#the scarred among the mundane

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Scarred Among the Mundane Masterlist.

Finn is an arsonist and exiled elf. Verne is a sorcerer. Practicing sorcery on humans is banned, but who’s going to care what happens to an elf? When Finn falls into Verne’s prison hands, every day is a new day in hell until other people begin to take notice of the screams echoing inside the sorcerer’s castle. If Finn thinks rock bottom is being Verne’s test subject, he’s dead wrong. It can and will get a lot worse.

Now, he’s no longer sure he wants to look at his own reflection.

— —

Captivity. Fantasy whump and an elf whumpee. Some truly nasty torture. A gradual breakdown and loss of self.

— —

(cws in the individual posts)

burning stuff

repercussions

What a Beautiful Day: The day starts out great and then gets so much worse. Finn meets Verne. Absolute chaos.

Fate Worse Than Death: Woohoo, pull out the pillory. Finn threatens to burn down the village. Thing cannot get worse for him. Sike.

Welcome Home: Local sorcerer lives in creepy castle with her dad (a skeleton). Has all sorts of fun things (lying) planned for Finn.

Bad Blood: Verne tries out her theory on Finn. Lots of screaming, lots of blood.

Flinching: There’s a metal table with restraints— oh god—

Not Actually Vivisection: but it’s awfully close

Sunlight and Skeletons: Nice try Finn, but you can't escape that easy

Table Turning: introducing a jerk and another jerk. yay.

tagging: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sunshiline-writes (lmk if you want to be added/ removed)

[yndrgrl]

dilf! katsuki bakugou x fem! reader headcannons

quirkless! au. lowkey yandere. dom! katsuki.

warnings: nsfw, age gap, size kink, swearing, face slapping, daddy kink, multiple creampies, breeding kink

✧ dilf! bakugou is a sex god among men, to put it lightly. it was strange seeing such a good-looking man doing such mundane tasks like waiting for his coffee.

✧ dilf! bakugou first noticed you as the regular barista who takes his order every time he comes in.

✧ dilf! bakugou is well aware of his godly looks. he is also well aware of how you give him just a bit more attention than the other patrons.

✧ dilf! bakugou notices how you give him just-a-bit wider smile or when you utter his name while jotting it down on the cup.

✧ you couldn't help but fantasize about your customer, dilf! bakugou. how could you not? his golden hair was streamed with grey, scars adorned his skin, & he was just such a gruff man who could take care of anything for you.

✧ you'd spark up unnecessary conversation with him, something you never do with other customers.

✧ one day, dilf! bakugou mentions his kid, & you deflate.

✧ it's not like anything was going to happen between us, you rationalized, shooting him a smile as you gave him his coffee. you wished him a good day, & ultimately gave up on trying to impress him.

✧ dilf! bakugou noticed this almost immediately. just a day ago you couldn't bare to lock eyes with him, & now you can just stare at him with a polite smile? what happened?

✧ dilf! bakugou was so handsome, rich, & fortunate that he could have any woman in the world, but all he wanted was his cute, young barista.

✧ it was a particularly busy morning, the next time he decided to come in.

✧ dilf! bakugou zoned out as he waited for his turn to order, to see your pretty face. he was motionless until he heard the conversation between you & the customer right before him.

✧ "oh, so you're single?" he asked. "yeah i am, why?" you asked back.

✧ you were innocent & oblivious to just how good you looked, even with your hair messily thrown up & in your work apron. it made dilf! bakugou only want to ruin you more.

✧ "i'd love to take a cutie like you on a date tonight," the other guy told you with a smirk. your face bloomed red. "um-"

✧ before you had a chance to respond, dilf! bakugou barked, "some of us are in a hurry, kid! order your shit, & leave."

✧ the guy talking to you scoffed at dilf! bakugou, calling him an old man before turning his attention back to you. "i'll pick you up after your shift."

✧ "you're not actually gonna go out on a date with that sleaze, are ya?" dilf! bakugou questioned even though the other guy wasn't out of earshot.

✧ "i don't know," you answered with a shrug & a laugh, "i haven't decided yet."

✧ "don't waste your time. guys that age don't know how to please women like you." & with that said, dilf! bakugou walked to the waiting area for his coffee, leaving you to think about what he might've implied.

✧ at the end of your shift, you still haven't decided whether you wanted to go on the date or not.

✧ it's not like you had a choice though. dilf! bakugou already made up your mind for you.

✧ you come out of the back with your bag slung over your shoulder & your apron off when someone stood in your way.

✧ "you're not gonna go on a date with him," dilf! bakugou told you, but you thought it was a question.

✧ you laughed, "well i'm not getting any younger, i gotta get some action." dilf! bakugou wanted to throw up at the thought of you getting any attention from anyone other than him.

✧ "no, you're not going on a date with him. you're coming with me."

✧ that's how you wound up inside of his pent house with him in between your legs, grazing your thighs with his lips.

✧ "wh-what about your son-"

✧ "at daycare."

✧ "what about your wife?"

✧ "i don't have a wife," he said, watching your tense posture relax. so that's what was holding you back, he thought.

✧ he kissed your wet heat through your panties, then, with his teeth, pulled them down. he maintained eye contact with you the entire time.

✧ dilf! bakugou knew what he was doing, it was clear as day. he was the best you'll ever have. all those other boys will never compare to such an experienced man

✧ dilf! bakugou lapped your juices, circling his tongue around your clit, & fingered your hole in preparation for him.

✧ "you think you can handle me, hm?" he questioned once he made you cum all over his face & fingers for the third time.

✧ dilf! bakugou stood up on the edge of the bed with your legs -barely- wrapped around his waist, still awaiting an answer. "c'mon baby girl, answer me."

✧ all you could do is nod. you were slipping into a mind-numbing state with drool dribbling down your chin & mascara running down your cheeks.

✧ dilf! bakugou raise his hand & lashed it across your face. you gained consciousness back as he growled, "if you can't handle this, i will find some other pretty girl who can." that was a lie, he just wanted to see you jealous.

✧ "n-no! i can be your good girl, daddy."

✧ even more blood rushed to his cock when you called him that. dilf! bakugou couldn't help but smirk over your quivering figure.

✧ he ravished your body as soon as he stuck his big dick inside of you.

✧ he loved watching your brain turn into mush as you moaned, "sl-slow down daddy! you're t-too big for me."

✧ & it was true. dilf! bakugou was nearly 300 lbs of pure, natural muscle, 6 ft 5, & was manhandling you the entire night.

✧ when he wanted to switch positions, he'd simply pick you up like you were nothing & force you into what he wanted.

✧ now you were held up by him, arms around his neck, scratching at his back while he carried you.

✧ your juices mixed with his three cream pies he gave you dripped onto the floor-- not that either one of you cared.

✧ the first cream pie he gave you was while you were cumming from his abusive missionary

✧ the second was when you were bent over the bed, taking all of his forceful thrusts until they became jagged & sloppy, spilling his seed into you.

✧ the third was when he took you from behind in front of his full length mirror. one of his large hands dug into your hip while the other was grasping your hair, pulling you up.

✧ by this time, you were in a permanent state of pleasure. you eyes crossed & your tongue hanging out of your mouth cum flowed down your thighs like a waterfall.

✧ "d-daddy, i want more~"

✧ "you want more what, cum dumpster?"

✧ "make me a mommy! fill me with more cum! i want your babies!" you don't even know where his came from. before dilf! bakugou, you had no desire to have children. you were just trying to finish your sophomore year of college.

✧ dilf! bakugou wanted nothing more than to impregnate you though. make sure no other man even thinks that you're single. he wants you swollen with his kid while he takes care of you.

✧ dilf! bakugou demanded as he pounded your pussy, "tell me you're mine forever, baby girl~"

✧ "i-i'm yours forever, daddy!" you screamed through thrusts & your orgasms. you assumed it was all pillow talk until you saw that dark, possessive look dilf! bakugou shot you.

✧ "that's right, y/n. you're mine, only i can take care of you."

[llondonfog]

a little something based on this eldritch horror!silver concept because you lot encouraged me

Lilia knows that there must have been a time before the boy.

A time when he lived his quiet life in the woods alone, trapped in the same, mundane drudgery over and over again, as if the rhythmic pattern alone would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. A time when he kept to himself at the fringe of society's gaze, raw and aching for the healing peace of the forest he had roamed endlessly in his youth, seeking a familiar balm against the scars left by a great and terrible warfare etched into his mind. A time that must have been so bleak, so dismal that it hardly bears remembering, for it surely wasn't a life worth living without the bright-eyed, sweet-faced child snuggled like a priceless treasure in his waiting arms.

That's right, he thinks to himself, pleased in his confirmation as he tightens his embrace around the boy slumbering peacefully against his chest. There had been no meaning, no light in his life before Silver had found him.

The boy is properly exhausted, and the satisfied smile on Lilia's face widens even further as he hums tunelessly, fussing over the little pieces of moonlit strands that have fallen into the child's face. They had enjoyed such fun this afternoon, hiking together into the secret parts of the dense brush along invisible paths that only Lilia could see. With that little hand held securely in his callused and scarred fingertips, he had led the boy through the shadowed trees, pushing past gnarled branches and over raised roots as thick as a man's fist until the land itself seemed to yield and give way beneath their feet, dipping down low to expose a bejeweled cornucopia of wildflowers, swaying and bobbing their heads enticingly in the faint, dappled sun.

Silver had gasped in rapt wonder, fingers squeezing Lilia's with a giddy kind of gratitude as those eyes as brilliant as the flowers before them gazed upon the field with an innocent, childish glee. They'd stayed there all afternoon, Lilia content to sit at the edge of the glen for as long as the boy wished while Silver romped around happily among the dancing petals and occasionally bounded back to grace him with a clumsily made bouquets of beaming daisies and plump milkweeds, until the sun began to dip below the fluffy tops of the turning oak trees. It had been second nature to scoop the yawning child up in his arms, to walk the long miles back to the cabin with him propped up against his hip as if the fire burning along the old wounds of his back were mere twinges of irritating mosquito bites.

