#terrifier 2 kin

[horrorkincalls]

hi, i’m 21+, kin w Sienna Shaw from Terrifier 2. I would love to meet canonmates, esp my friends / brother and Art, but kinning from my source is not at all a requirement to talk to me; I’m just putting myself out there. send me an ask/dm or hmu on discord @tonybeans if you want to chat. :3

@newgabriel

[kincalling]

Hie I’m Sienna Shaw from Terrifier 2 & my blog is @slaptor :3 I am over 20 so I vastly prefer talking to other adults. I’m looking 4 anyone but especially Jonathan, Brooke, Allie and Art. thank uuuuu

🐛

[tisayemate]

Tides of Change

Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga x Reader

fluff, betrayal

Request by @whiteeaglestudent : do you think you could write a Moana 2 oneshot with a Maui x Female Nalo's Eel Minion Reader, where Y/n is one of Nalo's eel minions that guards the island of Motufetu, but she isn't evil like the other eels and can change into a human form but others are still slightly afraid of her, and when she meets Maui during his and Moana's journey, she decides to change her ways and turn good just to love Maui?

Summary: A reluctant guardian of Motufetu betrays her kin to save Maui and Moana, discovering courage and unexpected warmth in the process.

Story under the cut

I watched them from the depths, my sleek form slipping between jagged rocks as their canoe cut through the mist. They were too loud—laughing, bantering, utterly unaware of what they were sailing into. Mortals were always so cocky, so stupid. But the figure at the helm… something about him made me pause.

“Who does this guy think he is?” I muttered to myself, my voice rippling through the water like a growl. His stupid, smug grin and the way he flexed his muscles as if he were some kind of hero.

Wait.

I blinked, swimming closer for a better look. The light on the canoe shifted, and my stomach flipped. Oh no.

“Maui,” I hissed. The demigod of the wind and sea. Nalo had warned us about him.

Panic surged through me. If I didn’t act now, they’d reach Motufetu, and Nalo wouldn’t care that I’d been watching instead of attacking.

I surged upward, transforming mid-leap. My tail became legs, my scales shifted to skin, and I landed on the edge of their canoe with a splash.

“Turn back,” I growled, water dripping from my hair as I crouched like a predator. “Now.”

The girl—Moana—yelled and scrambled for an oar. But Maui? He just blinked at me, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Well, hello there,” he said, leaning on his hook like he wasn’t facing an ocean’s worth of trouble. “Didn’t realize we’d be picking up passengers.”

“I’m not your passenger,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. “You’re trespassing.”

“Technically,” Maui said, scratching his chin, “we’re sailing. Different thing.”

“I could drag you both to the depths right now,” I threatened, baring my teeth.

Moana jabbed her oar in my direction. “I’d like to see you try!”

Maui waved her off, still grinning at me like I was some kind of joke. “Relax, Curly. She’s just doing her job, right?” He winked at me. “Big, scary eel thing. Super intimidating.”

My face burned. Intimidating?! He was mocking me! “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” I snapped.

“Oh, I think I do,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re one of Nalo’s little minions, aren’t you?”

“I’m not little,” I shot back before I could stop myself.

Maui raised an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I should’ve shoved him into the water right then and there. But something about the way he looked at me—like I wasn’t a threat, like he saw right through me—made my resolve falter.

“Look,” I said, straightening up. “You need to leave. Motufetu isn’t safe for you.”

“Gee, thanks for the warning,” Maui said, smirking. “But we’re good. Demigod here, remember?” He flexed an arm unnecessarily, and I had to bite back a scoff.

“You’re an idiot,” I muttered.

“Yeah, but you’re still talking to me,” he shot back, his grin widening.

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words caught in my throat. I didn’t understand it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to scare them off, drag them under if I had to, but instead…

“Wait,” Moana said suddenly, frowning at me. “If you’re one of Nalo’s minions, why haven’t you attacked us yet?”

I stiffened. “I—”

“Good question,” Maui said, stepping closer. “What’s the holdup? Not feeling it today?”

“I’m giving you a chance to leave,” I snapped, turning my glare on him. “Take it before I change my mind.”

But he just kept smiling. “Sure. You’re totally terrifying me right now.”

I clenched my fists, my mind spinning. I should’ve just thrown him overboard. Instead, I found myself hesitating, my gaze lingering on the way his stupid hair caught the moonlight.

“Listen,” Maui said, his tone softening. “Whatever Nalo’s got on you? It doesn’t have to be like this.”

I laughed, but it came out bitter. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” he said, shrugging. “But I know you’re stalling.”

The words hit harder than I expected. He wasn’t wrong.

I looked away, my resolve crumbling. If I let them go, Nalo would know. The others would come for me. But when Maui’s hand brushed against mine, warm and steady, something shifted.

“You don’t owe him anything,” he said quietly.

For a moment, the world was still. His touch sent a strange warmth through me, cutting through the cold I’d carried for so long.

“I—” I began, but a distant rumble cut me off.

The waters churned, and I knew the others were coming.

“Go,” I said, stepping back. “Now.”

“What about you?” Maui asked, his brow furrowing.

“I’ll handle it,” I said firmly. “Just… don’t stop rowing.”

He hesitated, but Moana grabbed the oar. “Come on, Maui!”

I stalled them as long as I could. The other eels—my kin, my tormentors—swirled around me in the dark waters, their hissing voices filled with betrayal.

“Traitor,” one spat, circling closer.

“You dare betray Nalo?” snarled another.

I kept my movements quick and deliberate, dodging their lunges and leading them in chaotic loops away from the canoe. Every second I bought was a second they needed to escape.

The fog thickened, the dark sea churning around us, and finally, I saw my moment. With a sharp kick of my legs, I shot upward and broke through the surface, gasping for air as I clambered onto the canoe.

Maui and Moana whipped around, both startled by the sudden splash.

“What the—!” Moana exclaimed, reaching for the oar like it was a weapon.

I collapsed against the side of the boat, panting, water streaming off my trembling form. “They’re… they’re distracted,” I managed, barely able to speak. “But you need to move. Now.”

Maui crouched beside me, his face uncharacteristically serious. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than I expected.

“I’m fine,” I lied, pushing myself upright. My legs burned, and my lungs ached from the effort, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Just focus on the sea ahead. There are currents here that will tear this boat apart if you don’t steer properly.”

Moana frowned, still gripping the oar. “What currents?”

“The kind that’ll drag you down faster than you can scream,” I said bluntly, pointing toward a jagged rock formation barely visible through the mist. “You need to steer between those rocks and the smaller ones behind them. Trust me.”

Maui stood, his gaze flicking between me and the treacherous waters. “You seem to know a lot about these currents, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s almost like I’ve lived here my entire life,” I shot back, rolling my eyes.

He grinned at that, his usual cocky demeanor slipping back into place. “Fair enough, Legs.”

I sighed, sitting back as they worked to navigate the canoe. Moana steered with precision, her movements quick and focused. Maui, for once, didn’t crack a single joke, his eyes scanning the water like a hawk.

As the boat slipped through the final set of rocks, the mist began to clear. The sea ahead stretched out, calm and endless, the danger of Motufetu fading behind us.

Only then did I allow myself to relax, leaning against the edge of the boat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Moana said, glancing at me.

I shrugged. “Guess I’m just full of bad decisions today.”

“Bad decisions, huh?” Maui’s voice was playful, but when I looked up, his expression wasn’t. His gaze held something else—something softer, more appreciative. “Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

My breath caught, and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. “Don’t get used to it,” I muttered, looking away too quickly.

“Too late,” he teased, but there was warmth in his voice.

The air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken, until Moana cleared her throat loudly.

“So,” she said, glancing between us, “are we just gonna ignore the whole ‘betraying Nalo and almost dying’ thing, or…?”

I laughed, though it came out a bit shakier than I intended. “Yeah, let’s just focus on not dying for now.”

Maui’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, and I could feel it even without looking. When I finally dared to glance at him, his smirk was back, but his eyes still held that softness.

I quickly turned my attention to the sea, trying to calm the warmth spreading through me. Stupid demigod.

But as the canoe drifted further from the island, I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe, just maybe, I’d made the right choice after all.

