#the children yearn to be evil

[roses-and-revolutions]

Tell me, Superman, what is it that makes one man a hero and the other a villain? Is it his actions, his goals, or his ambitions? Nah! It's whoever stands on the winning side of history that gets to determine that...

Let's fight Big Blue.

OR!!!!

The DC universe is Amity Park's personal rage room and Casper High's senior year is going through it.

[paranormaljones]

i am foaming at the mouth to make my long MAWS post but i got called into work early and will continue to be at work until probably 1am. the pain is unbearable.

[witheredgardenparty]

Are there resources for finding those little narrative excerpts from the language arts textbooks they give grade and middle school age kids? I still have nightmares about stories I cannot name and would not even begin knowing how to look up

[magiefish]

Eighth Doctor episode that’s based off the Amnesia series. Because. Y’know.

[theshoesofatiredman]

It's such a sinking feeling to find fundamentalism out in the secular wilds. Like I get that the puritanical black and white thinking that finds a home in the social technology of religion divergently evolved many outlets to survive in multiple social habitats. It makes sense. The impulses that gave rise to it inside religion are of course going to be present in humanity outside of a religious context. But it's so baffling when it happens cause it's like damn I know I first learned that idea in Church and believed it bc I thought it was God's divine will. Why does it make sense to you without any of that???

I don't exactly have the words for this right now but it's honestly such a mindfuck going from your only concept of sex being from fundamentalist christianity to "real world" progressive spaces that have similar beliefs just... without the god part and packaged differently

[feathersandblue]

So, full disclosure, I haven't been a Solas fan before.

I am now.

And that's because of Veilguard and the many, many ways in which I felt let down by this game.

The aspect that bothers me most is the reduction of nuance and complexity.

Rook's hero's cakewalk (because “journey” really isn't the right word) is a ready-made path that offers no deviation at all and never challenges the player in any meaningful way.

Sure, you can spend some time pondering the pros and cons of saving Treviso or Minrathous. Ultimately, it makes no difference. Rook does their best, they just can’t be in two places at once.

Same with the companion character arcs. What does it mean if you decide to you turn Emmrich into a lich? For the most part, it's idle musing. Indulgence. He’ll be happy either way, there are no real stakes. Yeah, your actions do have consequences, just not the sort of consequences that make a substantial difference. It’s the illusion of choice – reduced to cosmetics.

The problems with decisions that cost nothing is that they don’t feel like an accomplishment. They also don’t allow for character growth. Rook doesn’t change, they remain static. Even the section in the Fade where Rooks faces their regrets is easy and comparatively lightweight. Varric was killed by Solas, Harding resp. Davrin died in combat and either Bellara or Neve was abducted by Elgar’nan. It’s not like Rook’s decisions actually caused these events, it’s not like Rook actually failed through a choice they had to make that turned out to be the wrong one. Everyone was there willingly and volunteered to fight the good fight. Rook’s regrets are not about real guilt, they are about feeling sad and guilty. And that – it needs to be said – is not the same thing. At all.

At the same time, the story carefully avoids any kind of true ethical dilemma.

It's not even about the lack of mean or edgy dialogue options; that’s just a symptom. The cause is the writers’ unwillingness to let realism intrude in Rook’s fairytale – the lack of anything that would require Rook to compromise on morals, or fight temptation. Rook is never faced with any sort of moral conundrum, or allowed to act out any kind of vice that realistic characters have. In its straight-path simplicity, Rook's story is apparently written for children and people who remain child-like in their yearning for simple, uncontested truths.

Of all the sorts of conflicts that a story can offer, Veilguard carefully avoids the most realistic and (in my opinion) interesting ones: Character vs. self and character vs. society, aka, politics. The game firmly refuses to go there. To the point where it creates a completely unrealistic consensus on all sides that eliminates yet another sort of conflict: character vs. character.

If Rook and their companions would talk politics, they’d all be on the exact same side. In a two party state, they’d all cast the same vote.

I am sure that there are many players who feel comforted and reassured by that fact, who sincerely believe that this is how stories should be written. That stories should reflect the world not as it is but as they think it should be. But for everyone who likes their stories a little more realistic, that lack of meaningful interpersonal conflict, that lack of real diversity which comes not from appearance but from different cultures and opposing viewpoints amounts to a frankly cringe-worthy, artificial and juvenile surface-level interaction between characters. Or, to phrase it differently: the diversity remains skin-deep and doesn’t extend to the philosophical, and even in the few instances where it does, it shies away from the political.

Which means that the only conflicts that remain are the most boring and stereotypical ones: character vs. monsters resp. the supernatural, where all foes are evil in the blandest way (Supremacist Venatori! Fascist renegade qunari! Power-hungry necromancers!). These conflicts are resolved through exploring maps and endless, repetitive combat.

The only thing that brings a bit of nuance to the game is Solas’s story. And there is an element of character vs. character in Rook’s and Solas’s relationship, but the sad truth is that what could have been a fascinating mirrored character journey falls flat for all the reasons already explained – because where Solas is a character as layered and controversial as it gets, Rook is anything but.

Solas’s story shows how even people with the best intentions and the greatest integrity are ultimately broken by what life throws at them, both by the decisions that are forced upon them and the choices they make on their own. It shows how a prolonged war is always a sunk cost fallacy: I’ve gone this far, if I stop now, it was all for nothing.

Rook’s victories, on the other hand, come without a cost – both in terms of moral corruption and in accountability. The guilt Solas bears is real. The fight against the titans, followed by his war against the Evanuris, requires compromising his own morals, one day at a time, one century after another, he’s trying to save the world yet doomed to fail. Sacrificing the spirits to win a battle after the war has gone this far? Every single war leader around the globe would make the same decision. In fact, all of them do: They do sacrifice the lives of others if it will help them win, they do send soldies into the trenches to die, whether these soldiers want to or not, and they are rarely, if ever, truthful about the reasons why.

In a certain way, the story of the spirit of wisdom turned flesh is reminiscent of the biblical Fall of Man: the original sin. Solas has fallen, and he’s broken. In trying to heal the world, he’s trying to heal himself. The burden is too heavy, the responsibility to great, the knowledge that he is responsible for all of it too devastating. Solas’s greatest conflict is character vs. self. It has the potential to be great. In a way, it is. It’s the single redeeming quality that, depending on your interpretation of what went on behind the scenes, the writers managed to salvage from the original concept of Dreadwolf or the lone pillar that withstood all their attempts to bring it down.

Only sadly, infuriatingly, in the end, that fallen hero’s ending is put into the hands of a protagonist who judges him from the perspective of someone who has never even stumbled – not because they are wiser, braver, or kinder. No, just because the writers were gracious – or cowardly? – enough to never let them fail.

The game gives Rook a moral high ground which isn’t earned in the slightest because Rook never had to walk even a quarter of a mile in Solas’s shoes. They don’t know what they would have done in his stead, they have no idea what it actually means to see the sorry shape the world is in and know that it was your hands that shaped it. And even where Rook might actually be culpable – the interruption of Solas’s ritual that freed the remaining Evanuris – anyone is quick to assure Rook that it wasn’t their fault.

Whatever regrets Rook carries, they’re born from self-doubt and trauma response. Survivor’s guilt, mostly. When compared to Solas’s immense guilt, Rook’s regrets are, for lack of a better term, insignificant. That Rook manages to face them doesn’t mean that they are more truthful or emotionally mature, it just means that Rook’s story is a tale for children and Solas’s is not.

It’s not that I’m necessarily opposed to the idea that the player decides Solas’s fate through their actions. It’s the injustice of it all that bothers me: The player is led through a game that provides a safe space for their character, one that is devoid of any interpersonal conflict and any ethical quandary. Rooks succeeds through kindness and heroism and taking their companions on team bonding exercises.

As if Solas could have won the war against the Evanuris if he’d taken the time to take his companions on coffee dates.

The juxtaposition – Rook vs. Solas – fails, simply because of this deep divide. Rook’s story is detached from reality and yet Rook gets to be Solas’s judge, jury, and executioner. On what grounds?

As I said, right in the beginning, I haven’t been a Solas fan before. But by the end of Veilguard, I was firmly, irrevocably, Team Solas, just because I was so annoyed that the narrative put Rook in a position of moral superiority. I detested my own character. Jesus, what a goody two-shoes! I was rooting for Solas simply because his story was so much more: a genuine tragedy, a study in complexity. Rook, on the other hand, remains bland, snotty, unchanged. Untried.

The thing is, I don’t believe that my reaction was one the writers had intended. I strongly feel that they didn’t mean for me to pick up on their double standard, that they expected me to walk away fully satisfied, convinced that Rook and The Team were the Good Guys because they went on picnics and petted the griffon, their final victory well-earned and just. If only Solas had had a Team and taken care of their emotional needs – he could have taken down the Evanuris with nary a scratch!

It’s all so very disingenuous.

Rook and, by extension, the player exist in a bubble of sanitized content. That is clearly deliberate. The player is meant to like it there. (In that sense, it’s only logical that they changed the title from Dreadwolf to Veilguard.) And clearly, it does resonate with a certain kind of their player base: mostly with people, I think, who would like their real life to be a bubble too and whose only experience with moral corruption is when they find it in others.

[distort-opia]

There's a fascinating aspect of Ellen's character that I've seen some people touch on before, but now that it got into my head I need to go through to it too-- her nature not being of human kind. It's actually one of the very first things Orlok himself says: that Ellen is not human, and he reasserts it later. But then what is she?

"Almost a sylph," Knock says of Ellen. "His little changeling girl," Ellen says her father had described her as, when she wandered off into the forest as a child. "You mustn't be caught up in her fairy ways," Harding admonishes Anna. Hell, in the 2016 script, when the Hardings accompany Ellen on her walk along the sea shore, she and the children dance in a circle while Ellen cries out "round and round the fairy ring". Furthermore, there's more than one explicit reference to Ellen loving the sea in the scripts. Prior to the sea shore walk, Ellen fervently asks Anna to go there, because "it calms her". Later on, Anna herself says that "she loves the sea so". While this didn't make it to the movie in such direct terms, we still see Ellen looking out windows and yearning, again and again... visiting the sea twice, having a seizure in the water itself. "Look at the sky! Look at the sea! Does it never call to you? Urge you?" she cries to Anna.