It had felt like a reward when that warm weight melted in his arms under the gravitational pull of sleep, and those feather-soft strands of hair tickled against Lilia's neck as the boy rested his head along the breadth of his shoulder like a pillow. It had felt like bliss, the likes of which he'd never known before— never mind the fact that he had scoffed bitterly over a pint to Baul at the prospect of being bullied into being a glorified babysitter for Meleanor's soon-to-be spoiled babe. Never mind the fact that his hardened heart had only crystalized into darkest coal after the gruesome monstrosities he'd witnessed and orchestrated by his own hand for the sake of their kingdom and country. Never mind the fact that he had growled at the boy to scram upon first sight, exasperated at the idea that some foolish parent had allowed their snot-nosed brat to wander off the forest paths unsupervised.

None of that seemed worthy of remembering now.

No one else seemed worthy of remembering now either, hazy memories that were easily shuffled away out of sight and out of mind by Lilia's own willing consciousness long worn down to make room for what was truly important: the sound of Silver's laughter, sweet and clear like birdsong on the breeze, a sound that Lilia would do anything to hear again and again; the benevolent grace of the boy's smile like a benediction for his bloodstained soul, the sight of which he would greedily hoard over all the wealth in the world; the adorable sleepy wrinkle of his son's nose as it scrunches up just before he wakes, squeezing Lilia's heart along with it in a funny ache just like it's doing right now—

" . . . did I fall asleep, Papa?"

That darling little voice is apologetic, fretting aloud over how his poor father must have had it rough to carry Silver all the way home, and it's all that Lilia can do to laugh and nuzzle their noses together despite the fiery waves of pain lancing along his spine.

"It's fine, my dear," he croons, savoring the way that those bashful eyes turn on him with such hope, as if it were Lilia who held the key to his happiness and not the other way around. "Your papa was happy to carry you home," and the title fits as naturally as a glove as it weaves itself into his heart, as if there were no other name he needed to be known by ever again, as if there were no other role he could ever imagine himself playing.

The boy smiles up at him, joyous and beatific— there are no words, and yet Lilia feels strangely like he'd been praised, a pleased rustle of something invisible that's taken up residence in the back of his mind that sweetens the dizziness swarming at the edge of his vision— and the moment passes the second that he blinks, leaving him oddly winded as if he'd just run a marathon and collapsed on the couch.

"Are you sure that you're alright, Papa?"

And how sweet of Silver to worry over him still, the child closely scrutinizing his face as he wrestles his breathing back under control. Lilia tweaks his nose playfully in answer to elicit a gleeful yelp that has the boy scrambling away in a flurry of limbs, escaping with laughter towards the kitchen in clear search of an early supper before his beloved father could spice it up with a few more inventive ingredients.

He's alright. He's more than alright.

How could he not be, with his precious son finally at his side?

[ghostlychief]

Omg, I love all your work! Im gushing over it, how about one with the Master Chief where the reader is just loving kissing his scars and making him feel loved and the reader is a scientist stationed on the infinity

another master chief request, LETS GOOOO

---

The Infinity was in orbit around Reach, and you finally had some time off to rest and relax, after being deployed up in space for a few months. You were starting to miss natural gravity.

You were a scientist stationed on Infinity, so that meant that majority of your time was spent up in space. You’ve wanted to be a scientist for as long as you can remember, always dreaming of studying the stars, and maybe even one day, being able to physically explore them, traveling through the galaxy. And here you were, some twenty odd years later from when you obsession with the cosmos first came to fruition.

You were also eager to get back down to Reach because you know John was back from his last mission, and you were anxious to get back, excited to see your boyfriend. This time, he was gone for only three weeks, which was actually not a long time at all. Sometimes his work would take him away form you for much longer, but you thanked the heavens that he was already back on Reach, safe and sound.

Earlier, you were frantically cleaning your apartment since he was coming over tonight. You were already kind of a clean freak, so when you were expecting company (even though he’s your boyfriend of many years) you went into ultra-cleaning mode, and cleaned for hours on end, making sure everything was spotless, and smelled good. It also helped you clear your mind.

Eight o’clock finally rolled around, and you were expecting John to be here any time now.

You hear a knock on your door, and you sprint up from the couch and basically rip the door open, a wide grin on your face as you take in your boyfriend, who’s standing in your door frame. He’s opted for comfy clothes, wearing his all-black workout clothes. You’ve always commented on how the black brings out the green in his eyes.

He brings you in for a warm hug, his large arms wrapping around your frame and pulling you in close to him. You feel his chin rest on top of your head, and you both gently rock back and forth as you soak up each other’s warmth. He smells just as you remember, like a gentle rainfall with a hint of cedar. It’s your favorite scent. You finally break away from him, formally greeting him this time, and then you both enter your home.

Fast forward a couple hours, finds yourself laying in bed, with John, and you guys are talking about everything under the sun. He told you about his last mission and surprisingly, some drama that’s been going on with the Blue team, among other mundane updates since he last saw you. You do the same, talking about your latest project, which is tracking a certain galaxy through the Universe.

You have your fairy lights turned on, making your room glow softly, and you’re both wrapped under the covers and in each other’s arms. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the universe right now.

Your head rests on John’s bicep, while your leg is thrown over his hip. His arm that is not acting as a pillow for you, is wrapped around your middle, his hand resting on your back, rubbing soft circles there.

“…and where did you get this one from?” Your hand is currently resting on his face, gently cupping it, as your thumb traces of a scar that marks his left cheek. He’s already told you how he got each of his scars, but you always love hearing him tell the stories, so you find yourself asking him to tell you again.

His hand that was resting on your back, moves so now it’s holding your waist, and he gives you a light pinch, teasing you. You squirm and giggle, but you just look up expectantly at John, waiting to hear the story for the hundredth time.

“Well, as you very well know, I got this on the first Halo I visited.”

You perk up, “Ooo, installation 04, right?” John lets out a chuckle, “Yeah, that one.”

“Aka, the one you destroyed.” You grant him a sly grin. This time he more so huffs, rather than laughs, “Yes, that one.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, continue good sir.” You didn’t see him roll his eyes, but you know he did mentally.

“It was probably day 6 since I touched down on Halo, after the whole Flood incident, so I was pretty worse for wear. We happened to run into a Covenant fleet, which had more than the average amount of Elites. Two in which had the invisibility cloaking mechanism, and their infamous energy swords.”

You nod, encouragingly for him to continue, your thumb still gently moving back and forth on his face. You also lean up to give him a quick kiss on his jaw, and you feel his grip on your waist tighten at the action.

“I managed to take one of the cloaked elites out, while the marines focused on the rest of the fleet. The second elite though was a slippery bastard, and he almost managed to slice my head clean off my neck, but luckily, the sword only grazed my face, giving me this lovely blemish.”

“Well, I love it.” You lean in to kiss his cheek, where the discoloration remains form the blade of the energy sword. You rest your forehead on his for a moment, then kiss his nose.

“I also love this one.” You move to right above his left eye, where a long-jagged mark remains, and leave a kiss. You move to his right temple and plant your lips there, “And this one…”

“Now I think you’re just trying to flatter me.” You let out a breathy laugh, “Never.”

He has a couple of very small scars littering his other cheek, so you pepper kisses all over there, “…and these ones.”

You then hover your lips over his, lightly brushing them as you say, “But most importantly, I love you.”

[nostalgebraist]

declare

Read Declare by Tim Powers recently.

It had some really good individual bits, and was well-written throughout, but overall I found it kind of a slog.

Partly that was just due to pacing, or me not quite being in the target audience, or other similarly ordinary and boring reasons. But, on reflection, I think a lot of my troubles with the book come down to one big, uncommon flaw it had -- which is my reason for writing this post.

----

Declare is a hybrid fantasy/spy novel.

The spy stuff, which comprises most of the book by mass, is drawn from real history -- in particular, from the life of real Soviet spy Kim Philby -- and strives to be consistent with all particulars of that real history that are publicly known.

The book is a "secret history" as opposed to an "alternate history," intended to produce the impression: "for all we know, this really could have been what happened." It sticks to the historical record about the kind of matters that make it into said record, and only invents things in the blank spaces in between them.

As Powers put it:

I made it an ironclad rule that I could not change or disregard any of the recorded facts, nor rearrange any days of the calendar – and then I tried to figure out what momentous but unrecorded fact could explain them all.

You'll note that I'm being vague about what "the fantasy elements" are.

I'm doing that on purpose. Revealing much about their nature would be the kind of spoiler that actually spoils, because one of Declare's virtues -- and I really did admire this -- is the way it makes its fantastical secrets feel really secret. Like a secret doctrine, a mystery cult, an epistemic Rubicon that one does not cross lightly.

They are talked about elliptically, even among initiates (and Powers makes this feel naturalistic, not like cheap and pointless reader-teasing evasion). Before you know much else about these "fantasy elements," you know that encounters with them have a tendency to leave people scarred, broken, changed -- and disinclined to say much about what they saw.

The early chapters of the book almost feel like the opening of a "mundane" spy novel. Except they are dotted with stray glimpses, from odd angles, of... something else. Something that is clearly one single thing, with a coherent shape, only you cannot make out in full what that shape is. Something that feels, authentically, like it was not meant for your innocent eyes.

It's all very effective. Really great stuff.

But then, at least by the halfway mark if not earlier, the reader catches up with the characters. The shape of the thing comes into focus. You get what the deal is, insofar as anyone does, and insofar as there is a "deal" to get. The nature, if not the logic, of the hidden world is laid bare.

"The nature, if not the logic": this is the book's fundamental flaw. The fantasy elements of Declare eventually land in a worst-of-all-worlds no-man's-land between mystique and mechanism.

They are explained to the reader just enough that they lose their glamour; what initially feels like the mystic doctrine of a lost gospel, or the forbidden fruit of a Lovecraft story, ends up feeling more like a collection of "lore" passages accompanying tables of numbers in an RPG rulebook. Yet they are not explained enough that they make sense, the way a law-bound "magic system" makes sense; despite Powers' ambitions, they never quite become capable of explaining anything else.