[coriphallus]

The Dark Urge thoughts (and prayers)

anyone whos been following me knows im absolutely not normal about durge and i wanna share some tidbits that are implied, but not necessarily canonised, from their story;

I already made a post about it but it seems like bhaal has a degree of control over whether they live or die. he can deny them death, if they fail the duel with orin.

bhaal can command the slayer. he forces orin to transform if you talk to her about sarevok and the scene makes it clear that its against her will.

bhaal manipulates his kin in a subtler way. in the colony you can find a letter from old durge thats apologising to his father for 'liking' gortash. you can interpret their relationship as something deeper but even if it wasnt, this reads to me as terrified and desperate.

the reason being, if you have a LI in act 2 you get the famous bondage scene. coupled up with the letter above makes me think this is a pattern. bhaal can use their feelings against them. he did it with sarevok and orin's mother, orin's mother and orin, etc... it's not as straightforward as 'if you disobey ill kill the one you love'. you will. durge will.

bhaal is testing them in act 2, he revels in chaos, sure, but in the grand scheme of things he doesn't care about isobel. even if you tell scel that you'll kill her you're told that youre too late, you ignored your urges. from durge, bhaal doesn't expect calm calculated murder, he expects blind obedience. failing to receive that his first punishment is to take away something they cherish. there are no half measures, theres no bargaining with a god.

we get so many snippets of information that this has happened before, their foster family being their first victims. theyre made to kill their support system with their own hands, with no one to blame but themselves. they are actually apologising to their father for being fond of gortash because (in my humble opinion) theyre genuinely afraid.

how many times could this have happened, how many nights durge couldve woken up covered in the blood of someone they love until they gave in, became daddys obedient puppet?

durge is groomed for murder. scel says 'you always failed to conduct yourself without me' and given who he is i dont think hes talking about table manners when he says 'conduct'. durge needs 24/7 oversight to set themselves right lest they get tempted by softer things. lest they dare to step away from bhaals grand plan.

durge do have a choice. just as shadowheart had a choice, just as wyll or astarion had a choice. its a choice only in name.

theres no ending besides refusing bhaal that their friends and LI wont die by their hands. the entire lore of bhaalspawn is that theyre meant to conquer the world in his name and slit their own throat a top the mountain of corpses. as cazador aptly put, 'theyre made to be consumed.'

you can pray to bhaal and the narrator says he won't accept [any offering] but the entire world.

durge (and bhaalspawn) do get some sort of euphoria from murder. they crave it like an addict, but bhaalspawn (on prev games) don't constantly have to grapple with these urges as durge does.

now durge is a slightly special case but not in a good way. its implied that theyre not like a regular bhaalspawn, that theyre made by bhaal directly -so to speak-. which is to say, if youre playing a drow, they are bhaals closest approximation of a drow rather than a drow flesh and blood.

thats why theyre fighting tooth and nail against these urges every step of the way, they are literally bhaal himself(in essence). the personality they develop, the person who calls themselves 'tainted' and 'wretched', the character thats making choices throughout the game, theyre the tumour.

theirs is the story of cycle of abuse cranked up to 1000 and it is in parallel to all other origin companions.

[justiceforvillains]

Don't you care about the Casualties

➽ PAIRING : Vampire Bangchan x Fem Reader

➽ SUMMARY: The Kingdom maintained a fragile pact with vampires, promising no harm would come to either party—until the King's greed got the better of him. As punishment, the powerful vampire Lord Bang claims his firstborn child as his own, sealing the fate of the royal family in a cycle of vengeance and bloodshed. Twenty-four years later, Bang's son, Chan, discovers the king's daughter, Y/N, who is blissfully unaware of her family's dark history, setting the stage for a clash between human innocence and vampire vengeance.

➽ WARNINGS : dead bodies

[Part 2]

In a realm untouched by time, there laid a kingdom shrouded in a thick mist of fear and darkness. For decades, this kingdom had thrived under an unbreakable pact with its dark denizens—the vampires. Enforced under the eerie tranquility of a blood moon, the agreement dictated that no vampire would ever claim the life of a human, and conversely, no human would dare hunt a vampire. Each month, at the stroke of midnight, the royal family would deliver offerings—sheep, goats, and other livestock—to sustain the vampires, ensuring that both sides lived in peace.

Generations passed, and neither humans nor vampires strayed from their promises. The bond, however, began to weaken as the passage of time dulled the edges of fear. Unsatisfied with the status quo, The King, driven by greed and arrogance, began to entertain dangerous thoughts. In his delusions, he convinced himself and his people that the vampires had lost their infernal powers, weakened by the advancement of human weaponry and courage. Boldly, he gathered his most loyal knights and devised a dangerous plan: to invade the vampires' grand castle hidden deep in the woods.

The attack was swift and brutal, yet the King soon discovered the dire consequences of his stupidity. The vampires, far from weakened, rose to defend their domain with ferocity. The clash between the two factions echoed through the expansive realm, but it ended in tragedy for the king. Most of his men lay lifeless at the feet of their undead foes, while the few vampires who fell were mourned by their kin. Among the familiar faces turned cold were the loved ones of Lord Bang, the most powerful vampire of the castle.

Suspended in air by the vampire’s iron grip, The King choked in terror. “Give me one good reason as to why I shouldn't shred your pathetic mortal body to pieces with my bare hands, then destroy and kill everyone you love in your kingdom?” Lord Bang snarled, his voice sharp and dripping with venom.

“Ple-please m-ercy,” the man gasped and clawed at the vampire’s forearm, but the grip only tightened, the red glow of Bang’s eyes piercing through the dark, caving in the king’s pleas for life. With a flick of his wrist, the vampire hurled him across the grand hall, followed by a chilling command to all the vampires behind him: “Rip him apart!”

“NO! Please, I will do anything, please!!” the mortal cried desperately as a pair of vampires restrained him, their fangs glistening ominously.

“Stop!” cried Bang, an unsettling smile curving his lips as he approached the king. “Anything?” His tone dripped with indulgence as he reveled in the human's growing fear.

“Yes! My lord, anything you want. I’m your servant!” the desperate king pled on his knees, barely able to breathe.

“I heard the queen is pregnant?” The question was almost casual, yet it felt like a death sentence to the king.

“Ye-yes,” he stammered, hope quaking within him as he believed he could negotiate his way to safety.

“Your firstborn is mine,” Bang declared, his form suddenly looming above the only alive mortal, his long fingers gripping the King's chin painfully, sharp nails piercing the flesh. “Understood?”

“W-hy?” was the terrified response, but the vampire's hand swiftly moved to the king's throat, holding it tightly.

“YOU DON’T ASK ME QUESTIONS,” Lord Bang hissed, fury pooling in his eyes. “You just obey my orders, understood?” The king nodded swiftly, and the grip released.

“Good. As soon as your firstborn comes of age, they will be sent to live in this castle. Meanwhile, we’ll indulge ourselves in a feast from your beloved kingdom. It’s been far too long since we’ve tasted human blood, ain't that right, brothers and sisters?” The echo of wicked laughter filled the castle, sealing the king’s fate.

When the day finally arrived for the queen to deliver their heir, Bang made his presence known once more. He floated into the royal chamber with a predatory grace, drawing gasps from both parents as he held the newborn. In a dreadful motion, he dragged his sharp nails along the baby's tender skin, drawing blood, leaving behind a crimson trail.

“What did you do to my daughter?” the queen shrieked, yanking the screaming infant from the vampire’s grip. Bang merely smiled, revealing razor-sharp canines that glinted menacingly.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear, it will heal,” he purred with a cruel delight. As if responding to his words, the wound healed, leaving behind a scar that marked the child as eternally bound to the vampire. “It’s just a mark to remind you of who she really belongs to.” With that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving terror in his wake.

“Father, why do you want their child?” Chan asked innocently, his voice laced with confusion as he stared at the gruesome remnants of the royal family’s betrayal with anguish.

“I want them to know pain,” Bang replied, his voice laced with anger. “I want them to witness her grow up, and when the time comes…” His voice turned dark, filled with rage, “We will kill her right before their eyes.”

He crouched to meet his son’s gaze, a fire of vengeance igniting between them. “Listen, Chan, did you see what they did to us? Did you see how these humans betrayed us? How they will continue to betray us unless we show them fear? Promise me to always seek vengeance for your family. If you ever lay eyes on a human, I want you to kill them slowly.” Chan nodded, hatred already festering in his small heart.

Years turned into decades. The soft whispers of time nurtured the decay of history, and in the heart of a sprawling forest, an unassuming wooden hut sheltered a girl named Lee Y/N. With a spirit as bright as the sun, she was the embodiment of joy, laughter spilling forth effortlessly as she played, oblivious to the sins that followed her family’s Name.

One day, while helping her mother prepare dinner, Y/N glanced at a peculiar scar on her neck. “What is this scar that I have?” she asked, a sweet curiosity lacing her words. Her mother’s body tensed, a flash of fear crossing her face before she cupped Y/N’s cheeks, forcing a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, honey. You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

Y/N pouted, feeling a familiar ache of uncertainty. There were days when she couldn't shake the feeling that her parents were hiding something big from her. Despite being on the edge of adulthood, her parents clung to control, imposing increasingly ridiculous rules:

1. Never invite anyone inside the house.

2. Don’t talk to strangers.

3. Come home before sunset.

4. Don’t stop to converse with anyone in the woods.

5. Always take the same path home.

These imposed limitations suffocated her spirit, and Y/N often envied the laughter and camaraderie of her peers in the village, longing for companionship but feeling trapped within her sheltered existence. As her 24th birthday approached, she mustered her courage to petition for more freedom.

Her parents noticed the change of the attitude, and despite their concern they bend the rules a little bit for her to stay outside longer, Y/N was an outgoing person she loved to stay out and not holed inside the small hut all day, but that mistake might cause them a lot….

The next few days her parents gave her a little bit of freedom, but the rules were still there, her 24th birthday was near, and she decided to try and convince her parents to let her stay out past sunset, she wanted to watch the stars

She also wanted to visit the town more frequently, she would only go there to buy bread and apples, she only talked to the shop owners, she really wanted to interact with more people, she wanted to have friends..

She was going back to town to get fish from the market, as usual it was crowded but, However, the usual vibrant atmosphere was now tinged with an unsettling tension. People moved anxiously, glancing over their shoulders. Skirting the buzzing crowd, Y/N edged her way to her regular vendor, an elderly woman with a kind smile.

“Good morning,” Y/N greeted cheerfully.

“What will it be today, dear?” the woman replied.

Before she could answer, she heard gasps and yelling when she looked back she saw people clearing the way for a tall broad man with a big Umbrella.

“What's going on?” she was confused the crowd looked scared while the man was simply walking, an old man next to her asked

“Your not from here little girl?”

“No I'm fro-” she stopped herself, her parents told her to never tell anyone where they lived

“far away..”

