#i just. got through it and now have more clarity and am like. damn this would've been useful back then :

[bookwyrminspiration]

if you could tell your past self one thing, what would it be?

-⚙️

Well based on some recent reflections I've been having: hey you're not 100% in love with that middle name you picked out, maybe think over it a little bit more instead of going "well who cares it's fine" and then legally changing your name. Because now later you've thought of something better and much more meaningful to you personally but also really don't feel like going through the process again. I understand you wanted to be able to receive your degrees with the name Quil, but also now they all have this middle name you're kinda meh on so

Oh also I'd tell them to be more cringe and weird unapologetically :)

[waitmyturtles]

I've Caught Up With Wandee Goodday, and here are some cons and pros (aka, am I ever burnt out on GMMTV)

HELLO. I'm back temporarily from my summer travels (before I travel again!). I was in Thailand! I should have brought a box of chappals to chuck at the GMMTV building for where Wandee Goodday has gone. Anyway, I need to process my thoughts on this show, so here we go. (And I apologize, I have NOT looked at the tag for this show, so I don't know if I'm repeating what other people are saying here.)

PROS

CONS

1) This show had so much brainrot potential! Remember the first, like, four episodes? Potential homophobia in multiple workplaces? Delicious bisexuality? Ace storylines??? Wandee's PUTZ deception and manipulation? Yak going along with it, why?? There was a lot going on here, a lot we could have chewed on.

I've been sitting on my historical review of Golf Tanwarin's The Eclipse for my Old GMMTV Challenge for about two months now because I can't get over how pissed I was that that show took some unnecessary, and frankly insensible, turns in part to showcase the damn center ship of First and Khao. I don't think Golf's WG has taken similar turns specifically to center the GreatInn ship, per se -- I just think the writing got messy and lazy right before WG's midpoint in general, and punched a lot of the excitement I had about the show right before I paused around episode 8.

Wandee Goodday is an EXCELLENT example of how Thailand's hourlong QL dramas could be made INCREDIBLY more impactful, by way of forced editing and clarity, if Thailand could follow Japan's suit by making 10- to 12-episode series with 30-minute episodes.

The Dr. Ter storyline was over before it actually, really ended, in, what episode was that, 9 or 10. It was over! Why drag it out? In Japan, that storyline would have been two episodes, mayyybe three, MAX. Shirasu Jin was barely in Kieta Hatsukoi for an episode before he was banished. Takeda Kouhei barely made it through two episodes of Minato's Laundromat 2 before he went bye bye! We don't need these middling dudes. There was enough happening with Dee and Yak to not need this Ter shit! Sorry, LOVE YOU PODD, but Ter was made irrelevant so early on, and then they actually had to work together on a huge case?! And NOW HE'S CHEESING ON TAEM? Like, no. We don't need this.

2) There's still a lot of confusion and conflict between Dee and Yak by last week's episode 11. Dee's got issues receiving love! This is big.

(By the way. Showing Dee ONE video of his parents cheesing on him as a newborn is NOT THE WAY to explain away future parental neglect as an older child. YIKES.)

I love that Yak wants to invest in Dee, and we do see Dee doing a lot of reciprocating there to Yak, but this parental neglect reveal, along with still not knowing enough about the back story of Dee's parents dying, is out of order and not helpful to me getting enough knowledge about Dee for me to feel a holistic sympathy towards him. This makes me wonder if romance is really Golf Tanwarin's bag: if Golf didn't have to focus so much on the DeeYak/YakDee romance, could we have gotten better emotional representations of these guys, gotten a better picture of WHO THEY ARE, before they got into each other? Maybe? I dunno.

3) Considering that homophobia in systems seems to be a theme that Golf is interested in, why did the show drop Yak's concern about being out vis à vis his boxing career? Showing up at the hospital early on, in front of Ter's people, was already a big risk that wasn't given consideration; and now Dee's gone ahead and put the big pre-match smooch on full display by episode 11! I know Yak's gone full tilt for Dee, but I think we needed to put a bow on Yak's early macro-level concerns about being out for that loop to be closed.

[I feel like I have similar concerns here about 23.5 as well, so I'd like GMMTV to know (REMEMBER BAD BUDDY????) that you can have romance and big social commentary in a show at the same time without sacrificing lovely, intimate moments. Neither 23.5 nor Wandee Goodday needed to scrap heavy emotional moments for social media memeable clickbait.]

TL;DR this show, this script, could have been so good, there was so much there by way of storylines.

ANY FUCKING WAY.

PROS

1)

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS SHOW WENT HERE WITH THOR. THIS IS DISSONANCE, THIS IS CONFUSING! THIS IS MAGNIFICENT.

And the follow-up scene with the FABULOUS Fluke Nattanon. Fucking Thor. He's so good. They're so wasted in this show!

2) Great Sapol and Inn Sarin. There's a con here: the elephant pants do nothing for Great's butt. But otherwise, Great, and Inn as well, are DELIGHTS. THEY ARE GOOD ACTORS. They are wasted on this script. I hope they never work together on a GMMTV show again. If they're ever paired again (which I hope they're NOT, down with the ships), I hope they can get cast in a big ol' queer lakorn, à la JamFilm, and escape the need for the meme moments.

The thing is, about Wandee Goodday, is that if you admit you're into the show FOR THE DUDES, then I get why this show is watchable (AND IT'S WHY I'M FINISHING IT, GODDAMNIT), because the actual intimate moments ARE lovely. They're just not coherent with everything that we should know about these guys by the end of a series, and that makes me sad.

Anyway, this show ends this week, and that's it! I wish GMMTV's shop had had the WG items in stock when I was there in person; fuck these shipping fees, I want the Phadetseuk shirt so bad! If I had known this would be a kind of light and fluffy watch, I would have set my expectations WAAAYYY differently, and I would have likely had a better time watching this. As it stands now, I'm better suited to enjoy the finale, so I'm glad I got these complaints out of my system, and I'll say sayonara to all these dudes in full ogle mode later this week.

[mypearlsareclutched]

Because You Got Out of Hand

High By The Beach | Chapter Ten

Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character, Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character

Perhaps it is nostalgia that makes her sees the bright side of Aemond once again. Perhaps it is her innate desire to feel loved. All that she knows for sure, is that the Targaryen's are a damn good fuck...

Can the Targaryens PLEASE just not have a familial dispute every five minutes, like goddamn. It's three in the morning GO TO SLEEP DAEMON! Also so sorry this has taken so long, life hit me x

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), death, funerals, reunited at last, Targaryen daddy issues, love triangles, rhaenicent crumbs, so much angst, Daemon, Otto, smutty smut, oral sex (f receiving), missionary sex, manhandling, hair pulling, doggy style, Mila and her post nut clarity.

Word count | 5.6k

previous chapter // next chapter

Hours after the burial, Mila sits beside Baela on a wall outside of the mansion, the sky growing dark.

With a shaky breath, she lights a cigarette. The click of the lighter and flicker of the flame, and the feeling of the smoke in her lungs comforts the Stark as her mind goes into overdrive, trying to make sense of her feelings.

Baela watches her worriedly, playing with a strand of her hair as her eyes follow Mila's trembling hand. She moves to say something, when another person joins them.

Helaena scurries up to them, looking even more pale than she did before. Both Baela and Mila go to speak when Helaena beats them to it.

"Grandfather is going to read dad's will out now." She murmurs, crouching down to pick up a snail slithering down the pathway. She places it into a nearby bush, before standing again and looking between the two women.

"Yeah, I saw dad stalking off." Baela rolls her eyes, "I swear he grieved Viserys for about fifteen minutes before he started thinking about taking over Dragonrider."

Dragonrider, the illustrious investment company began by Viserys' grandfather, Jaehaerys. Viserys had taken it over years ago after he had passed away. When Viserys was still young and unmarried, he promised Daemon he would take over the company when Viserys grew tired of it. But that promise was never upheld. Because soon after, Viserys got married, and had a daughter. The company was no longer just his job, but his way of providing for his family, and making them proud.

Daemon never forgot about that promise, though. He famously feuded with his brother over it. Over his 'birthright'.

"Do Rhaena and I need to come to the reading?" Baela asks Helaena, a frown on her full lips.

"No. Immediate relatives only, Otto said." Helaena says with an apologetic tone.

"Oh, thank gods." Baela relaxes, rolling her shoulders, "As little time I have to spend around my father, the better."

"Word." Rhaena calls from beyond the wall, where she crouches as she texts someone. Cregan, most likely. Asking about Morning, most likelier.

Mila smiles down at her friend, before taking another drag of her cigarette as she looks back at Helaena. The blonde woman looks at her nervously, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"What's wrong, bug?" The Stark asks.

"Otto has asked you to join as well." Helaena murmurs, her already somber face dropping further.

Of course. Because I am apart of this sordid, godsdamned family.

Mila clenches her jaw, patting Baela's knee as she rises from the wall. Her friend gives her a worried look, opening her mouth to say something, before Mila shakes her head. Offering her the half-smoked cigarette, which Baela takes, Mila takes Helaena's hand and begins walking back to her doom.

Helaena leads her through the house, avoiding as many remaining mourners as she could. They ascend the stairs, walking further and further into the vast, castle-like home until they find a dark oak door.

Criston Cole stands outside of it, talking softly to Alicent. She stands still, picking at the skin around her nails as she stares off into the distance. The two of them jump when Mila and Helaena appear, standing taller and falling silent.

"Mum." Helaena says softly, nodding.

"Darling." Alicent clears her throat, sending a pained smile to her daughter before looking at Mila, "Mila."

"Is everything alright?" She asks her, rather absentmindedly, as her eyes move to the large doorway.

"Of course. We just have to get the legal stuff out of the way, and then we can all go home." Alicent states, wearing a smile that looks painted on. Helaena sighs, walking forwards towards the door, and Cole opens it for her. Inside, multiple voices could be heard arguing. Alicent grimaces, quickly following after her daughter with Mila in tow.

"Do you know why I've been asked to be here?" Mila asks Criston quietly as she passes him.

"Maybe he left you a paper weight." Cole shrugs, holding the door open for her.

Mila gives him a small smile, before crossing the threshold.

Inside, Daemon Targaryen lounges in a leather armchair behind an expensive desk, toying with the ring on his finger as he glares at his nephews. Aemond paces the room, his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. He argues in a low voice with his uncle, who seems greatly amused by the situation.

Rhaenyra sits on one of the chairs opposite the desk, staring at the night sky outside as Alicent takes the seat next to her. The two women share a look, their expressions softer as their eyes meet. Daeron, Jace, Halaena and Aegon sit dotted around the back, all silent and looking greatly uncomfortable. Luke appears around the corner as Mila walks in, and he visibly relaxes when he sees her.

"Mila." He smiles, walking over into her open arms. She hugs him close, ruffling his dark curls affectionately.

Other heads in the room turn to her, noting her attendance to this meeting. No-one looks shocked, though perhaps anxious due to her difficult recent history with Viserys' second son. Rhaenyra offers her a comforting smile, Daeron nods at her, Jace widens his eyes in a silent plea to jump out of the window with him.

Aemond stares at her, lone eye softening as he turns and begins approaching her. Luke leaves her side, avoiding Aemonds line of sight as he stands at his mother's shoulder.

The one-eyed Targaryen walks towards Mila slowly, not unlike a hunter approaching a startled animal. A weight settles on her chest as his hands each up to caress her elbows.

With the attention of the room on her, she allows him to pull her into an embrace. His arms feel familiar as they wrap around her, his hands finding purchase on her waist, his chin on her shoulder. Mila leans into him, her own instincts betraying her as she allows herself to find comfort in the hold of her ex-boyfriend.

Over Aemond's shoulder, she meets Aegon's eyes. He stares at her, face expressionless. But his eyes hold a thousand thoughts, ask a million questions, try to hide an immeasurable amount of feelings.

Mila can only hope that he find solace in her own eyes.

A short laugh zips through the air, making Aemond stiffen against her. Mila's eyes turn to the Targaryen in the room she is least acquainted with.

"The She Wolf," Daemon states dramatically, smirking. His eyes roam over her, an eyebrow raising in intrigue, "I get it now."

"Come on. She's young enough to be your daughter, uncle." Daeron rolls his eyes, visibly cringing.

Daemon's smile is predatory, and Mila fights a shudder as she extracts herself from Aemond, walking further into the room. She finds a spot away from everyone, leaning against a bookshelf as she crosses her arms over herself.

"We're just waiting on my father." Alicent tells the room, trying to ease the tension as she smoothes out her skirt, "He's taken care of Viserys' legal business for over thirty years."

"Was that before or after he sold you off as his child bride?" Daemon asks with feigned interest.

"That's enough."

Mila is shocked when Rhaenyra speaks up, sending a sharp look to her uncle. The Stark knew little of Rhaenyra and Alicent's strained relationship. All she knew was that they were friends when they were young girls, and that friendship ended when Alicent married Viserys at nineteen, a bump barely concealed by her dress. But as Alicent looks at Rhaenyra now, a grateful and soft expression, Mila understands that their friendship meant a lot to both of them.

And if Mila knows Otto Hightower, then she knows he was the reason it ended.

"So we're waiting on the old man, huh?" Daemon sighs, lifting his feet to loudly drop them on the mahogany desk, crossing his ankles, "Let's all catch up then, hm? As family."

Everyone glares at him.

Jace clears his throat, turning his head to smile at Daeron at his left, "You're playing footy at uni, right?"

"Yeah! It's great, I'm in goal at the moment but-"

"Boring." Daemon fake yawns, "Let's discuss what will change when I take over Dragonrider."

"That'll be the day, huh? Pigs will fly, the hells will freeze over..." Aegon sighs, playing wistful.

"No one finds you funny, nephew of mine." Says Daemon as he rolls his eyes.

Aegon puts a hand to his chest, gasping in outrage. As he grins slightly, his eyes flicker over to Mila, and she gives him a small smile, as if telling him 'I find you funny.'

