#paddy loss

[viseryseddard]

Otto is awful and his death was always inevitable but when it comes it’ll be such a game changer for the show.

Not only is he THE driving force behind the conflict and the most adept politician and strategist team green has but

Rhys Ifans.

Rhys Ifans has been an underrated stellar corner stone for this show since day one. When he’s not in an episode you can feel the loss - when he’s gone perminantly I think the show will have a huge hole.

[alpha-mag-media]

Paddy McGuinness reckons he knows who to blame for Luke Littler’s darts loss | 49X50Z4 | 2024-01-05 05:08:01 | January 05, 2024 at 06:08AM

Paddy McGuinness reckons he knows who to blame for Luke Littler’s darts loss | 49X50Z4 | 2024-01-05 05:08:01 Read More … Check full articles at Source: ALPHA MAG

[notanothermacdennisblog]

i gotta talk about frank v russia cuz i was rewatching it again and whoever said it was a fever dream of an episode is so right, there's just so many implications to dissect i didn't catch them all at first.

the beginning of the episode sets up dennis's motivation to pass the effort of helping everyone around him onto someone else... by him putting an enormous amount of effort into finding normal dates and teaching mac and dee to be normal enough to hold onto normal people (i can't imagine how this would keep mac and dee from bothering him tho cuz they'd just come back to him asking for more relationship help, dating a normal person doesn't make relationship issues go away). the enthusiasm he shows when checking in with them after the dates shows this amount of effort was worth it to him. one could argue it's because deep down he cares about their growth, he mistakenly thinks this will get them to leave him alone, or that he's attracted to the thrill of the ruse. mayb it's some combination of all three, but given that he could have always just ignored them or left, to me his hard on for control and deception points to the latter for the most part.

which further explains his flimsy justification of catfishing mac just to "get him out of the apartment." like if that was his sole goal there's a million other ways to accomplish that. ways that don't include: creating a profile guaranteed to get mac to match with him, chatting long enough to establish an emotional bond (altho that's not the hard part when mac falls for anybody who shows him a modicum of affection), and buying and sending him remote controlled anal beads as some sort of complicated signal system when simply texting "meet me at the motel" would suffice.

we're talking about a man who started a cult just to get mac to stop eating his thin mints. who drugged mac with diet pills, convincing him they were "size pills" just because he was unhappy with mac's weight gain. the exploitation of mac's body dysmorphia serves not only as a means of keeping his self esteem in check so he's more easily pliable ("you've been looking so sexy, so this... this is disappointing, at least to me" in ass kickers united; "mac did you gain some weight?" at the end of the gang makes paddy's great again), but also to mold him into an idealized physique that he's attracted to, and the unnecessary inclusion of anal beads in this ploy is the logical conclusion of obsessing over mac's appearance.

it was never just about getting the apartment to himself, or even just seizing an opportunity to manipulate, even if those both played a role. there's just no heterosexual explanation for the full extent of what this episode is implying.

so it still seems odd that dennis would want to sabotage a system that was working in his favor logistically and emotionally, essentially giving up the thrill (and safety) of inhabiting another man's skin in order to admit things he could never feel secure enough to admit even to himself. was johnny becoming too difficult to maintain? maybe dennis was motivated to pass mac onto someone else because he was running into a wall trying to figure out how to keep mac interested while avoiding the obvious issue of meeting in person. an effort to self sabotage when things started to get too close for comfort, when he could feel a certain loss of control.

the "johnny doesn't love you, he doesn't even like you" was enough to send me reeling that it was too easy for me to pass over all of this the first time, what a red herring. there's not another man as toxically obsessed w his roommate/work husband in crime/life terry mac as dennis is, while also being so self-deluded he has to make up half-assed excuses just to convince himself this is normal behavior.

[butterfly-stitches]

BLUE MONDAYS.

[ Mature ]

AO3

Masterlist

Pairings: Russell Adler / Bell, Russell Adler / Reader Russell Adler & Bell, Russell Adler & Lawrence Sims, Bell & Lawrence Sims, Russell Adler & Helen A. Park Ensemble: Russell Adler, Bell (Call of Duty), Lawrence Sims, Helen A. Park, Original Male Character(s)

Warnings: Brainwashing 🧠 Psychological Torture 🧠 Torture 🧠 Mind Manipulation 🧠 Medical Experimentation 🧠 False Memories 🧠 Flashbacks 🧠 Loss of Identity 🧠 Prisoner of War 🧠 Medical Torture 🧠 Medical Inaccuracies 🧠 Military Inaccuracies 🧠 Vietnam War 🧠 Propaganda 🧠 Pining 🧠 Crush at First Sight 🧠 Unresolved Romantic Tension 🧠 Unresolved Sexual Tension 🧠 Older Man/Younger Woman 🧠 Developing Friendships 🧠 Possibly Unrequited Love 🧠 Stockholm Syndrome 🧠 Denial of Feelings 🧠 Pre-Canon 🧠 POV Second Person > Other Additional Tags to Be Added <

Synopsis: Betrayed by your own, you lied bleeding in the back of your hummer. The fiery remnants of a derailed plane laid out in the airfield before you; your organization's smuggled weaponry all up in flame. Dying, you were eventually found and captured by Capitalist loyalists who treated your wounds. Now in enemy hands, you were tortured and interrogated. But you gave them nothing. Desperate, they turned their efforts towards MKUltra; mental manipulation, erasure of the self. You are fed false memories, given a false identity. Spun a false comradery with a scar-faced, shade-wearing man who had a hand in your torment. But he wasn’t your enemy, don’t you remember? Through thick and thin, you were always by his side. Fighting Vietcong in Vietnam, trekking through jungle and paddy fields. Hiding behind sandbags, bunkering down when napalm rained down onto the battlefield. Remember? You were always by his side. You endured it all together. Shared joy and shared suffering. {Takes place in flashbacks to time in Vietnam (albeit fabricated by Adler) and some Pre-Canon instances; but mostly Vietnam war flashbacks.}

| | | Next →

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

Chapter 1: stop the clock.

Words: 4,020 Summary: In which you are tested …

You wouldn’t break. 

No matter how hard they beat you, how deep they pressed dull blades into your skin, or how much they deprived you of sleep – you didn’t budge. Resilient to any traditional methods in their arsenal. Stayed silent throughout the long hours of interrogation; stayed still in the face of aggressive questioning. you didn’t even blink at their threats,  or didn’t falter at their dealings and their promises. Mistrustful, staunch, and unwavering; unbroken. you gave them nothing. All in the name of one organization, for one man. Perseus – who you would willingly die for and whose secrets you would take to the grave. 

There was no denial that your loyalty was admirable and your sturdiness impressive even for a person betrayed by your own. Not just for a Russki loyalist so high on the totem pole but as a detainee. But to say that it wasn’t aggravating would be an understatement. You were the key to everything yet refused to open any doors for them. Time was running out … and they were getting desperate. A sort of desperation that didn’t go unnoticed by you. The tell-tale sign of perceived weakness, a droplet of blood on snow. Honed in on it like a patient predator, unassuming and forbearing. Who bided their time for the slightest misstep, a hint of an opportunity. 

(They needed you – alive. Half-dead more like. But such noteworthiness wasn’t lost on you.)

And for the first time since your capture, the tables have turned ever in your favor.

Or so you thought.

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You were being watched. 

From the hallway, behind a tinted, one-way windowed wall that divided the white room. Even now as you slept, slumped forward in the metal chair you were strapped to – overtired from being forced to stay awake for days. 

(But there was never really a time where you weren't constantly under surveillance. Was there?)

Like an apparition on the other side of a mirror, a figure stood patiently behind the window as he monitored you. A cup of old coffee in hand, aviators hung on the collar of his wool sweater vest. Listening intently to the timer on his wristwatch that ticked away – a countdown that was almost near completion. Time was going and going without a hitch or a hurdle. And who was he to ask it to change its nature; Deadlines were right on the horizon and progress had to be made. No matter the means. Morals and ethics were off the table now more than ever.

The figure rubbed at his temples as he heaved out a deep sigh. Eyes painfully dry as he squeezed them shut. Stress and fatigue had slowly eaten away at him over the past few weeks. But it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. Sleep deprivation was an expectation, just part of the job. Perseverance, an unrelenting stubbornness and heaps of bottomless cups of caffeine were a hell of a combo to combat it, let alone to function with; unhealthy but effective. The after effects, however, were not as ideal. And being underneath the bright fluorescent lighting only made it all that much worse. It made his head throb, his teeth ache. His shoulders fell as he let out a soft sigh. 

He ran a hand down his face, past the bridge of his nose, then lingered over a scarred cheek. Calloused fingers ghosted over the plunging grooves of the lichtenberg-like scar. Jagged and complex. Starting from his chin, the rough terrain of his scars branched through his lips and across the buccal plane. A reminder carved deep into the skin. 

A failure that he would not repeat twice.

His eyes shot up as you suddenly twitched. Shuffling in the metal chair in the throes of your troubled sleep, moving as much as you could from your restraints. Your head eventually lolled against your shoulder, using the junction there to rest your cheek on, nestling yourself more into one side of the chair. Sharp eyes narrowed, you were getting too comfortable for his liking. He checked his watch again. Six more minutes were still left on the timer. And he grimaced, lips pressed tightly together. 

Clicking footsteps echoed across the cold linoleum of the long hallway. But he didn’t turn toward the sound even as they slowly got closer. Only stood up straighter, more composed. And continued to watch over you for any other of your sudden movements. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit his nose before anything else as the person settled next to him. Wordlessly, another mug was offered out to him, white porcelain in the edge of his vision. He lifted his own mug up to show he still hadn’t finished the one he had. But the woman next to him only took it from his hand, replacing it with the one she brought. He didn’t protest however, the warmth of the mug in hand was calming as was the waft of the fresh dark roast. He lifted the new mug and took a careful sip. The bitter taste permeated on his tongue. 

