#i heavily mistreat this character

[hopelessromanticx7]

Small teaser for my wip!

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Big ol reboot of my old fanfic, and this is the updated summary, or blurb if you will. Let me know what you think :)

Fic is about a My Hero Academia original character, following the plot of the show/manga. It’s technically an OCxBakugo, but the focus is mainly on family dynamics, recovering from trauma, and plot/storyline. Like 10% of it is romance lol, and there is !!no smut!! involved, as these are teenagers we’re talking about. Much more below!

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𖤐✰ Summary 𖤐✰

Noa is six years old when she gets rescued from All for One. She had been tortured, abused, and experimented on for a year before she was able to narrowly escape. A nice hero with a white scarf finds her, and immediately takes her to the hospital for help. There she learns her name and meets the greatest hero in the world, All Might.

Endeavor, the number two hero, is the man who adopts her. Her purpose in the family is to be a training dummy for his son, Shoto. She would be a tool to get him to the top, another attempt to surpass All Might by any means necessary.

Noa grows up having complex relationships with each of her family members. When her and Shoto start school at UA, things between the siblings are especially tense. It only gets worse as Noa interacts with class 1A, and learns that their living situation is far from normal. In fact, almost nothing in her life seems to be normal anymore.

Confusion and connections grow the more time she spends at school. Her and Shoto become distant, and it isn’t long before everything begins to fall apart.

In the middle of it all is one angry blonde with a more than awful attitude. He and Noa grow inexplicably drawn to each other in all the worst ways.

Throughout everything is a list of pressing questions. Who are her real parents? What can explain the connection she feels to One for All? How can she survive the conditions of her upbringing? Will her family ever really improve? Will her past ever stop haunting her?

And why the hell does this obnoxiously loud guy keep trying to blow her up?

Or:

One original character to change the entire story. Noa is the catalyst for more disaster than Horikoshi ever intended.

Characters: Noa Todoroki (afab oc), Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Todoroki family (including Touya), Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead), Izuku Midoriya, Class 1A, Kyouka Jirou, Miruko, Leauge of Villains, Dabi, Tomura Shigaraki, All for One, OFA successors, OC mother, OC sentient quirk, Yoichi Shigaraki

‼️CONTENT WARNING‼️

HEAVY trauma (abu$e, torture, generational, sort of religious?, familial), heavy angst, conflict, mental health issues, su!c!dal ideation, self harm, eventual su!cide attempt, crude language, graphic writing, gender identity, sexual orientation, lots of memory flashbacks/ptsd

(Disclaimer!!!)

I took hugggeeeee inspiration for the outline of this story and main character from a life changing fic I read years ago, opposites by lancaliii. The trauma filled backstory, adopted family members, and romantic relationship is basically what I used as a baseline for Noa. That being said, I have made this fic my own, added a lot of different backstory, personality traits, dynamics, and changed a lot of things. I’ve truly separated it from the absolutely amazing original work. I stripped the idea down to its bare bones and put on a big enough twist to make it its own story. I do not consider any of it plagiarized and I am very proud of what I’ve written, but it would be wrong of me not to acknowledge how much inspiration I took from their fanfiction.

Thank you! :)

[chi-the-idiot]

I'm playing through Chapters 2 & 3 again, and listen I really love Kaneeka, but I dunno, sometimes she gets on my nerves a little?

Maybe its because I really like Tabby?

And listen, I get it. Absolutely I do. She is justified in her dislike. For fucks sake Tabitha literally implies that the kids yearn for the mines

But like, the whole thing at the mines made me really angry, because Yes, Kaneeka, of course I'm going to call Tabitha, it's her property and it's her fault if something happens to the kids under her watch, she deserves to know, and just because you don't like her doesn't mean you should be irresponsible about this. It could really damage her, both the business, the jobs of her employees, her mental state. AND Tabitha is the best person to call in this case because she's, again, the OWNER OF THE MINES, meaning that she knows how to navigate them. I doubt Neeks, being claustrophobic/afraid of them, would be of much help inside them, especially in a situation of risk.

And the gull to then say in chapter 3 that Tabitha just "escalated things" by her mere presence, when that presence is LITERALLY REQUIRED??? Like, again, I agree that Tabitha was wrong, about a lot of things, but to imply that the damage caused in the mines wouldn't have been that bad if she wasn't there? I'm not even going to get into what she could be implying in the routes because I may have understood incorrectly, but the way she shuts herself up is kinda weird to me, I dunno.

I am a Kaneeka supporter under all and any circumstances, but the mines make me angry.

(apologies for being overly aggressive when writing this, I've been wanting to talk about this for WAY too long)

[penwrythe]

*sees fave Paintbrush's exit III interview*

That characterization was interesting to say the least. Even though I was a bit in *ahhhhhhhhhFAV* mode, I feel odd about PB's out-of-character dramatic personality.

Also, Lightbrush confirmed??????

[astrologysaysno]

[Hi, Hello, like 8 people wanted more of what I wrote about Strange Omega Qinghua so I guess I'm delivering on that]

[The Prequel]

To Shang Qinghua, scenting is a useless phenomena.

He understands it theoretically. It's the process in which an item is marked with the pheromones of an individual to indicate an underlying social context.

The problem is, he has no idea what it's actually like.

Despite his omega status for his secondary gender, he has never actually participated in the process. Being scent blind, the smell of pheromones is something he is unaffected by, and as something that's so key in the use of social interactions, it forces Shang Qinghua to really be able to understand other cues to give a tell on how things work.

For the major characters, he doesn't need a tell. He has wrote them down with painstaking detail, dedicating chapters and paragraphs and enough words that it would make a novel feel like a drabble in comparison. He can see the twitch in Liu Qingge's hand whenever he wants to hunt, the movement Shen Jiu's fan does when he's pissed, and the way Yue Qingyuan's smile becomes a little more lifeless whenever the Qing Jing Peak Lord passes him silently.

For the characters he didn't write, he sometimes fumble. He can't smell them sometimes when they hide their anger but after years of practice, he can tell when they're mad.

It was what made him advantageous when it came to deals. Though he could never tell when a merchant was happy with the deal or not, he would be unable to be intimidated by scent. The scent of particularly aggressive suppliers who uses their scent to pressure their business partners into agreeing to a more lucrative agreement find trouble with Shang Qinghua, he simply sits casually, as if the room that is heavily intoxicated with the scent of danger was only a figment of your imagination.

But scenting itself is an instinct, an instinct that Qinghua does not have. Sure, he can emit pheromones, but it's a rocky attempt at best, and uncontrollable at worst, with the scent of these pheromones coming out at random with no clear way to start or stop. Scenting is an intentional process that relies on a person's innate ability to imbue an object with the smell of them.

It's not like he can smell it anyway.

It's why, despite his Omega status, he has never shared his scent with other omegas. it would be impossible to properly practice normal omegaverse customs without the capabilities to do so.

In my idea of the Omegaverse, people give and mark their scents to each other regularly to indicate their belonging to a pack, whether it be something such as a family, or an organization like Cang Qiong. Many have tried to gift Shang Qinghua these in the form of pillowcases, robes, or accessories.

But ignorant to his own place in the world and the way people feel about him, he takes this as his role on An Ding to be inadvertently assigned as an outer disciple in charge of the laundry; and being charged with the task of becoming the Peak Lord of An Ding by the system, he swallow his pride to take it in stride, washing vigorously and returning them back to the person in pristine and sterile condition.

This has caused strain and even a punch to the face for Qinghua, with him wrongly assuming it was simply his destiny to be mistreated. Of course he's treated like dirt, ut's probably why he became a traitor in the first place. Time passes, and he slowly gets less and less of these gifts and continues his unprecedented distance to the people of his peak.

Maybe it was why it was so easy for the people in the caravan to throw him to the man who would one day be his demise, a sacrifice for a world that values the people of their pack so highly, that seems to place such a significant weight over protecting their own.

(He hears the whispers that pity him, that suspect him, that makes guesses on why he survived, all of which center around his distance. That the demon had came for Cang Qiong specifically and his detachment gave him an out to lie about his allegiance and pass himself off as a bystander who was just unfortunate enough to be there. He seems pitiful enough, why not let him live.)

Maybe it's also why Mobei-jun has such a hard time trusting him for so long. You would assume from a man that said he would dedicate his entire life to you, that he would give everything to be your servant, he would be unashamed in being part of your pack. That he would show a visible attempt at indicating that. Pride for your pack is important in such a territorial world.

He's grated that his subordinate seemingly refuses to show his loyalty by keeping his scent, that whatever he has marked will be scrubbed into sterility.

(Shang Qinghua was once asked by his fellow disciple what that scent was, and it clicked pretty fast that Mobei-jun was marking his things. He stays up late and scrubs and replaces everything regularly, praying that the system gives him a hand if it wants the plot to stay on course.)

[shakingparadigm]

Once again, I can't really gather my thoughts cohesively on this right now, so please bear with me. Just musing, so the ideas here might be a bit disconnected.

As a prodigy artist well-versed in more than just singing, it's no suprise that art is a prominent part of Till's character. Everything associated with Till seems to carry his eccentric artistic talent, right down to the abstract symbols painted onto his otherwise blank white t-shirt.

(Till's sketching and drawing seem to go hand-in-hand with his songwriting. Doodling and composition are two of his hobbies, and he's stated to be talented at both.)

(His appearance in TOP 3 emphasizes this messy, artistic angle. The symbols painted on the wall are similar to graffiti tags, usually associated with youth and rebellion. Furthermore, there is paint splattered on his face, staining color onto his disheveled hair and baggy clothes.)

(Even amongst the TOP 3, Till is presented with the most color. Between Luka and Ivan's main colors of white and black, their formal attire and elegant, charming personas, Till looks rather out of place.)

(Till's personal/special talent is floral art.)

Art is an integral part of Till's character, something that defines him and his desire for self-expression and freedom (it's no suprise that when Till loses his will to live in ROUND 6, he's dressed in plain and monochromatic clothes that lack any of his own artistic touch). Despite the ties between creativity and freedom, Till's talents are regularly taken advantage of and even tampered with due to the treatment he receives from his owner.

Guardian Urak is an eccentric segyein. A hustler, materialistic and rather pretentious. He shows great pride in Till's "uniqueness" and artistic ability, boasting that he has raised the best human-pet in history. In order to create the success that is Till, however, Urak had to execute his methods on several other pets beforehand. His practices include the thorough abuse of his human pets in order to coax out their talents, pushing them to their limits with harsh training regimens and painful experiments. Violence is a tactic utilized heavily within Urak's line of business, and the human pets under his ownership are the most openly abused.