Neither see Aemond watching the two with a narrowed eye.

"Surely the company will go over to mum. Right?" Luke chimes in, seemingly innocently confused by Daemon's comments, "That's what grandfather always said."

"Sure. Maybe that was what he intended when Nyra was young and single and careerless. Now she's got other priorities."

"Did you just call me old?" Rhaenyra asks with a raised eyebrow. Daemon scoffs, waving a hand dismissively.

"People love MILFs." Mila winks at her, and Rhaenyra tuts at her with a humoured smile she tries to hide.

"Down girl." Jace grimaces, "I'm right here."

"So am I." Aemond says, and if he had shown that kind of possessiveness a month ago, Mila would have adored it. But now, Mila feels herself shrink slightly.

Aegon stares at his brother, pressing his tongue to his cheek as he bounces his leg, agitated.

"Well, at the end of the day, it would be Viserys' decision who would take over his company." Alicent sighs, touching her seven pointed star necklace, "May the seven rest his soul."

"Now that doesn't sound like daddy's perfect little girl, does it?" Daemon taunts, making Alicent send a glare his way. Rhaenyra subtly rests a hand on Alicent's arm, offering a small comfort.

Mila focuses on her hand, on the affection of it. It looks so natural, and it makes . They were destroyed by circumstance, perhaps like her and Aemond, perhaps like her and Aegon...

Those around her continue arguing, mainly Daemon, with the others voicing their opinions or merely telling him to shut up. Mila tuned most of it out, biting at the nail on her thumb. But the jist of the argument was not lost on her.

Neither Rhaenyra nor Aegon want to inherit the company, but both Daemon and Aemond do. Oh the curse of being the second born.

"We're getting nowhere!" Daemon groans, sending a spiteful glare to Alicent, "How long will your idiot father take to slowly walk here?"

As if summoned, Otto Hightower finally turns up, his face unreadable as he slinks into the room. He sneers at Daemon, sat at the desk.

"That desk costs more than your house, Mr Targaryen. Kindly remove your cheap shoes from it."

"Ooh, someone's time of the month is here." Snickers Daemon as he stands, presenting the chair with a flourish.

Otto ignores him, placing the envelope containing the will on the desk.

"Viserys Targaryen's will clearly states how he wanted his assets divided between his family." Otto states, sitting on the newly empty desk chair, "He owned three properties, two domestic and one for business. This mansion will be left to his wife, Alicent Hightower. Dragonstone is now solely owned by Rhaenyra Targaryen. The 'Dragonpit', as he calls his place of business, will go to whoever inherits his company. His funds will be equally distributed between his five children, with seperate accounts held in place for his grandsons."

"Oh, result." Aegon snickers, crossing his arms, "Now I can get a pony."

"Shut the fuck up, Aegon." Daemon sneers.

"In regards to his company, Dragonrider Investments, he has stated that his first born son, Aegon Targaryen, will take over as CEO of the company, effective immediately."

The room is deathly silent as everyone digests this information.

And then, all hell breaks loose.

Daemon stands from his chair with enough force to send it tipping backwards, his eyes enraged as he sneers at Otto, "You lie."

"I do not lie, Mr Targaryen. It is written right here."

"My brother would never leave his company to this half-wit!" Daemon yells, pointing to Aegon. He slams his hand against the table, "You fucking snake, you changed it, didn't you?!"

"A vile accusation, Mr Targaryen. It would be wise to refrain from making baseless allegations against me." Otto sneers.

"There's no way Viserys would have chosen Aegon over Rhaenyra. He chose her years ago and would never, under any circumstances, change his decision to his second born, lowlife of a son. The company belongs to Rhaenyra." Daemon states.

"You just want Rhaenyra to have it so you could manipulate her into giving it to you in favour of keeping her own business." Aemond rolls his eyes at his uncle, leaning over one of the chairs to grab the back of it, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

Aemond's voice is calm, but Mila can see the barely contained rage in his shoulders.

"If Dragonrider was left to me, I would not have chosen Daemon to take it over." Rhaenyra scoffs.

"Yeah, she has a whole son over here." Daeron nods to Jace

"Leave me out of this." Jace murmurs, holding up his hands defensively. He shares an exacerbated look with Mila, who shrugs at him as she gnaws on her thumb nail.

"I want to see the original will." Rhaenyra sighs, glaring at Otto.

"You didn't even want the company." Aemond bites, "You should be jumping for joy."

"All I want is for my father's last wishes to be respected. I do not believe he would have chosen Aegon."

"Because who would?" Daemon snickers, "Apart from the obvious."

The room goes quiet, and Mila looks up to find Daemon Targaryen's eyes on her. Aemond stiffens from beside her, rage radiating off of him, hotter than dragon fire. The others in the room look between the two Targaryen's, feeling the tension rise to a boiling point.

"What is it you are implying?" Mila finds herself asking, staring Daemon down.

"Oh, nothing." He smirks, "Just that you seem to have a type, She Wolf."

His tone catches Aegon's attention, who sits up in his chair. After looking bored throughout the hearing of his father's will, Daemon's sudden aggression towards Mila makes Aegon suddenly sober up. He looks ready to speak when Aemond beats him to the punch.

"How dare you?" Aemond growls, stepping forwards towards his uncle, "Say what you wish to the rest of us, but think twice about what you accuse my girlfriend of doing-"

"I'm not accusing her of anything. Just stating the obvious. We all saw those pictures from Old Town, anyone with two eyes could see what was going on..." Daemon makes an exaggerated face, holding his hand up to his mouth as he looks at his nephew, "Oh, wait!"

"Watch your tongue, uncle." Aemond warns, voice icey, "Or you may lose it."

"Oh, be quiet, Aemond. The grownups are talking." Daemon says dismissively, "it's not like you were even in the running to inherit Dragonrider, anyway."

The room soon dissolves into chaos, with Daemon and Aemond standing chest to chest as they bicker and hurl insults at one another. Rhaenyra stands at Daemon's side, trying to prevent the two from throwing punches, while Otto tries to shout louder than the other's to control the situation.

Helaena holds her hands to her ears, sitting beside her mother, who looks pale and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Jace and Daeron sit side by side by the desk, watching the growing chaos with bored expressions, and Aegon sits as still as a statue away in the shadowy corners.

Mila holds her head, standing to the side next to Criston Cole, who looks about ready to quit his job. His eyes keep flicking towards Alicent, a protectiveness on his face that makes Mila like the bodyguard even more.

"Maybe you should take her away. She doesn't need to see this." Mila murmurs softly to him, her own concern for the older woman's stress evident. He gives her a firm nod, disappearing across the room to come to Alicent's side. Alicent grabs Helaena's hand as they leave, and Mila thinks about following them out.

Across the room, Mila spots Aegon rising from his chair, heading over to another door leading out. Without another glance, he quietly slips out and away from the chaos.

"Aegon, wait!"

Outside the Targaryen estate, Aegon turns around at the sound of Mila's voice. She crosses the cobblestone of the drive, face twisted with sympathy and desperation.

"I can't do this, Em." Aegon sighs, shaking his head. He runs a shaky hand over his face, his breathing erratic, "I can't be what they want me to be. And... I can't be what they expect. I'm not that guy anymore. The delinquent freak who would roll over and do what Otto told me to. I know my grandfather had a say in this. He must have... manipulated my father into making me the heir, or something. Otto thinks he can control me, so he would control Dragonrider."

He paces as he rambles, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. Mila watches him with a pained expression, unable to help him and forced to stand aside and watch as he struggles.

Lifting his head, Aegon looks at her with glassy eyes, "I can't be apart of this."

Mila reaches out for him, and she can see his eyes moving frantically from her hand to her face. With two swift strides, he reaches her.

"I..." He starts, his voice trailing off. He clenches his jaw, looking down at her lips before back at her eyes. Mila nods almost imperceptibly, reaching a hand up to brush against his sleeve.

Aegon's hands cup her cheeks, pulling her in for a swift, loving kiss. Mila melts into him, holding his elbows as he kisses her languidly, enjoying the feel of her against him. Their lips move in a sensual dance, mapping the other out until the feel is carved into their memories.

But all too quickly, his lips disappear. With a final look into her eyes, Aegon turns and walks away, disappearing into the night.

When Mila finally returns to the mansion, Criston Cole stands waiting in the foyer, releasing an annoyed sigh when she is the only one who returns.

"Is he gone?" He asks simply. She nods, trying to blink away the tears that spilled outside.

Criston eyes her, pulling out a handkerchief and giving it to her wordlessly. She wipes her eyes silently

"Makeup smudged?" She asks, trying to sound casual.

"Just say you're really upset about Viserys' death."

Mila chuckles, giving Cole his handkerchief back with a thank you, and he nods.

Turning the corner on the way back to the office, she watches as Daemon storms out of the double doors, throwing them open hard enough so send the doors colliding with the walls, their loud thuds. The other's rush after him, in various states of distress.

"Daemon, stop being so childish! Stop this!" Rhaenyra yells after him.

"Oh I'm sorry, am I being too loud?" He screams back at her, long hair wild around his head.

"Loud enough to wake the dead." Jace murmurs around his drink with a raise of his eyebrows. Rhaenyra smacks his arm, causing the younger man to flinch and jump back.

"Good! Let's get Viserys up here, he can put an end to this shitshow!"

Alicent walks down the hallway, eyebrows raised eye as she eyes Daemon warily, "What-"

"I'm going to disembowel your father." The scorned Targaryen sneers at her, making her press her lips together with a huff.

With that, Daemon struts off, likely to throw a further hissy fit elsewhere. Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, murmuring 'pathetic' before wandering back off into the office with Alicent following. Jace downs his drink, winking at Mila before he disappears down the hallway with Luke and Daeron on his heels. The muffled voices of Rhaenyra and Alicent can be heard through the dark wood of the office door.

A small grimace appears on Mila's face when she realises she is left alone in the hallway with Aemond. Her ex watches her, his face twisted in a barely contained scowl at the actions of his family, his eye narrowed in anger.

Before Mila can utter out an excuse to leave his presence, Aemond sighs through his nose, "I need a drink."

He turns on his heel, walking away in a flurry of blonde hair and dark fabric. When he doesn't hear her following, he stops and turns his head.

"Are you coming?"

"...Apparently." Mila sighs as she crosses her arms and follows after him.

Mila watches Aemond pour himself a drink from the families lavish bar, the rest of the room dark and quiet apart from the clink of ice and Mila's heel tapping against the wooden floor.

Not a word has been spoken, neither of them being the first to speak for fear of how the other will respond. Rain distantly patters against the large windows across the parlor, and thunder occasionally rumbles ominously.

"It's late." Aemond finally comments around the rim of his glass, "It would be best if you stay here tonight."

Mila raises an eyebrow, "Oh would it?"

"You can sleep in one of the spare rooms." He sighs, "If you wish."

"But you would prefer it if I slept in your bed? If I forgave everything you have done and move forward as if nothing happened?"

"Yes." Aemond says simply, putting down his glass, "All of that. That's exactly what I want. What I need, Mila. I need you."

"Aemond I don't want to talk about this." Mila shakes her head, trying to push his words out of her head.

"But we must." Aemond says, his voice pleading. His hand leaves his side and attempts to take hers, but Mila wraps her arms around herself and turns her back on him, tucking her chin as if she were protecting herself. Aemond sighs, walking around her to the glass doors. He opens them, ignoring the rain crashing down around him as he pulls out his pack of Marlboro reds and his lighter.

Mila joins his side, watching his strong profile as he puts a cigarette between his lips and lights it. Aemond offers her his pack wordlessly, and she takes one, letting him light it for her.

They stood in silence in the shelter of the doorway, the world outside stormy, the house behind them silent and dark. Their solemn faces are illuminated by the cherries of their cigarettes, smoke escaping their lips and floating up to join the dark clouds, ripped apart in the sky by the harsh winds. Mila watches the sky, feeling a few stray drops of rain caress her cheeks.

"Did you love me?" Aemond asks suddenly, looking down at the lighter between his fingers.

"What?" Mila asks, turning to look at him.

Aemond's head lifts, staring right into her eyes. His one eye is stormier than the heavens above them, his eyepatch a black hole on the left side of his face.

"Did you love me?" He repeats, his voice softer.

Looking into his eyes, she's reminded of the first time she realized she was in love with him. Three months after their first meeting, Otto had dragged their sorry asses to Tyland Lannister's birthday bash, and the Targaryen clan spent an evening in the lions den of Casterly Rock. After a surpise appearence by Jason, Mila had instinctively grabbed Aemond's hand and fled away from the celebrations. Out of breath and finding herself in the gardens with Aemond chuckling down a her antics, Mila looked up at the Targaryen man and came to a startling realisation.

She was in love with Aemond Targaryen.

In the present, Mila stares up at him, feeling Deja Vu as the gardens surround them and his eye watches her carefully. Words escape her, a shakyh breath released from her smoky lungs.

Aemond's hand cups her cheek, pulling her closer as he finally breathes out what she always wanted to hear.

"I love you." Aemond says.

She took a sharp breath, face scrunching as her heart lurches.

For months she waited to hear those words. She craved it. Finally, a traitorous voice says inside her head, as Aemond's lips press to hers.

Mila has no idea how she ended up here.

One minute, she kissed Aemond in the door leading out to the gardens of the Targaryen manor, in the early morning after his father's funeral, after he finally told her he loved her.

Now, an hour later, he had her naked laid out on his head, his head between her legs.

Fisting the sheets at the side of her head, Mila's back arched off the sheets, a sheen of sweat across her skin. Aemond prodded her with his tongue, delving it deep within her to drink her up. His large hands spread out over her hips and stomach, holding her down as she shuddered and shook, pleasure coursing through her.

"Fuck..." Mila moaned, dropping her head down as his lips surrounded her clit, sucking harshly to bring her closer and closer and closer to her impending orgasm.