To put the point a little differently, and set things up for my next one: Declare mixes together two ingredients which, on their own, are perfectly fine -- indeed, actively good -- but which absolutely cannot go together. Namely:

Mysterious, supernatural forces that feel properly mysterious, numinous, not quite bound by "our" human logic and thus fundamentally beyond our ken.

A secret-history version of bizarre and partially unknown real-world events, which supplies explanations for the weird parts and fills in the tantalizing gaps.

Why do historical mysteries draw our interest? It is not just that there is something we don't know. There are a lot of things we don't know, about history, and mostly they don't trouble us.

But there are some questions for which it does not seem possible to imagine an uninteresting answer.

When a real historical figure behaves in some bizarre manner -- as the real-world Kim Philby frequently did -- we know that, whatever cause moved them to do so, it must be outlandish in a way that matches its effect. When people act strangely, they do so for strange reasons. That is roughly what "acting strangely" means.

But! Once you allow "ineffable, partly unpredictable magic" to be a cause with effects, the link between interesting events and interesting causes is broken. You can now invent explanations which are less interesting than any real-world one could possibly be.

You can survey the historical record, note down all the intriguing gaps, and then sculpt an infinitely pliable magical putty into the precise shape of each gap, so as to fill it. These fillings do not have the shape of real things; they are made retrospectively, and modeled after the patterned obstructions marring our view, rather than the real patterns which are being obstructed. They do not have spiraling implications, as real things do; they plug the gaps they were made for, and do nothing else.

Human behavior has human causes, and human causes are frequently interesting, to us humans.

It is usually a virtue, in fictional depictions of magic, for that magic to feel nonhuman.

But it ceases to be a virtue when that magic goes on to become a substitute for the real human causes of real events. It provides answers to all our questions, at the cost of removing the reason we imagined we might want to possess those answers.

"Why on earth," you ask me, "did this bizarre historical event happen the way it did?"

And I respond: "a wizard did it."

You protest that this is not an explanation at all. You profess to be just as confused as you were at the outset.

You say, in exasperation: "it can't just be that. There has to be something more. Why did the wizard do it? Is it... the sort of thing that wizards do? Is there a 'sort of thing that wizards do'?"

In real life, you'd have a point. In real life, for every X, there is a sort of thing that Xs do.

But not for wizards. Remember #1 above? Wizards are beyond your ken. Perhaps there is "sort of thing they do," but if so, it is too subtle for your dull, unmagical brain.

Which is to say: they can do whatever the author, or the plot -- or the gaps in the historical record -- need them to do on any given occasion. And then they go back into their box again, until they need to be retrieved, in order to do something else entirely.

And worse: although the introduction of the wizard does not leave you any less puzzled, it frees you from caring that you are puzzled.

There is no longer the unscratched itch of an unsolved mystery about human behavior. You are not confused about a person, anymore, but about magic. And it is perfectly clear that you are never, ever going to understand magic. Your confusion is now expected, predictable. Everything is properly in order, as you can now see. You are free to go.

And yet somehow, you find, the book is not over. It will not be over for a while yet. You have other confusions, you see, which have not yet been stripped of their human interest and robbed of their allure.

(Not everything in Declare is like this, to be clear. I may be making too much of a few sore points in the plot, I guess. Still, there's no denying that I found the later parts of the book tedious, and this is at-least-sort-of why.)

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #47 – City of Last Chances by Adrian Tchaikovsky

This book was recommended to me by a few different people, and in any case I am generally a pretty big Tchaikovsky fan. So of course I’m only getting around to reading it now, however many months later. Having put it off so long for no good reason at all, I can say that the book is in fact very good. Not Tchaikovsky’s best work (that’s still Children of Time in a walk), but a good read and one that left me curious (if not exactly excited) about checking out the sequel.

The story takes place in Illmar, the eponymous City of Last Chances – scarred and oppressed, tyrannized by cursed dukes and conquering imperialists, built upon a dangerous and unreliable route to other worlds and forever attracting the sort of people with no better options available to them. While the book has any number of characters, it’s really the city itself that is the star of the story – a story of how the theft of an imperial magistrate’s ward before he makes an experimental voyage through the gateway in the woods leads to a whole series of byzantine intrigues and bloody misadventures, culminating in an abortive revolution against the Pallseen who occupy and rule them. Which in one sense is an absolutely massive spoiler and in another just feels like stating an inevitability that was obvious from the first chapter.

The book was apparently quite heavily marketed as harking back to the whole New Weird trend of a decade or two ago – marketing that is lived up to wholly and entirely. The whole book absolutely drips with Mieville and Vandermeer. The oblique worldbuilding, the mundane day-to-day life built around the opportunities and inconveniences of some intrusion of the sublime, the awkward intersection of ancient magic and industrial bureaucracy, and so on, and so forth. The Reproach in particular feels very Area X (or very Roadside Picnic, as you prefer), but in general the city feels like absolutely nothing so much as Bas-Lag with the weirdness dial turned down from an 11 to a 5 or 6.

It’s a real triumph of the book, I think, that the world genuinely feels vast and strange even beyond the points where it matters to the story - that all the little asides and the ways something affects a certain character feel like just small parts of something far grander and more uncanny than anyone can hope to understand. Maybe I’m just painfully tired of rpg-system worldbuilding, but it’s an effect I dearly love.

Much like Bas-Lag, Ilmar is very clearly a magical fantasy city going through a magical fantasy 19th century industrial revolution (instead of steam engines its demonic slave labor contracted and imported from the Kings Below). The meat of the book is playing into the whole tradition of the idealistic, virtuous but tragic liberal revolution – 1848 in Berlin or Vienna, the June Days and Commune in Paris, Warsaw a dozen different times, Les Mis. You know the type. Students singing patriotic old songs, workers rising up against class oppression, ‘revolutionaries’ who are mostly cowardly nobles pining after lost privileges and criminal syndicate putting on airs being caught flat-footed by events. You can probably tell the basic story in your sleep. But for such a venerable genre, this book's honestly probably the best rendition of ‘fantasy 1848’ I can recall. Something which won it my instant affection.

The other thing the book just overwhelming shares with the Mieville’s Bas-Lag books is a very keen sense of the necessity of revolution combined with an extreme cynicism towards anyone who might actually carry it out. The university students are sincere believers, and also naive sheep the narrative views with condescension (at best). The professional revolutionaries are all power-grabbing hypocrites who have wrapped themselves in the flag. The workers syndicates have a real sense of solidarity among themselves, and also none at all to the demon slaves that are used and broken powering the mills and factories. And so on. The overall thrust of the book is a tragedy not in the sense of railing against the inevitable, but in the sense that triumph and revolution were absolutely possible – indeed plausible – but for the flaws and frailities of the revolutionaries who might have accomplished it.

Not to say that it's misanthropic – the book is very humane towards the vast majority of its POVs. Of which there are enough for ‘vast majority’ to be a meaningful term. It was something like 130 pages in before any character got a second chapter through their eyes, a feat I had previously only seen in Malazan – and that’s not including the chorus chapters which just give a half-doze vignettes from across the city. But yes, most characters (even the ones who are really just viscerally repulsive) are shown through their own eyes as someone who is at least understandable, if not particularly sympathetic. The sheer size of the cast in a 500 page book mean that no one character or set gets that many chapters from their perspective (you could easily have written as long a book about roughly the same events with half or less of the cast), but some of the dynamics that are very lightly touched on are just incredibly compelling. Its enough to make you wish this was a series that would ever get any fanfiction written about it, really.

Given the way the book is so deeply concerned with oppression and violence on the basis of culture, class, and nation – imperial occupiers, native population, refugees and immigrants used and scapegoated by both – it is kind of fascinating that this is a world where misogyny and (possibly? Not very explored, the only example of a queer relationship we see is hardly going to be concerned by normative society) homophobia just flatly don’t exist. Which would be less interesting if it was unusual, really – the same could be said about very nearly every recent sci fi or fantasy book on the same lines I can recall. Interesting because it is very much not the case in Melville’s stuff – the cultural impact of Ancillary Justice continues to echo down the years, I guess. So yes the imperial police inspector will extort sex out of a brothel owner in exchange for not stringing up the entire workforce for peripheral involvement with the resistance, but also this is entirely gender-neutral. Something very modern about how oppression is imagined relative to the ‘90s or ‘00s (or just a different genre of self-consciously feminist novel a few book shelves to the left).

But yeah, great book, I am compelled. No idea where the sequel would be going, but will probably hunt it down sooner rather than later.

[synnthamonsugar]

DESTINYTOBER: Day 15 - Together

Read it on AO3

. . .

Fall air filters into the sunroom through open windows, cool enough to chill metal and send a comfortable shiver through Eriana-3's sensors. She curls silicone fingertips around the hot mug, gathers her legs beneath her to capture more of hers' and Wei's body heat. 

The titan lays across Eriana's lap, head on her robed thighs, one leg crossed at the ankle over her knee, scrolling idly through her data pad. Eriana takes a sip of tea and sets it down on the arm of the couch, hand free to comb through Wei's short hair. 

"Mm, right there," Wei says as Eriana fingers over the crown of her head. She scratches a little more, until Wei gives a rumble of contented approval, one hand raised to caress across Eriana's side. 

The moment is mundane enough to be boring, but Eriana-3 clutches it to her heart as she would a priceless treasure. The memory of the Great Disaster haunts her — the mad panic in the trenches, the sulfurous stench of soulfire over top of smoke and ozone and gunpowder and death. So many dead strewn across the battlefields of Mare Imbrium, Wei Ning almost among them. She'd landed a near-killing blow on the Hive Prince, and he'd returned in kind, almost cleaving the Light from her injured body. But she, and Eris, managed the rescue in time. Wei escaped with only the loss of an eye. More scars, and more stories, to add to her collection.

She didn't think anyone would get out that day. Instead, all three of them and their Ghosts returned home. Battered, scarred in ways the Light cannot heal, but alive. 