Urak is said to abuse his pets to the point of severe mental issues. It's due to these mental issues that his previous pets have failed to achieve victory, showing great promise but never making it to the end. He seems to believe in the idea that the peak of a human's talent is tied with their instability, that the more talented a pet human is, they more likely they are to be a freak.

Urak pushes forward with the mistreatment of his humans despite their suffering. He believes it to be a part of creating exemplary art, playing into the idea of a tortured artist. Urak's pets were incredibly talented and top contenders for the title of champion. If not for their heavily deteriorated mental states, they would have brought Urak to victory long ago. It's quite clear that he does not intend on changing his methods because the humans he produces are some of the best products around. He doesn't want to change his methods, he wants a human that can withstand them.

Till's style is already established to be unique, nicknamed a "black sheep" in his official magazine page, emphasizing individuality. His brazen aggression in ROUND 2 caused him to attract much hate, but twice as many fans, too. The bashing of Freddie was framed as a bombastic and somewhat avant-garde performance act, referred to as art. Till's public persona was that of an eccentric and unpredictable artist, a highly reactive contrarian pet who presents both a high risk and high reward. Urak has produced another tortured artist, except this one is different (in his words, unrivaled). A higher caliber of pet, bringing him the closest to winning he's ever gotten thus far.

Till's various artistic talents seem to be things that he has developed on his own, stemming from his own desires and interests rather than something forced onto him by Urak. In one of VIVINOS and QMENG's livestreams it was stated that Till is inherently gifted, a creative genius since birth. Till uses his abilities as tools of rebellion and self-expression, writing his own music, vandalizing and adjusting segyein-provided material and outfits in order to make them more his own. It's unfortunate that even Till's attempts at rebellion are taken advantage of and instead used against him. Constantly battered and bruised, isolated in a cell, forced to endure experimentation, all of his artistic ingenuity and creations have been taken by the segyein and used to promote him as a product. He has been turned into a spectacle, his misery and abuse put on display for others to gawk at. Suffering for the sake of art.

[mickyschumacher]

Hi hun

Could you maybe write a smau about Charles x Brazilian!reader and maybe she’s like a famous actress or something?

Thank you 🤍🤍

[NOT HIDING!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after being publicly mistreated by your ex-boyfriend, fans couldn't be more welcoming to a certain f1 driver.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: mentions of cheating, poor humor, google translated portuguese

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x famous brazilian actress!fem!reader

𝐅𝐂: bruna marquezine

𝐀/𝐍: i opted for a sm au after getting ill this week so hope ya'll don't mind! i was also stuck between bruna and livia as the fc but i figured my girlie bruna was the best! hope this was okay anon ♡︎

𝐏.𝐒: i don't think there are much plots in sm aus so there wasn't much here lol! also getting danny ric back at this time is kinda crazy. couldn't believe it when i saw it... but i also feel for nick :(

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

charles_leclerc posted on his story!

yourusername

liked by masonmount, charles_leclerc, zendaya, and 2,304,093 others

yourusername: cura ♡ healing♡

view all 53,041 comments

leclercs: guYS THE DOG 👀

norrarijimin: they're soft launching 🤧🥺

zendaya: beautiful girl ❤️

yourusername: says you ♡︎

ynauurrrr: i miss her and n tho 🤧

ynbestgirl: bestie no one misses him lmao

f1gossip

liked by leclercs, pierregasly, ynbestgirl and 24,942 others

f1gossip: Rumoured WAG Y/N L/N has been promoting her heavily anticipated show in the Netherlands and seen taking pictures with her fans, a few days before the Dutch Grand Prix.

tagged: yourusername

view all 745 comments

ausnorris1: it just keeps getting better am i right?

ynbestgirl: does she ever have a day off being the prettiest woman in the world?

norrarijimin: no one talking about gasly's like?

leclercs: the drama this man likes to start...

pierregasly liked this comment!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, landonorris, and 3,294,291 others

yourusername: here are some behind the scenes while you wait for the first episode tonight!

tagged: romuloestrela, johnnyomassaro

view all 63,304 comments

romuloestrela: uau… estamos incríveis. wow... we look amazing.

johnnyomassaro: modelos models

yourusername: obviamente... obviously...

ynbestgirl: IT'S GONNA BE SO GOOOOOOD

leclercs: talent with talent... love to see it!

charles_leclerc posted to his story!

[ charles_leclerc: new day, new show recommendation for tifosi! #deusslaveorei ]

[ charles_leclerc: favourite character is caterina ❤️ #deusslaveorei ]

yourusername posted on her story!

[ yourusername: i hope singapore is ready for ferrari! thank you for having me f1 ♡︎ ]

[ yourusername: the singapore grand prix winner doesn't want to show his face... anyways... proud of you charles_leclerc ]

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, pierregasly, and 1,203,951 others

charles_leclerc: birthday break with the people i love before the us grand prix! still in shape and ready to win ❤️

tagged: arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, leclerc_pascale

view all 5,394 comments

danielricciardo: happy birthday mate! hope you had a good one ❤️

pierregasly: happy birthday bro

landonorris: why no invite brooo :(

carlossainz55: ^^

arthur_leclerc: man i look good

charles_leclerc: it's the genes

lorenzotl: you're welcome ♡︎

arthur_leclerc: ...

norrarijimin: WHY DIDN'T U TAG HER AHFSRHEAKRHESIJRB

leclercs: they're still soft launching for god's sake 😭💀

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, zendaya, and 5,938,214 others

yourusername: he wins in méxico, he wins in são paulo ♡︎ proud of you, meu lindo. proud of you, my beautiful.

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all 100,392 comments

pierregasly: FINALLY

leclercs: LMAOOOO PIERRE

pierregasly: i thought i was going to die if i had to keep it a secret any longer 🤧

charles_leclerc: a for effort ig

charles_leclerc: thank you, chérie. thank you, sweetheart

ausnorris1: anyone checking up on ynbestgirl?

ynbestgirl: choosing to happily throw myself over a cliff rn.

norrarijimin: room for two?

ynbestgirl: ofc

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, landonorris, and 3,283,983 others

charles_leclerc: not that we've been hiding it but this is y/n, the love of my life. say hi y/n!

view all 13,078 comments

landonorris: hi y/n! yourusername

pierregasly: hi yourusername

danielricciardo: hiiiiiii yourusername

carlossainz55: hi! yourusername

yourusername: ...

yourusername: i have mixed feelings about this post

yourusername: what are these photos? 😭

charles_leclerc: what do you mean? they're my memories of you 😄

ynbestgirl: STOP IT CHARLES MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE yourusername liked this comment!

yourusername: ^

leclercs: and here lies ynbestgirl. y/n's biggest fan. passed on the 7th of november 2023 due to y/n herself

ynbestgirl: they do say never meet your heroes 😭

yourusername: i–

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇��𝐑

[jams-sims]

Curly victimhood and how 2 things can be true.

Curly was a good Captian, a good friend BUT he was also willing to hide Jimmy wrong doing, Failed Anya by not taking action sooner and in general relying to heavily on the "we are friends we understand one another." The thing about Curly is nothing that he says, he's going to do, when we play as him. Ever comes to fruition, we never make it to Earth, we never make it to the drop off point. His sin or inactions stay on the ship and in a way, him getting hurt like he did is his punishment for his sin. He is as much of a victim of Jimmy as others on the ship.

The rose colored glasses are torn away when Curly is put in a position of helplessness. When he loses the status of friend and becomes someone Jimmy had already disliked into someone below Jimmy. The 5 people in this fandom have already mentioned it, Curly can be a allegory for the mistreatment of people who are disabled, rape connecting to Anya and helplessnes.

But what i think the real connection is, is that Curly represents those real friendships where you have a close bond with someone who does something horrible. I think it also represents, how some men will just stay friends with a horrible people. Even though they know that person is horrible.

In Curly case he made a few statment that showed he was willing to work things out. He would "Take Responsibility." Could it be he was simply trying to keep everything together by pacifying both Jimmy and Anya. They are on a ship that still had 200+ days left to go. Yes. But we'll never know the full scope of Curly character because we only ever get his view in flash back or from Jimmys warped perspective.

Edit:

I forgot the gun scene- it is the foundation of two things can be true. Curly can talk to Anya on day 0 when Curly looks for the gun. Its not explain why hes looking for it. But when you talk to Anya, Curly assumes she is going to hurt herself. He tells Anya that they can work this out, and that he would have done ANYTHING for her.

Anya calls him out saying "I know you wouldn't have given me the gun to protect myself but atleast he doesnt have it." Which just puts Curly firmly in the middle. He wants to hold on to his friendship with jimmy, while also trying to "Take Responsibility". Its adds another level of tragedy and why he starts laughing when Jimmy finds the gun. It was staring him in the face the whole time. An maybe he should have given Anya the gun to protect herself.

[candyskiez]

If I had a nickel for everytime an animated media ended with the titular character having a breakdown after years of repression and mistreatment by everyone around them, causing them to go into a superpowered state and rampage towards something very specific now that all their repressed desires and anger and trauma are running wild and have to be brought back by their loved ones who heavily contributed to them having this breakdown in the first place finally apologizing to them and reaching out, I'd have three nickels.

Which isn't much, but it's weird that it's happened thrice.

[bunybunn]

Okay enough time passed for me to try to put it all my thoughts about the Dream situation in one place at least until the Shut up i'm talking (patreon only 7$!!!) episode comes out.

First of all let's not forget that all of this started because Dream got involved in Twitter beef that had nothing to do with him. Sure xQc mentioned Dream's name but it was in reference to Tommy "dickriding" Dream when he was starting making content. It was dig at Tommy that didn't needed Dream's response in the slightest however the green guy didn't care and posted meme using r-word. Which obviously gain shit ton of backlash from every normal enough person because that is a slur. This also means that a lot of people reacted and talked about it including Tubbo.

The fact that this followed with 3 hours stream where Dream specifically reacted to Tubbo is ridiculous by itself. All he had to do is apologise and take responsibility for using a slur but instead Dream felt the need to pull out old controversy and pull more content creators into it. Additionally despite himself claiming that you should not cut things out of context he was skipping parts of Tubbo's stream and did not watched in in full. Also it's important to mention that the "apology" he did said in the said stream was especially "I saw people on Internet calling me that and I thought that means I can use it as a slur as well" which is an insane take that also sounded like something little kid would use as ane excuse.

Next important stop is Tommy's response. It was basically just Tommy telling Dream that he doesn't want to associate with him anymore. It's worth pointing out Tom's video was done in one take style, the was no big editing but rather just Tommy shearing his opinion and his feelings. Because of that we got few hyperboles like Dream "harassing" Tommy's mom and him being described as a movie villain-like.