Having discarded his eye patch, Aemond looks up at her with one pale blue eye and one glistening sapphire, the contrast harsh but eerily beautiful. Mila finds herself avoiding meeting his gaze, her eyes scrunching shut

"He can't have you." Aemond growls between her legs, "He won't have you. Not after everything."

His teeth grind down on her clit, and with a silent scream, Mila's legs shake around his head, falling over the edge.

Euphoria clouds her mind as she watches Aemond crawl over her, kissing along her neck up to her jaw, where he mumbles unintelligible words against her sweaty skin.

The head of his cock brushes against her, and she whines against his face, pleading. For him to stop? For him to keep going? She didn't know.

"My love." Aemond groans, sinking into her to the halt, "Mine."

A protest sits on Mila's tongue, but it disintegrates as Aemond begins fucking her quick and hard, slamming his hips forwards and backwards like a madman. He sets a punishing pace, forcing her to feel every beautiful inch of him.

Her hands desperately grip onto him, his shoulder and his forearm. His one eye watches her, a fierce passion within its depths, the sapphire almost shining within his barren socket.

Her body sings for him, moans escaping her lips as she begs him not to stop. For a moment, Mila can almost forget everything that's happened.

A headlight outside passes over Aemond's face, casting shadows that morph his face into that of his brothers.

Aegon's name sits on her tongue, almost escaping her as the vision of her ex-boyfriend's older brother brings her closer to her rapidly approaching peak.

Something crosses over Aemond's face as he watches Mila's eyes glaze over, almost as if he could read her mind.

Her flips her over, sharply re-entering her from behind. Mila gasps, bracing herself on her forearms, her body surging forward with every harsh pound of Aemond's hips.

He threads his fingers into her hair, tugging on her scalp whilst his other hand smooths down her back.

"Tell me how good it feels." He commands, delivering a sharp smack to her ass. Mila whines, pushing back into him, "Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it? Fucking cockslut."

Mila babbles out, collapsing from her elbows onto her face, biting down onto the pillow as Aemond's thrusts increase in speed, fucking into her hard enough to make her back arch impossibly low.

"Oh gods... Aemond, I'm-" Mila sobs, feeling her orgasm quickly approaching.

"Fucking do it. cum all over my cock, that’s my good girl. My beautiful girl."

With a muffled scream, Mila arches her back, her cunt fluttering as Aemond's brutal fucking sends her into oblivion.

"That's it, there you go." Aemond grits out, panting as he fucks her through her orgasm, his cock throbbing with his impending high. With a low groan, he pulls her ass flush to his hips, emptying himself deep inside her until his cum runs down from where they meet, staining the sheets below them.

Aemond pulls out, causing Mila to groan at the sudden emptiness. The Targaryen collapses beside her, taking shuddering breaths. Mila remains as she was, her hair in her face as she stays fucked out. His fingers move the hair from out of her face, leaning forward to kiss her lips gently.

The moonlight shone through the sheer curtains of Aemond's old room, casting the Targaryen and the Stark in a sheen of white light. Aemond's breath has evened out, his one eye fluttering in his sleep, the other open. The sapphire sparkles, taunting Mila as she watched his face.

It feels like her stomach is alive with confusion and dread.

Aemond told her he loves her. He finally said it.

Isn't this what she wanted? All those months at his side, hoping that what they had was real. Hoping Aemond cared about her as deeply as she did him. For months all Mila wanted was to hear him tell her he loved her. Shouldn't that be anough now?

No. It isn't.

Because he's not the man she loves. Not anymore. Mila knows who she loves now, and it is not the man lying next to her.

Looking over at Aemond as he slept, Mila felt her stomach twist.

She shouldn't be here.

After throwing on her clothes hastily, she found herself speed-walking through the darkened mansion as her mind ran wild with thoughts of varying degrees of panic.

I fucked Aemond. I fucked my ex.

I love Aegon Targaryen.

"Miss Stark."

Mila bristles as she recognises the voice, turning around to see Otto Hightower standing in the doorway. He looks her over, an eyebrow raising in interest at her disheveled appearance.

"Hm." He hums, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Save it." Mila rolls her eyes, turning on her heel as she heads towards the foyer.

"Going to see Aegon?" His question stops her in her tracks, an icy chill sliding down her spine. Looking over her shoulder, she meets Otto's snake like gaze, a self satisfied smirk on his lips, "Tell him we'll see him soon."

"Leave him alone." Mila snaps, storming over to the man who, for a second, looks afraid, "Don't you ever try to force him into this role you made for him. We both know Viserys did not want Aegon to take over the company. You did. Because you think you can control him."

"Please-"

"It was Aemond at first." Mila interrupts him, "But now you know you can't control Aemond. That was made clear by him fucking Alys Rivers and fucking my relationship with him very publically."

Now Otto looks taken back, his usual smirk dropping slightly.

Mila smirks, "What? You think I didn't know? That you orchestrated our whole relationship to make us both look good? That went well, didn't it?"

"Whatever Aemond told you-"

"Aemond didn't tell me shit." Mila laughs, "I knew from the fucking start. Inviting my brother and I to that gala, sending Aemond off to flirt with me via cigarettes, him asking me out not two days later. You had this all planned out. But Alys wasn't in the cards, was she?"

"...No. She was not."

Mila smiles, with no joy to be found in it, "Yeah. She really fucked things up for all of us, huh? Well, her and Aemond."

Otto sits down, watching her as she crosses her arms.

"If Aemond had sticked by your rules, would you have wanted him to take over?"

"Doesn't matter what I want, Viserys was the head of the company."

"And who made the decisions for him when he became paralyzed from the waist down due to his medication?"

Otto smirks, nodding, "Alright. I yield. Yes, Aemond would have taken it over."

"And now, it's Aegons turn to play grandson of the year."

"He will ." He nods, "Larys has said he is driving down to the Beachouse. Took one of Viserys' cars, no less. By the end of this week, he will be getting dragged by his shirt collar back here, to take over the company."

"To play figure head while you take over the company."

The Hightower just smirks at her, humor evident in his eyes as he regards her. "You know a lot more than I realized." Otto says softly, quirking his head, "How?"

"Because I sit down and I listen." Mila rolls her eyes, "Figured that shit out when I was sixteen. People talk when they're drunk, when they're high, and when they think that the person listening to them is of no importance. Makes us people of no importance very powerful when they're around the right people yapping."

Otto watches her for a moment, the smallest of smiles on his lips. Taking this as her sign to leave, Mila rolls her eyes and turns on her heel, her head held high.

"I underestimated you." Otto calls after her, making her stop in her tracks, "She Wolf."

With a huff, Mila keeps walking.

Laena Targaryen was having a quiet night in, glass of wine in hand as she sat on her balcony on Driftmark.

Her daughters are on the mainland, and also both women in their early twenties, giving her nothing to worry about for the evening. Since she retired from modelling last year, she found many of her evenings were spent like this. Sitting in the sun,

Rhaenys walks out onto the patio, handing her the landline phone with an amused smirk. With a raised eyebrow, Laena takes it, blowing a kiss to her mother before she talks to whoever is on the phone.

"Hello?" Laena greets, taking a sip from her glass

"Can I borrow your car?" Mila stark asks.

AN// BEACH HOUSE, BEACH HOUSE, BEACH HOUSE.

I am my own worst enemy. My fingers had a mind of their own when they started writing that Aemond smut smh. I needed to give more to the Aemond girlies (me included), but don't worry there is still plenty more coming with bbg Aegon <3

Lula x

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Iceberg Siren pt 4

The first thing Danny did after Jason stepped aside to let him in was point at Jason’s chest.

“Eeeeey, chest scar buddies!”

Jason looked down at his scars, and then back up again at Danny, whose eyes had traveled farther down, noticing the slowly bleeding wound on Jason’s side.

“Oh! Damn, that’s gotta sting. Do you want some help with that?”

Which is how Jason found himself in the bathroom with Danny chattering away on his knees in front of him, in a vastly different context with how Jason would prefer Danny on his knees.

Bad brain.

“And really, you can’t keep running around with that corrupted ectoplasm in you- it’s stunting your growth! Should I pull it out?”

Jason looked down, straight into Danny’s wide, hopeful eyes. Taken by a sudden fit of brain fog, he shrugged, despite the fact that the other man was stitching his side closed.

“Sure, I guess?”

Danny smiled, big and brilliant, before tying off the last of the stitches.

“Great! Let me-” he hopped up, guiding Jason down to sit on the edge of the tub. “This shouldn’t hurt much, but fair warning, I’ve never done this before.”

Jason nodded dumbly as Danny pulled off his bloody gloves and discarded them before lifting one of Jason’s wrists to his face.

He couldn’t help the goosebumps that prickled his skin as he felt Danny’s warm breath ghost across his pulse point, nor could he help jumping as Danny sunk his teeth into that self-same pulse point.

Something in him kept him from yanking his arm away, something hungry and longing for freedom.

Danny pulled away after a few moments, wiping something dark from his lips with the back of the hand not holding Jason’s arm. Jason was pretty shocked to notice the blue eyes that endeared him so much were, for a few seconds, a toxic Lazarus green.

And then the blue was back and Danny was sticking out his tongue with a grimace.

“That was rank, Red. You should find a better source.”

Jason felt dizzy, and in his last moments of clarity, watched Danny’s face morph into one of panic before the darkness overtook him.

~~~

Danny fluttered nervously around Red Hood as the man groaned awake- he’d managed to catch him as he slumped forward and carry the man to the couch, but other than that, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

Red wasn’t dead, at least, not completely. It was like he started forming a core and just stopped halfway through. Probably due to the corruption in the ectoplasm that helped him form a core.

“What hit me?”

Danny chuckled thinly and helped Hood sit up.

“Uh, me? Technically? I didn’t realize you needed an extra boost of clean ecto when I took out the bad stuff, but congratulations, you’re now a- whatever the hell I am, I guess. There was never a consensus on the naming.”

The other man looked at him sharply.

“I don’t have the meta gene.”

“No, no, it’s not about being a meta, I just picked up the term when I got here. I don’t think you’ll have powers quite as extensive as mine, your introduction to ectoplasm was a lot different, but we’ll have to see.”

He was trying very hard not to word-vomit, but Hood looking at him with those pretty cobalt eyes and that sharp-jawed face just made his brain buzz like thousands of spectral bees.

“Aliens?”

“No, although I’d love to meet one! More like-” Danny paused, parsing through his own words before he said them. “Glorified lab accidents? Or, not really, in your case, but essentially.”

He realized that didn’t really sound better, but it seemed to make sense to Hood, who sat brooding on the couch. Was he supposed to call him Jason now, since they’d met out of masks?

Without thinking about it, he chirped an inquiring noise to get the other man’s attention.

“Please don’t tell me we’re part cricket.”

Danny laughed, less nervous since Jason was apparently joking around with him now.

“No, just prone to vocalizations. Can I call you Jason?”

“Sure, Cricket.”

~~~

Clockwork smiled as the last few pieces to his plan fell in to place- Princess Danielle was starting on a new adventure, and their young King had finally found a reason to live after the torture inflicted upon him by his parents.

All of the Infinite Realms had noted that the king was unhappy, trapped in the land of the dead with no haunt or home- several of them had come to Clockwork, and together they had devised a plan.

A dimension familiar enough for Phantom to slip in unnoticed, but removed enough to not need his particular brand of heroism.

A dimension that was doomed without intervention from someone far more powerful than their eyes had ever seen.

Danny might not notice, but his very presence was protection for this dimension, sating his Obsession without endangering what was left of his life- Clockwork had to work hard to find this place. A place with enough factors leading toward the emergence of a strong and confident King, not held back by the sins of his genetic donors.

Clockwork would call himself Danny’s parent before he would refer to the Fentons as such.

~~~

Dick knew this was the place. Well, he knew it was the Iceberg Lounge, that was a no-brainer, but he also knew that this is where Jason’s mystery friend worked.

They hadn’t managed to figure out what the target did here, but Robbie Malone was about to find out.

He strode in, all quiet confidence, nodding at the bouncers as he made his way to the VIP lounge. The Malone family had a table near the balcony, with perfect sightlines to the door and the stage below. Stephanie was already there, dressed to the nines.

“Cousin! I didn’t know you were coming!” Dick leaned down to kiss Steph on both cheeks, as dictated the Malone family cover.

“The next act is supposed to be on soon- I hear the singer is divine.”

Sitting down elegantly, Dick signaled a waiter for a drink, and then turned to look down on the stage. A willowy blond woman was finishing her song and bowing to the crowd. There was a polite round of applause- until the young woman left and the next singer appeared.

The applause was thunderous throughout the lounge. The young man on the stage held up a hand, and the applause stopped instantly.

He chuckled with a deep voice, and leaned close to the mic.

“You all like my dress that much?”

Dick would admit it was a lovely dress, a dark blue flapper style dress with an unusual plunging neckline.

Stephanie kicked him under the table, tilting her head down towards the singer. Ah, so he was the target.

The music started, and moments later the singing did, too. A smooth baritone voice, crooning out a song. Deciding to listen to the lyrics instead of chat with Steph, he was quite shocked at the contents of the song.

It was a beautiful song, but it spoke of heartbreak and betrayal, longing and fear.

It made Dick sad for the person who wrote it. By the end, the club had long gone silent, entranced by the song. Some patrons were surreptitiously wiping their eyes on their napkins.

Dick turned back to Steph, who was watching the singer with sharp eyes.

“Cousin?”

Steph glanced up at him, none of her cover’s light in her eyes.

“He’s got bad scars on his chest. You can see them under his dress when he leans forward from this angle.”

He looked, and sure enough, there was the tell-tale puckering of skin, right underneath the line of the dress. It would take a trained eye to notice it, but Dick and Steph were nothing but trained eyes.

Danny Nightingale, Singer at the Iceberg Lounge, was more than he seemed.

