#widows walled up alive etc etc etc -

[widowshill]

cinema sins ding but positive connotation. cinema virtues.

[taytrashmouth]

Just finished rewatching game of thrones and the Jon snow obsession has been reborn.

This is a long one!

TW: rape, abuse, crying, murder, etc, all normal GOT stuff.

Jon snow x reader.

:readmore:

Looking at the empty walls of the stone cell I’ve been trapped in for weeks I can’t help but feel that these walls of winterfell that I’ve known for so long are no longer the walls I call home. This is a prison.

I pushed myself back against the furthest wall as I heard the keys rattle in the door. The chain around my waist felt heavier than normal.

As the door opened I felt a tear escape my eye…Ramsey

“You’re not excited to see me?” He pouted and wiped my cheek.

I tried to hide my fear and pain and sadness but I knew he could see through my act.

“I’m going to meet with lady Bolton tomorrow.” He sat down in front of me.

I thought about Sansa….I thought about when we were little, how we would sneak into the kitchens after everyone was asleep, how we’d laugh and talk, how we would dance in the snow outside and go for long walks in the snowy hills. She was bigger now, more mature. The last time I saw her was at the wedding…she got locked in Ramseys room and I got locked in a cell. I heard people talk of her escape through the small widow towards the top of my cell, I’d never been that relieved in my life.

Sansa never treated me as her handmaiden, only ever as her friend.

“Her bastard brother will be there too…” Ramsey spoke.

I couldn’t help my reaction, I let out a gasp and tears fell from my eyes.

Jon was alive.

“I want you to come with me to meet with them tomorrow…”

I looked up at him and frowned, there was a catch, Ramsey was insane, he liked to play games.

“You see… I know that Jon cares for you…and lovers should always be reunited at the end of every story.” Ramsey smiled as he touched my cheek, I tried to move away but he held me still.

“But I’m afraid this story doesn’t have a happy ending…” he pouted. “Jon will have to see what I’ve done with you.” Now he smiled.

He began to untie my dress, I tried to move away but he held me down and the chains were too heavy. After not being fed for a week I could barely have the strength to push him off.

He grabbed my hands and held them high above my head as he sucked hickeys into my neck, and put bite marks all over my skin.

Eventually I stopped screaming, I just accepted him inside of me, I cried and looked away, knowing there was nothing I could do. I thought of everything that wasn’t Ramsey. Then eventually I didn’t think of anything at all, I didn’t even feel as though I was in the room anymore. I was somewhere deep inside my own mind, somewhere I couldn’t even place.

I felt Ramsey hit me and become rough but I just lay there in the cold cell…hopeless.

When he was done he had his guards unlock the chains around my waist and wrists, and lead me to a room in the castle….Aryas old room.

They locked me in there for the rest of the night I had a bath and scrubbed my skin till it was raw and red trying to get Ramsey off of me…

I put on the dress that was laid out on the bed, it showed off my shoulders and my sides, exposing the bruises and scrapes all over my body. I brushed my hair that had grown a lot since I last saw myself. I tied it back into a braid exposing my face and neck like Ramsay instructed

I looked at my thin figure, I could see my own ribs. I looked awful. I drank the soup that was left on top of the dresser.

And I waited…to see Jon again, to see Sansa.

I walked out of the dining hall to see Jon hitting a training dummy repeatedly with his sword.

“I think it’s dead.” I smiled as he turned around.

He smiled softly, something he didn’t do often. “What am I missing?” He asked gesturing back into the hall

“Ned’s angry because Arya flicked food at Sansa.” I spoke. He laughed under his breath. “So nothing new?” He smirked.

I shook my head.

It was quiet for a moment, the music from inside distant. The air was cold.

I had liked Jon since I was about 10, he often caught Sansa and I in the kitchens late at night and instead of telling Ned, like Robb sometimes did, he would join us.

But I’d never say anything, I couldn’t…technically he was a stark, and technically I was a prisoner, a Greyjoy. Although the starks had never made me feel like a prisoner.

“Why so frustrated?” I asked him.

He looked down at his sword and the blisters he’d caused on his hand.

“A lot on my mind, my lady.” He replied.

“I am no lady….just a handmaiden, My lord.” I spoke back, knowing he only ever wanted me to call him Jon.

He smiled to himself. “Just Jon.”

“Okay….just Jon, may I have this dance.” I asked as the band began to play another song that could be heard vaguely through the closed doors to the dining hall.

“Anything for you, princess.” He spoke slowly and made his way over to you. Putting his sword against the stone walls of winterfell.

“I am no-“ you were interrupted when his finger pressed to your lips. “You are to me.” He whispered.

He valued me, always. He never treated me like less, in fact he always treated me like more, like royalty, like a princess.

I smiled up at him. He placed his hands on my waist and i put mine on his shoulders.

“I must warn you, just Jon I’m not a good dancer.” I spoke.

“I know, I’ve watched you dance with sir Cedric Mormont a few years back, and sir Jamie earlier tonight.”

I playfully smacked his arm and he smiled.

“I’ll tell you what princess y/n Greyjoy…I’m not that good either.” He smiled.

We swayed and laughed when Jon jokingly spun me around, or when I tried to lead. We ran around the castle walls for about 3 hours before lady Katlin caught us.

We both froze when she saw us.

“Sansa was looking for you y/n.” She spoke firmly. Glaring at Jon.

“My lady- I-“ you stumbled.

“It was me! I wanted to try on Robb’s armor, see what it was like, to be a knight. I had lady Greyjoy assist me putting it on-“ Jon interrupted. He never lied, but he was protecting me.

I glanced worriedly at him.

“Typical.” She whispered under her breath, and shook her head. My blood boiled. “Y/n get to Sansa’s chambers immediately, Jon… out of my sight.” She spoke loudly.

I quickly walked off to Sansa’s bed chamber, thinking about Jon the whole way there.

“Where we’re you?” Sansa spoke.

“I’m sorry, I-I was with Jon.” I blushed.

She squealed. “Tell me everything.” She spoke, handing me her hairbrush as she sat down at the dresser.

It was like having a permanent best friend, I was only two years older than Sansa.

I carefully undid the intricate braids in her hair and brushed her copper locks.

“We danced…sort of.” I smiled.

“Was he any good?” She frowned.

“No.” We both laughed.

We giggled and spoke until she had to go to bed. Laughing about Jon and how she was to marry prince Joffrey.

You walked along the empty passages towards the servants quarters. Through the snow covered courtyard. 

I was pulled from the happy memory when the lock to the chamber rattled and Ramsey and two of his guards entered.

I dropped the soup onto the floor, my hands must have been shaking.

“Oh clumsy are we? You’ll need a new dress I suppose.” Ramsey pouted.

Tears filled my eyes.

“Luckily I have the perfect one for you.” He smirked and held out some purple material…open back.

He wanted Jon to see my pain, to see that I belonged to him. I shook my head and tears fell from my eyes.

His guards grabbed my wrists and shoved me onto the bed, i sobbed when they began to tie my hands to the headboard. They ripped away the gown I was wearing and I could no longer see Ramsey, and that scared me more than anything.

“This will hurt darling.” I could hear the smile in his voice. And I screamed and sobbed as a hard whip hit my back, digging into my spine, I felt blood pour down my back.

It hurt again and again, 20 times he hit me, 20 times I screamed and 20 times I did not prey for help, I wished for death.

He left me tied there, facing the wall, bleeding.

I cried for a long time until I fell asleep from exhaustion. Naked and beaten.

The morning was a rush, Bran had fallen from the tallest tower and hadn’t woken up. Lady Katlin was devastated and Ned had informed Sansa and I we were leaving for kings landing tomorrow. He had been offered the position of hand of the king.

He also informed me that Jon was to become a man of the nights watch.

I walked as fast as I could to his room, my dress blowing behind me in the wind. I tried desperately not to cry.

I shoved his door open and there he was packing his things.

As he turned to me I slapped him, hard.

“Were you not going to tell me!” I yelled, the tears began to fall.

He swallowed hard and looked down, and then at me…my face.

“I didn’t know how-“

“Lies!” I screamed, tears falling like snowflakes.

“I love you! And I didn’t know how to say goodbye to the one thing! The one good thing in my life! The only thing that matters!” He yelled too now.

You cried harder.

“You are the only thing keeping me from going! But I can’t love you, n/n….I can’t! I’m a bastard, and I refuse to force you to burden that name too. You are going to king’s landing tomorrow, you’ll meet a Duke of something there and you’ll grow old in a castle, and have beautiful daughters and strong sons.” Jon was crying too, he held my shoulders.

“No-“ I shook my head. “I don’t want that…. I love you Jon snow. I will never love anyone else. I want to run away with you, I want to carry your children, I want to grow old with you!” I sobbed.

He shook his head, and pressed his forehead to mine.

“I don’t care if you’re a bastard- it’s a stupid title. Like king or queen it’s just a name. But you’re so much more than that you’re brave and kind, loving, you’re funny and smart and-“ he kissed me, gently but passionately.

For a moment everything made sense. All the stars aligned and the puzzle fit together beautifully.

But then I pulled away.

“I love you.” We stated at the same time, we both laughed lightly.

There was a heavy silence after that. I knew I had to go to kings landing, and he knew he had to go to the wall, to make something of himself.

“Promise me.” I spoke slowly as he held my cheeks. “Promise me when I see you again you’ll kiss me, like you just did, promise me that someday we’ll grow old together. Promise me-“ I choked and he kissed my forehead. “Promise that I’ll see you again.”

He nodded. “I promise.” He knelt to the floor and kissed my hand, “ I promise I’ll come back for my princess.” He spoke.

I smiled through the tears as he stood.

“Promise you’ll write to me…every day.” He whispered as we hugged. I nodded.

“Promise you’ll write back.” He chuckled and nodded against my head.

That was goodbye.

I rode with Ramsey on his horse, my back aching and my lips blue. I was freezing in the revealing dress. Bruises, gashes, hickeys, scars and deep wounds covered my body.

We stopped after a long ride. I saw horses approaching in the distance. My heart sunk, I didn’t want Jon to see me like this. What if he had moved on.

I must have looked terrible because Sansa took in a sharp breath before demanding my release. There he was, Jon…my Jon.

I almost smiled when I saw him, almost.

He looked older, a fuller beard and darker eyes, he was taller. He was handsome.

He looked devastated when he saw me. I looked down at the floor, not seeing the tears fill his eyes.

They debated the war that was to come, tomorrow. And Rickons release.

I began to shiver.

“Give her a coat she’ll freeze!” Jon yelled. His voice was husky and sad. I looked at the anger on his face.

Ramsey smiled.

“Jon don’t-“ I tried to explain it was just one of his games but Ramsey hit me, across the cheek.

Jon’s horse jerked forward as he drew his sword but his men held him back.

And then we rode away, at the perfect angle for Jon to see my back.

Ramsey threw me back into my cell, I cried…I didn’t want Jon to fight- I feared Ramsey would win.

I felt my heart sink…I had imagined seeing him again for so many years and it broke me to know that might’ve been the last time.

Last I saw him he was 16, only a boy. I was 15, a young girl who knew nothing of the world outside winterfell.

I knew not of vicious fighters like sir clegane or horrible woman like Cersei. I wouldn’t have imagined such an unfair ruler as Joffrey. Or such an abusive leader as Ramsey.

I wouldn’t have ever imagined seeing Theon like that….like reek. Ramsey told me he’d to the same to me if I disobeyed him. Another Greyjoy to his collection.

I hadn’t looked death in the eye the last time i saw Jon and yet now I had seen so much of it, it all seemed insignificant.

I heard of Jon’s battles, I even heard of his death. Seeing him again was like seeing a ghost. I wasn’t the same girl he left at winterfell but I had the same heart.

“You’re going to take someone’s eye out.” I smiled across the courtyard as I saw Jon and Robb attempting to sword fight in the snow, they kept slipping on the ice.

“That’s the point my lady.” Robb smiled.

“It’s not that simple.” Jon huffed.

“Can I have a go.” I asked gesturing to their swords.

They both chuckled until they realized I was serious.

“The arena is no place for a lady.” Robb spoke, he looked a bit sympathetic though.

I frowned.

Jon was about to speak until Theon called them to lunch.

That evening when I was lying on my bed I felt something shake me awake.

“Jon?” I frowned in the dark. He nodded.

“Come on.” He pulled me out of bed.

“Where are we going?” I asked but he shhhhed me.

“You’ll see, it’s a surprise.” He whispered.

He dragged me out to the courtyard, where he lit a bunch of candles.

I smiled.

“Jon it’s beautiful.”

“Like you.” He responded, both our cheeks flushed.

“You sure you’re ready?” He asked me, changing the subject.

“For?”

“You’re greatest opponent.” He smiled and threw me a sword which landed on the floor in front of me. I smiled.

“Thank you.” I looked at him. He nodded.

He spent the rest of the night trying to teach me how to fight, and by 4AM I could have a basic spar with him.

He quickly blew out all the candles and lead me back to my chambers.

“Was I any good?” I asked.

He nodded as we walked.

“Are you just saying that?” I asked again.

He smiled. “You were better than Theon let’s put it that way.”

I smiled.

Ramsey chained me up and dragged me outside of winterfell with Rickon. We both got a bad hit when I hugged him, I was so relieved he was alright.

I watched as Ramsey explained the rules of his stupid little trick, how rickon had to run across the field to Jon. It was too easy. There was a catch.

I watched as he began to run and I watched Ramseys men began to load their crossbows.

I began to scream. “Nooo! Stop!” I screamed and they hit me, but I didn’t stop, I had to warn him.

Jon began to ride towards his brother… holding out his hand. But there it was, another stark gone.

My own scream was silent in my ears, I couldn’t hear anything as I watched him fall to the floor.

I sobbed. I watched Jon loose his horse and begin to take on an entire army by himself. I screamed again.

I felt Ramsey pull at my chains and drag me back to winterfell. Leaving the battle of the bastards. His war that he wasn’t even fighting.

Leaving the carnage. He took me to the courtyard. He put me on the execution platform and tied a rope around my neck. He explained how if Jon came to save me, the floor would disappear and so would I.

I waited, I saw the bodies pile up through the windows in the castle walls. I watched the giant break down winterfells gates. I smiled and cried when I saw him….just Jon.

“You’re too late.” Ramsey smiled and pointed at me. Jon’s face dropped he was covered in blood.

“No!” I yelled as I watched one of Ramseys men move to pull the lever.

Jon began to run towards me, as a red haired man threw an axe at the soldier. It killed him as he pulled the switch. I closed my eyes and took in a sharp breath.

I opened my eyes, Jon had caught me. I smiled as a tear ran down my cheek. He looked at me, examining my face.

His red hair friend cut the rope and jon put me down.

Ramsey began to load his crossbow.

“Jon.” I said and pointed at Ramsey.

His hands left my hips, and I almost missed his touch.

He used some debris as a shield as Ramsey fired arrows at him, he grew closer and closer to him.

I watched as Jon beat him up. A part of me liked that Ramsey would die here, today. A part of me knew it was wrong.

“Stop!” I let out. Jon looked at me and then at Sansa, still punching. And he did, he stopped.

He walked off into winterfell.

