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ranvwoop · 2 years

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i return to continue vaguely-sensical tales hcs. So in line with "Well how did Billiam actually get in proximity to kidnap Butler" and my explanation being "Sherman is actually his uncle who was hosting him [because his parents decided he was becoming too spoiled and he had to learn to be more down to earth, and Sherman's little rural town would be the ideal place for this]", the next application of this hc would be that he knew the Wild West townsfolk a little bit. And he did not get along with many.

#vwoop.noises #including the ran-kids but i'm not actually sure #originally the joke was that butler tried 2 scam him because. application of Another hc in which butler pre-masquerade would b the -#Like. idk. yknow That Little Poor Victorian Child Stealing a Loaf Of Bread trope #but. maybe billiam was just gone long enough for butler to not remember him and billiam was once again lost to egg sauce #idk.#this is context to a thing im writing actually maybe i'm just rationalizing #also percy and billiam hanging out is kind of funny to me. nasty little capitalists #billiam is like >:[[ there is one rational person in this town #sherman says he is no longer allowed to hang out with the banker. it's not good for him

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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not-the-cheese · 10 months

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one sentence(ish) summaries of every magnus archive episode PART 2

(eps 61-110) thank u for the funny comments and tags on the last part i love u guys

the rest of these may take a while as i've caught up to where i am currently in the podcast but i will finish them like in a month i promise

----

61. the thrilling sequel to man does not open coffin: man DOES open coffin.

62. surely this doctor can find an easier way to scam people out of money than putting them in a little book.

63. THE DARK ATE MY BROTHER IN LAW.

64. this is possibly the plot of laura croft tomb raider

65. mmm crumchy

66. what's the opposite of an unboxing video

67. as close to a coffeeshop au as you're going to get from this podcast

68. Doctors hate him! Man REFUSES to die from tuberculosis!

69. your college's psych department has the worst idea ever.

70. reverse death note

71. not even death will stop this woman from taking the british subway

72. man doesn't want to be low key racist in his last moments before getting eaten

73. police versus the second coming of dark jesus

74. lady is haunted by an ad for coffee

75. mike crew says "uh fuck it let's just put this guy on a skyscraper forever"

76. ryan from buzzfeed unsolved breaks into a train yard and suffers consequences

77. you're not a enough of a bitch to be my real mom

78. man gets harassed by his cousin and then exorcises him

79. you know that chase scene in scooby doo with the doors

youtube

80. stupid idiot motherfucking jurgen leitner

81. i have been personally victimized by the sequel to the hungry hungry caterpillar

82. pov: elias threatens to cancel you

83. mannequin takes matters into its own hands after people don't like its pitch for a new window display

84. a hoarder put newspaper on my friend's face :(

85. hey there's maybe a little man upon these stairs?

86. man gets got by a squiggly thing in the dark.

87. plumber is so oblivious to spooky happenings around him that it possibly saves his life.

88. guys i think this guy likes to dig

89. lesbian investment banker finds a new, less evil job: arson!

90. guy who turns people's bones starts a gym where he promises not to turn your bones! (he is lying)

91. i was stalked by lightning for 10 years and i all i got were these stupid scars

92. jonah magnus is a bad friend // another day another elias slay

93. ocd is no match for purple fuzz

94. let the bodies drop gently to the floor let the bodies drop gently to the floor

95. im so sorry my brain refuses to remember what the war ones were about but i think one guy got gently kissed on the forehead so that's pretty nice.

96. diversity wins! the not-quite-human delivery men who stole your identity and business are maybe gay?

97. man gets gaslighted by an entire town about a hole

98. 🎶mister sandman bring me a dream, actually don't, please stay far from me 🎶

99. another one bites the dust

100. archival assistants face off against the general public (they lose)

101. jon finally levels up high enough to unlock an eldritch horror's tragic backstory

102. LOCAL MAN MARRIES BUG

103. peppa eats a clown and they cover her in concrete instead of congratulating her.

104. pennywise stole my brother's skin

105. it's world war z baby

106. Something Big Is In Space.

107. man is interrogated about the time he saw thomas the train roasts people alive and also sans is there

108. actor is stalked by mask who liked his monologue so much that it tells its mask friends to come watch.

109. sometimes a family is just a serial killer's daughter and that guy who maybe killed some vampires

110. yeah man those spiders be eating

Part 1 |

#tma #i hope this convinces you to listen to tma #the magnus archives #sasha james #jon sims #podcasts #gay podcasts #elias bouchard #peter lukas #melanie king #gerard keay #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #funny #one sentence summaries #sillyposting #Youtube #queer

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bunnyhugs77 · 4 months

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Honey I'm Home

୨୧- Just a little slice of life of a hard working dad, his tired wife and their twin girls.

୨୧ WC: 900

Jungkook pushes open the door to your small two-bedroom flat, his keys jingling in the door which attracted the two little girls on the other side to come running instantly.

The soft patter of their socked feet hitting the wooden floors as they rushed to his as fast as they could. "Daddy!" The girls squealed. Jungkook crouched down, his once drained expression replaced with one full of delight.

"Girls!" He exclaims, taking the both of them in each of his arms, listening to their adorable laughter as he engulfed them into his tight embrace. "Daddy! Can't breathe!" Aria squeaks from where her head rested against his chest. Always the dramatic one of the two.

Jungkook laughs, apologizing and letting them go. Aria runs back to the kitchen where he could only assume the source of that flavourful scent was coming from. Meanwhile Hye-Ji stayed back to show him the flowers she'd picked just for him.

"Are these for me?" Bending at the waist to collect the crushed dandelions that were once in the grip of her fist. She nods with the brightest smile he's ever seen.

Picking her up as well, letting her rest on his side with one hand, careful not to ruffle the very elaborate princess dress she was wearing as he finally begins to make his way to the kitchen. "Thank you so much princess, I'll make sure to add this to my collection." He places a kiss to the crown of her head.

There you were. His eyes seemed to soften once they landed on you. In a button up and your favourite pair of mom jeans." Hi baby," He gets the chance to peck your lips briefly before Hye-Ji was asking to be put down.

She quickly ran off to her sister in the living room where there were colouring pages ripped out, building blocks all over the place, a box of crayons in the laundry bin full of clothes that were waiting to be folded.

"Hi." You manage a smile before resuming your blank stare into the pot of tomato sauce for the spaghetti that you'd been stirring for god knows how long. "Is everything okay?" Disregarding your mundane 'yeah' he know something is up.

"Honey, what's wrong? Talk to me." You sigh, dropping your shoulders, finally looking at him. He was in his typical work-wear for his day job as a private banker meanwhile he works part-time nights as a mail courier.

"Today was a bad day." Letting your head fall into your husband's firm chest in defeat. His hands raised to hold you in his arms the same way the have been for the last 5 years.

The shiny silver band of his wedding ring catching the light for a moment as he gently rubbed your back. "You wanna talk about it?"

You pout softly, "There's nothing to say, look at the state of the house. Hye-Ji turned the house upside down looking for her dress this morning. Then I took them to the grocery store and Aria got lost." Jungkook's eyebrows raise, but you weren't done.

"I finally got them to sleep for an hour while I did some laundry, and then I ended up falling asleep myself, waking up to crayons and toys everywhere, and Hye-Ji was crying because she missed you and then I started crying because I missed you too and-"

You couldn't believe this was making you tear up. The day was hectic and the fact you'd have to do it all over again tomorrow. Jungkook hushes you in a comforting manner, practically swaddling you in his arms. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here," you sniffle, stepping back.

"It's not your fault. You work two jobs. it's just hard sometimes." You admit and Jungkook gets an idea. "Go." He says and your brow arches, "I'll finish dinner, and take care of the girls. Go rest, or read that Jasper Wilde book you've been wanting to read. Please. Let me help, you deserve it." He pecks your forehead and you weren't going to fight him on it.

Leaving the kitchen and the responsibilities to him. Telling yourself that it would only be a thirty minute nap but it turned into 2 hours. By the time you walked back into the kitchen, it looked like you'd walked into a whole new house.