How close she was to not having the privilege of an uninteresting life. Her hand clenches on Wei's shoulder. 

"You okay babe?" Her eye is wide, brow furrowed with worry.

"— Yes. Sorry. Just thinking." 

She takes a gulp of tea, and stock of the room, grounding herself. Hers and Wei's house was the hangout for their friend group, and today is different only in the addition of newer faces. Eris and Sai would often gather around the breakfast table, working together on beadwork and leather-craft for hours on off-days. Today they are joined by Omar, a colleague of Eriana's, and Vell, an old friend of Eris', in a lively game of cards. 

Eriana hasn't been paying attention to their chatter, but can tell from Eris' sudden departure from the table — dramatically folding in mock-affront to a good natured round of laughs and jests from the others — who isn't winning. She struts away to Toland, hunched in the corner with a pile of books, crouching down to join him in quiet conversation. 

Toland had been Wei's idea. He was an old teammate of hers with whom she bonded through a shared love of hurdling headlong into danger. Yes, their fireteam was already full, but six to a team was just convention. And to Wei, "convention" is a place where fans of the crucible gather to dress up as their favorite players. She correctly pointed out that the teams who'd tried, and failed, to kill Crota had all lacked a hive expert. They'd also uniformly been six-stacks.

And so the rest had relented, and accepted the exiled Warlock into their fold. 

The presence of the notorious Toland the Shattered did cause complications when they went to the Vanguard to ask permission to break Lunar Interdict. Zavala threatened to exile them all on the spot, but Ikora and Andal were willing to hear their case. The Vanguard was compelled by their plan, and the team was granted a never-before-issued, one-time permit to enter. 

And so the date was set. 

Eriana knows life will not stay boring for long, at least for a while. She holds onto this moment of happiness. Tries to imprint the sounds and sensations and pictures in her mind.

Despite the hardships ahead, she has an overwhelming sense of inner tranquility. Her fireteam is not desperate and reckless, hungry for vengeance. They will use their collective expertise and the data gathered by those who have gone before them to end the ailing Prince once and for all. To finally secure justice for all the Lights extinguished in the Disaster. 

Gently, she rests her arm across Wei's chest. Wei responds by lacing her fingers through Eriana's, giving her hand a soft, encouraging squeeze.

There will be peaceful moments together after this. She knows it.

[rychlostthespacewizard]

I've been collecting some random quotes I found around the internet and use in my dnd games

Here are some I found in no specific order:

1. "Speak, mortal. You have reached Tharvek, Devourer of Innocents and Wielder of Eternal Flames. It appears I have missed your pitiful attempt at contact. Leave your name, teleportation runes, preferred genre of torment, shoe size, allegiance, deepest fears, vulnerabilities, complete medical history, and where you summoned the gall to disturb me. I may choose to acknowledge your existence, but not by such mundane means. Thank you, and remember: tread carefully, for death lurks at every shadowed crossing."

2. "Are you aiming for greatness or avoiding disapointment"

3. "Si operarii omnes producunt, omnia operariis pertinent."

4. "what do you think it means to be saved"

5. "What happened?" - "Nothing that wasn't my fault"

6. "Something is different"

7. "I don't think so, but i do think that the growing control of those that have the power over the means of production is a threat to the autonomy of the people. As value that is created by the working force is not rewarded to them. Instead only guarantees enough for them to survive and work more. It's like slavery but with extra steps. So anyhow, how's your day going?"

8. "You know, that reminds me that sometimes, violence is the necessary. Sometimes the only path to redemption for the sins of ignorance is to face the fundamental truth of blood and fire. As they meet the primordial within their heartbeat, the oppressors might have a chance to understand the pain they caused and atone for their sins. Also have you seen the new play at the theater?"

9.  "You think we're equals? I had to battle struggles you've never imagined. I became this while fearing the night, disguising myself as a man just to travel safely. Our similarities end when you learned to fight your enemies, while I had to fight comrades who left me with scars that will never heal. I survived because I was cursed to live as I am among those I swore to protect, only to be seen as their enemy."

10. "The universe is and we are"

11. "We do not have much connection, you and I. Still this encounter feels special, I hope you do not mind if I think of you as a friend"

12. "This is your home. If you want to fight to defend it, that's your choice. I'd be honoured to stand alongside you. The enemy attacks tomorrow. He's brutal and fights only to kill, which is why he will never defeat us. Look around. In this circle, we're all equals. You're not fighting because someone's ordering you to, you're fighting for so much more than that. You fight for your homes. You fight for your family. You fight for your friends. You fight for the right to grow crops in peace. And if you fall, you fall fighting for the noblest of causes: fighting for your very right to survive! And when you're old and grey, you'll look back on this day, and you'll know you earned the right to live every day in between! So you fight! For your family! For your friends! For Ealdor!"

13. "I can't blame you for wanting to know yourself better, it was one of the biggest pleasures of my life"

14. "The pain of your absence is sharp and haunting, and I would five anything to not know it; anything but never knowing you at all I can only hope that you are safe, wherever you are"

15. "This song is new to me, but I am honored to be part of it"

16. "It's tempting to linger in this moment, but unless they are collapsed by an observer, they will never be more than that, only possibilities"

17. "Are you still here? I am unsure how to survive in a universe without you, I am unsure how to be me without you"

18. "Is the hardest part of this tragedy not knowing who we may have lost? or will the hardest part come later, when we learn?"

19. "I see someone making through, you just need to be sure it is you"

20. "You are no saint; you're just indifferent. You aid all without caring who they've wronged or what evil they've wrought. You place the wicked among those who shelter you. Even the gods' love is not unconditional, and neither should ours be."

21. As the hag's gaze pierces through the darkness, her voice resonates with an otherworldly chill. "You feel it, don't you? The knot tightening around your throat, the sharp claws of dread digging into your chest, the icy tendrils slithering down your spine? That's the sensation of being forsaken, of standing alone in the void, unnoticed by the gods. Even your soul quivers, knowing that no divine intervention will come to your aid. You're trapped in a blind spot, unseen by the greater powers." Her words hang heavy in the air, suffocating the very essence of hope. "And yet, you cling to your righteous desires, your noble quest to save your friends. But can you be certain that your gods will forgive such a pact with a creature like me? Your actions may be seen as a grievous offense, a betrayal of everything they hold dear. Will they not turn their backs on you? And this dread that gnaws at your spirit, it will not dissipate once you leave this place. It will cling to you like a curse, haunting your every step until the day you finally rest in your grave, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurks within your soul."

22. "In this life, we traverse like a canoe upon deep waters. Our passage ripples the surface briefly, yet the depths remain undisturbed. With time, the surface quiets once more, leaving no trace of our journey."

23. "You are a coward wearing the facade of a revolutionary."

24. "What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"

25. "I will face god and walk backwards into hell."

26. "The man who sleeps on the floor cannot fall out of bed."

27. "The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one."

28. "For every person who dreams up a butter knife, there is a person who dreams up a poisoned dagger."

29. "Only the dead have seen the end of war."

30. "Does the archer fear his bow? Or does he kiss each arrow goodbye as it marries the wind?"

31. "These feelings can eat away at you, chip away the parts of you that you once held dear and defined you. You remember a time where you felt more complete, had stronger relationships and felt more loved."

32. "To be tall is not a virtue, to be short is not a sin."

33. "Power comes in a response to a need, not desire. You have to create that need."

34. "You can't kill me in a way that matters."

35. "Do what you must, I have already won."

36. "Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honor matters. The silence is your answer."

37. "Darkness without light is an abyss. Light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with only one side."

38. "When they burned Ioun's Archive, the crowd revelled in horrible disbelief. They understood that there was something older than wisdom, and it was fire, and something truer than words, and it was ashes, and something more eternal than knowledge, and it was death."

39. "I can no longer be a liberator for people who refuse to see their chains."

40. "You could sooner divert a river from its corse than deny my nature."

41. "Violence for violence is the rule of beasts."

42. "The only universal langue is blood and flames, we all have spoken this language and felt the fear of words older than our desires."

43. "The fire of extravagance can never burn simplicity."

44. "A mind unprepared for freedom will shatter like glass when shown cosmos without restriction."

45. "I have been cursed by my hubris, and my work will never be finished."

46. "I would rather die standing than live kneeling."

47. "For even the most banal of deaths can be made tragic by a broken heart."

48. "To love someone is to turn around. To love someone is to look at them."

49. "There's no cheerful somebody waiting for you at that alter. There is no meaning your alphabet soup. There is a right to obey."

50. "The foulest insults you hurl with intent to wound will calmly settle at the earth beneath my feet, and the venom you spit will bring all the pain of a warm summer breeze. You are less than you can concieve, while I carry on, brmmming with joy distilled from detatchment."

51. "They killed the best of us, so they are stuck with the worst of us."

52. "There is no truer hatred than the way men love."

53. "Would you spit in the face of the god's designs by referring to a mountain as a hill?"

54. "If i lay one brick down at a time who are you to tell me I'm not building a house?"

55. "True love graced you with its presence and you turned its intimacy into a joke to be shared with the world."

56. "To enter is to be forgiven of the greatest sin, to leave is to repeat it. Would you dwell in this garden, or would you forsake it, for man deserveth not his paradise lost?"

57. "She was wild, crazy, ravenous and beautiful. But we simple mortal men who have lived know better than to chase things that are not meant to be caught nor tamed."

58. "I live outside of the gods' sight and by consequence outside of their love."

59. "This is war. War does not determine who is right, only who is left."

60. "I'm a man dying of thirst watching another man drown."

61. "You are naught but a nail dreaming itself a hammer."

62. "Each inch of our lands are littered with the ruins of empires that dared to dream of eternity and deemed themselves endless. "

63. "You walk upon bones of those who thought they could tame the wild, and yet dare to repeat their sins?"