When she turned back to watch the scene, she found the man right in front of her, the old man gasped “pl-please” he whimpered the man sent him a glare before staring down at you, you didn't know what to do you just stood there looking innocently up at the stranger

“you dare speak in my presence?” you blinked a few times confused, you guessed that the man was very powerful and important, since everyone looked so afraid “uhh sorry..?” The man's expression went from anger to confusion “you're not afraid?”

You was growing impatient you already said sorry, you just wanted to get fish and get home “of what?”

You heard someone whisper “this girl's foolishness is going to cost her her life,” the man just kept staring at you until his eyes widened, you followed his eyes

You immediately covers the scare that was on the side of your neck “you are…” the strangers seemed to be surprised before he backed away, he regained his composition rather quickly before he glared “go home now while I have mercy”

You wanted to protest but all these scared people indirect that this person was dangerous so you just left, your heart pounding in your chest, this is definitely not the kind of conversion you had hoped to have, you decided not to tell your parents you didn't need them to worry

---

“BANCHAN! BANCHAN?!” A furious voice pierced the stillness of the grand chamber.

“What the fuck do you want, Minho? I’m not in the mood!” Bangchan exclaimed, slamming his quill down in irritation, his patience fraying.

“Stop being so pissy; I have GREAT news!” Minho cheered, bouncing excitedly, his energy infectious yet irritating.

“What?” Bangchan viably scoffed, rolling his eyes at the enthusiasm that felt out of place amidst the explosive tension.

“I found HER!” The exuberance spilled from Minho’s lips.

“Who?” Bangchan narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“The king’s daughter!” Minho declared triumphantly, a malicious smile plastered across his face.

The vampire lord started, rising from his seat abruptly, causing his chair to tumble backward. “Where?!”

“Calm down,” Minho teased, swinging his legs playfully as he leaned against the table. “At the fish market. She was the only one who didn’t flinch in fear. I suspect she’s clueless about our existence.”

Bangchan’s expression shifted, an evil grin curling his lips. “And they’ve kept her sheltered all her life?”

“Looks that way. She’s innocent, and oh, so naive,” Minho mused.

A darkness settled over Bangchan as he gazed out the window overlooking the Kingdom of Arathos. “They will pay for their betrayal.”

“When are we going to strike?” Minho pressed, excitement crackling in the air.

Bangchan turned with a serious glint in his eyes. “We? I don’t recall including you in this plan,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“They killed my mother, Chan,” Minho’s tone turned somber. “I won’t rest until I avenge her.”

Bangchan’s shoulders slackened, understanding the undercurrent of pain. “I know, Minho. I promised we would avenge our families, but we must do it in the most painful way possible.”

“What do you have in mind?” Minho asked, intrigue flickering behind his eyes.

The vampire lord smiled darkly, plotting vengeance that rippled with deadly intent. “Trust me…”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

✦ Masterlist ✦

[Part 2]

[questionablecuttlefish]

One of the most popular topics that people likes to bring up in shipwars “against” lightcannon is that we mischaracterize (did I write it correctly?) Lux to fit in our delusions. For example: she didn't kill Sylas and she despises killers and her ideals and morality is the most important thing to her, oh, also that she's good

So you as a Lightcannon writer and someone who is very familiar with her lore and character, could you give me your perspective about this?

Ah yes, that one.

Here's my answer in pictures:

But more seriously. 😆

I think that's a gross oversimplification of Lux's character, and it's generally an argument made by people who don't know who Lux is beyond the most superficial impression.

It's a product of a mindset that can't separate modern ideals of 'morality' - what would be moral to you and me, from our culture and our moment - from a character raised in a very, very different culture and a very different world.

A good example is the opening scenes of A Game of Thrones, we witness the horrible slaughter of a group of Night's Watch by the Others. The lone, desperate survivor escapes, and in the very next scene, we see that he's been captured by the Lord of a castle, who is about to execute him for the crime of desertion by beheading with a sword. This man makes his sons watch as he decapitates this poor, innocent bastard who, to us, has done no wrong and just survived a terrifying experience. He makes sure his seven year old, Bran, witnesses him cut a man's head off with a sword.

Meet Eddard Stark, probably the most forthright, honorable, and morally upstanding character in the series.

Look, Lux is a 'good' character. She's smart, compassionate, forthright, and principled. She almost always takes the diplomatic option first and uses violence primarily in self-defense.

On the other hand, she's a Crownguard. She is the daughter of the highest ranking noble household next to the King himself. Her Aunt is the High Marshall of the entire Demacian military. Her Uncle is(was,heh) the head of the Mageseekers, so the mage hunting secret police. Her brother is the Might of Demacia, Sword Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard.

What I'm saying here is that Lux is a military brat. She has been born and raised into the values of a highly militaristic, feudal warrior culture at the very highest level of that society. She's been trained in warrior arts - riding, swordfighting, archery, and military tactics and strategy - since she could walk and form words.

In her old lore? She was literally a traumatized, brainwashed child soldier taken from her family and trained to fight for Demacia.

In her new/current lore? She's still a trained spy who has succeeded at several covert missions within Noxus.

We've seen her fight monsters and Mageseekers in the M.S game, she didn't hesitate to shoot Sylas with a crossbow and stab him with a dagger until his mages dragged her off him in the comic, as above.

She also witnessed her brother behead a man in the For Demacia story; she was trying to intervene because she had sussed that there was something else going on, and therefore his death would have been unnecessary and unjust, not necessarily out of protest at the death penalty itself.

It's worth noting - as the Mageseeker confirms - that Lux stayed out of the mage rebellion not out of 'naive pacifism' as she's sometimes accused of, but because: 1. She couldn't forgive Sylas for his betrayal.

2. A desire to protect the noncombatant refugees in her care.

3. She's still loyal to Demacia and her family and refused to fight her own kin.

4. because she knew if she stayed neutral, she could leverage her Crownguard privilege and name with King Jarvan to negotiate protection for mages after the conflict.

Which, y'know, she did.

All of these are products of who she is a character, a Demacian, a Crownguard, and a canny political operator. None of these are blind pacifism, this is the kind of soft power "Fox" move Mel Medarda would recognize and approve of.

So no, Luxanna Crownguard isn't going to be put off by Jinx's violence.

Violence is inherently part of her world, too. Demacia is a 'medieval' feudal regime that is almost perpetually at war with its neighbours and, in some ways a harsher, more brutal place than Piltover and Zaun, particularly its notions of 'justice'.

Piltover is only about 50% likely to have public executions as entertainment/morality lesson, Demacia absolutely 100% does and we've seen two of them in canon, is what I'm saying.

I think Lux would understand that Jinx committed terrible deeds, yes, as part of a civil conflict that Lux herself would be coming at with only an outsider's understanding.

Lux knows exactly how it feels to have best intentions blow up in your face, to be backed into a corner and forced to take some pretty extreme actions to survive.

I don't think, after her actions and choices triggered the Mage Uprising and cost untold lives across Demacia, Lux would consider her own hands clean enough to judge someone like Jinx. Sure, Lux didn't mean to give Sylas her power to commit second hand mass murder, but Powder didn't mean to kill her family either.

And it's also worth noting the part of Sylas' actions that Lux doesn't forgive - especially in the Mageseeker dialogue - is specifically the personal betrayal of her trust, outing her as a mage, and ruining her life.

She understands his cause. She won't join it, because that would mean siding with someone who wants to kill her family, but again, Lux's reasons for choosing not to fight are much more complex and personal than 'she hates violence'.

She's able to compromise enough to accept Sylas' help when her city comes under siege, because while Lux is a 'good guy', she's also a pragmatist first.

I think Lux would see a lot of Sylas in Jinx. I think she would see a lot of herself, as well, particularly once she learned about Jinx's past, about Silco (basically Jinx's Sylas figure, no?) and about everything she's been through.

I don't think Lux would judge her for that.

I feel that Lux would try to be the voice of reason, the hand holding hers to ground her, maybe even the olive branch to help her try to repair some of her burned bridges (this is certainly what she tries to do in Ill-Omen's) and that could cause interesting conflict in their developing relationship.

But I think Lux would understand. Jinx may be more volatile and spiteful and personal in her use of violence, but she's shaped by experiences not far from Lux's own.

And by Season Two? Yeah, no, Season Two Jinx is well and truly on her hero arc. Post-Season Two Jinx? Especially if she's trying to put violence aside and heal?

Post season two Jinx, who's grieving losing her father, her sister, her child? That Jinx would absolutely attract Lux's compassion even more than before.

I've written so many words to answer it, but to me, it's such a non-argument to begin with. You have to not even look at Lux past "blonde nice girl" to think it.

[hexesandroses]

A semi-long rant about Dottore's implied self-hatred, loneliness and inner struggles

I am, like many others, endlessly fascinated by Dottore, which means that I've been sucking the game dry for any Dottore content I can find; I've watched the dialogue between him and Nahida numerous times, read the "Zandik's Legacy" notes over and over and even the description of the "Wise Doctor's Pinion" from the Pale Flame artifact set. So much has already been said about him, but I'd like to offer my own two cents about an aspect of his character that is often ignored in favor of his villainy: Dottore's inner struggles.

I'll recount everything that I've gathered and tell you of my interpretation of Dottore's character.

To start, one thing that I never see people mention is a line from Nahida's retelling of the Tatarasuna incident. In the very beginning of the cutscene, we see a monster covered in light blue fur (obviously Dottore) who Nahida describes in a very interesting way. She says:

"Once in a while, the monster would take off its fox fur at night, and lament to itself as it gazed at its reflection in the water: "I am a monstrosity, yet they are too foolish to see it. I pity them."

