#not a drop of resentment. an absolute king

[kanerallels]

Just met Quincey P. Morris and it's ALREADY time to break out the "if anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in this room" meme

[vivelegalite]

dear dead boy detective (especially paynland) enjoyers: have you yet heard of the biggest gift bestowed upon the fandom so far, aka jayden's charles playlist? the one he mentioned in interviews? well, he dropped it on twitter at 19th of may. and man, do i have stuff to say about it.

there's a lot of 80's bangers, for sure, great to get into the mood and character, but some of the choices...

i'm gonna focus on a few of my favourites, songs that made me go insane when i saw them. honorable mentions: - category 1 (so devoted the lines blur): ain't no mountain high enough by marvin gaye and tammi terrell, there is a light that never goes out by the smiths, inkpot gods by the amazing devil - category 2 (family life): family line and summer child by conan gray, seventeen going under by sam fender, matilda by harry styles, father by the front bottoms - category 3 (being queer in the 80s): smalltown boy by bronski beat, boys don't cry by the cure - category 4 (there's no heterosexual explanation for this one): good luck, babe! by chappel roan, yellow by coldplay, fight or flight by conan gray (is this about monty? the cat king? i need answers!), the prophecy by taylor swift, arms tonite by mother mother, sweet by cigarettes after sex, head over heels by tears for fears

this list is by no means complete or comprehensive!

and now, the songs that made me go the craziest: (they're predominantly in charles' pov as it's his playlist)

found heaven by conan gray

the only reason this song made it into the list and not the honorable mentions instead of smalltown boy is that it makes almost the same point, just so much more explicitly. i don't think i have to say much about it, it's a story of a young person griping with their queerness, being forced to leave home, a common theme of the playlist. "you're in love, you found heaven" when he chose edwin over his own afterlife, heavily implied to be heaven, and built his heaven with him on the mortal plane? ouch! (and we see this same notion repeated in another bop from the playlist, heaven is a place on earth by belinda carlisle).

2. like real people do by hozier

"i miss kissing" charles rowland, 202X romantic meaning aside, the verses show a sort of a common understanding the boys have around the manner of their deaths and their lives before it. we already know from the show they don't really talk about it, with edwin not knowing about the severity of the abuse charles suffered. it feels like one of them saying "let the past be past, we're together now, yeah?". but also, jayden: can there ever be a platonic explanation for this? ghosts can't touch, can't feel, so they wish they could just kiss like "real" (alive?) people do?

3. flaws by bastille

not the most romantic song, but i absolutely love how well it fits their dynamic. despite his edwardian brand of repression, edwin truly is the one that's more open about his feelings (recognising of course that in this case, the bar is so low it's in hell. haha, get it). edwin has worn his flaws upon his sleeve, and charles has held them buried - eg. bottling up all of his anger and resentment towards his family and his own death. the song presents a very sweet outlook, in which their flaws are brought up to the surface (for example, charles' outburst against the night nurse in episode 4), but they learn to accept them as they are, an extension of themselves.

4. a pearl by mitski

you know it's gonna get intense if there's a mitski song in the mix.

the song is about a person who finds love in their partner, someone who treats them way better than they've ever been treated - and yet they cannot bring themselves to reciprocate the affection ("it's not that i don't want you, sorry i can't take your touch") despite reciprocating the feelings themselves because of the trauma. charles is known to bottle things up ("you're growing tired of me and all the things i don't talk about"). the person in the song recognises the love the other person holds for them ("you love me so hard and i still can't sleep"), which reminds me of charles' response to edwin's confession. not a "no", but a "maybe, as time passes".

5. fair by the amazing devil

this one made me genuinely gasp when i first delved into the lyrics. it's simply so sweet, such a genuine and domestic portrayal of love. at first i thought it was way too open about being a love song (normal text instead of the subtext i'd be used to) for jayden to choose it with edwin in mind, but... there's no one else it can really be about. it's far too domestic, too "established" to refer to crystal. refers to a relationship that's laster for a longer while.

the narrator in the first verse is a person deeply in love with the other person, someone who loves to make his lover laugh and simply drinks in their presence. the "he" in the song i believe is charles, while the "she" refers to edwin. edwin promises to fight off anyone - or any feelings pulling charles down (we can see this in the first episode: "you ever think... what if death did catch us? she'd force us to go to the afterlife and split up" "i will make sure this never happens."). charles feels left behind by the world (seeing as he clings to crystal at first, refering to her as "someone their age who's still alive") and believes edwin to be so much stronger than he's ever been. i'm not going to break down the song verse by verse, but if you read it yourself while subbing out "he" for charles and "she" for edwin you'll see just how sweet (and... strangely very in character?) the song is.

6. work song by hozier

if the previous song made me gasp when i saw the lyrics, this one made me go "NO WAY" out loud when i saw the title. the first one verse is just pure toothrotting sweetness, but the chorus is what i want to draw attention to:

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold, dark earth no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

HELLO? charles, who keeps escaping death and afterlife to be able to stay with edwin? charles, as he literally takes his last breath with edwin right there, choosing to be by his side rather than move on? charles, who keeps choosing him despite night nurse's promises and threats? charles, who literally crawled through hell for him?

verse 2, to me, can be interpreted as referring to when charles died. edwin found him at his worst, and he "woke" up with his presence comforting him. he was shivering due to hypothermia and his injuries. edwin didn't ask him about what happened or pushed him, he simply listened. the lines "i didn't care much how long i lived, but I swear, i thought i dreamed her" are pretty self explanatory.

in verse 3 we still see the same attitude of "damn the afterlife, at least we have each other" as charles portrays througout the series. they're free, and heaven and hell are simply words to him.

7. orpheus by vincent lima

i literally have no words for this one. it fits too well. if you want commentary for this one, just... i don't know, rewatch the staircase scene.

8. francesca by hozier

(cracks knuckles) this is the big one. the album francesca is from, unreal unearth, is based on dante alighieri's divine comedy, a fourteenth century poem about a man venturing into hell, purgatory and eventually heaven. the eponymous francesca is one francesca di rimini, a woman who was politically married off to a man older than her, called giovanni malatesta. francesca didn't love him, and eventually fell deep in love with giovanni's younger brother, paolo. the two carried on with the affair for years, before being murdered by giovanni upon his finding out. francesca and paolo are mentioned in canto v of the first book, inferno, as two souls damned in the second circle of hell, lust. their punishment is to be permanently locked in a hurricane, swept away by the winds the moment they manage to get close enough to touch one another.

as opposed to their portrayal in the poem, the song is from the perspective of paolo, explaining that no matter the punishment, he wouldn't change anything about his life because he got to know, and love, francesca.

the first verse brings to mind the scenes in hell, especially on the staircase ("do you think I'd give up? that this might've shook the love from me? or that I was on the brink? how could you think, darlin', i'd scare so easily?" as an echo of charles' "sorry. no version of this where i didn't come get you"). "my life was a storm since i was born, how could i fear any hurricane?" could relate to charles' tumultuous family life, an assurance that nothing he has to deal with while by edwin's side will faze him given the things he's lived through. no, despite everything he's suffered through, charles wouldn't do anything differently - because his (admittedly shitty) life led him to edwin ("i'd tell them, put me back in"). we already know charles would choose him over heaven, willingly sacrificing his own afterlife to stay with a boy he's known for hours, someone kind enough to keep him company as he drew his final breath. all of it - his father's abuse, his schoolmates' bigotry, the pain of his own death, as well as everything he's gone through since - he'd do it all again, for edwin.

"for all that was said of where we'd end up at the end of it" could be taken as an allusion to the fate the boys would meet at "at the end of it", when they're finally caught by death and separated, or as more of a general "if you sin, you will go to hell when you die" (up to you to decide what the sin itself would be - an interpretation that would work with other songs on the playlist is that one such sin would be same sex attraction). then their hearts ceased, they never knew "peace", nor did they want to find it in death. their deaths were too soon, them being ripped away from life, but even though it would break his heart: charles would ask to do it all again.

the outro, i think, beautifully pulls it all together: heaven is not fit to house a love like theirs.

to wrap it all up:

jayden, what were you cooking in there? what do you know??

[flametrashiraarchive]

hi may I ask for

pussy drunk muzan please♡

Alright, look... I'm absolute trash for Muzan at the moment. I already thought he was hot and then that last Swordsmith Village episode just... ugh... I love him.

Anyway, I couldn't resist answering this right away. I've also done headcanons for human Muzan and demon Muzan because I'm a hussy for him.

NSFW below the cut.

He may be wealthy, but Muzan's life is far from comfortable. He hurts; he's angry, frustrated, he resents the world. Physical activity is hard on his body but the man still has needs.

Human Muzan

You enter his room when summoned, hopeful that the doctor has given him good news this time.

"Of course not. That fraud only deals in disappointments."

"I'm sorry..."

"Keep your worthless pity. Just... come here."

You approach his futon and gently take his extended hand. His grip is weak and unsteady. "Yes my lord?"

He arches an eyebrow, knowing that you're aware of what he wants.

So you get into position, lying sideways across the top of his futon so your hip is resting where he would lay his head. You lift your skirt and open your legs so he can rest his head on your inner thigh as he lies on his side.

Muzan doesn't speak a word. He doesn't praise you, doesn't thank you. He just inches his head closer and begins to lick your pussy.

You bite your lip to keep from crying out. If you make too much noise he'll scold you and stop, so you do all you can to remain silent. Muzan Kibutsuji is the only man you've ever met who eats your pussy solely for his pleasure.

He tongues your hole, lapping at your essence as if it could cure him, his deep groans vibrating through you as he feasts. And when he's licked up every drop, only then does he turn his attention to your clit, slowly circling it with his tongue, enjoying the way it swells from his attention, stopping when he feels you're wet enough again and turning his attention back to your cunt.

He goes back and forth between the two motions, taking you to the edge of ecstasy again and again until you cum. His long, dark hair splays across your thighs as he fucks you with his tongue and palms his cock. He strokes himself slowly, setting a pace which isn't too strenuous for him, and all the while he continues licking your overstimulated clit in those long, slow circles, making your muscles tighten with every torturous lap.

He keeps going, his groans getting louder as he makes you cum once more and he keeps on stroking his cock.

"Mm-more," he moans, his deep, commanding voice cracking with desperation. "Nghh... give it... to me."

His composure breaks entirely as he shudders through his orgasm, his eyes squeezed shut as he sucks your clit, tonguing it to get you off one last time.

