned the targaryen name for you, I will do just that for you–"

"Stop–"

"If you tell me to wear your colors I will, if you ask me to be your whore and use me like an object of pleasure, I will do it for you." She shook her head at his foolery, "If you ask me to curve out my own heart, I will just to show you how it beats only for you."

"You are a fool."

"A fool who would kill every man who hurt you, starting with my brother and ending with your father–" rhaelle push the palm of her hand against daemon's mouth at his words.

"Stop this nonsense your words are traitorous." Daemon remove her hand and stare gaze up at her like a goddess.

"Then, a traitor I am...to my brother, to my house, and to his kingdom. You are the only queen I will serve and the only goddess I will pray to," she look at him unsure, "Just tell me what you want me to do and I will do it, without question." He asked desperately, rhaelle stood there with her hands in fist by her side.

"Why? So, you can get what you want and leave again in the middle of the night–"

"No!" He snap, "Why do you keep undermining my love for you, why won't you give me a chance." He ask looking at her, she bite her bottom lip with her arms across over her chest, and words from gwayne purged his mind. 

'Why would she ever be with you when all you do is remind her of the king.'

"Daemon, I will not talk about this now or ever for that matter, I think you should go." She walk from in front of him leaving to his thoughts, and went over to the fireplace to warm up the room.

"I'll go." She turn to see him standing and looking at her, "But, only if you tell the truth." She furrow her brows at him confused.

"Truth?"

"This isn't about me but viserys. So, i want you to say the truth that this has nothing to do with me but my brother, and then I will leave and not to my chamber but the island. I will finally leave you alone." She stares at him with a frown, she had her eyes to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes.

"Fine if it means you leave then it is true," Daemon glance down at floor, "As much as you want to belive it, daemon. It will never work out between us," he lift his eyes to look at her.

"I was your brother's whore, I gave birth to his first son, i spent more nights with him than I did you. You will always have that gnawing in the back of your mind if we were to be together, and I know you will resent me for it." Daemon stare at her as he register her words, "You will see that us not being together is what is best for the both of us, it will spare us an tremendous amount of gut wrenching heartbreaks in the end. You will find somone who will love you like I do, and I will be happy for you." She tried to give a smile but she couldn't because deep down she doesn't want daemon with anybody else, she had enjoy his presence these last couple months.

But, it was time for him to go, old feelings were resurfacing and rhaelle is so close to breaking to giving him another chance, she hope he will leave as soon as possible.

"Who do you see when you look at me?" Rhaelle look at daemon confuse by the question, "It's a simple question and the truth, please." He says as he walks to her slowly, rhaelle stare at him and shrug her shoulders.

"You are daemon, just simple daemon. That is all." She said not sure what else she was suppose to say, she look up at daemon as he wrap her hair around his finger.

"I am not just simple daemon, am I?" He says moving his hand to go to her waist, rhaelle search his eyes trying to figure out what is happening, "I am your daemon, always have, always will."

Before rhaelle could speak, daemon lips latches on to hers, he bite her lip making her open up with a soft hiss. Rhaelle's hands went to his shoulders when his wrap around her waist pulling her chest  against his chest, daemon deepen the kiss as lifted rhaelle off her feet making her wrap her right leg around his waist. He carried her to the bed sitting her down on the edge as he get on his knees, daemon trailed his lips from her lips down her neck as his hands lift up her gown.

"You lied to me. You said you leave." She said as the fog in her head clears up as she looks down at daemon, he moves his long hair over his shoulder before his left hand went under rhaelle's gown making her moan.

"No, you just said the wrong words." His thumb move over her sweet spot rubbing it gently as he watch her struggle to keep a moan from passing through her lips.

"What was I suppose to say?" She asked moving her left foot to open her legs wider for daemon.

"It doesn't matter. I'm yours forever." His finger slowly slips inside, daemon moan at the how wet she was and push his face between her thighs making her gasp.

Rhaelle groan as she hang her head back as daemon use his tongue to pleasure her, she can feel his long fingers pumping in and out of her hitting the right spot over and over. She fell back onto the bed feeling his arms wrap around her legs pulling her closer, rhaelle's hand clenched the bed as she lifted her hips up making him use his arm to push it back down. She moan feeling his tongue twist inside her before his lips suck on her heat, rhaelle other hand went to his head pulling his hair causing him to moan against her. His arm moved from her stomach to her breasts squeezing and playing with them, she groan in pleasure as daemon ran his tongue over her sweet spot again as his long fingers move gently inside her. She whimper pulling his hair as his tongue went deeper inside her, the twisted pleasure in her stomach made her shudder as she came with silent cry.

"...we must stop..." she breathe heavily as the flow of pleasure vibrats through her, "...we must..." she moan out, daemon didn't stop what he was doing after she came and continued to make rhaelle come again and again until her cunt was wet and sore.

Daemon pulled away making rhaelle shakily move to sit up on her elbows, she watch as he licks his pink lips before he bring himself up. Rhaelle had to lay back down on her back as daemon climb on top of her, she felt his tent rub against her thigh as daemon lean on his hands that were on both sides of rhaelle's head.