Of course, it's easy to say that this is just a fairy tale Nahida created to preserve Scaramouche's memories and that this could've been made up - which is only half true! We must remember that Nahida has seen Dottore's consciousness. She already knew of the arguments between his Segments when Dottore confronted her to take the Electro and Dendro gnoses. Why do I bring this specific line up, though?

Because this line outright tells us that: 1) Dottore spent sleepless nights in Tatarasuna reflecting on himself; 2) That he, perhaps sincerely, pitied the people of Tatarasuna for not seeing past his facade.

I also think that the use of the word 'lament' is very interesting. To lament means to express sorrow and regret for something. I would think that this implies Dottore feeling remorseful for not just who he was, but what he would do to Tatarasuna. To provide further proof, I think it is important to look at the expression on the furry monster's face (as Nahida portrays it) when it laments to itself:

(What a cute little thing.)

It looks a bit... upset, doesn't it? Like it is mad at itself as it gazes into the water. This expression, combined with his thoughts and the use of the word 'lament' gives us a clear sign that many ignored: Dottore isn't as shallow of a villain as we thought.

Later in the cutscene, Nahida says:

"But the monster soon found solace when another came to live among the foxes who was not their kin: a kitten, carved from the wood of a white tree, who had been abandoned by the humans."

And in that moment, we see a wide-eyed little monster gazing at the kitten:

(Feels really silly to use this as an example but you've gotta trust the process)

Here, Dottore found someone like himself. An outcast, a creature that did not quite fit in with the ordinary humans - someone who could understand Dottore's loneliness and ostracization. After getting chased out of his hometown for his blasphemous ideas, after getting expelled from the Akademiya and possibly exiled to Aaru Village for his heretical views - Dottore had finally found someone to whom he could say: "See? They will never accept us. It is you and I against them, for they will never understand us."

What person wouldn't seek companionship, after all?

But things didn't turn out the way Dottore expected them to. Unlike Dottore, Scaramouche didn't need to hide his true identity in order to be accepted by the people of Tatarasuna. Thus, the following happened:

"Furious at this happy resolution, the monster lit a fire on the mountain. The terrified animals panicked as the fire spread..."

... and we know the rest. What matters is this: Dottore was angry and jealous of Scaramouche. Exiled from his hometown, rejected by his peers, insulted and looked down upon just for wanting to destroy the imbalance between Man and God - and along comes a puppet, a creation of the Raiden Shogun, who receives acceptance and guidance from the people of Tatarasuna. Not just that, but the only creature who could share Dottore's loneliness is whisked away from him, proving once again that Dottore will never know what it means to have a true companion.

Thus he tricked Scaramouche into believing that Niwa had betrayed them, had him join the Fatui and later used him as the blueprint for the creation of his Segments. Dottore basically ruined Scaramouche's life out of bitter jealousy.

That should be it about Tatarasuna for now. What I'd like to focus on next is the conversation between Dottore and Nahida in the 3.2 Archon Quest.

There are a few lines that interest me, so I'll go over them one by one.

Dottore uses a lot of big words to sound like he's saying something profound when in reality he's saying nothing at all (a nice callback to his Commedia Dell'arte counterpart), but there is one thing that both he and Nahida place great emphasis on: the fact that Dottore, smart as he is, cannot make peace with himself.

First to say it is Dottore. After asking Nahida for her opinion on his Segments, he says:

"Indeed. It's difficult for humans... to make peace with themselves, not to mention oneself from a different period."

The line still feels out of place. It sounds as if he is musing to himself.

Again, we get a line about his Segments, after Nahida asked him to erase them:

"You were observing me, and that's how you know I've long grown tired of their doubts and endless arguments."

I think it's safe to assume that the arguing is a metaphor for his struggle of self-acceptance. It seems every Segment has something to say to the others, but more on that later.

Nahida uses Dottore's own words against him:

"Like you said, it's difficult to make peace with yourself. Being as smart as you are, have you managed to do that?"

It's important to note that Dottore doesn't answer that question, but even without that, it's obvious to us, the players - of course Dottore hasn't managed to do that.

Whenever Nahida questions the relationship between his Segments, Dottore easily changes the subject. For example:

"Is the relationship between all the versions of you really that bad?"

"I don't think there's any need to dwell on that. The surplus versions of me can be exchanged for a Gnosis. Do you think anyone can offer themselves at a higher price?"

His Segments all argue constantly. When considered that they are replicas of Dottore at different stages of his life, this takes on an entirely new meaning - beyond his facade, Dottore is a man who can barely make out who he is.

Consider this also: in "A Winter Night's Lazzo", Columbina tells him, "You're looking very young today, Doctor."

To which Dottore replies, "You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment."

A piece of dialogue that had been brushed off by many, myself included - until I realized what this might imply. Dottore finds Columbina's comment insulting because he hates who he is. He hates the younger versions of himself because they represent a Dottore who didn't have the knowledge he has at this current stage of his life. They weren't as smart, as knowledgeable. But that's not really the full extent of it, of course.

Dottore was never fully accepted by anyone, this we have established. In the Akademiya, the students called him a 'madman', a 'monster' (as said in the Wise Doctor's Pinion). When we meet him in the 3.1 Archon Quest, he is referred to as 'The Outcast'. He is always being alienated, but could we assume that he just accepted this rejection and decided to embrace the titles people had thrown at him? This is just... very bold speculation, of course. It is impossible to deny that Dottore didn't always naturally stand out due to his heretical views, but I think it's worth considering that he could have just chosen to be the monster people thought of him as. After all, in the confrontation between him and Niwa, Dottore tells Niwa to think of him as a monster and a demon (for a reason that was... meant to be comforting? Not very important right now).

Consider also how different all the Segments sounded when they found out that they were being erased. All of the voices, along with their manner of speech, varied greatly; I interpreted this as proof of the many masks Dottore has worn over the course of his life. Dottore abandoned whatever humanity he had and decided to embrace the mask of a monster, constantly reinventing himself because he isn't secure in his identity - perhaps he doesn't have one at all. He is a scholar, a Harbinger, a researcher - but without those titles, what is left? What is he left with when he sheds those facades? The constant dodging of Nahida's questions about his Segments, the arguments and the worries of said Segments, the introspection in the cutscene about the Tatarasuna incident - indeed, Dottore is a man filled with self-hatred. A lonely outcast who has never known the comfort of kinship. A monster who swallowed his loneliness and dedicated his life to research.

That should be it, I suppose. My brain is fried and if I remember anything that I might have missed, I'll add that info later.

I want to mention one thing: this doesn't mean Dottore is a misunderstood good guy - doesn't take a genius to know that that is not true. Dottore has no regard for human life (which is ironic, considering how he believes humans have great potential and he wants them to be equal with the Gods). He has hurt so many and I'm sure he will continue to do so. He is evil, but it should be noted that he was once just an ordinary human, too. There must be an explanation for why he is the way he is. It's easy to paint him as just a monster because damn he's good at what he does; but I like to think that there is a layer to him that we just haven't fully seen yet. I'm excited to find out more about him when Snezhnaya gets released in like 2 years... ha. If you've read this far, thank you a lot! Curious to know what you guys think. I love Dottore

[junkiepunkie]

"Why do you love Bagginshield so much?"

A.) look at them.

2.) no seriously look at them they're adorable.

and C.) Thorin in the throws of madness, sick with a love for gold, took one look at Bilbo and decided that he was worth more than his own kin, his own blood, worth more than even the gold and precious metals he was so in love with. He loved the hobbit so much that even when he was sick enough in the head to have Bilbo at the tip of his sword, or hung over the edge of their reclaimed mountain, he still could not bring himself to harm him. He saw a betrayal, he saw that Bilbo had stolen the very thing he had become ill craving, and still he could not bring himself to do his Judas any damage.

And Bilbo? Bilbo the simple hobbit suddenly terrified and thrust into an adventure he didn't even have faith in himself to complete. Bilbo who had never so much as swung a sword before, or even considered harming anyone, that same Bilbo saw Thorin in danger and killed a murderous orc in a frenzy, repeatedly stabbing the orc in the heart to save his king. And he did this at a time where he believed thorin to hate him, at a time where Thorin kind of DID hate him. He risked his very life to save someone he didn't even see a possibility of friendship with, just because he could not bear to see him die.

[dead-lights]

nibbles // the devampiros

I was supposed to be making embarrassing old-timey pictures of the DeVampiros for the Vatores to make fun of, I got distracted, and now it's a whole thing. here's some lore!

operation high fang

After the end of Operation Eternal Flame, a group of Vampires came out of hiding to start the initiative. Through a successful propaganda campaign, they branded Vampires as refined and classy, boasting of what they offer through their historical knowledge and charismatic ways. At the same time, they smeared Werewolves as dirty and dangerous monsters, lacking in control. The results were catastrophic for the new Werewolf communities who were still maturing as an occult.

(i compiled all game quotes about the century conflict/surrounding events here - the high fang stuff is at the very bottom, my headcaons are below the cut. also if you don't recognize the guy, he's the vampire Elle bat- and coffin-fucked in the trailers/the guy from the painting over Vlad's fireplace)

My hc is that Elle is originally from Aria, the coven of the arts. Aria had very pointedly decided not to get involved with the Century Conflict - they were artists, not combatants, and few made it past the rank of Prime (which is largely why Elle left - she was hungry for prestige and wanted to grow her power). The result was that the overwhelming majority of the coven, including Elle's parents, were slaughtered by werewolves and spellcasters.