The doctors confirmed long ago that Muzan cannot produce heirs, but that doesn't stop him from fingering his cum into your pussy, making sure you take in every last drop of it before he lifts his head and says flatly. "I'm finished. You may leave."

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

Demon Muzan.

Muzan appears accompanied by the sudden strum of a biwa, standing behind his work desk. "Get over here. Assume the position."

Thick veins throb in his forehead and his crimson eyes are murderous.

Either the upper moons have pissed him off again, or his latest experiment to reproduce the blue spider lily potion has gone awry. And when he's in a rage like this only one thing that can calm him.

You climb onto his desk on your hands and knees and put your chest down, sticking your ass in the air toward him.

"See? My requests are so simple and yet you are the only one who seems capable of obeying them." He slides a finger down your slit, spreading your growing wetness. "You bow for your king as you should."

"Because I-"

"Silence."

A low, primal growl rolls from the depths of his chest as he leans forward until his face is no more than an inch from your pussy. And then he inhales.

That's all the warning you get before he drags his tongue slowly from your clit down to your hole with a deep groan.

"Oh, you never disappoint me," he whispers, though whether he's speaking to you or that specific part of you, you aren't certain.

He starts with small, fluttering licks, teasing your sensitive flesh with the tip of his tongue. But before long he can't hold back, and his licks become frantic and sloppy, devouring you with fervent hunger.

Outside of this room he appears cold, calculating, elegant and distinguished, but you bring out an all together different sort of beast.

"Muzan!" You bite your knuckles to keep from crying out and incurring his wrath.

He grips the backs of your thighs and parts your folds with his thumbs, pushing his tongue deeper into you. His wanton moans fill the room as he drags his tongue over your flesh again and again. You can't hold back from crying out in pleasure as you cum, your pussy throbbing with ecstasy as he continues eating you.

As a demon, he has the strength to fuck you like he always wished he could as a human. At the sound of your desperate cry, the last remnant of his restraint snaps. He stands, licking your essence from his lips as he thrusts his cock inside you, shivering at the sensation before he starts to pump his hips back and forth.

His elegant fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place, burying himself to the hilt inside you and fucking you with short, fast thrusts, keeping your cunt stuffed full of him.

"Oh... oh... yes..." he grunts beneath his breath.

He pulls out only to push two fingers into you, pumping them back and forth before he takes them out again and stuffs his cock back in. And as he fucks you harder, faster, he brings those fingers to his mouth and sucks the taste of you from them.

That's enough to send him over the edge; your exquisite taste accompanied by the sensation of your needy cunt squeezing his cock. His back arches as he cums, baring his teeth as he fills you.

His breath is hot and heavy as his lips graze your shoulder blades.

"Such a good and obedient servant," he whispers, his hair falling over his brow.

And then he straightens his back, regains his composure, and disappears once more, accompanied by the strum of a biwa.

[pathologicalreid]

hello my new favorite tumblr writer 😇 i will b honest i have never requested anything before so!! bear with me. however the spencer reid brainrot is all too real SO would you be open to doing anything with a hotchner!fem!reader? bau or not for the reader! something something hotch is very hesitant about their relationship but maybe reader gets caught in the crossfire of something and hotch and prentiss see them together afterward and prentiss is like “that looks pretty real to me.” DOES THAT MAKE ANY SENSE OKAY I’M LEAVING NOW THANK YOUUUU 🫡

a father's daughter | S.R.

in which your father doesn't approve of your relationship, but who knows how he'll react when reid jumps into action after a threat against your life

who? spencer reid x hotchner!fem!bau!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, blood, stitches, hospitals, medical inaccuracy word count: 2.03k a/n: anon you are legendary. this is an incredible request and i am so honored to be your new favorite tumblr writer! i am an absolute sucker for anything hotchner!reader (or rossi!reader) so i absolutely ate this request up! (also if anyone wanted to drop a request in my inbox... it would be welcome)

Aaron Hotchner was the most professional person in the BAU, except when it came to you. You, like him, had gone to law school. You were a public defender for just a short time before being put into WITSEC, and when your mother died, you applied to the FBI Academy.

Plain and short, it was nepotism, but no one was going to argue with the man whose wife was murdered by a serial killer. Your dad wanted you in the BAU so he could keep an eye on you, and there was nothing Erin Strauss could do about it. What your father couldn’t control, was your relationship with Reid.

He could tell you that he didn’t approve, but so long as David Rossi, king of inter-bureau mingling, was around, he couldn’t actually do anything to stop you. “I’m just saying that I’ve never seen Reid be consistent with a relationship,” your dad said, having pulled you away from the team to, once again, try to warn you off of your relationship.

“He’s been pretty consistent for the last seven months,” you responded, rifling through the victims' files that were in your arms.

You started to make your way out of the empty office when your father spoke again, “And he’s too old for you.”

Stopping in your tracks, you pivoted and faced your father, “He’s three years older than I am, I’m twenty-six. That’s hardly an age gap to bat an eye at.” The two of you had always had a rocky relationship, he missed a large portion of your childhood due to this job and you always tried to not resent him for it.

Your parents’ marriage fell apart, neither of them handled it well, and you weren’t all that surprised. They had gotten married when your mom got pregnant with you because they thought that was what they were supposed to do, and when Jack couldn’t keep them together, everything fell apart.

“You have no right to lecture me on relationships, Agent Hotchner,” you snapped, staring him down. Daring him to challenge you.

He sighed, obviously trying not to lose his patience with you. “I’d just hate for you to find out you wasted your time on something that wasn’t real.”

The door behind you swung open, you spun on your heels to face Emily. “Sorry, uh, we have a location, Morgan’s coordinating with SWAT,” she said, looking between you and your father.

“Great, let’s go,” your father said, his parental demeanor falling away as his Unit Chief mask took its place.

You walked out the door to see the rest of the team, Rossi tossed you a Kevlar vest as you walked over to where Spencer was standing with the police chief, “Where are we headed?” You asked, undoing the Velcro on the vest and pulling it over your torso. The beige precinct was buzzing as agents and officers prepared to break into the UnSub’s home base. Hopefully to find his most recent victim still alive.

Reid reached over and adjusted the strap of your vest, making sure it was evenly tightened over your shoulders. “Garcia found a warehouse on the other side of town. It’s being rented out under an anagram of the first victim’s name,” he said, gently squeezing your arm before dropping his hands back to his side.

Nodding, you followed the rest of the team out the metal doors of the precinct and into the black SUVs. “Your UnSub’s name is Jonas Watts, he used a different name to rent the space but the account he uses to pay for it is under his name,” Garcia’s voice rang through the speaker as she told you about the perpetrator. “He checks every UnSub box we have, raised by a single father after his mother left, and… oh, multiple arrests for assault.”

You looked up to the driver’s seat, your dad was white-knuckling the steering wheel, entirely focused on driving as you listened to Garcia reciting the UnSub’s rap sheet.

When you arrived at the warehouse SWAT was already there and Morgan started organizing the tactical assault. Drawing your weapon, you nodded at your teammate when he instructed you to go around the back with himself and your father. Allowing Morgan to kick the door down, the three of you held your firearms up and began clearing the warehouse.

Further away, you heard Emily and Spencer clearing the front. “Clear, moving up,” you called into your radio as you approached the stairs, stepping on them carefully so they didn’t creak. On the landing, you looked at a trail of blood on the ground. “There’s a blood trail in the upper west wing,” you whispered.

“Move up, little Hotch, I’m right behind you,” Morgan responded.

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, one that you had begged him to stop using, you moved forward, keeping your firearm aimed right in front of you. Turning into the room that the blood trail led to, you immediately ducked when you saw a knife coming for you. Keeping your gun aimed, you faced down the UnSub, “Jonas Watts, FBI!” You announced yourself, scanning the room for the girl he took last night.

Watts shook his head, “You’re not supposed to be here! You can’t be here!” He shouted in distress.

“Where’s the girl, Jonas? Where did you take Isobel?” You asked him, not seeing her in the room the two of you were in. There was another entrance on the left of him.

He stepped toward you, and you cocked your gun, “I don’t have her now. I lost her, she’s lost,” he said, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Unnerved, you decided to take a leap of faith, “Jonas, where’s your partner?” A partner hadn’t been part of the profile, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The crimes were too complex, it didn’t match up with something as simple as using an anagram of a victim’s name for the warehouse rental.

Morgan filed in behind you, aiming his gun at Jonas, same as you. “Time’s running out, Jonas. If you tell us about your partner we can help you,” he said, slowly inching toward Watts.

“It’s too late,” Jonas wailed.

Someone knocked into you from behind, causing you to stumble forward before you were pulled to your feet. One arm was locked around your torso, and another was holding a knife to your throat. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll cut her fucking throat!” The unnamed man said from behind you, he was almost impossibly tall, easily overpowering you.

You didn’t dare move, not with that knife to your throat, one false move and you’d bleed out. Morgan shouted for him to let you go, but he just pressed the knife tighter to your neck, splitting the skin.

Shutting your eyes, you tried not to cry, fearing the damage it would do to your throat.

Your captor held you tightly to him, using your body to block Morgan from shooting. Something warm trickled down your collarbone, and you weren’t sure if it was blood or tears.

For a moment, you thought you could swing your foot back into his knee, but the fear of having your carotid cut outweighed your bravery.

Ever since you were a kid, you thought death would be quiet. Something you slipped into like sleep, but your death was loud, and it left your ears ringing.

The afterlife was the weirdest place you’ve ever been, someone was calling your name, and you heard your rights being read. Although, why you would need your Miranda Rights in the afterlife you had no idea.

“Angel, please open your eyes,” someone said.

Confused, you opened your eyes and saw familiar eyes staring down at you. Golden and bleary. Spencer, Spencer was here. You tried to sit up, but he held you down, keeping a hand on your throat.

Morgan was shouting for medical, saying there was an agent down. You turned your head to see the still unidentified UnSub on the ground, shot through the temple. Using his free hand to turn your chin, “Don’t look,” Spencer whispered. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, angel.”

If you weren’t still coming down from an adrenaline high, you might’ve smiled at the irony of the nickname. Being called ‘angel’ after having your neck cut felt like tempting fate.

Where was your dad? Of everyone here, you expected him to be here, barking orders at people.

As if summoned by your thoughts, your dad appeared, nearly hauling an EMT behind him, “Help her,” he said.

Yeah, that absolutely tracked.

The EMT’s packed your wound and assured everyone that your carotid had not been slit, against your protests, the ambulance brought you to the hospital for stitches. Emily had run to the hotel to get your go bag, allowing you to change out of your bloodied clothes.