It's clearly an intentional implication on Eggers' part: that Ellen is some kind of fairy-like nature elemental. The term sylph originates from the works of Paracelsus, and described as a female air spirit, though over time water has been conflated with it too. Changeling also refers to a child kidnapped by supernatural beings (interestingly birthed by the Devil or a water spirit among others, in German mythology) and replaced with... something else. And we could leave it at that-- Ellen is not entirely human. She was born with witchy and fae-like characteristics, an attraction to the wind and the sea.

When she called out in the dark, it's possible Orlok answered also because he recognized this within her. But. There is a type of female nature spirit in Romanian folklore (which ultimately pervades the mythology of Nosferatu) that has specific parallels and a particular relationship to the Solomonar, the kind of sorcerer/supernatural creature Orlok was in life. It feeds into the overarching theme of destiny and fate so beautifully. I find it all very interesting, but I got pretty long already, so I'll put the rest under the cut.

Female nature spirits can be found all over the place in European folklore, and Romania is no different. They can have many names, though the most popular one is probably iele, a name that is literally derived from the female plural "ele". Iele are fae-like feminine spirits associated with the winds and the sky, often seducing and luring men away. What attracted my attention though, is the variation/subtype of vântoase (root word vânt = wind) or the associated vâlvă. In some accounts [1], this supernatural creature is a marked human who was born with the capacity for their spirit to leave their body at night and then go towards the sky, where they wrestle with other vâlve or balauri (which are a Romanian mythical equivalent of dragons, alongside zmei). Their fights are said to be what cause storms, and rains, and other catastrophe-related weather events. When put in contrast with Ellen, the similarities are obvious... especially when it comes to her affinity for nature and her spirit "wandering off". It also must be emphasized that these spirits are not inherently evil: they can do both good and bad, bring luck or misfortune, aligning with Ellen saying that "her spirit cannot be as evil as his [Orlok's]" and that all her life she has "simply heeded her own nature".

But the thing is... a marked human born with powers is also what a Solomonar is: children able to control the weather, ride balauri or zmei, control and turn into different animals-- who are then recruited by the Devil into the school of Șolomanță/Scholomance. Although despite this demonic current association, initially Solomonari were also more of a neutral figure in Romanian folklore. They are theorized, among other hypotheses, to be a later version of Geto-Dacian ktistai, who were selected from priests or kings (Orlok is a count, a prince or voivode) and might've worshipped Zamolxe, a Geto-Dacian God associated with the sky as well as immortality (Ancient Dacian is what Orlok speaks; Zamolxe is written within Orlok's heptagram sigil; on his coat of arms, sigil and coffin there's Dacian wolves as well as balauri-- a serpent-like creature with the head of a wolf which is on the Dacian flag). Some Solomonari were believed to be protecting villages from calamity, and influenced the weather in order to grow crops more easily. But of course, when Christianity spread in the region, things from Pagan times began to be associated with the Devil, hence why the Christian Orthodox Abbess we see in the Nosferatu movie calls Orlok a "black enchanter". More importantly for us though, the Solomonar was also said to leave their body at night in a trance, riding up into the sky to fight the weather spirits. Orlok's Shadow, that we hear so much about, is an integral part of a Solomonar's powers: the ability to project one's spirit away from their body. Them riding balauri is a metaphor for them taming winds, summoning vântoase.

So. Vâlvă, vântoasă, ială and Solomonar share quite a lot of characteristics, don't they? A source I found made the comparison directly, which is what set me on this path [1]. Humans born with powers-- one typically male, one female. But the male one is schooled and part of a cult or hierarchy, taking control of the nature element, while the vâlvă/vântoasă/ială is the nature element.

Yet the expected dynamic between summoner and summoned is so deliciously subverted with Ellen and Orlok! Orlok definitely recognized someone of his own nature in Ellen. Someone born with magic, essentially. Someone not of human kind. But Ellen's power is something Orlok's kind traditionally controls. A Solomonar tames and summons the winds (vântoasele)... and don't we see Orlok's spirit call to Ellen more than once? Orlok asserts his influence through the lilac-scented lock of hair, latching onto Ellen through it. He trespasses in Ellen's dreams, brings her spirit to him in the Castle when he feeds on Thomas, and we see her naked and on top of Thomas too, eerie and with blood spilling out of her mouth (very female-spirit-who-preys-upon-men coded, which is even more directly spelled out later in the scene where Ellen provokes Thomas into having sex with her). All along, we see Ellen overcome by seizures and trances, writhing under Orlok's Shadow. This is the power he has over her.

Hah. But Orlok is not just a Solomonar, Ellen is not just a spirit of the wind, and here's where I think another fascinating layer comes in. In the movie, ultimately, Orlok is a strigoi. The strigoi is a Romanian folk creature that can be vampiric, though that's not always what it does. It's a troubled spirit that rises from the grave to prey upon the living (especially their loved ones, to whom they return to first), by eating/killing their animals, poisoning their crops, drinking their blood and creating all manner of disaster. One can become a strigoi in many ways, including a life of sin, suicide, being cursed by a witch, etc. But importantly, there's also two types of strigoi-- the alive strigoi, and the dead strigoi [2]. The alive type is a sorcerer who in life already slips into these evil behaviors with intent, while the dead type rises from the grave and mindlessly feeds upon their loved ones and their village (the revenant we see killed by the Romani vampire hunter in the film). Orlok is a mix of things that make him unique, much like how Dracula was described as atypical multiple times in Bram Stoker's novel. He was a sorcerer and a Solomonar in life (an alive strigoi, something a source from the 19th century asserted-- that Solomonari were strigoi), who was then risen from the grave by a witch (becoming a dead strigoi). As a result, he has retained all his mental faculties and his magical powers.

But the enchantress who calls upon Orlok as a strigoi is partly an air elemental. She caused him to rise from the grave, and that is how she asserts her power over him. Yet she's of the air, of the wind, of the sea... all the things a Solomonar is a master of! So I think this is a contributing factor to the Covenant Orlok makes with Ellen. When they first meet there is not only recognition of someone similar to himself ("You... You..."), but also of a specific connection between what the two of them are. He immediately seeks a Covenant with Ellen, and then when she breaks it, comes after her in person. When they first talk and Ellen rejects him, he says "You will submit."

As Eggers pointed out too, there is a huge need for possession on Orlok's side. It's left ambiguous if he wants to own her or destroy her or if he loves her... To me, this added aspect illuminates a big part of why Orlok also resents Ellen ("You are my affliction"). It isn't just that a woman has him in her thrall, a man and a Lord who wielded great power in life-- but also that she is air, a vântoasă, the element of his dominion. It's so delicious how there's a bidirectional supernatural element between them... Orlok may feel he is owed possession of Ellen, with the deeper layer of the male sorcerer taming the unknowable chaotic female elemental. But Orlok is a strigoi risen from the grave by Ellen as an enchantress, hence she is owed possession of him as her summoned Creature. So there's two tethers between them, each connected to a different aspect of their natures; Orlok is holding one end, Ellen is holding the other. (To be honest, my headcanon is that when we see Ellen levitate, that's not Orlok, it's her air-related power. She levitates upwards in the very first scene of the film right as Orlok says she isn't human, as if it's a manifestation of that. When Orlok feeds on Thomas and she is there in spirit, we see them levitate; except it's Ellen we see fall down to the ground, while Orlok and Thomas are shown to have always been on the ground. And in every scene with Orlok in person, it could be that she gets on her tiptoes progressively to get closer and closer to his face; but it also looks as if she's floating upwards.)

This ended up a way too long honest-to-God essay, but I just adore all the complexities of this movie. You can tell how much Eggers researched, how many details and references he wove into the story, all meant to connect but kept ambigous enough that multiple theories are possible. While the association between Solomonar and strigoi and vampire was something Stoker did too, that Murnau did too, none of them thought to take it as far as creating a connection to Ellen steeped also in folklore. The vampire has a supernatural hold over his bride, but now so does she. The Enchantress summons the undead Strigoi, the Solomonar summons the Vântoasă. How much more fated can you get?

I'm supplying two more in-depth sources I used below as downloadable pdfs, but fair warning, they're in Romanian:

[1] Mituri pluviale românești în context universal, Silvia Ciubotaru

[2] Șapte Eseuri Despre Strigoi, Marineasa, 1998

[thehighladywrites]

That's your mother, but she's my wife first…

⋆⭒˚｡‎♡‧₊˚ pairing: cassian x fem!reader, the inner circle mentioned

⋆⭒˚｡‎♡‧₊˚ summary: 18+ nsfw, mdni, light angst, stress, smut, fluff, praise, cassian channelling his inner general, reader being an absolute sweetheart who deserves everything good in life fr

⋆⭒˚｡‎♡‧₊˚ amara’s note: okay so I don’t have any kids so some parts might be inaccurate but close your eyes please🤞🏽i have nothing else to say, i just wanna fuck cassian so bad rn...

Spilled milk, mismatched socks, wailing babies.

Gods, what you wouldn’t do for a moment of peace…

Your children were usually calm, even when they were tumbling down stairs and running into tables, but during your youngest twin kids teething phase, they developed an interest for chewing on anything. Their outburst put your two other kids in distress, making it a difficult period for everyone.

In your attempt to keep your twins safe, you unintentionally became the evil mother for denying them the joy of chewing on concrete bricks, their father’s important books and a million other dangerous things that a child simply shouldn’t be putting in their mouth. 

They had been given enchanted teething toys made out of moonstone by their uncle Rhysand, but it didn’t keep them entertained at all. Safety was apparently too boring for them.

This morning was extra rough because Cassian had to leave early for a mission, leaving you with four kids. Although the two oldest ones, 7 and 12, could get themselves ready for the day, they still needed some help with some things. You were downright in a foul mood, feeling the weight of frustration and helplessness as the twins wailed and your oldest ones argued, all while trying to keep your emotions hidden.

“ You took the last pancake, Ves!” your son angrily sliced the remains of his food as your daughter, Vesna, looked at him with anger. “ I don’t care. I told you that I wanted it and you made no move for it, Therian. Blame yourself and be quicker next time.” she bickered back. They kept arguing about that stupid pancake as you picked your twins and moved to the rocking chair across the livingroom to sooth them. The kitchen seamlessly flowed into the living room, creating an open floor plan that allowed you to effortlessly monitor Vesna and Therian.

 “ It’s okay, babies. There we go, hush now.” But it didn’t work, they kept screaming and you were at your breaking point. You felt like the worst mom ever as you looked up, took a deep breath and blinked back tears. 