"Do you truly want me to stop, my queen." He asked lowly looking deep in her eyes, "Or do want to continue and use me for your own pleasure like you do with those servants." Rhaelle swallow, she knows if she says yes there's no turning back, daemon will win and she will lose. But,if she says no, they both lose and they go back to their lives where everything he been doing was for nothing and she will be left heartbroken yet again.

what a conundrum, she thought

As she thought daemon took it upon himself to try to get her to choose the latter, as he planted kisses along both sides of her neck making love bites.

Rhaelle couldn't deny the feeling that daemon was giving her and her lady parts were aching for him, she sigh as the thought of him inside her made her tug at his breeches making daemon sit up and look at her.

"You win this time, targaryen." She mutters making daemon smirk as he felt her hands in the front of his breeches trying to untie the strings.

"And yet you are the one getting the prize, my queen." Daemon groan feeling his lover's hand brush against his harden cock, rhaelle grabs daemon by the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss after she finally loosen his breeches making them slip off.

Daemon pulled away using his knees as support to stand as he tug on rhaelle's nightgown, she lift her body before lifting her arms to get the gown off. Daemon threw it on the floor and turn back to see rhaelle's naked body, it was different than before, it changed, the once smooth skin of her collarbone and torso was now littered with old scars. His eyes traveled along her body taking in her beauty and everything that belongs with it, when he finally looks up he sees rhaelle staring away from as she look over at the fireplace.

The creak of the bed made rhaelle turn her head slightly at daemon's movement, he place his hand against her cheek turning her head to fully look at him.

"You are so gorgeous," He spoke softly as he gaze at her like a rare jewel, rhaelle's eyes flickered to his eyes before looking over at his neck seeing the burn scar and moving over his other battle scars.

"You are too." She look up at him as her hands trail up his stomach to his chest, she move to grab his shoulder making lean forward to kiss her.

"Make love to me, daemon." She purr kissing his neck before biting and sucking on his shoulder next to his burn scar, daemon moan before he slowly moves to fall on top of her as he use his feet to kick the his breeches off to lay next to rhaelle's gown.

@watercolorskyy @cleverzonkwombatsludge @beggarsnotchoosey @avidreader73 @supermassiveblackhope @spderm4nnnn @green-lxght

[bronx-bomber87]

First off like to thank @timlucys /chenfordsource for reaching out to me and letting me know how to properly gif credit. Apparently I was not doing that right like at all LOL Apparently there is gif Library that does it for you who knew? haha Thank you again, Nothing I wanna do more than properly thank and credit all the beautiful gifs on this site. Tumblr wouldn't be a thing without all you gif makers so thank you for showing me the ropes yesterday on how to properly tag/credit our hard working gif makers. You being one of them.

Wanted to round out the weekend with one more review.

Off we go onto ep 7!

1x07

‘The Ride along’

The look on Tim’s face when Lucy comes rolling up late LMAO He's checking his watch and doing everything but pacing. His body language is anything but relaxed while he waits. Lucy is doing what she does best....rambling. I love her nervous rants with him. She has zero filter when it comes to him. Makes me so happy haha

He's not in the least amused by her usual charm today haha Tim is definitely edgier than usual. She tries to lighten the mood with her snow joke to no avail. Starting the day off with hard ass Tim it would seem....

Gotta love Lucy's company line reply. Beautiful thing about Lucy. She knows when not to push it with him. Picks her battles as it were. Is very attune to when to fire back. This is not one of those moments. They unfortunately get interrupted by Grey needing to talk to Tim before they head out.

Sadly the reason he's been pulled over is because of Isabel...*sigh* Every time Tim thinks he can breathe, resurface emotionally, and just have a handle on his life Isabel drags him back down. Grey pulling him into his office is heartbreaking. Telling him she’s been arrested for possession/dealing. Eric absolutely kills me with how he conveys what he’s feeling in that moment. I wish there was a gif set of this scene. The minute they bring Isabel in, there is instant concern on Lucy’s face. She’s already gearing up for an emotional battle for Tim.

They make it back to the station after Grey sends them out on patrol. Tim bringing in a guy that clearly didn’t need to be processed. Just so he could be back in processing for an update. Lucy knows this and says she’ll keep an eye out for the detectives for him.

What absolutely kills me about Isabel in this stage is how quickly she can utterly destroy him. Anytime he’s getting his head above water, she’s there to shove him back down. Pains me to watch him get eaten alive emotionally by her. Any conversation he has with her wrecks him. He loves Isabel and it’s actually killing him. The hurt he carries around is on full display in this scene. She is asking the world of him right now. Baiting him with promises of rehab. Manipulating him to help her. The inflection in his tone is so tragic. He's trying so hard to not break.

Once again I applaud Eric for being incredible at his job. He’s wearing his heart on his sleeve while he talks to her. The emotional manipulation she thrusts upon him is brutal to watch. She's saying all the things he's longed to hear. Probably dreamt about the past year or so with her gone. When Tim Bradford loves he loves deeply. Isabel knows he still loves her. So she is very aware he would/could cross this line for her if she begged him to. What she doesn’t realize at this point is how it’ll destroy him if he does. Lucy is watching all this in the distance. It’s written all over her face something is very wrong.