~~~

Damian noticed that Jason had a bandage on his wrist first. Of course he was first to notice, he was the only blood son.

“What incompetence caused that, Todd?”

Jason, instead of getting angry, just looked down at his wrist and shrugged.

“Vampire cricket.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he said it. Todd tended to be quick to anger, and being questioned would probably set him off. Much to Damian’s surprise, however, Todd’s eyes lit up with mischief.

“Then beg, Demon Brat.”

Damian would have attacked Todd if Father hadn’t swept by in that moment, handing him a file.

“Robin. Arsenal has brought a new member to the Titans. I expect you to zeta to the Tower and meet her as soon as you have finished reading her file.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. Flipping open the file, he caught a glimpse of a young girl with dark hair and blue eyes, smiling cheerily at the photographer.

Phantom Unknown Civilian Alias. Claims to come from a place called the ‘Infinite Realms’- contact John Constantine or Justice League Dark for more information. Powers include Density Manipulation, Flight, Invisibility, and Construct Creation (green). She says she is looking for her brother, but will not disclose a name. Met Green Arrow on a roof in Star City, volunteered to be a superhero upon meeting Arsenal. Denied DNA sample.

[raysources]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐔𝐌  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒     —     a collection of one - liners taken from will wood's 2020 album, the normal album.   slightly edited for clarity.   change pronouns as necessary.   tw. death, mental illness / ableism, suicide, drugs, gender dysphoria.

trick or treat, merry christmas.

buy now or die!

the lights are on, but no one's home.

it takes a village to fake a whole culture.

home is where the heart is.

home is where the heart is, you're not homeless, but you're heartless.

i can tell that you know where paradise is.

a snowflake only matters in a blizzard.

why apologize for being blue and cold?

culture's not your friend.

well, lot, he had his lot in life, job his job, and i guess you too, will die.

hey, you're only mortal!

the devil made me do it, but i also kind of wanted to.

forget bored stiff, i got rigor mortis.

meaning can be such a pretty thing to keep.

i got facts and i'm not afraid to use 'em.

if sick is defined by what's different, then pull the plug out and let me die.

who i am i choose through all the things i do.

i hate poetry.

well that was fun, goodbye.

have you ever died in a nightmare?

could you take a look at me?

am i really that bad?

if you were in my shoes, you'd walk the same damn miles i do.

with my head up in the clouds, i can see so much ground.

it doesn't take a killer to murder, it only takes a reason to kill.

somebody help me!

the only ones in need of love are those who don't receive enough.

the only ones in need of love are those who don't receive enough, so evil ones should get a little more.

if the shoe fits would you walk that mile?

am i pretty now?

for some reason i find myself lost in what you think of me.

i wish i could be a girl.

i wish i could be a girl, and that way you'd wish i could be your girlfriend.

am i pretty enough to lie to?

i get dressed up in shadows one leg at a time.

i love how you're on my side when i cross that line.

say my name like a slur, but i've been called worse.

i am quantum physics, my witness brings me into existence.

am i pretty enough to love back?

am i pretty enough?

am i pretty enough to fucking die?

my daughter's growing up.

i don't wanna be at all like me.

stranger things than death can happen.

everybody's in on everybody's business.

i know mistletoe when i see it.

could you tell me how i'm right for you?

if they could see the future back when times were simple, would they kiss your cheek or yank the bandage off?

if everybody's different, how could anybody match?

everybody's all up in my god damn business.

this isn't my first kiss.

it's better to be lost than loved, now, isn't it?

this isn't my first anything.

i know exactly how i should finish it.

what's so wrong about what's wrong with me?

i'm just trying to do what's right by you.

you people make me sick.

who'd want to be human anyway?

why'd you come into this world or come out that way?

well, not "haha" funny, but y'know, funny.

i doubt that you would even if you could change.

you think it makes you special, but it makes you strange.

the things that make you special are the things that make you strange.

who'd want to belong to anyone?

five more minutes please? you wouldn't believe the dream i just had.

if it was going to kill you, it would have by now.

there's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down.

you think ideas spread because they're good? no, they spread because people like them.

i guess it's just something people do.

you've lost your mind and almost lost your life before, so you'll be fine.

it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now.

how many years have you been on that couch?

lately you've been focusing too much on yourself.

back in my day we didn't need no feel - good pills and no psychiatrists.

what's a symptom, what's a flaw, can it be both?

they discovered a cure for the symptom of being alive.

lately i've been worried that you're losing yourself.

don't you make me waste my breath.

you're not your thoughts.

i live deliberately.

i'm a quitter.

won't follow my dreams, 'cause they all got me waking up screaming.

i'd rather be normal.

i suggest we keep this informal.

a normal human being wouldn't need to pretend to be normal.

love me normally.

i don't wanna get old.

i love you exactly the way that everybody else is.

i was nothing before, so i couldn't have asked to be born.

you better have one hell of a plan.

one day you're going to die.

what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but something will eventually!

at most a couple generations will remember the ways in which your life never mattered, so who cares if it's a waste?

your legacy's not yours to see.

you'll never know what it all means.

everything and everyone goes with the passage of time.

try not to think about it.

there's probably nothing after.

you only have one chance.

if you only have one chance, you oughta try your best to live as you like.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Coming Home - Bonus Chapter 2 - Lucien’s Cottage

Lucien x Reader

Okay, I got a tad carried away with with this 🤣 but who cares, it’s Lucien content 🤷🏻‍♀️

The story of how Y/N and Lucien met while she was travelling. Enjoy!

If you missed the other bonus chapter, you can read it here!

Warnings: SMUT. SMUT. SMUT. 🌶️

⧪

It felt like you’d been walking for days upon days upon days. 

You didn’t know how mortals did it – how they could stand such slow, dragging journeys on foot. 

The Wall surely had to be close by now, if you’d calculated correctly. And stupidly, you’d winnowed so much that your magic reserves were depleted, useless until you stopped to rest. So you had nothing but your feet to carry you to the Spring Court border and beyond. 

After the first hour of walking, you were sick of your own thoughts. Tired from days of travel and not much sleep. The weapons you carried on you felt heavier than they normally did. 

The only indication that you’d crossed over into Spring was the lush green of the forest you found yourself in – so rich, vibrant, with sweet-smelling flowers and petals and leaves of every shade you could think of. You’d never visited the Spring Court before – never had a particular desire to, after what its High Lord and his sons had done to you – but it was a well known fact that its gardens and landscapes were second to none. 

Still, you didn’t plan to stick around in a place where such poison had lived and breathed – the main reason you’d not stopped to rest. Just get to The Wall. Get to The Wall, and cross over into the mortal lands, and then you can find an inn and sleep for as long as you damn well please. 

For all the woods, and the sprawling estates they bordered, were beautiful, the sky wasn’t the spring blue that you’d hoped for to make your journey that bit easier. Dark, angry clouds had begun to crowd the sky, painting it with darkness. It made the towering trees feel slightly ominous. 

You relented, eventually, and stopped – embarrassingly worn out for a High Fae who should have been able to walk to the ends of the world. But your body was begging for rest – just a small sit-down, you promised yourself – and that was how you found yourself kneeling on a riverbank, dipping your hands into the crystal clear water. 

You drank greedily – hadn’t even noticed quite how badly you’d needed it, until the cool water ran down your throat in such a satisfying, glorious way. You used it to scrub dirt and sweat from your face, and savoured the feeling of clarity that washed over you, basked in it–

Perhaps that was why you hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps until they were right behind you. 

No, not footsteps. The rhythmic clopping of a horse’s hooves. You turned just slightly, threw a glance over your shoulder. 

The male astride the horse was nothing short of a magnificent vision. 

Bright red hair that could have given any of these spring flowers a run for their money. Golden skin that seemed to glint and glow, and deep, russet eyes–

No – only one russet eye. The left side of his face was brutally marred, a pink, jagged scar cutting through where his left eye should have been, but had been replaced by a gold, metal one that seemed to move of its own accord as he studied you. The scar seemed fairly recent – even with the brilliant magic of fae healing. With your knowledge of healing, you suspected he’d only received the injury anywhere from a matter of months to a year or so ago. 

Stunning. He was stunning.

He took in the sight of you on that riverbank, his thick, defined brows furrowing. 

“Can I be of some assistance, lady?” He asked.

“Nope.” You stood up, dusting dirt and leaves from your breeches. “Unless you can tell me how close I am to The Wall.” 

He cocked an eyebrow, as if such a question surprised him. “I’d say about a day away – on foot. On a good day.” He glanced up at the sky. “But there’s a storm approaching.”

You swore under your breath, reaching for the small bag you carried with you. You’d thought you’d made more progress than that. Walking was so fucking mind-numbing.

“Dare I ask why a beautiful lady such as yourself is travelling alone in the woods – towards The Wall?” The male asked, rubbing the neck of his white horse as it moved restlessly. 

“I’m going to the mortal lands.” You shrugged. “But thank you – for the compliment. I’m honoured that a stranger deems me too beautiful to travel alone.” 

He stared at you – and snorted at the sarcasm dripping from your tone. It was as you approached him that you got a better look at him, although the light was rapidly fading with the gathering storm. 

But you’d know those famous features anywhere – silky red hair, russet eyes…you didn’t know why you hadn’t clocked it straight away. 

“You’re a Vanserra, aren’t you?” You said. 

“I am…” He eyed you with a lick of suspicion. “Do we know each other?” 

“No. But I am curious to know what a Vanserra is doing across the Spring border.” 

“What are you doing across the Spring border?”

“As I said.” You breezed past him, patting his horse as you passed. “I’m travelling to The Wall.” 

That perfectly arched eyebrow cocked again. “Not any time soon, you’re not. With the torrential rain that’s coming, you’ll barely be able to see your own hand in front of your face.” 

You wanted to throw your head back and let out an infantile groan – but no way would you do so in front of a Vanserra. The males of the Autumn Court were notoriously smooth, dripping with charisma. And though they didn’t exactly have a good history with your own court, you didn’t plan to embarrass yourself in front of the glorious male before you. 

“It doesn’t storm here very often.” He said, eyeing you. “But when it does, it’s relentless. There’s no way you’ll be able to travel through it.” 

“Fantastic.” You sighed. “I guess I’m finding a tree to shelter under for the night.” 

“That’s absurd – you won’t be any better off.” 

“Yes, well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have a pretty horse to gallop me away like you do, so…”

Your words trailed off as he rolled his eyes – and jumped down from the horse. The sculpt of his muscles pressed through the material of his tunic and breeches as he moved towards you, holding out a hand.

“What are you doing?” You stepped back. 

“Helping you up.” He said. “There’s an old cottage not too far from here that I was going to shelter in until the storm passed. You’ll be far more comfortable there.”

You studied him, narrowing your eyes. Clearly, he couldn’t possibly know who you were – the High Lord of the Night Court’s sister – or he no doubt would have left you to get soaked and battered by the storm. But you’d learned to be cautious of everyone you’d met on the road, learned to question their intentions–

And with the reputation of the Vanserras…

“And why would you help me?” You asked, folding your arms. “We’re strangers.” 

“Perhaps I have a soft spot for pretty ladies with mud and leaves in their hair.” 

Your cheeks burned. But before you could reach up and tug your fingers through the knotted strands, he was lifting you into his arms with barely a blink, and you yelped as he set you atop the horse. 

“Hold on.” He murmured as he settled behind you, the heat of his body pressing through your tunic. He grabbed your hands, closing them around the reins, and with a gentle command to his horse, you were moving.

 “My name is Lucien, by the way.”

⧪

What Lucien Vanserra had failed to mention was that the old cottage was, in fact, an ancient, decrepit, crumbling cottage that couldn’t be much more secure than any tree you would have found to shelter you.

There was hardly anything in there, aside from a few scattered bits of wooden furniture and a soot-sodden hearth. You watched as Lucien trudged in with a pile of wood in his arms, and knelt down before the hearth. With a flick of his hand, a fire had roared to life.

Autumn Court magic. It was rather breathtaking up-close. 

“Are you sure this place is secure?” You folded your arms around yourself, studying the cramped area from where you hovered in the doorway. “It doesn’t look like it could weather a storm.” 

“Sturdier than it looks.” Lucien glanced at you over his shoulder, his red, silken hair rippling with his movement. “And you’d be more comfortable than you look, if you sat down. You don’t need to worry, lady – I’ve sheltered here before.” 

You hesitated – not that you were actually considering running back out into the torrential downpour that had started just as you’d arrived, but because you couldn’t help being suspicious of his goodwill. He had the smooth lexis of a Vanserra, undoubtedly – you could understand why so many males and females alike seemed to worship the Autumn males. But from experience – from what you knew about Eris Vanserra’s behaviour towards your own cousin – you didn’t imagine Lucien was offering you shelter without expecting something in return. 

Slowly, you inched over to a small wooden table and perched yourself atop of it. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

Lucien rose from the hearth, his back muscles rippling through his white tunic. He rolled the sleeves up as he turned to you. “Which question would that be?” 

“I asked what an Autumn Court male was doing across the Spring border.”

“Ah – that.” He strode across the room, rifling through a leather satchel that he’d unstrapped from his horse. 

You couldn’t help watching him – admiring him. The growing flames in the hearth seemed to offset the gold of his skin and make it glow, make the corded muscles of his arms visible underneath those rolled-up sleeves. 

Something about them – watching them flex and shift with his movements – made you squeeze your legs together.

You’d definitely been on the road too long. 

“A Vanserra I may be,” He eventually said, turning back round to face you. “But I’m no longer a part of the Autumn Court. I’m emissary to the Spring Court now.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “You switched sides? Very scandalous.”

“I have a…strained relationship with my family. Namely my father.” 

“Snap. My father was a prick.” 

“Oh? Which court do you belong to?” 

Many, many times, you’d been asked that question since you’d left Velaris. People were naturally suspicious of an outsider journeying through their lands, and you’d had a run-in with so many guards, Rhys would go spare if he knew. 