You almost yearned for Cassian's return, craving the comfort of your mate's presence amid the chaos. Yet, the nagging self-doubt held you back, hesitant to burden him with your distress and feeling a twinge of selfishness in the idea of asking him to cut short his mission. Despite the internal struggle, you chose to tough it out, convincing yourself that countless women had faced similar challenges, wondering if you could measure up to their strength.

Unbeknownst to you, you had been signaling Cassian with your feelings through the bond since this morning. He was already on his way back the moment your emotions reached him. He was just in time to hear your daughter’s frustration directed towards you, though none of you had felt his presence or heard him approach your home. 

“Mom, you're seriously failing at shutting them up. It's not dragon taming to handle two kids, and it shouldn't be this painful for the rest of us. How about you take them outside and only come back when you've figured out how to keep them quiet? Because none of us can stand the noise.” You looked at her stunned as a million thoughts went through your head. Guilt, anger and self-doubt took root inside you.

 Guilt, because was she right? Anger, because she shouldn’t have spoken to you like that ever. Self-doubt, because your fears and feelings about motherhood were spoken out loud. 

Your first-born had a sour expression on her face that quickly fell before she looked down at her plate sheepishly. Maybe she felt regret? But what made her react like that instantly? Your daughter could be hotheaded and it usually took her a few hours to calm down, but not this quick. 

Looking at where she removed her eyes from, you look and see your husband, body tense and wings tucked in tightly. You felt immediate comfort and wanted to throw yourself in his arms and fucking cry. How you had missed him this much in only a few hours was a mystery. 

His boots thudded heavily against the wooden floors as he approached your embarrassed daughter. “Look at me,” was all he needed to say before Vesna reluctantly lifted her head. She knew he was going to chew her out. He clenched his jaw in anger as he looked down at her. “Your lack of empathy for what your mother is dealing with right now is astounding. Instead of criticizing, maybe you should try contributing to the solution. We're a family, and we handle things together, not by throwing blame around. She's your mother, but remember that she's my mate and wife first, and no one speaks to my mate and wife with disrespect ever, not even you. Now go ahead and apologize to her.”

Your husband, ever the general.

With teary eyes, realizing the gravity of her words, Vesna approached you. “Hey, Mommy,” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact. She hadn’t called you mommy in forever. “I... I shouldn't have said those things. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so harsh. I know it must be difficult and my anger took over. I really love you and I’m sorry.”

You were a bit surprised by the apology and softened your expression before replying, “It's okay, sweetheart. We all have our moments. Just remember, we're a team, and we need to support each other.” She nodded, still feeling a bit guilty, and said, “I'll try to do better. Can I help you with anything now?”

A genuine smile appeared on your face as your replied, “That would be wonderful. Let's work together to make things smoother for everyone. How about you start clearing the table and Therian picks up things from the floor.” She nodded and gave you a small kiss on the cheek before hurriedly making her way back to the kitchen table. Cassian gave her a kiss on the head and gave her a proud smile.  “I’m glad you apologized, and it takes courage to admit when we’re wrong. Let’s move forward now. Your willingness to help now means a lot. Thank you.”

Feeling the tension ease after the daughter's apology, your mate approached you. He gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “Hi pretty.” You look up at him with a thankful smile. “Hi lover.” He smiles right back at you. “I know it's been a rough day. I’m so proud of you, sugar. We'll get through this together. How about you go upstairs and soak in the tub while I take care of the kids.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, and wrapped his arms around the twins who had gone quiet.

Feeling reassured by Cassian’s comforting words, you smiled appreciatively. You gave him a tender kiss in thanks before scurrying upstairs, grateful for the support and unity he provided for your family. 

As you undressed, a delightful surprise caught your eye – the tub was filled, and a slice of your favorite cake awaited you on a nearby table. Gratefully, you thanked The House for the steaming tub and the unexpected treat. Stepping in, you let the heat envelop you, soothing the tension in your muscles. Time seemed to blur as you relaxed in the warm water — minutes or hours, it was hard to keep track. Exhaustion gradually overcame you, and your eyelids grew heavy in the comforting embrace of the tub, a sweet slice of cake adding to the calmness of the moment.

Entering the room, Cassian caught sight of you in the steaming tub, content and relaxed. A mixture of emotions flooded over him – admiration and a deep love that seemed to intensify in this quiet scene. He approached silently, not wanting to disturb the serene moment. Gently, he reached out to stroke your hair, his eyes reflecting the warmth and affection he felt. In that intimate moment, a silent understanding passed between you, affirming that you’d never be alone ever. You’d be there for each other and it made your heart swell. 

Curiosity lit up your eyes, you looked at your husband and asked, “Hey, where are the kids? Did you take care of them?”

A gentle smile played on his lips as he revealed, “Actually, Rhysie and Feyre picked them up. They thought we could use a quiet weekend, just the two of us. They’re taking Nyx, Ves and Theiran on a trip up the mountains but the twins are staying at the River House with Elain and Lucien. She made a special herbal blend that helps their gums, it’s all very Elain.”

Surprise and gratitude washed over you as you processed the thoughtful gesture. “That's so sweet of them, you remarked, a genuine smile forming. “A quiet day sounds perfect.” You exchanged a glance, appreciating the unexpected silence given by thoughtful friends.

“So, are we entirely alone for the entire weekend?” You attempted to conceal your smile as warmth surged in your belly upon meeting Cassian's gaze, only to discover him returning a heated look. “Indeed, sweetness. It's just you and me, alone. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?” His commanding, taunting voice always managed to drive you crazy. He had a charming voice that you could listen to forever. “I can think of a few ways…” you responded as you stood up, dripping wet. You beckoned him closer  and deeply inhaled his delicious scent. He smelled like home. Throwing your arms around him, you inched your lips closer to his, teasing him, not letting him get close enough for a real kiss. He frowned and slightly pouted. “Either give a proper kiss or I walk away.” You knew it was a false threat. Cassian wouldn’t ever leave your embrace now that he was turned on. 

But you decided to keep playing with him, wanting to see how far you could push him. 

“Yeah? Walk away then, baby.” You let your arms drop to the side, slightly tilting your head with a small smirk on your lips. You felt a surge of amusement as you observed him, jaw tight and knuckles white from clenching, meeting your gaze with defiant determination. “Stop fucking with me, y/n/n. You want me as much as I do.” It was his turn to return a mocking smirk. “ What, you think I don’t know you by now? You think I don’t know that you wanna be fucked until you can’t think straight? Little one, I have years on you. I know your body better than you. I’ll ask again. Are you going to kiss me properly or do I walk away?”

 Fucking hell. He really did know your body better than you since his words only fueled you on. While you enjoyed toying with him, it was time to throw in the towel. No way where you wasting any more time. With hands behind your back you looked up at him, doe-eyed and blushy. “I’ll give you a proper kiss, Cassie. Then please take me to bed.” He smiled down at you with a devilish smile, putting his hand on your hips as he pulled towards his warm chest. “ Whatever my baby wants, she gets.” With hands on his chest, you stood on your toes as water swished around your legs, putting your plush lips against his soft ones. 

 Careful, gentle, loving, comforting and really fucking hot.

That was all you could think of when you were kissing him. One of his warm hands roamed all over your body as his other one cupped your face, deepening the kiss. Your own hands stayed in one spot, your favorite place to put your hands. His chest. You absolutely loved touching his chest. Giving his pecs a light squeeze, resting against them, anything really. Centuries of honing his body into a weapon had made him look like a god. 

You wanted to dry off and move to your bedroom, and as if Cassian had read your thoughts, he grabbed the towel without breaking the kiss and wrapped it around you. He simply picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he moved to the bedroom before gently lowering you to the soft bed. Cassian caught your wrists and pinned them, crisscrossed, above your head while he settled between your legs, once again wrapping them around his waist. You kissed until your lips swelled and pulled away for air. 

He forced your legs apart, hand cupping your pussy. You let out a gasp, quickly gripping onto his broad shoulders. Cassian carefully watched your face as it contorted into pleasure when he pushed in two fingers, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you let out a moan.

 “Feels good, wifey? ” Cassian asked as your nails dug into his shoulders, hips bucking into his touch. “ mhmm, yeah it feels really fucking good.” you managed to respond as you felt his fingers speed up, curling into that delicious spot that made you absolutely melt. 

He wanted to be inside of you, fuck you and ruin you all over the sheets. “ It would feel a lot better  if I had you wrapped around my cock.” He said, looking up at you through is his dark lashes, eyes full of mirth. You clenched around his fingers at the thought of him filling you up with his thick cock. It had been a while since you had been properly dicked down by him, since you two were busy with life and kids. Quickies, fingering and handjobs were all you had time for since the twins were born 6 months ago. As much as you loved your kids, you also loved alone time with your mate and it was rare these days. So of course you’d use this weekend to get fucked, and maybe that would help you relax a bit. Cassians cock had always been the answer for you. 

Mad? Get dicked down. Sad? Get dicked down. Happy? Get dicked down. 

Huh. 

No wonder you had four kids…

You nodded eagerly at him, “ Please cassie, fill me up. I really need it.” He sat up, dumped his clothes on the floor and positioned his cock infront of your throbbing core, teasing a bit. He used his fingers to scissor you open a bit. When you felt even more slick under his touch he retracted his fingers and licked your wetness off of them. He smiled at around his fingers and said, “Delicious.” Your chuckle morphed seamlessly into a moan when he slammed his lenght into you.

  He let out a sound of pleasure as he pushed himself into you. You clenched around his cock, you were so wet and slippery around him. He let out a pleased groan as he started giving you deep strokes. His pace quickened with the intention of finishing inside of you. He loved to make a mess of your pussy like that, fuck you full of his cum and watch it slowly drip out. Nothing made him more possessive than seeing his mate full of his cum. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me, I’m so proud of you, my beautiful girl.” He knew the exact words you needed today and it made you feel so emotional that he knew you this well. 

You blushed. Pleasure crept up your spine once more. Your legs were starting to shake, sweat coated your back. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you as his strokes were getting faster and faster, his lips muffling your moans. He kept up the pace, feeling the pleasure flow through his body, bringing him closer to climax. He loved the feeling of you around him.

 He was addicted to it. He was addicted to you.

You moaned and arched your back as he continued to fuck into you. You wanted to cum so badly, and as if Cassian once again read your mind, he said something that almost made you cry.