This scene is HUGE. Lucy once again swallowing her fear for him. Standing in front of the raging sun that is Tim. The way he slams that car door and storms over to her. Phew Lord. She is bracing herself for Hurricane Tim, He is ready to chew her a new one. You can see she is not excited for this fight. But she also knows he needs to hear what she has to say. Because if she doesn’t he will do something he will regret forever. She's seen the good in Tim. She can't allow him to take on this burden for Isabel.

Tim my sweet boy she is right in her depth with this. Lucy is spot with her assessment. He does project being rogue with her and she sees through it. Knows his moral compass runs deep. That in the end he would regret compromising it. Even for Isabel. So he lashes out in response because he knows she’s right. Whenever she pegs him like this he defaults to being defensive. Like I've said before he's never had someone fight for him like this. Or stand up to him even when he's being obstinate as hell. Especially when he is.

There is no way Lucy is walking away from this fight. Not before she says her piece. She continues to try and protect him emotionally. By firing back with her caring. He’s never asked this of her but she does it regardless. She can't stand by and watch him destroy his ethics. Just like he could never truly live with himself if he did.

The look on his face after she tells him this. Ugh My heart Tim. She already knows him better than he would like to admit. In the back of his mind Tim knows taking the drugs is only enabling her. When he came back out to his car he sure as hell wasn't expecting to see Lucy there. Not only was she there but she was fiercely battling for his soul. To keep it intact even if he was livid about it. You can see it in his face. The words are registering with him. She’s breaking through a bit.

Even though what she's saying is hitting him, he’s so full of anger and conflict he just walks away from her. Leaving her standing there wondering if she made a difference at all. All she can do is watch him drive away angry and hurting.

Lucy being Lucy wants clear the air about last night. Tim shuts it down right away. Letting her know this isn't to be discussed further. Ah bristly closed off Tim. You’ll get there Lucy keep trying haha I love that she gets to hear about Tim leaving the drugs behind. Grey comes up to report and apologize to Tim they were found in her apt.

Whether he wants to hear it or not she tells him he did the right thing. He’s still conflicted and says ‘Not for Isabel.’ oh Tim.... I think he had crisis of conscience before her arrival. Then when she showed up it only reaffirmed he did the right thing. He was still feeling guilty/conflicted but Lucy helped him decide what he did was right. Even if he was raging about it when she was there.