[antikate]

Blankets (the truth is out there)

I used to sleep under old woollen army blankets in the winter. I don’t know where they came from, but they’d appear sometime after Easter, brown with a grey stripe, and so damn heavy; heavy as lead, heavy as grave-dirt. Despite their weight, one of these blankets wasn’t quite warm enough, nor was two even, and when it was very cold my mother would pile up three or four of them until I could barely move my childish limbs beneath the weight. I liked the way they pressed me down into my old mattress, except for my feet. The arches ached, sometimes, from the pressure of the pile of woollen army blankets.

Sometimes I stuck my feet out over the side of the bed, but then I was afraid something — probably an alien — would grab my feet, so I suffered through the discomfort of the weight on my feet as best I could. Sore feet beat being abducted by grey-faced, black-eyed aliens.

I was very afraid of aliens, after accidentally watching a tv show about abductees.

I spent hours in the mirror checking my skin for signs that I’d been abducted and experimented on. Strange birthmarks, new injuries, odd lumps.

I never found anything beyond a few moles and mundane scars. I never lost time, although now there’s whole stretches of those years I barely recall at all. Not because they were bad, exactly, just that childhood goes like that. It slips away.

I was so scared of being abducted by aliens. But I also always wanted it to happen.

(If I was abducted by aliens, maybe it would explain what was wrong with me.)

The texture of the woolllen army blankets was unbearable—more like sandpaper than a blanket should be. Like sleeping under a sheep lost in the bush for a few years, all burr-snarled and fly-blown. That was what love was like in my family. The intent was there, but it was too heavy and not heavy enough. Rough, but you had to be grateful for what you got. Some people had no blankets at all.

I folded the sheet down over the top-most woollen blanket to keep it from touching any part of my skin. But touching was inevitable, and always distressing.

The worst thing about the blankets, though, was the smell of moth-balls.

The smell was awful, chemical and pungent. Like my Nan’s closet. Like the op-shop. And it heralded the coming of asthma season, when I caught every cold and flu going around, when my lungs collapsed and constricted, and every inhale I made sounded like a rusty old gate swinging in a feeble wind.

(When I was sick, my father would get out a green Tupperware bowl and fill it with boiling water and eucalyptus oil, and force me to hold my head over the steam while I cried, because I hated the smell and it never made me feel better.

Once, I threw up in the bowl. I don’t think he made me do it again.)

As an adult I learned that moth balls were made from naphthalene, and naphthalene is known to trigger asthma, among other health issues. They’re probably carcinogenic. By then the old woollen army blankets had become a feast for carpet moths anyway, more hole than wool by the end. And we don’t use much wool any more — everything is made of plastic now, and the moths starve.

I am trying to explain to you now that I feel like this.

I feel threadbare and abrasive, that I carry with me the smell of mothballs, that I’m too thin but too heavy. I feel like an old woollen army blanket, I think, as I stuff the washing machine with goose-down duvets I spent too much money on. They’re so light they barely feel like you’re sleeping under anything at all.

I feel like I’m more hole than wool, some days.

(And I’m still half scared and half hopeful that I’m going to be abducted by aliens. Maybe then I’ll know what’s wrong with me.)

[francesminos-tt]

Lucemond canon-divergence au where Lucerys is sent to King’s Landing to be Ser Criston’s squire as sort of a punishment for taking Aemond’s eye.

Queen Alicent is still furious because in her mind, being the squire to a renowned knight like Ser Criston is an honor, not a punishment. Again, Rhaenyra and her bastards get away with a serious offense, yet they still act as if they were the victim. How hypocritical.

Aemond couldn’t care less. He is in pain, and still processing the fact that he has to live with only one eye now. He will have to relearn everything once the wound heals enough.

Lucerys is afraid, confused and guilty. He has never been separated from his mother, not for a single day in his life, and now he has to live in King’s Landing all alone. Queen Alicent and Ser Criston even forbid him to bring Arrax. He will be utterly alone with no one on his side, a easy prey among a nest of snakes. He cried. Oh did he cry. But a small part of him, a deep and hidden part, tells him that he deserves it.

The matter is settled. Rhaenyra returns to Dragonstone, while Lucerys sails for King’s Landing. He vomits the whole way, dumping all his stomach contents into the sea. When he arrives, he is immediately led to a humble room in the deserted wing of the Keep. The room is scarce, not fitting for a prince like Lucerys at all, but rather like a shack for low-born servants. Little does he know this room will be his home for the next 6 years.

 Everyone agrees that Ser Criston is a competent and honorable knight, but few knows that he could be cruel if he wants to. He certainly wants to make Lucerys suffer. As his squire, Lucerys is responsible to prepare his armor and horse, serve him meals, run errands for him, among other mundane tasks. He is only a boy of eight, hardly has enough strength to lift a common sword, let alone Morningstar or the whole set of armor, but Ser Criston seems to pay no mind to this. Lucerys struggles, cries some more, gets scorned, and carries on.

When Aemond comes down to the training yard for the first time after the eye incident, he sees a clumsy boy in humble clothes scrubbing an arm plate, his hands red and rough from the cold water. A mop of brown curls and the signature button nose are the only hints for Aemond to realize this is his nephew, that hateful brat Lucerys.

Aemond is delighted that Lucerys is humiliated and reduced to carry out tasks fit for what he truly is, a mere bastard. However, Aemond’s day quickly turns sour as he struggles to fight with only one-eye.

“My prince, perhaps it’s better to have someone train with you. Give you a real grasp of things.” Ser Criston suggests.

Real grasp of WHAT? Aemond wants to scream. Is Ser Criston making fun of him? How is he supposed to fight a real person while he couldn’t even hit a fucking training dummy? Seeing his displeasure, Ser Criston merely smiles and calls for Lucerys.

Now Aemond understands. Indeed, Lucerys would make a perfect training partner. Aemond can wield his weapon without worry to accidently hurt his opponent. If Lucerys is hit by his blow, well, the bastard deserves it.

Lucerys hesitantly picks up a wooden sword. He gained some muscle in the passing weeks but still more than a head shorter than Aemond.

“How kind of you to accompany me on my training, nephew. I must admit this brings sweet memory of the past. Let’s train, like good old times, shall we?” Aemond mocks, satisfied to see color draining from the boy’s cheeks.

From then on, Lucerys has a new task added to his duty list. Be Aemond’s training dummy. He gets cuts and bruises more times than he could count, some deliberately, some by accident. He gets so close to strike back one time after Aemond hits him purposely on the jaw, sending him back into the dirt, but when Lucerys looks at his uncle’s scarred face, all the fight in him suddenly disappears. He is reminded again what he has done. He mutilated a boy permanently, so when Aemond pounces on him to send another blow, Lucerys lets him.

Aemond only comes to training every other day, and the days when he is not in the training yard, he goes to the dragon pit to bond with Vaghar. Lucerys should be relieved when Aemond is not here to torment him, but in fact he only feels jealous. He misses Arrax dearly. He fears next time he meets Arrax, he would be a stranger to his cradle mate. Is it possible for the bond with dragon and rider to break? Lucerys hopes not.

Luckily, he makes a friend in the Red Keep. Its name is Greymane, a greyish warhorse that belongs to Ser Criston. Lucerys is in charge of taking care the creature, and Greymane is the only one who doesn’t mock or ignore him, better still, it doesn’t torment him either. Lucerys grows a habit to talk to the horse about his day, how he misses his family, how he is sorry for taking Aemond’s eye, how he wishes he could go back in time to when everything was simpler, to when he and Aemond were still friends. He talks and talks until he falls asleep in the stable, not noticing a glint of silver lurking at the corner.

 Time passes by, days become weeks, weeks become months, months become years, and Lucerys grows into a slim and quiet teenager, the cheekiness and easy-going gone. He still scrubs Ser Criston’s armor and sharpens his weapon but he no longer has to accompany Prince Aemond’s training. My nephew is of little challenge, the one-eyed prince proclaims. Lucerys hasn’t seen his family for more than 5 years now, only exchanging letters from time to time. As King Viserys’s heath is ailing, Otto practically runs the kingdom on behalf of the King. The Red Keep is swarmed with his minions, or Green loyalists, as Lucerys heard one time from a drunk council member. Other squires, mainly sons from minor noble houses loyal to Otto Hightower, regard Lucerys as a perfect plaything. They often mock him, call him nasty names, insult his blood, but Lucerys ignores their childish acts. Only does he strike back if they make a remark about Rhaenyra and her family.

“Shut your filthy mouth.” Lucerys spits. “You risk treason when you insult the rightful heir to the throne.”

“And now he finally speaks! We thought you were mute, bastard.” One squire boy taunts.

“Why don’t you run back to your whore mother? Oh, wait, you can’t. You are forbidden to leave the Red Keep. I guess you are stuck at scrubbing armors, little princeling.”

“I bet his mother forgets him long ago as she weds the Rogue Prince and has more spare sons. At least she managed to pull out some true Targaryens from her womb.”

Lucerys couldn’t take it anymore so he grabs a sharpening stone and throws, hitting one of the squire boys in the face. They quickly disperse like a bunch of scared ducks. Lucerys feels alive the first time since he arrived at the capital.

However, his triumph is short-lived. Those cruel boys seek other ways to hurt him. They sabotaged Greymane’s horseshoe, making the poor horse snap its front leg on a hunting trip. Ser Criston nearly falls from the horse, and after he returns, he orders the horse to be get rid of. Lucerys is heart-broken and furious. Greymane is his only friend, the anchor of his sanity in this dreadful place. He has lost Arrax, and he couldn’t stand losing Greymane.

“How do you feel now, bastard? You may walk away from hurting others like you always do, but we made sure your dear friend took the fall for you.”

Lucerys shoves one of the squire boys, but this time they are prepared and easily overpowered him. They pinned Lucerys to the ground, one of the boys straddling him, hitting Lucerys again and again. His clothes get disheveled in the process, and that’s the start of his downfall.

“Hey, look, he has skin as fair as those maidens in court!”

“Don’t be so deprived, dickhead. Goes to the street of silk and get one of those whores to warm your cock.”

“Why? This one is free.”

Lucerys feels his blood run cold as his tormentors exchange a nasty look.