“Can’t believe you wanted to finish that, Adler.” The British woman, Agent Park, said in undisguised disgust. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the way she held the mug away from her as if it was disease-ridden. “Two day old coffee, and in a mug you haven't washed since. How very uncouth of you.”

He heard Park place it somewhere next to her. But Adler didn’t reply right away and took another sip of his coffee. “It’s my favorite mug.” 

“You could’ve rinsed it out at least.” Park countered, an arm thrown around her abdomen, the other holding up her cup of tea as she settled next to Adler. Blowing on the surface of her drink to cool it. “Anything new?”

“No. Some movement while sleeping, that’s about it. Nothing worth noting down.”

Park nodded, drinking her tea idly. They grew silent then, both staring into the room for any little movement, any little sign. Something interesting to be jotted down in your prisoner records. It reminded Adler of the zoo somewhat. Standing behind the glass of an animal enclosure, lingering around and waiting for the animal to do something, anything worthwhile. And there you slept and slept, way too peacefully than he liked, than you deserved.

Park peeked at her watch. Seemingly under the same mindset as she hummed. 

“We’re being too gracious, don’t you think?” He said. “Twenty minutes is overdoing it in my books. I should go and get started.”

Park titled her arm, letting Adler see the timer on its face. Numbers in bold font still ticking away, right on the end of hitting zero. Just like his watch was displaying. 

“It makes waking up far more terrible.” Park let her arm fall to her side. “Pluck someone right before hitting REM then they’re worse for wear and far more malleable. It’ll make all that effort of resting all for nothing. Lack of proper sleep and you’re bound to make mistakes.”

Adler didn’t say much more, nursing his coffee as the concentrated dose of caffeine coursed through his body. It gave Adler the energy he would need in a few minutes.

“Almost three weeks of nothing, Park. Not sure this angle is worth it, might be a waste of time that we don’t have.”

Park clicked her tongue at him in that sort of smugness akin to thinking you’re smarter than someone. That you know better than them. Another person might’ve been offended, slighted by Park. But Adler has worked with the MI6 agent long enough to look past it. He looked at her just as she turned to him with pursed lips.

“I think it's an angle we haven’t truly utilized. Like you said before, normal forms of interrogation aren't working. It's a good sort of tension to continue whittling down the subject with. It paves the perfect path for the second phase as well.”

Adler’s eyebrows knitted together. “Second phase?”

“Yes. The gloves are officially off.” 

“They always have been, Park.” He reminded her. 

“We got the greenlight, Adler.”

Adler’s eyebrows shot up, turning his head to face her now. “Hudson approved it?”

Park nodded. “Quite eagerly I might add.”

“He knows what’s at stake.”

“We all do.” Park sighed softly. “Well, I suppose it's a good thing we aren’t bound by the Hippocratic Oath.”

“Sometimes morals and ethics are not in our line of work.”

“Quite so.”

But before more can be discussed between them, a shrill cry from both of their analog watches. Indicating that their stopwatches had ended. That time was up. Both agents shared a look. 

“Do your worst.” Park said over the brim of her tea mug.

Adler gave her a nod, handing her his coffee mug, and turned the corner, to the side door there. The turn of the knob and the squeak of the door opening didn’t wake you however, not that Adler was being quiet about it. Still you slept, too tired to process anything in your surroundings or the threat right in your vicinity. The room was cold when he had entered, even a bit cold for someone like Adler. Another little touch to make sure you were never truly comfortable here in your confinement. He supposed you were used to the cold given that you’re a Soviet associate and all. Yet the way you were shivering in your sleep spoke otherwise.

It was gratifying for him to see it, your physical discomfort. It was ironic that a spy who came in from the cold wasn't as cold-resistant as implied. That notion made Adler pull his leather jacket closer around himself and sat down on the chair opposite of you. Far more supportive than the one you were tied down to. He rested his elbows on the metal table, untucking the manila folder from underneath his left arm and set it on the tabletop. Adjacent to a paper cup from the water dispenser he also brought with him.

Adler flicked his shades open, settling them on his face where they rightfully belonged. As if on cue, the lighting inside the room grew brighter. A sudden surge of brilliance that made you fidget. You crushed your eyelids together, squinting hard. Arms flexed underneath your restraints, wanting to shield your eyes from the bright lights. Your head lolled about until it fell forward, hanging down, chin meeting your chest. Your face is shrouded in the shadow you created, away from the brightness.

With a curl of his mouth, Adler kicked the leg of your chair, scooting it back an inch. The sudden force of it made you bolt awake. Your slouching instantly corrected into an upright position. But you cringed instantly at the lighting above you, turning your chin to the side and away, blinking rapidly to adjust your eyes. Noticeably drowsy still as you groaned and shifted up. But as the sight of Adler in front of you grew clearer, you visibly started to tense up. Greeted him with a pointed glare and a twisted grimace.

“Morning.” Adler said so casually that it made your glare sharpen at him in response. 

Your eyes never left his shaded face even as he began to take out papers from the manila folder on the table in front of him. And shuffled them into a neat pile on top of it, right beside his forearm. You were having trouble though, keeping your eyes on him. Too tired to keep your impassive composure, your neutral face. Your posture staggered as you were trying not to nod off again. Adler intertwined his hands on the tabletop as he leaned forward. The warmth of his hands being sapped away by the cool surface.

He couldn't help but take in the mess that was you. Grubby and unshowered, hair greasy and stuck to your scalp. The only reason you didn’t start to stink rancid was the occasional bucket splashes of water to rinse you off, wake you up or waterboard you. Soiled clothes, stained in dry blood, spit and vomit, hung a bit looser on you now. Muscles withered away from your sedentary confinement. It wasn’t surprising given your circumstance; being deliberately underfed and the first week of detainment – after your surprisingly fast recovery – where you refused to eat or drink. Your sorry state was nothing more than a means to an end. A necessity.

But those eyes. Those damned eyes of yours. Incandescent and intense. Striking against the newly hollow look of your cheeks and the wanness of your skin. The fire in your eyes hasn't been snuffed out just yet, even now as they stared right through his aviators and into his own. 

“Where’s Perseus?”

He took a sip of water from his small paper cup. Noticing how your eyes flitted intently to the motion, mouth dry as you licked your cracked lips. You sat there, not answering. But your silence wasn’t surprising. He expected it. Adler made a show of himself pulling something from his pocket, making sure you saw the shine of the familiar lamented label. A cigarette carton, your cigarette carton. Stained dark with a bloodstain, cardboard creased and partially crushed.

You watched as he plucked a cigarette from inside, one that wasn’t ruined by blood spatter. He thumbed his lighter, puffing as the cigarette caught the flame. He inhaled deeply, before blowing it straight towards you. Your nostrils flared as you took in the smell of it. Nicotine withdrawal flaring up as your jaw grinded against your molars. Adler looked the carton over in interest as he took another drag, reading over the Cyrillic letters that were somewhat legible. With an exhale of smoke, he tossed it on your side of the table, right in front of you, just out of reach. 

“You know the drill. Tell me what I want to know or thing’s will escalate.” Behind the aviators, his eyes flicked down to your hands where your fingernails were starting to grow back. You flexed them into tight fists.

Yet still, you were quiet, unfazed. Staring straight into his reflective aviators to his eyes. Adler stood up and you shifted upright, tracking the man as he slowly rounded the table, cigarette in hand. But your eyes couldn't follow as he walked behind you. Out of your line of sight, at your flank. You went rigid, the pungent smell of cigarette smoke filling your senses. 

“You’re a true-blue patriot. Well, true-red . We're not so different when it comes to what we'll do for our country. How far we’ll go to keep it safe. I know you understand why you’re here. You have information we want. So, I’ll ask again: Where. Is. Perseus?” 

You sat still, unwavering. Mouth closed shut in the telltale sign that you weren’t going to speak. Before you knew it, you were falling, eyes tilted towards the ceiling as Adler yanked your chair back and let it fall. Your arms strained against the straps, automatically wanting to catch yourself but to no avail. And your chair met the hard ground with a gasp and a loud crash. A shadow enfolded over you, and you looked up, head ringing, mouth filling with blood from a bitten tongue.

Then you were suffocating. A boot pressed down into your exposed neck. Blood spluttered out from your choking gasps for breath. Spat it across the floor and onto Adler’s Cuban heeled boot. Your vision went blurry, black dots filled your sight, eclipsing the bright white room. Until all you saw was the scarred face of your tormentor above you. A face carved in the confines of your memory. Lungs burning, blood rushed to your head, pressure crushing down harder on your esophagus. On the cusp of losing consciousness, and the boot moved from your throat. You gasped, going into a fit of bloodied coughs as you gulped down air. 

Adler stood over you, letting loose ash from the cigarette fall like snowflakes onto your face. Mixing with the blood that poured out from your mouth. The only taste of a cigarette you’re given. You’re breathing hard and harsh, a burning print of a boot blossomed on the bare column of your throat. Still you met his gaze, the defiance burning within your irises reflected in his lens. Unyielding. Unbreakable. Unshaken by what’s to come next.

Adler dropped the cigarette next to your head. And held your gaze as he crushed it with the twisting of his heel. 

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“You want me to tell them about my time in Vietnam?”

He lifted his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled.

“To establish a connection with the subject, yes.” Park took a puff from her own cigarette. She eyed Adler, sensing a shift in his demeanor albeit minuscule. Without an untrained eye, it would be inconspicuous. “Is that an issue?”