That final scene with Isabel with Tim hurts my soul. He knows he did the right thing even if she hates him for it. Brutal to watch happen. The tears in his eyes. Oof. Talia and Angela finding him after is so sweet. Just being there for him even when he protests. The Tim Bradford special haha Being good friends just in case he might need them. Love them for it. Taking him out for drinks just what he needs.

~~~~

Side notes.

Not a ton in this ep for me.

Wes’s first episode yay I do love me some Wesley Evers.

[what-the--curtains]

Fire & Ice

Chapter 3 - Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon

(Robb Stark x f!Targaryen!Reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: A strategy meeting cements your worth to the Northmen, but a secret plot results in a trial that tests a truth you had been told your entire life.

Authors note: As usual thanks to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs you are all amazing and wonderful and I love u! If anyone wants a tag let me know!

TW: Major character death, burning alive, swearing, derogatory comments, audio/visual hallucinations

Taglist: @kittykylax @winxschester @mihrimahsultan03 @stargaryenx @the-desilittle-bird @roselibrary

Word count: 4.1k

Playlist

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You wake alone, thanking the gods that Robb had enough sense not to return during the night. The sun was rising, light seeping slowly through the deep indigo twilight that laid across the land. You shiver as you push the warmth of the furs away, clutching one around your body as you shuffle towards the hearth, dressing it the early morning hours. No handmaidens had been provided to you, not worth the expense you supposed. The hearth crackles, the heat inviting you, daring you to reach out.  You knew the tales, you heard them spoken by Visery each time his rage surfaced. 

Fire can not kill a dragon. 

Some nights you plotted to test your theory. At first you dreamt of setting fire to Visery’s bed as he slept, but the consequences of his survival were too dire. Another test, however, was perhaps possible. You reach your hand out, quick at first but the coals stay it. Heat warming your palm, you inhale preparing to reach out when someone enters the tent. You step back, clasping your hands together. Robb’s eyes study you for a moment but his contempt saves you the embarrassment of explaining what you had been doing. 

 “I hope you enjoyed your night as much as I did,” he states, smug and spite forged together to form the sentence. 

“I did, thank you, Your Grace. I have found nights alone are often the most pleasurable, as you are assured capable hands, and not the clumsy fumblings of unskilled fingers,” you return, now fully awake. 

“For reasons beyond my comprehension, it is my mothers wish that you join this morning's strategy meeting,” He replies, not granting you the war of words you had hoped for.

“I wasn’t aware northerners allowed women in war rooms,” you mumble.

“We do not, but my mother has a proclivity for decision making and she has requested your presence so I am trapped, once again, by you both,” he relay’s listlessly. 

“And you’re here to…what? Escort me?” you mock. 

“It would seem improper if…” he begins, but a high pitched laugh interrupts him. 

“It was improper that you refused to kiss me during our wedding. It was improper that you arrive here after sunrise, clearly having laid with another. Do not try now to lecture me on what is and is not proper,” you relay condescendingly. Robb rolls his eyes, pressing his tongue back behind his teeth “I have two feet, I have a half a brain, I will meet you in the tent,” you cut. He bows sarcastically before leaving you. The wind was colder today and it burned your face when you finally exited the tent. You look down as you start towards the war room, but a whisper on the wind turns your head towards the forest. Children's laughter echoing. You squint at the tree line trying to see if perhaps a family had wandered too close to the war's edge. 

Catelynn sees you there, standing perfectly still save for the bottom of your cloak that billows in the early morning wind. “Lady Rhaeanya?” she calls stepping towards you “Lady Rhaeanya,” she beckons, louder this time.  

You startle when her hand touches your back, and you turn to face her. “My Lady, shall we?” Catelynn asks, extending her arm to you.

“Apologies, I thought…” you hold your tongue as you look back over your shoulder. Madness clung to your family's lineage, rumours of your mental instability would only further Robbs' cause to be rid of you “... it seems my lack of sleep is leaving my head in the clouds,'' you reply, taking her arm. 

“That is very typical after most wedding nights, it will get easier with time,” she replies. 

You take note of the room's configuration as you enter, Robb’s council was smaller than you expected. A slender man with a flat face sat in the far corner, crows prepared to deliver any urgent messages. The rest of the men, burly and bearded, stood around the engraved table. You recognized the sigils; houses Umber, Bolton and Karstark. Visery stands on the other side, attempting to look deep in thought while Jorah keeps a watchful eye over him. You watch as Catelynn takes her place beside Robb at the head of the table, despite his anger at the arrangement their bond was the strongest here. You would place money that she was the only one he truly trusted. The man, around the same age as Robb, steps aside allowing you to take your place to his left. You feel the tension and annoyance seeping out of Robb at the prospect of you lurking over his shoulder. 

You stare down at the table, skilled hands had taken care to recreate the topography of Westeros. Every hill and mountain expertly carved, each tree detailed and purposeful. Wood figurines are scattered across it, allies and enemies of the North. You ponder whether the dragon figure had been lost to the world or simply destroyed. You study the table, linking its form to the books you had read on your journey over, searching for an angle. You always had a proclivity for memorization, it was time to put it to use. Recent arrival of news had shifted the Lannisters further down a shallow valley, one easy enough to cross by foot. So why hadn’t they? 

“When was this table made?” you question, causing the murmuring men to look at you.

“Long ago My Lady, it belonged to Robbs' great, great, grandfather,” the man with the braided beard replies sympathetically, counteracting Visery’s violent gaze burning the back of your neck. 

“Excuse her, Your Grace she often speaks out of turn I will…” Visery charms, taking a step forward but Robb stops him with a raise of his hand. 