Then you have the Dreams response to Tommy that was definitely not done with good intentions. Unlike Tom's one Dream's video was edited, he added music, pictures that were not proofs but were there to invoked specific emotions and also a short in Minecraft scene when he referenced his dream smp character. In my opinion that video was perfect example of how to manipulate audiences with content. He ensured that Tom's arguments seemed ridiculous, usually by taking it out of context like he did with the sexism part as well as with Tommy saying he was behind dream smp success, or pulled heavier accusations that make Tommy looked bad. Keep in mind how insane it actually was to after Dream had his content and merch be called lazy going straight to using case of scummy company that produced Tommy's merch at some point and has legal case against it that Dream had no deeper knowledge about and using rumors that Tommy is/was mistreating his editors using screanshots that were cropped and taken without consent of people in those. All of it while Dream was trying to act like he is still the good guy who so respects everyone and just wants everyone to get along.

The thing is Tubbo's discussion with Dream proved that was absolute bullshit. During the conversation it was clear genuinely expected it to go as he usually described private calls aka after he gets to explain himself the other person will see it his way. Unfortunately for him he heavily underestimated Tubbo, who did phenomenal job try to point out Dream missteps and make good arguments. Still Dream's behaviour was very much manipulative during it. I think the moment that shows it the most was the part where they talked about the merch company where Tubbo got to the point where he slipped and mentioned that there was one case of child labor in said company, something that clear came from his insider knowledge, and Dream started to use Tubbo's words against him to justify himself even though he had not know about it when making his video therefore it was irrelevant. His attitude also was very much "rules for thee not for me" any time Tubbo tried to hold Dream to the same standards Dream is holding other people who talk about him. Another thing that rubbed me the wrong way was how hard Dream was trying to make himself look good at the very end of the discussion by throwing complements and trying to act as if everything got resolved. I'm pretty sure he hoped this would encourage people to talking it out with him in private but I feel this might have the opposite effect since everyone got to see how such call would potencialy look like.

[niniane17]

I realize that anti Got Season 8 posting in late 2024 is a bit boomerish, but screw that it's my blog and there's no law stating that I can't post about That Series again.

I've stumbled across an old anti-Daenerys post written by a Sansa fan some months after the show ended and...oh my God. I had nearly forgotten just how batshit crazy those takes are.

Dany is a colonialist. Dany is a white supremacist. If you like her you are both. Martin is just pretending to write her as a hero, in the end he will reveal she was evil all along and freeing slaves was a secret code for enslaving people. Valyria is evil and the Targaryens are evil. Westeros is simultaneously the ancient Americas and Medieval Europe. Essos is Europe but also the Oppressed Middle East.

Sansa is the true anti colonialist hero. Sansa is the true opprossed woman. If you don't support her you are an oppressor and possibly a rapist yourself. The North is good and the Starks are good. When Arya sails West of Westeros sporting the North's banner, she is not partaking in colonialism, in fact, she will be the anti Christopher Columbus. How do we know that? Because she's a Stark, the Starks are good...

It's maddening. No wonder Daenerys fans are driven into a frenzy. It's not irrationality, it's just natural frustration at constantly being held to double standards and fighting some crazy takes.

Now, treating a fantasy tv show fandom as anti-colonial activism is bad enough, but it's clear to me that at least some of these takes are motivated by the fact they see Sansa as the underdog, mistreated by both the characters and sometimes even the narrative.

And here's where things get weird.

I've said many times that I didn't become a full Dany fan until she was heavily mistreated by the narrative, and I'm definitely not alone in this. Back in the day, many people who previously didn't care one bit for Daenerys suddenly ended up defending her or even stanning her.

Like, of course if somebody wants to root for the underdog, the first thing to do is rooting for the actual underdog. Season 8's underdog was Daenerys. Everyone and everything was deadly set against her from the moment she arrived in Winterfell. They constantly disrespected her, undercut her efforts, killed off or villainized her allies, snobbed her non-traditional upbringing, conspired behind her back. And all the while they always asked asked asked for more, nothing she was giving was enough.

In contrast, the Starks' and the North's actions were constantly justified or presented as good, even betrayal (which is a very huge deal in Westeros) or, in one instance, outright racism by the Northern people -this time fully intended by the production, rather than an unintentional outcome of some poor behind-the-scene choices.

At the end, Season 8's Starks were absolute gods who could do no wrong and were always in the right no matter what they did -except their bastard son, who was contaminated by the evil people's blood and has to symbolically kill that part of himself forever.

Well, guess what, people didn't like that. But the newfound Dany fans were perfectly consistent: they wanted the underdog to win, to overcome her hurdles, internal or external, and be happy at the end. If the underdog is Dany, well, then it's time for Dany to win.

It's Sansa stans that see everything in terms of How This Affects My Fave and are willing to bend over the narrative to get what they want. They are perfectly happy with a biased narrative and double standards, they just want it to be biased towards Sansa, and everything is fair game to them, including real life politics and vocabulary, with some hilarious results. For example: Sansa as the voice of the Oppressed Minorities is...a take, to say the least. Her world doesn't even have a prejudice against red hair, as it would have in real life.

And guess what else, this kind of Protagonist-Centered Morality is very similar to the one used by real life colonizers, especially in their "explorations". Not that it matters because this isn't a post-colonial story and it never will be. It's a story about a messed up Fantasy Medieval/Early Renassaince World with Dragons, heavily influenced by various periods of European history. The only vaguely post-colonial element are maybe the zombies-as-slaves metaphor, and I think it's more due to the fact that Martin was probably inspired by old horror Movies pre-dating the Romero ones. And who is liberating slaves in his story, again?

Anyway. 2019-2020 was a really weird time to be a Dany fan, and in hindsight it was crazy how much shit there was around a fantasy series with dragons. Surely five years later people are a little more normal, right? Right?

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 4 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Four: I Will Be Your Executioner

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 9k

A/N: OMFGGGGGG I’m actually writing non-stop. Wtf. Guys this part is heavily inspired by many quotes from the Glory. It’s so goooooddd! Go watch it. ALSO LMAO sorry for the chonky chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: No Choir by Florence + The Machine

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THE WEDDING RECEPTION  

KING'S LANDING GARDEN, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The once-vibrant garden has turned into a scene from a nightmare. Joffrey’s lifeless body lies in his mother’s lap, the blood trickling from his nose and mingling with the vomit caking his lips. Cersei’s scream cuts through the chaos like a blade, her finger trembling as it points directly at Tyrion. 

"You did this! You did this!" she shrieks, her voice cracking with grief and rage.

Tyrion barely has time to react before three guards seize him from behind, their grip firm, dragging him back. The entire court is thrown into disarray, nobles scrambling, unsure where to look or what to say. The shock hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Your eyes flick to Sansa as she watches, wide-eyed and frozen in place. Ser Dontos Hollard, the fool, sidles up to her, his face pale with urgency.

“We have to leave,” he whispers frantically, his hand tugging at her sleeve.

Sansa looks to you, her expression a mix of confusion and terror, searching for an answer. You meet her gaze and give the smallest, subtlest nod, speaking in the quietest voice that only she can hear.

"Run."

You keep your posture relaxed, every movement calculated, as though the chaos around you is nothing but a passing storm. Let it swirl, let them scream, none of it touches you.

Cersei’s piercing voice shatters the air again. “Take him! Take him!”

The guards drag Tyrion away through the crowd, his face a mask of resignation. You shift, sliding further to the edge of the gathering, your eyes tracking Sansa as she and Ser Dontos disappear, swallowed by the throng of horrified nobles. As Cersei’s head whips around, searching for a new target for her grief, her shrill voice rises again.

"Where is his wife? Where's Sansa?!"

Tywin's voice booms over the garden, commanding attention with the force of authority, “Find her. Bar the gates of the city. Seize every ship in the harbor.”

The tension mounts as Cersei, distraught and frenzied, clings to Tywin. “Where is she?!”

“No one leaves the capital!" Tywin's voice echoes like a decree from the gods themselves. "No one!”

The wheels are turning, but you remain steady, unmoved, watching everything unfold like a distant observer.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — DUSK

The bells toll ominously across the city, signaling not just the king's death but the beginning of a lockdown. What had begun as a celebration of young love and power had spiraled into a suffocating horror—a wedding turned funeral. The streets were locked down, the gates barred, and whispers spread like wildfire among the servants. Every corner of the Red Keep hummed with dread.

You sat in the dim light of your chambers, fingers tracing over the pages of your journal. On the list of names you had scrawled, Joffrey’s stood out, now crossed out in thick ink. The weight of his demise did not lift your heart, but there was a cold satisfaction in seeing that line through his name. 

A knock on your door broke the silence. You didn’t even look up, your voice calm, measured. “Enter.”

Serena stepped in, her movements quiet and careful as she shut the door behind her, turning the lock with a soft click before coming to sit beside you. Her eyes fell to your journal, to the page you’d been reading, and her gaze lingered on the crossed-out name.

Her voice was soft when she asked, “Did you…”

You didn’t hesitate. “It wasn’t me who slipped the poison.” Your tone was blunt, matter-of-fact. Serena was smart—she could piece together the rest on her own. She nodded slowly, absorbing the truth behind your words.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “I’d still like to thank you. For doing this.”

Her gratitude was real, but it didn’t touch you. Nothing did anymore. You turned to her, your expression as unreadable as stone.

"I didn’t do it for thanks," you said, your voice as cold as the air before a storm. “I did it because people like him—people like them—will only understand one thing from now on.” You paused, holding Serena’s gaze, unblinking. “They will suffer, just as we have.”

Serena nodded, her lips tightening into a thin line. She knew. She understood.

And so, your revenge continued. Joffrey’s name may have been crossed out, but there were others. And as you sat there, cold and detached, you knew this was only the beginning of a longer reckoning. The suffering had only just begun.

THE NEXT DAY 

STREETS OF SILK, CHATAYA’S BROTHEL — DAY

The city pulsed with a nervous energy, the fallout of Joffrey’s death rippling through every alleyway, every corner of King’s Landing. It was rare for you to have a day free from the palace, but amidst the chaos, no one had cared when a few servants slipped away. The Red Keep had become a den of paranoia, each person trying to avoid the eye of suspicion. A perfect time to disappear—even if just for a while.

As you walked through the streets, your steps silent, deliberate, you overheard a conversation between two guards. Their voices were low, yet their words unmistakable. Tywin plans to confront Oberyn. The Hand of the King knew of Oberyn's frequent visits to Chataya’s brothel—it was no secret that the Dornish prince indulged himself openly. Tywin’s suspicions were spreading like wildfire, and you needed to be there to hear what he might uncover.

Pulling your cloak tight around you, you kept to the shadows, slipping between the narrow alleys that twisted like veins through the streets of silk. The map of the city was etched into your mind as clearly as the secrets you kept—memorized over years of service, of watching and waiting. 