Thankfully, the doctors said you didn’t need to stay overnight, meaning you and the team got to go home. “How are you feeling?” Spencer asked while you were waiting to board the jet.

You hummed, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes, and leaning against a car, “Tired, but I’m alright.” Tired might have been underselling it, you felt like all of the energy had been physically drained from your body. “You worry too much,” you whispered, closing your eyes for just a moment. Your throat was a little raspy, but it should go back to normal after a couple of days.

“Your throat was cut about four hours ago, some might say I’m not worrying enough,” he responded, reaching down, and picking up your bag, carrying it over to the jet once they got the okay to board. On the jet, he gestured to the seat, “Lay down, get some rest.”

You furrowed your brows, “Isn’t it kind of frowned upon to take up a whole seat?” You asked, of course, sometimes it happened, but you didn’t want to take up too much space.

Spencer cocked his head at you, “I don’t think anyone is going to fight you on it, love.”

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on the seat, laying down and closing your eyes, falling asleep before you even left the tarmac.

Being the Unit Chief had its perks, surely, but the piles of paperwork sometimes felt never-ending. Aaron took a deep breath before he closed the file, Rossi sat across from him, nursing a glass of whiskey.

“Hey,” Prentiss whispered, taking the seat next to him and setting her glass of water down on the small table. “Do you see that?” She said, gesturing with her head toward where you were lying down, asleep.

Right next to you was Reid, who usually had his nose buried in a book at this point in a flight, but he was wide awake, and all of his focus seemed to be on you. Begrudgingly, Hotch watched as Spencer reached over and tucked a blanket around you as if he was afraid you’d freeze on the temperature-controlled jet. “What about it?” Hotch asked, reaching over for the next file.

His eyes flicked up again, Spencer was sitting on the floor of the jet. Everyone had elected to leave the couch seats for the two of you, but the one across the aisle from you was empty. Like Reid didn’t even want you to be any more than one foot away from him.

Leaning back in the chair, Emily shook her head, “That’s what we in the business call hypervigilance.”

Hotch didn’t respond, he just spared another glance over at the two of you. “’We in the business’?” He inquired, humoring Prentiss.

“I’m just saying… the hovering? The blanket? I don’t know about you, but that looks pretty real to me,” she said, leaning back in the leather seat.

Silently, he glared, it would seem his hopes of getting the team to stop eavesdropping on familial conversations were quashed.

“Just let the kids be, Aaron,” Rossi said, grinning into his glass.

He cleared his throat and flipped open the new file before he acquiesced, “Fine, for now.”

please reblog, like, and/or comment if you enjoyed 🩵

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

[rocksibblingsau]

Ooh, so how would you envision tbt in techno branch au

So Techno Branch doesn't get along as well with the Pop Trolls after world tour as the other Branches I think, so I'm not even sure if he would have shown up to the wedding.

It'd be very funny to have JD crash a wedding for a Troll who isn't there.

If they had to pop by Techno Reef I think John is VERY confused why his brother lives underwater. It'd be interesting though because potentially you could have John Dory meet Branch while he's DJing.

Trollex of course is with Branch and he insists Branch isn't going alone. To be honest I could see Synth worming his way into the trip as a stowaway. Branch opens a box and Synth is crammed inside.

Synth: Hi Dubstep! Branch: Well I guess I didn't bring any spears. Trollex: Synth, you could have just asked to come. You didn't need to hide in the box. Beat Drop Button: Put the lid back on it, let's keep him in there.

I actually think Techno Branch goes exclusively by Dubstep. He might be the one Branch to fully rename himself. I kind of like the idea that Techno Branch harbors the most resentment, funny enough.

Maybe Techno Branch and Rock Sibs Branch would be besties.

Anyway!

Branch changing his name would make the Bruce encounter VERY interesting because Bruce wants his name to be respected but considering Branch didn't even change his name canonically and Bruce didn't call him the right name, I do wonder if he'd respect that he goes by Dubstep.

Bruce: I wanted to put the boyband days behind me. Branch, genuinely wanting to bond: Oh, me too! I go by 'Dubstep' now- Bruce: That's cute Bitty, you had maybe 15 seconds of 'the boyband days'.

Clay would get kinda frustrated by the Techno Trio's (that's their name now) goofing off. Between Trollex and Synth it's absolute madness, and Branch will sometimes throw himself into it for the bit. It's nice to not have to be the voice of reason sometimes, since unlike with Poppy he can rely on King Trollex to actually reel (get it) Synth in when needed.

Floyd is happy to see Branch but really confused by the walking fish people.

Synth ends up getting grabbed when Velvet and Veneer come back. His water powers still work in the diamond however so he sprays Velvet in the face during the boat fight.

For the Perfect Family Harmony I imagine they sing 'Face to Face' by Daft Punk and the diamond shatters when Branch, Trollex and Synth hit Beat Drop Button for the drop.

[prideprejudce]

Even if Viserys hadn’t married, Rhaenyra’s reign would be contested anyway, because she is a woman, and Westeros is a patriarchal state, and has been so for centuries. The only possible way Viserys could’ve avoided war was by putting on a lot of work to cement Rhaenyra’s place from the very moment he named her heir, and mentoring her as hard as he could to be PERFECT. He needed to put in the head of his headstrong teenage daughter that she couldn’t afford to do a single mistake, or else other houses would use that against her (and that included having affairs, but Viserys definitely didn’t help by betrothing her to a man notoriously uninterested in women). He also should’ve put her in every council meeting from then on, have her be an active participant of his reign, send her on diplomatic missions to other parts of the kingdom, even pay some singers to compose heroic songs about her, to elevate the lore of Rhaneyra’s kindness and wisdom. Whenever there as an issue on any part of the kingdom, such as famines or illness, any financial or food aid should be taken there by Rhaenyra in her dragon, so her arrival would be constantly associated with assistance. Viserys needed to make sure people loved her, noble or smallfolk. Perhaps remarrying wouldn’t be bad, as long as he had clearly in mind that any son he had would be married to Rhaenyra as soon he was old enough and would rule with her, and not above her (and said son would have to be raised by Viserys and close to Rhaenyra, so he would have some fondness and loyalty for them, instead of resentment), although that would be a bit risky.

you won't hear any disagreement from me anon, I think that viserys dropped the ball in almost every single way when it came to securing rhaenyra's line and safety. I agree that even if he hadn't remarried she still would have faced at least some opposition, but he pretty much sealed her fate as soon as he had another son from a different wife. And when he was sick in bed for the last ten years of his life, instead of calling rhaenyra back to partially rule the realm in his name, he let's the greens pretty much take over and rule for him

everything about this civil war comes back to viserys and his negligence. the writers this season want him to be remembered as a noble king who "didn't choose his burden of ruling," but in reality he absolutely sucked as a king. people praise him because his rule was peaceful but he literally just got lucky that the war for the stepstones or any other conflict never got bad enough to come to his doorstep.....because he would have sucked at handling that too. overall he doomed rhaenyra to death with his negligence just as he doomed aemma to her death with his half assed dreams of having a male heir "born with a crown on its head"

[weirdbeancurd]

Attempted Apologies, Chapter 3- ULTRAKILL Fanfic

Chapters: 1 2 3

Ao3 (Link)

@h0ped3lusion @vallianttreedreamland (thanks for loving my work lol)

god I am SO sorry for taking so long to write this, but I've been super busy with a job, moving, and a bunch of other adult stuff. thank you all so much for being patient and leaving lovely comments. I'm not totally happy with some of this story (I'm never happy with my writing lol), so I might make minor changes, but other than that, this fic is finally done!!! thanks again for sticking around, and thank you @persi-person for helping peer review!

also I originally planned for this to be strictly platonic, but it definitely leans more into romantic territory with V1 and Gabe (and a bit with Minos and Sisyphus). it can still be seen as platonic, if that's what you'd like, though!

Takes place in an AU where the prime souls live, and Gabriel and V1 live on the surface as apocalyptic roommates. (oh my god they were roommates)

Summary: Gabriel attempts (key word: attempts) to apologize to Minos and Sisyphus for their executions, but it doesn't go as well as he had hoped. Chapter 3 out of 3.

“I, uh. Love what you did with the curtains?”

Gabriel’s feeble attempt at small talk is ignored. Breaking the ice has never been this difficult, and he's getting absolutely stone walled by the man stitching up his skin. Prestigious ruler or not, his bedside manners can use some work. He tries not to let his irritation show through his body language. I think I’d rather get my ass handed to me again over whatever this is.

“Is everything alright?”

“...”

“Look, you really don’t have to do this. I can just head back and patch mys-”

“Hold thy tongue,” Minos snaps. His mouth slams shut. He immediately drops the subject.

“Oh, um yeah. I can do that.”

He fidgets with his hands for lack of anything better to do. The loopiness from his fever is fading, his dampened healing factor working overtime to repair weary muscle. While he still had his light, Gabriel’s regeneration was enough to mend any wound in seconds. Now more than ever, he longs for that invulnerability, bestowing him confidence to the point of arrogance, reckless beyond abandon. It encased him like his shell of armor, covering incorporeal flaws. If only he could see himself now, having to rely on the tools of man and the care of another to heal. Some days, he berates his reflection. “How weak,” “how distasteful,” he thinks. “How pathetic.”

How the mighty have fallen.

His eyes flick back and forth from Minos and the floor, trying not to get caught staring. He doesn't deserve to be in their presence; a kind and noble man like him shouldn't be tainted by his darkness. Perhaps that's why Minos is being so irritable; he must be rubbing off on them. Despite the need to shy away, he spares another glance.

Gabriel's helm shields his face, but he feels naked, transparent, like the king’s iridescent skin. He sees right through them, literally and figuratively. Right through their resentment, which is held not only for Gabriel, but also for the man himself. V1 once spoke of his rage upon being liberated from the flesh prison, going as far as to describe his demeanor as “violent;” a bit ironic coming from the literal murder machine. He never thought those two words could be said in the same sentence; violence and Minos simply aren't compatible, like oil and water, fire and ice. Or so he thought.

Halfway through their battle, he grit out a single, spiteful word; “weak.” He spat it out as if it tasted vile, vicious and repulsive like acid on his tongue. And while yes, Minos despises V1 for all their kind has done to humanity, he’d never deny their skill in battle. The king was struggling to his feet, having to push off his knee to stand, frustrated that his muscles seemed to rebel against him. It's almost as if that bitterness was directed not at the machine, but instead at…

Hm. Maybe they're not so different after all.