Everything was neat and tidy, the girls were sitting on the ground with a bowl of abandoned grapes shared between them as they watched Moana with an entranced gaze.

The laundry basket was gone, the floors were clean and the air smelled of soft fresh linens and cinnamon. Looking back to the kitchen where Jungkook quietly tidied up, humming softly to himself. You stood hidden from where you were admiring your little family.

You may not have had much but you had everything you needed right here. "You're amazing you know that?" Jungkook says as you approached him. "I should be saying that to you." You counter.

"No. I mean it, Y/n. Having two jobs is easy, but doing what you do everyday is a job for a saint. I appreciate everything you do for us, I love you so much." His lips pressing against your forehead while your heart felt so full of love. "I love you." You say.

"I have to potty!" Aria declares and the both of you look at each other.

"Not it."

#jungkook smut #jungkook #bts #jungkook ff #bts one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic recs #fluff #drabble

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rowretro · 3 months

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𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐔𝐓𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘

✧warnings: illegal activities, robbing a back, guns, blood, bomb blasts.

♡synopsis: Y/n and Nishimura Riki, are quite like Bonnie and Clyde, partners in crime with morals. The 2 are the youngest in Heeseung's gang, and had been assigned to rob a rather rich, immoral man's bank. Robbing the black money that he had robbed the country of, exposing his true colours. (Clearly inspired by Thunivu.)

✧♡✧♡𝕹𝕺 𝕲𝖀𝕿𝕾 𝕹𝕺 𝕲𝕷𝕺𝕽𝖄♡✧♡✧

Y/n smirked as Riki's gun pointed the air, bullets shoot at absolutely nothing as the bank workers and those who visited, cowered, finding safety where they could, all laying low. "THIS FUCKING HIEST IS MINE." Riki simply screamed as He chucked a gun at y/n who caught it, the girl immediately got to work, threatening the people, as she took their phones, purses etc.

"If you don't want to be harmed during this heists I advise you all lay low, let me take what I need and then I'll let you free." Riki simply advised as he played some music. Y/n checked all the restrooms and other areas, making sure no one was hiding before sitting on one of the desks, preventing any bankers from pressing the emergency red button.

"You guys... so fucking selfish, you think you'll be free with all the money you take from us?! of course you will you're kids after all." a 40 year old man complained as Riki and y/n turned to each other, the 2 bursting out into laughter. "Ah of course, you'd believe we're going to take the money and blow it on something useless?" The male asked as he turned to y/n. "You see sir... you'll see where this money'll go." she simply said as she pressed the big red emergency button herself.

Within minutes, police cars surrounded the bank building, as they remain cautious. There were bombs on the doors, heck they could even see that some bank workers were tied by the window, with bomb vests. "I take back what I said sir... please take this vest off of me!" the 40 year old begged as Riki snickerred. He pat the man's back with his gun "If you behave, I'll consider freeing you ".

All the while, y/n sat by the phone waiting on a call. "Wow these cops are really slow huh... So entitled they want us to call them instead. alright fine- we'll let them have it their way." she shrugged, dialling the number. "Hello? is this the police station?! there seems to be a heist taking place in XXX bank." The girl said, waiting upon a reply "What you don't think a woman can rob a bank? it's no wonder so many crimes happen in this country." She added, sounding a little annoyed.

Riki took the phone from her hold as she frowned at him, the male simply placed a soft kiss on her lips as he placed the phone by his ear. The police on the other line were just not having it. "Us robbing a bank? You see sir we aren't robbing the bank. we're simply taking back the amount this bank robbed from us." Riki said as the police officer was in disbelief. "All your doubts will be cleared.... can you put officer Jungwon on the line?" Riki said with an innocent smile.

Officer Jungwon, the said, innocent, brand new cop on the team, he was just a PC, the fear in his eyes evident as the Inspector glared at him handing the phone to him. "Officer Yang, we invite you through the backdoor to the bank. but.... you must bring 4 people..." Riki added as y/n nodded, hacking into as many news channels as possible, smirking as her eyes land on a certain news reporter. "Reporter Park" She simply said as Riki nodded.

"4 people. The bank owner. His father. The Manager and of course Reporter Park. The charming reporter with multiple cameras, trying to get the juicy drama, while charming a bunch of girls? his name card says Park Sunghoon? yeah that one." he described hanging up. The police new they were messing with the wrong gang, anyone knew Riki's voice. No one dared to mess with the Nishimura Riki, the only known gang mate in the ENHYPEN gang.

When the 4 were allowed in, Sunghoon set up the cameras as y/n tied the 3 men to 3 chairs, handing Jungwon a bat. Riki stood behind the camera with y/n. His focus on the people within the bank. "See here fellow bank workers and visitors... you're going to find out the real truth behind where your money, and my money went." Riki simply said as y/n shrugged, handing a contract to the three.

"what is this?!" The bank owner, Yeonjun asked as y/n smiled "It's simply a contract, a contract you will sign in front of this camera to allow us to interview you live~" the girl said, as Yeonjun signed it, not bothering to read it, he passed it onto his father, Mr Choi, the the Manager, Choi Soobin. After signing the contract, y/n took a seat. "Reporter Park, this is live right?" she asked as Sunghoon nodded.

With Jungwon in the back holding a bat, and Y/n sat right opposite the three men. "First question. Choi Yeonjun, the owner of this beautiful bank. Mind telling me how much you stole from us all together?" y/n asked as the man smiled at the camera "See darling I don't see what you're talking about... Why would I steal money when I'm already rich." He asked as y/n tutted "Officer Yang... if someone stole 100 million from your hard earned money, how would you feel?..." y/n asked.

"I'd break his hands for touching my money..." he answerred as the girl nodded. "Okay... well lets tone it down just a little, you may use the bat to hit Yeonjun everytime he lies." "WHAT? HIT ME??? SINCE WHEN WAS THAT ALLOWED?!" he asked as Riki chuckled. "In the contract Owner Choi." "What the fuck- but- the writting is so small i could barely read it!" he complained as Riki shrugged "It's the same font you used in your contracts." he simply said.

Jungwon started beating the man with the bat, as Riki then told him to stop. "This is ridiculous. I will not let you abuse my son like this!" Mr Choi complained as y/n nodded. "Okay sir then why don't you answer us? where did you store all the money you stole???" She asked as the man glared at her "I'm telling you we didn't steal any money!" The man lied as Soobin, the manager interrupted them. "Sir just tell them where the 500 million is or they...." Soobin stopped mid sentence noticing the Chois glare at him.

"500 million?.... wow you hear that world? XXX bank stole 500, million fucking dollars. Only 100 million from the infamous gang you all know... then that 400 million?... why don't I answer that for you?..." Y/n said, glaring at Yeonjun. "You stole that hard-earned money from all those civillians who worked their blood, sweat and tears, for that money, to pay off bills, school fees, hospital fucking bills. The so-called black money is actually red money. you have way more fucking blood on your hands than any gang ever had." She seethed.

The news airing abruptly came to an end, when Yeonjun managed to break out and stab a few wires, he immediately kicked y/n in the stomach, grabbing her by her hair and smashing her face into a glass table. However, Riki was quick to act, pulling her away, and hitting Yeonjun around the head with a gun. The Choi now knocked out called. "You alright princess?" Riki asked, his eyes widening at the little trickles of blood on your face. "M good sweetheart... it was nothing" she reassured as the man kissed her.

"Cork it love birds. only a matter of time before Yeonjun wakes up. Let's just take our 100 million and leave, the heli's here, the police can sort out that lot." Sunghoon said, throwing off the lanyard and unbuttoning the top, revealing the undershirt he wore beneath. "Fucking reporter uniform making me sweat like fuck." he groaned as Jungwon scoffed, throwing the bat aside as he dragged Yeonjun back to his chair, tying him down. "I actually look kinda fire in a cop's uniform to be honest." the man smirked as he followed y/n and Riki.