But you’d managed to avoid answering – to keep your anonymity, lest anyone tip your family off to where you were. Or use you to get to them. When you were nameless, boring, the other courts saw no reason to bother with you; no reason to view you as anything other than a restless young female living a nomadic lifestyle. 

You weren’t about to falter now – particularly not in the Spring Court, of all places. Just in case High Lord Tamlin learned of your presence in his lands and came to finish off what his father had started. 

So you simply smiled at Lucien. Told him, “I belong to no one.” 

He raised an eyebrow, dragging a chair closer and perching backwards on it. “You must hail from somewhere.”

“Must I?” 

He stared at you over the back of his chair, folding his forearms against it. The breeches cut close to his legs as they hung either-side. Muscled. Thick. You wondered what they looked like beneath the material.

His gaze was…a combination of different things. Narrowed, like he was trying to puzzle you out and finding it annoying, but also amused, and – and wild. Calculating. Like he was sizing up a challenge. One side of his mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Who are you?” He seemed desperate for the answer. 

You shrugged. Casual. Nonchalant. “My name is Y/N.” 

“And your family name?” 

“Is irrelevant.” You jumped from the table, moving closer to the fire. 

His eyes followed every one of your movements. “Is that all I get?” 

“Yep.” 

A deep, silky laugh rumbled from his chest, the sound of it reaching out to you, caressing your skin that felt like it was already freezing. It was a pleasant sound; warm and sensual. Intriguing. 

“Okay.” He murmured, standing from the chair. “In that case, would you like a drink? It’ll help you to forget that you’re cold, if nothing else.”

You rounded on him, shot him that same, close-lipped smile. “A drink sounds wonderful.”

⧪

He’d been right – the rain was coming down, vicious and hard.

Hard enough that it sounded like rocks slamming against the roof. But with the whiskey that was warming your belly, it became nothing but background noise. And the combination of intoxication, and the roaring fire, meant that you barely noticed the cold, either.

Lucien was interesting. Perhaps one of the most interesting people you’d met while travelling – or ever, really. He’d done some travelling himself, having never had any interest in being High Lord of the Autumn Court. He’d coasted from place to place and made friends with people who were supposed to be enemies. 

The two of you had taken to sitting on the floor beside the hearth, and you drank – and drank, and drank, and drank, – as he regaled you with tales of his adventures and troubles he’d gotten himself into – and out of. After an hour, it felt like you were talking to an old friend. 

You were still laughing at his latest story as he handed you the bottle of whiskey you’d been passing back and forth. Your hands briefly brushed as you accepted it, and he sat back, leaning on his palms as he watched you take a swig. 

“You said you’re going to the mortal lands?” He tilted his head. He’d loosely tied his hair back with a leather thong, but strands had already begun to fall around his face again. “Whatever for?” 

You shrugged, savouring the muted burn of the alcohol as you swallowed. “I said I wanted to see the world, and I meant it. I want to see all of it. And I have no issue with mortals. The idea of living amongst them, seeing their ways, interests me.” 

“They’ll have an issue with you. They hate our kind. They won’t want you there.”

“Well.” You smiled. Took another swig. “I’m well-versed in being unwanted.” 

That smouldering, russet stare zeroed in on you, the metal eye moving down your body and back up. The expression on his face – the one of intrigue, of challenge – had only strengthened with each topic of conversation you’d got through. You could practically feel the frustration dripping from him. The need to break through your guard. 

“Tell me about you.” He said – not for the first time. He prised the bottle from your hands, taking a swig.

“I told you already.” You smiled. “I’ve lived a sheltered life and I’m ready to see more. Which is why I’m travelling.” 

“But there’s more to tell.” 

“Of course.” You laughed softly. “Isn’t there always? But why should I tell a stranger such things?”

He smirked. “I’d quite like to know who I’ve offered to shelter with for the night. For all I know, you’ll stab me through the heart as soon as I’m asleep.”

“Well.” You scooted closer. Closer. Until your knees touched. You took the bottle from him, lifting it to your lips. “There’s a solution for that.” 

His eyes fell to your mouth. “What’s the solution?” 

“Neither of us sleep. And I won’t stab you, and you won’t stab me.”

He snorted. “And how do you suggest, lady, that we wile away the hours whilst the storm rages outside?” 

It was you staring at his mouth, then. The way one side of his lips lifted into a lopsided grin, or a sensual smirk, was something that had been slowly driving you mad and heating you all over since you’d sat down together.

You knew precisely how you wished to wile away the gods-damn hours. How you wished to keep warm. 

You pushed up onto your knees, so much closer to him like this. Close enough that you could smell the whiskey on him. “You tell me, Vanserra.” 

His head tilted. “Well…you could tell me more about who you are. Where you’ve been. What makes you…”

His words trailed off as your fingers brushed his leg. His gaze fell, watching as you danced your hand over his knee, and slowly, slowly up, over his thigh.

“Hmm?” You hummed, coaxing his eyes back to yours. So near – your fingers were so, so near to his crotch. “What makes me what?” 

He cleared his throat. Swallowed. “...What makes you…uh…tick. Or…or what interests you.”

“I could.” You nodded, stilling your hand. “I could take my hand off you right now and tell you all the boring ins and outs of my life – if that’s what you want.”

“No.”

The word was almost a snarl. You laughed breathily, your fingers climbing up his leg once more.

“So just to clarify,” You mused. “You don’t want me to stop touching–”

There was no chance to finish the sentence as Lucien surged forward and claimed your mouth in a hungry kiss. His large, warm hand cupped the back of your head, fingers slipping through the strands of your hair. He pulled you closer, nipping your bottom lip. 

The pleasant pinch of pain had you gasping – and opening up to him. He slid his tongue into your mouth, invading you with his smoky taste of whiskey and fire. While your hand continued to stroke up his leg, you moved the other to his shirt, fisting the fabric. 

“So,” You pulled away just slightly, breathing against his lips, “You want me to touch you?”

That russet eye flared. “I think I may die if you don’t.” 

You laughed softly – and pulled away as he tried to slide his lips over yours again. You were faster than him, instead place a kiss to his jaw, and then his neck, and then against the small strip of his skin that poked out from beneath his crumpled white shirt.

“I want this off.” You murmured, unfastening the buttons. You practically yanked the shirt down his arms, baring his firm, muscled chest and stomach. 

He shivered as you touched a hand to his chest – and yet his skin was so gloriously warm. You wondered if fire truly lived inside of him, if Autumn Court magic was an inferno in the veins of the Vanserras.

If he was shuddering, in fact, from your touch, rather than the cold. 

You dipped your head, licking a stripe across his pectoral muscles, and you felt him jerk just slightly beneath you, hissing between his teeth. 

“A tad sensitive, aren’t you?” You chuckled, dragging your tongue lower. Over his stomach, all the dips and lines there. 

Lucien bit down on his lip, watching you intently. “It’s kind of hard not to be with a pretty lady licking me.” 

“The pretty lady can stop if it’s too much for you.”

“Don’t you dare.” 

As if to push his point, he bucked his hips – and you smirked. You locked your eyes with his as you undid the buttons fastening his breeches. Your movements were slow, unhurried, as you tugged them down. 

The length of him sprung free. Hard. Taught. Thick and long. 

“Lucien Vanserra,” Your voice was a teasing lilt as you dipped your head, blowing a breath against the head of his cock. “Is there a part of you that isn’t beautiful?”

His breath hitched in his throat, and he seemed to be incapable of an answer as you poked out your tongue and slowly, slowly, allowed it to touch the very tip of his cock. 

“Gods.”  He gritted his teeth, his hips jerking. In an attempt to steady himself, he slammed a hand down on the floor – and sent the bottle of whiskey flying.

Neither of you paid it any mind as the liquid sloshed onto the ground. 

“Very sensitive, indeed.” You hummed. And took him into your mouth.

The groan that ripped through his throat was animalistic. His other hand landed on the back of your head, twisting within your hair as you took him in further, further, until the head of his cock touched the back of your throat. 

“Oh fuck.” He hissed. “I am not going to last.”

Your answering chuckle was a delicious vibration as you slowly moved up again, tracing your tongue over the bold, sensitive vein that seemed to already be pulsing and throbbing. You wrapped your hand around the base of him and returned your attention to the head, where you swirled your tongue, and put the slightest of pressures on the little indentation just beneath. Lucien’s head fell back, a moan and a string of curses falling from his lips.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He gasped. 

“Right there?” You smirked, pressing your tongue against the indentation again. 

“You have no idea—gods.” His hips bucked once, twice, and then he was spilling into your mouth, his groans and growls utterly feral, guttural. 

You swallowed every drop of him, allowing him to take the reins as he gripped onto your hair and fucked into your mouth, the waves of his release barreling through him with such force, he trembled. His cock was still twitching, his breaths heaving, as he pulled out of your mouth and stared at you. 

“Who are you?” He breathed, repeating his earlier words. “The fucking Mother must have sent you to me.”

You snorted. “Well that was fun.” 

He cocked an eyebrow. “If you think I’m done with you yet, you’re very much mistaken. I can smell how wet you are from here.” 

Oh. You didn’t doubt he could. You were dripping in your underwear, clenching your thighs together for any little, pathetic bit of friction. Lucien smirked wickedly at you. 

“Your turn, lady.” 

You let yourself fall back, and you were tingling all over as he moved to hover over you. Each bit of clothing he removed was replaced with the brushing off his lips – over your breasts, your nipples, your stomach, as he pulled your shirt off and threw it aside. The cold air immediately made your nibbles pebble, and you felt him smirk against you, his teeth grazing the sensitive nubs.

He was hardening against you already. You reached down, wanting to feel him again, to hear those delicious noises–

“Uh-uh, not yet.” He chuckled deeply, his lips brushing over your navel. “I want to have some fun with you first.”

Any response you could come up with completely eddied from your mind as he yanked your breeches and underwear down in one go – fabric ripping and buttons flying everywhere. 

“Oops.” He murmured, chucking them behind him. “Sorry.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as the cold air hit your now-exposed centre. “You don’t sound very—oh gods.”

He didn’t hesitate – not for a second. His breath was warm against you, wayward strands of his hair tickling your skin as he dipped his head. 

And licked a strip right up your centre. 

You immediately fisted those strands of hair within your hands, tugging just slightly. Your hips bucked as his tongue slowly licked up, up towards your clit. 

“Who’s the sensitive one now?” Lucien chuckled deeply, and the sound was pure, molten lava that spread through you and licked its way over your body. 

His tongue swirled your clit, the tip of it flicking right over that hyper-sensitive spot. You were gasping, writhing, your head falling back and your back arching. 

“Oh fuck.” If this was what a Vanserra could do with his mouth, you wanted all of them, at once, immediately. You bucked your hips towards him, a moan ripping through you as he sucked on your clit – and inserted a finger into you. “Gods–Lucien.”

You were gonna cum—and fall off the world, and not stop falling. There wasn’t a part of you that didn’t feel perfect, and ecstatic, and like lightning all over–

But then he just stopped. Pulled his finger out of you. Slid his mouth off you. 

You yanked your head up from the floor, a whine of pure desperation escaping you as you met his eyes.

Lucien was smirking down at you. Fisting at his cock. He pumped it once, twice, and lined it up with your centre. 

“As much as I want to taste you cumming on my tongue,” He said wickedly. “I think I want you to cum on my cock more.” 

A rasp escaped you as you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance. “Why can’t it be both?” 

He chuckled. “We have all night.” 

And then he pushed into you. 

In, and in, and in. It was never-ending, that feeling. The feeling of being stretched, and filled, and torn apart and put back together again. 

Lucien’s mouth fell open, a breath falling from his lips as he glanced down, his brow furrowed in full concentration – and desire – as he watched himself push into you. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He hissed. He stilled, just for a moment – just to give you a chance to adjust. Because you were tight; tight all over. You grabbed his hand and moved it to your breast, and he squeezed.

And then he pulled back out of you. And slammed back in, right to the hilt. 

The noise was like no other you’d ever made in your life. Your head fell back, and your mouth opened with a string of moans. Never had you sounded so consumed, so sultry and raspy and sexy.

And it seemed to be driving Lucien Vanserra wild. 

His thrusts were hard and fast, relentless and frenzied, as he slammed into you. You could have sworn you felt it – him – in every part of your body. Could have sworn you just about died as he kissed you, and moaned into your mouth.

You moved one hand to his perfectly sculpted ass, encouraging his thrusts. His lips latched onto your neck as his pace picked up – more and more and more, until you could feel yourself beginning to crumble. 

“Fuck,” Lucien choked, slamming his hand against the floor – giving himself more purchase to thrust harder, faster. “Cum, Y/N—I can feel you clenching around my cock.” 

And gods, you were. Clenching and writhing and completely falling apart. It was too much, too good–

You broke completely when he reached down and pressed a thumb to your clit. That was all it took. 

Release barreled through you, so ferocious that you couldn’t form any words – only moan after moan after moan, and you were shaking, gripping and scratching at Lucien’s skin.

You dug your nails in – hard. And Lucien thrust in once more. He went rigid against you as an animalistic growl rumbled out of him.

“Gods…Holy fucking Gods.” He gasped, spilling and spilling and spilling into you. He was twitching inside you, and shaking against you, his hands hard and bruising on your thighs, your hips. 

You could only stare up at him. Try to catch your breath. But you were spent. Truly and utterly fucked out. If your eyes were as glazed and cheeks as flushed as his were, you wouldn’t be at all surprised. 

“Gods.” He said again, and pulled out of you with a shudder. “That was…gods.” 

“Yes.” You whispered breathlessly. “Gods.”

The cottage was suddenly silent – aside from that hammering rain, and the heavy breathing coming from both of you. Lucien sat back, his golden cheeks a rosy pink. He seemed stunned by the force of his own release. 

You turned your head to look at him from where you still lay on the floor, and you smirked. 