“I’m not soft like Sims. It won’t be an issue.”

Park smiled like a viper. All teeth and curled maroon lips. “Good. You have the debrief and our course of action as well as the scripts. All we need is your narration.”

Adler stood still and silent, smoking casually beside her. But he ultimately nodded.

“The CIA’s mind control program has had a great deal of success with implanted memories.” She continued, tapping her forefinger on her cigarette to flick the ash away. “In due time, we’ll have what we need from the subject.” 

Park turned to leave but stopped herself, turning on her heel as she looked at the man quietly smoking. “Happy Birthday by the way, Adler.”

And with that, she turned and walked away. 

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You were screaming. 

Fighting against the restraints of the gurney you were strapped down to. Teeth gnashing, grown back nails digging into the flesh of your own palms until they bled. Tried desperately to escape from the laboratorical personnel surrounding you. In surgical attire, faces covered with surgical masks, features blurred by the flare of the surgical lights above you. They were preparing you. For what you didn’t understand.

(But you knew, deep down. A sacrificial lamb, you were, getting ready  for the slaughter. For the company of wolves.)

You were being watched. 

From the hallway, behind a tinted, one-way windowed wall. Looking into the surgical room you were in. All white walls and white tiled flooring. Even now as you screamed. Connected to IV fluid drips; barbiturates in one arm and an amphetamine into the other. Other intravenous fluids were being pumped into you simultaneously. You wanted to rip them out of you. Needles above your head, glinting like knives. You rattled the gurney as you struggled in place. Needles were pressed into your arms. 

And still you wouldn’t abate. But the high doses of psychoactive drugs would kick in soon enough. He remembered when he found you bleeding out in the back of the hummer on that airfield in Turkey. Even then you had it, that violence underneath your skin. You fought against him then too, refusing to let him stop your bleeding. His hands pressed to your gunshots wounds and you clawed at his arms, trying to die on your own terms before you eventually passed out from blood loss. That same violence that made you rip out your stitches when they patched you up. But your violence didn’t last long then and it didn’t last long now as you stopped fighting, the drugs pacifying you. 

The personnel adjusted your gurney, putting it in an upright position to let you sit up. And the lighting was lowered until the room grew dim. They moved aside, making way for the figures behind the glass as they walked in the lab room. Familiar faces in your unsteady sight. You blinked groggily at them, trying to keep your head up. They stared down at you, the woman was closer to your bedside than the scarred man. Here, at this angle, you could make out the shape of the man’s eyes behind the sepia shades. 

“Breaking a subject’s will and erasing their mind is a difficult and painful process.” The woman told the man next to her. He looked at her then he turned to you.

“That’s a small price to pay.” He said.

In your drugged state, you were eventually moved from the surgical room and into a long, cold, white tiled hallway. You caught glimpses of it as you were wheeled down it. Many rooms with one-way windows like yours lined the walls evenly; too many to count and grasp in your stuporous state. Before you knew it you were in another white tiled room, in another interrogation chair. Your legs and arms tied down to it. Hooked up to an ECG machine and a polygraph. As you came to, there right in front of your face was a television on a metal utility cart. It was turned on, the bright screen only showing static. A contrast to your dark surroundings. But there wasn’t just this one, there were multiple lined up in front of you. All of them were on and showing the same static channel. You tried to move your throbbing head, but found your head strapped back to the chair’s headrest. And then you saw him, at the right edge of your vision. A scarred man with shades underneath a lone lamp, sitting behind a desk in an observation room beside you. Watching and waiting. You squirmed, well as much as you could from how tightly you were strapped down to your chair. 

The sound of a tolling bell pealed throughout the room from a source you cannot discern. Colored lights flash before you in a hypnotizing array, like a moth, you are attentive. All the television screens flickered before you, flashing a fuzzy snapshot of a group of soldiers hopping off a landed helicopter. Before a low baritone voice, his low baritone voice filtered through speakers all around the room. Resounded in your ears, echoing in your head. Burrowed deep into your scrambled, befuddled brain.

“We’ve known each other for years. Fought together, bled together. Been through the hell of Vietnam together.”

The screens flickered again, films playing of soldiers saluting their superior. Of recruits training in a mud pit, crawling under barbed wire and jumping over makeshift obstacles. Another screen glitch and you saw an exterior gun range where they practice shooting under the watch of the quartermasters and instructors. Then battlefields, gunfights in the jungles of Vietnam. But you resist. You never knew this man and never will. The voice doesn’t relent, it repeats and repeats.

“We’ve known each other for years. Fought together, bled together. Been through the hell of Vietnam together.”

The narrative it described looped over and over until you heard it in your head. But you never fought in that war. Never stepped foot in Vietnam. It all repeated again. Telling you that you were assigned to his MACV-SOG team sometime in ’67. Fighting VC soldiers, enduring the hellscape of war alongside him. 

“We’ve known each other for years. Fought together, bled together. Been through the hell of Vietnam together.”

Together? Together.

The television screens flashed to a grainy video of some encampment somewhere on an excavated and flattened hilltop. A lake below, jungle in the distance. Then to a picture of a man with sandy brown hair with shades on, surrounded by a group of soldiers. And you remembered. Remembered it all. You were there, too. Made your way through a sea of elephant grasses, thorn bushes, and bamboo forests with them, with him. Waded through rice fields and wetlands - black leeches hiding in the dirty, stagnant pools. Shadows darted between the trees and foliage, enemies hiding in plain sight. M16 rifles jammed in gunfights, mud in your mouth. Sweat stung in your eyes, suffocated by the humidity of the jungle. The smell of napalm burning in the back of your throat. Gunsmoke in your lungs, dead bodies rotting in the underbrush. The taste of C-rats and its sweet treats, the only thing you looked forward to each day.

You were always by his side. You endured it all together. 

Shared joy and shared suffering. 

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A/N: Excited for BO6 → Play Cold War Campaign → Instantly fall in love with Adler → Finish Campaign → Obsessed; mind consumed by Adler 24/7 → Write Self-Indulgent Fic → Rinse and Repeat.

Critique welcomed as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ).

[theresthesnitch]

wolfstar raising harry au where harry goes to muggle pre-k and keeps trying to correct the other kids/teacher when they say “mommy/mama” and “daddy” because doesn’t everyone have a “moony/moomoo” and “paddy”

“Hello, you must be Harry’s father. I’m Katie McCoy, his teacher. Won’t you have a seat?” Ms. McCoy smiles kindly at them, so Sirius doesn’t bother to correct her that he’s not Harry’s father. They’ll have to eventually, but he lets it pass, for now.

“Thank you, Ms. McCoy.” Sirius sits next to her. “Harry adores your class. He tells us all about circle time and—what is it, foam paint?.”

She laughs. “Yes. it's just shaving cream and food dye, but the kids love it.” She crosses her hands over her knees. “Are we waiting for--?”

“My partner will be a few minutes late.” Sirius glanced at the clock on the wall, knowing Remus was hurrying from work to be here on time. “We can start now.”

“Alright, though I don’t mind waiting.” Sirius waives her on, and she begins. “Harry is really a wonderful boy. So inquisitive and funny. You’ve done a great job with him.”

Sirius smiles, trying not think of the fact that Harry is inquisitive like his mother and funny like his father. Their loss still hurts. Instead, he says, “We think so too. He’s a great kid.”

“He is.” Her face clouds for a moment, and Sirius wonders what could possibly be coming next. “I do have some concerns though.”

Any number of things rush through Sirius’s head as to what could bring on that comment. Harry is still mourning the loss of his parents, not really understanding why he can see his mum and dad the way other kids could. It’s possible he said something a bit darker than expected for a child.

Or, perhaps he’s had some accidental magic that the school hadn’t reported to them. They’d so far managed to keep Harry’s peculiar abilities under control, but it was possible that things were slipping by. Merlin, he didn’t want to call the Ministry tonight.

“Concerns? What is wrong?” Sirius tries to keep his voice light.

“Well, we’re concerned he may have a bit of a speech impediment.”

That makes Sirius pull back. In the entire world of problems he has, the talkative, exuberant little boy having a speech impediment was not one of them. His diction was impeccable, and Remus was always saying he’d be a natural at Transfiguration because of it. Just like James.

“I don’t think we’ve noticed that.” He says slowly, not sure what else to say.

“Well, it’s a very subtle difference, and I don’t think that we’d have noticed so much, except he keeps correcting the other kids to his pronunciations as well.” Her brows crease, and she gives her head a small shake. “On correction, he insists that he is correct.”

“What words is he getting wrong?” Sirius asks.

“Daddy and Mummy. He says it like—”

Before she can finish, the door opens and Remus sweeps in, a kind smile on his face. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare getting here.” Sirius nearly snorts, knowing Remus apparated directly there. “What have I missed?”

Sirius looked at him as he sat down in the seat next to him. “Apparently, Harry might have a speech impediment.”

Remus looked surprised. “I certainly haven’t noticed anything like that.”

Ms. McCoy looked between them. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Sirius bristles at the question. “This is Remus. We’re Harry’s guardians.”

“His guardians?” She looks more confused. “But he talks about going home with Mummy and Daddy?”

Sirius tilts his head as she asks the question. “I thought you said he was saying Mummy and Daddy wrong?”

“Yes, well.” She squares her shoulders, clearly thrown off. “Well, he’s been saying it something like Paddy and—”

“And Moony?” Remus finishes with a smile. “Yes, that’s what he calls us. Not Mummy and Daddy, but Moony and Paddy.”

Her face rounds out into an O. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Bit of unusual names for his—did you say guardians?”