You reached the brothel just as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Slipping through the back door, you moved with the practiced silence of someone who knew how to remain unseen. A shadow among shadows. The moans and laughter of the brothel’s patrons created a cover of noise, perfect for hiding in plain sight.

The scent of incense and sweat filled the air, thick and cloying, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed ahead, scanning for any sign of Tywin or his men. You crept further into the brothel, slipping behind a large stone pillar that stood near one of the darker corners of the room. Hidden in the gloom, you were just another part of the architecture, unseen, unnoticed.

The dagger strapped to your thigh pressed reassuringly against your skin, a small comfort in the uncertainty of the moment. You had long since learned that in King’s Landing, secrets and steel were your best companions. One cut as deep as the other, and both had their uses. If anyone saw you, anyone grew suspicious—you would be ready.

You crouched lower behind the pillar, listening as Oberyn’s voice carried faintly from one of the rooms. His tone was as smooth and dangerous as ever, a man who never feared consequences, not even from Tywin Lannister. You stayed still, your heart steady but your mind sharp, waiting for the moment when Tywin would confront him. 

You could feel it—the unraveling was only just beginning. The tension in the city would soon give way to something far darker, and you were determined to be ahead of it, to see everything before it was hidden away in shadows again.

As footsteps echoed down the hall, heavier, more deliberate, you pressed further into the shadows. Tywin. You could not afford to be seen, but you could not afford to miss this either. Information was your weapon. And today, you would sharpen it.

Just in time, you watched as three naked whores and Ellaria Sand stepped out of one of the rooms. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded down her bare shoulders as she laughed softly, her gaze briefly scanning the room before she and the others disappeared down the hall. The guards trailed after them, though one remained standing by the entrance. Close, but not too close.

The door to Oberyn’s room was slightly ajar.

You slipped inside with practiced precision, the heavy scent of incense clinging to the air. The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the midday sun, filtering through the heavy curtains. Oberyn Martell was seated on the bed, shirtless and glistening with sweat, his bronzed skin catching the light as he stretched with the grace of a panther. The gods must have shown you some favor—he was still clothed from the waist down. 

His gaze shifted lazily toward you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as if your presence amused him. He knew you were there long before you entered.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, his voice low, teasing. He gestured casually toward a chair in the corner, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tywin Lannister stood at the other end of the room, his expression as hard as stone, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. “No, thank you,” Tywin replied curtly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Oberyn’s movements were slow, deliberate, as he rose from the bed, his lean body practically dripping with confidence. He stepped toward a small cart by the window, where a tray of wine and goblets waited. “Some wine?” he offered again, pouring himself a generous amount, the dark liquid swirling in the cup.

Tywin, still standing near the door, remained unmoved. “No, thank you,” he repeated.

Oberyn, with a patterned towel draped over his shoulder, took a slow sip of the wine, his eyes never leaving Tywin’s. “I'm sorry about your grandson,” he said smoothly, though the sincerity in his tone was questionable.

Tywin’s lips twitched, barely containing his disdain. “Are you?” he asked, the question laced with accusation.

Oberyn shrugged, moving across the room like a predator sizing up his prey. “I don't believe a child is responsible for the sins of his father. Or his grandfather. An awful way to die.” His voice was casual, but his eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—were watching Tywin’s every move.

The tension in the room was recognizable, thick enough to choke on. You remained hidden in the shadows, every word falling like stones in a still pond, sending ripples of suspicion through the air.

“Which way is that?” Tywin asked, his voice sharp.

Oberyn tilted his head, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?” he purred, settling onto a plush bed of pillows, lounging with the practiced grace of a man who feared nothing.

“Some believe the king choked,” Tywin mused, watching Oberyn closely.

“Some believe the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant,” Oberyn replied, his tone mocking. He took another sip of wine before adding, “The king was poisoned.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. “I hear you studied poisons at the Citadel.”

Oberyn’s smile widened, like a cat who had caught the scent of a mouse. “I did. This is why I know.”

Tywin’s voice dropped, edged with danger. “Your hatred for my family is rather well known. You arrive at the capital, an expert in poisoning, and days later my grandson dies of poisoning.”

Oberyn didn’t miss a beat. “Rather suspicious,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Why haven’t you thrown me in a dungeon?”

Tywin's gaze hardened. “You spoke with Tyrion in this very brothel on the day that you arrived. What did you discuss?”

“You think we conspired together?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What did you discuss?”

Oberyn’s playful demeanor faltered, as he moved to stand, approaching Tywin, his voice dropping into something darker, colder. “The death of my sister.”

Tywin did not flinch, though his eyes gave away nothing. “For which you blame me.”

Oberyn leaned forward slightly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. “She was raped and murdered by the Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken threats. You remained perfectly still, your heart a steady drumbeat in your chest as you watched the two men circle each other, both poised for an attack that would never come.

Tywin, calm as ever, gave the faintest shrug. “Here I stand unarmed, unguarded. Should I be concerned?”

Oberyn smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that. I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow.”

“Men at war commit all kinds of crimes without their superiors' knowledge,” Tywin said, almost conversationally.

“So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?”

Tywin’s voice remained steady. “Categorically.”

Oberyn’s gaze sharpened, his smile fading into something colder. “I would like to speak with the Mountain.”

“I’m sure he would enjoy speaking with you,” Tywin said evenly.

Oberyn’s lips curled into a grim smile. “He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks he would.”

Tywin’s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. “I could arrange for this meeting.”

Oberyn’s brow arched, intrigued. “But you want something in return.”

Tywin’s voice was calm, measured. “There will be a trial for my son. As custom dictates, three judges will render a verdict. I will preside. Mace Tyrell will serve as the second judge. I would like you to be the third.”

Oberyn’s amusement returned, but his tone remained cautious. “Why?”

“Not long ago, the Tyrells sided with Renly Baratheon. Declared themselves enemies of the throne. Now they are our strongest allies.”

Oberyn shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen. Asking me to judge at your son's trial isn't quite as tempting.”

Tywin stepped forward, his voice dropping low. “I will also invite you to sit on the small council to serve as one of the new king's principal advisors.”

Oberyn studied Tywin, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I never realized you had such respect for Dorne, Lord Tywin.”

“We are not the Seven Kingdoms until Dorne returns to the fold,” Tywin replied, his voice cold, calculated. “The king is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall. And in the East, a Targaryen girl has three dragons. Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros. Only the Dornish managed to resist Aegon Targaryen and his dragons.”

Oberyn’s smile returned, slow and sharp. “You're saying you need us? That must be hard for you to admit.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change. “We need each other. You help me serve justice to the king's assassins, and I will help you serve justice to Elia's.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Oberyn fell silent, his gaze turning inward, distant, as if he were calculating a hundred possibilities all at once. The tension lingered, thick and unspoken, between him and the absent Tywin. The delicate balance of power that had just played out was clear—two predators circling one another, masking threats with diplomacy.

You pressed yourself deeper into the shadows, watching Oberyn with a sharp, practiced gaze. His expression remained contemplative, still lost in the aftermath of his exchange with Tywin. Outside the room, the echo of Tywin’s footsteps faded into the distance, and the door clicked shut with finality, leaving behind an uneasy stillness that hung thick in the air.

But you had lingered too long. In a silent breath, you pulled back into the shadows, slipping toward the door like a shadow yourself. You moved swiftly, soundless, as you had been trained—disappearing without a trace. The world outside was teeming with noise and life, but none of it noticed your departure. You melted into the alleyways, your cloak drawn close, your steps swift and measured as you darted through the maze of streets that threaded King’s Landing. 

The market was alive with its usual chaos, the scent of spices mingling with the salt of the sea, merchants shouting over one another, selling everything from silks to stale bread. You wove through the crowds, your face hidden beneath the hood of your cloak, eyes scanning your surroundings. You had always known how to vanish in plain sight.

But then, the sound hit you.

A sharp sizzle, the searing of meat against hot metal. Your steps faltered as the scent of charred pork filled the air, thick and overwhelming, clinging to your skin like smoke. For a moment, the world around you seemed to blur—the market, the people, the shouts—it all dimmed. Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as the memories surged, unbidden, unstoppable.

Flames licking at your skin, the scent of burning flesh, the sound of your own screams echoing in the back of your mind. The fire that had marked you, that had seared itself into your memory, now clawed its way to the surface.

Your hands trembled as you stumbled into a corner of the street, your back pressed hard against the cool stone of a wall. The sounds of the market seemed distant now, drowned out by the roar of the fire in your mind. The panic clawed at your chest, squeezing tighter and tighter until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

You gasped, desperate for air, the weight of your cloak suddenly too heavy, the noise of the market too loud. The edges of your vision blurred, and the ground beneath you felt like it was spinning. The world seemed to close in on you, suffocating, the past and present melding into one.

Burning.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms in an attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that you were no longer there. But the searing sound, the scent—it was too much. The memories flooded you, pulling you under. You pressed your back harder into the wall, trying to fight your way out of the suffocating panic, trying to escape the fire that only existed in your mind.

But it felt so real.

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision swam. You had to get out. Away from the market, away from the noise, away from the memory that gripped you like a vice. You pushed yourself off the wall, your legs shaky but determined, and forced yourself back into the crowd, pulling your cloak tighter around you.

With every step, you fought to steady your breathing, to clear the haze from your mind. The streets blurred around you as you moved, each footfall feeling heavier than the last, but you pressed on. Away from the market. Away from the sound.

Away from the fire.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

By the time you returned to the castle, fatigue weighed heavily on your limbs. The maze of tunnels under the Red Keep stretched out before you like a winding serpent, familiar yet suffocating. Each step felt heavier than the last, your breath shallow, as the cool stone walls seemed to press closer. 

As you rounded a corner, your thoughts interrupted by hurried footsteps, you almost collided with someone—Podrick Payne. His wide-eyed expression immediately softened when he realized it was you.

“Oh, my apologies,” Podrick stammered, stepping back in his usual bashful manner. 

You shook your head, waving off the apology. "No, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going."

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh well…"

There was something about his awkwardness, a sincerity in the way he held himself. Podrick was kind, genuine—a rarity in King's Landing. You had a peculiar way of prying information from him without much effort. It wasn’t something you set out to do, but it was almost as though the right questions spilled from your lips, and he couldn’t help but answer.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing as you noticed the tension in his shoulders. "Are you heading somewhere urgent?"

Podrick blinked in surprise, glancing at the wineskin he carried. “Yes, I’m on my way to see Lord Tyrion in the cells.”

Your gaze dropped to the wineskin, lips curving into a faint smirk. "You’re bringing him wine?"

He nodded, looking somewhat guilty, as though he’d been caught red-handed. 

"The guards will take it from you, you know that, right?"