“ Don’t cum yet.”

He must have caught your annoyed stare because he looked down, sporting his usual grin, and said, “I want us to come together. You can handle that, right, pretty?” Your brows furrowed as you attempted to feign annoyance, though deep down, you weren't truly bothered at all.

 No, no you weren’t mad at all because if he was adamant about you finishing together, then you’d do everything in your power to make it happen. You got closer to him, pressing a quick kiss before deepening it as your tounges swirled around each other before you pulled away, biting his lip. He let out a groan and it only spurred you on. You pulled out all your tricks, whispering downright filthy things in his ear. That seemed to do the trick. Cassian thrusted deeper and deeper, rubbing tight circles on your neglected clit before you came in unison. 

You moaned at the feeling, warmth filled you as his pace started to slow down. Your mate collapsed on top of you and your put his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair. He remembered that he hadn’t pulled out yet but before he could you stopped him. 

“ Please baby, don’t pull out yet. It feels really warm and good and I want you in me forever.”

You felt his chest rumble with a gentle laughter. “ Whatever you want, you shall have. You did so well, sugar. I love you.” You kissed his forehead and gave him praise back. “ Thank you, baby. I’m so happy you’re here, I love you too.”

Safe to say you fucked the whole weekend, everywhere, only taking breaks for food and occasional naps. But you also basked in the intimacy of having him. by yourself. Eating together, talking about everything between the heavens and earth, cracking jokes and just enjoying yourselves. 

You and your mate, together for all eternity...

[drenched-in-sunlight]

I didn’t want to write this out this early because I’m sure there are even more to discover, but people are already reblogging my previous art of Marika and Messmer & saying Marika doesn’t love him, so I write this out as a guideline that all my art is drawn with this theory in mind.

(While the DLC has changed the way I feel about certain events and characters, my view on Messmer and Marika remain unchanged. In fact, I think Marika skyrockets into my most fav in the game now. lol.)

* Beware of endgame spoiler under the cut

Please note that I wrote this without providing the item descriptions I use to develop this theory, because I want to make a proper post later with all evidence after I’ve played through all of the DLC. But those items exist and could be found in game.

Here is how I view Messmer and Marika’s relationship (he is her most beloved child):

For starter:

*the winged serpent - Messmer’s symbol, is considered a wise creature and is his friend. It is NOT the snakes that are viewed as traitors to the Erdtree, since the Serpent Crest shield was even made to commemorate his crusade. It’s also DIFFERENT from the evil snake he was born with.

*this is not to defend their actions, they are still horrible people, but I want to show that they have depths and are well-written characters with stories and emotions. My unhinged mother and son duo 😔✊

—-

I like the poetry in Marika starting the war against the Fire Giants in part as revenge for Messmer (it’s implied the Fell God is the Outer God that cursed him / it’s outright stated that he hated his fire), & now Messmer leading the purge against the Hornsent as revenge for Marika and her people (it’s implied the disappearance of her village has sth to do with the spirit calling rite the people at the Tower were doing).

I actually think Marika raised Messmer in her home village for a while too. She didn’t throw him to LoS alone, she was raising him in secret in her home, fearing people will judge him for carrying a malevolent snake. The two Tree Sentinels before the village dropped Marika’s Blessing. Yes. the Blessing she made specifically for him.

When you zoom in the Marika statue in his boss room, she was smiling when hugging him. I think ppl tend to forget that Marika, like Malenia and Miquella, carries tree/ foliage motif. RADAGON IS WEAK TO FIRE. If Messmer was cursed with fire and it started to manifest around him … of course she couldn’t embrace him anymore. It was physically hurting her, and Messmer wouldn’t have wanted to cause her pain as well. The soldier ghost at Ensis castle was begging Marika to embrace her child again, implying it’s sth that he yearns for. But couldn’t have now. Because of his damned curse.

If you look at the story that way, Messmer’s death dialogue makes perfect sense. It’s his lament that he’s gone from Marika’s precious (presumably firstborn) child, a source of her happiness, to a curse against her (*point to Radagon’s hair as another connection to Fire Giants and their curse). Robbing her (and himself) of the close bond they used to share.

It’s why Messmer alone has more blessings *directly* from Marika than any other Demigods. His army also receives more blessings than any other faction on the Lands Between, and they all refer to Marika as dearest Mother and Fair Mother.

Hell, after Messmer, Marika couldn’t connect to any of her other children again. This is like the ultimate doomed mother and son. Whatever I expected from them from the beginning, Fromsoft cranked it to eleven. Jfc.

[thatnonameuser]

I always have a spot for "Peepaw" Lilia, Alongside his war days self but I wonder what happens if the role of the Platonic!yandere turns.. Romantic? Reunion for feeling that living spark that he once had when he was young for his Childhood Friends.

What if he's not aiming for the young yuu that the younglings are hunting down, especially if he's also trying to be matchmaker for his sons... but A hidden older darling in Ramshackle that he stumbled upon while a potion/ Spell mishap? (Turning to a tiny bat, turning a ghost, teleportation, etc). 

Their child Yuu is out there, and Here they are recovering from– something? Where woes and common ground being a parent comes in play?

Before I begin, all the Lilia lovers out there. The reason I don't want to write Lilia as a romantic yandere for the MC in the yandereverse, is because Lilia is the equivalent of 70 in the TWST World and MC is at youngest 18. That's just makes me too uncomfortable for me to write.

But for an older darling, I can do that....

For this I'll be using Yuu for the MC, ____ is you. Also, the reader is the parent/older sibling of Yuu.

Lilia is no stranger to the craziness that comes out of one's love for their one true love.

It was much wilder in the olden days. Back when duels to the death were much more common. It's for the best the times have changed. The very last thing he wants to experience is having to pick between his boys should their fight for human Yuu grow out of hand.

Things have changed for the better these days.

But he wishes he'd made the decision to fight for Maleanor back when she was alive. The hole in his heart from that loneliness and grief has carved a hole in him that not even his fatherly love for Malleus and Silver can fill.

He's expected to die with that hole craving him clean through.

But it seems Maleanor didn't head back to stars just yet.

He was never one to follow the darling reincarnation belief after her death. All his years of travel during his search for information killed that belief dead, before it ever came to life. That was until he found you.....

He wasn't expecting to find you when he did. He wasn't expecting to find you at all.

In fact, he'd been following Malleus on one of his little walks dates. Yuu's rejection of his love was harsh, but Malleus was always so kind at heart. Poor boy always yearned for love. And he would get that love, all Yuu needs is a push, or rather a very harsh and painful shove.

That was his plan for the night. Go and nudge force Yuu in the right direction.

Malleus teleported back to Diasomnia, he'd calm his temper when he returned later.

And that's when it happened.

He'd known that besides Grim, Yuu wasn't the only one that lived in Ramshackle, but he was yet to see the other person. And now he did.

The foolish Yuu retreats back to the safety of their dorm. And an another one comes out.

And for the first time in four hundred years, his heart feels full again. He feels whole, at just the sight of them. That same pull that he'd felt back in his youth. That warmth and joy that's born from undying everlasting love. He feels two hundred years younger, like a weight was taken off his shoulders.

It seems his dove came back to him. And you've come back as something equally beautiful as you were before.

The little darling in your arms is frightened, "______...Why?! Why did he?" Oh, so that's your new name. ______, it's just as lovely as the last one.

"Sh, It's okay. You're going to be okay, Yuu." You hug them in your arms like you want to protect them from this big dangerous world. Far away from all the evils that threaten them. Aw~ Isn't that just the sweetest? Your parental love is just as strong as it's been all those years ago. So desperate to protect your children from the threats that try to steal them from your arms.

Well, it would just be cruel to do what he planned to Yuu now. It would just tear you to shreds to be separated from them.

Perhaps, he can use this to his advantage. You don't want to be separated, so he'll give you the option of staying together.

Wouldn't that just make you all a big happy family? Him, finally reunited with his precious dove again and one of his boys happy with their darling Yuu. It will mean he'll have to play peacemaker pretty soon but, after he convinces them to share, all will be well.

"Go back inside, Yuu. Arm yourself, stay with Grim and don't open the door until I come back. OK?" You're so protective, willing to send your loved one away and staying behind in the danger zone. The two of you are so much alike.

He doesn't mean to jump the gun, but it seems Malleus might even be reunited with his mother, all he has to do is make contact. Well, the younger darling is inside now, no time like the present.

"Hello there, little dove!" You jump out your skin in surprise at his sudden arrival, but he's expected that. He also expected the kitchen knife you try to drive into his face. He catches it with ease, he's grown up with your fiery little temper. You haven't changed a bit.

"You're wearing Diasomnia colours, are you Lilia Vanrouge?" You recognise him, why didn't he start believing in that idea earlier.

"Why yes I am."

"Are here for Yuu?"

"No, no, my precious dove. I'm here for you." Your face widens in surprise.

Now, that he's much closer he can see the difference between Yuu and yourself. You're a little older, by a few years at minimum. Still, you're quite young. He won't have to worry about your fragile human life ending so soon. Plus, this means he can leave Silver with some siblings.

"But-But I don't-I'm not-"

He shushes you, there's no need for this fear, this trepidation. "Dove. I've mourned you for so long. Now that you're back, I won't ever let you leave me again."

"But what about-"

"Don't worry, the little darling you're protecting will be fine. In fact, I think we'll be one big happy family."

[jellicatty]

❝ THE OTHER WOMAN ₊˚ ❞

A tale of an unfortunate woman— cursed with a lonesome life, pouring all of her love to a wretched and unfaithful man.

╰┈➤ contains : sukuna x female reader. cheater! sukuna. toxic relationship. other woman is mean. written in other woman's pov. third pov. sfw-ish. angst.

╰┈➤ note : unedited because this was from my archives + wrote this two years ago lol. this fic is inspired by Lana del Rey's The Other Woman ! I loved the song so I used it for some inspo hini >____<

Oh, other woman, how lonely you must be.

The other woman has time to manicure her nails

The other woman is perfect where her rival fails

And she's never seen with pin curls in her hair, anywhere.

She’s fresh from the boutique; luxury draped around her form. From head to toe, was the old money of the famous businessman— Sukuna Ryomen. Pride swelled on her chest at the sight of measly women with their cheap brands. She felt perfect amongst the sea of the low-cost. Though among piles of garbage, hidden jewelry resides.