Sirius nods, unable to speak, and Remus squeezes his hand. “Yes. Harry’s parents are—” he clears his throat “—were James and Lily. They were our friends, and now we are Harry’s guardians.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, and for Harry’s. I had no idea.” She begins flipping through pages in front of her making notes. “His file didn’t mention anything about it.”

“We didn’t mention it when we enrolled him,” Remus says, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. “We didn’t want him to have to answer a lot of questions on it, and we still don’t.”

“Of course,” she looks up from her notes, meeting both of their eyes. “I’ll keep it quiet.”

“Thank you.” Remus smiles, with a raised eyebrow. “So no speech impediment then?”

“No, no I think that clears that up.” She looks at her notes again. “Let’s see what else I have on Harry.”

***

When they arrive home, Remus handles seeing Mary out while Sirius heads back to the kitchen where Harry is coloring. Sirius pulls up a chair next to him, grabbing his own piece of paper and a purple crayon. “Heya, Haz.”

“Hi, Paddy.” Harry doesn’t look up from his coloring. “Did you see my teacher?”

“I did, buddy.” Sirius draws the outline of an elephant, which he starts coloring in. “Do you know that not every kid in your class has a Paddy and a Moony?”

Harry looks up and beams brightly at him. “I know. I think I’m the luckiest boy in the world.”

Sirius chokes out a laugh, and mostly manages to hold back a tear. Harry looks down at his page, coloring again, and Sirius catches Remus’s eye as he walks in the room again, leaning against the door frame. “You know, I think you just might be.”

[rileychester]

I think for Aaron, it's not just the pain and loss of being without Robert as a person.

The loss of a soulmate must be a great pain I can imagine.

But I think it's also the fact that Aaron is adrift without unconditional love and acceptance.

The Dingles, Chas, and Paddy of late have always been toxic, and unhealthy, with lots of strings attached.

But Robert who was his own hot mess, saw Aaron and said "You are safe with me." And Aaron was that for Robert as well.

Considering Aaron's life and mental health, it must have felt like a lifeline to have someone accept, love, and just see him for all the warts and still want him.

So now Aaron is just lost at sea and looking for anywhere safe to land while he slowly and painfully drowns.

[thelovetheystole]

I've made a list of all the dark and depressing stories Emmerdale have done in recent times under the cut. Lots of trigger warnings for this one, beware.

So, in fairly recent times (from 2022 to now), we've had:

Nicola beaten by a gang of teenage girls / ptsd / afraid to leave her house

Marlon's stroke

Noah stalked Chloe / went to prison / swapped personality with Samson

Return of Dawn's evil ex Alex who pretty much threatened to traffic his own kids

Leyla addicted to cocaine / violent dealer put both Jacob and Suzy in hospital / Leyla overdose / rehab / divorce from Liam

Charity ectopic pregnancy

Sandra trying to fleece her own daughter and push her off the wagon

Faith dead

Harriet dead

Sam speared on farm equipment

Nate trampled by cows

Liv dead

Samson missing/ found half dead after the storm

Chas using her dead daughter to manipulate Aaron to leave the country after Liv's funeral to cover up her affair with Al

Kyle shot Al dead / Cain in prison

Paddy depressed / suicide attempt

Samson tried to have his own daughter taken away from Amelia and put into care and bullied/pushed his dad

Amelia stalked first online then in real life

Lloyd the stalker dead / Dan sent to prison

Cathy pmdd diagnosis

Lydia raped / Craig dead

Eric Parkinson's diagnosis

Caleb in a coma after Nicky pushed him off a cliff

Rishi dead / pushed down the stairs?

Chloe, Mack and Charity in a car accident

Mack kidnapped and beaten / lost Rueben / stabbed by Charity

Charity ptsd after killing Mack's kidnapper

Marshall's homophobic dad locking both him and Laurel up

Heath dead / Angelica custodial sentence

Naomi left and stole Vinny's money from selling the Mill

Ryan and Gail's secret son sick

Victor Anderson dead

Mary scammed / victim of revenge porn

Jacob almost died from allergic reaction

David disowned Jacob over Victoria and told him not to call him dad anymore, left the village

End of Nate and Tracy's marriage

Ruby made Caleb humiliate Tracy

Nicky and Suni attacked by homophobes

Aaron hated everyone / seduced Ethan only to humiliate him to get back at Charles

Vinny bullied and beaten by Aaron

Aaron and Cain trying to batter each other half to death with a spanner / Cain in serious condition

Cain compared Aaron to Gordon and wanted to drive him out of the village

Chas' breast cancer and double mastectomy

Aaron's faulty gene

The entire 'Little Ivy' story from stolen embryos to kidnapping to Gus in prison to marriage problems for Marlon and Rhona

Belle continously abused / same with Piper

Vinny beaten up by Tom

Evan's leukaemia

Nicky (and Ethan) in a car accident / coma

Ethan ran over / dead from unrelated brain bleed

Reveal of Ella as a 'child killer'

Samson stabbed

Matty set up by transphobe / in prison/ arranged his own beating

Laurel, did she have a heart attack?

Jai and Laurel nasty divorce

Samson sent to prison

Ella (and Dawn) in a car accident / pregnancy loss

Mackenzie head injury

And now something is seriously wrong with Moira and there is a big fire stunt coming with at least one death I'm sure, I'm also fairly certain they'll reveal John to have ptsd as well. Then it's time to grieve Zak...

Did I leave anything important out? I'm going to try and make a list for the lighter / more heartwarming stuff, but I think it will be much shorter...

[jks1uv]

𝑙𝑜𝑚𝑙 ; tommy riordan | one-shot |

summary: you’re visited by the love and loss of your life after he walked away a decade ago.

pairing: tommy riordan x vsangel!reader.

trope: estranged childhood best friends to lovers.

genre: angst + fluff + hurt & comfort + romance.

warnings‼️: a 3 year age gap (reader is 22 & tommy is 25) + crude language + a kiss scene + a suggestive line towards reader as a model (some guy says she’s fine) + a minor detail describing a small part of the daily routine of a marine which may be inaccurate.

word count: 3,680.

random disclaimerrr: me when tom hardy: 😍😍 happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2024 @jks1uv

────♡♡♡────

you & tommy were the best of friends. inseparable at the tender ages of 5 & 8.

you two were neighbors and your family consists of 4; mom, dad, you, and your little sister.

tommy and brendan had a bigger age gap than you and your sister but whenever you girls would be out in the yard, tommy would feel the itch to go out and play in his little hands.

he knew y’all were younger than him but that didn’t discourage his curiosity.

“um, is… is it okay if i can play with you?” he asked hesitantly.

you and your little sister look towards the voice and find a boy older than the two of you standing by his front porch, looking bashful.

you nodded enthusiastically, so excited to make a new friend. “yes!” you exclaimed as you grab his hand and drag him along your front yard.

ever since then, the two of you were joined at the hip.

────♡♡♡────

tommy would come over to your house often due to the close nature of your friendship.

you may have been 12 at the time but you were wise, and that made it easier for him to confide in you.

“he’s drunk. again.” he shook his head and chuckled bitterly.

your eyes were soft and sorry. you wish he wouldn’t think pitying him was a bad thing.

you lace your hands with his and insist on watching a movie while snacking on his favorite things.

“you can spend the night. if you want?”

it was second nature to go above and beyond for him, but it was second nature for him to deny your kindness. you never understood why.

“nah, i gotta get back to my mom.” and you smiled at that.

one thing about tommy? he’s a great son to his mother.

they say it gets worse before it gets better and that was certainly the case for tommy. he and his mother had been pushed to their limits. they both packed their bags and never looked back at pittsburgh ever again.

you were devastated, heartbroken. you couldn’t believe your best friend just up and left without even saying goodbye.

you figured it was because of his father, paddy, but you never knew he’d be behind pushing your best friend away from you.

you harbored a secret anger towards him whenever tommy would spill his guts out but in this moment? you resented him.

paddy was the sole reason your other half, your soulmate was gone.

you never even got to tell tommy how you really felt about him.

tommy told you his secrets and you shared yours. you were never this close to a person, ever. your little sister is an exception but of course she’s gonna know you better than you know yourself. she’s your blood, but tommy isn’t. he’s someone who’s seen what the inside of your heart looks like and he hadn’t judged you one bit for it.

tommy is your first love, but he was also the loss of your life.

────♡♡♡────

10 years later, present-day:

“standby y/n.”

you're nervous as fuck and rightfully so. in addition to this being the first time you open a victoria’s secret fashion show, you're wearing your first fantasy bra to do it.

that’s a lot more firsts a girl can hope for!

you’re just a couple of minutes away from so many things happening tonight. tripping and twisting your ankle, falling on your face and the internet never letting you live it down, or worse: never getting another chance to model for victoria's secret ever again.

well, there goes your career! over before it even started all because of some heels or the floor or the lights or some other, valid yet non-excusable reason.

you take a deep breath in and exhale through your lips forming an ‘o’ shape. you close your eyes and join your hands together to pray silently with the few seconds you have left.

please, please, please don’t let me fuck this up. please.

you hear ariana grande belt out the few lines before the chrous of ‘dangerous woman’ out front. you make a mental note to ask for a photo and autograph when you see her later.