Podrick’s expression flickered with brief defeat, but he nodded again. The innocence in his eyes spoke volumes, but you weren’t fooled. Deep down, you knew he was smuggling more than just wine. You sighed, rubbing your temples as the exhaustion from the day wore at your patience.

"They've chosen the judges for his trial," you added, your voice soft but deliberate.

Podrick glanced around as if someone might overhear, then leaned in slightly. “I heard. Lord Tywin, Mace Tyrell, and Prince Oberyn of Dorne."

"Word travels fast," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. Your eyes drifted over his face, reading the tension etched into his features. His frown deepened, and you couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong? You’re frowning.”

Podrick’s sigh was almost inaudible, but in the quiet of the dimly lit tunnel, it seemed to echo. He lowered his voice as if confessing a secret. "There’s something else. A man—someone I didn’t know—came to me. He asked if I’d testify against Lord Tyrion. Said I’d be named Ser Podrick Payne if I told the judges Tyrion bought a poison called the Strangler.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of the poison, but your expression remained impassive. You frowned, though, as the weight of his words sank in. Podrick, in his innocence, stood at the crossroads of something much darker than he fully understood.

"You…" You took a slow, deep breath, steadying your tone. "Lord Tyrion has been kind to you."

He met your gaze, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "He has."

There was a heavy silence between you, the kind that lingered just long enough to feel uncomfortable. The weight of your secrets hung in the air, unspoken, but Podrick wasn’t foolish. He knew you were holding back, but he never pressed. 

"Do you know what happened?" he asked softly, as though afraid of the answer. His voice was tentative, laced with the hope that you might offer him clarity. "Who did it?"

You blinked, your gaze distant, the apathy you had so carefully cultivated slipping back into place. His question lingered, but you gave him no answer—just a soft pat on his shoulder, a rare gesture of kindness in a world that had none to spare.

"You better be careful, Podrick," you said, your voice low, carrying a quiet weight. "You’re one of the rare ones out there who are truly good. Take care of yourself."

His lips parted as if to say something more, but you had already turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the castle, leaving him standing there beneath the flickering torchlight.

KING’S LANDING, QUAY OF THE PORT BY THE SEA OF THE RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The salty breeze whipped across the sea, crashing waves against jagged rocks below as you crouched beneath the cliffsides. Hidden from sight, you watched with keen eyes as Jaime Lannister and Bronn sparred near the water's edge, the sound of clashing steel ringing in the air.

Jaime’s face was flushed, his breath labored, but his movements were sharper than before. He spun his sword with renewed vigor, pressing the attack against Bronn. But the sellsword was as sharp as ever, his parries quick, his footwork steady. They deadlocked, Jaime’s golden hand clashing with Bronn’s grip. With a wicked grin, Bronn swatted Jaime across the face, sending him sprawling onto the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Jaime let out a grunt, pushing himself up from the dirt. “What the hell was that?” he spat, wiping the dust from his tunic.

Bronn tossed Jaime’s golden hand back to him with a smirk. “That was me knocking your ass to the dirt with your own hand."

Jaime caught it, shaking his head. “You’re a rare talent. When you’re fighting cripples, anyway.”

“You learned to fight like a good little boy," Bronn quipped, his grin widening. "I’ll bet that thrust through the Mad King’s back was pretty as a picture. You want to fight pretty, or you want to win?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched. “You talk to my brother this way?”

“All the time. He got used to it.”

They sat together on a low stone wall, the tension easing between them. Jaime took a swig from a wineskin before handing it to Bronn.

“Do you think he did it?” Jaime asked, his voice low, hesitant.

Bronn shook his head. “No. Oh, he hated the little twat, sure. But who didn’t? Poison’s not his style. Or murder, for that matter. You want to know for sure, why don’t you ask him?”

Jaime remained silent, his gaze distant.

“You haven’t been to see him yet, have you?” Bronn probed, his tone carrying an edge of judgment.

Jaime stood abruptly, tossing the wineskin back to Bronn. “We’re done for today.”

As Jaime walked away, Bronn called out, “Your brother ever tell you how I came into his service?”

Jaime paused, his back still turned. “You stood for him in his trial by combat at the Eyrie.”

“Aye,” Bronn replied, his voice steady. “But only when Lady Arryn demanded the trial take place that day. You were his first choice. He named you for his champion because he knew you’d ride day and night to fight for him. You gonna fight for him now?”

Jaime’s silence lingered, the weight of Bronn’s words hanging in the air as he disappeared into the distance. 

Once Jaime was gone, Bronn stood alone, shaking his head. That’s when you emerged from your hiding spot, the faint sound of your boots scraping against the stone catching his attention. He turned, spotting you walking towards him, your loose long-sleeve tunic billowing slightly in the wind, trousers and boots practical for the sparring you had in mind. The sword sheathed at your side glinted in the afternoon light, a far cry from the ladylike appearance most would expect.

You let out a low whistle, drawing a chuckle from Bronn as you approached. “You really handed it to him, huh?” you remarked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Who knew today would be the day you make a joke?” Bronn quipped, his smirk never far from his lips.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Might as well get a laugh in once in a while.”

Bronn gave you a quick once-over, his eyes sharp as always. “You here to practice?”

In response, you tossed a small pouch of gold coins at him, which he caught with a practiced ease. “It’s been a while. Was wondering if you were simply busy or if you’d run off.”

You shrugged, the weight of the past few days pressing on your shoulders. “Well, it hasn’t been quiet at the Red Keep.”

“Aye,” Bronn said with a knowing look, his expression softening for just a moment. Then, with his usual swagger, he added, “Well, let’s see if that sword of yours still works.”

The two of you squared off, the tension of the moment melting into the familiar rhythm of training. Bronn was a formidable opponent—quick, sharp, and never one to play by the rules. He tested you immediately, launching a fast strike aimed at your side. You parried it easily, the weight of your sword light in your hands.

"You've gotten faster," Bronn noted, his tone almost begrudging as he stepped back to assess you, his sharp eyes taking in every movement, every subtle shift of your stance. 

You shrugged, gripping your sword a little tighter, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than he realized. Faster—it wasn’t just speed you needed. Strength. Precision. Ruthlessness. All of it would be necessary if you were going to do what needed to be done. Your thoughts flickered briefly to him, to the Mountain, and the moment you had been turning over in your mind, rehearsing endlessly in the quiet of your own head.

One well-placed strike—that’s all it would take. You’d studied his movements, watched how he fought. Brutal. Unforgiving. He crushed his opponents like insects beneath his feet, but there was always a weakness. There had to be. You just had to find it, and when you did, the Mountain would fall.

But you didn’t say that out loud.

Instead, you offered Bronn a casual shrug, masking the storm of thoughts beneath your calm expression. “Learned a few tricks while I was busy,” you replied with a half-smile, keeping your voice light.

Bronn smirked, though his eyes still lingered on you as if trying to peel back the layers of your thoughts. "Busy, huh? Hope those tricks keep you alive long enough to show me more."

He didn’t press, and you were grateful for it. There was no need to tell him, not yet. The time would come soon enough, and when it did, you'd be ready.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KING'S LANDING, THE THRONE ROOM — DAY

You stand off to the side, shrouded in the shadows of the grand pillars, your eyes flickering over the scene before you like a predator studying its prey. The High Septon stands at the heart of it all, his voice booming as he leads the coronation of Tommen Baratheon. The crowd has gathered, a sea of nobles dressed in their finest silks, feigning respect and devotion. Your gaze drifts, settling momentarily on Ser Jaime Lannister, who patrols near the back, his golden hand gleaming in the soft light.

"May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him in these perilous times," the High Septon intoned, his voice heavy with ceremony. "May the Smith grant him strength that he might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead."

Tommen’s face, still soft with boyish innocence, betrays the weight of the moment. You can see it in his eyes—the bewilderment, the fear hidden behind a facade of calm. He’s a puppet, and the strings are woven through the hands of those more powerful. But he’s not the one you’re watching.

The High Septon finishes, his hands raised toward the heavens. "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name. King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!" the crowd echoes in unison, their voices a rehearsed chorus.

Your eyes narrow as Tommen bows, exchanging a fleeting glance with Margaery Tyrell. The hint of a smile plays on her lips, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. It’s the look of a woman who knows exactly what she wants—and how to get it. Cersei sees it too, her expression tightening, though she maintains her grace.

You smirk to yourself. The plot never stops, not for a moment.

The grand hall is quieter now, though the air still buzzes with soft chatter. Tommen sits awkwardly on the Iron Throne, his small frame swallowed by its looming presence. Tywin Lannister stands beside him, commanding the room with nothing but his cold, stern silence. The line of courtiers shuffles forward, each taking their turn to bow and offer hollow pleasantries.

"Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle rasps, his aged voice grating against your ears.  

"Your Grace," Varys follows, his tone smooth, unreadable.

Tommen exchanges nods and small smiles, barely keeping up the appearance of a ruler. Margaery lingers nearby, her gaze soft but calculating. It’s Cersei’s eyes that catch yours, though, burning with possessiveness and suspicion as they land on Margaery.

Your fingers twitch at your side, the weight of your dagger pressing against your thigh through the fabric of your cloak. There’s no need for it now, but the comfort of steel is a constant reminder of why you’re here—watching, waiting, collecting secrets like coins.

The crowd parts as Cersei approaches Margaery, offering smiles to the onlookers as she moves through the room with the grace of a lioness on the hunt. You observe it all, taking in the flickers of power, the undercurrents that ripple beneath the surface of every interaction.

You sigh, stepping away from the scene and slipping back into the shadows. There’s nothing more to see here. The coronation is just another piece in the larger puzzle, and the trial—the real battle—is yet to come. Your secrets can wait, for now.

KING'S LANDING, THE GARDEN — DAY

The day was warm, the sun casting a golden glow over the lush greenery of the royal gardens. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the salty air from the sea, but none of that registered as you went about your tasks. Servant duties, tedious and endless, consumed most of your time. Today, it was carrying supplies from the kitchen to the gardens—bundles of herbs, fresh fruits, a few linens. You balanced them carefully in your arms, eyes scanning for a spot to drop them off before you moved to the next errand.

As you passed through the garden's winding paths, the soft murmur of voices caught your attention. You stilled, instinctively pressing yourself into the shade of a tall shrub, out of sight. The voices were familiar—Cersei Lannister and Oberyn Martell. The temptation to eavesdrop, to gather just a bit more information for yourself, was too great to resist.

You shifted slightly, your heart thudding in your chest, trying not to rustle the bushes as you angled your body closer. From where you stood, you had a clear view of Oberyn sitting on a stone bench, writing on a scroll. He paused as Cersei approached, her guards flanking her.

"Your Grace," Oberyn greeted her, his voice low and polite as he stood.

Cersei’s cold smile barely reached her eyes. "Prince Oberyn. Writing letters?"