“How about you make yourself useful, bastard? I am sure you are as talented as your whore mother,” The boy on top of Lucerys smirked, pulling out his cock and shoves it near Lucerys’s mouth. He is the one Lucerys hit with a stone. “Suck it, whore.”

Lucerys refuses to open his mouth, but other boys make him. They grab his jaw and squeeze hard, forcing his lips to part. The cock pushes in, almost choking him. Lucerys’s eyes water, the suffocating smell of metal, sweat, boyish lust and humiliation making him want to vomit.

“Suck, use your tongue, you useless bastard.”

“Didn’t your whore mother teach you how to suck cock? Or did she only teach you to use your cunt? She certainly excels at that.”

Someone is pulling at his breeches, and cock in his mouth pushes in more, gaging him.

“Looks like the bastard wants a good fuck.”

 Aemond doesn’t plan to go to the stables; he really doesn’t. It just so happens he needs to fetch a drunken Aegon and a shortcut through the stable is the fastest way. When he goes near, he hears a commotion, like someone is struggling, then some muffled whimper and mockery. The one-eyed prince enters the stable out of curiosity, and is immediately stunned by what he sees. There lies his nephew on the hay, with some squire boys surrounding him, a filthy cock stuck in his mouth, another ready to invade his entrance. Aemond is both stunned by the savagery of this scene and the credible beauty that is his nephew. Before he could act, Lucerys does something so outrageous that surprises everyone present.

He bites down on the cock in his mouth. Hard. So hard that he almost tears the thing apart.

Screams almost deafen Aemond. The attacker rolls off Lucerys, screaming in pain. Other squire boys freeze, not dare to provoke him more. Lucerys spits out the blood and chuck of flesh from his mouth, pulls his breeches back up, and speaks in an intimidating tone.

“Never insult my mother again.” Lucerys says, not a threat but a command, “Or you will perish in the dragon flame. I do not jest.”

As the squire boys nod in earnest, Lucerys turns to Aemond, and gives his uncle a bloody grin.

“Come to enjoy the show, uncle?”

There he is, mouth dripping blood and a feral smile graces his face. This is the same boy who took Aemond’s eye. This is the same dragon who defends his family at all costs. This is the picture imprinted in Aemond’s mind that he will never forget.

This is when Aemond falls in love with Lucerys.

 Half a year later, when Vaemond challenges Lucerys for Driftmark, Rhaenyra returns to King’s Landing. She is greeted by a boy she barely knows. Jacaerys is greeted by a brother he hardly recognizes. 

Why would Lucerys smile warmly at Aemond who just put on a show to beat Ser Criston?

How do you like this (too long) headcanon? Let me know if you enjoy this.

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Tess' Sharpuary - 28. Smirk (*)

Aesop finds his sweetheart made a little list about himm. About the various way he smirks at her, that is.

a/n: I *may* have cheated slightly with this one, as the list has existed for a few months at this point, but it is what it is 😅Also, the dressing table is my little nod towads the ruling queen of drawing backgrounds and victorian furniture in general, Cress ❤

chapter specific tags: 15+!, established relationship, sexual themes

relationships: aesop sharp x reader

28. Smirk (0.9k)

tw: sexual themes (mentioned heavily), age difference (reader is an adult)

In Aesop’s defence, the first thing on his mind as he approached his sweetheart’s open diary was to close it and put it back into one of the drawers of her dressing table where she usually kept it. It was not like the two of them kept any secrets from each other (apart from little romantic surprises and presents, of course), but reading a partner’s personal diary without their explicit consent was still a massive breach of privacy in Aesop’s opinion.

And yet, when he finally reached the open journal, he paused. He didn’t mean to peek, but found himself rather unable not to read on when he caught a glimpse of the title of her apparently most recent entry.

‘List of Aesop Sharp’s Smirks’

Under the title was indeed a list of ten points. The potions master’s hand twitched, but wouldn’t move to close the diary. His eyes read the first few points:

We're going to have ourselves a good night.

Come have some fun into my chambers.

He couldn’t stop his lips from forming into a small grin. He couldn’t deny it - he was growing very interested in the rest of the list. Maybe he could chance reading it quickly. It was innocent enough, a little list his sweetheart made for fun. He could beg for forgiveness later.

3. How would you feel about some less-than-innocent activity

4. I'm going to make your toes curl tonight.

Oh, alright! Now we’re getting to the more fun ones. He wondered whether he truly had ten ways of smirking at her when it came to the promise of a passion filled night (or day), and if so, how was she able to determine the meaning? He could admit that there was a way he smirked at her when he was in the mood for a more carnal kind of fun, but he had no idea his smirks had a scale!

5. You're going to moan my name like a prayer.

6. My back will bear the perfect imprints of your nails.

He bit his lower lip. He wouldn’t mind feeling the sting of her fingernails on his back again soon. Feeling them there, under his shirt, following his movements as he went about his day served as a sweet reminder, one that made a feeling of thrill course through his veins, even as he did completely mundane things, like hand out pop-quizzes. His back already bore small scars shaped like small crescent moons, and they were his pride and joy. Maybe he could try to replicate smirk number 6, soon...

7. You'll later be embarrassed from just how wanton your screams were.

8. You'll beg me to destroy you.

Wouldn’t be the first. With a smile, Aesop remembered the various nights during which she did beg him to go harder, faster, deeper, tears rolling out of her eyes. She was so beautiful when she submitted to him completely like this, when she let him manhandle her to his own pleasure, arching against him, clinging onto him for dear life. Of course, even when he did get rougher, he always made sure she reached the peak of her pleasure, preferably several times.

9. You won't be able to speak within the next 24 hours from how much I'll make you scream

Again, not the first. The potions master grinned smugly. Edging, and subsequent overstimulation made his sweetheart release cries that neither of them thought her capable of making. Aesop loved it, though, and he wanted to hear more. Poor darling, she nodded off in exhaustion right after he was finally done with her. Luckily, he always had some potion for a sore throat ready for her in the morning. Among other potions for different sore things. Occasionally for the two of them.

10. You're not leaving the bed for the following two days. Not that you'd be able to.

Hm… Well, he wasn’t aware of this smirk. That is, they did spend a lot of time in bed together, but two days straight? As proud as Aesop was of his stamina, he wasn’t sure he had enough of it for two days. Only one way to find out, he supposed.

“Ace?” came her voice from the door, and the potions master jumped in surprise. Panic filled him as he saw her standing at the door. However, instead of looking mad that he just read an entry in her diary, a small smile played upon her mouth. Nevertheless: “I-... I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop, but…” “It’s alright. There’s nothing secret in there. It’s just a little way to clear my head.” 

She walked towards him, and he silently handed her the journal. She chuckled as she realised what her sweetheart just read

“I was just wondering about number 10,” Aesop said carefully, still feeling slightly embarrassed for having been caught red-handed. “Oh, 10 hasn’t happened. Yet,” she said nonchalantly as she stored her diary away into the dressing table. “Any plans to make it happen?” he asked then, a sly smile finally coming back to his face.

She turned towards him, extending her hands for him to hold. He instantly took hold of them and pulled her closer: “Nothing set in stone, but I don’t doubt there will come a time. What else are honeymoons for?” Aesop laughed softly, before pressing a small kiss against her mouth. And then - he smirked.

“Ooh, trying number 5 on me, are we?” she teased, grinning back at him.

“What? This is number 6, loud and clear! I should know, it’s my own mouth!”

“It’s number 5, trust me. This is a scientific list, tested and confirmed, while it is your mouth, it is I who sees it.”

“Oh, just kiss me, you impossible woman.”

---

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed ❤

[AO3] - [Sharpuary 2024] - [Masterlist]

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Scarred Among the Mundane.

hey look new series just dropped. featuring an arsonist elf and the fire he starts and can’t put out. this is going to be the start of another fantasy whump series— but I actually have a plot planned for this one so here’s to hoping I stick with it.

cw: elf whump, failed arson, failed escape, magic whump

masterlist. next

— —

The late afternoon sunlight turns everything to gold.

In the town square, loud voices merely add to the shimmering heat.

And the heat is shimmering. It weighs down on everyone, dragging out even the smallest of moments with languid intensity.

Bright colours are worn by nearly every member of the crowd, and the effect is blinding.

Crimson.

Vibrant snake-like green.

Yellow sharper than a drawn blade.

The occasional flash of steel armour adds a veiled threat.

A shadow peels away from the side of a bakery, cloak wrapped around a skeletal frame. A hood hides the shadow’s wide grin.

It’s a good day to set something on fire.

He dives into the mass of humanity, towering over them all. Even with hunched shoulders and lowered head, he can’t hide his unnatural height. A second glance would reveal pointed teeth and pointed ears.

But no one spares him a second glance. He weaves his way through the crowd and smiles when people unconsciously give him room to pass.

As he walks, he talks. Not to anyone in the crowd, but to himself. Because he is the cleverest person he knows. Why, he’s practically brilliant. Who else could plan such a feat? Such audacity?

Himself alone. The brilliancy of his plan fills him with a humming satisfaction. He goes over the contents of his satchel.

Wouldn’t want to forget anything. Not today.

“Kindling? Yes, yes, the moss will work....Excuse me–” he nearly runs into a baker’s assistant, holding a tray of fresh-baked bread aloft.

The elf acts on instinct, extending a leg. The baker’s assistant, without hesitation, trips. Elvish laughter and man-made loaves are thrown into the air.

The elf snatches one from mid-air and runs.

“Thief! Stop!”

The elf does not stop. He shoves the whole loaf into his mouth, working his teeth around the crust. It’s still warm. Delicious. He swallows it appreciatively. “Not bad,” he tells no one in particular. “For a human delicacy.”

He skids into an alleyway, shadows sinking into his skin. A welcome change from the lethargic sunlight. “Should have grabbed another one.”

But thoughts of bread fade away as his destination comes into view– the high stone wall of the Monarch’s castle.

The elf’s grin sharpens. His pace picks up, heart racing with his footsteps. There’s no turning back. Not now.