Her eyes held the usual disgust and her ego stood tall, yet the doubts at her head fought for their lives. Face to face, was the wife of her beloved. She looked so spent, her beauty slowly fading with the times. They acknowledged each other’s presence as poor Y/n thought of her as a very lovely woman.

The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume

The other woman keeps fresh cut flowers in each room

There are never toys that's scattered everywhere

The flower endured even the harshest of her tenor.

Suddenly, the woman’s sour mood turned sweet, her eyes scanning the bags and bags of expensive jewelry. But all of it didn’t matter to her. The woman in love quickly searched for the concealed letter, her heart fluttering once touching the rough, sealed paper.

And she read it, repeated it, hated it.

It was unfair.

How unfair it was for her to receive only letters. His touch, lonely woman yearned for his touch. Gritting her teeth, the woman let anger control her until red no longer consumed her body.

Amongst the ripped bags, was the other woman who desperately called for his love. But the woman knew he was busy with his own children, tending to them with his pitiful spouse, surrounded by numerous toys and annoying cries of her own devil spawns.

And when her old man comes to call

He finds her waiting like a lonesome queen

'Cause to be by her side

It's such a change from old routine

Most would run away with fear in their eyes once taking a quick look at his monstrous stature. But, her love clouded her mind. Instead of fear, it was adoration— heart erratic at his predator-like stare.

“Sukuna, my darling, how are you-”

“Who told you to speak?”

His words were enough to make her obediently follow. She was such a pet for him; all nice and loyal. To her, no action can be enough of a sign that love was not present. She was too far gone in her own fantasies. Too far gone in imagining his eyes lit up the same way hers do.

Although his eyes do shine, they do so with an obviously evil haze to it. His malicious intent clearly displayed within his cold gaze, and only a fool would ignore them.

But, the other woman is a fool.

A fool for offering herself to a man.

She didn’t question his order any further, only getting straight to undressing herself in front of his dark gaze. Used woman was useful, she served as his distressor, an enjoyment inside his boring life. No children, no toys, no cries, no demands, no complaints, no questions asked.

Between them was no love, only entertainment. Because to be by her side, is a change from his old routine.

Clueless woman thought otherwise.

But the other woman will always cry herself to sleep

The other woman will never have his love to keep

Other woman, why can't you just see?

His love was not yours, it never was.

His steel eyes will never search for yours. No rough hands will grasp your body tonight, for it will only be against his darling’s plush skin. His attention will not be at your seducing red gown or the skin that showed. His focus will only be on his darling’s enhanting dress that showed their uneven curves and cured insecurities.

Is it clearer now? Now, when Y/n's form is tightly pressed against Sukuna's, looking at you with those eyes? While their bodies slowly dance under the dim lights? Oh, she knows. Their gaze at you is unsettling, full of hatred for claiming what’s not yours.

And as the years go by the other woman

Stop dancing on the bridge. There’s no one beside you.

Will spend her life alone

You fell? How pitiful. No imagination can save you now.

Alone

The only cure for loneliness is death, right?

Alone

© jellicatty | no plagiarising please (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Dragon hybrids with their first child/how they feel when they see their mate with children

Ooooooouh! I like that! I spoke a bit about it in one of Rhaenyra's headcanon, but having to explain it more is fun!! You are now dubbed the 🧑‍🍼anon! Spicy-ish in some places. Consider yourselves warned.

With their children and mates: A reaction.

With Mates:

Aegon ii:

Listen, he’s glad that you like his kids, but he’d much rather keep you to himself. Thank you very much. The less people know about you, the better, and honestly, having you take care of his and Helaena’s children always sour’s his mood. 

He still leans against the door, watching you interact with both his children as they were practicing music with a nanny. He still yearns for that novelty of a newborn, that warmth he feels when he holds them as itty-bitty things. Yet his duties do not lie with you, and he feels like it would be like dishonoring you to have you compete with Helaena’s children. He doesn’t want his mother to meddle with his feelings like she did with his marriage. He’ll commit to his wife, even if it means having you both hurt from this situation, rather than comfort his mother. Losing you is not a price he’s ready to pay for his own happiness. 

He is selfish and a brat, mean and a coward, but he’ll sleaze his way into keeping you without any remorse. 

Aemond: 

He’d never thought of children before seeing you with his sister’s hatchlings. There was something strange that happened to Aemond when he first saw you hold one of the little twins, a month or two after their birth. 

The one-eyed prince was used to Vhagar cooing at smaller things; many things were smaller than her. But that wasn’t it. Vhagar’s history was well known. She’d had many hatchlings of her own before, and the hole that carved itself in his chest when he saw you standing there with your arms full of a baby, smiling down at the little bundle of red cheeks and white hair was nearly enough to make his wings pop out and wrap them around you.

He felt like protecting you from the watchful eyes of Helaena, who was probably just concerned about the well-being of her hatchling. But how could she even think about you doing evil to the little being in your arms? 

Warm and safe, a wall of scales and leathery wings. Ours to protect, ours to raise. Little giggles echoing against the walls of the castle, the smell of baby skin. Aemond had never had those memories, but they still felt like his. And he’d never wanted something more in his whole life than to give you hatchling to take care of, to see the smile you arbored looking at Jaehaerys toward children that would have traits like yours, but with the Targaryens hair and eyes. 

He stood inert, face blank, all the while you held the child in your arms, never making it seem like his emotions were warring against his own reason. Two steps back, half turned toward the doors, even though guards were posted there already. Aemond would protect his sister’s peace and joy, but also the vulnerability of this moment. Of sharing them with the most precious thing he ever held dear. 

Baela: 

Watching carefully as you played with Aegon and Viserys from her seat, Baela could only smile. She knew of her duty to continue the lineage of her Targaryen/Velaryon blood, and she knew she could not imagine herself having her hatchling with anyone else than you. Her perfect lover, her mate. She thought herself young still, too young to be married; her father thought so too. 

“Baela, look!” Aegon’s cry came to her ears, and she raised her head from the book she was pretending to read. Her little half brother was riding on your shoulder, his little pudgy hands firmly held on some strands of your hair, a bright smile on his face. 

“You’ve tamed them?” She asked her brother, eyeing your form playfully, and you sent her a fake glare, mouthing ‘tamed’ with a roll of your eyes. She chuckled and watched as Aegon nodded proudly. 

She’ll like having children, hatchlings, with you when you’re older. When your names are synonyms of each other. But right now, she enjoys the sight of her lover with her family. 

Helaena:

Much like Aegon, she’d rather not have children with you. She already has three, in all. Her duty is to her kingdom, to Aegon, and to her mother. Much as she regrets not being able to share herself completely with you, she would never put herself and you, much less any children coming out of this union, in danger. 

It’s not selfishness if she does it for your own safety. Helaena reason’s with herself again. Dreamfyre purring at the sight of their hatchling cuddled with you in a too-small bed. You’re retelling a story of wolves and roses. One she hasn’t paid much mind to, but she knows her children enjoy it. 

It’s peaceful to have someone else take care of the little ones. It is peaceful to share their pleasure. Aegon doesn’t keep them close, Jaehaera, more so than her brother, but Jaehaerys is the crown prince. She smiles, cocking her head to the side as she observes her children cuddle closer to you, their eyes fluttering close at every other word you speak. 

Jacaerys:

Having to share you was one of the worst punishments for Jace. But the more he watched you interact with his siblings, especially the younger ones, he couldn’t help the burning passion that flared inside of him. He couldn’t hide how his tail would slither from left to right, up then down, or how his wings would flutter. He could hardly hide the bulge in his pants when he looked at you holding the toddlers for too long. 

Leathery wings hiding you from the light of day, Jace had managed to lure you into his chambers (again), holding you against the wall as he quite literally rutted into you, still fully clothed. His warmth was nearly suffocating, and his kisses left behind them a burning hot trail. He puffed his exertion into your neck, talking to the best of his abilities. 

“Can’t wait. Mated. Let me give you the best thing in our lives.” He pleaded, eyes glazed over by lust, leaving behind marks upon your skin, busying his hands to undo whatever clothes you were wearing. A prince should never beg, but right now, Jace is fighting for his legacy™. 

One of your hands tugs at his hair, and he lets out a wine that wrenches out your heart. You feel him, hard against one of your legs, warm against your chest, his lips bruising at your neck and shoulders. Kiss him back, and he’ll whine for you, pressing harder into you as if he could pass through your clothes. Let your nails, blunt or not, rake against the scales covering his neck, and he’ll shiver, his eyes darkening with desire. 

Laenor: 

Heart-eyes. 

Laenor looks at you, holding little Jace, his firstborn, his wife’s firstborn, with heart-shaped eyes. At first, he thought his marriage would destroy his bond with you, but you kept surprising him every time. 

Rhaenyra was in the room, laying back to rest, watchful eyes gazing at the both of you, but Laenor couldn’t care less right now. He huddled closer to you, looking at the brown-haired child in your arms from over your shoulder, then looking up at your face with a marveled look. He looks back at Rhaenyra, unable to find the words, her work more important than what he’d ever imagine it to be, the fruit of her labor making his heart sing for all of you. 

She smiles back at him, and he pulls you closer to her bed, letting her see her baby, your baby. He’s lucky, Laenor thinks. Lucky to have such a loving mate and such an understanding wife. Such a wonderful family it is. 

Rhaena:

While Rhaena likes children, especially her sibling, I don’t think she’d be that into having some. (As she will be forced to mother her stepbrothers.). 

She’s glad that you are good with her family; it is important to her. She would be glad if you stepped up to help her when Rhaenyra asked her to be the mother she couldn’t be to her children. But I think she’d be even more glad that you didn’t force her to have children of her own. She is content with just having you. 

With Lovers: 

Daemon: 

Daemon would try to give you your own. If you like children (especially his) so much, why not have some for yourself? 

“Of course Rhaenyra doesn’t mind; should we ask her?” He’d tease into your ears, hips rutting against your own. “Would you like her to join in, too?” His laughter intended to be mean, mocking, but his breath caught, transforming it to a moan, his scaly hands coming to grip at your hips, talons caressing dangerously the fragile skin under them. 

“I could father children for the both of you, have twins from different parents.” 