Gabriel observes the man beside him, no longer trying to be discreet. Their shoulders are tense, whether it's from being hunched over so long or the restraint needed to not beat him until his bones are a fine, white mist, he doesn’t know. But he will risk his skeletal system if it means this’ll stop being so damn awkward.

“I’m well aware you told me to shut up,” Gabriel says, holding his hands up in a placating manner. Minos gives him a deadpan glare (or what he assumes is a deadpan glare), but lets him continue. “But I must speak my piece.” He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to pray to a god that no longer exists.

“The father once told us that all sin can be forgiven with a confession and a wave of the hand.” He laughs bitterly. “Now, that's really not true, is it.” It's not a question. He knows the answer.

“No confession will ever right the wrongs that are my actions. No apology of mine will ever be worthy of your ears. I presume you would not want one from me, anyways.”

Minos doesn't dignify him with a response, opting to stare straight ahead.

Gabriel is reminded of his own silent brooding, remembering the warm glow of the campfire while he pondered his questionable morality. After a (not-so) healthy amount of denial, he'd turned to self loathing. How could he have not recognized the council's manipulation sooner? Was he that blind, that moronic to believe their lies? Or was he just too pathetic to form any sort of resistance? What if he was more observant, would he have figured this out earlier and prevented it all from spiraling down to disaster? These questions crowded his mind, like fish in a much-too-small bucket, gasping for air, suffocating each other as they squirm and writhe. The “what ifs” and “if onlys” taunted him with a universe in which he was better, stronger.

How he yearned for someone to battle his thoughts for him, to shut down the paralyzing convictions that plagued his dreams. So maybe what they really need isn’t an apology, just simple reassurance.

“You…are not weak. Far from it.” The words come out awkward and stilted, though he barely needs to think before he speaks. It’s like the syllables have long been ingrained in the deepest parts of his mind, mouth moving to form sounds that have already left his lips.

“You were wronged, and people suffered for it, but it wasn’t your fault. Your strength would not have made a difference, though you harbor more of it than I ever will.”

It's hard to tell what Minos is feeling, half from the fact he lacks a face, and the other half being that Gabriel's people skills are out of practice. In fact, he never had them in the first place. Never had a reason to, if your only purpose is to carry out orders.

“The fact you still stand here today, tragedy after tragedy, is a show of resilience. Though you couldn’t prevent the tragedies in the first place, you did your best to make do with what was left. What’s done is done, Minos.”

He wishes he can take his own advice. Practice what you preach, as they say. Gabriel was never a good preacher, but he tries. He makes sure the other man is listening before delivering his final words.

“You did good.”

Minos says nothing, and for a terrifying moment he thinks he’s made a fatal mistake. And then the man huffs a quiet laugh. Gabriel stares in confusion.

“I…appreciate thy appraisal, but I must admit I’m rather conflicted. On one hand, I understand thou hast merit, but I am reluctant to entertain thy words, due to our history.”

Gabriel lowers his gaze, disappointed he didn’t get through to them, but Minos starts again.

“However, I must thank thee. Thou clearly drew from thy own experience; that shows courage. I shall consider thy appraisal.”

He perks up at that, looking to the king with elation and surprise.

“Just…keep the creature of steel away from this layer. I’m sure thou can surmise why.” He sounds like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay, staring at the floor.

Oh, V1. Yes, he can do that. It did destroy much of what was left of Minos’ kingdom after all, so a permanent ban from the lust layer is more than fair. And that’s not even delving into their battle, the man treating his own defeat as a sign that he’d failed humanity. He shudders at the thought of what Minos would do if he got his hands on them again.

“I understand. I’ll tell them to avoid your city.” It’s Gabriel’s turn to laugh. “Maybe it’ll actually listen to me for once.”

He fixes his eyes on the floor as well, the two sharing a moment of understanding. And then the moment is gone, brief as it is cathartic.

“Sisyphus will accompany thou as I prepare supper. Stay.” Minos goes to open the door…revealing the man in question. Speak of the devil. He has the gall to look smug, bent at the knees to press his ear to the door, the shameless bastard.

“What have I told thee about eavesdropping,” Minos seems unphased, expectant, even.

“Sorry,” But Sisyphus’ grin says otherwise. “I can't help it. Force of habit, I suppose.” The other lets out a rather childish groan.

“I would tell thou to cease thy antics, if not for thy refusal to listen.”

“That's not true. I listened in on your conversation perfectly well.”

“That's…just entertain thy guest.”

“Anything for you, my friend.”

Minos tries to slip past the other, very much ready to leave, but not before Sisyphus catches him with a warm hand on his shoulder. His large frame blocks most of Gabriel's view, but he sees his body lean into theirs. All encompassing, like a solar eclipse. He can't hear what they're saying, so he can only imagine the kindness Sisyphus reserves for friends alone, something he knows he’ll never deserve. He’ll let them have their moment, too.

Once Minos has had enough (said affectionately) with his friend’s fussing, he leaves the two alone in favor of attending to his kingly duties (or whatever that man does in his free time). Sisyphus takes a place at his side, awkwardness not any less prevalent. Time to pull out his award-winning small talk skills again, because that went over so well last time. Believe it or not, Gabriel's smart enough to know that bringing up the king's beheading is a bad idea. The traumatic event is likely still an open wound, for lack of a better term. When would it be appropriate to “get over” your own beheading, anyways? Fourty, fifty years? A hundred? Never? It's not like he's going to get his head back. Alright, now he's just stalling. He needs to come up with a conversation topic quick, because he swears the silence is eating away at his soul. Maybe he can talk about V1; he finds himself doing that often. Not that it means anything.

“...I apologize for my friend's behavior.”

Sisyphus raises a brow.

“You have friends? I never thought you had it in you to be likable.” Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. Gabriel rolls his eyes, giving an indignant glare. “I do not know who you are referring to. Not many can tolerate your presence.”

“I'm just going to ignore what you said and move on. Look, the machine has said it regrets it's actions-”

“Ah, you mean the child of man.” His mood lifts instantly. “At least you have good taste in company. Our battle ought to be remembered; it was invigorating. I hope to have a rematch someday.” Well, that was very much not the reaction he was expecting.

“You don’t…hate V1? They nearly killed you!”

“Is that its name? I shall honor that, for unlike you,” He shoves a finger in his direction. “it fights with a sense of decency.” Gabriel shrinks under his scrutiny. “How ironic, that a war machine holds more virtue than the supreme angel.” Ouch.

“...That was uncalled for.”

“Was it? It’s not my fault that your lover has better morals than you.”

Time stands still for Gabriel. He feels like he just got shot by the railcannon. There’s no way he heard that right…right?

“I’m sorry, my WHAT?”

“Your lover,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You two are joined at the hip. It’s nauseating, honestly. Or was your relationship supposed to be a secret?” Gabriel flounders like a fish out of water. This greatly amuses Sisyphus, who’s found his new favorite pastime: pestering a certain archangel.

“I-we are not a couple! I don’t know where you could’ve possibly gleaned that from, but you’re wrong. They are my companion, nothing more.”

“Denial does not look good on you, Gabriel. I thought you were past that.”

“Listen,” he grumbles. “we may be close, but I do not have feelings for the machine!”

“Whatever you say.” He drawls, voice dripping in sarcasm. Sisyphus grins when the other lets out a frustrated groan.

“You-ngh. You are impossible. For the last time, I’m not in love with them. I don't even like them; they're, uh. Sinful and unholy-”

Thud. They whip their heads towards the noise. It sounded like someone kicking open a pair of doors.

“Did…did you hear that?”

“Of course I heard that. Now shut your mouth.” They sit in tense silence. A single beat passes before the quiet is shattered by a thunderous shout.

“CREATURE OF STEEL.”

Oh no. It better not be who he thinks it is. It seems Sisyphus has the same inkling, both slowly turning to give the other a wary look.

“...Is that-”

CRASH.

The wooden wall by the door explodes inward, a blue torpedo rocketing into the room, splinters flying everywhere. Gabriel lets out an undignified shriek. As the dust settles, he can make out a familiar figure lying in the rubble. Shit. It is who he thought it was. At least they seem completely unharmed, despite crashing through a damn wall. It perks up when it sees Gabriel. V1, like the menace it is, waves excitedly. He can’t for the life of him conjure up a single word to say, speechless for the Nth time today. Sisyphus, for one, doesn’t appear phased, greeting them with a hearty chuckle.

“Ah, V1. We were just talking about you. How nice of you to join us.” It would've given him a wave as well, but their friendly conversation is interrupted by a foreboding presence.

“THOU ART NOT WELCOME HERE.” Minos has arrived, and boy is he pissed. He stands in the hole left in the wall, posture stiff and gaze unyielding. The dim, blue-tinged light that once emanated from his form has grown into a blazing, turquoise glow. His heart pumps furiously, veins bulging, visible through his translucent skin.

If Gabriel thought Sisphysus’ wrath was terrifying, Minos’ is nearly enough to make him go into cardiac arrest. Before he can properly process his own terror, the king starts approaching V1, fists ready. Gabriel quickly scrambles to put himself between the two, reacting before his common sense can stop him.

“Don’t!”

Minos glares down at him. Somehow his lack of eyes makes him even more terrifying.

“Please. Spare them.”

The realization sets in that he’s keeping a predator from its prey, and there’s a slight tremble in the arm he shoots out to keep the man at a distance. With a huff, Minos tries to shove past, but the angel shifts to block him. Gabriel sternly shakes his head.

“Move.”

Minos’ voice drips with venom, thick with barely concealed rage. It takes everything within him to stand his ground, anticipating the worst. After all, V1 would do the same for him.

“I will not. Ask. Again.”

Fuck. Gabriel is starting to regret not bringing his swords. He watches helplessly as the other advances, quick steps with murderous intent. He tenses his muscles, steadies his breath, and prepares for a jaw shattering punch…but is instead met with a voice, low and understanding.

“Minos. Think about what you are doing.”

Gabriel locks eyes with his unlikely savior. Sisyphus is the picture of neutrality, brow set in careful analysis. He's well aware of the fragility of the situation; Minos looks like he’s just about to go off the deep end. And while he has good reason to loathe, Sisyphus knows he'll regret lashing out. His conscience always comes back to haunt him, the damn thing. As much as he'd like to see the two mashed into a red paste, Minos doesn't need another thing to lament over. He can’t say he’s looking forward to defending the duo, suddenly reminded of what provoked such an intense response. He scolds himself for starting to actually get along with Gabriel, nearly forgetting the horrors he unleashed upon his greatest friend. Sisyphus schools his expression, trying not to let his own anger show.