He comes to a stop at the wall itself. It’s easily three times his height. And yet the elf can hardly suppress a laugh. After all his work, all his preparation, is it really going to be this easy? As easy as burning down a farmer’s barn?

Guards peer down at him and he gives them a mocking salute, two fingers raised to his temple. It doesn’t matter if they see him. They won’t be able to stop him. No human can stop him.

If they could, he would be dead.

It’s as simple as that.

Oh, what a day. Danger. Thrill. Horror in the guards’ eyes.

What a beautiful day.

He walks backwards, tightening his satchel and taking a deep breath, the air burning his lungs. And then–

Running.

A leap. Cloak dragging behind him.

Stonework beneath his feet as he runs up the side of the wall. He laughs now. No hesitation.

His hood falls off and his pointed teeth catch in the light.

Identity revealed for all to see.

Elf. A creature of the night. A shadow. Feared. Inhuman.

He soars over the open-mouthed guards. One reaches for her spear, but it's already too late.

He’s over the wall, tumbling to a stop into the garden bushes. On his feet in an instant, he brushes leaves out of his braids and checks his satchel.

Everything is as it should be.

“Excellent work, Finn,” he tells himself. “As always.” He plucks a leaf from his cloak and lets it drift to the ground. “Excellent work, really.” He changes his voice slightly, making it deeper. “Oh, no, you’re too kind. Too kind.”

The guards are pouring out of the castle walls now. Calls of “Attack!” and “Intruder!” echo in the green-lit garden.

Finn bolts. He reaches into his bag as he runs, pulling out a flint stone and a carved piece of iron. Ducking through the overhanging fruit trees, he grabs what looks like a pear. With the fruit in his mouth, he skids to a stop at the base of the castle.

He doesn’t marvel at the intricate stonework or the towering turrets or the bright windows. He gets to work setting it on fire.

Eating the pear, he works quickly, setting the dry moss around a tall tree– another fruit one perhaps. But this one is the closest to the castle, which means it will serve his purpose splendidly.

Sparks fly into the air, bright red against the simmering blue.

The guards draw closer.

Finn sees the flashes of steel before he hears them, and he spits the pear out, fingers flying as he strikes the flint again and again.

The moss starts to smoke and Finn starts to grin.

The itch, the infernal, never ending, always begging itch turns to something like pleasure. Satisfaction.

“Stop!” The spears slice towards him and he twists out of the way, dropping the flint.

The moss goes up into blazes. The itch inside him begins to fade, satisfied with the fire he’s begun.

It's a beautiful fire.

Finn laughs. Everything is going so—

The laugh twists into a scream.

Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. His blood turns to ice inside him. It’s only a second of burning, crawling pain exploding every nerve in his body– but the second is never ending.

Golden triumph burns to ash in his throat.

He slumps to the ground, vision crumpling to dust around him. Vaguely, he’s aware of the guards stepping aside for a red-headed human. Her hands are raised, fingers twisted in rune-shapes.

Oh.

Finn’s sight collapses, taking him with it.

tagging: @doonthestair (lmk if you want to be added/ removed!)

[not-that-debonair]

Hi hi hi hello if u have any CaWfriends hcs (any type, be it character specific or world building) pls tell me I love friends so much

- heckthis-heckallofthis <3

Hell yeah friends is iconic. Thank you so much for the ask!!

For world stuff I like to imagine that the body in friends is older than most of the other spin-offs (except code black and maybe illegal?) This is mostly motivated by the fact that there seems to be a wider range of landscapes and things to do in friends (coastlines and forests, they have festivals and hobbies etc)

I know it can be put down to it not being as biologically focused and more social but I love reading too much into things and I think having the range of things in the world expand as the body ages would be a cool way of representing how environmental factors and what you do influences your body. I don’t really have a particular age range but maybe late thirties/early forties?

Also friends is definitely the healthiest body these guys have so much time off. The neutrophils in main canonically sleep on support beams at least these idiots get apartments.

As for more social stuff there’s so much great canon material I don’t have many solid headcanons but:

She may not be a fighter, but IM1235 is the most intimidating both because of how outgoing she is but also because she is legitimately not scared of anything. Canonically likes horror movies but I also like to imagine her big into extreme sports. Absolute thrill seeker. Her and NK can be bunker pals only she’s not worried the world will end she just thinks being a survivalist sounds kinda fun.

I can’t decide whether I want Squad Leader’s scar to be from something cool and badass because the idea of it being from something stupid and mundane but people think it’s from a big fight and therefore view him as more tough and unapproachable as a result is hilarious and very on-brand for friends (maybe it was explained in the manga but I can’t recall)

U2145 is so bad at paying his utilities that he has wound up spending the night at every single character’s (except squad leader) house at least once (furthering the relationship rumour mill)

Speaking of relationship rumours there is a bet among Squad Leader’s subordinates about who he’s dating/will date. They are all losing their money.

[acornminiatureslog]

Hounds of Terra Lore Overview

Ok, I've been trying to get more of this stuff written down, so here's a crack at that. This is just bullet points and timelines, though I am trying to improve my writing skills enough to throw together a short story down the line.

The Hounds of Terra are a successor chapter of the Brazen Claws, established as part of the 23rd founding in late M37. They were granted the world of Euros IV on the furthest reaches of the eastern fringe as a chapter homeworld. The intent with their founding was to secure the region and allow for the withdrawal of other imperial forces. The Quintand Gamma subsector the world resides in was key in keeping more easily secured worlds supplied, even if the subsector itself was not good for much more than raw resources.

A lieutenant of the Brazen Claws serving within the deathwatch, Devros Avidon, was selected to be the chapter's first Chapter Master, as the High Lords desired a seasoned commander to be appointed so far from terra. Besides Avidon, a handful of squads who survived the Brazen Claw's assault on the Eye of Terror but believed their chapter destroyed were directed by the administratum to the newfound chapter. Undetected in these veterans, the taint of the warp had twisted the fine details of their geneseed.

Over the next few decades, the chapter's apothecaries were more and more confounded by the decline of the chapter's geneseed. Eventually discerning the cause, the chapter command fiercely debated what was to be done. The chaplaincy eventually won out, arguing that as no marines had turned to chaos, this was merely another test the chapter must endure, pushing themselves as far as they can bear in service to Him on Terra.

The apothecarium and forges of the tech marines together forged the new path for the chapter's aspirants. The mutations had destroyed the function of the Sus-an Membrane and Omophagea, as well as put the Betcher's Gland and Larraman's Organ into an overactive state. In addition, the geneseed was no longer receptive to the standard pool of aspirants, the apothecarium finding that women were more receptive to the chapter's geneseed than men. Among more mundane medical complications, his made it so each aspirant would have to endure their throat being burned out from inside before they could be fitted with corrective augmetics. Any aspirant deemed to not have endured as they should is denied augmetics, forced to succumb to their injuries.

This means that the entirety of the modern chapter is equipped with augmetic vocoders where their voice boxes once were, with the standard rite of passage for an aspirant elevated to full marine is to allow them a few days and the aid of a tech marine to customize their vocoder's sound. As a result, the common euphemism for promotion out of the scout company within the Hounds of Terra is for one to "earn their voice."

As a marine of the Hounds of Terra weathers multiple campaigns, they develop a network of scar tissue from nearly any wound. Over time, this will impede the marine's motion, requiring amputation and replacement with augmetics. By the time a marine is granted the rank of Veteran, they are likely to have replaced two or more limbs.

In the lead up to the great rift, the Hounds of Terra lost their homeworld, driving the chapter to the stars. As the eye of terror spread and darkened the light of the astronomicon, the Hounds crossed paths with the remnants of another Iron Hands successor, the Twilight Hawks. The Hawks had fallen prey to the predations of chaos, losing most of their chapter and their fortress monastery to a slaaneshi uprising.

Given the unprecedented circumstances, the Twilight Hawk's first captain, Tetys, agreed to have the remnants of his chapter be integrated into the Hounds of Terra, benefiting from the Hound's resources, while the Hounds were able to stabilize their chapter's geneseed with the careful introduction of what reserves the Hawks had.

The acquisition of primaris modification further improved the stock o the chapter, although it also caused a crisis within the chapter's ranks. An argument started by lieutenant Duskova escalated into a shipboard engagement, resulting in the self destruction of the strike cruiser Adamant Shield.

At present, the chapter is doing what it can to support the imperial forces out in the eastern fringe, whilst also seeking the means to refit the chapter flagship into a vessel truly worthy to hold the title of fortress monastery.

[taegularities]

RIDDD 🎀🖇🩵

are you truly feeling better? ;-; a migraine is the last thing i'd wish upon anyone among list of terrible headaches, bcs i used to have cluster headaches— so i can only guess what's a whole migraine must be like ; please take care of yourself, and rest well :(

i don't know if it would be insensitive to drop the following long message here rn, but you obv have the liberty to ignore it till you feel better or as you wish. this is your domain, after all. love you.

"RUINED" : RAMBLE.

i had to drop the headcanons that's been eating up my mind bc the other day while i was taking my mock tests, my mind kept drifting off to the couple. lol. so here's a list of headcanons i had as a reader, from all the different bits of the story and the things you told us. hehe. these are mostly 'soft moments' as asked by you in that ask ( i wish i could drop the reference links, but i'm on my phone so it's hard to operate dually. however, i shall say which parts inspired what brainrot : they're from your works )

RUINED : BRAINROTS.

inspo : a!oc is the type of person who knows what she wants, her saying : two years of marriage and i still put up with the way you put the toilet paper the wrong way around. lol. her being very organized too bc she doesn't want work to pile up and focuses on her tasks in office. both of thm loving to sing

if she loves her things organized, i can see— during the beginning of their dating life, tae'd come over on a random weekend, only to find a!oc cleaning up, in her most natural state, and the mundane aspect of it would melt him. why? bcos he's the been there, done that sort of person, but not when it comes to these things. the domesticity, i mean. hehe.

also, the fact that she trusted him enough to show that side of her? :') the only reason she wouldn't stress about her look is bc she's adorably engrossed in her work and NEEDS IT DONE AND HE SAW HER IN OTHER STATES TOO 🫠

HELLO, RID. CAN YOU SEE HIM ENTERING HOME TO HER ONE DAY AND A!OC MOUTHING THE LYRICS OF A LOVE SONG TO TAE WHILE DOING MUNDANE THINGS WHILE THE MUSIC PLAYS IN THE BG?