He’s lost in his own fantasy, babbling away, words hardly making any sense as he plunges into you with more will than ever before. It’s your fault, really; had you not reached to grab Rhaena, keeping her steady on her feet as she playfully walked on the stone railing of the outside stairs, you would not be in this position. Truly, if you hadn't, Caraxes would not have taken over and kidnapped you for a very passionate, loving time. It had been something about the panic in your eyes, the way you’d reacted—even quicker than him—to his own child’s dangerous exercise. 

He hadn’t even locked the door. And thinking about Rhaenyra entering on them both fucking (to put it crudely) clothes barely taken off and positioned like animals made his movement sharper, taking a gasp out of your mouth; his forehead fell to your shoulder.

Rhaenyra:

It’s a given that Rhaenyra would not accept you as a lover if you didn’t love her children. Having you actively in their life is something she takes to heart, and she would not imagine herself with you if you didn’t respect and love her hatchling. (See this headcanon for more reference.)

Taglist: @lady-dragon-rider

List of anon: 👑😵‍💫🥰🧑‍🍼

[rafayelxsylusho]

Random thoughts about Zayne and his children.

I had this in my drafts for so loooong.....I'm just not good at writing fluff 🫤

It was an idea I got from the tik tok trend "the plushies he gave me, the plushies I gave him"

Zayne🥼

* You have two girls, they both have their father's personality. The oldest one looks just like her dad and the youngest one has your eyes but the rest is all Zayne. They are both really smart like their father but when they grow up they want to be hunters just like you.

It's as if the universe has conspired to create two smaller, feminine versions of the man you love, each a perfect blend of your DNA intertwined with his. Their personalities, too, are the qualities you love in Zayne, the oldest, a strategist with a razor-sharp mind, and the younger, an explorer with a gentle soul. To have them is to have a piece of Zayne's essence living on.

*Your daughters have most certainly inherited their father's notorious sweet tooth. It seems that wherever Zayne goes, his little clones follow, their enchanting smiles lighting up whenever they spot something sugary or indulgent. The sight of them, eyes wide and pleading, has a way of melting Zayne's resolve like the chocolate chips in their ice cream desserts. The result of their shared indulgence is a calendar filled with dentist's appointments, a necessary evil that has become a recurring event in your family's life.

*Their shyness has them reaching for the comforting warmth of your or Zayne's hand when they are around unfamiliar faces. They are timid, prone to retreating into the safety of their parents' embrace when meeting new people, their eyes peeking out uncertainly from behind the shelter of an arm or a leg. However once they've decided they can trust the unfamiliar faces, they'll emerge from their shell, and they start throwing random medical facts and trivia. The older one, in particular, has a gift for retaining and repeating the most obscure and fascinating pieces of information she's picked up from her father.

*When you are away for work and the youngest one misses you, Zayne sits with her, small body curled up against his chest, while he plays the video of your wedding day. The one where your laughter rings out, crystal clear and filled with joy, as you celebrate the start of your journey together. As the video plays, Zayne watches over your daughter, his eyes tracing the curves of your face, the way your smile lights up the room. He sees the way the little one's eyes flutter as she tries to stay awake. He watches as she falls asleep, her small hand curled around his pinky finger, her breathing slowing and evening out. Even in sleep, she reaches for you, her small body twitching towards the screen as if seeking your comforting touch.

*Zayne goes above and beyond to create memories with you and the girls. He organizes family outings, from hikes in nature to visits to museums, always seeking something new while strengthening your bond as a family. And at home, he indulges in their whims, playing make-believe games and reading storybooks, his voice taking on fantastical tones as he loses himself in their world.

*From the moment they entered the world, your daughters seemed to possess a sense of tranquility that set them apart from the average, often fussier infants. Zayne would watch in awe as they established a sleep schedule that would be the envy of any new parent. They rarely cried or fussed without cause, even when they were hungry or tired they would rarely resort to the ear-piercing screams and wails that were typical of a cranky baby. Instead, they would fuss softly, their small faces scrunching up as they silently communicated their discomfort.

*As the years passed and your daughters grew more independent, you found yourself yearning for one more, a final addition to complete your family. Throughout this pregnancy you dreamed of holding a tiny, wriggling bundle in your arms, of feeling the weight of a newborn's head nestled against your chest once again. As much as you longed to know the gender of your baby, you and Zayne had decided to leave it as a surprise, wanting to be caught off guard by the reveal in the delivery room.

As the due date approached, you found yourself imagining a little girl, a third daughter to join her sisters in a sisterly trio. You envisioned matching dresses, shared secrets, and a lifetime of friendship that only sisters could share. Zayne would joke about being outnumbered, about being the only boy in a house full of women, and you would laugh, imagining the chaos and the joy.

However, fate had a different plan in store, and as you lay on the hospital bed, your legs trembling from the intensity of labor, you heard the doctor's voice ring out, clear and filled with joy.

"It's a boy!" he exclaimed, holding up the squirming, crying, and incredibly alive baby. As the doctor placed him on your chest, his tiny body warm and wiggling against your skin, you looked down to see a face that was unmistakably your own. But as you looked closer, you saw the unmistakable glint of Zayne's hazel eyes.

With your son came the inevitable challenge of sleepless nights. Your son seemed to have inherited your own struggles with a proper sleep schedule. You found yourself up late into the night, rocking him in your arms as you sang soft lullabies and bounced him gently, trying to coax him into a state of peaceful slumber. The sleepless nights that you had not experienced with your daughters were tripled with your son. Zayne would lay him down in his crib, only to hear his cries echoing through the baby monitor mere moments later.

As your son grew and developed his own unique personality, you couldn't help but see so much of yourself reflected in his actions. While your daughters had been calm and easy from the start, your son seemed to be a whirlwind of energy and mischief, a carbon copy of your own spirited and vivacious nature. You watched in amusement as he tore through the house, his tiny feet pounding against the hardwood floors as he chased after his sisters, his laughter echoing off the walls. He was a bundle of endless energy, always on the move, and always seeking the next adventure.

Like his father he was a quick learner, his mind absorbing information like a sponge, and his thirst for knowledge seemed to know no bounds. You watched as he tackled his ABCs and 123s. While he may have inherited your charming personality and striking features, his aspirations and role model lay firmly in the form of his father. It was a testament to the incredible bond they shared and the profound influence that Zayne had on your son's aspirations. You watched with a mix of pride and amusement as your little boy began to imitate his father in every way possible. At a young age, he started copying miniature versions of Zayne's professional attire, proudly parading around the house in his own tiny lab coat and stethoscope. The sight of your little one playing doctor with his sisters, his concentration and focus mirroring Zayne's intensity, never failed to bring a smile to your face.

Your home was filled with a warmth and a joy that only a loving family could bring, and you reveled in the chaos and the laughter that echoed through the halls. The walls were adorned with framed photographs capturing the essence of your family's love story, each one a memory etched in time, a moment to be cherished and celebrated.

Zayne watched as your daughters shared secret whispers and giggles, their bond as unbreakable as the day they met, their faces lighting up with a joy and a innocence that never failed to steal his breath away, He watched as his son tackled the world with a fearlessness that never ceased to amaze him, and he knew that he had played a small part in shaping a child who would one day make a remarkable man.

As for you, the love and the admiration in his eyes grew even more intense. You were, without a doubt, the love of his life, the partner who had stood by his side through thick and thin, the mother of his beautiful children. In you, he saw the embodiment of strength, of beauty, and of an unwavering commitment to your family. He knew that without you, he would be lost, and he thanked the universe every single day for bringing you into his life.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hii I like your writings! If you're still taking requests, can you write something about Eomer and the female reader? The reader is Aragorn's older sister. A ranger and a renowned warrior. After Eomer personally meets the owner of the stories he's been hearing for years, he may begin to fall in love with her. If you write, thank you in advance, if you don't I totally understand, no problem.~

Greetings, Anon! I'm SO sorry it took me so long to get to this request. It has been sitting in my inbox for a hot minute. Thank you so much for reaching out and dropping this off. I hope you enjoy this little thing I put together.

A Sudden Spark

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: mild suggestive themes, slight canon-divergence, fluff, yearning, crush at first sight

Word Count: 1.4k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The Great Shadow is fading.

Evil is not gone. It is simply receding, lingering in the farthest reaches, waiting for the final blow of steel that will eventually come. There is a brightness that stretches over everything like a warm blanket draped across the shoulders. It is as if the Sun returned after a long sleep.

Éomer breathes deep, allowing the brilliance of sunshine and the floral aroma on the wind to fill his lungs. A peace settles over him, a gentleness that extinguishes all ache from the last few months. Éomer is battle-weary. He lost his uncle, and nearly lost his sister.

A few years of peace are what he and everyone needs.

Turning away from the Pelennor Fields, Éomer reenters the feast hall of Merethrond. Taking up residence beside a tall, white pillar, Éomer observes the crowd around him, drinking from his mead cup. Everyone is in a celebratory mood. As they should be.

The battle is over. Gondor has a king. And yet, there is still so much to do.

Éomer celebrates along with them. The mead is delicious if a bit strong, and he has a tender urge to experience life. A fair maiden with lovely lips and curves would surely satiate that subtle hunger.

But darkness and duty lurk in the back of his mind. The bright sunshine and fresh air only quieted it for a moment. Rohan is without a king. Éomer will take up the title. He has not officially been crowned but it will happen after all of this is done. From this point on, Éomer must serve his people in more ways than he has previously. While he has always been a ferocious fighter and a skilled rider, the politics of ruling will become a new burden.

Éowyn will support him, but for how long? She is currently tangled up in Faramir’s arms, the two of them moving across the floor in a dance that sends the bottom of her dress spinning. Her smile is wide and pure, cheeks lightly flushed from exertion and most certainly from the beginnings of love. Faramir’s smile is just as wide and bold, their gazes locked on one another as if there is no one else in the room.

No. Éomer will not always have his sister. It appears that he will lose her to another sooner rather than later. But he is not upset. If anything, he is happy for her. She deserves so much, especially after all they’ve lost.

That leaves only him. He too will need someone at his side that is more than simple counsel. Éomer will need a wife. That is the reality of things. Someone for him to love and to love him in return, to birth his children, to listen and give advice, and to assist in taking care of the realm. While it is a duty, Éomer deeply longs for companionship.

But all this responsibility subdues the celebratory mood. It slots his thoughts into all that must be done on his return to Edoras.

Éomer is happy for Aragorn. He is happy that Gondor has a king, and that Gondor will be a great ally. He is happy that Aragorn has reunited with the woman he loves, and that the lands are no longer scarred by darkness and death.