"A poem, actually," Oberyn replied, his tone light, yet unreadable.

Cersei’s eyebrow raised slightly, more curious than amused. "May I show you the gardens?"

Oberyn glanced down at the scroll he had been working on before standing fully to his feet. "I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort."

"No, you couldn’t," Cersei said, a slight edge in her voice. You could almost see the power shift between them as they started walking side by side through the winding paths of the garden, their steps measured, calculated.

You trailed discreetly behind them, clutching your bundle tightly, ears straining to catch every word.

"I didn’t realize you were a poet," Cersei remarked, her voice laced with feigned curiosity.

Oberyn chuckled. "Not a very good one."

"For your paramour?"

"For one of my daughters," Oberyn corrected, his voice softening at the mention of his children.

Cersei’s eyes flicked toward him. "You have several, don’t you?"

"Eight," he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Eight? Eight daughters?" Cersei repeated, incredulous.

Oberyn nodded. "The fifth is difficult. I named her after my sister, Elia."

At the mention of Elia’s name, your heart clenched. You had always known the depth of his loss, but hearing it aloud, even in passing, reminded you of the storm that brewed constantly beneath Oberyn’s surface.

"Beautiful name," Cersei mused.

"Yes," Oberyn agreed, though his tone darkened. "But I can’t say it without turning sad. And after I turn sad, I grow angry."

"Perhaps that’s why she’s difficult," Cersei remarked, her tone dripping with cynical wisdom. "The gods love their stupid jokes, don’t they?"

Oberyn's gaze narrowed slightly, intrigued. "Which joke is that?"

Cersei’s smile was sharp, almost mocking. "You’re a prince of Dorne. A legendary fighter. A brilliant man feared throughout Westeros. But you could not save your sister. I’m a Lannister. Queen for nineteen years. Daughter of the most powerful man alive. But I could not save my son. What good is power if you cannot protect the ones you love?"

Her words struck like venom, her bitterness palpable. You watched Oberyn’s face shift, his jaw tightening as the memories of his sister undoubtedly flashed behind his eyes.

"We can avenge them," he said after a pause, his voice resolute, cutting through the air like a blade.

Cersei met his gaze, her lips curling slightly. "Yes, we can avenge them."

Oberyn tilted his head, watching her intently. "You really believe Tyrion murdered your son?"

Without hesitation, Cersei replied, "I know he did."

Oberyn’s expression remained calm, though you could sense his skepticism. "We will have a trial, and we will learn the truth."

"We’ll have a trial, anyway," Cersei muttered, her voice tight with impatience. "I haven’t seen my daughter in over a year."

Oberyn’s face softened slightly. "The last time I saw her, she was swimming with two of my girls in the Water Gardens. Laughing in the sun."

Cersei’s eyes briefly glistened with unshed tears. "I want to believe that. I want to believe she’s happy."

Oberyn’s tone was gentle now, sincere. "You have my word. We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne."

Cersei’s voice was a mere whisper, filled with more sadness than she would ever admit aloud. "Everywhere in the world, they hurt little girls. Would you bring her a gift for me? I wasn’t there for her name day. I don’t know when I’ll see her again."

Oberyn’s gaze softened as he nodded. "Anything at all."

Cersei pointed toward the bay, her eyes lingering on a ship. "The best shipwrights in King’s Landing have been working on it for months. Myrcella loves the open water."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a small, understanding smile. "I will have it sailed down to Sunspear for her."

Cersei turned to face him fully, her expression momentarily vulnerable. "Please tell her... her mother misses her very much."

She left then, her guards following behind as her regal figure disappeared from the garden. Oberyn stood still, watching her go with an unreadable expression.

In the silence that followed, Oberyn’s voice cut through the air, calm and composed. "You can show yourself now."

Your breath hitched, but you stepped out from behind the pillar, clutching the supplies you had been carrying, your heartbeat still racing from all you had overheard.

Oberyn's dark eyes, gleaming with that unspoken intensity, never left yours. The weight of his gaze made the space between you feel smaller, heavier, as though every unspoken word lingered in the air. He took a slow step toward you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

"I still don’t know your name," he said, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, though his tone remained casual, as if this was just another conversation, nothing more than passing the time.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you swallowed, straightening slightly. "It’s..." You hesitated for a second, then finally offered, your name.

Oberyn hummed in acknowledgment, his smirk widening just a little, as though your name now held a secret weight between the two of you. He moved closer, studying your face carefully. He repeated your name, tasting the name on his tongue like it was something to be savored.

A silence hung between you for a moment, but Oberyn had a way of piercing through it with his words. His eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting just enough to catch your gaze again. "Tell me," he began, his voice soft but laced with a quiet danger, "did you poison the king?"

Your chest tightened at the question, though you knew it was coming. You didn't flinch, your heart steady despite the accusation hanging in the air. Meeting his gaze, you shook your head firmly, your voice calm but resolute. "No. I didn’t."

Oberyn’s intense gaze lingered on you, as if he was peeling away the layers of who you were, searching for the truth hidden beneath your calm exterior. His dark eyes burned with quiet judgment, tempered by curiosity. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, barely perceptible, when he let out a soft hum, the tension in his posture easing. "Good," he murmured, the single word carrying weight, as though it was meant to confirm something greater. Yet, behind his eyes, the storm never ceased, always swirling, always waiting.

You inhaled deeply, the air between you thick with unspoken things. For a long moment, you said nothing, your mind racing through the years, the faces, and the memories long buried under the weight of time and pain. The ocean waves crashed in the distance, steady and unyielding, much like the man before you. The ships bobbed on the horizon, their sails catching the wind as if they were fleeing toward freedom, away from all that was this city—this place of blood and betrayal.

You turned your gaze toward the sea, your voice low as you spoke, almost as if the memory itself had pulled the words from your lips. "You were right, your grace. I knew her… your sister, Princess Elia." 

Oberyn’s expression flickered, a subtle shift from curiosity to something more personal, more vulnerable, as he stepped closer to you. His presence was quiet but commanding, the warmth of him beside you drawing your attention. You didn’t look at him; instead, you watched the ships, the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance. 

"It was a long time ago," you continued, your voice soft, filled with a kind of sorrow that time couldn’t quite erase. "I wasn’t a good person then… I don’t know if I am now." Your words hung in the air, fragile but true.

The wind whipped through your hair as the memory surged forth, pulling you back to that day—the day you first met her. You had been standing on the cliffs near Sunspear, staring down at the waters below. The waves had seemed so inviting, so final. You’d been ready to let go, ready to fall and end the pain that had gripped you for far too long. 

But then, you heard a cry. 

Princess Elia had been in the water, struggling against the currents, her graceful arms failing to keep her afloat. It was instinct, something primal within you that made you dive into the water, though you had been moments away from letting it take you. You swam with a strength you didn’t know you possessed, reaching her, pulling her to the shore. You’d saved her, though you had been prepared to die.

When you reached the sand, both of you gasping for breath, Elia had looked at you, her deep brown eyes searching yours, knowing, seeing far too much. "You were going to jump, weren’t you?" she had asked, her voice soft but piercing. 

You had only nodded, the pressure of your decision still clinging to you like the seaweed wrapped around your legs. 

Elia had smiled then, a gentle, sorrowful thing. "Thank you for saving me… even when you couldn’t save yourself." Her words had haunted you ever since.

The memory faded, and you were back in the present, the ocean still stretching before you, endless and indifferent. Oberyn stood beside you, silent for a long moment, absorbing your words. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with understanding, with a shared pain.

"You were the one," he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. "The servant girl… the one who survived." His voice was careful, probing, seeking confirmation of a story long buried under the rubble of war and tragedy.

Your face remained void of emotion as you turned to meet his gaze, your eyes hollowed by the weight of the years and the scars you carried. "I haven't forgotten even a day," you replied, your voice eerily calm, devoid of the turmoil you felt. "Some hatred resembles longing. It's impossible to get rid of." 

Oberyn's gaze lingered on you, his expression softening, though the tempest within him still raged. His eyes, dark and intense, mirrored the turmoil that churned beneath your own surface. “I’ve also hit rock bottom before,” he said, his voice carrying a rare gentleness. “So, I understand the weight of your anger.”

His words hung in the salt-tinged air, a bridge between the two of you—both bound by memories of a woman long gone, and a shared desire for something that felt like justice but tasted more like vengeance. The sea continued its relentless assault on the cliffs, indifferent to your pain, your histories, and the scars neither of you could erase. The world moved on, as uncaring as ever, while you stood still in the face of it.

Oberyn turned slightly toward you, his expression more searching now. "Is that why you came to King's Landing?" His question was quiet, but the weight of it settled between you like a stone dropped into a deep well.

Without turning to face him, you let out a bitter laugh, the sound lost in the crash of waves. "Isn’t that why you’re here too?"

The words hit him with a force that made him pause, a flash of something unreadable passing across his face. Oberyn was silent for a moment, studying you as if trying to gauge the depth of your resolve. He shifted, his usual confidence tempered by something more cautious now. "You know what revenge does to people," he said softly, his tone laced with concern. "I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. It devours you, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but the anger. It’s… not something someone like you should carry."

You scoffed, the words cutting through you, sharper than any blade. "Someone like me?" you echoed, turning to face him fully for the first time since the conversation began. Your eyes locked onto his, challenging, as if daring him to explain what he meant.

Oberyn’s brow furrowed, a rare crease in the otherwise unshakeable mask he wore. "You carry enough," he said, voice low but firm. "You shouldn’t be the one to deal with this. It will change you."

His worry was unexpected, disarming even, and for a moment, you saw the weight of his own guilt reflected in his gaze—the burdens he carried, the losses he had never fully avenged. But there was also a flicker of something protective, something he wasn’t ready to admit to.

You turned back toward the sea, your heart heavy with a mix of rage and sorrow. The waves below crashed louder now, their rhythm matching the pounding in your chest. "I’ve already been changed," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the roar of the ocean. "There’s nothing left to take." 

Oberyn stepped closer, his presence warm beside you, though the space between you felt vast. “There’s always something left,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the edge of worry still lacing his words. “You just don’t see it yet.”

The silence between you stretched long, as the sea kept its pace, unbothered by the weight of two broken souls standing on the cliffs above it. Neither of you spoke again for some time, each lost in your own thoughts, but bound by an understanding neither of you had expected.

Both here for vengeance. Both already paying its price.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — EVENING

The evening air clung heavily to the Red Keep, filled with the scent of the sea and the distant hum of King’s Landing. After leaving Oberyn by the cliffs, the weight of exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you through the motions of the day. Each task completed, each conversation had, felt like a necessary distraction—an anchor to keep you from drowning in your thoughts. Yet, none of it could quiet the storm within.