AFTER THAT THEY COMPOSED THEIR OWN SONG OR SMTH IDK U TELL, RID!

inspo : a!oc being adorable-oc in general. her eyes having the purity even in the lewdest moments, her general love and admiration for him, original ruin you devil tango on the phone drabble 😮‍💨 a!oc loving to draw, tae in general loosing his composure around her lol

this one is loosely based on what my friend did once. so we were in a fb video call and she just randomly made a quick sketch of me on doodle. it was beautiful. 😔

since we are talking soft moments mostly, i can literally see him trying to sexually rizz her up on some video call— imagine him going like 'are you touching yourself?' or smth bc her hands are busy 🤣 but homegirl, who misses him sm and can be an adorable vixen, leads him on— only to send a quicksketch of him so beautifully done ( with artist-oc : a!oc touch 🥹 )....and can you imagine his reaction? always 'interpreting him anew' x 'you are an artist to me, okay?'

SORRY! I DON'T REMEMBER THE LINES VERBATIM!

inspo : basically, tae's protectiveness towards her, a!oc not liking to depend on people, her caring about his demons and wanting to fight his battles and these intially clashing, smex that melts you. tae : i cried, she crode. we s-crewed. ( no, rid. you never wrote that but its just a lil meme ref 😭 ) old tae and his demons.

this one is also from initial years. i think if she were to ever get injured in any way or had a scar—however minor, he'd still spend hours on those spot/s, kissing & hating himself for not being there when it happened. also, i think if she didn't tell him about such a thing/things bc it's not an issue to her, because he had sm going on according to her and didn't wanna pile on— he'd be upset. can see her making jokes about it since it's nothing to her, and him glaring at her with swimming red eyes ( just like the wedding drabble where he threatened her to never leave him ), and making similar threats to his favorite girl ( mid-lovemaking ) ☹️

you often write that before meeting her, tae's biggest flex in bed was composure. so i can literally see him shortcircuting (even during the roughest rounds), hearing her say the most loving things and her unadultered affection. the holds only bared by his urge to take care of her first like you always say.

also, i think when he first introduced her to his world of ruined tango, he was more concerned about her, than a!oc herself. can see him internally worrying, but she is the type to want it harder and more, anyway, to his constant surprise 😂 no, but seriously. suppose it's waxplay, and he knows what he's doing bc he's a pro, but it's still his a!oc 😭 no matter how much lust and control is swarming around them, his need to smear his affection on/inside her is REAL! ever love someone so much that even being balls deep in them isn't enough bc you wanna consume them whole??? and merge with their soul and being??? that's them, and it was novel for him. right?

and you said he kinda likes giving away control more now? why can i see a!oc, simply like a mini-him in some ways, just loving on every nook and crany of his being, when she first took over charge? 🥹 she must have had sm love to give him 🥹 i mean, in the past giving away control would be all about pleasure, but i think when he gave her that role for the first time, he wasn't expecting getting LOVED ON. CAN U HEAR HER WHISPERING PROMISES AND COMPLIMENTS IN THE PUREST WAYS? ( yk how she said, "well, it's true. i want it' about his 🐓 in such a harmless way? 🫠 ) whole lotsa crying, right? ....right?......RIGHT? 😭 bc it's never enough. not until they breathe. the other. in. AAAAA-

inspo : random ig reel, lol. this girl asked her bf, if her soul were to get switched with her bestfriend's, who would he pick. homeboy replied : i will take you to an exorcist 😂

imagine somebody asking her that question, but the other way around and in tae's presence— can see him tensing up bc hello, ry!jk wassup 🤩🚨 but a!oc will also pull up a "will take him to an exorcist" answer and set his demons free 🕊🕊🕊

inspo : papa!tae and mama-a!oc.

sometimes, i assume their first born is a son, then i settle for a daughter. or maybe an older brother to a lil sister. anyway, daughter is a mini a!oc. teenie tinie version of her 🤏🏻🥹 and he looks like such a girl dad at times, too.

to me—the babygirl has a!oc's eyes, his nose, and a pair of both of their lips combined, but also her father's fullness. why her mama's eyes?

BC DOUBLE HER, DOUBLE THE PEACE IN TAE'S LIFE.

imagine her wrapping that tiny chubby soft hand around his wedding ring instead of the pinky/thumb/index 🫠 he'd definitely be like : both of you women are gonna be the end of me :))))))))))))))))))))

little monet family. 🎐

it's so late at night. i resign 😮‍💨 please, recitfy me as you wish. also i forgot a lot of them, so pardon me 🫂 i couldn't articulate properly. had so much to write and tell but 🕸🕸🕸 love you, rid. thank you.

HI LOVE 🥺 i was feeling better last night and most of today haha but now the headache's coming back :')))) just why :'') it's a pretty horrible pain, but welp. and no worries babe, this isn't insensitive at all??? in fact, this is so fkn sweet?? 😭

yes, she def seems like someone who has her act together. as an office assistant, she's used to working neatly and diligently, so she'd be scolding tae for little things for sure hahaha :') ahhh the domesticity would shoot an arrow into his heart. he's never experienced such a love, you know? so to know somebody's here and his home… must affect him for sure :( they're both kind of an anchor to the other, and prove each other time and time again that they're able to show their true side. NAWH THEIR OWN LOVE SONG THO YES PLS.

the purity even in the filhiest moments is so fucking real. i don't remember if i actually mentioned that, but yes??? she's an angel, so there's some innocence in her eyes no matter what. NOT YOU USING MY QUOTES AGAINST ME IN A SKETCH SITUATION 😭 omg the confession.. you are an artist to me :') she would she would she would!!!

oh, he'd lose his shit if he saw an injury on her :( i remember my ex once crying and rushing to the hospital when i fell in the shower, and i had a lil scar on my chin (still do), and i think tae would feel similar? shedding tears and inspecting her wound and just everything :( he loves his baby and wants not a single scratch on her

omg ofc, he'd never be able to keep his chill with her hahaha no touch is ever enough. needs her melted with him <3

"i think when he gave her that role for the first time, he wasn't expecting getting LOVED ON" BABE YESS!!! 😭 maybe that's why he's so comfortable with her, too, even if he gives away control. he knows she knows what she's doing. also omg the exorcism one 😂 they're both witty so 100%.

hahaha honestly, i can't remember what i said about their firstborn or if i said anything at all, but yeah honestly both is possible!!! a boy whom he loves teaching life, or a girl who he adores with all his heart.. would definitely destroy him, along with oc hahaha that's a bit too much for his lil (big) heart :') little monet family 🥺

i hope you slept well!!! thank you so much for typing this all out??? i can't believe somebody's ready to do this for me or is invested enough in one of my stories to come up with such wholesome and long ass headcanons??? i love you fr 😭 i'm always here if you remember the others. thank you <3

[actuallyidontgiveadamn]

Really out of nowhere but I rewatched some of fma03 eps and im gonna rant

I'm just so done with smiling politely saying that fma03 and fmab are both great sorry i cant anymore. Just no

So if you in love with fmab im warning you it probably won't be a good read for you, so feel free to ignore this, block me or idk read this and give it a thought

0. I really dont understand the glorification of manga over anime adaptations. Like people who are making the adaptation are not artists and creators themselves? What makes mangaka better than others and absolutely indisputable, seriously?

1. 'Oh no long introduction and fillers' that actually allowed for Hughes' character development before his death. Seriously if i mention his death among my homies I'll get lots of faces clearly going through some ptsd level flashbacks, it was that impactful. I still need to take a breather when im rewatching before diving into that ep.

2. Nina. Yet again got more time to grow on us and thus aquired higher trauma inducing levels.

3. Ishval massacre and aftermath are WAY MORE VISIBLE in fma03. First of all Ishvalans are depicted as human beings, and not some background, and we get lots more on their sufferings, raids on camps, racism towards them, etc etc etc

4. Scar. Oh boi how do i even go about this. So without raging much about that beefy obviously wrong dude who got 'sense' bitten into him and started working with the oppressing gov in fmab, we have a wronged and tormented survivor of a genocide, who was justified in his vengeance and rage, was depicted as an attractive person of color despite his antagonistic role and was seriously almost cheered on in his actions by the narrartive. His interactions with his people and his moral dilemmas made his character possibly the deepest and most thought out one in the series.

5. The Rockbell doctors being killed by their own government. That's a waaaaay more interesting and damning detail on our government affiliated protagonists than just dumping their murder on a delirious patient.

6. Homunculi had their own will and desires and a way more developed story arc that had a huge impact on protagonists' morals. Being created by the humans who were desperate to bring back their loved ones and both parties are getting tormented by it?? Characters strongly driven by their own goals and staggered by their relations to their creators vs some indifferent goons in fmab. Just compare Sloths and their impact on the stories and protags.

7. Final conflict being a fight with god and his intricate plans in fmab, versus final battle vs a selfish pretty much usual person who had thrown everyone under the bus in pursuit of immortality. Adds so much more desperation flavor. Suddenly your hero journey doesn't end in epic battle for the sake of the mankind, as you would like it to be. It's just to oppose one awful person with too much power and zero care about anyone else. That's raw and that's way more plausible and relatable in our mundane lives.

8. Overall darker tone and themes of the fma03.

9. MUSIC. I dont remember a single track from fmab, but i went really out of my way in my teenage years to find internet access and pirate fma soundtrack and cry listening to it

10. ART. Sorry but don't tell me fmabs flat colors are anything to 03's soft tones and lighting

So yeah sorry, but I'll take the dark and gritty tragedy over just another shounen with doubtful messages each and every time