Y/n smirked, as she bombed the vault open, taking only the amount that the bank owed the gang, placing the money inside the helicopter. Riki dragged her cautiously, as they started to run until they were out of sight, the boys following behind. As they reached a safe spot, Heeseung picked them up. "huh, the police are at the bank now, and they're looking into the case.... and you're making out-" Sunghoon rolled his eyes, as Heeseung honked the car horn, in an attempt to stop them from eating eachothers' faces.

"Fuck it. they won't listen...." Heeseung groaned "they handled that bank issue without a lot of smooching, pet names, hugs, romance and all that bull crap... they'll be out of breath soon-" Sunghoon pointed out as Jungwon covered his ears.

✧♡✧♡𝕹𝕺 𝕲𝖀𝕿𝕾 𝕹𝕺 𝕲𝕷𝕺𝕽𝖄♡✧♡✧

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hidden-poet · 4 months

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President Snow part 3

Previous chapters; 1 and 2

Summary; After Lucy-Grey there was you.

warnings; slavery, Uncon, angst, dark!Coriolanus snow.

3/3

"Did you hear? Y/n L/n was sold into maids standing by her father last year". Festus creed plopped another Hors d'oeuvre into his mouthlike he was talking about the weather.

Coriolanus feels his body still at his words. The drink he pushed to his lips couldn't make its way into his mouth. He had looked for you at every social function. Even called upon where you once lived, only to be turned away by a new family living there.

He had assumed you had married and your family followed to where your new husband lived. If he was a manufacture he properly lived closer to the districts. The thought made him sick.

But no. You had been waiting for him. Training for him for the past year in maid training.

"I was thinking of adding her to my collection of the fallen"

Coriolanus's blood boils at the thought.

"Who?" Clemensia asks matching the almost bored expression of Festus.

"You know Arthur's daughter. The Banker who was stealing from the Pamen National bank. His daughter was a few years below us. Used to play on the volley ball team".

"When does she go to auction?" Clemensia warms at his words. She remembered her after all.

"Why so you can steal her from me?"

"What use would we have for a girl trained in fine arts and history? it won't make her a better floor scrubber. Right, Coriolanus?"

"i am still not sure who you are talking about" Coriolanus lied.

----------

Coriolanus returns home later then usual. He had gone to a party but normally he only made a quick appearance for an hour or two before returning. But this time he returned well into the night.

You wouldn't have minded if it hadn't of got so late. You were tired and he hated to come home to find you asleep. When you heard the door unlock you knew you would only have to stay up for an hour more.

As he entered the room to find you laying on the bed watching TV, he doesn't crawl over to you or demand you help him undress.

Instead he takes a dress out of your closet, that was mostly filled with his extra clothes, and tosses it to you.

"I have a surprise for you. Get dressed".

You do as your told taking off your nightdress in front of him and putting on the dark blue sun dress.

He eyes you slowly before taking your hand and leading you down the hall to the living room.

You wondered about the surprise and the need to dress for it. Normally his surprises entailed the exact opposite.

It made sense when you turned the corner and saw an elderly man sitting on the large white couch.

You heart leaps at the sight of your father sitting in the living room.

"dad" you cry tearing your hand from Coriolanus . He gets up upon seeing you and you both throw your arms around each other.

"Oh my baby". His arms felt safe and secure.

Coriolanus is quick to breck up the scene, taking you back into his grasp with a tight hold on your wrist. He brings you to the other side of the couch, away from your father.

"given your rise i thought you might like the opportunity to buy back your daughter" Coriolanus spoke with a cold hard tone.

Your toes curled in excitement. You were going home and you were going home a lady.

Your father straightened his back and shook off imaginary weight from his shoulders.

"I sure would. How much did you pay?"

"Less then what she is worth and less then what she is currently worth after my teachings".

You shudder. He was going to make this more difficult then it had to be.

"Lets start at a thousand panars".

"Let me show you the door at a thousand panars. My shoes cost more".

You wrap your hand around Coriolanus's wrist as he held yours. That was a good offer he spat at.

"Please Coriolanus" you beg.

-------

Coriolanus had a private showing at the slave quater the very next morning.

It was the earliest he could convince the owner of the house to have a showing. Which still wasn't early enough for him.

He paced through lines of young girls trying to find you. He remembered what you liked like at the Academy but people had a awful habit of changing.

He stopped in front of one girl who could have been you. Roughly the same height as he remembered. Same color eyes, although he never saw them up close so he couldn't be certain. Her hair seemed a lighter shade of Y/H/C and her nose seemed larger.

He continued satisficed that she most likely was not the girl he was looking for. He continues through the line of girls all dressed neatly in simple white dresses. They were more like potato sacks with arm holes.

They were organized according to training and skill. The girls who had been with the house the longest and received the most training were shown first.

He skipped the queue, you wouldn't be amongst them. He started in the middle and grew more frustrated as he neared the end. He knew once he spotted you he would know.

He scanned ahead looking for your hair color and height.

He saw a possibility far off and bee lined for it, ignoring the words of the owner as he took off.

Once he stood in front of you, he knew without a doubt that you were her. His Y/N.

You had barely changed from his memory. You had lost a little bit of weight no doubt from the stress of it all. Your eyes had dulled over a tad and your hair was less shiny and neat, but all the same you were as he remembered.

"President Snow, she is only trained as a house maid. She wouldn't be trained adequately for you", the owner of the house explained.

"Good then I don't have to train her out of annoying habits".

You looked worried, and he wondered if it was at the thought of being chosen or at not being chosen.

"Open your mouth" His first command to you.

You do and he pretends to check your teeth. Not an unordinary practice for a buyer but not of interest for Coriolanus.

He had longed to exert control over you.

Walking to school he would day dream to make the trek bearable in his tight shoes.

He dray dreamed he would find you at school and pluck the flowers out of your hair. "Don't wear these. They make you look childish" he would say.

At lunch time he would take the liberty of filling both your plates with food of his choice while you trailed close behind him.

You would wait for him after each class at his place of choosing. sometimes waiting just outside the door while he astonishes the classroom with his hard learned knowledge. He was sure he was going to get the Plinth prize and go off to university. There would be no need for you to do the same.

But his poverty kept him shackled and your money (however so dwindling) kept you safe.

Before if he told you to open your mouth for inspection you would laugh at him, now if he told you to hop on the spot, you would hop.

"how much?" he asked the sweaty little owner.

They agreed and you were tossed in the sold cage while Coriolanus filled out paperwork. He tired not to seem egger to collet you.

He had never personally brought a maid and had no idea it involved this much paper. He only glanced at whatever he was signing, trusting the person who explained each document to him.

When he was finally allowed to go collect you, he found himself stuck at the door.

How would he approach this? should he call you by your name to show he knew you or place the burden on you to make the connection.

You never even talked to him in school but perhaps you shared the same quiet fascination with him.

If not, he was still President Snow, and you were a loyal subject. He could image you would be awe-struck at the opportunity to serve him.

He yanked open the door and walked with powerful strides. You were sitting in the holding cell, curled into a ball on the floor.

You got up upon seeing him, and came closer to the bars.

"Here" he held out a cold water bottle that he got from the owners assistant. He wished he drank some of it. He would have spat in it if he had registered that he was going to give it to you.

his action took you both by surprise. But you take it.

"Thank you, President Snow".

He gained no sense of familiarity with your words.

He waited for a 'we went to school together' or a 'I always knew you were going to be President of Panem'.

But nothing came. You drank your water and even separated yourself from the bars.

You gave no sign you recognized him from the Academy days. You gave no plea to his sense of fellowship, or tried to give yourself false standing upon your upbringing.

When he had asked about your standing you had told him you were born into your situation. A bold move to someone who held your paperwork in his hand. The entire history of you, as well as your in and outs.

Still he didn't correct you. Perhaps you were waiting to pull the secret past card for a rainy day.

"Your name is Y/N? is that correct"

two could play the i don't remember game.

You nod.

"Well Y/N, in about 10 minutes two peacekeepers will come and take you to a van where you will be escorted to the Presidential estate. From there the Headmistress will make you presentable and begin your training as my servant".

His hands curl around the bars and he pushes himself closer to you.

"I have high expectations of you. Don't disappoint me".