“Your people, they look up to you for your compassion and empathy. Where is that mercy now?”

There's a near unperceptive tremor that wracks his friend's tense frame. Good. He's getting through to him.

“The beings before you did what they needed to survive. While their actions had dire repercussions, and I am not absolving them of fault here, consider their circumstances.”

Minos doesn't want to. He doesn't want to humanize them any further. He wants to tear them apart like they did humanity, unhindered by stupid morals.

“Would one blame a trout for thrashing when caught? Would one scorn a wolf for killing to eat?”

A thick, black liquid starts to ooze out of Minos’ abyss-like face. It flows like tar, ugly and coagulated with sorrow and feelings he'd hate to dissect. In the hollow silence that swallows the room, they can hear his breath hitch.

“Gabriel,” Sisyphus says, fixing him with a piercing stare. The angel stares with wide eyes, not expecting to have been brought into the conversation. “You were a weapon wielded by another, neglected and abused. When you inevitably faltered, you were discarded like a rag.”

Gabriel lowers his gaze. He hates that they're right.

“The sins you committed were the result of eons of manipulation and torture. When you finally realized what you'd done, you took immediate action to correct your mistakes with the little time you had left.”

The angel in question is stunned into silence. Truly, what more could he have possibly done in his situation? With only one day to right his wrongs, it’d be futile to reason with the council; killing them was the sole solution. As for the sins of his past, perhaps all the blame does not fall on him. It was the council’s abuse that forced him to carry out their word, conditioned to be unquestioningly loyal to the point of blind faith. While he was the one to strike innocents down, the blood is also on their hands. An ancient weight is halved, lifted from his shoulders, no longer unbearable. A sliver of forgiveness, not from another, but for himself: a gift he never expected Sisyphus of all people to bestow upon him. He would’ve expressed his gratitude if not for the sudden shift in subject, mourning the chance to thank his unlikely advocate.

“V1,” the machine perks up at the mention of its name. “You were created to kill and survive, and you did just that. After the threat of death had passed, you opted to explore beyond your nature. If passivity was an option, you took it.”

They do little more than tilt their head in consideration. They’re a bit hard to read on the count of not having a face, so he can only speculate if it's having a similarly Earth-shattering revelation like his.

“You defied your creator’s wildest expectations. Yes, you are violent, and ruthless, and efficient, but you are more than just that. I see flair in the way you fight, confidence in your skills, and a desire to succeed. You are so much more than the actions you did in order to survive.” He lets a beat of silence pass for the information to sink in before addressing the man of the moment.

“Minos, listen to me.” The king doesn't turn to face him, but he's known him long enough to tell he’s hearing every word. “You are a just ruler who took the time to care for each of your denizens, and you have every right to be angry that they met an untimely death. You did not deserve your fate, and neither did they. And neither did V1 and Gabriel. We are all victims of circumstance.”

Minos’ fists shake, clenching and unclenching. Everything sounds like it's underwater, words garbled and distorted, yet frustratingly coherent. He wants to plug his ears and scream until he suffocates, anything to get Sisyphus’ voice out of his head. He wants to destroy everything and everyone, until there is nothing left, and then destroy himself too. For once, he just wants revenge, not resolution. It’s not like he can ever get his people back, anyways. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench.

“The only thing we can do now is to live on. Stand down, Minos. Is this what your people would've wanted?”

Something in him snaps, and the fight leaves him all at once. It’s not. It’s not what they would’ve wanted; how deplorable it would be to kill in their memory. Wordlessly, he rushes out of the room. Sisyphus holds out an arm to stop the other two from following.

“No. Give him time.”

The air is plunged into silence once again. Gabriel dares to break it, eager to give thanks.

“I-thank you. We truly appreciate-”

“Don't. Just-” Sisyphus sighs, shaking his head. “don't. I didn't do this for you.”

“...”

“We will meet by the castle entrance when the sun starts to set for your departure. Do not follow me.”

“...I understand.”

Wow. A bit harsh. Regardless, he's still grateful for this new perspective, if not a tad disappointed. Sisyphus rises from his chair and heads toward the door, steps stiff yet dutiful. Lost in thought, it takes Gabriel a moment to notice the king hasn't actually left the room yet, lingering with his back turned.

“The suffering you’ve brought my dear friend is beyond cruel. For that, my forgiveness is withheld, but my words hold true. Do with that what you will.” He finally exits, figure slipping through the door.

Huh. The pseudo-approval of Sisyphus feels…nice. It’s easy for him to get lost in his own sense of accomplishment. Gabriel feels a hand rest upon his. He snaps out of his trance, eyes trailing up its arm to see the machine sitting beside him, staring ahead. There's an awkwardly long pause before V1 has the courage to speak up.

Its hands move in quick, stilted gestures, conveying aggression in its urgency. Oh, they’re angry, he realizes, cringing in anticipation. He’s had more than enough action for today, thank you very much.

What are you doing here?!

“Me? I-uh,” Gabriel scrambles for an excuse. “I was just visiting lust for a chat with a couple old friends, but um. We had a little disagreement.”

The machine raises a single brow. Or they would’ve, but making fully-functional robotic eyebrows was apparently not one of their creator’s priorities. Shame.

Right. It looks like you three had an absolute ball.

The angel grimaces.

“Alright, fine. I came here to apologize for my actions.” He huffs. “And clearly, it didn’t exactly go to plan,” gesturing to the bruises that still litter his torso.

No shit. And without your armor, too. What, were you trying to get yourself killed?

“W-well, when have you ever cared about my wellbeing?” Gabriel growls, suddenly standing to his full height. “Even if you do, I’m just a bloodbag to you. You only care about your own survival. You always have.” V1 narrows their optic.

You don’t mean that.

“What if I do? And what if I was trying to kill myself?!” He shouts, picking up the nearest chair and chucking it across the room. It isn’t until its splintered remains settle on the floor that he regains his composure, kneeling on the ground, visibly deflating.

“I should’ve died after those twenty-four hours were up. I should’ve.” He whispers. He sounds so frail, a startling divergence from his usual bravado. Cold metal makes contact with his shoulder. He turns sluggishly to V1, if only to “hear” what they have to say.

I-

Its movements falter momentarily.

I do care about you. And I always have.

They don’t meet his eyes, but he still desperately clings to the hope that it’s speaking truthfully.

“I…I need some air.”

Gabriel speeds toward the balcony, the machine following suit. He takes a seat on the banister, gaze facing forward as V1 does the same. They both stare at the blazing horizon for a while, until V1 can’t take the silence any longer.

You make me dissatisfied with existence, it blurts out, signing almost incomprehensibly fast.

Gabriel blinks. How to respond to that, he does not know.

“I…thanks? I guess?”

It frantically waves its hands, trying to show it means no ill will.

I mean, you make me want more out of life.

It was never allowed to enjoy things; It never had the chance. But now, they spar for the heck of it, not over sustenance or resources. It takes the time to manually read books instead of scanning them, something they once considered a mere waste of fuel. It ignores the alerts that flood its vision, closing them before they have the chance to tell it that it's being “inefficient.” Text irrelevant its ass. Before Gabriel, they were just surviving. Now, they live.

Gabriel can't help but smile. They said so little, but they needn’t say more. He knows what they're feeling all too well. It takes a bit of effort to muster up the courage, but the machine’s honesty spurs him on, and he manages to find his words.

“I think I understand. You taught me to…want. And by the heavens, I wanted to live, I wanted to fight and struggle and fail, to laugh and cry and watch the sunset a million times over just to say that I did. When my light was taken away, it was you who gave me clarity, and for that…I cannot thank you enough.”

He leans a bit closer, just reveling in the comfortable silence they've created. V1 scoots over, closing the distance between them. The cool metal feels nice against his skin.

I think he's right.

“About what?”

Only thing we can do now is keep living, despite-no, with the guilt.

“...How?” The question of “why” goes unasked.

Not sure. But we're still alive, so we've got to be doing something right.

“...I suppose you have a point.”

Perhaps those questions can be answered another time. Right now, all that seems to matter is the gentle breeze that passes through the cracks in his armor and the feeling of the machine's plating against his shoulder. His heart swells as they bask in the “sun's” rays. Considering they're in literal hell, that glowing ball is no star, but whatever it is shall suffice. They’ll make do, as they always. A ray of light falls upon the pair, encasing them in warmth. How picturesque. Two beings at the end of time, watching the sun set as it slips below the horizon.

…Hold on.

Aren't they supposed to be heading somewhere right now? Oh. Oh. Sisyphus is expecting them.

“Shit. We need to go, now.” He snatches V1's hand and bolts for the door. Heart to heart be damned, they have a deadline to meet.

Maybe Gabriel's previous difficulty navigating the palace was procrastination after all. It's remarkably easy to traverse, especially with his head clear and V1 helping guide him. He supposes everything feels a little easier with a clear head, and they find the castle gate in record time. The prime souls are already waiting there, punctual as expected.

As the two pairs face each other in the doorway, Gabriel notices Minos’ glazed look, Sisphysus’ hand resting on his shoulder. He follows the king’s stare, his eyes landing on the city below.. Before he has time to wallow in shame, Minos’ gaze drifts back to him. Silence. Introspection. After an excruciatingly long lapse in conversation, Minos sighs.

“I bid thee farewell. May thy travels be uneventful.” He senses the sincerity in his voice, and it's honestly relieving. The fact they can even speak to him without hatred oozing from their words leaves him dumbfounded. And it’s not forgiveness, most definitely not, but it’s something. After the atrocities he’s committed, Gabriel is endlessly grateful for this morsel of absolution. The corners of his lips turn upwards as he bows his head in gratitude. His core blooms with warmth.

Ever impatient, V1 halts their respectful exchange by tapping him twice on the shoulder, metal meeting flesh. It raises its hands to sign. Home? It asks. Gabriel huffs fondly, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, yes. We’re going home.” He pivots to the kings. “Thank you very much, truly, but we must get going. This one,” gesturing to V1. “is getting restless. And should also learn some manners.” That earns him a flick to the helmet. He swears he hears Sisyphus stifle a chuckle.

Resisting the urge to bicker, Gabriel turns away, guiding V1 into his hold. With a flap of the wings and a powerful thrust from his legs, they take to the sky. Every beat takes them higher and higher, and further and further from Lust. He doesn’t look back, just focuses on keeping V1 from slipping out of his arms.