“go, y/n!” showtime.

it’s muscle memory for your hands to place themselves on your hips as you make your way down the large, well-lit, glittery floor.

perfect timing to make your appearance as the chorus of the song plays on.

cheers and screams erupt from the seats as you stand tall and concentrate on moving your ankles in front of the other.

you’re at the middle of the runway when you tug on a strap and large, black, feathery wings make their appearance. more encore from the venue & you can’t help but feel like that bitch.

when you make it to the end of the runway, you turn your chin down a bit and let your eyes do the talking. they’re outlined with black eyeliner and highlighted with silver and black eyeshadow, blended so nicely together.

the theme for your fantasy bra is “black swan” and it’s perfect for you as that’s the energy you’re known to give off. dark feminine, mysterious and unpredictable.

you pause for a few seconds to pose and let your side profile hang in the camera angle for a bit before you turn to the side. you make a full 360. you eye the camera on the side, offering one last glimpse before you’re on your way backstage.

you let the crowd fuel you as you depart and hope you looked your very best.

you know only angels get to wear wings and you know it’s a privilege to get to do both; be an angel and wear wings.

you were signed as a victoria’s secret model at 18 and worked very hard for 3 years to earn your title as an ‘angel’. at 21, you were gifted an opportunity so many girls only dream of.

the rest of the girls backstage practically flood the room with excited shrieks, warm hugs and elated faces.

you were the youngest of the batch and had so much yet to learn but they all treated you as their baby.

“you killed it out there!”

“so beyond proud of you, babe.”

“there she is! the highlight of tonight.”

“our black swan did so beautiful!” and there were so many more words of encouragement that made you spill so many tears but you did it! the hard part was over.

now you can change into other lingerie and wings and just be content with the fact that you did it. you. did. it.

────♡♡♡────

after the show was successfully complete (and ariana grande came asking for a photo), a celebration in the form of drinks were obviously in order.

you’re out with ur sister and you deem it’s baddie baddie shot o’clock.

“girl, save some for your birthday.” your sister laughed.

you just sent her a toothy grin and shrugged. “we’ll just drink some more when it gets here.”

your 23rd birthday is still some time away but you weren’t thinking about that tonight.

“HOLY SHIT, IS THAT TOMMY?!”

yup. that’s what you were thinking about. the boy who left pittsburgh and took a piece of your heart with him.

your neck snaps up at the name and you see him for the first time in forever.

he’s here. in the flesh, and not on television breaking some guy's jaw. he's about 10 ppl away from you.

your heart stops.

your breathing stops.

time stops and all of a sudden, you’re a little kid again forming a memorable friendship with the neighbors youngest son.

he’s wearing a white tank top under a baggy, black zip-up jacket with a pair of black sweatpants.

his baby blues are darting from one person to the next, an unnoticeable smile on his face as people come up to him and say nice things with proud smiles on their faces.

you think he looks good. a bit uncomfortable and edgy, but he looks like he’s been taking good care of himself.

you begrudgingly look away from him and blink rapidly to keep your tears from falling.

your sister puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, begging you to go up to him and rekindle what may be lost but you silently plead with her to just let you have this.

you don’t have it in you to go up to him and make small talk, act like the last 10 years didn’t happen.

at least not tonight.

she indulges you and the two of you quietly leave the bar. unaware of the stunned pair of eyes that want so desperately for you to turn around to see what’s slipping away.

────♡♡♡────

you wake up with a headache but it's not from a hangover. it's from crying yourself to sleep.

you couldn't believe yourself. how did you miss the one chance you've been so desperately praying for? how did you walk out and away from him?

like he did you.

you sigh and drink some water from your nightstand before getting ready.

you shower and eat and think about going to just drive around town as you haven't been back in 3 years.

should you also go see him? maybe he's still here?

or maybe he left. again.

you shake your head away from those thoughts, no matter how possible they may be. you're gonna go out there and find him and... well, you'll figure out the rest of the plan when you see him.

the sound of the doorbell ringing catches your attention. your sister left for work and said she won't be back until 6.

you grab your keys and purse and make your way to the door, hoping it's a girl scout with cookies or something.

but of course, surprise, surprise. the universe says “nuh uh!” and behold! it's the very thing you ran away from. this time, just a couple of steps away from touching you.

“tommy?” you breathe out in disbelief.

he blinks slowly and your stomach feels funny. like all the adrenaline in you is swarming in your intestines, daring you to move your body. without thinking, you accept the challenge.

you jump out at him and crush him in the biggest hug you've ever given and the vigor of it knocks his balance off a bit. you hear him grunt in surprise and your arms are wrapped around his neck in a vice grip. like if you loosen them even a little, he'll disappear again.

hot tears brim along your eyes. you close them tightly and let them slide down your cheeks anyway, feeling them trail a path down your face.

his hands slowly rise towards your figure and he's unsure where to put them. he's never hugged or been hugged like this. even when he made up with brendan, it was different. but why is this different? it it because it's you and not his no-longer-estranged older brother?

he hugs you back. one hand is across your hip and the other is your shoulder blade in his palm. he slides his face into the crevice of your neck and noses your collarbone in a silent apology. you sniffle as you accept it.

“i'm sorry.” he croaks out.

you shake your head, to tell him he doesn't have to be but he insists.

“i shoulda came to see you but-” he cuts himself off.

he sighs and moves his face back, prompting you to do the same.

you look at him with watery eyes and his eyes dart around your face. like he's memorizing it. his eyebrows come together and form lines on his forehead. you know he does that when he's thinking really hard about something.

“the truth is,”

you let go of his neck and his cradles your face in his hands.

“i knew i wouldn't be able to leave if i saw you.” and when he drops that bomb on you, you can't help but stitch your wobbly lips together in a smile.

it doesn't reach your eyes though, and that's how he knows you missed him just as much as he missed you.

“but i woulda understood why.”

and he knows that, of course he knows. he also knows that the second he would've seen those tears in your eyes, he would've broken his resolve. and how could he not? you break his heart when you cry.

he wipes your tears with his thumbs.

“i know.” he murmurs.

he pulls you into him once more with a hand on your neck and you cry softly, unbeknownst to you that he's forcing himself to brave through his teary eyes.

────♡♡♡────

“oh my god, you're so old.” you giggle.

“and you're so young.” he bites with no heat.

you invited tommy in and changed, finding your mission successful. the current conversation is about how different life has been for the both of you.

“so i guess we're both kinda like celebrities, huh. you tap your nails against the sofa arm.

“more you than me.” his lips split open in a toothy grin.

you smile back and think how great this all is. there's no sign of forced conversation, he's as relaxed as he can be and you are happy.

tommy stares at you and finds himself seeing all the things he's missed. he finds all the years he's missed in your face, all the places you've been in your eyes and all the joy you've experienced in your lips.

the truth is, he saw you on tv every time you were in a show. even back when you just modeled for any show before you were officially signed on as an angel.

his unit members would tease him but he didn't care. you were on national television and to him? you were amazing.

if anyone said anything about any woman in a suggestive tone, he'd say something anyway but he never played about you.

“damn, she's fine.”

if looks can kill, you wouldn't wanna be that guy. because tommy could kill with his bare hands just as well.

alas, that was the only warning that poor chap got before it was lights out. all because he couldn't keep his thoughts in his head. he just had to air it out to everyone.

tommy slept good that night, too.

“whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” you pull him away from his memories.

he deeply exhales and looks away from you, fiddling with his chain around his neck.

“i watched all your shows.” he murmurs.

you still heard it though and you show it by the way your face is beaming.

“really?”

you’re elated because you were on his mind just as much as he was on yours.

he nods, still refusing eye contact. but it’s okay.

you scoot a bit closer to him and your knees are folded under you, touching his thigh. he stops fiddling with his chain and eyes your hands on your knees. slowly but surely, his eyes lock onto yours and he sees how happy you are.

“i didn’t know they allowed people to watch tv over there.” you can’t help your grin.

your head tilts to the side a little as he explains how everyone shares one tv and there’s a daily time limit to how much tv they can watch.

“wait, so, you even watched the shows i did before i was exclusive to victoria’s secret?”

“every single one.”

that made your heart swoon. your crush on him never left but this amplified it.

you had guys try to hit on you and say a line or two to get your number (or something else) but they weren’t tommy.

he haunted your life.

“why didn’t you ever call?”

you didn’t want to ruin the mood but this has been sitting on your mind the second you let him in. you don’t know if he feels it, too.

“why’d you leave the bar?”

you quirk up an eyebrow at his quick yet witty retort.

touché.

this has been weighing on him for quite some time, too.

“i didn’t know how to face you… i guess i was overwhelmed.” you answer, ashamed.

he nods like he was satisfied in your answer.

“same.”

you look at him, unsatisfied with his lack of explanation.

“i never called because i thought you might’ve hated me.” he admits.

you’re offended and you don’t hide it.

did he really think his friendship meant that little to you? so little, that you wouldn’t understand?

he sees the look on your face and shakes head, as if he was answering your questions.

“no, wait, it’s not like that-”

“i could never hate you.”

there’s a softness in your voice as you say the words he’s been longing for. it soothes the wave of self-loathing washing over the shore of his heart.

all he’s wanted to hear, to know; is that you don’t hate him.

your knees slide out from under you and you cross your legs together, facing him.

“i honestly thought you forgot about me-”

“never.” he says so instantly, like that idea is so absurd and bizarre.

to him? it is.

“i could never, ever forget about you.”

now it was his turn to be offended.

how could you assume he’d ever forget about you? the same you that never let him down? the same you that always had a place for him in your mind and heart? that you?

you sigh softly and look down at your hands. you’re unsure where to go now.

“okay.” you nod.

“okay.” he asserted.

you huff out a laugh from your scrunched up nose and your smile threatens your unbothered demeanor.

tommy smiles back, a tight-lipped one but a smile nonetheless.

he gazes into your eyes and they drift to your lips on their own accord. like a magnet, they’re drawn to your mouth and your eyes are drawn to his.

he hesitantly leans in a bit, giving you time and space to back off if you’d like but you’re frozen.

you gulp and meet his eyes and he whispers, “i’ve liked you for the longest time.”.

that makes your heart leap out of your chest. all these years you’ve been crushing on this big, tough guy, not knowing he’s liked you back?