He takes a long swig of his mead, leaning harder against the pillar as he observes the dancers in the middle of the hall. The mead is strong and sinking into his bones. The buzz is sharp in his blood.

“Not joining in?” The feminine voice draws Éomer’s attention away from the dancing couples and to the end of his right shoulder.

Éomer freezes, his mead cup halfway to his mouth. The woman standing next to him smiles sweetly. Your gentle beauty is soft and inviting. As Éomer continues to stare, that sweetness morphs into amusement, and that one look sends a little shiver up his spine to slice through his heart.

When he doesn’t answer, you arch a single eyebrow, and Éomer hastily clears his throat.

“Not for me,” he admits, immediately drinking some of his mead.

“Dancing?”

Are you asking him? It feels like you are but Éomer hasn’t always been successful about understanding a woman’s signals when she’s interested. Usually, Éomer is the one approaching.

Éomer nods because he doesn’t trust his voice. He might choke on his words this time instead of a simple cough.

There is a stretch of silence before you speak again. “But you are celebrating.” You nod toward his cup. Éomer briefly glances at your empty hands.

“And you are not partaking,” he comments.

You laugh. “The Lord of the Mark is observant,” you tease, smile stretching toward your ears.

Another stretch of silence, and your eyebrows start to rise toward your hairline, head tilting slightly. Éomer blinks and then heat rushes up his cheeks.

By the Gods, he should have realized sooner.

Éomer pushes off from the pillar, straightening his shoulders and back, smoothing the front of his formal tunic. “Would you—”

“Yes,” you reply automatically, eagerly reaching for him.

Your hand is warm in his. Éomer follows, allowing you to lead, dropping his drink somewhere on a random table before entering the crowd of dancers. The music is upbeat and light. Éomer wouldn’t call himself graceful, but he did grow up learning traditional dances for this very reason.

But you continue to lead, and somehow that is comforting. Éomer is always prepared to take charge and make decisions. He does none of that now. You are smiling, clasping his hand, this stranger that has suddenly captured all his attention.

Perhaps forgetting for a bit is a good thing.

Éomer goes through two dances with you before the music slows a bit. Before, he hardly had a chance to speak, but now the two of you are close together, bodies pressed tight. He briefly glances over your shoulder and notices Arwen’s smile. She is watching him, and you. His gaze falls to the man beside her.

There is a slight frown on Aragorn’s face. Why is he frowning? Why does he appear concerned?

“You know my name but I’m afraid I do not know yours,” says Éomer, his face slightly tilted toward your own.

You give it casually and Éomer blanches. He knows that name. He knows who you are.

For the time he’s known Aragorn, Éomer has heard the stories from others, never from the man himself. He keeps you secret, not leaning into the tales told about you. You are his sister, the elder but not by much. But you are not soft and delicate, or so Éomer has been told.

You are daring. Adventurous. A fierce warrior and Ranger. You wield sword and bow with gracefulness and deadly aim. Éomer had heard that the Rangers came during the battle, but he did not see you. Then again, Éomer was far too busy trying to keep himself and his fellow Rohirrim alive.

The image he built of you in his head does not match the woman before him. The way you match his every step and how your hands feel against him, all speak to gentler things. Before him is a sweet and soft woman, but as he peers closer, Éomer notices the subtle shifts of your movements. There is a warrior’s grace to the fluidity of your body against his and with every leading step.

There is power within you along with the soft.

Éomer’s heart suddenly snags, stuttering before becoming a pounding drumbeat. When you turn your smile back to him all coherent thought leaves his brain except one.

She’d be a fierce queen.

The music swells and then melts away, and you release Éomer to step back and bow deeply. Éomer mimics the movement. When the two of you straighten, it is at the exact same time, and then you step far too close for a stranger.

“This is where we part,” you murmur, soft lips forming the words yet also sending Éomer’s brain into a foggy scramble.

You incline your head and begin to draw away. Like a lightning strike, Éomer moves into the space you just occupied, snatching your wrist to pull you close.

Your lips part in surprise, chest heaving slightly. Éomer’s gaze drops to the exposed tops of your breasts.

“This is where we part,” he repeats, gaze returning to your face. “For now.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

[tyorion10]

Weydosa Island

My father once said: "My dear child, you have to accept and be grateful for what life gives us, only then you will find a way to enjoy it." Those words have always been a mantra of reminder in every sorrow that comes my way, but now, when life gives me more than lemons.

How can I enjoy this disaster, father?

Am I ready for what will happen to me next?...

Weydosa Island Is a text-based interactive fantasy fiction, full of action, adventure, drama, and monsters! (with a LITTLE spice of romance).

🌷Synopsis

Weydosa is a cursed place that is most feared by all residents of Alberal, even the bravest people will turn pale when they hear the name of that place, a folk legend that every mother often tells to scare their children into obeying. Many people consider the island to be a manifestation of hell.

Through various testimonies and stories from mouth to mouth, it is said that every unfortunate person who ends up in that place will never be able to escape when the island has gripped the souls they desire, very rarely anyone can escape, although there are, those who managed to escape only will end up losing their sanity, like shells without contents, undead in the daytime.

You are the unfortunate soul who was made a scapegoat for someone's rotten heart and cast into that cursed Lazaretto.

As if isolation alone is not enough, you must also race against time because the evil force has awakened from its slumber. It would be better to address this immediately if you still want to see tomorrow.

Damn may be an understatement to describe your situation, but this is where your adventure begins, a place where death and decay are ingrained, monsters and abominations are in every area of ​​the island, with misery and despair that surrounds this place, can you survive? or give in and let the island devour your sanity?

🌷Features

Play as a chef who is framed and banished to a cursed island

Customize your character including physique, and gender with four different race types: Human, Orc, Half-Elf, and Beastman.

Establish a relationship with one of your party. Or not at all.

Surviving alone is impossible, cause you need friends who can watch your back when you are at your limit if not, you will slowly go insane.

Fight, survive and thrive. Can you get off the island? Or conquer that damn island but at what cost?

🌷The Party:

With danger lurking in every corner of the island, you never know when a monster will ambush you, having a friend is certainly very necessary.

Berengar 🐻

He is massive, and he looks terrifying, with scars spread all over his body. If you need a walking guillotine or wall meat shield, he is your man. Rest assured that your safety will be guaranteed because his battle prowess was simply astonishing. However, His booming voice will make people who are not familiar with become temporarily deaf, his blunt honesty often rubs people the wrong way. But despite his brash exterior, Berengar is a loyal friend who would do anything for those he cares about.

Physical description: Orc, towering muscle bear body, light green skin with scars on back and black scales spread all over half left arm, round face shape with black eyes, slicked back brown hair and full beard, topless wearing only a leather kilt. Height 196 cm (6.4 ft)

Character illustration🖼️:

Nicole 🦎

You met N, greeted each other - chatted - then clicked! like key meeting lock, you became besties, they are cheerful, witty, resourceful, and reliable. If you can help each other, you will undoubtedly become an unstoppable duo. Their infectious laughter and cheerful demeanor stand out, making them a target of both admiration and ridicule. But beneath their sunny exterior lies a vulnerable soul, yearning for genuine connection. As the island's harsh realities begin to wear on them, they question their own resilience. Will you be a home for them amid this madness?

Physical description:

Male: Lizard Beastling, Toned body, olive skin, oval face shape with bright yellow slit eyes, goatee, short black wavy hair and dark blue scales, scar on upper left arm, height 175 cm (5.7 ft).

Female: Lizard Beastling, Toned body, olive skin, hearth face shape with bright yellow eyes, and golden leaf branch earrings, curly neck-length dark blue hair and scales, scar on upper left arm, 165 cm (5.4 ft).

Character illustration🖼️:

♂️Nicole (M)

♀️Nicole (F): [coming soon]

Sister Nurul 🕊️

Sister Nurul the oasis of Weydosa Island, received a call from God, Sister Nurul dared to go to that terrible place, Though often mocked and misunderstood, she remains steadfast in her mission. she soothes the troubled souls of those lost in despair, but sadly, her sincerity and strength are just like a torch in the dark of night. You must help and keep Sister Nurul's sacred fire from going out, or you both will be consumed by darkness and made corrupt.

Physical description: Human, athletic body, beige skin, triangle face shape with cool gray eyes, braided bun light brown hair, wear shield pendant with a white rose symbol made of diamonds in the middle of the shield, height 165 cm (5.4 ft ).

Character illustration🖼️: (coming soon)

Orilen 🐅

Ori is a quiet and observer man, he will only talk if asked to talk, the rest he likes to keep quiet and pay attention, he isn't stoic just shy. If you are a chaotic gremlin, then congrats! he is the real deal for you. he's a good listener and a mother hen. Plus, he's good at cooking so he'll keep you stuffed! (It seems like you've found your new sous chef!). Just remember one thing! He is a bit of a mess when he is in a stressful situation, when he feels threatened and cornered, he will take drastic measures which are in stark contrast to his personality.

Physical description: Half elf, muscular body, cool beige skin, diamond face shape with brown eyes,neck-length dark brown hair, he has two pets; a mountain cur named Sawyer, and a raven named Beefcake. Height 170 cm (5.6 ft)

Character illustration🖼️:

Robin 🐕‍🦺

Raised in a world of black and white, Robbie had always strived to uphold the law. But as the warden of Weydosa Island, they were forced to confront the gray areas of morality. The stark contrast between their idealistic upbringing and the harsh realities of prison life challenged their very core. As they navigated this moral labyrinth, Robbie would have to decide whether to cling to their fading beliefs or embrace a new, will you be a beacon in the night when Robbie is confused and lost?

Physical description:

Male: Half elf, muscular body, fair skin, rectangle shape face with blue eyes, buzz cut dark blond hair, small tattoo of scales on the inside of the left wrist, height 186 cm (6.1 ft).

Female: Half elf, athletic body, fair skin, rectangle shape face with blue eyes, dark blond short bob, elvish circlet with a moonstone in the center small tattoo of scales on the inside of the left wrist, height 180 cm (5.9 ft).

Character illustration🖼️:

♂️Robin (M):

♀️ Robin (F): [coming soon]

Drog'thokin The Greedy Duke/Duchess 🐉

D is a walking natural disaster, whether you want to hate them or love them, you're up against wall, because your souls are connected so you are forced to stick together like glue, D is of course not happy with the situation. You remember the old saying that everyone has goodness in their heart, but well… they are demon, is that still included?.