After the war, vampires found themselves in a weakened state and with no allies to speak of, and were terrified of the day when spellcasters and werewolves would rebuild their numbers. To secure their futures, they needed to break the alliance between spellcasters and werewolves. Vlad's conquest of Forgotten Hollow showed how easily humans could be manipulated to be used against their enemies, so they decided to utilize his old techniques to wage a propaganda campaign known as Operation High Fang.

Elle rallied the surviving members of her coven of origin to join High Fang. With their cultured upbringings and familiarity with human art, they were uniquely well-suited to promote this new, classy image of vampires. They were also pretty mad about spellcasters and werewolves slaughtering their kin, and were determined to take their revenge. Also, they were a bunch of classy snobs who did just like going to fancy parties, eating fancy foods, and talking about fancy things.

The first part of this plan required that they infiltrate mundane high society. In the beginning, they mostly played human, gathering information and forming strategies. By the time they started revealing their true natures to humans, they'd built up the social skills and relationships to ensure that they were well-received.

Once they'd rehabilitated the image of vampires in mundane society, they were able to move onto the most vital part of their plan: convincing spellcasters that they're better than werewolves, but that is a subject for another render.

As I've mentioned more than a few times, I really hate making faces in CAS. Since most of the faces in this scene were either not visible or out of focus, I got REALLY lazy about making background sims for this one, with this result:

what makes this even worse is Caleb/Lilith/Lily's moms are identical twins because I couldn't be bothered to make 2 sisters...

1920s clothes by @happylifesims

ferronnière and flower hair ornament by @the-melancholy-maiden

elle's hair/accessory by kiara zurk

blender scene: classic art deco hall

[olderthannetfic]

does anyone have any advice for getting over, for lack of a better term, the “cringe” of past fanfiction you wrote?

I’ve had my Ao3 account since I was a teenager, so most of the content is what you’d expect from an angsty teenager. Pure projection vent fic on to characters I kinned. “Representation” but only to make everyone as queer/mentally ill as possible to the point where it’s only a bit better than “xe transed nonbinarily across the room” or “she depressed autisticly into the therapy office”. Now, I don’t see anything WRONG with that type of fic, and it’s clear to anyone reading it that it was a flimsy alternative for a diary and honestly I looking back I was pretty brave to post it. And the writing isn’t bad, it’s just very like… “labels/diagnoses”-tastic. I still very much integrate representation into my writing but I still feel shame over the fact that my 10+ year old fics feel like a Very Special Episode Of Degrassi.

Honestly, I think the fact that it’s about that type of stuff IS why I’m so ashamed, like…it’s a painful part of my history, yk? Of course there’s nothing bad about writing thousands of words about the character who is #LiterallyMeIRL being abused, hurting themself, falling into addiction, etc. And the queer fics… they were all about young kids who were terrified their parents wouldn’t accept them and they came out and ended up getting accepted. Or the other end of the spectrum — someone is kicked out for it :( But even those typically had a happy ending of being taken in by a partner or something.

I don’t really want to orphan or even anon them, because I’m not ashamed of them in the sense that I want them to be disconnected from me. Like I said they’re literally like… time capsules, i guess, and I want to be able to be proud of the angst I wrote when I was going through it. But because of the nature of just how tween angsty they were I feel embarrassed when I get kudos or positive comments, which, like, should not be a normal reaction to praise.

I know this issue def goes beyond fandom so I’m not asking for any sort of actual mental health advice — in fact, part of why I shy away from these old fics so much is BECAUSE I’m better now! And I know if someone else wrote the exact same thing now that I did then, I’d love it. I just feel weirdly ashamed which really upsets me bc those fics were my babies and my coping mechanism when I had nothing else and I want to learn to love them again.

--

"Cringe" is mostly about feeling a little too naked, yeah.

I would make a new pseud on your same account and call it "[Your Account Name] Juvenilia". Pop all the hilariously Degrassi stuff in there.

Calling it Juvenilia doesn't mean you think it's bad, but it does clearly delineate its relationship to current you. Maybe you'll feel less embarrassed if readers can easily tell 1. that you wrote it as a teen and 2. that you're self aware about it.

[temporarily-your-saint]

Dull Blades Pt. 2

benjicot blackwood x targaryen oc

word count: 2.6k

warnings: slight spoilers from Fire & Blood book, blood/war description

tropes: slow burn, angst, forbidden lovers??

PART 1: https://www.tumblr.com/chels-cosplay/754806134048800768/dull-blades

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The campsite was riddled with mud and bloodthirsty men spread throughout as the princess made her way back. This was war, she thought to herself. So many men lined throughout the grounds ready to die for her family, for her mother’s right to the throne. She found pride in it yet a strain of sadness pinged inside her chest at the thought. A sorrowful notion enveloped her mind as she realized the reality of it all. Many of these men, if not most, will die. But there wasn’t time to dwell for she needed to be strong and prove to these men that it was worth it, that her mother, and that she too was worth it. And she was here to help.

Heads turned toward her as the silver-haired princess threw open the tent flap. Respectful bows followed with mutters of “princess” followed as she passed the men inside to take her position at the head of the table. Her eyes fell down at the map in front of her. It wasn’t quite the extravagant, fire-glowing map she had at home but it would do.

“Princess, the Lannister army holds fast and we’re running out of time. The Kinslayer could fly over at any moment with that beast of his. We must act immediately,” Forrest Frey’s words broke her away from her thoughts. Forrest Frey, or known as Fool Frey, lead his house with nearly eight hundred men.

“Why do you think our queen sent me this way, Lord Frey?” Her words were harsh, challenging the man next to her. Of course she knew they were running out of time. Her dragon, Valax, was the only one that could even come close to challenging Vhagar. And for this reason was the only way she was able to fully convince her mother to send her to the Riverlands to fight.

Lord Frey’s lips parted as if to begin speaking but was quickly interrupted as the tent swung open. Deep brown eyes found Rhaelana’s as she sized up the familiar figure that approached the table.

“Good of you to finally join us, Lord Blackwood,” sarcasm teased the princess’s words as her face remained stoic, gaze never leaving his.

“Princess,” he responded with nod, a mischievous smirk itching at the corner of his lips.

Her eyes scanned across the table to the other lords and then landed back to Lord Frey. “As we were discussing…Yes, time is not our ally at the present. The Lannisters have the disadvantage being on these lands though their numbers are impressive. More than impressive. If I was informed correctly, they stand with nearly twice as many bodies. And as stated before, Vhagar could be in the skies at any moment,” She sighed as she stated the unfortunate facts. The defense of the Greens was a terrifying factor to swallow but they had the North, and she knew they fought like no others.

“Lord Roderick, you will take your wolves to the front. You’ll be leading us.” Her arm reached across the table to move the marker in position. “Lord Frey will follow with his knights and infantrymen on either side to enclose the Greens. And Lord Blackwood,” her voice breathed, meeting those familiar eyes once again. “Lord Rivers will set your archers on the north. We’ll march south to meet the Greens where we’ll attack near Gods Eye.”

She took a deep breath as her voice lowered. “I need all of your fighters to push the Lannister army as close to the water as possible. I came here with my dragon to aid you in this battle but I will not set these lands aflame. These are your kin’s land and I will not dare turn it to fire and ash.”

The lords watched her, understanding her command. Her eyes searched theirs, looking to find respect or horror or disgust, anything to help gage where she stood amongst these men. Then her eyes found the young lord’s across the table once again. He watched her in awe, determined to fulfill her orders and win this war for her mother, for her. She turned her gaze away, a slight blush reaching up her neck to her cheeks from the intensity of his gaze.

“Best make an end to these lions before the dragons come, Princess,” Sir Roderick spoke up, breaking her from her train of thought.

“Ready your forces, my lords. We march at dawn.”

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“It’s over, princess.”

Rhaelana’s eyes darted around the battlefield. It was like casting one’s eyes over a red sea—blood staining the grass as far as their eyes could witness. Death surrounded them.

Water dripped from the princess’s face as rain began to fall. It was as if the heavens cried for them. Gods, it was a cruel world.

Lilac eyes found the lord next to her as he spoke. She nodded, agreeing with him. “Yes,” she began, reaching up towards her own face to wipe splattered mud and blood from her face. “But more is coming. We will need to prepare but tonight we rest, Lord Blackwood.”

"The men have earned it. Rest that is," Benjicot's head turned to meet Rhaelana's gaze, taking in the sight of the princess with a hint of melancholy.

He was an unwaveringly loyal supporter of his queen and had grown quite fond of her daughter, the princess that stood before him. His respect for her only grew during the battle as she fought alongside the men and women that gave their lives for the true crown. The fire that grew within her, a pure dragon through and through, was also impressive and a sight to behold. One that he would remember for the rest of his days.

His gaze dropped to the mud, flecked with red and brown, at their feet. Rhaelana’s eyes found his face, studying the young man. He was handsome with his high cheek bones and rounded face. A slim figure but a mighty and brutal force on the battlefield. She had quickly learned why he adopted the name “Bloody Ben” from the rest of the men.

“We can rest while we hold a funeral pyre tonight, princess. My men deserve that, at least. We have lost more than not. If you’ll permit it, that is.”

The princess’s eyes fell to the saturated ground as he mentioned the funeral. So many had given their lives. Her heart silently broke for those now laying before her amongst the muck. More than half of their men was gone.

“Listen to me, Lord Blackwood,” she spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “Every fight. Every battle you survive, you have to see the end. You must gaze upon those that are now gone.” Her voice hitched at the last word. “We at least owe them that. And we must never forget what it cost us.”

With that, she glanced at the young man next to her and reached out to touch his arm, almost as a condolence. Or maybe she needed to touch someone in that moment that was living, just to find some sort of warmth and comfort.