I ran across the courtyard to Sansa and we held each other. Tight.

“Are you okay?” I asked her. She laughed.

“Are you?” She scoffed.

We quickly decided Ramsey should be reunited with his pets. He didn’t deserve to live. Not even as a prisoner.

Later that evening I found myself in Aryas old bed chambers attempting to stitch up some of my cuts. I heard a knock at the door and looked up.

Jon.

“Hello.” I spoke.

“Hi.”

I slowly stood up.

It wasn’t long before his lips were on mine. We kissed for a long time, passionately. A kiss that made up for all our time lost.

We pulled away breathless, both crying.

“You stopped writing letters.” I spoke, he smiled.

“You stopped writing back.” He answered.

He hugged me, gently. I hugged him back as tightly as I could.

“You’re taller.” I smiled.

“You’re shorter.”

We both laughed.

He sat me on the bed and helped me stitch up my wounds. He held my hand tightly as he poured alcohol on my back.

We spent hours catching up.

We both sat on the end of the bed, my head on his shoulder.

“I thought you were dead.” I told him. “Twice.”

He chuckled. “You gave me a few scares too.”

“How was the wall?”

“Cold.” He looked down at me. I laughed.

“Is it true? The whitewalkers?” I asked more seriously now.

He sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ve fought them, they’re too strong. I fear we won’t win this battle. But I’ll make sure you’re as far south as south goes-“

“No!” I interrupted, shaking my head.

Tears brimmed in his waterline.

“I’m not leaving again….I just got you back. We’re going to grow old together, remember?” My voice broke. “Even if you’ve found someone else-“

“There’s no one else.” He brushed his hand over my cheek.

“If you fight, I’ll fight.” I spoke.

“You did have a really good teacher.” He stated. I playfully nudged him as he smiled.

“I love you…just Jon, I always have.” I finished.

“I love you too, princess y/n Greyjoy.” He kissed me again gently.

“Snow.” I corrected and he frowned. “Queen y/n snow.”

A smile took over his whole face.

“If you’ll have me, that is? King Jon snow.”

[buffintruder]

man I feel like we don't consume the same media as much anymore tbh so. that character ask game you reblogged + the first character that comes to mind from Kamen rider + #1, 11, 12, 13, 27?

Thank you for sending an ask! You can definitely always send things about stuff we used to be in but are not as much anymore. I'm definitely not going to back down from an excuse to talk about Kamen Rider though haha

I'm going to do Hajime from Kamen Rider Blade just because I was working on a fic about him earlier, and I love him

My first impression of them

This is a bit weird because I did see the last episode of the show before anything else, and he's a lot more emotionally connected to people (specifically Kenzaki), and mostly I remember him looking like he's about to cry when asking Kenzaki not to leave. From watching the show in order though, he's just a gruff guy who loves two (2) people in the world (the single mom and daughter that he lives with and are basically his family now)

11. What’s the first thing you think about when thinking about the character?

I think I mostly just feel kind of sad? To this day I think my first thought is the really sad and desperate expression he makes in the last episode. Honestly I think my entire thought process is "Hajime!!! Hajime :((" when I think about him. His whole existence is a bit tragic (guy created to destroy the world but unfortunately happens to really like some of the people and things in it)

12. Sexuality hc!

Uhhh aroace-spec gay. He doesn't use those labels, but that roughly corresponds to what he is. I think he's in love with Kenzaki and that's about it (is there a sexual attraction element? idk, up to you). He doesn't know what he is doing or what is going on regarding his feelings for the most part. Maybe he could be attracted to other people, but honestly I don't think he cares enough about other people for it to go anywhere even if he was (yes he will fight monsters to save their lives, no he does not have any interest in talking to them). Plus I think there's an element of like, after everything Kenzaki did for him, is it even worth being into someone if they didn't swear to fight fate for him and then give up their life for him? (Honestly, I don't understand how romance or sexuality works, and I project this onto every single nonhuman character I encounter)

13. Your favorite friendship they have

I feel like the obvious choice here is Hajime and Amane. He may have killed her dad? Now he lives with this 9-10 year old and she draws pictures of them that he hangs up on his wall, and he would die for her and she would tear the world apart to find him if he left. He's not quite a father figure to her, but he's also not not one. She helped inspire a love of humanity and of being alive in him. But shout out to Haruka (widower who let this random guy live with her, and he clearly has Something up with him, but she won't press him about it. Absolutely 0 romantic tension between them despite him sort of parenting her daughter, what a dynamic) because I think there's a lot of potential there that people don't tap into much.

27. If they could meet a character from another show/movie/etc, who would be the most fun for them to meet?

I decided to challenge myself by not picking another Kamen Rider character. I honestly think maybe the Doctor from Doctor Who? It's been a while since I've seen that show, but they both have kind of a vibe of "immortal lonely men, the last of their kind but invested in humanity." They'd probably have a somewhat philosophical conversation and the Doctor might give him a bit of hope and encouragement, but they'd both be able to commiserate

[praiseyah]

Let's get to know one of the Most evilest Queens to ever rule in Ysrayl, Jezebel!

Top 7 things about Jezebel that's good to know.

Conniving, immoral, evil, unpure, haughty, conceited, narcissistic, wicked, unethical, etc... Imagine if these were the words used by everyone to describe your character. These words, plus more, were used then, and now, to describe the most dangerous widow of them all…. Jezebel!

#1 She killed alot of Ysraylites out of pure Hatred for the Father, Yah!

1 Kings 18:13 Haven't you heard, my Yah, what I did while Jezebel was killing the prophets of Yah ?

#2 She killed so many of Yahs prophets ( Ysraylites) during her reign as Queen, that ObadiYah had to hide them in caves to avoid slaughter.

1 Kings 18:13 13 Haven’t you heard, my Yah, what I did while Jezebel was killing the prophets of the Yah? I hid a hundred of Yahs prophets in two caves, fifty in each, and supplied them with food and water.

#3 Ahab, her husband, was labeled one of the worst kings to rule in Israel ( Just as evil as his wife) two birds of a feather!

1 Kings 16:30 Ahab son of Omri did more evil in the eyes of the Lord than any of those before him

1 Kings 21:25 There was none who sold himself to do what was evil in the sight of Yah like Ahab, whom Jezebel his wife incited.

#4 She did not believe in Yah. She chose to serve an evil, satanic deity named Baal. She also pushed her evil agenda on to her Husband Ahab who was an Ysraylite- and subsequently forced her beliefs onto Ysrayl; and killed any Ysraylite who did not bow down to worship Baal.

1 Kings 16:31 And as though it were not enough to follow the sinful example of Jeroboam, he married Jezebel, the daughter of King Ethbaal of the Sidonians, and he began to bow down in worship of Baal

#5. Her Name is the symbol for evil women. The name Jezebel is synonymous with women of deceit. Most of us have heard the phrase "She's a Jezebel" / "Don't be a Jezebel" Or, "She has a Jezebel spirit" She is the orchestrator of all those terms.

#6 She forged her husbands signature to take over an Ysraylites land. Ysraylites were not allowed to sale to anyone outside of the Ysraylite belief, so she connived and deceived to get his land.

Numbers 36:7 7 So shall not the inheritance of the children of Israel remove from tribe to tribe: for every one of the children of Israel shall keep himself to the inheritance of the tribe of his fathers.

1 Kings 21:8-& 15 V.8 8 So she wrote letters in Ahab’s name, placed his seal on them, and sent them to the elders and nobles who lived in Naboth’s city with him

V.15 As soon as Jezebel heard that Naboth had been stoned to death, she said to Ahab, “Get up and take possession of the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite that he refused to sell you. He is no longer alive, but dead.” 16 When Ahab heard that Naboth was dead, he got up and went down to take possession of Naboth’s vineyard.

#7 She was thrown out of a window to her death and fed to dogs.

2 Kings 9:30-37 30 When Jehu came to Jezreel, Jezebel heard of it. And she painted her eyes and adorned her head and looked out of the window. 31 And as Jehu entered the gate, she said, “Is it peace, you Zimri, murderer of your master?” 32 And he lifted up his face to the window and said, “Who is on my side? Who?” Two or three eunuchs looked out at him. 33 He said, “Throw her down.” So they threw her down. And some of her blood spattered on the wall and on the horses, and they trampled on her. 34 Then he went in and ate and drank. And he said, “See now to this cursed woman and bury her, for she is a king's daughter.” 35 But when they went to bury her, they found no more of her than the skull and the feet and the palms of her hands. 36 When they came back and told him, he said, “This is the word of the Lord, which he spoke by his servant Elijah the Tishbite: ‘In the territory of Jezreel the dogs shall eat the flesh of Jezebel, 37 and the corpse of Jezebel shall be as dung on the face of the field in the territory of Jezreel, so that no one can say, This is Jezebel.’”

Thanks for reading! Yah bless and Shalom!

[free-for-all-fics]

Clue inspired Max Phillips/Tim Rockford/The Thief Crossover Prompt! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! 🕵️‍♂️🩸💎

When you were a child, your mother or father died under strange and unusual circumstances. The exact cause of death is still unknown. At the crime scene all they found was scissors and a glass of wine with lipstick on it. But no blood was found around the crime scene or in your mother’s/father’s body. She/He was completely drained. An anonymous individual tipped off police about the body.

Now an adult, you enlist the help of Detective Tim Rockford to solve the cold case. His investigation leads him to The Nowhere House - a centuries old yet opulent mansion rumored to be haunted. It’s said to be as mesmerizingly beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside, if not more so. It’s rumored to have a labyrinthine interior similar to the Winchester Mystery House that disorients anyone who dares to enter so that they can never find the front door ever again. It won't let you out but inexplicably offers whatever you need. There’s endless hallways lined with doors, each leading to different rooms such as bedrooms, ballrooms, libraries, etc.

There’s conflicting stories of the mansion’s history: Some say it was built by a wealthy man as a wedding gift for his new bride but she died under mysterious circumstances before it was finished. When the house was finally completed, her widower held her corpse in his arms as he entombed himself alive within the walls so they’d always be together in the house meant for them. Some speculate she was murdered, etc., etc. The stories are always contradictory and told differently. Nobody knows what’s truth or what’s legend.

You’re conflicted because you want your mother/father’s death solved, but you don’t want Tim to go anywhere near that dreadful place. “Detective, not to disrespect your job or anything, but I’d highly recommend against going near that mansion. The people who live there can…do things. Unnatural things. We’ve learned to leave it be; I suggest you do the same.” But a lead is a lead, and Tim must follow it, no matter how dangerous. It’s his job. He goes undercover to infiltrate a masquerade ball being held there. You’re stubborn and refuse to let him go alone, so you force him to take you with as his “date.” You and Tim mingle with the other guests and blend in. You play your roles and engage in eating and drinking, chatting, or even dancing if you must. You and Tim eventually split up to cover more ground.

While you’re snooping around and searching for clues, you open a door only to find the room empty. You suddenly get the feeling that you’re not alone as your hair stands up on your neck. You turn around and run into Max Phillips, one of the hosts for this evening. Even underneath his mask, you can tell he’s devilishly handsome. He’s charismatic and seductive when he smiles at you, his pearly white teeth glinting in the candlelight. He plays the part of a gentleman as he chats you up while drinking a glass of red wine. He corners you and won’t let you get away so easily despite your excuses to leave, so you indulge him in his flirtations.

Maybe if you keep him talking and distract him long enough, you’ll buy Tim enough time to find evidence. And It wouldn’t be such a terrible fate if you ended up in a closet or bedroom with this handsome man for a few hours either. You’ll do what you gotta do. He shows you around and eventually leads you to a special door. He tells you that this room has been locked up tight ever since the original owner’s funeral - the key has since gone missing. Over the centuries, subsequent owners and inhabitants of the mansion have always been warned that they’re not, under any circumstances, allowed inside this very room. Many have tried to break in, but all have failed. Some even went so far as to commit grave robbery. They dug up the original owner’s corpse and searched for the key, but contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t buried with him.

You’re attached to Max’s hip and all is well at the party - until the lights go out and there’s a murder. Problem is, the one murdered is Detective Tim Rockford. Once Tim’s body is discovered, the mansion’s sophisticated security system activates. All the doors and windows are locked and shuttered, all escape routes are cut off. No party guests are allowed to leave until the culprit is found. You scream in horror as you find yourself in the middle of another murder mystery, but this time the detective is the victim. Now what’re you gonna do?

Unbeknownst to everyone, A thief broke in just before the commotion caused the luxurious mansion to go into lockdown. He was hiding himself amongst the guests and stealing their valuables right from under their noses, but now he’s trapped inside with all of you. Dammit. This heist is suddenly not going so well for him. The Thief’s plan quickly switches from "steal" to "survive". Unbeknownst to any of you, your host, Max Phillips, is a vampire. He may or may not have murdered your mother/father. He may or may not be Tim’s murderer. He could be guilty of one crime but not the other. He could be guilty of both crimes. There may be no crime at all. Later in the evening, you notice the key sitting in the lock of the forbidden room. What happens next? It’s all up to you.

(Maybe not everything is as it seems. Maybe there’s a much bigger, more convoluted scheme at play here. What if Tim isn’t actually dead and it’s all just an elaborate hoax? What if you, Max, and/or The Thief are all in on it as well and co-conspirators? If it’s all a hoax, why are any of you doing this? What’s your true motive? It’s all up to you to decide.)

[horrorlove14]

Star Walkin'- Cyberpunk Edgerunners

Pairing: David Martinez x Female! childhood best friend! Reader

I'm writing an au where David is alive and he has a childhood best friend who's been there for him since day one where they have mutual feelings for each other.

Childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, brief smut, angst from Gloria's death, mentions of violence and injury etc.

Don't ever say it's over if I'm breathin'

Racin' to the moonlight and I'm speedin'

I'm headed to the stars, ready to go far

I'm star walkin'

David has his childhood best friend, Y/N to lean on whenever everything is going bad due to him dealing with bullies at his school, never having enough money for anything and dealing with an overworked single mother at the same time.

Y/N understands their situation because she's like them, except she doesn't attend school and works with her loving widower father at his auto shop.

Whenever he's with Y/N, he feels at ease knowing that she's here for him, regardless of the circumstances.

Don't ever say it's over if I'm breathin'

Racin' to the moonlight and I'm speedin'

I'm headed to the stars, ready to go far

I'm star walkin'

Whenever Mrs Martinez passed away from a car accident, David got an implant on his body and got expelled from school, he turned to her and her father since he had nobody else left to turn to.

Y/N would help David cope with the loss by hanging out together at their usual hangout place with drinks, music and pizza.

He feels a bit better from it because he needed to temporarily forget about the pain of losing his only family member in his life since he doesn't know anything about his birth father.

When he gets involved with Maine's gang to become an edgerunner to earn money, she worries about him due to the nature of the missions he goes on but is reassured that he will call her when they are over.

On the mission to get high up

I know that I'ma die reachin' for a life that I don't really need at all

Never listened to replies, learned a lesson from the wise

David would miss her during his missions and often would ask Dorio for advice because he has realised that he has truly fallen in love with his one and only childhood best friend.

Dorio is happy to help him because it reminds her of herself who was falling in love with Maine before they got together.