His stamina isn’t as infinite as when he still had his light, so by the time they reach the surface, Gabriel is exhausted. They decide to call it a night and rest where they land. He sets up a campfire, not unlike the aftermath of his second defeat, but now with kinder circumstances. It’s nice having someone beside him, even if they are a bit of a pest.

“You're a nuisance, you know.”

The machine gives a cheeky thumbs up. Gabriel heaves a heavy sigh, and for the first time in eons, he feels light. His burdens do not sag and tug at his heart, and the gnawing guilt he harbors has lost its bite. He laughs, pulling V1 in, sheltering them with his wings. Joyous and content, Gabriel gives in to the lulling effect of the setting sun. As sleep pulls him under, he dreams of a hopeful future, not of tongues and teeth.

And though the sight of the lust layer still fills him with regret, the weight on his shoulders is a bit easier to carry. Gabriel may never be able to cry life back into the townsfolk, nor grieve them back from death, but he’s made an effort to make amends. It's a long way forward, yet it's a step in the right direction. These days, the shame doesn't linger and fester like it used to. It's been replaced with a fire that burns bright and unyielding. Gabriel decides he likes his newfound vigor.

And oh, how it suits him to feel strong.

Leave a reply telling me your thoughts if you'd like. :) I appreciate any and all replies lol. And yes, the last line is a reference to the dodie song "Ready now" hehe

[sunnystrollblog]

Ok so I know we've been focusing on the reactions to Branch's "death" in the borrower au but I'd like to bring up the changes this would have on the first two movies. Like, do you know how world shattering this would be to Poppy? She grew up on the Mantra of "no troll left behind" only to discover that a whole lot of trolls got left behind way before they even left the tree in the first place. Also does she remember Branch? If so does that mean she remembers Viva? Would Poppy have a moment after her coronation where she stops and thinks "wait, if Branch and the Borrower Trolls survived directly under the Bergens noses what about the trolls that got caught in the tunnel collapse?" I mean if Poppy was able to get back into Bergen Town via the tunnels she obviously knows there's more than one path through those things. Would there be search parties. I want there to be search parties. Viva and the Putt-Putts deserve to know they weren't just forgotten altogether. Though it does pose the question, would the Borrowers want to live in Pop Village afterwards? It's pretty out in the open which I don't think a group that has been living in the walls of a castle would be very comfortable with.

And all this is without even mentioning World Tour. At least this time Poppy has Branch helping her settle into the whole being a leader thing and Barb is going to learn very quickly that some of these trolls are a lot more prepared to throw down than she expected them to be. Which, fair enough, she can respect that.

Anyway, yeah I love this au

Ok first thank you I’m so glad you enjoyed this au also I love this question so much!! So poppy does remember viva in fact some of her earliest memories were of viva and branch considering that they were the ones who were around her way more than any other troll ever was even king Peppy. Another big change in borrowers!au is that poppy is a toddler when it happens not a baby.

And the escape is way more heartbreaking than in the first movie. While running through the tunnels viva carrying her young sister see some trolls are falling behind viva seeing this happen hands poppy over to her father and goes back to help these trolls. And just before viva can get the others to catch up to the main group the cave collapses and she watches her sister disappear behind a wall of dirt. poppy looking back and seeing her sister isn’t behind them anymore cries for her father to go back and that viva’s still in there but his face drops with sorrow and his pace comes to a stumble but he hardens his face and he carries on and pushes until their out. When king peppy carries poppy out of tunnels screaming and kicking without viva well it’s not just sad it’s absolutely devastating not just to poppy but to the entire tribe.

poppy’s entire world view is shattered and it’s even worse because she actually sees her sister get separated from her. She believed that her father was the best and greatest king of their time and that he’d never leave anyone behind let alone his own daughter and so she carries this resentment with her shoving it down believing that her father isn’t to blame that he’s their king and wants the best for their people and even he isn’t infallible though she can’t shake the thought that he could’ve done more. creek would definitely help her through this process as I’d imagine that they’d bond over losing people they care most about and sorta have this camaraderie with each other even if they don’t really interact much. But after meeting the borrower trolls and finding branch again she gains some hope that somewhere her sister is alive.

And yes I’d image barb being kinda surprised by these way more tactical and brutal pop trolls and she’d be even more surprised by how a rock troll ended up in pop village at all(creek 👀)

[mollypollykinz]

hello, im here from throw away your mask! i've really enjoyed the journey so far and am eager to see its conclusion (after which i'll probably download it to my phone haha)

any ways, dropping in to say that in my mind there was absolutely a cognitive minato in kamoshida's castle, and im headcanoning him as the court jester- a miserable fool (lol) that heckles and ridicules and undermines the 'king' at every turn, but can't actually do anything other than that for fear of execution (though there's nothing kamoshida can do to him either). but he's absolutely willing to help out some phantom thieves looking to infiltrate- ohhh nooooo, it would be a shame if any thieves found this complete map of the castle on the ground that he dropped. would be Such a shame if they knew there was a secret passage in the main hall behind the giant painting. what's that, king kamoshida- you're out of servants to set up your killshot and the only person who could possibly set for you is the court jester? well that's unfortunate, he's such a goshdarn fool that he didnt even set it properly and the attack totally whiffs. yes of course you should insult the court jester for failing at that- don't look over at the thief climbing the balcony, that's definitely nothing to worry about.

sorry, this was absolutely not the point of that chapter or even the meat of it lol, and the phantom thieves absolutely took care of the palace just fine! but im doubly hc-ing that the presence of this cognitive double (plus goro and ken's explanation maybe) helped ann and ryuji to not harbor any resentment toward minato- maybe the majority of the school was indifferent but he was always trying, so much so the kamoshida's subconscious has manifested him as a thorn in his side always. ryuji probably knew from his time in the track team, but ann might need a lil more reassurance. ahem, in my head, that is.

thats.. all for now (lowkey i wanna write a spinoff of taym detailing this exact scenario? maybe if i have time, idk) ! hope u have a nice day, and im off to read the new chapter o7 thank u for writing!

YOO this is actually genius I love this idea so much.

[chamerionwrites]

As a small-time Stellan Skarsgard's Acting enjoyer and big-time Morally Compromised Old Man enjoyer I was inevitably going to fall down a Luthen Rael rabbit hole at least once so forgive me for being fully on my bullshit. But I can't explain my read on this guy without talking about That Speech, and I can't talk about that speech without dumping a bunch of thoughts about dialogue.

Because in my own writing the thing I get most obsessive about is character voice, and the thing about character voice is that not everyone is a poet. Sometimes the craft of writing is about euphony pure and simple. But sometimes (revealing my biases) I think the craft of writing is being able to ask yourself - sure it's good, but is it true? Can you find the poetry in the everyday? Can you express something sharp and compelling and resonant and stay faithful to the perspective of a character who isn't consciously honing their words in that way? All fictional dialogue is constructed. But there does come a point on the spectrum of naturalistic to constructed dialogue - it's partly a matter of taste - where you see more of the writer patting themselves on the back for writing a banger of a line than you see of the character, and personally I often find this off-putting.

Which doesn't mean you never get to let the poetry off the leash (God, that would be joyless). It just means there's a time and a place.

Andor's writers are dropping a lot of bangers and they absolutely know it but largely it works for me, because they're smart about the time and place. Cassian gets to be a guy who's resourceful with his words when the chips are down - that's a big part of his characterization. Maarva and Nemik get to break out the poetry when giving a speech or writing a political manifesto; those words are crafted in-universe as well as out. And Luthen - a performer, a salesman, a man with constructed identities - he gets to use a lot of constructed speech even when he isn't in full-throttle soliloquy mode. I've said before that a lot of stories about espionage are also stories about storytelling: people who create characters, fictions, who tell lies in an attempt to get at truths. In this story Luthen is that guy. Wouldn't you rather give it all at once to something real than carve off useless pieces till there's nothing left - it doesn't matter how constructed that sounds if it's a sales pitch he's rehearsed. It doesn't matter if you see a little bit of the author or the actor peek through when he says things like I know the outside; I imagine the rest, because it functions as characterization when in some sense he is both those things.

All of which is to say That Speech works for me because it tells you something about Luthen beyond the face value of what he says. It tells you this is something he's THOUGHT about, at length. If he hasn't delivered those lines to a mirror, he has absolutely worked through some version of them in his head more than once. And that tells you something just slightly to the left of who Luthen objectively is - it tells you how he constructs and sees himself. I fully believe that Luthen believes what he's saying there.

I also fully believe that this is a man who self-admittedly has an ego and a desire for recognition, who says he's given that up but evidently hasn't let go of some measure of resentment about it. That here's a guy who put on a billowing black cloak, pulled out all the spy theatrics for the express purpose of unsettling his informant, and then gave his best space King Lear audition. That here's a guy with a soliloquy about his sacrifices locked and loaded. On some level Luthen is a little bit into being a martyr for the cause. He's a little bit into the dark glamor of being a lone wolf operator pulling morally tarnished strings. He's a little bit into frightening and manipulating his informant! For all the cynicism of what he's saying, he's a little bit enamored with his own self-image as the sort of man who says it, in a way that suggests an inner romantic more than an inner pragmatist. He says he's damned for what he does but there's more furious pride underlying it than self-loathing; in the same breath he's admitting that a tiny piece of him wants a parade.

Which is fascinating and a little unflattering and way more interesting than just a badass character delivering a badass monologue. The characterization here is partly that Luthen is the kind of guy who monologues.

And to give him his due - I also fully believe that he's a very driven and committed man who has sacrificed a lot. Seen in that light, in fact, I think some of his character flaws come into focus in highly sympathetic ways. Ultimately this is a guy with a deep sense of urgency - "terrified the Empire's power will grow beyond the point where we can do anything to stop it," as he says. And sometimes there can be a lot of ego in urgency. It is a special kind of crazy-making to feel you are taking a problem far more seriously than almost everyone around you. It is a weight of responsibility to believe it's on you to fix that problem before it becomes too big to solve. Under those circumstances it's very understandable that Luthen has big responsible student leading the group project energy and a touch of main character syndrome (which is interesting and sort funny, contrasted with Cassian spending much of the story desperately trying to avoid becoming a main character). It takes a certain kind of drive and audacity-verging-on-arrogance to accomplish what Luthen has accomplished. But character flaws are often the flip side of character strengths, and I think a lot of his are tied up here. Sometimes he's a little enamored with his own isolation (he could choose to be more open with fellow rebel leaders like Saw imo). Sometimes he's awfully comfortable instrumentalizing others while insulating himself. He says Imperial arrogance is remarkable, but sometimes he's blind in similar ways - Luthen is almost as surprised as the Imperials by the funeral riot in the final episode. He's spent so much time stage-managing his would-be rebellion from Coruscant that an organic uprising startles him. In his self-appointed position as the lonely string-puller at the top, he maybe has a bit too much fondness for control and not quite enough regard for community (imo it's also kind of telling that there are no actual Aldhanis involved in the heist on Aldhani). As Clem says - sometimes people don't look down the way they should.