“No,” he states looking at you  “let her embarrass herself if she wishes,” you here the tallest of the men snicker, as Catelynn sighs “you evidently have something to say, so tell me what would your keen mind have me do,” he taunts, the room falling tense, pity or ridicule dancing across their features. Your eyes meet Jorahs, and he nods encouragingly. 

“During the first Blackfyre rebellion, the Lannisters gained an upper hand along this valley, moving in very similar fashion as they do today, did you know that?” you challenge, hand tracing along the table and Robb nods “Then you know there was only one factor that allowed for their victory, ” you question, turning the table back onto him as you come to stand across from him

“The upper ground,” Robb replies, smiling as if he outsmarted you

“An upper ground they currently lack,” you explain, your hands now placed firmly on the table, as you watch his smile fade. “While beautiful, and a mark of fine craftsmanship this map is dated, and it fails to account for a changing landscape. 100 years ago, there was a landslide after a great rainfall that tore the earth down from the twins.”

“That is true, my father told me of it,” Catelynn offers.  

“It levelled the valley into a swamp, unsurpassable mud, at least most of it. A rockfall some fifty years prior now enables passage across the mud, if one knows where to look,” You explain placing the wooden piece down 150 miles from where the Lannister forces were last reported. You glance up to see Robb settle back into his seat, listening, watching your movements. 

“What would you have me do next” Robb questions, whether he was intrigued or trying to trip you up you were unsure, but you would not falter here.

“A fake out,” you reply and the men mumble “they have realised that you will soon know crossing this valley is only possible from one vantage point unless you pass through the twins themselves”

“Why would they not simply cross at the twins?” The man bearing the Umber sigil booms.

“The Lannisters have looked down upon the Frey’s for years, Walder would not allow it, he is too spiteful and proud,” Catelynn relays. 

“Which is why they move further west instead of crossing,” Robb murmurs

“They will continue until they find the one spot not filled with impassable mud, and you will be waiting for them. Send down a small troop, a hundred or so men, draw out the Lannister forces, make them show their hand. They will be there in large quantities, and from what I understand, you have yet to lose. They are looking for an easy win.”  Robb sits forward as you shift the lion piece across the board “while they are busy, you pull the exact same manoeuvre. Only their legion of 400 men will be trapped,”

“And those in the initial attack?” Robb asks

“There is no victory without sacrifice… or so I’ve read. And if you are half the leader I have heard you are then you should have no issue rallying the numbers needed. If you’ll excuse me I'll leave the cunning minds of men to work out the finer details or a more apt plan but you asked what I would do. That is what I would do.” You finish, bowing your head and leaving the tent.

 Robb watches you leave through his lashes, before turning his gaze to Visery, anger seeping out of his pores his eyes seemed black, almost inhumane despite his apparent calmness. Unsettled, Robb turns to the rest of the room who all stare down at the table, looking for fault. His mother had been right, you did know how to command a room. More importantly you had proven yourself to the camp's most important players. Perhaps getting rid of you would not be such an easy feat. If what you said last night was true, that you had no issue with him continuing his love affair, perhaps you could be useful to his cause, difficult as you may be. 

“She’s right,” Theon murmurs.

“I know she’s right,”  Robb mutters, eyes trailing over the map where your mind had so easily seen a plot, a plot his hired strategists had missed, that he had missed.

“You seem upset, your Grace,” Rickard Karstark states.

“Only that I didn’t think of it first, ready the troops, I will address them shortly,'' He pushes back from the table as the rest leave. He would have to craft a speech to rally hundreds of men to their death, to sacrifice their bodies for a war they would not reap the fruits of. A hard enough job, made even worse when his stride is interrupted by Visery.

“Your Grace, my sincerest apologies on behalf of my sister's outlandish behaviour, she will not speak out of turn again. I will see to it myself that she learns her lesson,” he states, hand placed unnerving on Robb’s shoulder. 

“Discipline is usually the place of the husband,” Catelynn begins. 

“I wouldn’t wish it on you, Your Grace, you are busy enough with the ways of war. I beg you, let me deal with her,” 

“Her contribution was valuable,” Catelynn insists. 

“But her manner was inexcusable,” Visery corrects, had it not been for the deaths of his men plaguing his mind perhaps Robb would have paid closer attention to the words spoken, or noticed how Viserys refused to address Catelynn directly. Perhaps he would have taken more  care in his response. Exasperated and tired, Robb simply nods, and Visery strides off.

“You are too harsh on her,”  Catelynn states once Visery has left. 

“You sought to find me the perfect wife, by most definitions she should be subordinate,” Robb replies, his eyes still on the wolf figure sitting helplessly at the crossroads. 

Catelynn stands placing her hand on his shoulder, “You were never raised to think that way, nor have you ever believed that. You have always sought a partner that challenged you.” 

“She is a challenge, which is why her brother will deal with her for me, I am sure he will be better suited to conversing civilly with her than I,” Robb relays.  

“I doubt that. I do not trust that man,”

“Nor do I,” Robb admits.

“Yet you send him off with your wife, whatever happens to her, know you could have prevented it,” only then does Robb look up from the table.

“I did not ask either of them to be in my life, I did not wish for this marriage, anything that happens to her, is your fault, you brought her here,” he states, shifting out from her touch 

‘And you think she asked for this? You think as a little girl she dreamt of this life?’ Catelynn argues. 

For lack of a better rebuttal Robb simple mutters “You wouldn’t understand” 

“Of course I do. Better than any, your father did not wish to marry me,” she reveals Robbs eyes looking at her “at least not at first, but he knew what was expected of him. And never, did he take that out on me.” 

“I am forced to send 100 men off to die deaths I could have prevented, I do not have time to play the role of perfect husband,” 