You should never take advice from a n***a that ain't try

They said I wouldn't make it out alive

They told me I would never see the rise

That's why I gotta kill 'em every time (Gotta watch 'em bleed, too)

Whenever he returns from a mission, he is greeted by Y/N and her dad with open arms which made him feel at home, knowing that he has people to come home to.

Y/N has always seen David as a man since puberty and remark on how much he has changed psychically due to the implants he has been getting for his missions.

David does feel bad at times for worrying them due to the injuries he would get but gets them treated since nobody has insurance.

Don't ever say it's over if I'm breathin'

Racin' to the moonlight and I'm speedin'

I'm headed to the stars, ready to go far

I'm star walkin'

As time passes, David decides to put his plan of making Y/N his into action by inviting her to a nightclub with Maine's gang to celebrate a successful mission.

Everyone is having a blast by drinking and dancing away to the loud music being played throughout the whole building.

David decides to drag Y/N to a more secluded part of the building because he decided to use this opportunity to finally confess his feelings towards her.

Don't ever say it's over if I'm breathin'

Racin' to the moonlight and I'm speedin'

I'm headed to the stars, ready to go far

I'm star walkin'

He has her pinned against the wall, making her feel extremely flustered as he has a serious expression on his face before he confesses his feelings towards her with such sincerity in his tone.

She manages to compose herself before telling him that she loves him too and gives a quick peck on his lips as her answer to his confession.

David couldn't help but to pick her up and spin her around in his arms while thanking her for making him the happiest man alive and the gang cheered after hearing that.

Been that n***a since I came out my momma (Woo)

Thankin' God daddy never wore a condom (Woo)

Prove 'em wrong every time 'til it's normal

Why worship legends when you know that you can join 'em?

Time goes on, David and Y/N are happy in their relationship where they would go on dates by cruising around the city, have food and people watching together etc.

When it is time for the to take their relationship to the next level, they would do the deed to lose their virginity together when they're home alone.

During sex, David worships his darling's body with bruising kisses, markings and embraces while declaring his love towards her and she does the same for him as well.

As they are reaching the climax of their lovemaking, their bodies are entangled with one another and cum together as they feel the high from the act before sharing a passionate kiss together.

Th-These n***as don't like me, they don't like me

Likely, they wanna fight me

Come on, try it out, try me

They put me down, but I never cried out

Why me?

Word from the wise

David and the gang are devastated by the loss of their leader, Maine and Dorio during a kidnapping mission gone wrong that resulted in an explosion, along with cyberpsychosis at the same time.

Y/N and her dad comfort everyone to the best of their abilities, especially David because he feels guilty for not being able to rescue them and only salvaged Maine's cybernetic arms from the ordeal.

A few months later, he becomes the new leader and a well-renowned edgerunner. Y/N, her father and the gang share their concerns about his health due to him getting more implants and showing signs of cyberpsychosis.

Don't put worth inside a nigga that ain't try

They said I wouldn't make it out alive

They told me I would never see the rise

That's why I gotta kill 'em every time (Gotta watch 'em bleed, too)

Y/N discovers that she's late on her period so she gets a pregnancy test to confirm her suspicion and it turned out to be true.

She tearfully confides in the gang and her father about her pregnancy because she is afraid of David's reaction due to the cyberpsychosis he's experiencing.

They gently reassure her that they'll be there for her and the baby, especially her father because he vows to protect his unborn grandchild, no matter what.

She figures out how she'll break the news to David since she wants to keep the baby which is the result of their love.

Once she does it, he reacted to the news very well by kneeling down to place a gentle kiss on her stomach and sheds happy tears at the fact that he and Y/N will become parents despite their young age.

Don't put worth inside a n***a that ain't try

They said I wouldn't make it out alive

They told me I would never see the rise

That's why I gotta kill 'em every time (Gotta watch 'em bleed, too)

During the pregnancy, Y/N is well looked after while David and the gang are away for their missions. She keeps them updated on the progress of the baby and always reassures them that they are doing fine.

When it's time for the first ultrasound, David and Y/N get to hear their baby's heartbeat and find out their gender to be a girl, bringing a tear to his eye from happiness that he's going to be having a little princess of his own.

Whenever David has a day off or returns home from a mission, he would rest his head and hands on her baby bump to feel his daughter's movements and talk to her.

They decided to name their daughter after their late mothers to honour their memory and couldn't wait to meet her.

Don't ever say it's over if I'm breathin'

Racin' to the moonlight and I'm speedin'

I'm headed to the stars, ready to go far

I'm star walkin'

Y/N's father is looking after Y/N and would tell her stories about her late mother from their first meeting to their marriage.

He would tell her what a kindhearted woman her mother was and recalling the day he and her mother became parents which was the happiest days of their lives.

They get to feel the baby kicking from hearing them talking to the baby bump often and record the baby's heartbeats for David whenever he's missing them during his missions.

Don't ever say it's over if I'm breathin'

Racin' to the moonlight and I'm speedin'

I'm headed to the stars, ready to go far

I'm star walkin'

On one fateful day, David and his gang have come across the cyberpsycho, Adam Smasher, during a mission where Lucy gets kidnapped by Faraday who betrays the gang for his selfish greed and power.

He uses the cyberskeleton to fight against Smasher while dealing with cyberpsychosis, but Smasher is too strong for him to handle. Faraday murders Kiwi to tie up a loose end in regards to the cyberskeleton, and Rebecca got crushed to death by Smasher.

Meanwhile, Y/N and her dad are praying for the gang's safety, especially for David, because she wants him back to witness the birth of their daughter and live a happy life together after having a courthouse wedding before he left for the mission.

Star walkin'

David and the surviving gang members have managed to get away to safety. They all end up in the hospital to get treated, but David had to be in a medically induced coma to be fully healed.

Y/N, who is fully pregnant by this point, stays by her husband's bedside until she ended up going into labour with their daughter, which lasted for 12 hours.

David has come out of his coma to be greeted by the sight of his wife holding their newborn baby girl in her arms, which made him tear up from happiness.

He was afraid to hold her at first, fearing that he would break her but is reassured that it would be alright, and once he does, the baby had her little hand wrap around his finger which made him cry more.

Everyone mourns the loss of Kiwi and Rebecca. The gang went their separate ways but still kept in touch with each other to hang out or do babysitting for the new Martinez parents because they adore the baby so much.

David and Y/N are spending their married life happily with their daughter after getting a new home for them to live altogether with her dad with the money made from the gang's missions.

Don't ever say it's over if I'm breathin'

Racin' to the moonlight and I'm speedin'

I'm headed to the stars, ready to go far

I'm star walkin'

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

End of song fic. Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated.

[extasiswings]

The fact that despite the writers knowing they'll kill shanon they also on top of that decided to give her and Eddie a divorce it's like na huh this man ain't gonna have a long term relationship with a girl folks double kill. As much as that episode BROKE MY FUCKING BONES AND HEART this makes me laugh so hard djdmsfkkdk

Okay, I’m going to talk a bit here because you’ve inadvertently run into one of my pet peeves (it’s not you, it’s me), which is that it’s all well and good to have headcanons but there’s a big problem in this fandom with disconnecting those hcs completely from any context that we actually know about the writing and intentions of the writers, especially in S2 so here we are.

When the writers originally conceived the character of Eddie, they planned two things: they wanted him to be a single dad and they wanted him to be Maddie’s Love Interest. And then JLH said she wanted to explore Maddie and Chim (which lbr was a better idea and a good call on their parts to listen to her) and that changed everything. These are things that we know. But because of that change, suddenly Eddie was a new character but they couldn’t do most of what they originally intended so they started throwing things at the wall to see what would stick. And you can see some of that in his earlier eps—the things he says are vague enough that there’s a question of okay, is he widowed, divorced, was he ever married to Christopher’s mother? We don’t know anything until Shannon shows up 7 episodes into the season. And then it was, okay, let’s have the new thing we’re throwing at the wall be “his complicated relationship with his estranged wife who he still loves.” And the audience didn’t go for it (either their relationship or her character) and so they read the room and killed her off.

Frankly, it wouldn’t have worked to just have kept her alive and had them get divorced because people simply didn’t like her as a character—the way they did it (the divorce + death double whammy) gave them a lot of options for new places to take his character and his story (and although I am generally opposed to fridging female characters on principle, I can’t say I was mad about it in this case). That’s it. But it was not “this man isn’t going to have a long term relationship with a woman” because as far as the writers were concerned, in S2 they were writing a straight man who was in love with his wife even though their relationship was a trainwreck (who was originally planned to be a straight man falling in love with Maddie), and part of how we know that too is because Buddie at that point was a joke! Tim Minear himself has said the elf scene etc was a cutesy little wink nudge for fanservice because they noticed that some people shipped them, but it wasn’t a Thing at that point in time.

They also always planned on giving him another female LI and honestly, I think they were on the fence in S3, testing the waters with Buddie but keeping their options open. And if they had tweaked the writing in 3x12 or cast a better actress or done anything at all that wasn’t shooting themselves in the foot wrt Ana’s introduction (because look, lbr here, pre-gross ableist speech, at the original parent-teacher conference, they could have been something), the audience might have responded better to her and opened a door for the writers to make that a legitimate thing.

So…anyway…all that to say, there’s a lot that we know “word of god” about production plans and intentions, there’s a lot that we can enjoy from what we’re being given now and from S3 on as they tried things out and adapted and committed to new ideas, but none of what we’re seeing now = “this was the clear plan they always intended the whole time” because it simply was not and the way we know it wasn’t is that they’ve told us so.

[ynscrazylife]

Black Widow Rewrite (1)

Summary: This is the first in my series of rewrites of the Black Widow movie. This particular one will focus on my idea of what the post credit scene should be.

Authors Note: I want to preface this by saying that I LOVED the movie! This “rewrite” adds some things that I would of have liked to see (ex: this one: post credit scene fix/rewrite) and makes her hero moment shine more. Also, this’ll be how I start writing character x character fics, not just character x reader!

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 | Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/piratanjo

Yelena didn’t know how many times one was “supposed” to visit their dead sister’s grave, but, as her usual self, she didn’t give a shit. This was the second time this week her boots were clamping down on the fall leaves and the beep of her locking her car doors filled the otherwise steady blow of air. She needed her sister, now more than ever, to hug her, hold her, even talk to her - but since her sister sacrificed herself to save half the entire unvierse - her grave would do. 

Well, it wouldn’t. These visits never truly satisifed Yelena. She always left feeling a dull pang in her stomach - a pang in a hole that was empty and wasn't going to get filled in anytime soon. It was nice to imagine that she was talking to Natasha even just for a little bit, but the time always came when she sun would set, Fanny would bark, and she’d have to drive home alone - knowing her sister was never coming back. That Natasha wouldn’t be answering her comments.

The pathway was practically ingrained in the souls of Yelena’s feet. Her muscles responded to it, hugged it, as she always took the same steps and walked the same way. It didn’t take her long to find the headstone, with it’s flowers and teddy bears and cards of tears from the Avengers and Yelena’s family. 

The blonde let out a deep sigh as she walked up and knelt down, eyes reading over Natasha’s name and the “Daughter - Sister - Avenger” title as well as the description engraved: Dedicated to the hero who sacrificed herself to bring half the universe back. You are loved and missed by many, and will always be in our hearts.” 

Yelena had memorized those words. They were always floating around somewhere in her brain. This day had been especially painful. Stress seemed to be in the air all morning and afternoon, and Yelena couldn’t explain it, but it was tough. It was one of the times where Natasha’s death was especially difficult.

She let her muscles relax and slowly and steadily leaned forward, until her forehead was pressing against the cool and a little rough stone. Yelena wore tiny bruises and scrapes left behind proudly, to serve as a reminder. What she was reminding people of? That her sister lived. Her sister was here. 

The whistle came out louder than usual this time, but quickly dipped and cracked, the emotion seeping in. It echoed in Yelena’s mind, bouncing off the inner walls of her head, until eventually coming to a stop. She closed her eyes and willed her ears to soak up all the sounds, but she only heard the leaves rustling, Fanny’s paws scraping against the ground, and the breeze in the trees.

Every time a part of her expected a whistle back - from memory, she assumed - and every time she was disappointed. That didn’t stop her from yearning for it.

Which is why the sharp, confident tune entered Yelena’s air with a jarring pang, bouncing around in her eardrums briefly, instead of its usual calming flow. Her stance immediately morphed like an animal hunting for it’s pray. In just seconds, she was one one knee instead of two and had two hands planted, digging into the grass and mud, ready to run, while her eyes searched and analyzed the scene before her. No one else should be there, and the only people who knew her and Natasha’s whistle were Melina and Alexei, who were in Russia. 

The moment her eyes landed on the figure was the moment Yelena felt like her reality was crashing down on her. Her jaw dropped and the surprise nearly knocked her off her feet. But then, when that all faded, her gaze turned into a harsh glare and her limbs tightened as she rose to her feet. 

“How and why would you impersonate my sister?!” She snapped in a low but loud voice. 

The person who, with great courage and/or stupidity, that resembled Natasha Romanoff to a T sported her famous and charming smirk, unfazed as she began to close the distance. “Yelena,” she dared said. “It’s me.” 

Yelena shook her head. “That’s impossible. And-and it’s offensive. How dare you disguise yourself as her and come here and continue this act? What do you gain from this?” She said, doing a disgusted gesture to the person.

The person stood relaxed. “How did I know the whistle then?” She asked. The air was left void of words for a couple prominent beats, until the person continued, reciting: “Прости меня, сестренка. (Forgive me, little sister.) It was real to me too.” 

Yelena’s stance loosened up, but the battle inside her was still going on. “How?” 

Natasha smiled and continued walking towards her. “The Avengers resurrected me,” she answered, but then clarified: “It’s also a long story. But I’m here. I’m alive . . . I still have your vest with all the pockets-” she caught sight of Fanny. “-and I see you got the dog you wanted. No kids, yeah?”

Yelena’s walls broke down and her eyes filled with happy tears. “Наташа (Natasha),” She whispered, throwing her arms around her older sister and holding her close. Natasha leaned her head on the blonde’s shoulders, tears coming to her as well, and she let herself be held, be cared for, and be loved. 

Natasha Romanoff will return. 

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed The Radio Star- Chapter 3 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Same things applies with the asterisks in this chapter, I hoped it helped last chapter! Please remember that if anything relates to you in this series that you are not alone and you are loved! I am begging you all to read the warnings and be safe. Thank you for all the love and support! Please enjoy this chapter. Love, Em :)

Warnings: Infidelity, cursing, blood, gruesome imagery, mentions of suicide, disturbing content, sex talk, sensitive material ahead (After the interrogation a very dark scene will occur, please, please be wary)

Plot: The team start to piece some new information together and get a little bit closer to finding you, Morgan and Reid unknowingly meet with their Unsub. 

Word Count: 3k

The first shop Derek and Spencer visited was a tiny shop just around the corner from the library, they proceeded to bombard the manager with questions. Had they seen a beautiful woman come in here, asked if anyone had bought an insane amount of roses around Valentine’s Day. They got an abundance of death glares for that question, it did seem stupid.