All of which are very interesting and human flaws for him to have! And which I do think the show subtly gestures at in the sort of contemplative way he reacts to that riot, and which I'd love to see come into focus more in S2.

[insanelyadd]

I’ve a feeling that Collector’s resentment of their siblings due to their imprisonment for hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of years would not probably never go away. We’d like to think that amount of time wouldn’t be anything to a being as old as the universe, a mere drop in the ocean, but… it could very well be the opposite.

Quoting Dream of the Endless, from Neil Gaiman’s “The Sandman”:

“Can you have any idea what it was like? Can you have any idea? Confined in a glass box for three score years and ten. A human lifetime. Time moves no faster for my kind than it does for humanity, and in prison it crawled at a snail's pace.”

And Dream was only trapped for a few decades.

On another topic, I can see Collector seeing Luz as a much healthier big sister figure (he probably already sees King as a big brother). Reached out to them despite everything they did, and even sacrificed herself to protect them. Odds are, at least one of their siblings are going to become very spiteful of that, especially since Collector might potentially disown them for leaving them behind. Might even try to find the first excuse to end her…

“Oh, this mortal was given the Titan’s power! Abd there’s tiny residual energy from it in her body! We’d best kill her, or she’ll become half-Titan again and try to kill us! Whoopsy, them’s the breaks! Sorry, Collie!”

Oh, I don't think they were imprisoned for that long. I have some evidence to support this, so I hope you don't mind me rambling about my timeline a bit in this answer.

I think the Collector was imprisoned for 2-5 thousand years and no more than that. Bat queen very obviously was the Titan's palisman and very much was the one who built King’s island and she said it's only been thousands of years, not tens of or hundreds of thousands. King was also incubating this entire time. Also, Bill. Bill claims to have been alive to see Papa Titan die, which means he must be as old as they have been dead plus a decade or so. Since he never personally slayed any Titans, I hc he was a child during this time, and I also HC that he managed to be long lived because. Well, it's quite morbid and horrifying, but hunters do normally eat the meat of the creatures they kill. And that's how I think he could have lived for thousands of years.

Also yeah he absolutely should feel resentful towards them, since they completely fucked up everything. Personally, I feel a bit merciful about his time imprisoned, and I usually imagine that until a tablet is activated, they are completely in stasis, a dreamless sleep. If the activated tablet is destroyed and no other tablet is active, then they go back into stasis. I HC it this way because the tablet feels like a Titan made Collection spell, and Collection spells keep the Collected in stasis. Still, there was a significant amount of non-stasis time with just Belos, which is perhaps 5x longer than what Dream went through in Sandman, with my current favored estimate being 350.

You're so right, I'm sure the Collector feels like King and Luz are like siblings to him. But he might also want to not associate them that way because of past experiences.

I think, though, that the Collector is prone to being easy to forgive, and if the circumstances are right, he might forgive his siblings. Depending on your characterization of the four of them, one to all might qualify for life shattering betrayal forgiveness (infomercial voice). Like with my own interpretation of the Archivists, Satellite and Solari were both young teens when everything happened, they had no say in what happened, they argued against what the elder two chose, and they would give up everything to keep their brother safe. Especially since their plan for if their brother returns is to take him and run away from Crescent and Penumbra. I think the Collector might forgive them.

I mean, he forgave belos who lied to and manipulated him for hundreds of years, who attempted to kill him basically, who did it all again just a few hours before he tried forgiving him. It's a reoccurring character flaw, but I think if any of the Archivists would turn against the others for the Collector and/or didn't participate in what happened to the Titans, then there might be a bit worth forgiving? Since at least then, he'd have people to live with who can raise him without worry they would die before he physically ages even a single year (that's a lot of pain for a small child).

They're far too young to be living on their own. It's not good for childhood development to be without a caretaker.

But if your version of the Archivists aren't worth forgiving then. Well. Obviously, he's justified for being as resentful as he wants to be and never forgiving them. This is still the case even if some turn out to not be completely vile bastards, but the Collector’s endless forgiveness and trust just doesn't show up at all wrt to his terrible siblings. Because they still were horrible to them.

My interpretation is just one where there may be room to forgive two of the four, mostly for practical reasons like the protagonists of the series being far better off fighting only two adult Collectors especially if they have the help of another two (though they might, justifiably, not be warmly welcomed to stay or drop by whenever they want). And also, genuinely by complete coincidence, their backstories and actions all sort of put them in a gradient of culpability for their terrible atrocities, and the twins just both happen to be on the low end, with Satellite being the absolute least evil.

[sluggintub]

Omg!!!!!!

Haiii!!!! Elloo!!!

Im back with your semi annual Robo Mace wip :0000

Finally was able to expand upon an idea cooking in my mind for a good bit which was a kinda battle mask (Basically whenever conflict is engaged their “human” mouth would be covered with this extravagant layer o’ metal to protect em!)

Practical considering they’re mostly made up of metal?

Absolutely not

Cool?

ABSOLUTELY

Anyways thats literally the whole wip.

Ive redrawn that same pose like five million times on different canvases with every attempt so ive made like zero progress 💀

But now that I have your attention I wanted to expand on Mace’s lore cuz I feel like it and I think i promised to make a post about it

So.

I dont know about any of you you guys-

I personally feel like Darcy the core and Alderitch coulda be so much cooler!

Like dont get me wrong. I like Darcy design wise! They’ve literally been living in my head rent free ever since their first teaser! (It’s a blessing and a curse please send help hshshHahabbfnsuaha)

But I personally feel like plot wise they were kinda lacking :(

And the idea of a bucha a n c i e n t newts consciousnesses invading a 13/14 year old kids mind forcefully is kinda…gross.

So.

I was brainstorming and came up with this:

When the core was first teased. Back in the ye olde days in the pre True colors when the fandom called it the Night-

Im not the only one that thought it was some sorta god right?

A giant mass of orange eyes that a powerful King that ruled for thousands of years kneels down to and calls “Master?”

Idk about you but that gives off omnipotent eldritch horror vibes to me.

So I basically took that concept and expanded upon that and incorporated bits of the lore that Andrias dropped about his kind.

Specifically about how he said that his kind were conquerers.

Why?

Sure. It could purely be a generational trauma thing.

His father did it. His father’s father did it. And his father’s father’s father did it as well.

That could be the end of it.

No one really knows why they conquer and enslave races other than “tradition.”

Maybe Andrias only mentions it all is so he can bask in his triumph. To feel a deluded sense of pride in his lineage for finally being able to continue the work of his forefathers after thousands of years of resentment and regret planted in his mind by his own father that twisted and corrupted his perception on reality.

Maybe Matt just thought those sequences up on the spot and they sorta made sense.

Theres alotta maybes and to my knowledge thats about the extent of it

But im not satisfied with that

So I took that concept. The conquering inter dimensional newts and elevated it.

The core was never a series of Newtopia’s “greatest minds.”

It was always an omnipotent being.

An all seeing all knowing all powerful elderitch horror that is always hungry.

Thats why Andrias’ ancestors invaded other worlds!

Whether it was out of fear or necessity or a deal made with the devil

The reason they invaded is because the core is always hungry. And it needed to feed. So they sacrificed whole worlds to the core just to satiate its ravenous appetite.

And it would explain why in the last season Amphibia was being siphoned for all its resources

Not only was it for the factories, the frobo army, and the mind control devices

It was to stave off the cores hunger until the invasion of earth could surpass

And I didnt forget about all those newts that died and had their brain transferred to the core originally oh nonono

They still sacrificed themselves. But not to join the core or become anything greater. Despite what they believed or what they were promised by the core, Alderitch and all those newts who made up the canon core were nothing more than willing sacrifices to the cores endless hunger. They realistically died for nothing.

So. With this concept/au/rewrite/whatever solves alot of the inconsistencies in the plot and also gets rid of the gross old newts in 13 year olds brain plot

Lemme know what you think of this concept! Im open to criticism and any ideas anyone is willing to share and will do my best to respond to em!

[carletes]

Please expand on the arranged marriage au 👀

like. okay.

everything is the same. after decades of cold war, relations between hiberia and anglosax thaw, and eventually they declare a proper alliance against galla. adam and carlos sr decide to formalize it by arranging a political marriage between the heir-in-obscurity and prince carlos. since it's a political marriage, carlos sr waives his right to actually be introduced to the heir-in-obscurity (he jokes that it wouldn't be the best start to their alliance, to contravene anglosaxon tradition just to look at a child).

in other words: carlos would have married oliver. And THEN oliver gets called to the weave! it doesn't matter too much, since the mantle of heir-of-obscurity passes to lando, and as long as the heir isn't devastatingly younger than prince carlos, they agree it's fine.

so...lando, at the age of 10, finds out he's betrothed. he rises to the challenge of being heir-in-obscurity in every way except this one. he resents carlos, stubbornly refuses to learn anything about him, and that resentment slowly turns into a resentment towards hiberia. he only respects hiberia to the extent that it stands against galla, but no more and no less. carlos doesn't factor into that. carlos is a future inconvenience to be kept at arms length. whenever anyone brings up his betrothal, lando scowls so aggressively that everyone drops it. the only people allowed to talk to him about it are adam and cisca—and even still, they end up sighing with exasperation and telling lando he's going to have to deal with the prince at some point in his life.

and so tsor begins: lando seething at the idea of having to finally meet this man he's hated since he became the heir-in-obscurity, expecting the absolute worst despite what everyone says about carlos. and then, slowly, having all his assumptions dismantled. slowly, slowly, beginning to respect carlos. and then, eventually, realizing the awful truth:

he's in love with his fiancé, his fiancé seems to be in love with him, but his fiancé doesn't know who he really is. and lando is too afraid to do anything about it.

things follow the normal narration of tsor, except that after a kiss at yule that lasts too long, that lando runs away after, they don't pursue the matter further. they both independently decide to focus on the heretic threat. on one excursion (impromptu; they were going on a ride to Talk about things and then accidentally join up with a group of soldiers who claim they're patrolling the coast, but they end up being heretics), they're attacked, and carlos gets horribly injured. there's a reversal of the moment when carlos becomes the rising sun (which he still is here), where lando singlehandedly dispatches all of the ambushers.

lando gets carlos on dawn, which carlos still buys for lando here, and gets him back to the palace. carlos is pale, losing blood, and lando's screaming at him "you're not dying, you're not fucking dying prince carlos, i'll kill you myself!"

carlos only has enough consciousness to laugh at him, and that incenses lando even more. they get back to the palace and lando carries carlos through the palace walls, screaming and barking orders at people. someone tries to take carlos from him and lando snaps at them to back the fuck off. a pretty big crowd has formed at this point. he's told "know your place, squire," and lando wheels around and yells, "i know my place! i am the heir-in-obscurity, and this is my fucking fiancé, and he's not allowed to fucking die, so either you get me a medic, or i tell two kings that you let my fiancé die."

the silence that falls is immense, broken only by carlos wheezing, "you're joking."