-----------

'Coriolanus please. I'll come back any time you want me to. Do anything for you. But please let me return home".

Your words took his mind breifly to imagining a different life with you. They never caught him for cheating and with the Plinth prize under him, he took your hand in marriage.

And yet still, in his imagation you stood in the living room, perhaps better dressed, and said the same words.

He really did just want to own you.

Coriolanus said nothing and turned his eyes back to your father.

"You made a deal with Mr Grenge for 300 million panams. So my price for Y/N is 300 million panams"

"that's everything" he father mutters.

'She is everything". You didn't believe it. Not to him.

"I-I Can't. I'd be ruined again".

"You could always sell her back. At a discount of course".

'Please" you try again.

"It would be a fun 18 hours for you" Coriolanus taunts.

"we could pay in instalments" you father tries.

"Do i seem like a patient man?"

"Patient enough to wait for your time to strike" Your father is seething, "It wasn't surprise I felt about her being here, only dread".

Coriolanus smirks trying to hide it by rubbing his forefinger across his bottom lip.

" I saw you every time I picked her up from school. Lingering in the background like a parasite. Coriolanus Snow's got eyes for my daughter, I thought to myself, how harmful could he truly be".

He dad crosses the boundary of the living room table. His face contorted with anger.

"Then I saw you dangle that poor district 12 girl in the Hunger games. You were no harmless school boy, I realized, you were your fathers son. And that is a very dangerous thing to be".

"Careful. You don't speak to that school boy now. President Snow is who you address, and you've said enough to get yourself hanged".

You place a hand on Coriolanus shoulder as if to keep him pinned to the chair.

"Y/N I am so sorry. He was gone when I sold you. I thought you'd be house maid to one of the lady's. I never thought he'd get his hands on you".

The old man takes you into his arms. His baby daughter who he threw directly into the mouth of the wolf.

"No sale has been made yet" Coriolanus reminds him, "Do we have a deal of 300 million panems or are you touching some one else's property?".

--------

The first few months in the presidential estate were terrible and Coriolanus saw to it.

You were beaten for everything for quick training. Even things you were sure you did right were wrong.

He had to give it to you, despite your privileged up bringing, you were a hard worker. Every time he checked on you, which was often, you were never found sitting down. Always on the move scrubbing something, dusting something, organizing lien cupboards.

He only caught you once reading a passage from a poetry book kept in the library. Old habits die hard, he supposed. He remembered you loved to read.

You would often read stretched out in the sun during lunch time at the academy garden. Coriolanus would watch from the schools library window, when he should have been studying. You again were interfering with him being the best he could be.

He called upon you during your dinner time. Requesting your presence in his office.

When you entered you saw your headmistress standing on the opposite side of the desk.

Coriolanus sat in his chair, looking bored. His head resting in his hand, not looking at the headmistress or you. Just staring blankly at his desk.

As you enter you can see the wooden Cain and the poetry book laying flat on the desk. Your legs turn to jelly the closer you got.

"President Snow. Headmistress" you greet.

"Which poem was it that caught your eye?" The old women grumbled.

You bring your hands to your chest and wring them together. You were still sore from your beating last night. You weren't sure you could take another one.

"i was only checking the book. The pages seemed loosed".

"Are you suggesting that the presidential estate would house such a book?"

You try and back track on your lie. Blaming lack of sleep and food for your mistake of the falling pages.

Coriolanus reaches for the book, flipping it to a random page and placing it back on the desk.

"Place your hands on the desk and read it" The headmistress demands, picking up the cain.

You face Coriolanus who watches you from his seat. You eyes swell with tears that spilled on it the page. He would keep the book in his draw rather than the library.

''My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk''

The headmistress brings the cain down upon your back, and your sentence comes out as a yelp.

"Or, or, or emptied some dull-ll opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had-saH-Sunk!".

It strikes after each pause. Your hands curl into fists upon the page.

"Tis,not,through,envy,of, thy,happy,lot" You rush and two strikes come down upon your back.

"Cheeky girl!" your headmistress reprimanded.

"But being too happy in thine happines" you slow.

He closes his eyes to the sound of the Cain coming down and images the school garden. Both school children again in the red uniforms. You lay in the sun together. Coriolanus rested his head on your lap as you read out your poem. You stroke his hair and he feels the warm sun on his face.

Your desperate act pulls him from his day dream. He looks at the women before him. A women he owed.

No school children in sight; the President of Panem and a slave take their place.

You finish your poem looking up to him for salvation. You do not receive it.

"Again" he demanded.

He wouldn't leave during your nightly flogging. He would lock the door and free his cock from his trousers. He loved the thought of you so vunruable, so brusied and battered at his command.

He would image you with your dress down, tied to the whipping post as he brought the whip down on you. He imaged your squirming and crying for him. God, there was nothing he loved more than control.

He would wait until the flogging was announced to be over before he would return home.

He was always so sure that you would come to him the very next morning and beg for him to save you from the whipping post. Exchanging anything in return.

-----------

"I am so sorry. I have your mother to look after. She's not been well Y/N"

"Dad you can't leave me here"

"We'll visit" He insisted.

"No you won't"

You both turn to Coriolanus in his chair, half forgotten he was there.

"We'll write to you"

"It won't be delivered"

"I am sorry" your father finally accepted, 'Maybe once I make more money".

"Daddy please" you whine. He won't be given another chance, you know it. You weren't sure this chance was entirely truthful.

"I am so sorry" he repeats pulling away from you. He rushes to collet his things. You aim to go to him, to hold him one last time but Coriolanus rises from his chair.

He takes your hand in a tight grip.

"You'll find a maid downstairs. She'll help you to the door".

Your father looks at Coriolanus with hate filled eyes, but nodded his head in understanding. President Snow held all the cards, you both were nothing but pawns for him to entertain himself with.

'So sorry we could not do business together".

Your father doesn't answer too overcome with emotion of selling his daughter for a second time. He rushes away in shame and you fall to your knees.

Coriolanus lets go of your hand so you could curl yourself into a ball on the floor.

He lets you sob and heave on the floor by his feet. He knew telling you to stop would be a waste of breath.

He waits until you can control your breath again before he crouches down next to you.

He snakes a arm under your side to pull you to his chest. His arm curls around your shoulders to keep you there, while his hand cradles the back of your head. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while you sob. Loudly and painfully, you sob into his chest.

You can hear footsteps pounding down the hall way and you knew it was Clemessia.

"Get her to stop or I'll hang her by her feet in my study. She'll wake the children".

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows at her but does not uncurl his body from you to follow her command.

You quieten anyway. It's fine, you tell yourself, you've lost nothing.

You hold your breath counting to a slow ten and then release it a couple of times. It helped regain your composure.

Coriolanus unhooks himself from you and reaches into his breast pocket to pull out his handkerchief. He wipes your face clean from snot and tears with an emotionless expression.

You weren't sure you could walk so when he picked you up and took you back to the bedroom you were thankful to not have to find out.

----------

Coriolanus spits his tea back into the cup.

There was nothing wrong with it. But he loved how panicked you got.

Your lips would part, your eyes fell wide, your chest would puff up.

How could there be something wrong with the tea again.

'i am so sorry, President Snow. I'll make another" You go to take the cup back.

'What's the point? You disturb me every time you come with another pot".

"I'll try not to in the future, Sir".

"what good are your efforts. I've watched you try for the past six months. You only slightly improved".

'i can do better. I will do better".

He loved the grovel.

"maybe the night without supper would help to refocus your mind?"

Your body tensed, and he could feel the anger radiating off you, even if he couldn't see it upon your face.

'Is that a good idea?" he teased.

"Yes, Sir" You tried not to spit the words.

"Good. Then it's settled. Go about your chores".

The next day he offered you a biscuit from his tray, and said nothing about his tea. Even through this one was too sweet for his liking.

It was the first time your hunger overtook your pride. You took it with a small thanks, excusing yourself at the first opportunity.

he watched the camera link. You had gobbled the biscuit down as soon as the door closed behind you.

Once a lady now a beggar.

-------

He took you to the bedroom and laid you down.