“I am not asking you to love her, I am simply asking you to show her care.” Catelynn remarks leaving the tent in hopes of finding you before Visery. Raised voices stay her stride, and she  catches the scene through a veiled gap in the fabric of Visery’s tent. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“After all I have done for you, for this family you dare make us out to be savages with no respect for customs,” he shouts 

“I offered a strategy that will work, that will push forward towards our goal Visery, that was my only intention,” you relay, attempting to placate him. 

“Was it? I am the true crown prince, you should have allowed me to put a strategy forward. I am to rule not you,” he snarls. 

“You never would have thought of it, you’ve never had proclivity for anything but violence,”  the slap rings out louder than the voices, you immediately look back at him, annoyance not fear, evident on your face.  The look of someone accustomed to the abuse. 

“Speak to me in such a manner again,” 

“And what Visery? You’ll have me killed? You would be sent back to Essos without a single soldier to your name,”

“Your husband cannot stand you he would throw me a feast if I finished the job,” 

“Then do it,” you remark, grabbing a knife and pushing it towards him, daring him to take it, but he doesn't. “That's what I thought” you spit, pushing past him. She watches as he grabs the back of your neck pulling down to the floor, she dare not stay to hear the endtail of insults he had already begun. With the wind on her back she walks steadily towards her destination, plan forming with each step. 

She finds Ser Rodrik with the crows, scribing a message to Winterfell for Bran and Rickon. “My Lady…” he startles. 

“I want him dead by the morning,” she whispers stoically “I do not care how it is done, but it shall come to pass, am I clear in my intentions?”

“Leave it with me, My Lady,” he replies, an uneasiness apparent in his tone. 

“As always your discretion is greatly appreciated, Ser Rodrik, and it will not be forgotten,” she watches as he swallows, perhaps she had made a mistake, perhaps he could not be trusted with this. 

“My Lady, you know I serve house Stark, but I must speak. Is this wise, we need a Targaryen with a claim to the throne, is that not why you brought them here,”

“We already have a Targaryen,” she states evenly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

You place a cold rag on your face, the swelling already lowering by the time Jorah enters.

“Khaleesi,” he worries, a few steps taken in haste to get to you. 

“I am fine Jorah, ice is slippery. Embarrassed as I am, I am thankful for the tree that caught me. Even if it did nearly scrape my eye out,” you smile, but he doesn't seem convinced “ You must not allow anyone to hear you call me such things, otherwise my past may be revealed,”

“Of course Your Grace,”

“Or that, especially if Visery is in earshot, he becomes more paranoid with each passing hour. Jorah may I ask you a question,” you drop the rag from your face, fiddling with it between your hands.

“You need not ask my permission,” he offers, watching as you nervously run the fabric between your fingers. 

“Well good news indeed considering I have two,” you chuckle, “My speaking today in the room, was it adequate was I clear,”

“Yes My Lady, clear as day, the men were captivated, they listened to you and I believe they now see you more clearly,”

“And who were the men present, what need I know of them,”

“Theon Greyjoy, the man whose place you took, hee was the ward of Lord Stark, he may back Robb now, but a prisoner is a prisoner and he may turn at any point. Lord Umber, towers over most men, strong headed and always looking for a fight. From what I understand, if you have enough courage to put him in his place, his respect will be yours. Lord Bolton, the man sat in the corner, smaller house but he has powerful and deadly armies. Anyone who uses a flayed man is one that does not stand above torture. Their most powerful ally is Rickard Karstark, they are bound by blood descendants of the first men, Stark and Karstark go hand in hand.”

“And who was the man with the braided beard? I did not recognize his sigil,”

“Ser Rodrik Cassel he is a loyal guard to the Stark children since their birth, and in all likelihood until his or their, deaths”

“So Greyjoy is the only concern thus far,” you reply, slinging the cloth over the water basin. 

“Keep an eye on Karstark, his influence will be powerful, same with Rodrik, you want them on your side. Though Rickard Karstark will not have forgotten your fathers doings,”

“I do believe it is time someone must showed the Targaryens good side, and Visery seems to clear a mile wide radius when he walks through the camp,” 

“ We have seen how others have accepted him in the past, he will not be able to rule, you must know that,” Jorah offers hesitantly. 

“I hoped the cold would have killed him, but perhaps he's not as feeble as he seems and great leaders can be carved from inadequate stock if given the right guidance. My second question pertains to my father, you knew him,”

“I knew of him,”

“Was it true, what they said” you ask, back turned to Jorah not wanting your eyes to reveal what they had seen in the woods. 

“Of what truth do you seek to know My Lady,”

“Was he mad?” 

“He claimed to hear voices, but that truth is unknown to any  except by him.”

“So he was either mad or cruel, and if Visery is cruel then well…” you mutter

“Pardon My Lady,”  Jorah asks. 

“Nothing,” you turn back to face him, offering the concealing smile ever evident on your face. “Thank you Ser Jorah for keeping me company these past few days,”

“I always revel in your company,” you smile, but it fades as faint shouts sound out from outside. 

“Can you hear that?” you question and Jorah nods, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword “then perhaps I am not mad yet,” you murmur. Your exit is interrupted by a mass of men swarming forward, pushing you back into Jorah. 

“Stay close My Lady,” Jorah whispers, and you begin to move with the crowd. The mass becomes increasingly dense and Jorah loses you.  You push through gaps and between men until you happen upon a clearing, looking across you see a sea of men, 20,000 never seemed so large a number before. You follow their gaze to the right, the moonlight illuminating the scene, the beams radiating of Visery’s white hair, as he’s forced to his knees by Theon Greyjoy and John Umber, you push through the last of the crowd out into view, coming to stand across from Robb and Catelyn. Their gaze looks to you, and Visery’s head turns back. 

 “Stop them” Visery commands as you emerge, tears running down the bridge of his nose, intermingling with the snot, he lunges forward like a wild animal, but he's pulled back by the chains binding his hands.  