They didn’t get anywhere till store number five, a slightly bigger store that seemed to be closer to your apartment complex. Behind the counter stood a red-headed woman, looking extremely bored. Her name tag read, Sorrel, and her posture became straighter as the two men approached the counter. “Welcome into the Rose Bud, how can I help the two of you today?” her voice didn’t seem to match her, Spencer assumed it was just her ‘customer service’ voice.

“Hi,” Derek motioned between the two of them, smiling, “I’m Derek Morgan and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the FBI. Are you the manager?”

Her eyes went wide at the sound of ‘FBI’, but she didn’t seem nervous just surprised.  “Manager? No, our manager is Heather.” She glanced over at the clock mounted on the wall before frowning “Heather left early today around four, usually, she’s here from open to close but she got a call from her husband and left.”

Spencer spoke up this time “What time do you open?”

“We’re open from nine in the morning till seven in the afternoon. Why are you asking about Heather?”

“We just wanted to ask her a couple of questions,” Morgan answered gently, he didn’t want to panic the girl more. “Do you think she would be alright with us visiting her house, to ask her some questions?”

Sorrel bit her lip gently, she had a hard time saying ‘no’ to people, so she nodded a very slow ‘yes’. “I don’t think she would mind, no.” she opened a drawer, pulled out a notepad, and started to write down Heather’s home address, handing the paper over to Derek quickly. “She’s not in trouble, right?”

“I doubt it, ma’am.”

Heather lived in the suburbs, a white picket fence adorned with bushels of flowers, rose bushes, azaleas, peonies, etc. There was no doubt she had a green thumb. According to Garcia, her husband was in the navy and had been deployed to Okinawa, Japan. They got married when she was twenty, a couple of years after she dropped out of college.

When she opened the door her hair was wet, but even Spencer took note that she was, indeed, beautiful. She invited the two of them in, getting two glasses of water for them as they sat in her living room. Her living room had grey walls with forest green accents, Spencer found it aesthetically pleasing. She set two glasses on the dark green coffee table using coasters, said coasters had different flowers on each one. She noticed how Spencer’s eyes lingered on the coasters and she smiled before saying “They were a gift,” she sat down “When you work with anything floral people just default to flowers.”

Morgan laughed lightly and nodded “I understand that.” Heather smiled at him before she let out a tiny sigh.

“So, how can I help you?”

“We just wanted to ask some questions regarding your customers, see if you had any regular customers, possibly a woman?”

“I’m sorry, but could you be a little more specific?”

“She probably seemed on edge, came in on Valentine’s Day and bought quite a bit of rose’s?”

“Valentine’s Day? You’re joking right? Everyone buys roses on Valentine’s Day!”

“We know, we know, maybe she came in later on in the day, possibly near closing?”

Heather bit her lip, doing a phenomenal job of not smiling, before she let out a tiny gasp. “Yes! Oh, what was her name?” she asked herself as she tapped her temples gently “Adeline Smith! She came in just before closing, looked like she had been crying all day or something, bought a big order of roses she reserved the day before, all red roses. I remember she used a credit card, it had a picture of her family on it.”  Heather smiled a little, letting it drop as she feigned concern. “We went to college together, well before I dropped, is she okay?”

“I’m sure she is,” Derek said as he stood up, Spencer following quickly. Heather led them to the door, exchanging pleasantries with the two men with the sweetest smile, closing the door gently as the two men were walking down her driveway towards their car. Her smile dropped as soon as the door shut, she turned on her heel and headed upstairs to a sealed door with locks decorating it. She unlocked them as fast as she could. Her mind was racing, you were just right upstairs and those men, those filthy, horrible men could have found you. They could have exposed the love the two of you shared, she couldn’t let that happen. Then she stepped into the pink room.

***

The morphine was wearing off slowly, it started about an hour ago. The throbbing pain in your foot was coming back slowly but now you felt more awake. You were able to sit up on the heart-shaped bed, scooting back so you could rest against the headboard. It was possible that over the course, well actually you didn’t know what day it was, you only knew it was a weekday because the other two days she had been with you almost all day. Your eyes scanned the walls, foam padded them and you didn’t see any windows so you assumed that the room was sound proofed, you frowned.

While you were happy you could have a complete thought, you were slowly become more convinced that you were never going to get out here. Years would pass and you wouldn’t remember your name, you would be Catherine. Maybe Heather would kill you. Then a sudden and terrifying thought snuck in, what if you fell in love with Heather? Would it come to the point that you would be so brainwashed to love someone so delusional?  

The sound of keys jingling and locks unlocking brought you back to reality. You didn’t have time to think about the future, not when Heather was coming in with a frown on her face. “Catherine,” her frown dissipated as she shut the door behind her, quickly making her away over to you. You tried your hardest to move closer to the bed, Heather noticed this and let out a sigh as she sat on the bed next to you. “I know I look mad, some terrible men,” she pulled you over to her by the arm, stroking your hair quickly “Some terrible men, tried to take you away today.” You turned your head towards her, speaking in a shaking voice.

“Men?”

“Men. It’s always men. I hate them, all of them. They’re all pigs, honestly.” Heather pushed some hair out of your face before she continued “My husband, he’s gone right now, thank god, he’s such a bastard. Sleeps around on me, can you believe that? He sleeps with other women, while he’s married to me!” her eyes met yours and she relaxed more “That’s why I’m so glad I have you, my dear Catherine.” she whispered gently as she leaned in to kiss you on the lips sweetly, a shiver shooting down your spine as you tried your best to disassociate from the situation.

Heather pulled away with a soft giggle, she looked so desperately happy, a complete one-eighty from how she was when she came in just a few seconds ago. You tried to think back to college, tried to think about how she used to be. “You know I remember when I first saw you,” Heather spoke up as she ran her fingers through your messy hair slowly “, it was move-in day and you were walking back downstairs when you saw me struggling to pick up some boxes and you stopped, bent down and helped me. I was so happy that someone so kind saw me and picked me.”

You hung on her words, wondering why she decided to say that you picked her, when in fact you just simply helped her. Was that all it took for someone to become obsessed? Your stomach twisted with anxiety as Heather pulled you in her lap, hugging you around the waist.  “If they ever found you, I don’t know what I’d do,” she trailed off slowly before she rested her chin on your back “ If they ever found us, I’d have to kill you and then I would kill myself.” Heather decided in a quick moment, hoping that they would never find you and you, wanting to stay alive, felt the same.

That night, Heather had fallen asleep in the same bed as you. You, however, didn’t get a wink of sleep the entire night, you thought about the keys she had carelessly thrown on the dresser, but you didn’t think you had the strength to make that type of move. In all her madness, Heather had forgotten to feed you. An empty stomach, mixed with veins filled with morphine was not a good mix, and despite your disgust, you were finding it hard to stay awake. As soon as Heather left in the morning, your eyes closed.

***

Spencer and Morgan called Garcia on their way back to the Richmond police station, learning that Adeline was a widow and a mother of one daughter. When they got back, J.J. carefully placed a photo of Adeline on the whiteboard. “It seems like Adeline Smith and Heather Alexander both went to the same college as Y/N L/N, all lived in the same hall and possibly on the same floor.”

Prentiss spoke up “Are we sure the unsub is a woman?” Spencer nodded as he wrote down some information underneath Adeline’s photo.

“It’s possible that when her husband died, Y/N reached out and that’s when the obsession started.”

“Let’s bring her in for some questions before we decide that,” Hotch said, then the team headed out.

March 9, 20XX

The next day, Adeline was cradling her cup of water, seeming extremely depressed as she waited for someone to come into the interrogation room. Her mind should have been at the police station, but all she could think about was her daughter. Her daughter was currently sleeping in a hospital bed. “Adeline,” Prentiss’s voice broke her away from her thoughts in a second. “Thank you for coming in today.” Adeline nodded, feeling suddenly stiff.

“You knew Y/N L/N in college, correct?” Another nod. “Would you say the two of you were close?”

Adeline smiled at the thought of you, of course, the two of you were close, you were at her wedding. “Yes, we were roommates. Y/N was my best friend, she was at my wedding, and when John,” Adeline paused and took a sip of her water. “When John died, she made some dinners for me and Anna, my daughter.” she finished, looking Prentiss in the eyes. Behind glass Reid and Hotch shared a look before turning their attention back to the interrogation.

“Did you ever visit Y/N at work?”

“The library? No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t have the time to visit people most days,”

“Did you visit her after Christmas?”

“No!”

Prentiss sighed, leaning in towards Adeline, “I understand that you love her, you wanted to visit her. You gave her all those flowers on Valentine’s Day.”

“No, I didn’t! Valentine’s Day? I was at the hospital on Valentine’s Day, my daughter, that’s her birthday! I went to Heather Alexander’s stupid floral shop to get roses for her.”

“For your daughter?”

“Yes,” she stopped for a second and looked down at the table “She has leukemia, we, I mean I found out this December and she’s six. She’s six and she wanted her prince charming to come to the hospital with flowers. So I hired an entertainer and bought a shit ton of roses for her. Heather, she and I were never that close, but Y/N liked her, so she gave me a good deal on them and held them for me.”

Prentiss slid a photo, taken on Valentine’s Day, of your apartment covered head to toe in rose petals. Adeline let out a small sound, almost sounding impressed “So, her boyfriend or whatever was being romantic. Is that why I’m here?” She looked up at Prentiss.

“This past few months, Y/N learned she had a stalker, unfortunately, officials can’t step in till something happens. On Valentine’s day, Y/N came home to her apartment that had been covered with red rose petals. This past Saturday, Y/N was abducted from her apartment in Richmond.”

Adeline suddenly felt sick to her stomach, thinking about how her friend was missing and how she was just now finding out because she was a suspect. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She announced, standing up and running over to the bin in the room to vomit.

Prentiss shot a look over her shoulder towards the glass where the rest of her team was standing, unseen, they all knew that this wasn’t their unsub. Adeline was hunched over the trash bin as Prentiss brought her another cup of water. “Thank you so much for your time today, Adeline.”

***

The next day Heather was there in the morning to open up her shop, her smile was as bright as the sun as she flipped the lights on. People usually commented that everyone looks better when they smile, but the smile that Heather was wearing on her lips seemed more sinister. She was moving a hibiscus tree over when she decided that she wanted to go home. One of her other workers, Mac, was already there and she didn’t need to cover any shifts so she went home to her Catherine. When she entered the pink room, she watched your sleeping form from a chair near the bed, she wanted to leave you alone, she wanted to let you sleep but she couldn’t help it, you looked so damn beautiful, she just had to. She walked over to the bed, gently kissing your lips before she was inspired to lift your shirt and kiss your exposed stomach.

You woke up slowly, feeling something gently touch your stomach, you tried to ignore it and go back to sleep but when you moved to turn over, two hands squeezed your waist tightly. Your eyes shot open, sitting up as soon as you realized what was happening to you. “Heather!” you yelled in surprise, trying to scoot away from her, but she held you tight and you didn’t have enough energy at this point to fight back.

“Catherine,” she said your name with a smile before she kissed your exposed stomach lightly. You held back a scream and writhed around with disgust.

“Please I don’t want to,” you whimpered softly, trying to push her hands off of your waist.

“You don’t want to?” Heather scoffed, with a glare “Fine, I guess you don’t love me very much!” She snapped at you as she slid off of the bed, moving towards the dresser. You felt a sigh of relief escape your lips, happy that Heather’s hands were no longer touching you.

Heather pulled a small paring knife out of one of the drawers, walking back over to you as she watched your body tense. You made a move to roll over to the other side of the bed, but Heather grabbed you by your broken ankle, pulling you back to her. “You don’t love me?” she questioned as you let out a cry of pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You screamed as Heather moved to straddle you on the bed, trapping you as she held a knife close to your face. “No, no, please, I’m sorry,” The tiny knife was slashed against your bottom lip, your mouth filled with the taste of blood.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Emma, but sometimes you’re just so stupid!” Heather hissed, spit hitting your face as she traced your chest with the small knife, cutting into your shirt to expose the top of your breast. Heather smiled wide as an idea came to her, she put the tiny kitchen knife into action, carefully carving into your skin.

You trashed underneath her as you cried, painful hot tears falling from your eyes. Every time you would move Heather would snap at you “You’re ruining it, Jane!”

“I’m not Jane, I’m not Emma-”

“Yes, you are!” the blade went in deeper as she finished carving the letter ‘L’. “Hold still!” she screamed before she squeezed your cheeks together in a painfully tight way with her free hand. “Isn’t this better than loving me? Jane?” she let go of your face quickly, continuing with her work. Once she was done, she dropped the tiny knife on the bed with a smile. “Now there’s no hiding what you are, Slut!” she said with a twisted smile as her eyes met your terrified ones, she brought saliva to the surface of her tongue and spat in your face. After she did that she grabbed the bloody knife, got off of you, and headed for the door, locking you away once again.

As soon as the door shut you broke down sobbing, you wanted to scream but the painful cut on your lip made you think twice. You moved a hand up to your chest, feeling around the word carved into your chest, shaking. You laughed softly through your sobs, ‘Slut’, it made sense now. The stupid panties, Heather thought you were a whore. She hated that about you, but apparently, she was in love with you. After you had your emotional breakdown you stayed on the bed, unmoving, staring up at the ceiling as you bled onto the bed with spit on your face.

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 25, Cassian POV prompt)

Notes: Many of you asked for the POV for when Cassian slept beside Nesta in the most recent chapter... so here you go! Apologies for any typos etc, I’m really tired today! Let me know if the tags don’t work...

Together, Cassian and Rhys trudged back to the bungalow. It was still snowing, albeit less than it had been earlier. White came down in light flurries, the flakes falling from the sky in whirlpools suctioned by the wind.

“Trust it to snow when we’re in the middle of relocating,” Rhys mused as the wind dropped, his voice purposefully light.

Cassian only grunted in response, weaving through the dug out camp fires set into the ground, which leant a lick of warmth and provided hot food for the Illyrians. Cassian tried not to think of the steam cabins set over the hot springs a few miles outside of the camp. Of how warm they’d be on his tired limbs…

A good steam in one the Illyrian steam huts usually undid the tension from Cassian like nothing else, but he'd prefer to scrub away the excess grime from his skin. Whilst Rhys might have magicked away the blood, sweat and dirt from him, Cassian could still feel it coating him like a thick oil. And whilst the thought of sliding into the tub and staying there until it turned cold would normally be the only thing on Cassian’s mind after this kind of long day, all he wanted was to settle himself anxiously into the armchair beside his bed and make sure Nesta was alive and breathing.

She wasn’t in agony at least. That open tether was enough to tell him that the tincture was working. And from the flash of irritation he had received a few moments ago, Cassian knew that she was finally awake.

“It’s time to build housing,” Cassian told Rhys after a long reprieve of silence, pulling his thoughts away from the female in his bed. He tossed the words over his shoulder, ploughing through the snow for the both of them before he met a well-trodden path. “You saw the state of the widows tents up the mountain. This is the time to start anew. To provide them with proper shelter. To start initiatives…”

“I know,” Rhys agreed. “It’s time to find a solution rather than opting for leniency when it comes to the war-lords and how they rule.”