You didn't move. You couldn't move.

He talked as he undressed you.

"I know that was painful for you but you needed to see it".

He yanked your dress over your hand, leaving you in only your panties.

You turn from him to your side but he flips you back.

tears still run down your face but you make no noise.

"Why. So you could see it?" you bit.

"At some point you have accept your life here".

He slides your panties down your legs, leaving them on the floor.

"was it true?" you ask, "that we both went to the Academy".

"yes. I had a terrible crush on you for many years". Crush he called it but it couldn't be further from the truth.

"i never even noticed you all those years". The sentence stung him a bit.

He places his lips on your neck and bites down. You wiggle under him, pushing on his shoulders.

"You are making me suffer because you had a school boy crush?"

He rises up and undresses himself from his many layers.

"i am making you suffer because I can". He makes haste with the many buttons on his vest.

His sentence quietens you. He could make you suffer just because he wanted to. he could make your family suffer just because he wanted to.

He rips the clothes from his body, leaving them a messy pile on the floor.

He drags you to the center of the bed and crawls on top.

"In any case who would you rather, me, President of Panem, or some old business man, bored with his wife. That's who you would have gone to".

You try and turn to your side again but his hands catch your shoulders and bring them flat on the mattress again.

"You should really say thank you". He pumps himself over you.

You don't say anything, and your ungratefulness resulted in a harsh hold on your chin.

"Say it. Say thank you" he demands.

"Thank you" You spit hard and fast.

"Thank you, President snow". He nudges your legs further apart and lines himself up to your entrance.

"Thank you, President SNow" he enters you without warning and starts a steady thrust.

It had been years with him. Sex with him wasn't something you even blinked at. On occasion you could have even been called a participant.

But not tonight. You couldn't even rock your hips for your own feeling. You just lay there and take it.

Something about night had made Coriolanus feel like a school boy again, and he took it out in his hard and rough thrusts. He was President Snow and you would remember it.

He begins to sing the national anthem of Panem.

"Oh, Horn of Plenty One Horn of Plenty for us all! And when you raise-ah- the cry The brave shall heed the call And we shall never falter, hmm"

He grunts in your ear. He pushes himself upright where with his new position he places both his hands on your hips and pulls you closer so your legs were hooked over his hips.

"And when we raise the cry-y the brave shall heed", he huffs, "the call and we shall never fall"

He new position gave him deeper thrusts. As the song ends his hips loose their rhythm.

"Oh, Capitol Your glorious diamond shine A tribute to' The darkest days behind Oh! One Horn of Plenty for us all"

He bucks his hips as he leans back over you on the bed, a hand resting by the side of your head to keep his weight off you and the other used to keep your leg over his hip.

He never fully leaves you before he slams back in.

He groans as he cums, letting you milk him of anything he had left. Even after that he remains in you.

Coriolanus lets out a short breathy laugh, dropping your leg and pushing his body down on you. You huff in protest but he doesn't care. Placing small kisses and bites along your skin.

You remain still. Numb from the events of the night. You didn't even say goodbye to your father. You knew you would never see him again.

Coriolanus spent by using you, rests his head on your chest.

"Someday some one will kill you for your wrong doings, Coriolanus". You warn.

He chuckles in response. It won't be by his doll.

----

Years later you stand in the crowd watching Katniss Everdeen raise her bow and arrow at Coriolanus.

You smile waiting for her to let go. You could see Coriolanus's eyes searching for you in the crown, unable to find you as hide amongst the people, before his settles on the eyes of his executer.

"MockingJay, may your aim be as true as your heart is pure".

The arrow flies but enters the heart of the Coin.

Coriolanus begins to laugh, blood spilling from his mouth as he does.

As the blood coats his shirt it is a reminder of his misdeeds. Against his people, his family, and importantly you.

You charge taking along a crowd of people with you.

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #dead dove do not eat #tom blyth #president snow

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 8 months

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 7: Gone

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your sister prepares for her wedding to Laenor Velaryon.

Hello! this one took a while, so am sorry, lol! My cat got attacked, which I hope is at least SOME excuse. This is another 8000+ word chapter, so yay! This covers the Episode 5 stuff, which is fairly self-explanatory. Thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for coming back to me and beta-ing this thingo!

TRIGGERS: Episode 5 shenanigans. Nothing much else, really.

These are the things you have learned—

One: Uncle took ’Nyra somewhere at night.

Two: that ‘somewhere’ was terribly improper, a place that not even a maid would go if she wanted to be seen as respectable.

Three: he was caught kissing her and doing things with her, even when there were lots of people in the room at the same time.

Four: he left her there, and it was only because of Ser Harwin that your sister made it home safely.

Five: Uncle asked Papa if ’Nyra could be his wife, and Papa said ‘no’.

These are not things you tell others that you know. Septa will likely strike you with her switch if she hears you repeating any of it. If anyone finds out what you have managed to find out, they will start minding their words more carefully around you. That is not what you want.

Because you are small and quiet, it is very simple for you to collect secrets. For example, Lord Bar Emmon’s lady wife has been dallying with a knight from House Massey. Lord Rosby is in debt to bankers in Essos for borrowing large sums for gambling. Lord Darklyn has a bastard son that no one knows about. You overhear little things here and there, spot details that others might miss, and you learn, tucking information away inside your mind just in case. You make sure that these secrets are proper ones, too—from the hands and mouths of those they are about.

After the accident that gave you a small scar on your arm, Papa made it a rule that you must come visit him each day so that he can keep an eye on you. This is how you had heard ’Nyra and Papa talking in his chambers.

“…have exposed yourself. Now, we must both suffer the consequences.”

“Were I born a man, I could bed whomever I wanted. I could father a dozen bastards, and no one in your court would blink an eye…”

“…an end. You will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon, and you will do so without protest… You are my political headache!”

“… my duty as heir… you must first do yours as King.”

You had waited for a beat, then knocked, hoping that the look on your face was innocent enough that they did not think you had heard. It worked—you had been let in and conversation had turned away from things-you-are-not-allowed-to-know to things-you-are-allowed-to-know. After that, it was not so difficult to piece together what must have happened from the rumours flying around the court.

Now, you understand why ’Nyra and Uncle were sharing all those long looks. Why they would stand so close to each other. Why they would jump apart whenever you came. They are in love, or maybe they just want each other in the way grown-ups sometimes do, the way that means they wish to put their parts together and make babies. Whatever the reason, whatever they feel, it had been enough for Uncle to ask Papa directly; enough to be exiled for.

You keep Uncle Daemon’s letter—‘I will be back soon’—to yourself. If you tell Papa, he will just make it impossible for Uncle to return.

If Uncle marries ’Nyra, will they go to live on Dragonstone? you wonder. Will they have many babies together? Will they bring me if I ask very, very nicely? You would like it best with them, you are sure of it.

Thoughts of what life might be like with Uncle and ’Nyra entertain you on the days you are made to wait for ’Nyra and Papa to return from Driftmark, which is where Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys and Laenor live. Even though your sister wants Uncle, she has agreed to marry Laenor. You don’t know what to think. You hardly remember Laenor. It doesn’t matter, you decide. Uncle will stop it from happening.

Lord Lyonel has gone with them as the new Hand of the King. It was not hard to find out that Lord Otto had his spies follow your sister out of the Keep and report back to him, or that he had then gone straight to Papa to tell of what Uncle and ’Nyra did. Your sister often says that Alicent seduced Papa to become Queen and give him half-Hightower children so that they would inherit what rightfully belonged to her, and that Lord Otto made her do it. She has been telling Papa that for a while now. It seems he has finally listened, for Lord Otto has been made to go back to his family seat even though his daughter is Queen and he has princes and a princess for grandchildren. He has gone too far in spying on ’Nyra.

This all means that, even though Uncle is no longer here, Alicent still wishes to keep an eye on you. She does not have many friends in the Keep now that her father has left, and it has made her nervous. You are only seven summers old, but you understand the way of things well enough—you understand that she wants to be your friend now that she’s realised she is alone.