“What is the meaning of this?” you ask, words clear even in your panic, you look towards Catelynn then to Robb when her eyes reveal no answers, but he stares down at Visery with a disgust even you had not seen. Jorah appears at the crowd's edge prepared for the worst. If Visery was to be accused of something, were you to be implemented as well? He seeks a route of escape, but none are clear. 

“Your brother should be more careful with whom he converses in the dark hours of the night,” Robb replies, throwing down a note, carefully crafted and strategically placed so as to be intercepted by the men guarding the rookeries. Shot down by Theon at the command of Catelynn herself. 

“Do you know what the punishment for treason is?” Robb asks, Jorah tenses as you move closer to the centre, towards the note laying cream against the bright white snow, ink of the letter glinting beneath the waning moon. 

“I have committed no such act Your Grace”, he pleads, desperation evident across his face, but his remorse turns to violence when he sees you leaning towards the note.  “I..tell him tell him what will happen if he angers me,” he shouts, spittle hitting your face as you retreat, leaving the note discarded on the ground. For the first time, Robb sees you afraid, he hardly thought anything capable of shaking you. 

 “You dare threaten me again,” Robb booms, the mutterings of the crowd silenced. 

“Your Grace,” you stutter, grabbing his arm, breaking his gaze. His eyes meet yours that glistening when you shake your head, but your tears do not resonate any emotion in him.

“Do you know what he writes? He writes that once King's Landing is taken he will slay me, then you, and reclaim the North for himself, to ensure his singular rule of all seven kingdoms,” he says, your heads turning in time to meet Visery’s glare, black as the night sky, surely he could not be that dense, you look to Catelynn but she stares ahead.

“Tell him you stupid little whore, or I will..” he scorns, venom dripping off every word.

“Shut your mouth,” Robb shouts, putting himself between you and Visery.  “Treason demands retribution to the old gods, through fire,'' Robb commands, to the cheers of his men. 

“No,” you whisper frantically, pulling Robbs gaze back to you, shaking your head “You cannot kill him with fire” you try to explain.

“It is what the law dictates, and you will not interfere,” he replies coldly. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you state, fear shining through, nearly enough to stop him. 

“Pile the wood high,” he orders.

You do not move from where you stand as the men work to create a pyre. Your eyes remain locked with Visery’s that look up through straggled white hair. He seethes, but there are no words left to share. If he was the true dragon as he claimed, he should have nothing to fear. You watch as he’s removed from the stake holding his chains, and brought towards the pyre. Robb comes to stand beside you, for what reason you do not know, perhaps to revel in your misery. The world goes blurry, and sounds muffle as you watch Visery get tied to a stake, his eyes staring at you screaming vile threats until they gag him. 

Your eyes do not break from Visery’s, not when the pyres base is lit, not when flames begin to rise, not when the smell of flesh begins to fill the surrounding air. Robb stands beside you throughout it. Leaving your side would be considered too big a slight by his mother, by his men, by Talisa even.  You don’t flinch as the flames burn into the fabric of Visery. There are no tears, no turning into Robb’s arms, no fainting or throwing up as he expected. No, the only emotion on your face as Visery’s screams faded into the night was confusion. 

“but…” you whisper, forehead scrunched. Robb finds himself leaning in, hoping for the rest of the words to follow, but they never do, your lips closed as quickly as they had opened. 

Viserys' words ringing in your head. 

Fire can not kill a dragon.

“I wish to be alone tonight, go to her, you are not needed nor will you be missed,” you state flatly, walking forward towards the pyre, the men of the camp watching intently as you go, Robb only parting when he sees Jorah stood firmly at your side.

[mulchpuppies]

my food truck employee dressed up as a doctor sent me this photo of himself and he looks gay asf. the way he poses and dresses. i cant get it out of my mind. it is sickening. i dreamt i killed him and set his body on fire

[emgeneticist]

The first time i saw that twink i thought he looked gay af. The way he poses and dresses. I can't get it out of my mind. It is sickening. I dreamt I killed him and set his body on fire.

[dorokora]

Daichi: Daikoku sent me a photo of himself and he looks sexy af. The way he poses and dresses. I can't get it out of my mind. It is sickening. I dreamt I killed him and set his body on fire.

[ravendruid]

hello! Can i please request — playing with the other’s hair while they sleep for vaxleth! thank you!!

HI! Thank you so much for the prompt! Here you go, I hope you like it <3 This drabble is set during the night in C1E42. Playing With The Other's Hair While They Sleep

Keyleth woke up with a start, bolting upright on the bed as her heart raced in her chest. It was just a dream, everything is fine. She told herself, hoping it would help calm her breath. She had dreamed that four dragons had attacked Emon, one of them the largest, most powerful red dragon she had ever seen. In her dream, countless people had died from the attack, some at the gates of Greyskull Keep. It was just a dream. She repeated to herself, but something felt weird. 

The first thing she noticed out of place was that she was not sitting on a comfortable mattress but on an alternative bed made from thin blankets. The second thing, which made her heart race again, was that she was not alone. A lithe half-elf was sprawled out at her side on his stomach, one leg bent upwards, a restful face turned in her direction, and his hair spread out on her pillow. Keyleth’s heart jumped at the sight of his bare back, the burned mark of her hand between his shoulder blades, and tears started falling down her cheeks. It wasn’t a dream.

Sudden bile rose from her stomach, and Keyleth barely had time to get up and reach a wooden bucket that had been forgotten in her bedroom. She wiped the corners of her mouth and crossed the room to peer out the window. Catha was still high in the skies, illuminating the barren fields outside of the keep, the ones that still stood unburned, and, from Emon, she could see a faint glow of red-ish lights that she assumed were fires that hadn’t been put out yet. It wasn’t a dream. Her legs faltered as she looked over her shoulder to the rogue, still sleeping peacefully. Keyleth had half a mind to wake him from his slumber, but Vax had been exhausted – and so had she – and she did not dare to wake him for a stupid reason such as this.