"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP. YOU GET ME A MEDIC. AND YOU GET OUR HORSES SOME SUGAR CUBES."

this spurs action, finally, but lando refuses to be parted from carlos—and when, finally, carlos is fixed up, and when, finally, carlos says to him, "this all could have been avoided if you had learned how to stitch a wound, prince lando," lando takes carlos' hand and sobs over it.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #83: House of Dragons, but make it Hapsburg

As sometimes happens, I was minding my own business, trying to work on other things, when I was suddenly hit with such a wonderful, awful fic idea I had to drop everything to write it down.

Or: What if Viserys I decided the best way to secure the Iron Throne for Rhaenyra was to marry her to his Hand, Otto Hightower?

Just imagine it:

Shortly after Queen Aemma's death, when Otto is listing all the reasons why Viserys should remarry even if he intends to make Rhaenrya his heir, Otto makes the argument gynecological problems often run in families. Given that Rhaenyra's mother and grandmothers all died in childbed, it is reasonable to assume that Rhaenyra might do the same, leaving Westeros either with a child-king or, worse, leave the way open for Daemon to take the throne. Both options would be disastrous.

As intended, this convinces Viserys to take another wife - but it also convinces Viserys that the best way to show his love for his daughter is to marry her to a man who will uphold her rule and, should she die in childbed, uphold the rule of any children she leaves behind. And who better for the job than Otto, who has served so faithfully for so long? - and, just as important, has already fathered a number of sons.

And so Viserys marries Alicent and Otto marries Rhaenyra in a grand double ceremony.

Just about the only person happy with this relationship is Viserys, who has convinced himself Alicent's kindness equals love.

Rhaenyra herself has to be all but dragged to the altar, having attempted to run away many times leading up to the wedding. She might have succeeded had not she confided in Alicent - who, though she has no more desire to marry her best friend's father, feels honor bound to inform the Kingsguard - forming a basis for their future mutual enmity.

As for Otto himself, while he may see Rhaenyra as a better option than Daemon, he personally finds her to be nothing more than spoiled little girl who has been given infinite opportunity in life, done absolutely nothing with it, and yet believes she's earned every honor she's been given. It's possible she might grow out of it, but until then Otto would rather have nothing to do with her. Yet there is nothing he can say to Viserys regarding his marriage that wouldn't jeopardize Alicent's own, and so he grudgingly goes along with it.

And so we have Alicent and Rhaenrya in the unenviable position each of being married to their best friend's father. They are both each other's stepmother and stepdaughter. Their shared misery does anything but bring them closer.

Fast forward ten years to the death of Laena Velaryon.

Alicent is a diligent, if deeply unhappy, wife and mother of four, as per canon. The Faith is her recourse and only the knowledge that her son should inherit makes her suffering worth it.

Rhaenyra, meanwhile, resents her husband in a manner which echos Cersei Lannister. Otto is old and dull and forever trying to constrain her, not understanding that a dragon need not concern itself with the thoughts of sheep. She has borne Otto three sons who she cannot bring herself to love - and the moment Daemon returns from exile, starts an affair with him that sees her bearing her uncle three children of his own who she loves more than anything.

The court starts breaking into factions as Viserys' health declines, but here the lines are not so clearly drawn. There is Aegon the Elder, hapless and dissolute but Viserys' oldest son. Then there is Rhaenyra - and through her, her oldest son, Jacerys Hightower, who is well-trained for the role but lacks his mother's favor. And then there is Rhaenyra's favorite - Viserys Hightower, who is but a child and who many suspect of being illegitimate. They are respectively the Greens, the Whites, and the Blacks.

The Dance of the Dragons which follows is full of backstabbing, death, and shifting alliances - and far more complicated than Alicent and her children against Rhaenyra and hers.

To start with: 1) Alicent favors Aegon, as without his accession none of her sacrifices will have meant anything, but 2) Aemond and Otto favor Jacerys, who is dutiful in a way they appreciate and has the potential of being a good king in addition to being Otto’s eldest son by his second marriage. 3) Rhaenyra naturally favors her own claim, but loses much support when her first act to annul her marriage to Otto Hightower, marry Daemon, and declare her son Viserys crown prince over his older (half)brothers. And so on. Dealer's choice on the precise alignments and intrigues.

A three-way war of succession rages for almost a year, until Aegon and his dragon are killed in battle with the Blacks.

The remaining Greens throw their lot in with the Whites - but the fact the succession dispute is now between mother and son only makes the fighting that much worse.

Things finally resolve some years later with Jacerys taking the throne, but with the strength of the crown and stability of Westeros being much shaken. Though Aemond - Jace's strongest supporter - managed to kill the traitor Daemon in battle, he died of his own wounds soon after. Jace was able to take Dragonstone and capture his mother and (half)siblings soon after, but the suspicious deaths of Viserys and Aegon the Younger after he ordered the lot of them imprisoned in the Maidenvault haunts his reign.

Though Jace's reign is only as peaceful as any medieval fantasy kingdom ever is, he does two things which help to stabilize Westeros and House Targaryen in the long run. First: he lives a long time, but not so long that his only his only heirs are minor grandchildren, which keeps the succession peaceful when it comes. Second: He orders an end to all marriages within four degrees of consanguinity - and includes stepfamily and foster relationships in this decree. While this does still allow for first cousin marriage, it also keeps the worst problems of inbreeding from affecting the noble houses of Westeros.

Bonuses include: 1) Making no one a saint - or a sinner. Every player in the Dance is human, with all the associated foibles, and who react to their traumas in understandable, if sometimes undesirable, ways; 2) Such complicated family dynamics - and family relationships - as to keep an entire army of psychologists employed for centuries. The fault lines don't just appear between Alicent's children and Rhaenyra's children, but among and between them; and 3) Not a single word said about The Prince That Was Promised, The Song of Ice and Fire, or any other prophesy that might allude to the events of ASOIAF.

And that's all I have: a great way to make a complicated situation more complicated, but very little detail of the Dance itself. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

More HOTD Fic Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[agentrouka-blog]

It actually gives me such satisfaction that Olenna was likely PISSED when Sansa (and later Tyrion) fled KL,  because it interfered with her plans.

Think about it. Their escaping means the murder of Joffrey remains open.  With nobody to execute for the assassination of her “sweet son”,  Cersei is going to remain obsessed with getting justice and in turn that obsession could easily turn to other people who might have had a reason to wish Joffrey ill.

Given the fact that at one point Cersei entertained the thought that the Tyrells were involved in Tywin’s death and that they secreted Tyrion and Sansa to safety, it’s not exactly a leap for her to eventually suspect them of being involved within Joffrey's death.   Cersei being resentful over seeing Margaery’s influence over Tommen means it won’t be hard for her to believe that the Tyrells killed Joffrey because Tommen was the more attractive alternative to them as you said.  Cersei also believes that Margaery never loved Joffrey and only his crown. Of course, it is likely that she would still believe Sansa and Tyrion guilty in some way.   She will likely go to her grave believing Sansa killed Joffrey and hating her for it.

But anyway, the Tyrells killing Joffrey makes Cersei’s animosity towards Margaery all the more dangerous because it would not be that hard for said animosity to turn into suspicion, especially with Sansa and Tyrion escaping the capital.   This easily could have been what Olenna was fearing, and this was why she didn’t want to leave the capitol after Margaery was wed to Joffrey/Tommen.  She uses her dislike of KL as a front, but the reality is I don’t think she was ignorant of the fact that Cersei disliked Margaery and therefore leaving her in KL was not something she wanted.   

And Olenna’s fears end up being realized but in a different way.  Cersei doesn’t try to punish her granddaughter after discovering the truth, but she tries to punish her by doing the same thing Olenna tried to do to Sansa. 

What happens to Margaery is absolutely poetic justice aimed at Olenna primarily.

But also, yes, Olenna tried to make Very Sure that Tyrion (and by extension Sansa) would get convicted of the murder and be out of the picture ASAP.

After Pycelle came the procession, endless and wearisome. Lords and ladies and noble knights, highborn and humble alike, they had all been present at the wedding feast, had all seen Joffrey choke, his face turning as black as a Dornish plum. Lord Redwyne, Lord Celtigar, and Ser Flement Brax had heard Tyrion threaten the king; two serving men, a juggler, Lord Gyles, Ser Hobber Redwyne, and Ser Philip Foote had observed him fill the wedding chalice; Lady Merryweather swore that she had seen the dwarf drop something into the king's wine while Joff and Margaery were cutting the pie; old Estermont, young Peckledon, the singer Galyeon of Cuy, and the squires Morros and Jothos Slynt told how Tyrion had picked up the chalice as Joff was dying and poured out the last of the poisoned wine onto the floor. When did I make so many enemies? Lady Merryweather was all but a stranger. Tyrion wondered if she was blind or bought. At least Galyeon of Cuy had not set his account to music, or else there might have been seventy-seven bloody verses to it. (ASOS, Tyrion IX)

Taena Merryweather, who works so very dilligently at becoming Cersei's friend in AFFC, is the sole reason mere circumstantial evidence becomes 100 % damning.

And she just so happens to be the wife of a Lord who may be in need of having his lands restored by the crown to what they were before the Rebellion. Goodness. What could have motivated her to lie. And become an undercover agent in Cersei's camp. Hmm.

Tyrion escaping probably annoyed Olenna quite a bit, and she refuses to leave until Margaery is properly married to Tommen and officially a queen.