Cassian nodded tightly. “We don’t have the luxury of allowing them free-reign over the camps anymore. And help needs to extend beyond us relocating one camp of widows. What of the other camps? What of the females there? The bastards? The poor?”

He sighed wearily at the situation that was so impossible he did not know where to start. “Nesta would probably have some good ideas. She comes out with things sometimes…” Cassian paused to drag his hands over his face at the same time as he shook his head, “Ideas like that seem to come to her as easy as breathing…”

Rhys nodded again, but it was not tight or dismissive. Wary, perhaps and a little tentative, as if he was weighing up how tightly wound his brother was. “We need ideas,” he admitted, “but right now you need Feyre and I to leave so you can rest.”

He eyed Cassian with a slight tilt of his head. His blue-black hair did not so much as move or ruffle in the wind. “I’ve never seen your siphons drain that quickly,” he observed, staring at the jewel that rested in Cassian’s armoured scales, right in the middle of his chest like an additional heart. The siphon that did not wink or glint in the dark, but remained cold and lifeless.

The drink Frawley had given Cassian had barely been enough to have his magic whispering back through his veins. He needed to sleep for his power to replenish itself. And whilst Frawley had barked at him to drink more tea before the day was out, he had yet to find the time for another mug.

It was a while before Cassian realised he had not responded to Rhys. He had been too stuck in his own thoughts, and by the time he glanced sideways at his brother, they were approaching the front of the stone bungalow.

Rhys was not looking at him. Instead, he was blinking in a way that told him something had just happened down that bond of his.

“Feyre kick you out?” Cassian asked, making his lips twitch upwards. The action alone was difficult and he just barely willed his facial muscles to obey. He knew that the smile did not reach his eyes. His body yearned for sleep in a way that told him he was ravaged. Something deeper than his bones and blood was begging him to curl up on the mattress beside Nesta whilst she slept.

It was a starved comfort Cassian had not known he hungered for with such ravenous intensity until that moment.

“She’s speaking with Nesta,” Rhys replied smoothly.

Cassian did not tell his brother that he had already guessed that. He only let out a soft grunt and levelled his brother with a ‘no bullshit’ gaze. “If you don’t forgive Nesta you will ruin the healing between the sisters.”

Rhys’s violet eyes came to rest on him. His brother opened his mouth and then closed it. “Is this really something to discuss now?”

When you’re raw and exhausted. When you are this protective.

“Probably not,” Cassian admitted, knowing that it could end in fists and he didn’t have the energy. “But if the sisters want to rebuild a relationship, then you need to let any past grudges go. Focus on the present. On the actions that matter now.”

A long silence. Too long. It wasn’t the sort of prolonged pause that was as sharp as a knife, but it held some quality that Cassian could not decipher.

Cassian hadn’t meant it to come out as a criticism barbed with thorns. Had intended to present it as casual fact. It was a truth that Cassian had only fully realised in that moment when Nesta had challenged Rhys in the living room. When Cassian had thought power could fly.

He’d known who he would have protected.

Rhys did, too.

And magic might have flown if Nesta had not been replenishing her power reserves. If Rhys had not seen Nesta save his mates life and wield her magic in such a selfless way. If his brother had not witnessed how Nesta had changed. How her concern for the females was the reason why her voice was fierce, rather than consumed by trauma and stubborn will.

Cassian wondered how different Nesta appeared to Rhys. Azriel could see it. The shadowsinger had grown to like her, Cassian thought. Enough to break his usual silence and interject when there could have been heated words. Azriel had assisted Nesta when she had been in pain rather than remain cold and impassive. Cassian had even spotted the shadowsinger’s lips twitch upwards at Cassian’s territorial behaviour, knowing all too well that it had irritated the hell out of Nesta.

And Rhys… his brother had welcomed Nesta to the Court of Dreams, something he did not do lightly. He had even said he would train her if Azriel was not available.

That was a concession in itself.

Cassian knew what a peace offering that was from his brother. And whilst it had been a stiff gesture, it had been the first thing Rhys had offered Nesta because she was needed and useful, rather than because she was Feyre’s sister. Because she cared about the Illyrians and she had worth amongst the females in a way that none of the High Fae had ever managed to attain.

Many thought Nesta had a heart of ice, but Feyre had been right all along; Nesta’s heart was too full — too aching — that she encased it into an impenetrable cage to protect herself.

Only now was that cage breaking… and without it, Nesta was more powerful, more formidable than ever before. There was no denying it. Cassian had felt it — all of it — when she melted that cage of ice and let everything finally hit her. And there was no denying that Nesta was someone with good intention. Someone who did care about others. She may have been lost for a very long time, but she had finally fought back.

It made Cassian ashamed for things he had said previously. From the minute Nesta had shed a tear for the humans who would not be protected in war, Cassian had known she was capable of more.

Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do.

Cassian could not have uttered crueler words. Knew what he’d been doing as he’d said them, desperate to get some sort of reaction from her. He had been so successful at reaching her before, but that day he had been unable to pierce that impenetrable, icy tavern. But even though she hadn’t shred him to ribbons, his words had still served a purpose. They had covered up the terrifying fact that he loved her more fiercely than he had ever loved anyone. That most of the time, he couldn't so much as think about her because it hurt too much to know that she wanted nothing to do with him, even after he’d worn his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see.

If Cassian had not brought Nesta back today, she would have died thinking his words to be true. Even as she sacrificed her life for someone so many perceived as unworthy.

“I’m working on it.” Rhys’s words pulled Cassian out of his self-deprecating thoughts.

Nodding shortly, Cassian raised his palm to the wooden door. It clicked beneath his palm and the bungalow hummed to life as he stepped inside.

He was not going to push Rhys now. Another time, yes, but not today.

The bungalow was wonderfully warm. The fire was still blazing silently in the living room, but Cassian barely noticed it. Instead, his gaze flew straight to the bedroom door.

It opened as he shucked off his shoes and knocked the snow from the tread against the doorframe. As he flung the wet snow from his wings that were burning from the cold.

Feyre looked weary and wrung out as the bedroom door clicked shut. She tried to smile but it came out more as a grimace. “She woke for a few minutes,” Feyre told Cassian, “but she’s just falling asleep again.”

“Is she in pain?” Cassian asked, even though he knew it wasn’t half as bad as earlier. Nesta’s walls weren’t back up yet — something he was mercilessly happy about — so he would have known if she was in agony, but it was habit to check. To throw them all off of the scent.

Feyre shook her head. “Not as much as before. She didn’t ask for any more of the tincture.” She rang her hands in front of her hips. She looked nervous. “I told Nesta she could leave, if she wanted to.”

Feyre looked as if she was expecting him to completely lose his temper, but Cassian only nodded tightly. She frowned. “Nesta said she wanted to stay to help, but—”

She stopped abruptly and cocked her head at him. Her brow knitted. “You already told Nesta she could leave, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Cassian replied tersely, stalking over to the fire to toss some logs onto the burner. He fanned out his wings so the heat sunk into the membrane. It felt delicious and he bit back a groan. “A long time ago,” he clarified. “Did you give her the sedative?”

Hazel met blue. Feyre did not look annoyed. To his surprise, her features only softened, as if her heart were aching.

“No,’ she replied with a small shake of her head, “she didn’t seem to need it. She could barely keep her eyes open.”

A tight nod. “Ok. I can watch her.”

It was not true. Cassian would watch her. It was not a choice he was giving Feyre or himself.

Closing the front door behind him, Rhys came over to press a kiss to his mate’s temple. As if he could sense Cassian’s impatience, he asked, “Ready to go?”

Feyre nodded.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Rhys told Cassian.

“And if you hear from Az?” Cassian asked.

“I’ll let you know,” Rhys said, tapping two fingers to the side of his head.

Then they disappeared into nothing.

***

It didn’t take Cassian long to step into the tub. He had checked on Nesta first and foremost, but she had already been far, far under. Her brow had been knitted in anguish, but when he had rested his palm across her forehead, her features had momentarily smoothed, as if his touch had erased the visions beneath her eyelids.

The water was near scolding but Cassian endured it anyway, allowing the burn to scorch through his skin until he was thoroughly thawed. He stood there for too long, trying to wash away the memory of Nesta’s pale, blood-streaked face as her eyes rolled back into her head.

He was just finishing washing the suds from his hair when a sound pierced through the bungalow.

Cassian heard it at the same time as Nesta’s pain hit him square in the chest, travelling down that bond which, for once, was not clamped shut but wide open.

He was out of the tub before he had the time to think. Was half way to his room before he deigned to wrap the towel he’d grabbed on the way out of the bathroom around his waist. He dripped across the carpet, his hair water-logged and running rivulets down his neck and shoulders... But he didn’t even notice because all Cassian could feel was distress and terror so fierce the sensations were bitter on his tongue.

Bursting into his bedroom, Cassian found the sheets twisted around Nesta’s body. Her brow was creased again and fresh tears slid down her already stained face. But it was the sounds coming from Nesta’s throat that that made Cassian’s already aching heart wrench out of his chest. It sounded animalistic rather than Fae. It was deep, wounding horror and he would give anything to rid her of it.

“Sweetheart,” he called desperately. “Sweetheart, it’s a nightmare. You’re ok.”

But no matter how much he called, he couldn’t reach her.

Balling his hands into fists, Cassian sat down in the armchair and buried his head into his hands. But the sounds didn’t stop. Neither did the tears. It took everything in Cassian not to touch her. He was too scared he would trigger her battle trauma, that she was in so deep that her brain would conjure something he was not. Something threatening.

So he watched helplessly as mist began to seep from her fingers, her magic coating the bed in a pearlescent fog as those noises became truly feral. Called for her to come back to him until his voice was hoarse.

Unable to sit still anymore, Cassian tugged on some clothes before he came to sit beside her on the mattress. He rested his outstretched palm on the blanket, hoping that she would sense him nearby, but Nesta only sobbed harder.  

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice raw from trying to reach her. “You’re safe. You’re ok. You’re having a nightmare.”

He stayed beside her, murmuring comforting words. Clenched his other hand into a fist at his side. Let his wings snap in and out with such agitation they cracked through the air. He didn’t care. There was no-one to witness it anyway.

Cassian knew all to well how fiercely sedatives could clutch you to sleep. It was why he didn’t use sleep tonics. They made his nightmares worse — more vivid. He would rather suffer from too many sleepless nights than live through terrors he could not escape from. And he’d guess that the severe pain from Nesta’s injuries was manifesting into her dreams but the sedative was too fierce to wake her up.

“You’re safe,” he murmured softly. Words he had been saying over and over.

You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re with me. You’re safe.

For a moment, Nesta settled. But then she was moaning again, the sounds torn ragged from her throat as she began to thrash.

Cassian’s blood spiked with panic. Frawley had insisted that Nesta remain as still as possible. That movements to Nesta’s abdomen would not only be incredibly painful, but that they would undo the magic both she and Madja had administered.

And then Nesta started to scream.

It was one of the worst sounds he had ever heard. It knocked the breath from him and the chill that ran through his blood was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Cassian fell to his knees, barely registering the impact as his bones creaked.

“Amore,” he rasped softly in Illyrian. “Nesta.”

His wings extended outwards, furling around her like a protective shell — an instinct buried deep that pulled through his chest until his limbs obeyed. Something built into his DNA that had only been opened for Nesta. As if a key had finally been fitted into a lock and unveiled the most intrinsic part of him. Something only for her.

“Amore,” Cassian said again. The word soft, curling off the back of his tongue like a caress.

The screaming stopped, falling into stifled, suppressed shouts. Nesta’s pain travelled down their twisted of rope; the bond that had been open since Nesta had started to die that afternoon. The agony of it hit Cassian clean in the gut, knocking the breath from him with a whoosh, but he willed everything in him to soothe, pushed back on the pain…

There was a moment’s reprieve where the agony didn’t cut through him. When for a few seconds, Nesta stopped screaming.

Cassian jumped at the opportunity. Reaching deep inside of himself, he felt for that rope which even now, he could not let go of for fear that it would break.

And then he tugged. It was a gentle movement — smooth. More of a nudge than a prod, using just enough pressure for Nesta to feel it… to cut through the nightmares and offer a hand back to the light.

Gradually, Nesta quieted. Screams turned to shouts. Shouts turned to moans. Moans turned to whimpers. Until eventually, Nesta only murmured in her sleep, the sound unbelievably soft in contrast to the blood-chilling screams.

Hardly daring to breathe, Cassian lifted a hand to rest his palm against her forehead. Nesta’s skin was warm — flushed — but when she leant in a little to his touch, his heart beat so fiercely he felt it pulse in his mouth. And knowing how rare the moment was, Cassian indulged himself; allowing his fingers to trace a path down her cheek where before there had been tears.

Only Nesta could look so heart-achingly beautiful in the midst of a nightmare.

Only Nesta could make him lose all sense of himself.

Only Nesta could make him feel this vulnerable. As if even in her sleep, she was witnessing all of him.

This close up, Cassian could see every one of Nesta’s dark eyelashes. The slight upturn at the tip of her nose. The smattering of freckles that were so faint across the bridge of her cheeks, Cassian wondered if anybody but him had ever noticed them.

If she hadn’t rejected him, Cassian might have traced those freckles with his lips and fingers so many times he would know exactly how many there were… Would know what her lips tasted like when she wasn't about to die with him.

Time passed, stretching out far and wide before them.

Cassian wasn’t sure how long he stayed on his knees. What he did know was that Nesta remained settled. He did not move his hand. He continued to brush his thumb over her skin. Continued to soothe down that bond, until her breath evened out and no longer rattled in her chest.

When his legs had long gone numb beneath him and his back ached from leaning over the mattress, he retracted a wing with the hope of easing himself off the floor.

He had barely moved when she started to moan again.

Immediately, he threw a wing back over her. And everything ached inside of him when she settled again. The knowledge that it was him — the safety he provided — that warded off the nightmares.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he soothed gently. “I’m just going to move closer, ok?”

And without stopping to think, Cassian allowed himself to do what he had been yearning to do since before he had arrived back in the bungalow; he crawled onto the mattress beside Nesta and curved his wing over her.

Nesta settled immediately, her head turning on the pillow so it was tilted towards him. He could feel the soft flutter of her breath on his cheek. His heart leapt against flimsy strips of bone, reaching outwards until it beat in tandem with hers. The sound melded into one, filling his ears and making his pulse slow until it was thick and sluggish in his veins.

She was so warm. His body was only just ghosting hers but he groaned a relieved sigh as every muscle relaxed at the heat. At the knowledge that the bond had turned peacefully quiet. That Nesta was safe and unharmed. Content.

And then he slept.

He did not have a nightmare.

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

I’m back on my bullshit and we have GOT TO TALK about 13x08 The Scorpion and the Frog; which serves as a good example of why you should not ONLY watch spn episodes with Cas (partially because of that scene I shamefully blogged about earlier - no I will not link that cursed post here).  The episode title comes from a fable in which the villain is the scorpion.  Interpretations of this fable note its uniqueness lies in the concept that “the scorpion is irrationally self destructive and fully aware of it.”

To quote the scorpion, buddies -  “it’s in my nature.”

Anyway, this episode is subtextually predicated on exploring Dean Winchester’s nature and specifically - his bisexuality, and I’m not only saying that because it opens with Dean in his Bi Colors Plaid (that also he wore on his burger date with Cas).