I wish it were a dream. Keyleth hugged her stomach, her gaze still lost in the landscape below. Ire filled her blood, sorrow for the lives she could not protect crushed her heart, and revenge boiled within her as she glared at the hill where once the Palace had been erected, now completely razed. You can’t let them win. This is what they want. Keyleth closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. Turning her back to the window and the desolation outside, her heart warmed again at the sight of Vax, who had crawled closer to the middle of their makeshift bed, no doubt in search of her warmth.

Keyleth laid back down on her side, facing him, she wiggled as close to Vax as she could without waking him up, and when her limbs were decently entangled with his, she brought one hand to his soft, dark hair and tucked a mesh behind his ear. He isn’t a dream. He is real. Keyleth kissed his brow and let her forehead lean against his as her hands combed his hair.

“You okay?” Vax’s rough voice was barely a whisper.

“Mhm. Go back to sleep,” Keyleth replied in an equally hushed tone. Vax gave a soft nod and shifted so his body was pressed against her, laying his head on her chest. Keyleth couldn’t help but smile at how tight he held on to her, at how big his smile was as if there weren’t dragons out there, killing people and destroying cities. She kept playing with his hair – it was the most soothing thing ever – interchanging from combing her fingers to wrapping them in his locks, and, eventually, sleep found her again.

Keyleth didn’t dream of dragons anymore that night. She didn’t dream of fire, death, or pain. Instead, she dreamt of Vax, smiling big at her, holding her in his arms as they sat atop a hill overlooking Zephrah. She dreamed of her village full of color and cheer, of the lives of countless half-elves and halflings she would lead one day. Keyleth dreamed of love and happiness, and when she woke up the next morning, still entangled in Vax’s embrace, the memories of dragons from the day before were the last things on her mind.

[super-powerful-queen-reyna]

Wednesday fanfic idea to Addamsify the serie:

After TOA, Nico decides to go to Nevermore because it is protected like the Camps, the Hotels and the Nomes (he obviously knows about all mythologies) and he wants to go to a regular school because he never went to one.

Wednesday went to the regular high school we saw in the show but she wanted to show the bullies how to really torture people ( Pugsley: "I've been tortured since more than a decade and those guys managed to make it super boring, like hello it sucks and you are the stupidest people I have ever met") so she brought an axe and a guillotine to school. It scared the staff so they got her fired and they assigned her a therapist.

When Wednesday arrives to Nevermore, people try to force them together because "wow a goth-emo obsessed by the dead scary couple" not knowing that Nico is gay and Wednesday is a lesbian (also they got it wrong, Nico can't NOT stay around dead people and Wednesday has interests that could be seen as a villain's but people are oblivious and she's not mean on purpose, just autistic-> allergic to color + noise-cancelling headphones)

They bond over the fact that Nico is not scared by Thing, did murders and funerals and Wednesday is really interested by Nico's powers and his knowledge of creepy stuff. They become investigators besties and they tell each other stories about the Addams family and Nico's experience of morbid stuffs.

Gomez and Morticia enjoyed being followed by a guy obsessed with her (Gomez is too, but not like that) and they found it really romantic. After Morticia killed the guy, Gomez said: "I think I just fell even more in love with you. I didn't know it was possible." And they kissed passionately until they heard the "thud" of the body hitting the ground, so Gomez took the sword and he went to look, that's when Larissa saw him. He took the blame for her, like in canon.

Wednesday knew about the story, her parents told her countless times. When she went grave digging, Nico and Morticia went with her and Nico summoned a bone to show an evidence. Also, before putting a rose on the grave, she cut the head so she only put the stem on the grave (og Morticia!!)

Wednesday told her parents about the visions because she has an awesome relationship with them. They are really supportive about that.

And since Goody is more of a title (like Mrs but in Puritan era, the era the flashbacks are set in) than a name, she's called Anarchy (or any cool name to oppose her to Crackstone). Also her mother always dreamt to die in flames, hated by her enemies. Don't forget to erase the "You don't know what it's like not to be believed" because the mayor does actually.

The mayor's son, Lucas, has to exchange roles with Tyler because it will have the same dynamic. Tyler's still the Hyde tho, but Lucas is more believable as the friendly barista. It won't be as OOC as Lucas' "change of mind" and what Tyler did to Xavier really justifies it + the combo Hyde/bully really works for me (Tyler's *chuckles wryly* annoyed me A LOT during the show)

NO MORE BOYS LOVE INTERESTS! Wenclair all the way, Lucas, Xavier and Ajax are better as friends. Thing helps Wenclair instead of Tyler or Xavier, and Xavier's not jealous and kinda has a crush on Lucas (modern! Jegulus AU) . Also, Bianca x Yoko as Dorlene.

Wednesday's assumptions aren't as false because Nico summons ghost detectives such as Di Renjie (Detective Dee, the Sherlock Holmes of China) and ghost spies (comeback of dead demigods) to help them figure out.

Gomez says "cara mia" and Morticia says "mon cher". He was preparing to break out when they got him out. (Gomez: "It will still be a great story to tell to the family, Tish"). As soon as he got out, Lurch gave him and the sheriff a sword and he challenged him to a sword fight. When the mayor tried to interrupt, Lurch gave him a sword too.

The music plays when they snap twice.

Nico helps Wednesday with her visions (Nico: "It's similar to demigods' dreams. I tried to IM Clovis for advice but he didn't reply") and after Enid roomed with Yoko he tells her about Will (SOLANGELO!) so she figures out that Enid is her significant annoyance

Nico and Wednesday befriend Eugene because they have to have a side activity and Nico thinks Aristaeus is Eugene's godly parent (his moms adopted him). When Eugene gets hurt because Nico went to the ball too (he saw this as an occasion to invite Will), Neeks curses the Hyde (or kills him) and Will supervises Eugene's healing (also the mayor's later)

Here it is, help to rewrite the story. Take it if you want, but credit me and send it to me because I would love to read it.

[cordshake-archive]

My bf sent me a photo of himself and he looks gay af. The way he poses and dresses. I can't get it out of my mind. It is sickening. I dreamt I killed him and set his body on fire.