“This was a much better idea than sheltering under a tree.”

⧪

You awoke to sunlight streaming through the dirty windows. 

The sky outside was a cerulean blue — the storm well and truly passed. 

You were achy from a night sleeping – and fucking – on a hard floor…but the ache was satisfying. Pleasant. 

You rolled over to find Lucien still asleep beside you, beautiful and unguarded. His red hair had completely broken from the knot he tied it into, and it splayed around him like flames. A sudden urge rose in you to reach out and touch it. To trace your fingers over his brow and across the jagged line of his scar.

But you simply watched for a while. Last night was the first time in a long, long time you’d felt so good. So…wanted.

And because of a fucking Vanserra, of all the males in Prythian. The thought made you snort. If Rhys knew about this—or Cassian or Azriel—

No. You couldn’t think about them. Couldn’t let yourself get off course, just because of one night of incredible, earth-shattering pleasure. You needed to get back on track and complete your journey to The Wall. You could be in the mortal lands by night time. 

You rose from your spot, moving carefully and silently as you stepped around Lucien’s sleeping figure and retrieved your clothes. A tad dirty and ripped, but you could make do until you got to the other side of The Wall. 

You dressed quickly, and then grabbed your bag that sat beside Lucien’s leather satchel. You threw one glance back at him before you headed to the door. 

You’d barely set a foot out of it before you heard a rustle behind you. 

“You’re leaving?” Lucien croaked, his voice heavy with sleep. 

“I want to get to The Wall before it gets too dark.” You told him. “But thank you—for helping me. For offering me shelter. And for…”

“The ground-breaking orgasms?” He propped himself up on his elbow. Gazed at you. “Stay. Tell me more about you. I know your name, but I want to know who you are.”

That guarded, close-lipped smile returned to your face. “Can’t. It’s a secret.” 

“But–”

“Perhaps we’ll cross paths again someday.” You smirked, stepping out onto the wet soil. “Goodbye, Lucien Vanserra.” 

You didn’t wait for his reply as you shut the door behind you and headed off into the forest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[genericpuff]

Forgive my ignorance, but how does RS glorify sex workers?

Again I'm assuming this is referring to my recent post, that was a reblog, not my own post.

HOWEVER, I do agree with the OP that Rachel has a... skewed idea of sex work, how it works, and what risks it comes with for the people involved in it. With how it's depicted through LO, I get the sense Rachel is both uneducated on the topic and is attempting to write about it from a very privileged standpoint.

I get that's probably a loaded assumption but that's just the hunch I get. For starters, Rachel can only seem to give nymphs - the canonical lower class in LO - jobs that typucally involve them being subservient to the higher class. The most common job we see the nymph characters have is personal assistant - Echo becomes a PA to Hera, Thetis was a PA to Zeus, Minthe was a PA to Hades, and Leuce just recently applied to be a PA to Hades. The only nymph we see with a job that's adjacent to the gods is Amphitrite and we never actually get to see her do anything, she may as well just be a handbag accessory to Poseidon (which is a damn shame because she slays and I'd love to see more of her!) Even Psyche, who's turned into a goddess, is only given that gift of immortality because Zeus needs her to spy on Apollo for him. Prior to that, she spent time as a nymph who was - well, wouldn't you believe it - a servant to Aphrodite.

Now what does that have to do with the topic of sex work? Mainly, that Rachel writes these characters as if being directly subservient to a god is the best they'll ever get. And it's especially present in the original debut of Leuce, which was shown in the previous post but I'll post it here again for clarity:

Besides the fact that it's once again demonizing Demeter for zero reason (because sure why not), and besides the fact that it proves she designed Leuce as a flower nymph from the very beginning (and is now trying to retcon it because she knows she messed up, Leuce is an oceanid, not a flower nymph), this is just one of the many examples of Rachel glorifying or fetishizing the concept of being a sex worker. And being a sugar baby is adjacent to sex work (though there are debates on whether or not they are exactly the same thing, there are multiple schools of thought on it and considering I am neither a sugar baby nor a sex worker I will not share my opinion on it as my opinion isn't valid in that discussion), they're both roles that are predominantly occupied by women and involve a woman partaking in relationships - either short term or long term - for financial compensation.

The reason why I can agree that Rachel glorifies this is that she seems to be tone deaf to what life is actually like for a lot of sugar babies and sex workers. It's not just "sex for money", women are very often abused, stalked, harassed, even killed in this industry. And yet she seems to write about it as if being a sugar baby is the best thing a woman could ever dream of being because who wouldn't want to just sit around looking cute and getting paid? When in reality being a sugar baby comes with a lot more strings attached, it's not just "sitting around looking cute", it's putting yourself in the position of financial dependency on someone who you'd better hope doesn't turn out to be an abuser (and there are a LOT of people in the sugar baby sphere who do it just so they can get away with abusing women.)

It also doesn't help that Rachel writes about it as if only certain types of women are allowed to be celebrated for what they do. Persephone sits around doing nothing while her billionaire husband pays her way? She's a boss babe. Leuce got sick of Demeter and decided to just become a sugar baby in the city? It's going well for her. But then Minthe is someone who's financially tethered to a man who's regularly shown to be abusive? Well it's her fault for getting herself into it, she shouldn't have led him on like that, she's just being vapid and materialistic and she deserves to be cheated on.

I will add, though, that it's weird Rachel chose to debut Leuce in this way and is now making her out to be this vapid, dumb, delusional bimbo. Let's not forget who Leuce was in the original myths - the first wife of Hades. Rachel is so allergic to the concept of Persephone not being at the center of everything that she can't even let Hades have a life before Persephone (despite the fact that he's been alive for centuries before she was born). He dumped Minthe for Persephone, and when he called Hera by an old pet name, Persephone winds up blaming herself for being jealous and not analyzing the fact that Hades has a history of getting into emotional and physical affairs, even with his own brother's wife.

But I digress. The point is, the glorification in this case really feels like Rachel thinks being a sugar baby/sex worker is easy (it's not) and by extension thinks that lower class people should only aspire to be sugar babies/sex workers because lower class people are lazy and want money for doing "nothing" (*again, being a sugar baby or a sex worker is not easy) and only higher class women are allowed to be celebrated for wanting that and empathized with if it goes wrong - whereas if lower class people get hurt by it, welp, that's their fault for being materialistic, they should have put a ring on it and made it "real" (see: Minthe).

That's not necessarily what Rachel thinks, but that's the messaging that's apparent in her writing. It's very often pitting women against each other and making it out that only certain "types" of women are allowed to be empathized with or cheered for. And in LO's case, it's very clear what "type" of woman that is.

[cinamun]

I just got caught up and I am emotionally exhausted, the Drakes and friends are really going through it (I say this with glee). Some of the highlights for me were:

Bishop's Love Kills hoodie…

In the gif after Bishop sends the text, the animation got Jayce looking like Questlove lecturing; it don't hurt that he's thicc, too

The way Mercy called out Jackson after waking up disoriented and in pain, said too much

I howled when I saw the "He's dead" link for the previous one right under this pic with Bishop in the background; gotta give it up for environmental storytelling (we can dream).

Hope comforting Jayce by comparing their father's indiscretions

Charlie, bless his heart…

Okay, Amaya…

Damn, Mercy.

Dreams do come true~

Damn, Mercy.

Don't take it out on the child, Mercy.

Damn, Mercy.

Indya: "DJ if you're gay just say that. No need to throw us under the bus." 🤣

As soon as Charlie said that she always runs away, I started thinking, Dira can do what she wants as long as all parties are consenting, and I know she made it clear to the folks she got involved with, but I think that she should stop using people even if they want to be used. Don't be an enabler for unhealthy behavior… A lot went into the outlook she has on life now. She really wants it her way. But what is the "it"? Is it the control, is it the attention? Is she taking shit out on the wrong people? All of the above? She's drawing lines with her words but blurring them with her actions… This is not to say she can't get down with friends, but when you know they want what you don't, do everyone a favor and cut them loose. What's really going on in that child's head? And then, here you come with that scene!

Darren always running in those hard-ass soles.

I love how Darren and Indya's ways of counseling are different, but manage to fill in the blanks for the other.

Dira told Indya that she "went to bed" but, going by Charlie, looking exhausted like he really went through it, I wonder if that's the extent of it or has she lost time?

What's up with Jules offering a potential patient a drink before he learns what her vices are? It's not a date.

It's incredible that Mercy, Jayce, Eva, DJ, and Dira are all in reality's choke hold right now.

Mercy with this IDGAF attitude. I wish I could believe it was like a "finally free to be me" makeover, but it feels like she's preparing to be alone, she's pushing people away before she can be pushed.

Jayce having to a accept a whole lot of truths and being completely out of his depth with how to process it, mentally and emotionally; he's so used to knowing that he's just unsteady every step of the way through this, trying to hammer out one dent only to find that he created another.

Eva is taking a lot of this in stride because she's actively processing everything, but she's kept caring for her child front and center. Unlike her new big brother, she can't just come home and ignore her family and be forgiven for holing up in her head until she finds a modicum of clarity while her partner picks up the slack. So, she really has no choice but to keep it together. Though it doesn't hurt that she's pretty straightforward because it will save her a lot time since she'll have less BS to wade through.

Interestingly enough, DJ and Dira are in similar situations; they've both become the expectation vs reality meme. I understand their perspectives, though, kids have limited frames of reference, so if they don't copy the adults around, they are left with choosing between doing the opposite or taking a cue from elsewhere. It's obvious they both did the latter because I know the Drakes have definitely made it clear to their children that you are free to do what you like, but you have to accept the consequences as well. The twins are so much more alike than I thought they were. I don't think either one of them are wrong for wanting what they want, but they are definitely going about it in the wrong way, because any way that hurts other people (even if they stick around knowing they'll be hurt) is not the way to go.

I honestly thought I wouldn't have much to say because I feel so out of practice, but I was wrong. Thanx for still doing what you do, we're all better for it.

Also, I don't know if you know, but sometimes, just sometimes, liking your posts on cinamun.tumblr.com takes you to the top of the page.

Always a nice breakdown of events and I very much appreciate the real time reactions! There is certainly a lot to take in when it comes to Chapter 25. When it comes That Scene™, I hope that answered the questions you had about Dira choosing to be who she is and do what she wants. This is fiction, but in non-fiction real life, young girls get caught in horrible relationships, get hit with low self-esteem and even worse, all because other people's opinions have a profoud impact on their lives. Young women, especially young Black women, are scrutinized far worse for doing the most basic shit like being honest with their lovers about what they want.

That's why we needed that scene.

As for Jules, that's just who he is. He offered Darren a cigar imported from Sulani during his first visit. Its just The Doc™.

We'll be returning to those shenanigans soon enough though. Welcome back!

[fhw-unleashed]

Take a look at the FHW universe yourself during a short training session with Miles. The experienced veteran wants to help you get back to your full potential. He's been nice to you since you joined the company, a real friend so far. <3 Read it here under the cut or on AO3.

Miles in all his glory was brought to life with this picture by @westealtoys. (Still a WIP but a great one)

Don't get distracted during training

It's just training, you keep telling yourself. You've trained with Miles many times, you've felt his hands on your body as you've practiced holds. Yet you feel your pulse racing in your head every time he touches you.

Why do you notice how damn hot he is every time you look at him? Those mountains of muscle flexing under his dark skin with every move. Not as defined as in his bodybuilder days, now the curves of his muscles are softer, covered in a soft layer that your hands sink into slightly when you grab him.

Concentrate, you must concentrate. He will grab your arm and bend down so you can roll over his shoulders and counter his hold.

Grab - roll - damn it, you've gone too high, your fingers get tangled in his hairband instead of wrapping tightly around his strong neck. You slip and fall onto your back right in front of him. He gives in to the rough tugging on his hair, drops to his knees with you, and comes right on top of you.

You release your fingers, and his loose ponytail opens completely, dropping his long box braids into your face. Only now do you realize that only a few inches separate your faces. Your throat tightens, heat creeps into your cheeks, and you hope he doesn't notice that you're blushing.

Miles licks his thin lips almost imperceptibly, sending a wave of rapture through your body, and you react almost too late when he asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I got distracted for a moment, I'm sorry," you stammer embarrassedly, clearing your throat to regain the strength in your voice.

"See, that happens to the best of us," Miles says gently, giving you a teasing wink. He slowly stands and his fingers slide across your chest. The delicate touch makes you shiver, and you wonder if that was his intention. You're sure he didn't need to touch you to get up.

Distracted by the long, slightly silver interwoven hair that fall down over his strong neck muscle to his chest, you take his helpfully outstretched hand a heartbeat later than you intended. Judging by his grin, he noticed you staring at him.

With a strong tug, he pulls you to your feet, so hard that you bounce lightly against his chest before regaining your balance.

"You're putting too much pressure on yourself, just because you've been on the big stages doesn't mean you can't make mistakes," he says encouragingly.

"Do you say that to everyone or just to me? I remember you saying, 'your mistakes are other people's injuries'," you reply, unable to stop grinning like an idiot despite the important topic.

"Both are true. We have responsibilities, but we're still human. You're talented and have everything a star needs. You just need to get your confidence back. Too much pressure and perfectionism can lead to more serious mistakes than getting caught in a hair band."

You swallow as he mentions serious mistakes. Suddenly, his hand squeezes your forearm in encouragement, and you notice that neither of you let go of the other after you stood up. Is this on purpose? Maybe you wish it were, but maybe it's just his willingness to help.

You need more clarity before your flushed cheeks turn too obviously red. "If you keep being so nice and flattering, I might think you're flirting with me."

"What if I am?" He says smoothly, and your heart skips a beat in your chest. You're glad he's still holding your forearm and squeeze it tighter before the lightness in your head makes you sway.

[tparker48]

"Emil!" Amy, his girlfriend, called to him. We're just about to head out for the evening, are you sure you don't want to come?"