She then nodded her head toward him, dismissing herself as she strode past him and into camp.

Benjicot’s gaze followed her as she walked past him. He couldn’t help but miss the warmth that radiated from her hand as she left. Gods, and the comfort. It was only for a mere second but he ached for that comfort again, ached for any sort of relief from this hell he stood in. The young lord had seen death before but not like this. Never like this. Bodies of boys, barely even reached manhood scattered throughout the carnage now engraved into his brain. Rain drops hit his face, mixed with salty tears that trickled down, falling onto the blood-soaked ground.

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As the sun finally set, Benjicot’s thoughts kept drawing him back to Rhaelana. He thought of the melancholy look in her eyes and the tremble he'd heard in her voice. Her words echoed in his brain, not able to draw himself out from the memory of her.

The lord felt an odd sense of protectiveness towards the young princess. A protectiveness he loathed to ever admit out loud, especially since he knew she could hold her own. He had seen her fierceness first-hand on the battlefield, so it was almost comical to feel as if he needed to be the one to protect her. She had come to the Riverlands to do exactly that but for the North and for his men.

After eating a few bites of bread and smoked venison, Benjicot rose from his tent and picked his way through groups of men, looking for the Queen's daughter.

Rhaelana sat near the fire that was at the center of camp. The log below her dampened her legs and tunic but the flame before her kept her warm and dry enough. Luckily the rain had let up before nightfall but the chilly air still brushed along her face. Her cheeks appeared rosy, a flush spreading from her there up to her nose from that cool breeze. She certainly was not used to the chillier and wetter climate that the Riverlands provided.

She brought the mug she held to her lips, drinking in the strong ale and allowing the alcohol to warm her as well.

Benjicot's eyes continued to scan the camp until he caught sight of the young princess sitting by the campfire. Her silver hair and small frame was near impossible to miss. He approached her, stopping behind her toward the side.

"You will catch a chill," he drawled, his voice playful though a hint of worry was there. He stood behind her to shield her from most of the still-cold night air.

A smirk played at the corner of her mouth. She took one more sip and then turned toward the man next to her. The princess recognized his voice before she even turned her gaze toward him.

“If a cold takes me then I think that would be the least of my worries, my lord,” she teased as her purple eyes found his.

She tilted her chin toward the fire as she spoke, “Come, join me, Lord Blackwood.”

A smile tugged at his lips in response to her jape and Benjicot made a show of sighing before rounding the fire and sitting down next to Rhaelana. He boldly sat close to the princess, their legs almost touching.

"I dare say you're only asking because of the warmth I may offer," he teased back, watching the embers dance across her face.

Rhaelana’s smile never faltered as he teased while he made his way to sit next to her. She hadn’t quite gotten used to his wit and brazenness but was always pleasantly surprised by the young lord.

She adjusted her posture and brushed his leg with her own, playfully taunting back. A quickened pulse drummed in her ears as a light blush spread over her. His proximity was intoxicating and the alcohol she sipped only heightened her own boldness.

“And maybe I would like to enjoy some company,” she teased back.

Feeling the princess move closer, Benjicot dared to shift a bit closer to her as well. He knew they needed to behave for her sake, for her honor. She was the princess after all. But gods, did she captivate him.

Her words made the young lord look at her, taking in the slight blush that spread over her face. Despite her being age eight and ten, more than marriageable, in that moment she looked like a young girl flirting with peril.

"What sort of company would you like?" He asked, his voice lower and slightly breathier than usual, daring her to answer.

Her eyes fell from his stormy eyes to his lips. She traced over his handsome features with her own lilac ones. She memorized the scar that lay above his lip, the crook of his teeth as he smiled, the way his eyes beamed toward her with eagerness. He felt so familiar, so comfortable to her.

Her gaze then met his once again as she spoke, “Yours, specifically,” she stated boldly, her words falling from her lips in a whisper.

The answer surprised him and yet it didn't. Benjicot had noticed the glances she'd given him when she thought he wasn't looking. The way her hand lingered on his arm when she needed him to stay by her side after the battle. The way her eyes had trailed to and settled on his face every time he spoke.

As she sat next to him now, with their thighs and knees pressed together, he felt as if his heart was suddenly lodged in his throat. He swallowed once, hard.

"And what does my specific company entail, princess?" He asked quietly.

Of course she noticed that he was nervous. Or maybe excited? Both? She understood for her own nerves ran through her body and electrified her. The princess had never been this close to him before or any man for that matter. That fact made her heart pound in her ears, almost sure that he could also hear it.

Her voice didn’t rise above a whisper as she answered his question. “You are to keep your princess safe, Lord Blackwood,” she responded, the teasing never leaving her tone.

Benjicot’s mouth quirked to one side. In her playful tone he could hear her bravado, her attempt at hiding her own nervousness.

He moved even closer, closing nearly all the space that was between them.

"Well, that is my duty...my lady,” as he spoke, he reached upwards carefully. His hand hovered over her cheek for a few beats before gingerly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

His fingers lingered on her skin, just above her cheek, feeling the warmth from her body.

He moved closer, so close that he could smell the sweet scent of lavender and ale that emitted from the young woman. She was intoxicating. He was close enough to count the minute freckles that dotted her nose as his eyes scanned her face.

“Benjicot. Or, Benji. You can call me Benji," he said quietly, gaze finding hers once again, then drifting down to her lips.

He suddenly felt very, very nervous. For the first time in his life, Benjicot Blackwood had no idea what to say or do next.

Rhaelana’s mind raced. He was so close, so close she could move just a mere couple of inches and she’d—

“Princess,” his voice whispered, snapping her from her thoughts. “We should turn in until the morrow.”

Gods, he wanted her to oppose him. He wanted to stay here, warming the princess during the bleak night. But he knew better. He knew they couldn’t risk unsolicited eyes surveilling their current position.

The princess’s heart sank as she drew back away from Benjicot at his words. Of course, how could I be so careless? Maybe it’s the ale… Did I read into him wrong?

She took one last sip of her ale, emptying the cup and stood from her seat next to him. Disappointment clung to the inside of her chest, causing her heart to ache as it clenched around it with every beat.

“Goodnight, Lord Blackwood. Until the morning,” Rhaelana nodded her head towards him and then turned away to strode towards her tent, dismissing herself.

Benjicot sat dumbfounded, disappointed, and confused. He knew he had done the honorable thing, especially by preventing any sort of gossip that could potentially spread if the wrong eyes gawked at them. But why did he feel so discontent?

He decided then that he would make things right with the princess in private where wandering eyes couldn’t defile hers or his reputation.

══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══

HI, HELLO! I was so excited to write a second part and now that we’re here, I am even more thrilled to continue on with a third one. I truly thought I was only going to do a one-shot but uh, I live for a slow burn romance. Thank you all for taking the time of day to read this little blurb that’s been stuck in my brain. I am clearly still all aboard the fancast Benjicot train. :’) We only know pain here, huh?

[cryptidclaw]

Star Ravenscourge!

Apprentice version v

Design Notes:

New Raven designnnn

I have completely changed his build, he is no longer tall and lanky, he is simply dinky <3 Im obssessed with this design, one of the faves I have done yet!

Character Bio:

fun fact: he looks a lot like his outsider sire, which makes him stand out a lot bec of how small and not average Thunder looking he is.

Alsoo I'm adding the leader crowns i designed!!

Star Ravenscourge

(Ravenpaw)

Gay; demi-boy; he/him

Age as of 1st arc's end: 2 cycles, 6 moons; ~26 Hyrs

Title meaning: -scourge = a terrifying and powerful cat, a cat who is a "scourge" upon their enemies. This tile is unique to Raven, as he earned it from the tales that began to spread about him once he became leader of Blood Order.

First Leader of Blood Order; he alongside several city cats founded Blood Order, and Raven was appointed their leader, much to his honor and surprise.

Seconds: Bonehunter (appointed before they followed succession laws) -> (Star) Paintdapple (mentored by Raven)

Mentor: Star Tigerclaw -> Bonehunter (unofficial mentor)

Mother: Dappledew

Siblings: Dustpelt

Half Siblings: Downnose; Cricketstep

Mate: Barleycloud

Kits (donor: Violetdream): Cowstep, Lambcry, Ryewhisper

Other notable kin: Thrushcloud (uncle); Shriketail (nephew); Cloudtail (adoptive nephew); Snowshoe (nephew); Mistletoe (niece); Spiderleg (nephew); Shrew (nephew)

Bonus facts: He came up with the idea of reinforcing his claws with sharpened dogs teeth, bec of Tigerclaw's extra big claws. Tiger always told Raven he was extra weak because his claws were rather small, so raven thought, maybe he could find a new, better way to protect himself, and make his claws even stronger than Tigerclaw's ever were. They were in fact stronger than Tiger bec they disemboweled him.

Character Summary:

In Progress (to be added later)

...

[Image 1 ID: a digital drawing of Ravenscourge an au version of Ravenpaw from Warrior Cats. He is standing with his right side showing, his right paw raised with claws (reinforced with dog's teeth) unsheathed. He has a proud and determined expression on his face. He is a small, slender, black tom with a white tail tip, above his nose and on his chin, two spots on his cheek, and a white sock on his right leg. He is mostly short furred with longer cheek and tail fur, as well as a tuft on longer fur on his chest and on his head, acting as bangs. He has extremely large ears and purple eyes, he wears a crown on his forehead with a teardrop shaped bloodstone and a smaller teardrop shaped moonstone hanging below it. He also has a tooth pieced through one ear and wears a purple dog's collar adorned with sharp teeth and claws. he has claw scars running along his shoulder and flank as well as a scar over his right eye and on his left upper lip./End ID]

[Image 2 ID: a digital drawing of Raven (apprentice Ravenscourge) an au version of Ravenpaw from Warrior Cats. This image is the same as the previous one, but Raven has no scars, wears no collar, teeth, or crown and has wide scarred eyes and a general fearful expression on his face./End ID]

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Sweet as Sugarcane

Chapter 6: Castile and Chamomile (!!!)