I’ve been alone this whole time, other than for ’Nyra, you think. It is an unkind thought, so you push it down and tell yourself that it really isn’t Alicent’s fault that she forgot all about you with three babies to take care of.

Septa Marlow takes you to the nursery each morning as always so that you can see the Queen and your brothers and sister. In truth, you quite like this arrangement—because they are so little, it gives you the chance to play with them, to pretend not to be so grown-up for a while. Or, rather, you play with Helaena. Aegon is at a stage where he likes to throw things, so you mostly avoid him. Helaena is a quiet companion, so playing with her mostly means passing her toys and watching her arrange them in neat little piles that make no sense to you but seem to give her a great deal of joy.

“Here, ’El,” you say, passing her the next item. She stops her normal routine when she sees what you have for her. “This is Marya, and this”—you take the other doll out from the makeshift wrappings you devised when still within your own chambers—“is Hana.”

Helaena babbles to herself as her pudgy fingers twist through the brown hairs sprouting atop the wooden doll’s head, surprisingly gentle for one as young as she is. She beams, a gummy spreading of lips that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle, and pats Marya’s wooden face.

“Dolly,” she whispers. “Marya?”

You nod. “Yes, it’s a dolly. Her name is Marya.”

Sometimes, you find that you need to repeat things to her. She often poses questions like this, as though she is unsure if she has heard you right, as though she wants approval. You wonder if you did that at her age.

“That is very kind of you, darling.”

You look up. From her seat by the window, Alicent surveys you and your sister with a small smile. Aemond sleeps on in her arms, seeming to care little for playtime. Is he not too old for that? you think. She can barely fit him in the cradle of her arm, but you suppose that Alicent has always been quite small-bodied.

You smile at her words. She has taken to calling you ‘darling’ as of late. You know not why. Still, it brings a flush of warmth tingling through your blood. “I thought she might like them,” you say.

It makes sense; your dolls were only laying there, doing nothing at all, and Aegon keeps breaking your little sister’s toys. Because she is so quiet, you sometimes wonder if her nurses just don’t realise that she is there and that she needs just as much to play with as her older brother. Your dolls are rather sturdy. They were made for you when you were three summers, so they ought to withstand anything he can subject them to.

It is as though your thoughts summon his attention to you.

“I want them, Mama!” Aegon cries, pointing in your direction. It takes you a moment to realise that he is not pointing at you, but at the dolls in yours and Helaena’s laps. “I want!”

“They are for Helaena, Aegon,” Alicent says, but it is no use. Aegon takes a deep breath, and you brace yourself as the scream pierces through the quiet of the room, quickly followed by the squawk and sobbing of Aemond.

Gwenys stands from her place beside Aegon and lifts him into her arms, trying her best to hush him. There is little point—now that he has it in his mind that he is being denied something he wants, there will be no dissuading him until he is spent from crying too much. As usual, she heads for the door, taking with her the low sounds of her soothing voice drowned out by the wails of your brother.

Alicent has not moved at all, aside from swaying Aemond gently and patting his back. She rarely ever tends to Aegon. There are times when she looks at him as though he is a complete stranger, as though she did not make him and carry him and birth him. You sometimes catch yourself feeling sorry for him, for the fact that his mama so clearly loves his younger brother more than she loves him. In some ways, you and Aegon are very alike—Papa loves ’Nyra more than he loves you. He loves ’Nyra more than he loves any of his other children, but that is because she is the heir and that means she is the most important. It is one of those facts that belongs in the drawer in your mind labelled ‘the way things are’.

Still, Aegon does not do any of the right actions that would get Alicent or Papa to love him more. He throws things and breaks things and yells and runs, and sometimes he will say the nastiest words like ‘I hate you’ to everyone when he is in one of his moods. At least you try. You use your manners and follow instructions and keep quiet and calm, which Septa says is what makes a lady respectable. Perhaps that is why Alicent is calling you ‘darling’ now.

“Dolly?” Helaena whispers again.

She is staring at Hana, so you prop the doll in her lap beside Marya. Your sister clutches them to her, burying her face in their hair so gently that it makes your chest feel tight and a lump grow in your throat.

You watch Helaena hug the dolls that used to be yours but now are hers, ignoring the little voice in your head that reminds you of the one you didn’t bring, the one you have kept all to yourself even though you’ve no need for it now. Of Alysanne, the doll with silver hair and purple eyes, no longer tucked away in a chest but resting beneath your pillow, hidden from the sight of all but you.

It seems like barely any time passes between the return of Papa and ’Nyra and the beginning of the wedding celebrations. Of course, that is not true, for there are days upon days of preparations—ravens to send out and replies to be received, journeys to be made to the capital and rooms to be cleared of dust to house the visitors, banners to be erected and decorations to be installed—that sweep seemingly all of King’s Landing into a frenzy. Not even you are free of it. Thankfully, your only role is to stand up straight with your arms out as the seamstresses pin and hem your dress for the event.

“What do you think, Princess?” Lina, the head seamstress, asks. You don’t know if she is speaking to you or to ’Nyra, who looks on with a smile.

“Lovely,” ’Nyra says, answering your unspoken question. She steps forward to brush light fingers against the neckline of the gown. It tickles. “Silver ribbons for the hair, I think. Could a belt be fashioned in the same colour?”

“Of course, Princess,” the seamstress is saying, but your attention has drifted to the guard that stands watch at the door.

Ser Criston has been strange as of late. Though he is usually always more quiet than not, there is something very unhappy about the way he surveys those in the room now. He is ’Nyra’s sworn shield, and yet his eyes seem to slide right past her, almost like he wants to pretend that she doesn’t exist. What surprises you the most is that ’Nyra notices—she gives him fleeting looks every so often, especially when he is fixed and still—but does nothing about it. She is not one to let an insult lie.

You have always liked Ser Criston. Before, when you were allowed to go about more freely, he would let you sit by him and talk while ’Nyra was busy pestering the minstrels to play more songs about Nymeria.

Your sister claps as the final note rings. “Again,” she demands.

Samwell sighs, flexes his fingers, and readies himself to play once more. As he plucks the strings of his mandolin, he lets his voice carry the melody forth.

“She fled with her ships and her people,

Her heart broken for those who had died.

But if they remained, they would perish

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye.

A hundred fell to the sea’s cruel sweep,

A hundred more to the Summer Isles’s tide.

The Queen lost many souls fleeing from

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye…”

You turn away from your sister and glance to the side, to where Ser Criston is sitting next to you on the bench. “You’re Dornish, Ser Criston. Are you not?”

It is what all the ladies at court say—even Ser Harrold has said so. It certainly makes sense, for the knight’s colouring looks the same as Nymeria’s in all the illustrations of her you have seen.

Ser Criston smiles at your question. “Not exactly. I… my father is Lord Dondarrion’s steward.”

“Oh.” You frown, thinking hard. “He’s from… the Stormlands?”

“Yes, Princess. Well done,” he says. You beam at the praise. Ser Criston turns to listen to Samwell’s song for a moment, the tale of Nymeria floating faintly through the air and carrying a great sadness with it.

You wait for him to continue. When nothing comes forth, you try again. “Why does everyone say that you are Dornish, Ser? You should tell them they are wrong.”

He laughs, a quiet sound. “They aren’t. My mother—she was Dornish.”

You have learned much about the difference between ‘was’ and ‘is’. ‘Is’ is for people who are living, who breathe and think and talk and laugh, like you; but ‘was’ is for those who are no longer here. Who have died and left the living to mourn them.

“What House was she from?” You keep your voice gentle. You don’t wish to make him sad.

Ser Criston shakes his head. “She was lowborn. A member of the commonfolk. My father encountered her on an incursion into Dornish territory. He fell in love with her at first sight, or so he’s always said.”

“That sounds nice.” You have never seen or heard him be so free with telling someone about himself before. Even now, after serving in the Kingsguard for as long as you can think of, this is the first you have learned of who he is beyond his ability to use a sword. “What was she like? Your Mama?”

At that, he says nothing. You sit and listen to the music, to the tale of a queen who is forced to begin again in an unknown land. You wonder if Ser Criston sometimes feels as strange in King’s Landing as Nymeria did in Dorne all those hundreds of years ago.