Once your duties were done, you retreated to your small chambers, the flickering light of a lone candle casting shadows against the stone walls. You sat at the edge of your bed, a leather journal resting on your lap. The worn pages were a map of your thoughts, your plans, your vengeance. You traced a finger over the spine, staring down at the leather-bound book that held all the pieces of your story. It was here, in the quiet of the night, that you could feel the weight of everything you’d worked for, everything you had planned.

Your revenge.

You glanced at the drawer where your dagger rested, a constant companion in this journey, but tonight you would leave it behind. Tonight was not for the blade, but for something else entirely. Whispered words from the servants confirmed that Ellaria was out in the brothels, and that knowledge settled something within you. 

You changed swiftly into a nightgown, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, and draped a dark cloak over your shoulders. It shrouded your form as you slipped through the halls of the Red Keep, every step measured, your path taking you toward the guest quarters. Toward Oberyn.

MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP - EVENING

The corridors were dimly lit, and you moved like a shadow, slipping unnoticed through the Keep. The cold stone beneath your feet did little to deter you as you made your way to the door of Oberyn’s chambers. 

You hesitated for only a moment, then pushed the door open, slipping inside before the guards could take notice. The room was dim, lit only by the pale silver of the moonlight filtering in through the window. Oberyn stood near the bed, surprised by your sudden presence, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stepped into the moonlight, the cloak falling away from your shoulders. 

He closed the door behind him, his gaze flickering over you, curiosity and something else stirring in his eyes. "I didn’t expect company tonight," he said, his voice low, a touch playful as he stepped closer. "Is this what I think it is?"

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, your fingers moved to the ties of your nightgown, pulling them loose until the fabric slipped down from your shoulders, falling in a whispering heap at your feet. Oberyn’s smirk faltered as the moonlight revealed the truth—scarred, burned, and marred flesh stretching across your body like a grotesque map of past pain.

"It felt like a white night, and sometimes it felt like a polar night, too."

His amusement vanished, replaced by horror, by understanding. "Gods…" he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in the damage that covered every inch of you.

“Ugly, right?” Your voice was toneless, cold. “My scars.”

Oberyn’s eyes darkened, but not with revulsion—only fury, a quiet, simmering rage that burned behind his otherwise calm exterior. He didn’t need to ask who had done this to you. The answer was written in the jagged lines that crisscrossed your skin. He knew. He had always known the darkness that resided in this city, but seeing it on you, it seemed to strike deeper.

“They’re not ugly,” he said softly, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “They’re injuries.” His voice was a mixture of defiance and sympathy, the edges rough with something dangerous.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze with a stark intensity. "I’m not looking for a prince," you said, your voice steady and without emotion. “What I need is not a prince, but a headsman who will join me in the sword dance.”

Oberyn’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words sinking into the space between you. For a moment, you could see the conflict in his eyes—the warrior who knew the toll of vengeance, and the lover who wished to shield you from it. But as he looked at the scars on your body, the decision seemed to solidify within him.

"Once your revenge is over, your world will also be in ruins," he said, his voice still holding the trace of concern, but it was quickly fading.

"I’m already in complete ruins with no dignity left," you replied, your voice like iron. "So, go back. I’d like to stay faithful to my rage and vice"

Oberyn exhaled slowly, the storm within him finally breaking. His fingers flexed at his side, as if already reaching for the hilt of his sword. “I’ll do it,” he said, stepping even closer until his presence was all-encompassing. “I’ll be your headsman. I’ll join the sword dance.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sunk in, the finality of them sending a thrill through you. “I’ll do whatever you say,” he continued, his voice like a vow. “As if it’s a royal command. Anything at all.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the violence in his words. “I’ll show you a wild sword dance,” he promised, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a deadly sort of resolve. 

In that moment, you both knew there was no turning back. The sword dance would begin, and neither of you would emerge the same.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen @greenwitchfromthewoods

[g-on-ef]

Vivzipop has to make every character dumb in order to prop up Stolitz.

Let's start off with the grimoire okay if this book is as powerful as every single sin claims it is why on earth is it not under better protection ??? !!!

You would think the higher ups of Hell would keep a closer eye on it and make sure it is heavily guarded and that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands or gets stolen.

Like you mean to tell me not once did any of the sins or Lucifer caught wiff of what was going on that a powerful object was being misused to kill people ???

Not a single royal took notice that imps were traveling to the living world with a powerful object ??? !!!

Like Blitz knew where to find it and easily stole it you would think again you would think someone would've caught wiff of it if this object was so powerful and would realize it was stolen especially since it was shown on a commercial for all of Hell to see {and yes while he air it on a channel that no one watched you would still think the higher ups would keep track of their objects and at least have some type of tracker or something to let them know it was stolen !!!}

Like they made such a huge deal of the grimoire but honestly the book lost all its credibility when we knew about the crystals and when they themselves don't even care about it even if it's at the hands of a prince/royal they would still try to keep a better eye on it !!!

Now with the whole Stella and the other bird {I forgot his name} again yall mean to tell me they never realized that Blitz is using the book to gain access to the mortal world ???

Like how the freak did Striker knew about it but they didn't ??? !!! How did Striker knew Blitz had access to the book but Stella and her gross brother didn't ???

And if yall tell it was Millies parents why would they tell a stranger about it ??? Either way it makes no sense that Striker knew but two royals didn't !!!

Striker oh my baby you were such a manipulated suave sophisticated character and viv destroyed you !!!

I said it before and I'll say it again I would die on the hill if Norman was still voicing him he wouldn't be this dumb down nor would he be whatever the hell Viv has done to you.

But anyways back to the subject at hand.

The court room oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy first of all I'm not gonna get into the sheer stupidity of Stella's Brothers plan others who can articulate it better have already spoke on it so imma just focus on how Viv needs to make everyone stupid for Stolitz to succeed

Now onto the case someone explain to me why Ozzie didn't tell the court the full truth ??? He knew about Stolas and Blitz deal so why didn't he defend Blitz when he had the chance ??? Why didn't he tell Satan that hey listen they had a deal but it's off because now he's using one of my crystals ???

Like why didn't he step in like he did when Mammom attacked Fizz and protected him ??? He knew about the deal and yet *makes hand gesture at the mess*

Now let's get to the world building

Imma talk about Striker and

Listen I'm bias on striker so what I'm about to say is my personal bias !!!

My own personal opinion Harvest Moon Striker is what Viv wants Blitz to be.

from Striker's introduction he hated royals he was the first to openly mock them he was the first to try and kill a royal {I know it was an Assassin job but it still doesn't change the fact he was the first to try and kill him} and he was the first to call out Hell and how the system was rigged against him and his people !!!

Not only that but it makes me laugh so hard that people were praising Blitz for calling out all the deadly sins in the courtroom but hated Striker for doing the same to Stolas but than again Blitz wasnt stabbing their beloved bird so I guess it don't count.

If Norman still voiced Striker Viv would've given Striker that storyline the one that involved Striker getting revenge for his people and actually tried to kill the higher ups !!! But he doesn't so Viv is giving him every mistreatment she can think of.

Also Viv you cannot call your character that's calling out how the system and how two of his kind basically became what Imps are expected to be {fiz a "pet" and Blitz a sex toy} a supremacist and than have your other character do the same calling out the system and how royals treat them !!! Like lady do you even know the words that you are using or are you just calling your characters every big word to sound smart ???

Like Viv just needs to kill Striker cause at this point every time she has him on screen she is either making him dumb or making him contradict himself like please just kill my snake boy off

Striker you deserve better and in a talented writer's hand you could've been one of the greatest villain/morally grey character ever written

Now back to the world building imma be honest mastermind and the whole court trial means jack shit because throughout the show we are shown that imps and all other hellborns are treated fairly !!! {Ironically the only time we saw them being treated badly was when Striker was first introduced}

Other than that they basically are treated decently !!!

Like if imps are treated so horribly why

Blitz and Co are able to run a successful company that they have "a shit tone of clients" and sinners already know about them once they are dead ???

Moxxie was able to not only get reservations at a high end restaurant but also preform there ??? {Let's also not forget Moxxie wasn't punished for disobeying a royal because Ozzie basically told him his club only allows derogatory things to happen there and the fact that after Ozzie told him to sing about it and chose to sing about romance and basically insulted a royal by not listening to him (yall can say I'm reaching but the fact that in other media if this happened the culprit would have punish) and he still sang it even after being told no

Millie got away with hurting Ozzies partner {in other forms of media if someone hurts a royals partner they would have been killed at the stake}

Fiz was not only able to quit working for Mammom but also insulted him and humiliated him in front of a large crowd and still got away with it {even if he was with Ozzie the other sins and royals would still punish Fiz}

Tex and Fiz are able to openly date royals

Loona was able to insult a royal and get away with it

Blitz was able to book an appointment at one of the best hospitals in Hell that they even treat Royals even if it takes years he was still able to book one.

And so much more like again the only time we the audience are reminded of the awful treatment of imps is when Striker is there like *makes wild hand gestures*

Octavia my sweet Octavia you deserve better you fucking deserve better !!!

I've seen a lot of people hate on this scene but me personally I love it

Stella didn't have to look for Via she didn't have to look for Via but she did she went to look for her daughter knowing she'd be hurt and comfort her.

Sadly I just know viv is gonna destroy this relationship so for now imma enjoy these little moments.

Helluva boss would've been a great show if Viv stuck to her original plan of them hunting down people and becoming a fou d family instead of turning it into the stolitz show sadly we are stuck with this shit show for as long as Viv wants it

[clangrogu]

Characters Who are Autistic, Because I, an Autistic Person, Said So (Animated Edition Pt. 2)

*gifs not mine*

Bruno Madrigal (Encanto)

socially awkward

special connection with animals

difficulty maintaining eye contact

his gift of prophecy gives autistic pattern recognition vibes

is shunned by his family/community for being different (this causes him to self-isolate)

direct communication style

stimming

has a special interest

anxious

doesn’t feel useful to his family (i hate how familiar this feeling is)

takes up the role of the “observer”

there’s a literal wall between him and other people (as opposed to the metaphorical wall autistic people often feel separates them from others)

humour is misread & observations/statements are misinterpreted

hernando & jorge could be a form of masking

has routines & rituals

as an autistic person, the mistreatment bruno faces is sadly relatable

Huey Duck (Duck Tales)

has a special interest

likes planning, order & organisation

resistant to change & new things

afraid of the unknown

stimming

experiences meltdowns & sensory overstimulation

infodumps

dietary issues (in this case sugar)

difficulty with creativity/imagination

has a comfort item

anxious

dislikes rule breaking

relies heavily on facts

Ferb Fletcher (Phineas & Ferb)

largely non-verbal (when he does speak it’s usually a few words to a sentence or two)

those few words are usually a loosely related or a completely unrelated fact

and it’s always direct/matter-of-fact

has a special interest

neutral facial expression

hyperfocuses

seems to be misunderstood by those around him (with the exception of phineas)

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III (How to Train Your Dragon)

socially awkward

special connection with animals (in this case dragons)

doesn’t fit in with his community/peers

is misunderstood by those around him

special interests

stimming

imaginary full-on, in depth conversations with himself

Dipper Pines (Gravity Falls)

has special interests

infodumps, hyperfocuses & hyperfixates

stimming

difficulty with social interaction

shown to have some sleep & hygiene issues

easily overwhelmed/overstimulated

anxious/nervous

feels like the odd one out (until ford comes along. ford is also autistic btw)

loves lists

[thiscityneedslessfog]

Yosuke is an awesome character and I need to talk about him, and how he’s a perfect representation of how your ties to a land are your ties to its people.