Agatha Harkness x Fem!reader Old West/Oregon Trail AU

Word count: 2,363

Summary: As a New York politician's daughter, you're accustomed to a way of life that many people aren't privy to. But after your mother dies and your father sells everything, the only life you see ahead is on a dusty, deserted trail out west--until you meet Agatha.

Warnings: internalized homophobia and, at last, smut; very soft smut, soft Agatha, loss of virginity, fingering (both receiving), oral (R receiving)

Spotify playlist here

Ao3 here

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |

The ride back down is slower than the ride up was, but this time, you sit in front, leaning against Agatha as she holds the reins. You can feel her breathing, chest rising and falling slowly against your back.

It’s quiet and you almost doze off until you hear her chuckle, “You fallin’ asleep on me?”

“No,” you say, unconvincing, and she snickers again. “Are we going back to town?” you ask quietly, dreading the moment you have to leave her.

“Actually, I was thinkin’ you smell like beer,” she says. “And I can’t have you goin’ back to your kin smellin’ like that.”

“So–?”

“So,” she continues, “you could use a bath. I’ll take you to my home first and then I’ll get you back to your little camp.”

Her home.

She’s taking you to her home.

And she does just that. 

On the outskirts of the town, amidst the scattered houses, is her quaint home. It’s made of wood and stone like the many other houses and out in the front yard, a fence closes in a chicken coop. As you approach closer, you can just make out a horse in the back, fenced in like chickens but roaming around and grazing on hay.

When you dismount the horse, she guides it back into the pasture and removes the tack before rejoining you and escorting you into her home. It’s small, with a narrow staircase leading to a loft where you assume her bed is. The downstairs is a kitchen with a dining table and a hearth with two rocking chairs nearby.

It’s a house that you’re far from used to–the floors are wood but they’re dingy and have scuff marks, and the walls are almost completely bare, save for the dried herbs that hang by the hearth and the nails that stick out by the back door that hold another leather jacket. It’s cute and it’s cozy and warm. There’s nothing fragile, nothing you have to be careful around. You have no cause for anxiety in this home. 

Agatha hangs her hat on a hook and lights a gas lamp before she builds a small fire in the kitchen hearth. You follow her upstairs like a lost puppy, trailing close behind and watching her light another fire in that hearth before pushing the small tin bath tub in front.

“Alright,” she huffs. “I have a water pump out back so it shouldn’t take too long to fill. Just sit tight, sweetheart.” And before she leaves, she gives you a parting gift of a kiss on your cheek.

With your face burning and Agatha gone, you look around the dimly lit room. The clock on the hearth reads almost one o’clock and just seeing that makes your eyes grow heavy. Agatha is in and out of the house about ten times and by the time she’s done, it’s almost one-thirty.

You remove your boots, skirt, and blouse and when you’re left in your underdress you pause, reluctant and apprehensive. Then you think back to Agatha’s words: “You don’t need to be terrified. Not here. Not with me.”

You face away from her and slowly remove it, leaving your back and naked form exposed. Stepping into the bath, the water is warmer than expected, and you pull your knees to your chest. Agatha, with her chaps and jacket on a chair in the corner of the room, takes your clothing and drapes it over a chair in front of the fire.

She crouches down beside the tub and then gasps, “I’ll be right back.” She comes back quickly with a wooden bowl filled with dried white flowers. “Chamomile,” she smiles. 

“Why the chamomile?” you ask.

“Well, I figure a girl like you is used to a certain standard. And the last thing I’d want to do is disappoint you,” Agatha says, winking after.

You notice a bar of castile soap in her hand. “And castile? Where did you get that?” you ask, surprised to see a bar of castile in this tiny town.

“Don’t look so surprised, darlin’,” she chuckles, dumping the bowl of chamomile into the bath. “New York City isn’t the only place with soapers.”

“No, I know–I just–”

She smiles at you, amused, “I’m just teasing, sweetheart.” 

There’s genuine care in her eyes when Agatha takes the bowl and dunks it in the water, pouring it over your head and repeating. Taking a rag, she wraps it around the castile soap and dips it in the water, lathering it between the fabric of the cloth. 

She gently drags the rag across your upper back, down your shoulders and to your collarbones. It’s quiet and intimate, and it sends your heart racing. You look at her, admiring every wrinkle, every freckle, every sign of aging that makes her even more beautiful up close.

“You’re staring…” she mutters, a teasing lilt to her words.

You smile and lean back against the tub as she brings the cloth down your arm. “I can’t help it.”

She hums and pours water over your arms, eyeing you carefully. “So, no beau?”

“Hm?”

Agatha sits up and looks directly at you, leaning on the tub and giving you a lazy grin. “Am I stealing you from some handsome young man with a heavy dowry?”

“I don’t think it’s stealing if I willingly go with you,” you counter softly, smiling as you watch her grow red. “But to answer your question, no. There is no beau…I did have one. And yes, we did take walks by the Hudson.”

She avoids your gaze, clearly flustered by your first response, and continues her motions of washing your legs and dragging the rag up to your chest. “And what happened to the fella?”

“I gave him the ring back,” you say softly. “He thought I had too many ‘ideas’ and that I was too stubborn and arrogant…” You hum in amusement. “Too educated I suppose…I’m twenty-nine. Any offer of marriage I receive is out of pity or social gain…but I don’t want to be desired out of pity,” you say, making gentle eye contact with her when she sits up. “I want to be desired out of love and adoration.”

She pauses, keeping eye contact as the rag lingers over your clavicle. You’re inches from each other and she exhales softly, looking down to your lips and back up at your eyes. She searches them carefully, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you mutter, leaning in to meet her in the middle. Agatha’s lips are soft and welcoming and her grip on the rag loosens, letting it drop into the bath. 

Her hand moves from your clavicle to the side of your neck, her thumb softly stroking the skin beneath it. You hold her wrist and when your other leaves the warm embrace of the bath to reach out for her, you splash water all over her and the floor.

When you giggle she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue in your mouth. You move closer, turning to face her properly and deepen the kiss. Around you, water sloshes against the sides of the tin basin, landing on the floor around Agatha, and as you become increasingly frustrated by the barrier between you, you slowly start to stand.

She follows you up, holding you close despite the water falling from your bare skin. You stumble out of the bath and she supports you with a strong arm around your waist. 

Her fingers dig into your hips, gliding smoothly over the skin and up your ribs where loose chamomile flowers stick. Your fingers begin to undo the buttons on the back of her damp blouse and Agatha pulls away, cupping your cheeks softly and looking you deep in the eyes. “Are you sure you want to continue?” she asks, her voice low and filled with concern.

“I…”

You have no idea where this hunger has come from. It feels so wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be giving into the lust that fogs your better judgement.

But, still, you give her a confident, “Yes.” You breathe heavily against her mouth before she takes you again, helping you with the buttons without removing her lips from yours.

With her boots off and her trousers following shortly after, she gently tips you back on her bed. It’s unkempt, the sheets and quilt askew from the previous night, but it brings a sense of comfort as the smell of her overtakes your senses.

The room grows hot quickly. From the fire in the hearth, to the close proximity of you and Agatha, both of you are tasting sweat as your lips ravish each other. The hair on your arms sticks up with each sensation–the cool feeling of your wet hair pressing into the back of your head, Agatha’s lips skimming over yourbreasts and down your ribs, how her finger tips dance over the delicate skin of your hip. 

It’s an overwhelming and all-consuming feeling, and you’re trembling when her tongue drags up your inner thigh. 

“Breathe,” she whispers, looking up at you and taking your hand to lace her fingers with yours.

You look down at her and take a deep breath.

“That’s it,” she mutters. “Good girl.”

Her words send a rush of heat through you and when her tongue finally meets your slit, you let out a shaky exhale, tightening your hold on her hand. Her tongue works in meticulous patterns and her lips suck hard, your mind spiraling into the pits of bliss. 

Agatha’s finger slide into you easily, and she relishes in the way gasp, arching your back into her touch. 

“Agatha–!” You’re cut off with a sharp gasp as her tongue and fingers work together. “Oh–Oh my god!”

With her fingers still working, she crawls up slowly, placing soft kisses on you along the way. Her lips capture yours in a feverish kiss and your hands fly to her hair as her thumb finds your clit. 

The feeling is like no other you had ever felt. It’s so overwhelming, so unfamiliar, so…so good. Your hand reaches behind you and grasps the ironwire bedframe. You struggle to speak, your words coming out in short gasps as the blinding feeling of your relief barrels closer.

“Agatha!” you cry. “I–I don’t–Oh, God!”

Her lips brush yours, both of you breathing heavily into one another’s mouth as her fingers come to your forehead and brush away damp strands of hair. She kisses you hard before pulling away and giving you a reassuring smile. “Keep going, sweetheart,” she huffs. “Don’t hold back, you’re doing so well…”

Tears form in the corners of your eyes, slowly trickling down your temples and into already damp baby hairs. You tremble at her praise and your finger dig into her back as the intense, unfamiliar feeling of your relief finally washes over you.