Physical description:

Male: Demon, athletic body, red skin, oblong face shape with red eyes, crew cut black hair, a pair of onyx horns piercing from the forehead, tribal tattoo above the chest, black loincloth, Height 214 cm (7 ft).

Female: Demoness, athletic body, red skin, oblong face shape with golden eyes, framing shoulder cut black hair, a pair of onyx horns piercing from the forehead, tribal tattoo above the chest, a pair of black bra with a pair of gold horns and panty , Height 214 cm (7 ft).

Character illustration🖼️:

♂️ Drog'thokin (M):

♀️ Drog'thokin (F): [coming soon]

Ellyn 🦊

Ellyn, a vision of ethereal beauty, moves through the world with a haunting grace. Her smile, as sweet as honey, masks a heart that has long since turned to stone. A tragic event from her past has left her emotionally scarred, forever trapped in a state of melancholic detachment. Despite her allure, she remains elusive, a phantom slipping through the fingers of those who dare to reach out. Her beauty is a dangerous gift, a siren's song that promises both ecstasy and despair. for those who love her.

Physical description: Kitsune, curvy body, fair skin, oval face shape with bright blue eyes, shoulder-length straight red hair left loose (human form) – lower back lengths straight red hair (kitsune form), slightly pointed ears in human form, gold bracelets on both hands and feet, height 170 cm (5.6 ft).

Character illustration🖼️: (coming soon)

Nunu 🐺

meet Nunu… the native knight in sour armor. His friends often call him a sour dog, and his parents treat him like a house decoration, sourness and cynicism have covered him like barnacles on the piling dock.Beneath his gruff exterior, however, lies a heart that yearns for warmth and understanding. As he navigates the harsh realities of life, he struggles to let go of the past and embrace the possibility of a brighter future, Can you help this puppy?

Physical description: werewolf, well-padded body, light beige skin, round face shape with yellow eyes and short beard, short tousled wavy dark blond hair, topless with hairy torso and big tiddies, faded blue linen breeches that had been torn at the bottom so they came just above the knees, height: 183 cm (6 ft) human form – 240 cm (7.8 ft) werewolf form.

Character illustration🖼️:

⚠️Warning:

1). This story is intended for Adults

2). Use of words containing swear words, vulgarity, and depictions of violent activities

3). Description of several scenes containing horror and gore

4). Depiction of scenes that may involve sexuality, and various other dark topics.

🌷Demo: [Demo] 34.921 words (without codes)

😶‍🌫️: Hi I'm Ty, a newbie writer, permission to tag @interact-if for promotion. I also want to do “notice me senpai”, because I'm a fan of @kingdoms-and-empires and @theoperativeif.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

They killed our Jesus: A Lament for Generation Jones

Two things happened in 1980 that would ensure the iron grip of the fascist state would (first slowly, then quickly), tighten on the entirety of the nation's populace from that moment forward: Ronald fucking Reagan was installed as president, and a CIA-psyop'd Christian Nationalist shot and killed John Lennon.

Those two things are connected.

First let's look at exactly who "Generation Jones" encompasses, and specific moments in the generational timeline that defined our future. The wiki page is actually quite good. Here's an excerpt that really hits it on the head:

"The name "Generation Jones" has several connotations, including a large anonymous generation, a "keeping up with the Joneses" competitiveness and the slang word "jones" or "jonesing", meaning a yearning or craving.[17][18][19] Pontell suggests that Jonesers inherited an optimistic outlook as children in the 1960s, but were then confronted with a different reality as they entered the workforce during Reaganomics and the shift from a manufacturing to a service economy, which ushered in a long period of mass unemployment. Mortgage interest rates increased to above 12 percent in the mid-eighties,[20] making it virtually impossible to buy a house on a single income. De-industrialization arrived in full force in the mid-late 1970s and 1980s; wages would be stagnant for decades, and 401Ks replaced pensions, leaving them with a certain abiding "jonesing" quality for the more prosperous days of the past.

Generation Jones is noted for coming of age after a huge swath of their older brothers and sisters in the earlier portion of the Baby Boomer population had; thus, many note that there was a paucity of resources and privileges available to them that were seemingly abundant to older Boomers. Therefore, there is a certain level of bitterness and "jonesing" for the level of doting and affluence granted to older Boomers but denied to them.[21]"

That sets the stage, for the most part. I was four when JFK was shot on TV. I was a wide-eyed, open-eared five year old when The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan and The Supremes were on the radio. I was ten when we landed on the moon, and I wanted to be a hippie at Woodstock at eleven. "Basketball Jones" came out when I was 12...I jonesed for a telescope because SPACE and got one from that great maker of fine telescopes, KMart.

Generationally, we jonesed to be ten years older, so we could have had all the cool shit THEY had. They had The Beatles, and we had the solo Beatles, they had Hendrix, Cream, Jefferson Airplane, and we had the fucking BeeGees and disco. It's like we, as a generation, were fated to live The K-Mart Knockoff of Life, instead of the bright, shiny Brand Name One all our older brothers and sisters got.

MUSIC and SCIENCE were EVERYTHING to us as kids/teens...the Eshittification Of Music truly began in 1973, and proceeded through SynthPop Hell in the '80s. Rock and Roll heroes became hairdos with guitars. The rock heroes of the '60s were getting married and having kids and baking bread. AM Radio ceased to be something you listened to for music...it began to replace music with strident, screaming hate voices that would eventually engulf all of AM Radio 24/7/365.

We were continually thwarted most of the way from our young adulthood on, blatantly from the moments in 1980 that the vile Ronald Reagan and the core operatives of evil for the next 50 years took over, and then the moment of what I call "Our Generational Wounding", the murder of John Lennon.

Back in '66, John had inflamed all the grandpas of todays magats by saying (truthfully) that with teens, The Beatles were more popular than Jesus. Beatle hate became a Very Big Thing in Bumfuck South Texas. Record burnings, merchandise burnings, book burnings, all were commonplace. A very palpable, and very specifically "Anti-Beatle" hate got instilled in a lot of kids/teens at that point, so anything to do with the Beatles was taboo for "good people" (read Southern Baptists) to like.

That, of course, made me love them that much more, and to follow their paths from their breakup forward with 'bated breath, buying every 45 they put out, trying to save pennies up to buy their albums.

John was the radical hippie, the one who wanted peace, the one with the weirdo wife, the one who held a "Bed-In" for peace. In a very fundamental-to-our-generation way, John Lennon was OUR "Jesus".

Richard Nixon (president from '68 to '74) HATED him.

In 1971, there was a true mass consciousness that incorporated us along with our older siblings, a musical mass consciousness. I became aware of many things in 1969, specifically fall of '69, so I was experiencing all this in real-time, as it happened. When the news that The Beatles officially broke up came across the AM radiowaves in May of '70, it was A. Very. Big. Deal. Everyone watched everything they did from that point on with GREAT interest.

George put out "My Sweet Lord" and "What Is Life" (first record I ever bought), John put out "Instant Karma", "Mother", then "Power To The People", then "Imagine". Ringo put out "It Don't Come Easy", and Paul & Linda had "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey". EVERYBODY was a "post-breakup Beatle critic", panning Paul's very first solo 45 "Another Day", "Uncle Albert" was the followup. This band called Badfinger that sounded suspiciously like The Beatles appeared on American radio, and would make 1972 one of the final "Golden Years" of AM Rock Radio.

In 1970 we heard about this Elton John guy, by the end of '72, I was playing as many of his songs on the piano as I could figure out. My favorite album was (still is) "Madman Across The Water". When "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" came out in '73, a very noticeable shift was occuring.

Pop became much less political. It softened. It mellowed. It grew its hair long and lived in the country, learned how to grow potatoes and play the mandolin, making Country Rock the one lasting "legacy" of our sad sub-generation. By the time I graduated HS in May of '77, it was all there was on the radio, besides....disco. Oof.

One of my first TV memories was JFK getting shot. That was the Generational Wounding of our older brothers and sisters. When Mark Chapman (a Christian nationalist who changed the words of "Imagine" to "Imagine there's no John Lennon") shot John in December of 1980, it was the 2 in the 1-2 PUNCH done to our OUR generation. The first, of course, being the installing of Reagan and the evil Evangelical influence beginning in earnest.

It also began the buildup of the "Holy War" radical right, and an utter denial and clampdown of "hippie", of "counterculture" in general began, ensuring that John's vision of world peace would never come true, at least not on their watch. They had, effectively, killed OUR Jesus, along with our chances of the kind of security our older sibs got in spades. It also marked the unholy marriage of the evangelicals and the republican apparatus.

When Reagan got elected by virtue of the vile Newt Gingrich's 'Southern Strategy', a clampdown in earnest on the very SPIRITUAL EXISTENCE of our generation's incredible want and need, our collective JONESING for world peace began. Richard Nixon had planted the seeds. Nixon hated John Lennon with a passion. After Reagan was elected, I firmly believe Chapman was "activated" and they killed John as a Christmas present to Nixon.

It was after that, when the dream of a scientific future began to die, as well. When we were in high school, SCIENCE WAS EVERYTHING, so we wanted to be some kind of scientist "when we grew up".

I dealt with four years of college, majored in Biology, and in early 1981 realized my dream of being a Forest Ranger in Yosemite or some other national park somewhere, living in a cabin, giving talks to visitors about the biology aspects of the park....all that went POOF, almost instantaneously. My degree would get me nowhere, so I left before the end of that year and started working in record stores.

I was effectively the Cusack character in the movie about record stores, but it led to a dead end. Record stores weren't all that glamorous, and yes, the pay was dogshit. I tried working in record stores for the love of the music, while trying to BE a musician in a town FILLED OVER FLOWING with musicians, but that was quickly shat on by the beginning shrieks of late-stage capitalism.

It was like working in the record stores was my trying to keep holding onto the dream, our generation's dream...John's dream of world peace (along with my dream of being a working musician) died a pitiful death by the end of 1986.

What followed was nothing but a series of Jobs I Hated, and the beginnings of the true Jonesing for the life we'd been promised, because we didn't get the raises, the pensions, the house, the car, boat and camper, none of that shit for us. A life of being a low-paid, no-insurance drub, destined to be a life-long renter, unless a financial miracle happens.

So when people ask why we (as a generation) hate Ronald Reagan so much, let's just say I'm with Bugs on this one.