“since when?” you’re so starstruck.

he smiles bashfully, a faint red blush painting his cheeks. as uncharacteristic as this looks, you weren’t about to let this phenomenon go to waste by looking away.

“since that day i asked if i could play.”

your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack.

this endearing motherfucker.

“i… i’ve been crushin’ on you, too.” you admit.

you can’t look at him. you don’t know why you feel this way. maybe it’s because you’ve never been this vulnerable with a man before.

“don’t go all shy on me now.” he teases.

he moves his head to catch your gaze.

you smack your teeth and halfheartedly hit his shoulder with your knuckles.

he brings his head towards you once more and aligns his forehead with yours. you close your eyes at the contact and he asks, “can i kiss you?”.

you nod faintly, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.

his palms rest on the curve of your waist and he kisses you like he’s making up for all lost time.

he’s gentle, letting you set the pace, letting you take control.

but there’s something else you need to know.

your head tilts back a bit and he chases you, dazed and not a single thought behind his eyes other than kissing you forever if you’d let him.

“easy, tiger.” an airy chuckle leaves your lips and you set a hand on his chest.

he lazily smiles and places his hand over yours. he kisses your forehead and cheeks. tommy sounds out an exaggerated ‘mwah!’ as he gives your lips one last kiss.

it makes you smile, tommy being so affectionate. a stark contrast to his demeanor in the public but you think he’s one of those “tough guy with a soft heart” kind of guy.

“i want you to stay.”

he pauses his actions and slowly backs up to meet your eyes.

“you stayin’ here?” he asks curiously.

“for the time being.” you interlock your fingers with his.

he nods and says, “what you really mean to say is; you want me to come with you.”

you purse your lips sheepishly. tommy thinks about it for a moment.

“new york city?”

“mhm.”

you’re nervous. was that an impulsive move? or is that question a result of your fear; him leaving just as fast as he showed up?

he deeply inhales and blows a raspberry, simulating a worried persona.

“okay.” he decides a beat later.

you blink and shake your head, getting whiplash from his behavior.

“wait, what?!”

“i was gonna come visit you anyway but this sounds better.” he nods like he’s made up his mind.

tommy says things like this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and to him, they are.

but for you, this is a commitment. a promise. something you can’t turn back from and you convey that to him.

“tommy,” you begin. “this is a very big and important adjustment. we’re moving in, together.”

“what else would i be doin’? where else would i be?”

“for starters, your family is here. i know you’ve made up with brenadan so i figured…” you trail off and hope tommy can fill in the rest.

a lopsided smirk is drawn to his handsome, smug face and he holds your hands.

“that’s sweet and you’re right. but he chose when and where to make his family and i’m tellin’ you; there’s no place i’d rather be.”

he says is so intrinsically that your heart wills no choice but to believe him. there’s a silent promise in his words, one that he hopes you hear him make.

i’m not leaving you again.

“…okay.” you muse.

“okay.” he settles with a quick kiss to your lips.

[fanficfanattic]

Shenanigans I am considering, from dumbest to least dumb:

1. Jamie’s S1 nipple burn has graver and rippling consequences. Everything after the burn are all fever dreams he had in hospital. He returns to work sad because he never actually became best friends with Roy. He’s having an emotional time and ends up saying something about “that Doug bloke” and Roy demands to know how he knew about Doug! /end fic

2. Paddy O’Gara made his way to the Richmond dressing room after 2.08 Wembley loss. He accidentally reveals to the team that James Tartt Sr has been abusive the entire time he’s known Jamie.

3. ???

4. Profit

[larixxz]

Risa Hayashida (Wiki entries)

Here are some facts about her!!:) i’ve managed to write a little bit about her story, not too much but enough 😭💀 (sucks to be in the final year of highschool and prepare urself for exams and graduation 💔)

⚠️my oc’s story will include sensetive topics such as violence, murder, loss etc.!! ⚠️ (also sorey for my english🥹😟😟)

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆ ˚⋅

ᯓ★ I. Overview

ᯓ★ II. Personality

ᯓ★ III. Appearance

ᯓ★ IV. Breathing Style

ᯓ★ V. Abilities

ᯓ★ VI. Backstory

ᯓ★ VII. Relationship with other

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆ ˚⋅

★ I. Overview 🌺

• name―୨୧⋆ ˚

➤ Risa (梨彩) meaning: “Pear“

-Risa is a vibrant name rooted in multiple languages and cultures. However, its most widely accepted origin is Japanese. Based on the kanji characters used to write it, Risa exhibits numerous connotations.

➤ Hayashida (林田) meaning: “forest rice paddy”

-this surname was chosen because for centuries Risa’s ancestors were living in the mountains near forests, harvesting crops.

•birthday―୨୧⋆ ˚

➥ march 10th

•age―୨୧⋆ ˚

➥ 17

•sex―୨୧⋆ ˚

➥ female

•height―୨୧⋆ ˚

➥159cm

•occupation―୨୧⋆ ˚

➥ demon slayer (ever since 12 years old)

•rank―୨୧⋆ ˚

➥ hashira (since 14 years old, so for 3 years straight!)

•breath―୨୧⋆ ˚

➥ Dragon Breathing Style

★ II. Personality 🌷

Risa , the Dragon Hashira, is very well known not only for being an extrovert but also for an empath, showing sensitivity and understanding towards the other members of the Demon Slayer Corps. She has no trouble lending a hand in need even for the smallest inconvenience possible, as she considers it’s the Hashira’s duty to make others feel comfortable and welcome. She makes it very clear from the start that if you ever need something you can count on her!

However, with close friends, she does seem to be more on the playful, mischievous side as she loves to pull (harmful) pranks and tricks! She thrives on the reactions of others to her pranks, finding joy in laughter and amusement. But, sometimes, it does get out of hand… (as one time Risa, together with Tengen, faked a love letter from Mitsuri to Obanai but as consequence got her butt beaten by him🪦.Tengen managed to run away from the situation tho💀💀)

★ III. Appearance 🌸

In her childhood, to keep Risa safe from head lices, Hayami would often keep her hair really short but still cute, a short hime cut.

(example)

However, in her adolescence years, to honor her mother after her passing, she let her hair grow really long below her knees. It gave her some closure every time she looked in the mirror, thinking that it’s the only way to feel somehow connected to her.

She has a very long luscious hair kept in a low ponytail, ranging from the top of her head with a light coral that eventually fades to a cardinal red color. She kept the same face-framing layer from her childhood, a hime cut but longer sidelocks.

Thanks to her hair color it really accentuates the intensity of her azure eyes with a little bit of light yellow. Unlike average people, her pupils are thin and sharp, similar to a reptile. Her thick eyebrows doesn’t go unnoticed either.

Her attire consists in:

• top & bottom : standard demon slayer uniform (dark brown).

(she did got the revealing one just like Mitsuri from that perv but ultimately declined, shoving that “defected” uniform into his mouth and forcefully made him chew.)

• she wears a large indigo haori made by her mother, filled with red and white flowers.

•footwear : sandals idk😭

★ IV. Breathing Style 💐

I should probably give a little bit of context (cringe aleeert😍😍 my 14 year old ass ateee ) :

Risa retains an ancient sword that she managed to obtain at the age of 12 years old by overcoming certain obstacles in order to become a Demon Slayer. This particular sword is actually possessed by a deity’s spirit who couldn’t find it’s peace yet after being killed centuries ago. Even though his physical body died, his spirit still remained lost on earth and withdrew itself in the sword.

The spirit’s name is Ryoma and takes form of a dragon with long horns and fluffy fur. The rest of his body is packed with scales. Not everyone can see him, though. So, sometimes, it looks like Risa is talking to herself. (which creeps people out��)

It might seem confusing but she gets a boost of power, benefiting not only from her swordsmanship styles but also from Ryoma’s strength. However, it is not unlimited as Ryoma needs energy to fight. So whenever he gets too tired, Risa will just simply use her style. (squiggly movements, similar to a dragon’s pattern)

He restores his energy by either sleeping.

In some cases, Ryoma can fuse with Risa’s breathing style, becoming more powerful but uses ton of energy.

(she also refuses for anyone to forge her weapon as it actually hurts for Ryoma. only she gently takes care of it.)

Dragon Breathing Style consists in 7 known forms:

1. First Form: Inferno Breath.

2. Second Form: Azure Tempest.

3. Third Form: Crystal Rain.

4. Fourth Form: Ryū Roar.

5. Fifth Form : Mizzle Dance.

6. Sixth Form: Savoury Munch.

7. Seventh Form: Immolate.

(will explain these forms another time😍😍)

★ V. Abilities

Even before becoming a Demon Slayer, she was blessed enough with a muscular built passed by her ancestors and having denser muscles than an average person. (not like Mitsuri tho ofc, maybe just three times denser).

Besides her strength, enhanced eyesight are also one of her main abilities that contributes greatly in battles. She can very clearly see the opponent’s next move.

Speaking of speed, she would definitely be the same level as Rengoku.

It might sound weird but sometimes, in a battle field, in order to keep the same speed as the opponent she uses all of her limbs to move, climb, drag herself around faster. (think just like Inosuke lol😭)

Her stamina and endurance is pretty average, it depends whenever she benefits some special effects from her Breathing Technique.

★ VI. Backstory 🎥

Risa- just a newborn.