"Yes yes, I'm sure." He ushered away the offer, tilting his cap over his eyes to block the sun from the window. "You and your mom enjoy yourselves."

"Alright, well dad is up in his room. He should be having his shower, so he shouldn't bother ya for a while."

"Aw the old man? Why is he staying while you're out." He groaned.

"The same way you’re staying while out. So please do your best not to kill each other okay. For me?" Amy asked. She leaned close to his head and removed his cap, kissing him on the forehead before placing it back on. "I love you."

He grumbled from her affection, but smiled as he brushed through her curly hair. "I love you too." he said.

After sharing more words with each other, Amy eventually left with her mom. Leaving Emil all to himself in the living room. Taking the opportunity, he grabbed the remote and a couple of snacks as he sat upon the couch. Taking in the bliss of solitude he had to himself, all the while enjoying his shows he loved so dear. 

"Ah that's what im talking" Emil sighed, raising a slice of pizza over his mouth as he chewed at the tip.

Everything seemed to be going so well, Emil fully relaxed in the center of the couch. But in second, that would change. Digging through his stash of candy, he chewed on a twizzler until its end touched his lips. "That's a..a funny taste.."  His head felt dizzy as his mind spun around the room, his vision becoming blurry as he tried to reach for his own hand. Within seconds, he blacked out.

About an hour later, he eventually woke up.

"Ooo..my head." he groaned, barely able to get up as his body still felt numb. He opened his eyes to gaze at his surroundings, shock filling his soul when he looked to the couch he was on. The green wool stretched into the horizon, The TV standing further in the distance like the sun. 

"What happened to me!?" He yelled. He got up as he scaled the rest of the area. But stopped when the pressure in the room changed, a rush of air shaking the blinds as the sound of a door closed in the distance. 

Emil looked to the hallway when a shadow loomed over the walls, the sound of wet stomps lingering through the air the closer it got. Getting to the end of the hall, the figure came into more clarity, Emil's eyes widening to see Amy's dad enter the room. 

"What a shower that was, I feel like a new man" he announced into the room. Adjusting his towel as he walked through the living room, knotting the edge that came undone as his thigh swung over the flap. 

Emil watched from the couch as his stepdad moved along the carpet, making way towards the laundry area as he went to fetch his clothes. Watching him exit into the door frame, he went to get off the couch. Whenever he saw that oaf enter the room, problems always seemed to follow when he was around. He wobbled around the soft surface of the couch, the cushion sinking underneath his weight as he made his way to the middle. The gap between the cushions blocking his path. 

"Ah, how am Ingoing to get across this?" Emil puzzled.

"Damn it!" He heard from the laundry room, the stepdad exiting out of the frame with a set of pants and shirts in hand. Their colors darkened as their fabric was wrinkled. "I thought I told Amy to put them on most dry, now I gotta redo them!"

his stepdad threw the clothes into the mouth of the dryer, slamming it before he turned back  to the living room. Entering, Emil saw him approach, his form growing larger with each step he'd take. His mind raced on what might happen if he found him like this, he wasn't in the mood for his daily lectures, not at a time like this. He looked to the gap between the cushions as he made a decision.

"I guess I could hide a bit until Amy gets home. Anything to not bear dealing with her dad's barking." He thought. Leaning into the gap, he jumped into its maw and dug his way through the cushion. Wiggling himself inside until his entire body was hidden away from the surface. "It's not watching TV, but it couldn’t get much worse than this.

Emil curled on his side to give himself more comfort for his side, looking at the space between the cushions as light shined within the gap. But that light suddenly started to fade, stomps echoing from the outside. Puzzled, he pushed his arms into the closed gap, opening a window for himself to peek through. What he saw next, made his face grow pale. A hairy crack hurtled towards him, the towel flying behind it like a cape as it loomed closer. "Oh no no-!"

Plomp! The ass crashed in the center of the cushions, splitting the gap open as bubbled flesh forced its way through. A portion of its muscle managing to touch Emil's body inside.

"I guess I got some time to kill before they're done." The stepdad said. turning to the TV, he grabbed for the remote, but grabbed a twizzler wrapper instead. "Gah, what a mess this is." he scoffed. "I bet it's that boyfriend of hers. I swear that man always seems to push my buttons. 

He threw the wrapper to the side before leaning into the cushion. When he relaxed, he sat harder onto the couch. Meanwhile underneath, Emil’s hands held against the hairy bubbled skin. It smelled of axe soap as its scent overrode the once clear air. Its smooth surface blocking the way, gravity sending its round form against Emil’s body.

"Grk! Old man really needs to shave back here!" Emil gritted, his palms sliding across the damp strands of asshairs. Shifting his upper body toward them, he took a regretful breath before pushing into the glutes. Their center cushioning as his hand sunk inside, droplets from the crack trickling onto his face.

 "Ugh!" He groaned, lowering a hand to rub off the lingering fluid. The cheek quick to advance as it enveloped the other, swallowing Emil's arms. "Damn it! Let go!" He pried at the flesh, but they were too heavy and damp to slide through.

As he struggled to get his arm out, the stepdad above shifted in his seat. Tilting to the side, his fingers crawled their way to one of his cheeks, spreading them apart to ease the discomfort. When it opened, Emil's arm did become free, but was in a bad spot. When the cheek spread apart, the stepdad shifted forcefully on the couch, making the ass jump before landing back onto the gap. Sending Emil’s upper body half up the crack before the flesh clamped at his waist.

"Ah! I can't move!" Emil strained, flesh sandwiching him on all sides. "Gotta get..out of this!" 

He moved around the little space he had, pushing into them before they retracted with a clench. The walls were thicker than they were from the outside, they were tender, more dry as they grinded against his body. Perhaps now would be the best time to let the old man know, he thought. Groaning at the option, he proceeded to knead into the walls. They felt like he was pressing against a mattress as the surface barely cushioned beneath his hands, but he didn't let that deter him.

"Just think of getting out, just think of getting out" he chanted to himself.

"I really need to get new furniture. This couch is ticklin' at my behind.”

"It's not the couch old man! It's-"

Pfft! A sudden squeeze sent gas from above, showering Emil in a putrid smell. He coughed on its oaky scent, racing to clear his nose to block his pure air from becoming tainted. But that wouldn't stop it, for another burst raced through the crack, seeping from the hole in a low but deep hiss as water spewed from its maw.

"Aah that's better. Maybe that.will teach this couch not to tickle me" the stepdad side, tilting a leg upward as he released another. Its sound unceremoniously louder than other, it was bubbly, and messy as it made his rear bounce.

Bzzz! A sound came from the laundry room.

"Finally they're done." The stepdad said.

Getting up, he leaned into the couch as his rear took in more couch gap, jumping to his feet before he made his way to the laundry room. Unraveling his towel, he took it off to let his body bask in the cool air. Scratching his crack as the tickling feeling seemed to diminish. As he walked, he wondered where Emil would be. Amy said he was going to be here too, perhaps he went on a walk. But little did he know, her boyfriend was right there with him, ankle deep between his moon-sized glutes as they hid him away between the bushes of asshairs.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Amy and the others finally cane him from their event. Her father, fully clothed as he sat along his lounging chair.

"Hey dad, we're home." She announced to him, bags in hand as she set them upon the table.

"Good to see you are home sweet home sweet heart." He said.

"How was you and Emil's time together?" She asked "Please tell me you two didn't argue while we were gone."

"Hah! As innocent as always." He replied. "The day's been quite quiet, haven't seen him for the entirety."

"Uh..that's new. It’s unlike him to not cause a ruckus."

"Meh, why get uncomfortable with a new change of habit. Place has been rather quiet, let him have it I say." He fanned at the air before pulling up at his seat.

"Well suppose that's a plus." she replied. She grabbed her bags on the floor and made her way into her room. Typing at her phone to see if she could call him.

When she disappeared into the hallway, the stepdad wiggled his body around the cushion before he leaned back. But lifted up when something ringed between his cheeks. "This damn chair.." He scratched at it, digging his fingers into his rear before sitting back down.

[sophia-sol]

The progression of my work on my website over the last week or so, as documented on mastodon:

one

heeheehee I get to learn JAVASCRIPT now via the method of just diving right in there! (aka. downloading the zonelets starter pack to use for formatting my website, and digging into the script to see what I want to change!)

awww opening the zonelets css stylesheet and it feels so comfortably familiar! I love how much work I put into understanding css, via creating an ao3 personal theme!

also, seeing how these files all work together, the javascript and css and html, I understand the relationship between what you do with each of them far more. It makes sense to me now! the structure of building a site!

two

I'm learning things about filezilla…I'm learning things about website structures….I'm learning how bad ao3's html download files are.

three

I have one entire fic posted to my website! YESSSS!

I'm doing my best to divorce from ao3 my sense of what structure and language I should be using in the various preamble that goes with a given fic. I don't need to use the same categories of data, and I don't need to call things the same thing! and I don't even need to have the same sections on every fic if I don't want to, if something isn't relevant for that fic!!

four

I made one entire change to the javascript for my site, and it WORKED, I am so powerful 💪

five

I'm just so emotional about the people of the smallweb who code their little projects and then give them away freely - with instructions! - so that others of us can build our own little projects! My website, the main site and the linkding instance, couldn't be what it is without the help of many people, friends and strangers! 🥹

six

I keep going to my website and shrieking a bit internally. it looks like a website!!!

seven

for most programs, there's not enough customization, I can't make it behave in ways that are useful to me, and it's endlessly irritating

visual studio code: I got u bro

I'm actually intimidated by the notion of scrolling through all the customization options of vsc, damn!

eight

look how many fics I have posted on my website now!

this listing page still has some tweaking to do for maximum clarity of reading/skimming over the info, but this is still great progress!

I am a firm believer of the web design principle of "if people have to focus to figure out how to find the info they're looking for, the problem is with the design rather than the user" and I'm not out of the woods yet

nine

OKAY I think I've got my fandom list page looking a lot more clear now, via tweaking my use of whitespace! hooray!

ten

oh my god. I just realized. the "zap colours" and "zap stylesheets" bookmarklets I use semiregularly are…..snippets of code. that I now know approximately how to read! and could edit to get slightly different results, if I wanted to!!

the world opens up to you, when you learn things about coding!

eleven

things I want to add to my website:

theme-picker, so people who do better with dark mode etc can still comfortably browse my site

comments on fanwork pages and blog pages

table of contents on fic pages so you can easily jump down to the section you want to

all the rest of my fanworks - 12 fics are up but that's not nearly everything!

BIRD SHRINE.

and all of this is very doable! so exciting.

twelve

omg I submitted a feature request to linkding and LATER THE SAME DAY a fix is committed:

between this and the default guest profile stuff I am soooo excited for the next linkding release

thirteen

I've started to write up a podcast recs page for my website because I figured that would be cool content to have. but I forgot. how wordy I can be. and HOW many podcasts I listen to.

my original plan was just a list of podcasts. my second plan was to include a sentence or two about each one, as context.

my current document has multiple paragraphs per podcast. most podcast descriptions are between 150-200 words each. and I have so many podcasts to go!

fourteen

my list of fanworks by vibe is now posted to my site!

also posted: just my faves of my fanfics!

and a history of the fandoms I've been in!

fifteen

…and the next linkding release is OUT NOW. today! hot damn. ok. ok. I am not prepared, it's usually not this quick between releases!

I hope I have time soon to dig into this and get my instance updated!!

[all-lars-bars]

Notes for Submas in Rapture so I can empty my brain

Ingo and Emmet with their passion for trains went down to Rapture with their employer Prentice Mill. They both helped blueprint, engineer, and manage the Atlantic Express trains and railways.

When the Express was sold off, the twins went with it, and despite their attempts at contacting their now former employer to convince him otherwise, they never hear from Mill again.

Around the same time Johnny Topside was hoppin around Rapture, the twins, namely Ingo are put under some scrutiny and allegations, I don't really know what but something bad enough that Ingo got sent to Persephone. Because someone's gotta suffer, right.

Anyway, in his brother's absence, Emmet does his damndest to keep the Atlantic Express running in spite of all the splicers and the literal Civil War going on. But eventually he's chased away

Maybe he joins Atlas's revolution bc hey, what does he have to lose at this point, but eh, it doesn't sit right with me. Then again, that could be how Emmet feels about it too. It just generally doesn't settle well with him, but if there's a way to stick it to Andrew Ryam he'll take it.

Back to Ingo, I imagine he meets a similar fate to Topside, Plasmid Test Dummy turned Alpha Series and bonded to a single Little Sister

And that Little Sister is Akari in my mind. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am a sucker for Pokemon Legends Arceus. And also a sucker for Uncle/Papa Ingo dynamics

I have this scene in my mind where Ingo and Akari are out harvesting ADAM when Emmet sees them and watches them for a bit before realizing this Big Daddy has his brother's mannerisms. It even sounds like a train instead of a whale like the rest (which is also 'cause Ingo's too loud for the BD voicebox so he fucked that up).

Anyways, Emmet immediately makes an assumption and tries to go to Ingo. However, he's still a Big Daddy, one bonded to this little girl.

In my mind, Akari is a special case as a Little Sis, as she's full of curiousity which in the ADAM tainted state of mind means she doesn't see a threat until it hits her and Ingo doesn't hurt anything unless Akari tells him to. Neither of them like it when people get too close though, even if they don't see it as a threat

That is to say Emmet gets pretty damn close before he's pulled away by some of his braver allies. All the while begging for his brother.

Neither Akari or Ingo really hear him, not in their states of mind. But they can see his emotion.

"Who was that, Papa?" Ingo lets out a low whistle. "He looked lonely." Another, higher whistle in agreement. "Maybe the next time we see him, we should say hi! I think he'd like that!" He sighs so softly.

I'd like that too

Back to the storyline, I like to think that Ingo and Akari find Jack after he fell through the vents in an escape from Fontaine, helping Tenenbaum and the other little girls bring him to the Sanctuary

Ingo, seeing all the little girls just being little girls has a moment of clarity, some light through the fog of his mind.