Your body squirms, writhing with pleasure, but Agatha holds you close, cradling you in her arms and whispering sweet praises in your ear. She kisses you softly before dropping to her side next to you and gathering you in her arms.

After haphazardly pulling the bedding over you, Agatha’s lips are back on yours shortly after, and your own hands begin to roam her body. Her leg rests on your hip and your hand trails down her chest, brushing over her breasts and down her abdomen. At the feeling of your fingers grazing over her hips, she inhales sharply and you feel her shiver.

“Someone’s sensitive,” you mutter, grinning at the way her hands tighten on your waist.

She huffs into your mouth, chuckling, “Shut up…now kiss me.”

You obey with a smile and continue your way down. When your fingers slide through her folds, she sighs into the kiss, but you have no clue what to do.

“Tell me what to do,” you whisper. “Tell me how to please you, Agatha.”

She smiles softly and takes your hand, guiding it up just a bit. “Right there, sweetheart. Keep your fingers right there.”

You move your fingers in slow circles and then up and down, guaging Agatha’s reaction. Keeping eye contact with you, her hand guides you down, “Good, now down here…slowly…that’s it…”

You curl your fingers and her hand leaves your wrist to rest on your cheek. “Faster now. You’re doing so well,” Agatha huffs, kissing you hard. “Keep going, don’t stop.” Her leg tightens around your hip as she grinds against your hand, and you feel a sense of pride as she struggles to kiss you back. 

When her hand flies to your back, nails digging into the skin, she lets out a loud moan and pulls you in closer. “Fuck!” she cries. “Don’t–Oh my god!”

You continue fucking her through her orgasm, not letting up until she’s panting and reaches down to still your hand. Agatha lets out a breathy laugh and kisses you. She brings your hand back up, kissing the digits and lacing your hands together before kissing your lips.

“You are magnificent,” she sighs. Sleep is heavy on her eyes, but it does nothing to the deep sentiment and tenderness bleeding from them.

You don’t respond, instead pressing light kisses to her hand–the back, to the palm, down to her wrist. Her eyes flutter shut and you watch quietly as sleep overtakes her, legs relaxing with yours and the hand on your waist going limp.

The clock on the mantle shows that it’s almost three in the morning.

Your heart aches and you wish you could do everything in your power to freeze this moment–to stop time from moving forward, to keep the woman in front of you in your arms forever. 

You struggle to keep your eyes open. You know you should get up, you know you should leave. You fend off sleep, but the sound of the crackling fire and Agatha’s steady breathing becomes the sweetest lullaby to exist. And in the warmth of her arms, with both of you tangled in the patchwork quilt, you come to the realization that this is where you’re meant to be. 

So you surrender. 

You let your eyes close.

And you welcome the gentle embrace of sleep.

[scruncheduppaper]

okay ngl im kinda mad about that one post about labru cannibalism symbolism being racist or whatever. like its not. why does everyone keep acting like shipping labru or even enjoying kabru in any sort of way is racist or whatever this is literally so dumb. op literally said that he was south asian coded “but ohhh same thing applies” like well that just changes literally everything you brought up oh my godddd if you want more poc in media to be appreciated stop holding everything to the same boring ass fucking morally correct standard. let kabru be a little freaky abt it

“oh you only ship labru because you want laios or whatever you’re making kabru’s only trait as being obsessed with a white guy” 1. why would you assume that. are poc not allowed to be gay anymore. whatever. 2. its the other way i around i want kabru and i kin laios like i like laios but whatever. 3. also i think their relationship is interesting asf like even outside of shipping lr whatever

ofc theres racist dumbfucks out there but in general i think people should be a little bit more lax. like people are so scared of falling into stereotypes and stuff they’re terrified of even approaching making shit about poc. just fucking relaxxxx people oh my god

[waffelteufel]

Random Dark Urge stuff that blew my mind because it's so fun (and terrifying) [SPOILERS BELOW]

The Alfira scene came totally unexpected and I was literally sitting there with my mouth agape because I was so used to how cute EA had been

Those moments where the Urge gets to you and your character just suddenly goes >:) like a little evil shit

Those random over the top dialogue options

The way you can literally tell your companions from the start that you are a bit cray cray but they're all just "Ah don't worry about it we're literally killing people every day now. We're all a little evil right now :) Just put in that energy when we need it :)" and when you get to That Scene (tm) with your Love Interest in act 2 they suddenly go "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME" I DID!!! I DID TELL YOU SFHFSF

THAT SCENE IN ACT2 WITH YOUR LOVE INTEREST... That you can just murder them there?? And you have to roll against yourself? So good

The fact you can try to fucking bite them and sob uncontrollably?? Cinnamon Topography as they say.

You were besties with Gortash!! "I can tolerate Orin. But I liked you". Hello??? I want to be besties with him again???? Gorty let's become Team Rocket please.

Gortash saying that he missed your dark humour or something of the like.

Orin and Durge's rivarly. Slaughter-Kin. Queen...

That lady at the end of act 2 that did horrifying experiments on you and became obsessed?? It was sooo uncomfortable but like in a masochistic way. Fucked up and amazing.

Finding your pod in that mindflayer place and asking Astarion "Humour me Astarion. What does that blood smell like?" "[SNIFF SNIFF] Oh that's you. I can recognize that everywhere lol"

The way Astarion's and your own personal quest mirror each other in a way.

Those dialogue options after you refused to kill Isobel, Nightsong and your Love Interest where it sounds like you are some evil puppy trying to atone for your sins to the most random people, like the freaking circus guy, and going like "I used to be a crazy murderous maniac but I am trying to change my ways <3"

If you get Heal cast on yourself (that high level spell that gives you like 70 HP) you get a mini cutscene in which Durge's mind "knits back together" for a moment and you remember a scene from your childhood. This was so unexpected, I did NOT expect a random spell to trigger story and I loved that.

Realising that you were involved in stealing the Crown from Mephistopheles vault, and that you've been to the Nine Hells before. Finding this out only a little bit after Raphael bitched to you about that lmao.

The fact you're literally playing one of the main bad guys, but with amnesia, and you realise this only in act 3.

[blackcatsandlockets]

I ranked the Marauders era characters

Regulus Black

Aquarius. Autistic. French. INTJ. Queer. The real Slytherin prince. Definitely, and undoubtedly, the best Black family member and best Marauders era character.

2. Narcissa Black

I used to just see her as Lucius Malfoy's enabling wife and preferred her second-older sister, but I started liking Narcissa more since I recently started getting into nobleflower and realizing how similar she is to me/Regulus. She's also blonde and gives off black swan vibes.

3. James Potter

Mexican. My favorite Marauder from day one. The Marauders' sun and everyday Ladybug. If my future husband isn't like James, then I don't want him.

4. Sirius Black

Gorgeous. Scorpio. Loved James more than anything. The brightest star.

5. Barty Crouch Jr.

His backstory gives off Félix Fathom and I love him for it. Also - his fancasts are all so gorgeous.

6. Pandora Rosier

I ranked Pandora higher than Evan only because it's almost half-canon in the Marauders fandom that the spell that caused her death was to bring back Regulus. Also, she gives off Alice in Wonderland vibes.

7. Evan Rosier

Regulus's friend and the blond Slytherin pretty boy of the Marauders era.

8. Andromeda Black

It's a crime that Andromeda is ranked so low on this list since she's the OG black (no pun intended) sheep in her generation of the Black family. I also think that she spent her Hogwarts years dismantling her family's ideologies and influenced Sirius to be pro-Muggle from a young age.

9. Dorcas Meadowes

INFJ. Mermaid-coded. Lost all of her Slytherin skittle friends (except for Pandora) because three of them became Death Eaters. Lost her girlfriend to the Death Eaters. Faced Voldemort alone because she had nothing to lose. Voldemort himself was terrified of her.

10. Alice Fortescue

Dark brown curls. Gryffindor. Italian. Quidditch player. Had a thing with Narcissa. Shares a name with one of my favorite literary characters.

11. Lily Evans

Anne of Green Gables and Little Women enthusiast. Cabin 6. Cottagecore. Jewish. Jolene-coded. Plus-size. As a Regulus kin, a part of me will always be jealous of Lily but I don't blame James for choosing her over Regulus (after all, who wouldn't?). If it weren't for her the Harry Potter story wouldn't exist.

Btw a friend of mine said I remind her of lilies (the flower) and I was so flattered. Ironically enough said friend was actually a Lily kin herself

12. Ted Tonks

Blond. Hufflepuff. Jewish. Virgo. Perseus-coded. "Let Me Be Your Wings"-coded.

13. Frank Longbottom

German. Gryffindor. He was kind of the Cedric Diggory/Charles Beckendorf of the Marauders era? Anyways if Augusta was always boasting about him then he must've been amazing.

14. Remus Lupin

I can't believe the fan-favorite of the fandom is ranked so low on my list. But he's never appealed to me as a Marauder the same way that James or Sirius do. I do love his backstory with his father and Fenrir Greyback, however. And I definitely prefer the old sweaters and tea Remus over the new mean Casanova one.

15. Marlene McKinnon

Aries. "Cherry Bomb"-coded. Rockstar girlfriend. Victoria De Angelis-coded.

16. Mary Macdonald

Cabin 10. "Dancing Queen"-coded. Girl's girl. Pink.

17. Bellatrix Black

I don't have as many HCs for Bellatrix as I do with her sisters or cousins. I feel like she was masculinized as a result of being the eldest daughter but also underestimated for being a woman. Very Jupiter-coded.

18. Any other Marauders era character that I might've left out

19. Peter Pettigrew