- She was born into a community, far away from the other villages. This clan is thought to be a descendant from Ryoma, an immortal supreme creature that existed throughout the centuries on earth, before Muzan was ever born.

(PAST)

It is said that it’s clan appearance took apart when, several decades ago, a small community of villagers fled to the top of a mountain to escape starvation and the demons unleashed by Muzan. There, they found a cabin inhabited by a tall, pale man with platinum, silky hair and celadon eyes. He looked too beautiful to be human. The man, sad upon hearing their unfortunate story, suggested living in the same area as him only with the condition to help eachother out. Over time, living close with one another , they finally started creating familles together, they had the time to finally focus on what they can improve on skill-wise. Danger wasn’t a problem for them anymore as demons weren’t usually crossed the paths towards their new “hideout”.

The tall, white-headed man was finally happy to be surrounded by humans.

His name was Ryoma. But.. was he actually immortal?

[PRESENT]

Risa was the only daughter of the Hayashida Clan, which had only been blessed with boys for hundreds of years. The arrival of a girl in the family was seen as a positive change, as Risa would grow up to become a strong, beautiful, and inspiring lady who could serve as a role model for her peers.

Until.. all of their hopes were crushed.

```

Late one night, an unexpected and vicious attack was launched by demons sent by Muzan at the small village, catching its inhabitants off guard. The surprise attack resulted in the deaths of many, leaving only a handful of survivors. Among the survivors were Risa and her oldest brother, Rikku. In a desperate attempt to escape, Rikku fled to the closest village with Risa's baby sister cradled in his arms, but not before sustaining a major injury to his abdomen. Even though he had never left the mountain, Rikku managed to grab an old map of Japan before fleeing in search of refuge. However, the journey was fraught with danger and difficulty. With each passing moment, Rikku's wounds grew worse, he had left a massive trail of his own blood. Plus, Rikku was still far away from the village he had to refugee in with Risa and to report the Demon Slayer Corps about the night attack.. It was late.

He failed everyone from his family.

```

The only thing that made him proud in that moment was the fact that he protected his baby sister so well- no scar on her delicate, fair skin. He had no choice but to rest under the nearest cheery blossom tree and accepting his destiny in a matter of hours.

This was his last moment to admire nature’s beauty one last time before closing his eyes and falling into a deep, deep sleep for eternity.

```

For Risa’s luck, just the next day, he was found dead. His corpse, along with baby Risa sleeping peacefully in his arms, were found by a woman who just happened to live in the village Rikku was supposed to arrive in. The woman, named Hayami, noticed a small letter beside the young man, written in blood. Upon reading his letter and their situation, she felt pity for his fate and decided to give him a proper burial and took Risa into her care.

Nothing is known of her expect the fact that her name is Hayami. She is just a simple, hard-working women who sadly her husband “died” and suffered from infertility. It caused her a great moment of happiness finding Risa, thinking she could finally have someone to take care of and cherish.

```

Risa- a teenager. (12 years old)

Growing up, Risa has always showed her admiration and gratitude towards the swordsmen from the Demon Slayer Corps. Whenever she would see one doing a check-up in her village, she did not missed a chance into chatting with them about their routines, strenght and overall their life style as a demon slayer. The first Demon Slayer she ever talked to was actually an hashria, Uzui Tengen.

By the time Risa was 12 years old she already found out about her origins from Hayami. For some time she could only feel emptiness. It definitely messed her up, both psychically and mentally. Being the only blood line survivor that knew nothing of her past made her feel like a stranger to her own heart.. However, because of this reason, she did not wanted to happen similar or worser to someone else. So she made a very drastic choice of becoming a Demon Slayer.

When she told Hayami about her future plans she had her full support, letting her know she will always be by her side. Before attending the Final Selections, she had only one wish- visiting her hometown where she actually came from.

In this case, Hayami handed Risa the old map Rikku had with him the whole time he tried to escape. Thanks to this map, she was able to track the same path where her family used to live.

Risa took a few days to reach her final destination. As Risa made her way towards her destination, she couldn't help but notice the overgrown plants that had taken over the small houses. The sight filled her with a sense of melancholy as she tried to imagine how her family used to live there before their passing. How were they as people? What did they used to like? Were they good people? All kinds of questions started to pop in her mind. Suddenly, she stumbled upon a dusty scabbard with a sword inside. As she cautiously touched the handle, Risa felt a strange sensation, an electric shock, which made her instinctively drop it. However, she gathered her courage and took a closer look at the katana on her second attempt. As she carefully took out the sword, she noticed how it’s blade was changing colors to a lavander color which totally confused her, not knowing why. (yet LMAOO)

Thinking this might be the only evidence she can gather from her bloodline, she did not hesitated to bring it back with her home.

It was way too early when she arrived home, not even the sun was up by then. But, to her surprise, the doors were freely open with no one inside. Where was her mother? It coulnd’t been an attack by a demon, that’s for sure.. there were no blood. Risa had yelled for Hayami but to no response- she wans’t here.

That’s when Risa ran outside of her yard, trying to find someone to ask for help from her neighbors but the only sight she could catch was a large crowd in the middle of the commune, asseverating remarks of someone to be immediately burned. Making her way to see what was going on, every noise surrounding her quickly turned into a muffle and her vision blurred.

Her mother was tightly tied to a skate, ashamedly looking down at the ground. Hayami was a demon all along that outlived every single relative of her family years ago. Ultimately, she got saved by Lady Tamayo and inherited proprieties that once belonged to her family, making her very rich. However, because of Zaiaku Jigoku, a noble who wanted to buy some land owned by Hayami but was rejected, he managed to find all kinds of secrets about her and her identity and turned everyone against her to get all of her wealth after her death. He had a reason to execute her now- for being a demon and lying about it.

Calling out for her mother and intervening between people to save her was in vain - the guards sent by Zaiaku took hold of her and did not let her interfere with her mother’s execution. Hearing her daughter’s cries, Hayami couldn't do anything but sadly smile at her for the last time before being consumed by the sun. Even though she could have easily killed the humans, she chose not to, as she was committed to this decision. She never wanted to hurt anyone, but to be considered normal, like she was once before being turned. Before being consumed, she mumbled something that Risa couldn’t understand.

Her vision was blurred by her tears. Her heart was aching, as if a thousand daggers were piercing it repeatedly. She was compelled to watch as her mother was mercilessly taken from her. Despite her agonizing screams, no one intervened. At that moment, Risa's desperation gradually morphed into anger as she realized that the bystanders were indifferent to her mother's death, and the Japanese noble was going to basically win, making Risa homeless. Unwilling to let this pass, rage consumed her and she finished off almost everyone involved - specifically those who sided with Zaiaku.

Before dispatching the noble, he begged for mercy and pleaded with her to let him go as he has children who will mourn his passing. Risa had nothing but hatred towards this man; “How dare you ask for mercy just so you can move on and live a normal life with your family, while I have to mourn the death of my mother for the rest of my life?”

Eliminating the nobility did not ease Risa's pain, instead, it worsened as she stood before the bodies, covered in their blood. The realization that she had become what she detested most - a demon - left a heavy lump in her throat.

For years, in silence, she suffered. She never really told anyone about this but Gyomei.

★ VII. Relationship with other hashiras 🪷

She does get along with most of them thanks to her outgoing personality!

(still have to do what impressions she has for the kamaboko squad but wtv)

END. <3

(might just add/edit some stuff another time🤨)

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Dennis and POTS

This is a headcanon you can pry from my cold, dead hands. I'm obsessed with it right now and here's why:

It embodies all that Dennis worries about, whether he's aware of that or not. It's a lack of control, a sign of some sort of 'physical imperfection' that he can't do anything about, a lifelong condition thrown onto his vitruvian back when he least expects it. He has to be reliant on others to a certain extent- to trust Mac to catch him if he faints, for Dee to carry something salty in her pocket for him when he runs out and needs a boost. It isn't something he can simply will away or deny.

If he's going to pass out, he's going to pass out. And yeah, it might even happen multiple times a day.

So what's the timeline?

Well, he probably gets diagnosed in his late teens. After all, it's hard to ignore a teenage boy passing out that often, even if Dennis tries to conceal it for a while (which he definitely does. After gym, Mac often finds him sitting in one of the bathroom stalls, his head between his legs, trying and failing to stay awake). Barbara doesn't care when he's diagnosed. She thinks he'll grow out of it, because her perfect boy would never be subjected to a lifelong condition. Frank cares perhaps even less. It's up to Mac, Dee, and Charlie to keep anything bad from happening to him.

When Dennis goes to Penn, things get pretty difficult. His frat bros aren't exactly the most helpful during flare-ups. They don't lower him to the ground when he passes out, they let him fall and then draw dicks on his face while he's unconscious. When he wakes up, groggy and confused and nauseous, there's nobody there to reassure him that he's okay. It's why he spends a lot of his time at Dee's dorm. The dorm parent there rolls her eyes whenever she sees Dennis ascending the stairs to get to his sister's room, but Dennis shoots her a glare and carries on anyway. Being with his sister means having somebody there who will look after him, even if she pretends to protest about it.

By the time they buy Paddy's, Dennis' flare-ups are growing more frequent. He doesn't know whether it's the stress of everything, the drinking, or what, but he often finds himself having to stop what he's doing to lay down in the back office. They keep a mini fridge in there filled with bottled water, ice packs, and snacks. It's mysteriously replenished every time Dennis clears it out during an episode.

With time, managing things gets easier. The gang knows more about what they can do to help things, and Dennis starts being able to identify what things are going to trigger him, and when he's about to have a pretty bad flare up.