Let’s get started, after the cut!

Season 13 on its face gives me absolute whiplash because it starts widow arc-reunion-TOMBSTONE and then Jack yeets himself off to Chuck knows where so Cas can go out Looking For Him Because Otherwise He Will Definitely Kiss Dean there is no other option for the writers at this point.  Sigh.  Here, have another shot of Dean anxiously cleaning his gun as he always does when Cas has Gone Off For Reasons -

Anyway, this feels like a filler episode at first, but as always they bury the ENTIRE damn world in it and I am here with my dossier to Unearth It.

Lets start with Bart (demon of terrible nicknames and microagressions) meeting the brothers at Smile Diner to talk about some spell or whatever. 

(I am not thinking about the Cherry Pie meta I AM NOT)

THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY to start with these lines immediately introducing the theme of duality, a thread throughout this episode.

BARTHAMUS

Everything. I've been following your careers a long time. You're a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo. Natural disrupters. We have that in common, you and I. DEAN

Mm. Yeah, we're twinsies.

***MORE DUALITY!  But as we know, Dean does not like Bart because He Is A Freakin’ Demon

DEAN

Well, see, here's the thing. When a demon tells us to jump, we don't ask how high. We just ice their ass.

UMMM excuse me Barting Bacting Boices?  What is that sexual gaze?  

Then we find out that Bart has 1/2 of the spell.  They need the other 1/2.  Oh, a spell with two parts, you say? [ I am going to scream :) ]

***Also, Dean eats the pie Bart ordered.  I cannot begin to explain to you the state of unwellness that I am in regarding how important this is. DEAN NEVER GETS TO EAT THE PIE, remember?  But in This Filler Episode, Dean eats the pie. While Sam looks at him with a very quizzical expression.  Pie -> what Dean wants but never actually gets -> Dean actively eating this pie.  Dean is coming to terms that maybe he can have what he wants.

***I am reminding you again that this is post widower-arc, post-reunion, and especially post-Tombstone.  Anyway-

Now we get to Smash and Grab.  Not literally even though I want to Commit Such Conduct at this point.  We are introduced to two one off characters named 

Smash (human/female presenting) -  can crack any safe built by man 

and Grab (demon/male presenting)-  expert in bypassing supernatural security.

Reaching or no, you can’t disagree that when spn introduces one off characters - it is almost always a Narrative Parallel or Mirror.

So we have a human and a demon (and Dean Winchester, a human who has been a demon)

who are experts in cracking open/bypassing something that has been secured and guarded (breaking down walls, if you will).  

They also use fake names identifying them as Tools to be Used ( Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword/daddys blunt little instrument)

BONUS:

Dean himself is literally used as a tool in this episode.

So yeah.  Smash and Grab are physical representations of Dean’s duality.  Human/Demon.  Femininity/Masculinity.  Dare we say something else, too?

Anyway, Dean is paired with Smash and Grab; Sam is off to idk negotiate weird artifact purchases lawboy style with Luther Shrike, a man who cannot die so long as he never leaves his house (I cannot even begin to unpack this shit; please just sit there and think about it.  I’m not even going there here.  I CANNOT DISCUSS Luther Shrike RN).

Speaking of things I cannot discuss without halgdhsag;lsa - Smash has very Specific boots (a look overall, really).

DEAN

Hey, Winona. The '90s called. They'd like their shoes back. SMASH

Shh.

***That’s right girl - do not take his shit; he actually LOVES them and is therefore Overcompensating for it with this little jab.

***Dean’s pop culture references and particular attention to the details here Should Not Be Overlooked.  90s! Winona! Ryder!

ANYWAY, then Dean and Smash bond over a caffeinated beverage -

[While Dean is doing a spell, Smash opens a can of drink, takes a mouthful and burps loudly. ] SMASH

Ahh. DEAN

You're weird.

***This scene makes me literally insane. (even aside from Dean living on something named NERVE DAMAGE as a KID.  They could have called it anything. You’re saying this wasn’t a Choice)  

She chugs a swallow of the drink and burps.  Something stereotypically associated with masculinity.  Not feminine.  Dean’s reaction is that she is “weird” - because she is not acting in a way stereotypically, J*hn Winchester brain-rot patriarchy bullshit-tily associated with Being Female.  But also, says the stupid show, they like the same soda.  They are The Same.  She shares the soda with Dean.  HIS FACE WHEN SHE DOES -

Other similarities are addressed throughout the episode (they are working for demons because they have no choice; they don’t discuss feelings/emotions, they both sold their soul, they both This Thing - 

DEAN

You know, we could help you. SMASH

No, you can't. I gotta take care of me.

etc. etc.) Smash is absolutely dean-coded.

****Also it’s textually established that Smash thinks Dean is attractive -

GRAB

[looking at Smash] Oh. You said he was just a pretty face. SMASH 

Shh.

***But Grab flirts with him too.

DEAN

I will kill you. GRAB

I bet you say that to all the girls.

***sorry, Grab - you won’t get far with Dean, but only because as he mentioned in the beginning of this episode - 

Drowley rights.

Now Dean has to put his hand in the mouth of this stone lion thing and all of a sudden he is acting....very-not-like-Dean.

[Dean looks again and takes a deep breath.] DEAN

I… how about this? What if I cut myself, put it on, like, a little piece of paper? We'll just wad it up and throw it in the mouth, okay? Okay. 

***Dean Winchester, who has been to Literal HELL, who has been torn apart by hellhounds, who has battled the devil and angels and God’s sister - all at the expense of his own life is now - afraid of spiders.  Well, technically he has always been afraid of spiders, but why isn’t ‘he being performative about it At This Time??

***Come to think of it, this sends me right back to how Jackles was playing Dean in 12x11 Regarding Dean THE episode dissecting Dean’s performative masculinity [one day I will clean up and post that analysis sitting in my drafts like a sad hamster]. That makes sense actually, because -> -> ->

that episode and this one are both written by Meredith Glynn.  Girl get in I want to torture you affectionately with a barrage of questions.

So here we have Dean and he’s not performing for Reasons, and he’s scared he’s genuinely scared of putting his hand in this stone lion-gargoyle-pig-creature’s mouth and then -

Smash gives him a push.

She gives him a push.  I cannot stop thinking about how she gives him a push.  A push to go do this thing that he is scared of; his fear being something he was hiding under his performative masculinity. Smash - dean coded dean mirror who does not perform femininity and is ‘weird’ -  she   gives   him   a     p u s h.

***linking here for the jackting joices that follow.

Now, let’s circle back to Smash’s story; why she is working for Bart in the first place -

SMASH

You think I wanna be here? Like I have a choice? SAM

You made a deal. SMASH

Wow! You think? SAM

You sold your soul. SMASH

And if I could take it back, I would. 

there is no reason for this picture here other than I needed you to see the jackting again

***How does the story end for Smash?

DEAN

Take care of you. [Dean glances down at the box, and then at Smash. She sees that Dean has put a lighter on top of the bones.]  BARTHAMUS

Alice, chop chop! 

[Bart indicates she should get his bones]. SMASH

Yeah. [She grabs the lighter and sets Bart's bones alight. Bart screams as he bursts into flames. ] 

***She accepts help and breaks free from the narrative, literally burning it down. The female presenting but not female-performing “weird” ooc representing a side of Dean breaks FREE because she makes a choice.  The lighter Dean drops? It’s a push.  And she goes with it.

Alice reclaims her story.

(Also, Grab gets ganked.  The male presenting ooc; the performative masculinity side; the demon; the darkness; the not-humanity - gets ganked).

Guess what Dean says to Alice when they say goodbye?

DEAN

Hey, Alice. Stay weird.

[I know the peace sign is probably just a Charlie throwback but I’d still like to say duality.  Two. ]

Dean’s not just talking to Alice.  He’s talking to himself; because the walls have been breached and for once Dean isn’t as scared of being different.  Maybe, just maybe, he’s going along with the push.  That’s exactly how the episode ends - with Dean feeling a little more hopeful, a little more at peace; a little more Considering he is capable of not only loving Cas but also not hating himself for it. 

[until the knowledge that Mary is still alive and the guilt of allowing himself ANY happy thoughts instead of looking for her miserably rears its ugly head in 13x09 and round and round we go but for NOW at least -> ]

DEAN

I'll drink to that.

(oh look Dean is just wearing his henley.  It’s almost as if a layer has been peeled back).

tagging @im-shaking-like-milk​ and @deanwasalwaysbi​ for letting me ramble on to them while writing this; and @lilac-void​ because you are always so kind about my stuff :)

[oneweekoneband]

charming, if a little gauche: the taylor swift story

“the last great american dynasty” is a song that no other pop star could make or, more to the point, would want to make, and as the third track on folklore it marked the spot in my very first listen—sweaty and embarrassingly strung out sitting in the cab of a pickup at the third place where we’d tried to find wifi—at which I let myself vault over the ledge, out of my cautious remove, and into real excitement for what this album might hold.

This is a song that Taylor Swift wrote about Rebekah Harkness, the ballet-obsessed socialite who married into the Standard Oil family (”the wedding was charming, if a little gauche” Taylor sings, and I scream.) then lived, fifty years ago, in the Rhode Island beach house Swift now owns. It is—and on this matter there can be no argument—the horniest song on the album. Taylor is absolutely jazzed out of her WASPy little gourd over this woman, this house, this grand, cyclical American story she imagines herself as part of. Does Taylor actually want to fuck her house and/or the ghost of the woman who once owned it? Well, that’s not for me to say. But the idea of them very evidently gets her going, and her zeal is infectious. She’s so clearly been bursting to indulge this passion, to memorialize this house, and I’m grateful that fate or timing made it so that she didn’t do it until now, until Aaron Dessner provided her with these specific instrumentals, because the combination is divine. 

Taylor Swift in the Disney+ documentary Folklore: The Long Pond Sessions confirming that her psychosexual obsession with Holiday House is longstanding.

“the last great american dynasty” relates in colorful detail the life of Mrs. Harkness, who became a widow at just thirty-nine ("the doctor had told him to settle down / it must have been her fault his heart gave out") then used the remaining years to spend her late husband’s fortune in the most lavish ways possible. Rebekah, Taylor tells us, "Filled the pool with champagne / And swam with the big names / Blew through the money on the boys and the ballet” and, again, her total, perfect thrill with this story, with the fact of living in the house this woman once misbehaved in so egregiously as to be an affront to all her stuffy Rhode Island neighbors, is evident throughout. The song is wonderful, good fun, sounds great, feels insane, and then at the quintessentially excellent bridge Taylor pulls a pivot that should be completely noxious, but is, in practice, anything but. Wryly, she inserts herself into the song at the final stretch. “Fifty years is a long time / Holiday House sat quietly on that beach / Free of women with madness / Their men and bad habits / And then it was bought by me”. When, “She had a marvelous time ruining everything”, transforms into, “I had a marvelous time ruining everything” I almost clap. I have clapped. It’s all unbearably cute, and in every word there is sonic evidence of Taylor’s pleasure at her own cleverness, but unfortunately it’s so good that there isn’t even really any room left on the private beaches of one’s heart cavity wherein to be annoyed at having been got by a Taylor Swift bridge once again. 

Honestly............Taylor is like two decades max from this.

Though Swift was born in Pennsylvania and came of age in Tennessee, the idea that she’d take instinctively to the blue blood fantasy of wealthy New England is no surprise. It’s unclear whether there’s ever been another person alive who radiates such Big Connecticut Energy while, in fact, not being from Connecticut at all. Watch Hill, Rhode Island made perfect sense to me, in fact, for Taylor, because it not only, at $17 mil cash, made her the owner of the most expensive private home in the entire (extremely small) state, but brings with the choice a kind of self-satisfied dignity. Not being one of the more popular East Coast seaside destinations for the rich and famous, like Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket, or even The Hamptons, stylishly insists that you must really be trying to get away. The house is classically lovely and has a big yard with a pool and flag pole that extends high into the blue to look down over the plebeians in the sand.

Being myself a natural born daughter of the New England states, albeit of a considerably less pristine stripe than the denizens of Watch Hill, I have spent countless day trips and weekends at the Misquamicut State Beach just a few miles down the coast in Westerly, the town that Taylor’s village (”village” ...Rich people are so weird) is a part of. Not long after Taylor moved in, I was there at the beach with my mother, and my sister, and my mother’s sisters, and whatever other beer-filled bodies might have been around, a whole hoard, and we were lounging on fanned out bed sheets in front of a restaurant called Paddy’s where you can get a blue rum-based cocktail in a plastic fish bowl. I was nursing a sprained ankle that summer, and still a week or two from being fully well, but I wanted to see Taylor’s house up close, so we walked along the water’s edge until we got close enough to snap a photo for posterity, and to see that Taylor was using around the property custom no trespassing signs which read, “I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In”. When someone who is very rich, popular, talented, basically has everything going for them, could buy and sell you and everyone you’ve ever known, etc., makes a stupendously bad joke it is a moral imperative that you tell as many people about that as possible, and so with love in my heart, even, I share this fact now. People had their towels right up against the edge of her sea wall, like a geographic version of the nervous game, but almost as soon I arrived, it was time to limp back to the land of the mortals.

Your hero in 2014 standing in front of the saltbox house on the coast that took Rebekah Harkness’ mind off St. Louis

The pleasures on offer in “the last great american dynasty” are almost too many to name, and all of them so specifically, distinctly, freakishly, bona fide Grade A Taylor Swift, wonderful and grating not separately, one then the other, but both the whole time, and all at once. Taylor saying “gauche”; Taylor telling a story about this dead woman she has a gigantic crush on once dyeing a neighbor’s dog green; Taylor invoking the phrase “middle class divorcee”; Taylor using the word “bitch” affectionately. Even Taylor’s actual vocals, which have been, at times, the notable weak spot in her rigorously streamlined overall package, sound really, genuinely lovely here, and as spirited as ever. The song is laden with Taylor’s remarkable self-righteous belief that by purchasing a multi million dollar home in tony Watch Hill she was somehow “ruining everything”, when she was born and bred for enclaves like that long before she had any number one hits, and actually the only major problem was people thought it was poor form for her to rebuild the huge seawall around the property, even though it was her right, and she was able to do it without issue. To know that Taylor, raised wealthy, imagines herself somehow persecuted as insufficiently chic in Watch Hill for having, by way of immense pop superstardom, multiplied many times over the riches to which she was born, brings me a great and uncomplicated joy. It is a train of thought so wholly unrelatable as to seem plucked wholesale from a work of magical realism, and that happens to be exactly the feeling I want most from a Taylor Swift song. My one and only criticism of “the last great american dynasty” is that, if you’re not right on top of the skip button, it bleeds directly into the Bon Iver duet “exile”, which does kill the vibe, but, well, nobody’s perfect.

The defense rests.

[thebluelemontree]

On this note: “ Another way of saying Littlefinger didn’t bet on Sandor is that he didn’t account for him.” I know people say that Varys was behind the bread riot, but there’s some speculation around that it was actually LF and Mandon Moore was one of his men. Moore abandons Sansa in the riots and I think that was staged. LF didn’t account for Sandor saving her. What he planned on doing to her - maybe an escape? IDK.