“I cannot recall my mother well, Princess,” he finally says. You just barely stop yourself from startling at the sound of him. He stares out at the grass, at nothing, appearing for all the world like he is unspeakably lonely. “She passed on when I was… very young. I know she was beautiful; I remember dark eyes”—like his, you think—“and the shape of her smile. At least, I think I do.”

He looks angry, or perhaps upset. It is hard to tell. You are not surprised, though, for men are often angry when they are made to think of sad things. There is little you can do to change his mood, but you still let your palm come to rest on his arm, patting it softly. He peers over at you. His face softens. You and he take shelter from the sun in silence, looking out as the final refrain of the minstrel’s song flows through the Godswood.

“… Th’ Dornish have yet to bow or to break

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye.”

You know what it is like to long for someone you cannot recall. You understand. In brief moments, Ser Criston has been a creature with a spirit much like yours. But he always disappears within himself and the Kingsguard returns, ready to do his duty no matter what. He is another of those that your sister sometimes strays a little too close to, so perhaps he is upset that she is in love with Uncle Daemon and not him. That would be very scandalous, you think, suddenly feeling rather sorry for him.

“… Well? Do you like it?”

You startle. Everyone is staring in your direction, so you shake such thoughts from your mind and glance over at yourself in the mirror. The dress itself is a shade of pale purple that gleams from the silver threads woven into the fabric; the collar is beaded with pearls and tiny diamonds; the bodice decorated with flowers and vines in dark purple and grey thread the colour of steel. It is far more elegant than anything you have worn before. You look like a real grown-up lady in it.

All you can do is nod, your eyes shining bright with excitement. Even though you will be wearing it to the feast for ’Nyra’s wedding to Laenor—to someone who is not Uncle—you are filled with a sudden impatience for the eve to come sooner.

The screech and roar of unfamiliar dragons drifts in from the distance, their dark shadows in the sky a balance with those of the Velaryon ships upon the water. The banners have been raised; the Great Hall prepared; the food made ready. Those who live within the Keep’s walls, including you, linger around the room in wait of the guests that come from all corners of the Realm.

You kick your feet beneath your chair as lords and ladies file into the hall, the booming voice of Ser Harrold announcing them each in turn.

“House Redwyne with their lord, Oren Redwyne!”

“House Hayford with their lord, Mathis Hayford!”

The arrivals become of greater importance the longer the festivities continue. Soon, the incoming nobles are declared with all sorts of titles after their House and name. “House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock!” Ser Harrold calls out.

You do your best to avoid notice as Lord Jason walks down the steps, surrounded by people in different shades of red and gold to match his House. He makes his way forward, up, up, up the dais to stand before Papa and ’Nyra. Neither look very pleased by his presence, though he doesn’t seem to realise this.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he says, smiling as though he is an old friend of them both. “You have made a fine match for the Princess.”

Papa does not reply, just stares with his mouth frozen in an upturn. It forces ’Nyra to speak. “Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no better man than Ser Laenor.”

Uncle. Uncle. What about Uncle? you think, but you do not say it aloud.

Lord Jason makes a soft noise. You cannot tell if he agrees or if he is still upset that she refused him. “Well. If this is only the welcome feast, I admit I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding.”

“My daughter is the future queen.” Papa looks at your sister with a great deal of love. She turns toward him, a glow of happiness on her cheeks. “I wanted this to be a wedding for the histories.” You wonder if your own wedding will be one for the histories someday, or if Papa only intends for his heir to have such treatment.

“Where is the Queen?” Lord Jason asks, glancing around. “I had hoped to pay my respects.”

It is a question you yourself had been thinking of. Alicent is not one to be late to important gatherings. It is very unseemly for a lady to do so. If she were still under Septa’s care, she would probably be scolded most terribly for it.

Papa pauses for a moment. “I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations.”

“This is why men wage war,” Lord Jason says with his chin tilted high. “Because women would never be ready for the battle in time.”

He laughs at his own words, though he is the only one. It is not a very good jest, for you can think of at least three ladies from history—Visenya, Rhaenys, Nymeria—who had waged war and done well at it. Papa and ’Nyra do not seem to find it funny either, for they merely look at him like he is stupid.

“Your presence is always such a pleasure, Lord Jason.” Your sister tries to be polite, but you can hear the bother in her tone.

The smile disappears from Lord Jason’s face. He bends at the waist in a short bow. “Princess. Your Grace.”

As he rises, his eyes flick to you. It is like he has only just spotted you here, two seats down from the King. He looks you up and down as though you are a prize horse. The curve of his lips as he does so is very off-putting. “Good evening, Princess,” he says to you.

Papa clears his throat loudly before you can respond. His hand is clenched tight around his cup, causing one of the scabs to crack slightly. A thin film of blood spreads slowly across the knuckle. It all serves to startle Lord Jason, who quickly averts his gaze and slinks back down the steps to where his brother sits.

The next group to greet Papa and ’Nyra begins their approach, only to be interrupted by another man. He cuts in front of them all. You do not recognise him. “Your Grace. Princess Rhaenyra. Congratulations are in order.” After he says this, he turns to you. “And my greetings to you, Princess.”

It is the first time someone has addressed you so far without making you uncomfortable, so you cannot help the warmth that spreads through you. “Hello, Ser.” It is as good a guess as any. You hope you have not erred.

Papa’s smile is much more real. “We are very honoured to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold.” His expression changes, dims, his brow twitching. “I must say,” he adds, wiping the back of his hand on the kerchief resting by his plate, “I was most distressed to hear of the Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Rhea? Uncle has a wife named Rhea, you think with a frown. You notice Papa’s kerchief is streaked with red.

“Lady Rhea was a unique character,” Ser Gerold says. “Her kind… is not soon to be seen again.”

’Nyra surveys him with kind eyes. “If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce…”

It is Uncle’s wife who has died is the thought that crosses your mind as the drums begin to beat, signalling the arrival of someone very important. The guests that were lining up to pay respects separate to either side of the hall as the doors open and Ser Harrold cries, “Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark.” At that, the Velaryons make their way into the hall in a sea of glittering black and gold. There are more of them than you ever thought possible—far more than your own House has. “And his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen; and their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort.”

Everyone claps as they walk toward the dais. Papa and ’Nyra stand and you follow—those who had been sitting do the same, rising to their feet in welcome of your Valyrian kinsmen. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys bow and curtsey before you, Laenor stepping forward to do the same. ’Nyra leaves her seat to move around the table, and you are surprised to see her grinning at Laenor as he comes to meet her. She takes his hands; he kisses hers, and the applause begins anew.

As Laenor takes his seat beside ’Nyra—as Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys take theirs beside him, and the audience moves to find their own seats—someone comes in unannounced.

Uncle.

The room goes very quiet, and then the murmuring starts. Papa’s face is like thunder as Uncle Daemon strolls down the walkway with a smile and comes to a halt before him, as though daring him to make a fuss of his return. For a moment, you wonder if he will have the guards throw Uncle from the Keep.

Papa gestures to an attendant, who brings another chair to the end of the table. He will let him stay, then, you think. But Uncle does not sit in it. Instead, he looks at Lord Lyonel next to you, his brow raised.

“Well?” he asks. Lord Lyonel says nothing. Uncle scoffs. “Move. I would sit by my niece, Lord Hand.”

“My Prince—” The Hand of the King stops at the sight of Uncle’s barely concealed glare, a threat all on its own. He clears his throat and rises, the chair skidding back with a squeak as he steps aside. Uncle settles in the empty seat, shoulders hunching in that way he gets when he is trying to show everyone how carefree he is. He glances down at you and winks.

Papa turns from his brother to those gathered in the hall. “Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning…”

“Āmāzī,” you whisper, only just loud enough for Uncle Daemon to hear. You have come back.

He leans into your space to whisper his reply. “Kīvio sētetan, gōnton daor?” I made a promise, did I not?