Still, whenever his head starts to swim and the sweat prickles on the back of his neck, his heart races not only from the POTS but from fear. That bit- the loss of control, the eyes rolling back in his head, the all-consuming darkness- that doesn't get easier.

It probably never will.

[eoinmcgonigal]

I don't think I'll ever be over how the piano is a way for Paddy to remember and honour Eoin, and how it turns into the focus for others to remember home and loved ones. I think that's such a beautiful thing for Eoin's memorial to become.

It's like shrine to everything the men are fight for. It comes to represent home, love, loss, and endurance.

And I think Eoin would love that he is still a part of them this way.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

GRACE

"Oh Grace, just hold me in your arms And let this moment linger." - Grace. (Paddy Reilly/Jim McCann/Frank & Sean O'Meara)

Tommy lay with his head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling above him. His lower body was hidden beneath the sheet, but his bare chest was exposed to the cold air of the room. He'd barely moved an inch the entire night. His left hand lay over his belly button while his right hand was beside his face on the pillow but had been utilised for a full packet of cigarettes in the dark hours that had come before. Now that light was shining into the room through the undressed window, he felt more alone than ever. He hadn't been back in the bed since her death until this moment, and he felt as empty as it was, even with Charles sleeping in the cot not five feet away. He could still smell her there - the scent of her skin on the sheets and her perfume in the air. He didn't know if it was supposed to feel this way, if he was supposed to have the longing in his gut and the ache in his heart in the way that he did. The losses he'd experienced before had not felt so cruel, nor cut so deep, despite the feelings he had for them. Grace's absence spelled so much more than they had, he considered. Without her, he was a husband without a wife; without her, Charlie was a boy without his mum; without her, he was a man who had sought out the one person who'd turned his world around only to now be without his prize at the end of the search.

He moved his right hand, resting the back of it against his forehead, and let his thumb rub gentle lines up and down between his furrowed brow. He missed her hands around his face, he missed when she would press her entire weight into his chest when they embraced, he missed her fingers beneath his chin to lift his head and steal the kisses she deserved. Why did it feel like he had so much of her still here, and yet she was nowhere to be found? Why did it still feel as though he might find her in another room if he dared to look? Why was he so broken in understanding that she was gone, but so hopeful he would open his eyes and find the nightmare was over and she was curled tightly into his side as she slept? The contradition in thoughts was angering to him and he hated himself for feeling so off kilter. He had to continue in a world without the one person he'd loved with the whole of his heart, with the child they had created, with the life they had build, and he didn't know how that was expected of him. He wondered why he hadn't paid more attention to John when Martha had passed - perhaps his observations of his little brother in those months would have given him tools to build himself a new way of life here.

He moved his hand on his stomach and closed his eyes at the sting in his heart that it was not the more delicated fingers of Grace's hand that lay on his flesh. Life was continuing whilst his was falling apart around his ears, and he had to continue with it, but he was a shell of himself without the flame that ignited him. The goosebumps on his skin puckered further as his mind tried to place Grace in the place of his own touch, and behind the close lids of his eyes hot tears began to build. His face tightened into a grimace as he allowed the pain to escape, something he couldn't do before now. The tears ran down his temples on either side, running a warm trail into the curves of his ears. He turned onto his side, curling into a small ball, and reached out for Grace's pillow. He pulled it tightly against his chest as the tears and pain turned to sobs. Guilt, grief, and never ending torturous anger racked through his body painfully. He pushed his nose into her pillow and breathed as deeply as the anguish would allow, screwing his eyes shut tighter as Grace's scent washed over him. It offered no comfort, but it lingered in his nose.

He calmed himself with remarkable control when he heard Charles stirring in the cot. He squeezed the pillow tightly for a final time before he knew his moment was gone, and it was time to present 'Thomas Shelby' to the world again. He laid the pillow back into it's rightful place, resting his hand on it for just a moment, before he forced himself from the bed. He sat on the edge, breathing deeply and wiping his face with the palms of his hands, the hands that now had Grace's smell against the skin. His boy needed him, and his own pain needed to be boxed and locked until such a time when he deemed it appropriate to feel it again - if he ever did.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Agricultural Horror

Immortal being who was buried alive finally crawls out of the ground during harvest season and scares the crap out of some poor farmer

The ground quakes and shrieks when a plant is pulled out of it, like its fingernail has been ripped out

Sentient tractors that wander around at night and kill people What is this? Cars? Night at the Museum? Killdozer?

The old gardener has suffered many decades of hard seasons and loss of crops, due to the weather, birds, and squirrels, and this year is no different… except for the corn crop, which remains unnaturally pristine all the way through until harvest. Once the gardener finally husks one, they find out why.

Swimming monster in a rice paddy picking off workers one-by-one

Innocent gardener trapped in their own greenhouse on a hot day and left to die

The Earth is sentient and pissed off at humans always hurting it; so it decides to make itself completely uninhabitable

That’s not a normal scarecrow; that’s a man dressed in burlap and he’s watching us! Captain Clegg, anyone?

A prehensile pumpkin plant captures a human to carve into a jack-o-lantern so they know how it feels

Zucchini just keeps growing and growing, overtaking an entire field and crushing two people’s barns, despite efforts by the government to stop it “OH! What a beauty!”

Giant carnivorous pill bug-like aliens that are indistinguishable from watermelons when they roll up. This is an adaptation to catch prey

Crop circles (the classic)

Whole-tree fruit poisoning to ensure that the owner dies. “By the way… don’t touch the figs”

Ghost of a child who was murdered in a blueberry field writes a warning in blueberries to other children that the killer is still on the prowl

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

EVENT POLL: ROAD TO FICTIONAL WRESTLEMANIA

MATCH 12: ANGEL vs. (blank) IN…THE CASKET MATCH!

Storyline so far

Angel has been given a new nickname by the fanbase as a result of his most recent matches: The Slasher-Killer. From the past few pay-per-view events, Angel has defeated the likes of Michael Myers, Mark Hoffman (who was working under the ringleader John Kramer), and Chucky. He’s also defeated the horror newbies Longlegs and Paddy (Speak No Evil).

The Slasher-Killer nickname may have gotten to Angel’s head. Enough to the point that the other slasher-wrestlers have formed a temporary alliance to get at least one victory over Angel.

Now, Angel finds himself in his biggest challenge yet; a casket match, where one wrestler must throw their opponent into a casket and lock them inside.

[generalkenobitrash]

spoilers for ep6 of hotd s2

i'm completely confused by the writing at this point, but i do like that we're getting more team green representation because they were too cartoonishly evil and not cool last season. i would've wanted corlys to have an outburst over rhaenys' death last episode, rather than simply going to driftmark for baela to convince him. rhaenyra making him hand of the king would have had more importance then, i think. jace is sitting the council at last lol. knowing what will happen to steffon darklyn, i feel kinda bad for him. it was a bit of a stupid decision, especially considering bastards are perhaps a better bet than a kingsguard (a very needed one, at that) whose relation to house targaryen is pretty distant. but i do admire than he genuinely wanted to help his queen and thus kinda sacrificed himself. okay, my wish for daemon to hallucinate viserys has come to pass at last. though viserys says the same stuff as in season 1, but it's much more...soft. i actually prefer this one to the scene in s1. viserys is more vulnerable and it's always a pleasure to see paddy considine. daemon's storyline is a bit slow but i'm glad to see him being driven to the edge of madness. matt smith is a phenomenal actor, so he carries the sometimes boring writing. simon strong is being an icon as always. i love caraxes so the screen time is much appreciated. i just know alys giggles to herself when daemon has his luigi's mansion moments. i do love that she makes him face his faults when he's trying to run. daemon has always wanted the crown, but it's so clear to see that he's not fit for it. he's right that rhaenyra never wanted it, but she rose up to the occasion. she's being a leader. daemon struggles to raise men by threat of fire. alys and mysaria are the most interesting characters to me this season. by saying that in three days the winds will shift, i think alys meant that grover tully will die and oscar will take his place and therefore secure an army for rhaenyra. i am still sad to lose kermit tully. i understand the muppets association but it's legit a cool name 😂. the scene where ser steffon tries to bond with seasmoke was very interesting. it's pretty neat to get more insight into the dragonbonding process. anyways, rip steffon darklyn. you did your best. i do like sylvi (the brothel madam) and dyana, so i'm curious to see what's next for them, though i think sylvi may not appear again. anyways, the smallfolk have my heart. i like that after suffering yet another loss, rhaenyra feels utterly frustrated and desperate. i love love and love rhaenyra and mysaria. i kind of don't like the "the people will be hungry and will need someone to blame", because yes, the keep has more than enough food for themselves, but it was rhaenyra who initiated the blockade. the blame could easily shift to her. with all the dismissing and whatnot, i don't think otto even managed to reach oldtown before he's being summoned back lol. aegon didn't really listen to his council, but atleast he tried, while aemond's being outright mean to his council. tom glynn carney is amazing. no matter what aegon did, i don't think he deserves to be lowkey tortured by aemond. tgc is seriously too charismatic and too good to make me hate aegon. i truly wonder if they'll make rhaena tame sheepstealer. i love my sweet girl sm. the baby dragons are so cute. i'm sorry jeyne arryn is so beautiful i can't focus whenever she's on-screen. i'm lowkey stressed that the battle of the gullet is coming. i love the rather subtle way they're using to show that addam and alyn are bastards. i like alyn in the show. i love that even rhaenyra is sick of daemon. he truly has to get his act together and recognize that it is rhaenyra's claim he should uphold. how did the fisher guy not see the boat before it was right there at the beach? oh well. food for the smallfolk yay. lyman beesbury haunts the narrative. i write as i watch the episode and i'm already at the limit and the episode is not even over 💀