People say a lot of things in this fandom, let’s put it that way.  We see in no POV’s account that there is any evidence of attempted kidnapping on Sansa during the riot, let alone a whole conspiracy to commit kidnapping that was thwarted.  Let’s remember, Tyrek Lannister was the one that got snatched here (allegedly, technically he’s only known to be missing).  If anyone was specifically targetted, it was him.

The bread riot was always a powder keg waiting to explode.  No one person orchestrated it.  The Tyrells had cut off food supplies from the Reach when they stood with Renly against Stannis and Joffrey.  Prices are ridiculously high, and basic foodstuffs are scarce.  There’s rampant lawlessness in the streets as well as a bloody flux.  There’s open talk of rebellion among the guilds and merchants. Tyrion is burning down all homes and shops between the water and the city walls in preparation for Stannis’s attack.  This is going to displace hundreds, maybe thousands of poor people.  Joffrey is executing antler men and personally shooting bolts into unarmed, starving citizens.  Begging brothers are preaching damnation of the corrupt nobility, including charging them with incest, birthing monsters, and reveling under demonic influence.  The Lannister-Baratheons could not be more hated than they are at that moment.  We have to remember that at the time of the riot, Littlefinger was well away at Bitterbridge and then went on to High Garden to negotiate with Mace Tyrell for the then widowed Margaery’s hand.  He already has his man Dontos plotting with Sansa in the godswood, gaining her trust, so she leaves willingly when the time is right.  A second kidnapping/escape plot overcomplicates everything is totally unnecessary.  If Moore was supposed to be LF’s man, why wouldn’t he just lead Sansa away to a rendezvous point under the pretense of eluding the mob?  That would have been simple and plausible as her shield.  Just abandoning her in the swarm doesn’t speak to a plan that has to go off without any mishaps.  

On the other hand, Varys is the one official still in the city who was noted by Jaime to be conspicuously absent from seeing Myrcella off to Dorne.  Varys, who claimed to have informants all over the city, yet he never forewarned Cersei of any possible riot.  Again, it’s Tyrek that disappears without a trace.     

Sorry for the long wait.  I actually had to take some time to re-read and reflect on Mandon Moore.  I think it’s a really bad place to start the speculation with the assumption that he must be working for someone at all.  My conclusion is that he’s not working for anyone, and he doesn’t have to be to do what he does.  He is a guy motivated by naked self-interest and personal advancement, and that does not necessarily equate with greed or being in anyone’s pocket.  IMO, I think he has traits similar to a corporate psychopath (though he’s obviously down for murder too) than anything else.  Let’s just focus on how his characterization is described first.

Jaime had once told him that Moore was the most dangerous of the Kingsguard—excepting himself, always—because his face gave no hint as what he might do next. – Tyrion I, ACOK.

He’s described as appearing corpse-like with eyes that are “oddly flat and lifeless.”  He’s cold and emotionless.  Most notably, Ser Mandon has ties to no one.      

Lord Arryn brought him to King’s Landing and Robert gave him his white cloak, but neither loved him much, I fear. Nor was he the sort the smallfolk cheer in tourneys, despite his undoubted prowess. Why, even his brothers of the Kingsguard never warmed to him. Ser Barristan was once heard to say that the man had no friend but his sword and no life but duty … but you know, I do not think Selmy meant it altogether as praise. Which is queer when you consider it, is it not? Those are the very qualities we seek in our Kingsguard, it could be said—men who live not for themselves, but for their king. By those lights, our brave Ser Mandon was the perfect white knight. – Tyrion II, ASOS.

Of all the things said about him, nowhere does anyone suggest it is in Mandon Moore’s character to want anything outside of his career within the kingsguard.  He has a single-minded focus on duty and serving the king in an almost robotic level of obedience.  No one can tell what goes on behind that blank expression.  If a man’s motivations are unknowable, you can’t predict future behavior.  Mandon Moore does not strike me as someone who would fall prey to bribery or blackmail.  He’s not ideologically motivated, nor is he someone a conspirator can confidently rely on to carry out a task without risk of being double-crossed.  If we look at men Littlefinger has taken into his service like Ser Dontos, the Kettleblacks, Janos Slynt, Nestor Royce, Lothor Brune, Lyn Corbray, there’s always a glaring weakness to be exploited, be it greed, excessive/wounded pride, addiction, closeted homosexuality, desperation, debt, estrangement from family, desire to rise from the underclass, lack of better options, etc.  Mandon doesn’t have any of these vulnerabilities.  

So what did I mean by having traits in common with a corporate psychopath, though?  Varys talks about Mandon being “the perfect white knight” and possessing the ideal qualities of a kingsguard.  Certain types of corporate psychopaths can wear a facade of traits that the business world desires and values.  They can seem like the perfect employee that the company leadership can rely on.  They appear to be fearless and unwavering in their drive for success, sometimes even earning praise and recognition for outright ruthlessness.  Their sometimes apparent lack of emotions could be read as having the grit to do what is necessary in times of turmoil.  Most use manipulative tactics to discredit, undermine, or sabotage coworkers and superiors alike just to get ahead, which I will show is relevant in Moore’s case.  Everyone is either a potential pawn, patron, or enemy to be eliminated.  Not all psychopaths have superficial and grandiose charm, and no one would accuse Mandon of being charming, but he does put himself out there to be seen as indispensably valuable to the king.

Let’s go back to the bread riot and why Mandon Moore abandoned Sansa’s side as her shield.

Tyrion pressed blunt fingers into his throbbing temples. If Sansa Stark had come to harm, Jaime was as good as dead. “Ser Mandon, you were her shield.”

Ser Mandon Moore remained untroubled. “When they mobbed the Hound, I thought first of the king.”

“And rightly so,” Cersei put in. “Boros, Meryn, go back and find the girl.“  – Tyrion IX, ACOK.

I see no sign that there’s any duplicity going on here when he’s questioned.  Mandon Moore acted in a way he believed the king and the queen regent (his patrons) would approve of.  The traitor’s daughter’s life doesn’t mean anything to Joffrey, and she is only a secondary thought of the queen’s after they are safe within the castle; therefore, she is not a useful pawn to him.  If Mandon Moore shows any desire for anything at all, it’s this:  Sandor Clegane’s privileged position with the Lannisters.  Joffrey ordered Sandor to go after the peasant that threw the dung.  As Sandor is mobbed (and it would be reasonable to wager he’ll be imminently killed), Ser Mandon seized the opportunity to swoop in as Sandor’s replacement, dropping Sansa like a hot potato.  There is a reason he keeps being ironically regarded as the white knight in shining armor.  He’s a real Johnny on the spot that one.  Even if Sandor somehow isn’t killed, Moore still comes out looking like the kingsguard that did not falter in his duty to protect the king even in all the confusion and chaos.  It’s an opportunistic upstaging of a colleague to discredit his effectiveness at his job.  It proves shortsighted on his part because Sandor not only survives but has Sansa, still a valuable Lannister hostage, alive and in tow.      

This will come up again at the Battle of the Blackwater when Sandor finally breaks from the wildfire.  Tyrion orders Sandor to continue leading sorties outside the city walls, but he refuses.  Guess who chimes in?

Ser Mandon Moore moved to Tyrion’s side, immaculate in his enameled white plate. "The King’s Hand commands you.”  

“Bugger the King’s Hand.” Where the Hound’s face was not sticky with blood, it was pale as milk. “Someone bring me a drink.” A gold cloak officer handed him a cup. Clegane took a swallow, spit it out, flung the cup away. “Water? Fuck your water. Bring me wine.”

He is dead on his feet. Tyrion could see it now. The wound, the fire … he’s done, I need to find someone else, but who? Ser Mandon? He looked at the men and knew it would not do. Clegane’s fear had shaken them. Without a leader, they would refuse as well, and Ser Mandon … a dangerous man, Jaime said, yes, but not a man other men would follow. – Tyrion XIII, ACOK.

Since when has Moore ever shown any deference to Tyrion’s authority before?  Never.  This is a performance for his situational patron, part of Moore’s facade.  What is suggested by vocally taking Tyrion’s side is that Moore wants Tyrion to name him commander.  He would see the opportunity to take Sandor’s place by not only highlighting the latter’s disobedience, but his posturing implies that he wouldn’t hesitate to carry out the Hand’s orders.  It’s also a boon that Sandor’s behavior is quickly tanking any remaining confidence in his courage and leadership ability.  Moore must have thought himself the natural choice to assume command as he is a kingsguard and a capable fighter, but he could not have foreseen Tyrion absorbing Jaime’s counsel.  Instead, Tyrion decides to lead the sorties himself, shaming anyone that doesn’t follow as being less than a dwarf.  Being named the king’s standard-bearer, as Ser Mandon was, is usually considered a high honor.  A corporate psychopath wouldn’t see it that way.  It’s a piss poor consolation to being led around by someone he would consider a lesser man.  Battle is where a knight earns his commendations and honors, which we see in Sansa’s eighth chapter in Clash.  As commander of the sorties and his rival disgraced as a craven, Moore would have been the hero of the day should they emerge victorious.  Tyrion prevented that.  Moore would then be left with only one other option to assume leadership.  Tyrion has to fall on the battlefield.

“MY LORD! TAKE MY HAND! MY LORD TYRION!”

There on the deck of the next ship, across a widening gulf of black water, stood Ser Mandon Moore, a hand extended. Yellow and green fire shone against the white of his armor, and his lobstered gauntlet was sticky with blood, but Tyrion reached for it all the same, wishing his arms were longer. It was only at the very last, as their fingers brushed across the gap, that something niggled at him … Ser Mandon was holding out his left hand, why …  – Tyrion XIV, ACOK.

Ser Mandon’s sword comes down in his right hand and nearly kills Tyrion.  What Moore could not have anticipated was getting iced by Podrick Payne before he could finish Tyrion off.  There’s a simple elegance to Moore’s motivations being strictly his own.  There’s no complicated conspiracy needed to explain any of his actions.  He’s just a shark in a suit of armor.  But what about Varys implying there was a conspiracy to kill Tyrion with Moore as the catspaw?  It seems to validate Tyrion’s suspicions that it was Cersei, or at least someone.                  

Bronn had turned up all he could on Ser Mandon, but no doubt Varys knew a deal more … should he choose to share it. “The man seems to have been quite friendless,” Tyrion said carefully.

“Sadly,” said Varys, “oh, sadly. You might find some kin if you turned over enough stones back in the Vale, but here … Lord Arryn brought him to King’s Landing and Robert gave him his white cloak, but neither loved him much, I fear. Nor was he the sort the smallfolk cheer in tourneys, despite his undoubted prowess. Why, even his brothers of the Kingsguard never warmed to him.

… [the Barristan part already quoted above]

And he died as a knight of the Kingsguard ought, with sword in hand, defending one of the king’s own blood.” The eunuch gave him a slimy smile and watched him sharply.

Trying to murder one of the king’s own blood, you mean. Tyrion wondered if Varys knew rather more than he was saying. Nothing he’d just heard was new to him; Bronn had brought back much the same reports. He needed a link to Cersei, some sign that Ser Mandon had been his sister’s catspaw. 

Let’s not forget Varys benefits by furthering the rifts within the Lannister regime.  He can easily play to Tyrion’s paranoia by suggesting there’s more behind Mandon Moore’s murder attempt than there was.  He smiles and mentions Moore’s origins in the Vale, a gesture at Littlefinger most likely; however, there are no substantial breadcrumbs left behind to connect Moore to anyone.  We’re even reminded twice that Bronn’s investigation turned up nothing except what was already well-known.  There’s just no there there.  Tyrion is doing the same thing as the conspiracy theories by assuming that Moore has to be in someone’s pay, but his reasoning is faulty.

Jaime had always said that Ser Mandon was the most dangerous of the Kingsguard, because his dead empty eyes gave no hint to his intentions. I should never have trusted any of them. He’d known that Ser Meryn and Ser Boros were his sister’s, and Ser Osmund later, but he had let himself believe that the others were not wholly lost to honor. Cersei must have paid him to see that I never came back from the battle. Why else? I never did Ser Mandon any harm that I know of. – Tyrion XV, ACOK.  

He mistook Moore’s commitment to duty and obedience for having honor.  And yes, he did unintentionally cross Ser Mandon. He just didn’t know it because he couldn’t read the guy.  He couldn’t see beneath the surface, and that is why Jaime is correct in calling him the most dangerous.  One can never know for sure if this type of corporate psychopath sees you as their pawn, their patron, or their enemy at any given moment.  There’s no way to mount a defense against that unless you can understand who you are really dealing with.  Tyrion was just very, very lucky that he brought Podrick Payne with him into battle.                            

[chipcoffeyblog]

Looking for something fun and totally outside the (candy) box for you and your special someone to do for Valentine's Day? Something totally different and a little bit off-the-wall? Then keep reading! Most of us enjoy spooky TV shows and movies, right? We love that delicious adrenaline rush of being creeped out just a bit by thoughts of ghosts and the paranormal! If that sounds like you - and/or your special Valentine - then keep reading! Wouldn't it be big fun for you and your Valentine to spend a night (or weekend) at a haunted hotel? Just imagine what you might experience! And think of the bragging rights you'll have when recounting your ghostly adventures to family and friends! As part of my work as a psychic and medium, I have traveled extensively and stayed at some of the most interesting - and haunted - hotels in the United States. I like to stay at places that have a rich history, combined with stories about the spirits that reportedly roam throughout the properties. I have seen and heard otherworldly things that would send delicious little goose bumps up and down the spines of most people! Below is a list of some of the haunted hotels that I have enjoyed visiting and predict that you will enjoy visiting, too. New York City: The Jane Hotel - Some of the survivors of the sinking of the Titanic stayed in the building that is now the Jane Hotel in NYC's Greenwich Village. Guests report seeing ghostly apparitions and hearing the sound of sobbing . And the elevator often appears to have a mind of its own, traveling up at down between floors randomly. Guest rooms are inspired by luxury ship and train cabins and tend to be on the small side, many with shared baths. If you desire an en suite bathroom, choose to stay in one of the Captain's Cabins. Added bonus: You're in NYC! There is so much to see and do! Visit all the sites and see a Broadway show!