He doesn't want Akari to spend the rest of her life in Rapture.

So he leaves her with Tenenbaum and leaves, both the cure and separation causing him to go into a coma.

The last thing he gives Akari is a hat they had found on their travels that she had him try on. It's a bit big on her head, but she'll grow into it.

Then his little girl is cured and rescued.

Until more little girls go missing around the world and Tenenbaum goes back down to rapture.

Over the eight years of surface life, Akari has been raised by her Uncle Jack and Aunt Brigid, always remembering her dear Papa. She shows interest in the scientific field, so when she's old enough she begins working as an apprentice under her Aunt, learning everything the good doctor does and doesn't teach her

Thanks to her "pursuit of science" mindset she can handle large amounts of grotesque scenery and gore. She has even thought about specializing in Forensic Sciences when she gets the chance

Back to the return, although Tenenbaum insists Akari stays behind, the young girl manages to sneak onto the submersible and didn't get caught until they both had to flee from Splicers

After some reprimanding, Akari stayed with Tenenbaum and their rescued little sisters until Eleanor and Delta come along

Watching her Aunt bring an Alpha Series back to life, it gave the girl hope for her dad

So through more mischief and stubborness, she ends up tagging along with Delta and Sinclair (she calls him Gus, much to his disdain) to head to Persephone. Or in her case, simply to Fontaine Futuristics. If there's anywhere a comatose Alpha Series could be, it's there

At some point, they find Emmet, tug him along, ya know. 'Course, Akari hasn't told him who she is, but she doesn't think that's the best thing to share at the moment

Soon enough they get abducted by Lamb, escape, rescue Ingo and Gus, get outta Rapture via lifeboat and dozens of children, and all live happy on the surface

[ygodmyy20]

Ramblings about Separate Ways Arc

I am rewatching Mob Psycho 100 with my fiancée right now and wow, Separate Ways Arc was tough before but rewatching it was way harder.

I didn't really like Reigen much on the first watch through haha Until the end of season 2 that is. I was 100% with Ritsu. I thought "This guy is an asshole, how can he use someone like Mob like that?? Fuck him, I don't like him." I hate seeing a character get used by another—it reminds me too much of myself. So I had a weird satisfaction with Reigen digging his hole the first time I watched, like a character getting what was coming to them.

I was happy to see Reigen get dragged through the mud.

But then, I got to know Reigen's character more as the series went on. And after rewatching the start of the season and getting to this point, I was picking up so much more of Reigen's unsaid feelings, about himself, about Mob. I was seeing the little insecurities more, in different ways he was animated (even when over the top), in his dialogue, in just the framing of shots. God damn this show and all the little things it sprinkles in to add clarity and color to a character.

What I didn't expect on this rewatch, was feeling so sad watching these two episodes. All of his over the top antics, everything just made me...

really really sad.

Knowing that we're going to go from here...

to here...

God I just, I really get why people like him so much haha The separation arc rings so much more beautifully after I know where we end up. Reigen fucked up. Reigen said some bad shit. Reigen hurt the people he cares about, but in the end, Reigen cares so much, and his failure is like beautiful little vignette.

Shigeo is still my favorite character, and I love his arc above all else. But I am falling in love with Reigen's growth this second time around.

Even the monster of the week episode at the start of season 2, where he starts to really think about Mob and what his needs are, I felt myself being pulled into his character more than ever before. He had to be thinking about all that stuff when he says those awful things to Mob. Deep down he knew that Mob was struggling and trying to change, and he both wanted to embrace that because he knows it's right but also fears it because he is lonely.

God damnit Reigen. You and your...Reigen-ness. Making me feel shit.

ALSO I have been meaning to do little posts/thoughts as I rewatch with my partner. The Mogami Arc needs it's own post too, same with season 1 haha But maybe I can just start here, I dunno.

(I actually gave my partner a trigger warning before going into Mogami arc which I am glad I did that one was hard for him to watch)

[faceofpoe]

For the ask -- 22, 23, 30

Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

Ooh. What to choose, what to choose...

From The Thing Itself part 4:

“No training lasers in here,” Hochek said softly at his side. “Let’s see what you’ve really got.”

Cassian stared at him for a long moment. Looked at the blaster in his hand, the empty holster on the major’s hip where the sidearm usually rested, and felt the briefest, vicious pull. So close he’d hardly need to aim. The fantasy of walking alone from this room, dead officer in his wake, seeing how far he could get before someone noticed him, taking as many down with him as he could manage.

There was a test in it, and rage swelled inside him. He turned and fired three shots in quick succession at the nearest three targets. A display appeared on the barrier marking the firing position, noting his scores. Good, not great, hitting them solidly but well shy of center mass.

“You’re overcompensating; expecting a harder kick, used to a heavier weapon.”

“I’ve been in a cage since I was thirteen,” Cassian bit out, straightening his posture and firing at the next three targets. “I’m not used to anything.” Clem’s old Bryar out at the junkyard, learning how to cycle the barrel and ‘Don’t tell Maarva’ and -

“Breathe in and sight; count on the exhale and fire on three.” The last of his next three hit dead center. “Good.” And softer: “Someone taught you well.” Hochek didn’t flinch, didn’t move in the slightest when the barrel of the pistol was aimed straight at his face a split second later. “But you’re not a killer, are you?”

The visible trembling of his hand, the damp tracks on his cheeks, only stoked the embers further. “What difference does it make?” His voice at least was steady. “You didn’t bring us here to kill, you brought us here to die.”

Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

Okay this was hard but finally settled on a piece from Clarity of Purpose. Part 4.

Organa laughs, open and delighted. “A wiser man than me. You have me at the advantage, but perhaps that’s to be expected.” Luthen runs renewed equations on how much is worth the risk divulging here and now, and wonders if he dares tell the man that they’ve been in a room together before. “In truth,” the senator muses before Luthen can make up his mind, “the regrettable incident on Miser – and, if you don’t already know, the ISB has made the ID – it came quick on the heels of a very great loss, the type that… rather shakes one’s faith in the purpose of it all.” He frowns down at his desk, lets the great weight of his troubles show through, just for a moment. “I suppose I was inclined to find some sign in it. And some conversations… demand directness, and damn the risk.”

This whole chapter was challenging for all scenes involving Luthen because he cycles through nerves, relief, shock, hope (dare I say even optimism??), and self-reflection and feels, and none of these come easy to tackle for the grumpy son-of-a-bitch LOL.

But I'm a little obsessed with the eps 11-12 unraveling of Luthen in the wake of Lonni's news and his desperation to find Cassian, and so it was fun to play with another series of events that shake him out of taciturn and uncompromising spy mode. This one was esp hard because finding Bail at the center of this web he's been chasing down was more important than the whole drawn-out convo that assuredly ensued, and so on the one hand we have legitimately shocked Luthen and on the other needing to do justice to Bail's short appearance and dialogue to get the point across without dragging the scene into territory that wasn't really necessary for the point of the fic.

Am happy enough with it but a bit...hm. Like - I want more, I just think it belongs to another (unwritten) fic.

What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

Been on a little writing break from Tether this past week, with plans to tackle the Yavin-Scarif leg of the story in the new year.

Have a small Mon Mothma project very slowly in the works, would like to give that the focus it deserves.

on something of a mission with a friend to go a little crackfic with some Cassian/Kleya LOL, so maybe that if I can find a fun premise to launch from.

In general: brain still consumed by Andor obviously. Just got the new Rebellion sourcebook so I'll be mining that for inspiration.

[raysources]

𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒     —     a collection of one - liners taken from the soundtrack of the 2015 broadway musical, school of rock.   slightly edited for clarity.   change pronouns as necessary.  

just wait and see!

let 'em laugh.

i know my time is comin'.

no one'll call me a loser again!

try to walk as if you're going somewhere.

the pressure's on for you and me.

don't, and it will mean i go ballistic.

good luck, have fun!

just like the good old days!

you've always been a dreamer.

give up your dreams.

your dreams are lame and weak.

we ought to cut the bull and just get real.

give up your dreams, and get a freakin' job.

join the grown - up world like us.

quickly, don't let anybody see you!

how come you never told me you could play music?

you ever play electric guitar?

let's waste that time together, shall we?

you're in the band!

don't forget to emote!

i only play classical.

that's good. for my grandma. who's, uh, dead.

i still don't have a job.

is that something you could swing?

i'm putting you in charge of the whole damn thing!

i pledge allegiance to the band.

if you're in raise your hand!

you never let me get in a word.

no matter what it is that i do, it's like i just can't seem to get through.

i've got so much to say.

still, you never listen.

can't you see i'm hurting?

i promise, one day i'll make you hear.

i'm not the kid you want me to be.

you just don't wanna see the real me.

you just keep shutting me out.

i'm not gonna beg you — you'll never see a tear.

the legend of the rent was way past due.

how can you kick me out of what is mine?

you're not hardcore unless you live hardcore.

what it all can mean is quite confounding.

the children all like him more than us.

who knows what he does but god, it works!

maybe we too could do some good.

there's been one solution since the world began : don't just sit and take it, stick it to the man!

get all of your aggression out.

stick it to the man!

go off the script, do what you like.

they hate it, they can take a hike.

why live your life to someone else's plan?

crank the amps to 17!

don't just sit and take it, stick it to the man!

show 'em what rebellion means!

why march to someone else's caravan?

there's no way you can stop the school of rock!

i'm in charge!

go punk, or start packing.

it's time to play!

come on, this isn't hard!

make sure he remembers, or i'm breaking both your necks.

we don't have time to waste while you try to find some taste!

i can still remember how the music used to be.

where do last year's one - hit - wonders go to?

what happened to the girl i was?

guess the songs kept playing, but i didn't stop to hear.

where's the joy i used to know, way back when?

sorry for the outburst.

let's keep this our secret, who'd believe it anyway?

thanks for the reminder that there's music in me yet.

if you flip the record and start over, does it sound the way it did before?

he can barely read!

i promise you, i can read!

we're gonna sue!

his ass belongs in jail!

i'm a loser, okay?

i used you.

worst of all, i wasted your time.

i thought nobody could, but you, you understood.

you raised my voice up, taught me not to fear.

i've learned who i am because you're here.

school won't be the same without you here.

now that i've found you, you can't just disappear.

you've taught me so much since you've been here.

two and two make five!

rock got no reason, rock got no rhyme.

i've been biting my tongue too many times.

today's assignment : kick some ass!

[soulhum]

The Girl That Never Got to Be Wednesday

   I'm sobbing, 12:43am...I need sleep. Lord knows my chronically ill body needs the rest but I'm restless and scrolling through social media only to see the last pebble, needed to crack my damn of grief, drop into place. A beautiful boy, elegantly dressed in an all black gown, relaxing his face, gazing with unblinking eyes as he pays respects to Jenna Ortega's remarkably choreographed dance as Wednesday Addams. Tears had enough of my stubbornness...inattentiveness to them, so they rolled and dragged along clarity. 

   For the last 48 hours, at least, I've been watching the internet aflame with videos of people dancing as Wednesday, a character that is so heavily autistic-coded even my high masking, late-diagnosed, self could feel it immediately. In these videos, so many interpretations, with each one thousands of people responding with celebration of the beauty within all the Wednesday-ness. Don't get me wrong, I'm aware there's many factors at play for this show, and that scene of her dancing, being celebrated this loudly. It's shot pristinely. The cinematography of that scene, the lighting, the editing being just enough to keep our eyes on her and feel like we're in the room. It's coming to me now how even that was guided by an autistic hand, Tim Burton's, framing this gem with a resonating eye. Then at centerstage - is Wednesday in all her blatant autistic being...mesmerizing us. The beauty of her oddity, palpable. Now the internet is on fire, millions inspired by her. Thousands swaying as she did, gazing as she had, calling it wonderful and that breaks my heart...    It was never safe for me to be like Wednesday, but at my core, in my most unmasked state, I am so viscerally like her. There are some differences. My cocktail of neurodivergence is precisely that, a blend. I also have ADHD. My visual fixations lean more towards prints and color. Black is more of an accent color to me or an occasional statement piece (a lá little black dress). My special interests don't include death, torture, or any of their friends. I could go on, in very overly detailed autistic fashion, but as an ADHD'er I will spare you. My point is, there's a substantial portion of her ways of being that I am like, but had to hide for survival. Depending which -isms were at play, who I am got various names: Cold/Coldhearted. Robot. Manly. Man-eater. Rude. Stuck-up. Know it all. Difficult. Selfish. Did I mention cold? That was a big one. 

   My Blackness. My Woman or Girl-ness. My ever-hyper-sexualized Latina-ness. My introverted-ness. My undiagnosed and therefore unaccommodated yet still very neurodivergent-ness. My child of an immigrant-ness. My surviving violence at home-ness. Fragments of my story all bobbed and weaved together into an easily found target on my back. There was no more room for difference from me. I was already too far removed from our society's most protected center-- white,rich,male. Behaving as my fullest self, autistic-ADHD flare and all, meant one more step out of line. I did just that for quite some time, but I learned to stop young enough that I now live with the health consequences of longterm high-masking. None of my other qualities were editable. The presentation of my neurodivergence was. So my inner "Wednesday" took one for the team.    There's flickers of my core still. There's pieces of me I never hushed or fully hid, but I wish she-- I was all here....Wish I didn’t have to dig myself back up. I wonder how I would have evolved, how much physically healthier I'd be, how much lighter I'd feel, had this world been safe enough for me to be my own complex, mesmerizing, oddity as this fictional world shapes up to be for our beloved Wednesday Addams. I wish more people were kind and accepting, let alone celebratory, of autistic people off-screen who don't dance to pleasantry demands, who look intently, who care deeply but express it in varying ways. I wish endlessly... as I hold in my body the ramifications of vicious social realities, and watch the world cheer on a girl who embodies the most rejected parts of myself.