When we first encounter him in Inaba, he’s a bit of an isolated wreck—his dad is the manager of Junes’ Yasoinaba chapter, and Yosuke is isolated and mistreated for it, a reason completely outside of his control. When two women see him in his Rank 2, they start talking about how Junes is overtaking and closing down businesses in Inaba. (I could probably do an analysis as to why I think Junes is important to the themes of the story but this is about Yosuke)

As it stood, Saki Konishi and Chie Satonaka were the only two people with a genuinely friendly rapport with him by the time Yu Narukami came to Inaba. (It’s no wonder he was so distraught over Saki, especially since he’s heavily implied to have become so attached he developed a crush on her.) And Yosuke is used to this isolation. To the point Saki’s kindness towards him is startling enough that, again, he developed a crush on her. He got that attached to her. And Jiraiya even calls him out on it because he’s repressed and numbed that pain so hard.

And in his Rank 8, he’s actually vulnerable for one of the only times in the game other than the scene with Jiraiya, and doesn’t really know how to respond to being met with genuine affection and sympathy. This kid is so isolated he doesn’t really know how to react, so… he just calls Yu a dumbass.

even ignoring the fact I ship these two this scene is so damn sweet AUGH

When Jiraiya is encountered and we get introduced to Shadow Selves, Jiraiya accuses Yosuke of trying to stop the Midnight Channel Killings because of his boredom. Which understandably upsets Yosuke, since the main reason is really trying to find closure over Saki’s death. (Again, shadows are not the full person, as much as they’d like to pretend they are. They’re parts of you that are upset about being repressed. Fragments. They’re you, but not all of you.) But… Jiraiya’s not lying when he says Yosuke is genuinely bored out of his mind and trying to be a hero. I wonder if a part of the reason Yosuke wants to be a hero is out of desperation to not be so isolated in Inaba. He’s been demonized by most of Inaba thanks to who his father is, and he had only two friends at this point, and one just got murdered.

It’s touched upon in Yosuke’s Rank 9, where he tells Yu about the reason for that desire to be a hero. Not just to protect others, but to mean something to someone else—something he’s shown to need, and told by his own repression made sentient he desperately, desperately needs—something to get himself out of isolation.

At the point of the confrontation with Jiraiya, Yosuke was pretty detached from Inaba, and Saki (who is now dead) and Chie were his only two reasons to like it, which was the main reason he was so bored, he couldn’t find any proper ways to attach. In his Rank 8, he actually talks about how Saki managed to lighten his view of Inaba.

And then he starts to develop more of a friend group. With Yu, becoming closer with Yukiko, befriending Kanji, Teddie, Rise, Naoto, becoming closer with Chie.

And he slowly grows more and more genuinely attached to Inaba. His ties with its residents become stronger and stronger, and that’s what truly makes him love the can-barely-be-called-a-city of Inaba.

I really want to emphasize those last two lines of dialogue. There’s still necessarily nothing in particular to keep him entertained by the city. But the people around him, his support network, who protect him from feeling isolated, who comfort him when he’s being mistreated just for being the manager’s kid when he has no power over that… these people, who he’s allowed to be vulnerable with and lean on, to hug and have a friendly brawl with, people he can laugh with and exchange little things they both like together with… he has that. And now Inaba feels so much brighter, just because of that.

To be honest, it’s a little relatable when I put it that way. Not sure how much I want to disclose about myself, though. But man… I love Yosuke. I love this arc so much, dude.

[pruneunfair]

the real reason Remarried empress rarely remembers the slavery in the story.

I used to think it was just lazy writting so they can give Rashta a mandatory sad villain backstory and move back on with the romance but now that im thinking about it, it was probably on purpose because it heavily implies Naviers family would likely own slaves.

The only nobles I think don't own slaves are the Imperial family since slaves aren't allowed to be in the palace but everywhere else that has the money to buy them would likely have at least a few. When slavery does come up it's quickly justified in chapter 2 that slaves end up in that situation as some sort of indentured servitude and they free a handful every once in a while (that is the worst excuse I've ever seen but I digress) but it's canon that slaves can sold through the use of illegal trade thanks to Rashtas past confirming parents can pawn off their children to escape debt, Lebetti being kidnapped and sold, and for something a little more obscure: a bill of sale becoming a catastrophic object for Rashta. So no matter how much Navier will try to justify it, slavery will always be seen as what it is: a disgusting practice of humanity, but if she's such a generous woman who donates to the poor and is a perfect empress loved by all, why is she not only okay with slavery but also befriending slave owners?

well, given that the house of Trovi is one of the most powerful noble families behind the Vict's it's reasonable to assume that Naviers parents probably owned slaves whenever it was through sale or indentured servitude, a high end family like that not owning slaves just feels too unrealistic and it isn't helped by the fact that we know nothing about Naviers parents including their names, all we know is that they love their daughter dearly. So it's not unreasonable to say that not only was Navier taught slavery was justified karma but that she also grew up with slaves. I don't imagine Navier as the type to ever mistreat slaves of course and I think if her family did own them she'd be calm with them but I also feel like it's not out of morality, just because she doesn't have a temper and she's very dignified or Maybe her parents and brother did use cooperate punishment, we'll never know since Naviers only two aspects of her life are her love life and being a popular empress.

And even if for whatever reason Naviers family didn't own slaves, she had to be friends with a few slave owners even before meeting Lebetti. All her ladies in waiting (looking at you Laura) don't just insult Rashta because she's the mistress, they're also prone to insult Rashtas origins as a slave, Laura barely even refers to Rashta by anything other then "the slave" or "wench/filthy thing", this one's a bit more generalizing but Nian would also realistically own slaves or at least her ex husband would given her former status and the fact that she honestly looks like someone who would support the confederacy. I'm also not too sure about the west since I don't think we know much about it since most of it is spent on Navier and Heinrey being a couple, all I can remember is that the west is fruitful with gem mines and is a landlocked country but it wouldn't be totally off if they also had slaves.

All in all I just find it unrealistic as hell that the only slave owner is Lotteshu.

Now considering all this, Navier is already under suspicion with the fact that she's supposed to be kind to all her subjects yet slavery barely enters her mind outside of a cheap excuse to offer justification for it to exist. If slavery was actually a subject important to the plot then Navier wouldn't be the wronged girlboss they want her to be since she'd be implied to support slavery or even descend from a family that owned slaves. Rashta would actually have a valid reason to be distrustful of her, characters couldn't be so openly biased and classist without readers going "Hey, why should I support this character if they endorse human trafficking?" So they just don't talk about it, they shove it to the side, give confirmed slave owners redemption arcs and put them around the MC so they'll fangirl or whatever it is they need to do to be supportive. Do all of that while conveniently not showing the readers the other slaves they own and you'll quickly forget these people are garbage people.

frankly I'm disappointed they took this route because it ruins any chance of character development or even just interesting characters. There's tons of ways they could've gone with this if they just accepted the fact that Navier being from a high ranking noble family in a slavery adjacent country would mean her parents or friends would own people.

A: Navier could later realize how terrible it is to be a slave and right her wrongs by using Heinrey to push for it to be abolished in the west since he'll do anything for her

B: we could at least be given a reason why Navier doesn't try anymore, maybe she did push for it to be abolished when she was crown princess only for nobles to get pissed and it almost costed her engagement to Sovieshu.

C:Navier could just be a protagonist like Penelope or Aria, where she's not really a great person and you shouldn't support her all of the time but she's still very entertaining. This would work well since everyone in this story sucks anyway with the exception of McKenna and Charlotte.

But unfortunately, any flaws of her empire even really historically accurate ones would ruin Naviers self-insert quality. So slavery ends up in a box that feels like it's saying the practice is just a necessary evil, ironically making the other characters even more hateable then they could've been.

[lorephobic]

literally nobody asked for it, but here's my list of saltburn essays that i've slowly been drafting over the course of the last week which WILL be required reading for anybody trying to engage with me about this movie. my very personal saltburn 101 syllabus just dropped

A Wolf in Deer's Clothing: Saltburn's Attempt at Innocence

an examination of party costumes and our character's last attempts to masquerade as something they're not: felix—an angel, all-forgiving and all-knowing, something to be worshiped; and oliver—a prey animal, prey to class-divide, prey to saltburn, prey to felix.

thoughts about oliver specifically are loosely organized in my #bambi tag

A Midsummer Night's Mare: Farleigh Start as the Ultimate Victim of Saltburn

a farleigh character study, about the ways he was mistreated and manipulated at saltburn, about fighting to stay alive and the scars left behind by knowing when to give in

alternatively titled "QuickStart", may be adapted into a conclusive essay specifically focusing on oliver and farleigh's relationship

The Eye of the Beholder: On Saltburn's Voyeurism & Violence [working title]

how wealth and class pushes the catton's toward the volatile reality of being able to look, but not touch. on desire and the lack thereof, and portraying yourself as an object to be desired

may end up as two separate essays on wealth and aestheticism but i'm pushing toward a conclusive essay about the intersection of the two, which i feel is at the heart of saltburn

alternatively titled "Poor Man's Pudding: A Melvillian Approach to Saltburn's Class", again, may be adapted into it's own essay

Gender-Fluid: A Study in Sexuality and Saltburn's Desire to be Dry

a deep dive into the bodily fluids of saltburn and how oliver upsets the standard of men who are just so lovely and dry. on the creative choice to lean into the messy wetness of sex and desire and the audience's instinct toward repulsion

a celebration of the grotesque and an examination of why we would label it as such

least developed of the four, heavily inspired by @charnelpit's lovely post about the fluids in saltburn

if anybody is actually interested in any of these, i can work toward something closer to a finished piece instead of just bullet points and quotes in a google doc, but mostly this is so i can share my very brief takes on a multitude of themes in saltburn that have been haunting me

edit for people seeing this in the future: all posts about my essays are being organized into my #saltburn 101 tag if you’re interested in following these through to development!