New York State - Catskills area: Burn Brae Mansion in Glen Spey, NY - Spectral apparitions and ghostly sounds are often heard by guests at this lovely bed and breakfast that was once the elaborate Victorian home of the widow of George Ross MacKenzie, third president of the Singer Sewing Machine Company. Other unexplained occurrences include doors opening and slamming shut; the sound of children playing; the sound of animals when no animals are present; and the sound of an organ playing, although there is no organ in the house. During my visit there, I distinctly smelled cookies baking in the downstairs area, but no one was baking cookies. Added bonus: The surrounding area is beautiful! Go for a hike, horseback riding, rafting, etc. Los Angeles, California: Millennium Biltmore Hotel - The ghost of Elizabeth Short is said to haunt the Biltmore. Ms. Short was last seen alive at the Biltmore shortly before her gruesome demise in 1947 and that still unsolved case has been dubbed "The Black Dahlia Murder." Soldiers who stayed in the building during and after World War II and young children are also said to roam around the hotel. Perhaps iconic stars from bygone Hollywood days pay post mortem visits to The Biltmore? Added bonus: Hollywood, with all its star studded sites, is close by...and so are California beaches! Atlanta, Georgia: Georgian Terrace - In December of 1939, this hotel hosted the "Gone With the Wind" Gala after the movie's premiere in downtown Atlanta. Clark Gable (and wife, Carole Lombard), Vivien Leigh (and future husband, Laurence Olivier) and other stars of the movie were in attendance. Some say that a gangland-style murder and other deaths have occurred here and there are frequent reports of ghostly activity occurring within the hotel. Added bonus: The haunted Fox Theatre is across the street from the hotel...and you're close to downtown ATL.   Austin, Texas Driskill Hotel - This lavish hotel, located in downtown Austin and completed in 1882, was built by Colonel Jesse Driskill, a cattleman who spent his entire fortune to build "the finest hotel south of St. Louis." He is said to haunt the hotel, along with a little girl who fell down the grand staircase while chasing her runaway ball and two brides who allegedly took their own lives in the bathtub of room 525, exactly 20 years apart. Added bonus: There are great places to eat, drink and be merry nearby. Do your part to help "Keep Austin Weird"! Denver, Colorado Brown Palace - One of the spirits that is said to haunt the Brown Palace is a young boy, dressed in Victorian era clothing, who has been seen rifling through the luggage of hotel guests. During one of my stays there, I returned to my room to discover that little intruder looking inside my backpack that was sitting on a chair! When we saw each other, we both gasped and he instantaneously vanished, leaving me startled and wide-eyed! Added bonus: The hella haunted Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado is about an hour drive from downtown Denver. The stately hotel was the inspiration for author Stephen King's best selling novel, "The Shining," which he wrote after he and his wife were guests there. The hotel has been featured on numerous paranormal TV shows. Kansas City, Missouri area Belvoir Winery and Inn - This cozy and comfortable, yet quite elegant, 9 room bed and breakfast, with its 1,500 square feet bridal suite, is located in Liberty, Missouri on the site of a huge former Odd Fellows complex. The inn was once an orphanage, so the sights and sounds of children who once called this building their home are regularly seen and heard by Belvoir guests. Numerous television shows have filmed at the inn and on the property, including Kindred Spirits, Ghost Adventures, Ghost Hunters and American Pickers. Added bonus: Have a glass or two of Belvoir's wines or your favorite cocktail at the inn's lovely bar located on the main level. And visit George, the inn's "mascot," who just happens to be a real skeleton! New Hampshire Omni Mount Washington Hotel - Located in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, this property is simply spectacular! The most prominent spirit that is said to haunt the hotel is Princess Carolyn, former owner of the hotel, whose lovely suite is now available for guests to occupy. The hotel's dining room has a permanently set up table for Princess Carolyn in case she happens to stop in for lunch or dinner.  Added bonus: Sightings of the elusive Bigfoot have been reported in the area! Soak up the gorgeous scenery! Take the cog railway to the top of Mt. Washington. Go skiing on the nearby slopes during winter months. Boston, Massachusetts Omni Parker House Hotel - Rich in history and hauntings, the Parker house is the birthplace of Boston Cream Pie and Parker House Rolls! The Kennedy family, arguably America's "royal family," often visited this hotel. It is said that future president John F. Kennedy proposed to Jacqueline Bouvier at a table in the hotel's restaurant. At one time, civil rights activist Malcolm X, Vietnamese revolutionary leader Ho Chi Minh and celebrity chef Emeril Lagasse were employees of the hotel. While staying there, I was confused when I encountered the spirit of John Wilkes Booth, the man who assassinated President Abraham Lincoln. My encounter finally made sense when the hotel's historian told me that Booth had frequently stayed at the hotel and had even practiced firing his gun nearby. Added bonus: Granary Burying Ground (cemetery), final resting place of numerous Revolutionary War patriots, including Paul Revere, Samuel Adams and John Hancock, is nearby    Tampa, Florida area The Don Cesar - Affectionately known as "The Pink Palace" and located in St. Pete Beach, not far from Tampa on Florida's west coast, this hotel, like others on my list, is said to be haunted by its original owner. Wealthy New Englander Thomas Rowe built the hotel in 1925 in remembrance of his unrequited love for a lovely Spanish opera singer. The star crossed lovers are said to haunt "The Don," as are members of the New York Yankees baseball team, including Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, due to the fact members of the team once stayed at the hotel during spring training. Other reported spectral guests include gangster Al Capone and World War II era soldiers who may have stayed (and died) there while the building was being used as a convalescent hospital for aviators and pilots. Added bonus: The hotel has a lovely Gulf of Mexico beach.  San Francisco, California Queen Anne Hotel - A charming Victorian era boutique hotel located in the Pacific Heights neighborhood. Both the public areas and guests rooms are furnished in an eclectic style. The hotel was once an exclusive boarding school for young ladies, as well as a brothel that housed "ladies of the night." The headmistress of the girl's school, Miss Mary Lake, reportedly haunts the hotel, sometimes unpacking suitcases, tucking guests in at night and singing to them while they fall asleep. The most haunted room is said to be room 410, which was once Miss Mary Lake's office. Voodoo queen Mary Ellen Pleasant lived across the street from the hotel in the 1800's and it is thought that perhaps her spirit also roams the halls of the Queen Anne. Added bonus: Enjoy all that The Golden Gate City has to offer! Ride a cable car; eat some great seafood at a waterfront restaurant; visit Fisherman's Wharf and the spectacular Palace of Fine Arts, built for the 1915 World's Fair. Portland, Oregon The Benson - A world class luxury hotel that is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Built by Simon Benson and opening its doors in 1913, it is believed that Mr. Benson is the primary spirit who haunts the hotel. He is frequently seen on the grand staircase, in the hotel bar and dining room, and on the 7th, 9th and 12th floors of the hotel. A small and mischievous little boy, whom people assume is the ghost of one of Benson's sons, often appears and plays pranks on hotel guests. The ghost of a former porter who worked at The Benson is also sometimes seems, as well as the spectral images of a lady in white (doesn't every haunted property have a lady in white? LOL) and a lady in blue. Added bonus: Take a trip to see the nearby and spectacularly beautiful Columbia River Gorge and Multnomah Falls! New Orleans, Louisiana Bourbon Orleans Hotel - Once the location of the Sisters of the Holy Family's convent, girl's school, medical ward and orphanage, the Bourbon Orleans is reportedly haunted by the spirits of those who resided there during that earlier time. A Confederate soldier has also been seen at the hotel, as well as a lonely ghost dancer, seen dancing solo in the hotel's ballroom. The 3rd and 6th floors are said to be some of the most haunted areas. Added bonus: Laissez les bon temps rouler and enjoy all of the delicious and decadent delights that The Big Easy readily serves up! Savannah, Georgia East Bay Inn - This stately old building was built in the mid-1800's and once housed the offices of cotton merchants, as well as warehouses for cotton. In the mid-1980's, the property opened as a charming inn with 28 guest rooms. The rooms are spacious, with wooden floors, exposed brick establishing walls and high ceilings. A friendly ghost named Charley, a former worker in the building, allegedly haunts the inn. It is claimed that he is heard walking the halls late and night and sometimes will jiggle the doorknobs. Witnesses have said that lights flicker and some of their personal belongings mysteriously disappear. Room 325, known as "Charley's Room," is said to be the most haunted. Added bonus: Is there really anyplace in Savannah that isn't haunted? Visit them all! Walk along River Street. Take a ride on the riverboat. Put on your walking shoes and visit Savannah's numerous squares. And don't miss a visit to the magnificently beautiful Bonaventure Cemetery. San Antonio, Texas The Menger Hotel - The land on which the Menger sits is part of the historic site of the Battle of the Alamo. It is said that between 32 and 45 ghosts haunt the Menger. (Who came up with that number?!?) Among those ghosts are Teddy Roosevelt; Sallie White, a former chambermaid at the hotel who was shot nearby by her common law husband and died on the hotel's 2nd floor; and Richard King, a cattle baron who often stayed at the Menger and died in his suite on the 3rd floor. If you are brave enough, you can stay in the King Ranch Suite where Richard King died and sleep in the same bed where he took his last breath! Added bonus: Visit The Alamo. Walk along the River Walk. Dine in some of San Antonio's fabulous eateries. San Diego, California (Coronado Island) Hotel del Coronado - The elegant hotel, located on Coronado Island, has a resident ghost named Kate Morgan. Kate was a guest at the hotel in 1892 and killed herself with a gun a few days after an ugly break-up with her male lover. Guests at the hotel have reported seeing Kate's ghost walking in the hallways and along the hotel's lovely beach. During my visits to the hotel, I always hope to encounter the spirit of Marilyn Monroe, who shot the film, "Some Like It Hot," on the property back in 1958. Added bonus: While in the San Diego area, pay a visit to the haunted Whaley House in Old Town San Diego, where you can also shop at some of the area's charming stores. Washington, DC Hay-Adams Hotel - Washington socialite Marian Adams, known by the nickname Clover, reportedly haunts the Hay-Adams. Clover was an amateur photographer who died after ingesting some of the potassium cyanide that she used while developing her photographs. Her death was ruled a suicide, but some believed that she had been murdered. The ghost of Clover Adams haunts the hotel's 4th floor. Maids have told stories of hearing a woman sobbing, calling out their names and asking "What do you want?" in unoccupied rooms. Some guests say that visits by Clover's spirit are accompanied by the scent of almonds. Potassium cyanide, which caused Clover's death, is extracted from almonds! Added bonus: Visit the many beautiful monuments in DC, as well as The Smithsonian and nearby Arlington Cemetery. 

[trashcankitty12]

Favorite Character Tag Game

was tagged by @darkpoisonouslove​. This is going to be interesting.

Rules: name ten favourite characters from ten different things (TV, movies, books, etc.), then tag ten people.

1. Ziva David- NCIS

This woman right here made me see the different depths of badassery that women in writing can have if they’re written correctly. (Not all of her story lines were perfect. But she was both vulnerable and strong and a fighter and dancer and just all around amazing. I love this woman so much, and her actress is even more incredible than her character. Cote de Pablo, just in case you were wondering...)

2. Leia Organa- Star Wars (The Original Trilogy)

Strong, passionate... And perhaps one of the first women to have me come face to face with my sexuality... Leia was brilliant and sassy and she was kind. I just... I loved her. (And Carrie Fisher too. May she rest in peace and smile upon us.)

3. Flora- Winx Club (Seasons 1-4, because the others should have been better written, dammit. They had good ideas, just bad execution.)

It was a toss up between her and Griffin, and since I sort of fell for Flora first, here we are. I loved her soft-spoken nature, but how she never let anyone disregard her. She wasn’t as combative as the others, but damn if she didn’t let her anger go from time to time when it was necessary. I just absolutely loved how accepting she was of people and how much she tried to help when she could. (And yes, I do prefer the 4!Kids voice acting... But the one from the newest season wasn’t SOOOO bad.)

4. J’onn J’onzz- Justice League/Justice League Unlimited

The Martian Manhunter, also known as J’onn J’onzz. My favorite comic book man and my favorite ALL-TIME superhero. He can shapeshift, fly, read minds, and has superstrength. He’s soooo smart and he tries so hard to be gentle and to fit in with the rest of the group... I just love him so much. (Also, Carl Lumbly’s voice acting for J’onn was A+.)

5. Lena Luthor- Supergirl

I love Lena so much. And I just... Identify so strongly with her. A family that doesn’t seem to care about anything but expectations and having to live up to those expectations and then shattering them. She’s not an evil Luthor, dammit, and she does so hard to prove it. If only they’d see the world through her eyes... Most of the time. (Well aware of the current season’s shit... Gotta say though, if we’re back against a wall like she is, it’s hard to know what we’d do.)

6. Captain Cold/Leonard Snart- The Flash

He’s brilliant, he’s sassy, and he’s very much morally gray. (Yes, he’s a thief. But he also has rules about who he steals from and what he steals.) Mostly he looks out for himself and his sister only, but from time to time, when the situation calls for it, he can be known to be protective of others.

And can we talk about his fashion sense? When he’s staking out places and walking around in his more... “Blend-in” suits, hot damn. I’d love to have suits like that.

Also, he’s punny from time to time. Who doesn’t love a good pun?

(Wentworth Miller has no reason to have such pretty eyes either. I may be a lesbian, but hot damn those eyes of his. And the widow’s peak....)

7. Mick Rory/Heatwave- DC’s Legends of Tomorrow

Okay, so Mick is, pardon the pun, a hot head.

From what we’ve noticed on the show, he has many, many bad qualities. He does... But he’s so much smarter than what people give him credit for and he’s a great engineer and good at coming up with schemes to help his fellow Legends. (And himself.)

He’s against inequality. (In his own words, he hates everyone equally, but he’ll dare you to say something homophobic or racist in front of him. He’s killed people for less. Literally.)

He loves pointing out flaws in the system and exploiting them from time to time, but his favorite approach is the direct approach. (He’d love nothing more than to just roast everyone alive and be done with it.)

Mick is also a secret romance novelist. And a damn good one at that. (Secret softies are my favorite okay?)

8. Maze/Mazikeen- Lucifer

Another of my secret softies. Maze is direct, kind of scary, and completely loyal to the ones she cares about. (And she adores little Trixie with all her heart and will probably rip out the throat of her first ex-significant other whenever the time comes.)

Maze is skilled as a bounty hunter and in many supernatural based things. She was also a skilled torturer in Hell. (And again, secret softy.)

She’s pansexual and has no qualms getting with whoever catches her eye in the moment. (And has had her heart broken a time or two, but haven’t we all?)

9. John Constantine- Constantine

Currently he’s on Legends of Tomorrow, but he had his own show for a bit. And let me tell you, I love this snarky bisexual disaster of a man. 

First episode of his own show and he’s checked himself into an asylum and the director is like “Your business card says you’re a master of the occult and dark arts?”

“Yeah.... I’ve been needing to change that. It’s all bollucks really. I’m more of a damn dabbler these days.”

And yes... He’s a chain-smoker and almost always half-drunk... But he’s got a good heart and he tries his best with what he’s got....

(He and Lucifer actually have an interesting relationship if you read the comics... Yes, the Lucifer from the show Lucifer. They’re part of the same universe.)

Constantine’s sass and disaster energy and off the wall ideas just... They give me life.

10. Amethyst- Steven Universe

Amethyst is someone else I really identify with. Just because she’s small and compact doesn’t mean she won’t pack a punch. And just because she wasn’t there for the original war, doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to fight for her home.

She often feels... Less than compared to Pearl and Garnet, but she masks it well with a ‘devil-may-care’ demeanor and a jokester attitude.

There’s so many levels to Amethyst, but what I love is how she just loves life. Even when things get rough for her, she does her best to find something to love and cling too. I love her so much.

Tagging: @meluisart​, @electra-jolts-magnetism​, and whoever else wants to do this.

[gotatext]

by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times.... 

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day. 

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming….. 

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps.  i hate her 

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. 

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way.  little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!! 

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

 girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? 

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. 

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

 ppl who she runs track with. 

someone she’s trying to make a zine with. 

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.