You nod, thrilled. He remembered. He kept his promise. Your hand finds his below the table, hidden from view. He is warm as he always is, like fire, and he squeezes tight even as his expression shows a picture of boredom. Though he lets go quickly, the warmth remains.

“With House Targaryen and…” Papa suddenly falls quiet, staring out at the end of the hall. Everyone’s eyes, including yours, turns to follow his line of sight.

Alicent stands alone in the entry. That is not the strange part, of course—but what she is wearing is unlike anything you have seen her in before. Her gown is a shade of emerald, off the shoulder, a deep cut in the neckline exposing an indecent amount of flesh for a respectable noblewoman. It is beautiful, but alarming, for the oddity of it is matched by the almost angry look she wears as she silently approaches, people rising in turn when she passes.

She stops to greet ’Nyra. “Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you.”

It is cold, completely different from the way she normally speaks to your sister. It seems ’Nyra notices, for she cannot come up with a response before Alicent is kissing Papa on his cheek, taking her place like nothing is out of the ordinary.

“Please be seated,” Papa says with a cough. The hall echoes with the sound of shuffling. “Where was I? Oh, yes.”

He grunts. This time, he lets his voice carry to fill the room. “With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros.” The guests applaud. “And after tonight’s small affair”—everyone laughs—“seven days of tournament and feasting.”

More clapping. “At the end of it all…” He is starting to sound out of breath, which is worrying. He has been unwell as of late. “At the end of it all, a royal wedding… between my daughter, my heir… your future Queen… and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark.”

Papa sinks to his chair like he has just run up and down every step in the Keep, and you can see his chest rising and falling like he is trying to find air. The sound of it is drowned out by the music that begins to play. ’Nyra and Laenor leave their seats to perform the first dance, impossibly graceful in their movements. They look rather lovely together, you cannot help but think. Still, it is not he she should be dancing with. Glancing over at Uncle, you see he appears to be thinking much the same thing. You are unsure if it is a petty sort of amusement playing along the corner of his mouth or a snarl threatening to reveal itself as he watches your sister with a man who is not him.

The dance comes to a close and everyone claps, followed by a rush of lords and ladies rising to join ’Nyra and Laenor on the floor. Alicent stands. You observe her making her way to the Hightowers at one of the lower tables. You stay in your seat.

“Pōnte imazumbilā?” Uncle asks, jerking his chin toward those dancing in the middle of the room. Will you join them?

“Mirtys drējī rhēdiō daor,” you say with a twist to your mouth. I don’t really know anyone. In truth, you would like to go and dance, but you dislike the idea of doing so with a stranger. Or worse, with someone who looks at you like Lord Jason did.

Uncle grunts. “Konir drives qubys issa.” That’s a poor reason.

You feel your cheeks heat with your embarrassment. It is not very brave of you, you know. “Usōven, kepus,” you say with a small voice. I am sorry, Uncle. A sting prickles behind your eyes.

“Aōma lilinna.” He gazes down with a softness he uses only for you. I will dance with you.

“Really?”

Uncle Daemon shrugs. “Lo jaelā, darilaros.” If you like, Princess. His head turns to face the gathering dancers again. You know, though, that he is really looking at ’Nyra, smiling and beautiful in her white gown. “Yn ēlī, mirros gaomagon ajorrāelan.” But first, I have something to do.

You wonder what he intends. Will he take Laenor to the side, ask him to run away and leave ’Nyra a woman without a betrothed once more? Will he grab hold of her and force her to the High Septon’s rooms, make him wed them before anyone can stop him? Will he declare his love for all to hear, give Papa no choice but to do away with the Velaryon match? Each thought, wilder and wilder, circles through your mind. Whatever he means to do, it will surely be worthy of a great deal of court gossip.

But then, a voice interrupts. “In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes. Even Targaryens.” Ser Gerold takes one step, then two up the dais.

Uncle remains unimpressed. “Who are you?”

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone.”

“And?”

You can see the clench of the man’s jaw. Uncle is being horribly rude. “I am cousin to your late lady wife.”

“Ah, yes,” Uncle says. “Terrible thing. I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident.” You want to sink to the ground, to hide away from this conversation. It goes against everything Septa has taught you about courtesy.

“You know better than anyone,” Ser Gerold says, “it was no accident.”

You glance between Uncle and Ser Gerold, worry churning your belly to sickness. The salted flavour of roasted boar turns sour in your mouth. What does he mean? you think.

Then, there is a faint brush of fingertips against your arm. You startle, peering to your left. Papa is leaning across Alicent’s seat. Though he has just touched you, he is staring across at Uncle and Ser Gerold. His eyes slide to you, and he nods to the dancers.

Go, he mouths. Your lips part with your rising protest, but he frowns hard at you. Now, he mouths again.

Scurrying from your chair, you crane your neck to find someone to take company with. There are not many options—’Nyra is busy dancing, though now with Ser Harwin, Lord Lyonel’s son, and Alicent is still speaking with her kin. Everyone else is a stranger to you. For a moment, you wonder if anyone would notice should you sneak to the doors and make your way back to your own chambers.

“Hello.”

Laenor Velaryon has broken away from the throng. Standing beside you, he looks every bit as lavish as a man about to be wed ought to be. His coat is richly embroidered in black and gold; the pendants upon his gold chain glimmer. There is so much detail to his attire that you do not know where to look. He is smiling down at you, his face gentle.

“Hello,” you say, wary.

“It has been quite a while since last we met, hasn’t it?” There is a way about him that makes me feel as though he’s an old friend, you muse. His expression is open, his arms relaxed at his sides. “You were rather a great deal smaller.”

“I am seven summers now.”

“And I am eighteen. Strange, how time changes us.” He folds his hands before him. “Would you care to dance?” he asks.

You shake your head, though a part of you wants to accept. He is very easy to be around, you are finding. Perhaps he is not so bad a choice after all. “I am waiting for my uncle.”

“Ah.” Silence reigns briefly. Then, he bends closer to your height, his pointed finger directed out to the crowd. “However… I do believe he’s occupied, Princess.”

You stare out onto the floor and watch as Uncle makes his way from Laena Velaryon, shifting between bodies like a snake slithers in grass, straight toward your sister. You watch him murmur something indistinct to Ser Harwin—he takes the man’s place—he swarms up against her, and the pair seem intensely concentrated on their conversation. They are barely dancing, swaying together in a vague rhythm to the music.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Laenor says.

You think you might know, but you say nothing. It is hard enough to keep the threat of jealousy from rising like poison at the sight of Uncle with ’Nyra—with her and not you. He promised you a dance.

Laenor sighs. “Look,” he says. You glance up. “I get the feeling you are not exactly pleased by this match. No”—he waves off your protest with a laugh—“it’s alright. I cannot say I was very happy, either. At first. But your sister… she’s quite the woman. I’ll be… content with her, I think. I just hope I can offer her the same.” He lightly places his hand on your shoulder, firmer when he realises you do not plan to shake him off. “I trust that you’ll set me right, should I behave in a manner less than what she deserves.”

He is painfully earnest as he looks at you, like he truly does intend to seek your guidance. You cannot say that of many people. At the very least, he is good at pretending you are important enough to need a high opinion from. It is more than you expected.

“I will,” you say.

It is too quiet, and you think he probably hasn’t heard you over the noise. But he smiles, pats your arm, and disappears back into the mass of people. You feel oddly thrilled by his kindness.

Now that you are alone once more, your eyes drift back to where you had seen Uncle and ’Nyra, near to the middle of the dancers. You spy two shocks of silver, bright against all the darker heads of hair—you see Uncle take ’Nyra’s face in his hand—he leans in—

He pulls away.

What is he doing? you think, frowning. Uncle is stepping back—’Nyra reaches out, though for nothing—he’s stalking off—

You don’t even realise you have followed him, that you have sidled along the edge of the wall to the door and slipped behind the guards, out of notice, until you are facing the looming dimness of the passages outside the Great Hall.

Behind you, someone screams. Then another. Another. More yelling. The door closes and the noise disappears, as if it never was.

You did not realise just how many guards had not been in attendance at the feast until now. They jog seemingly in pace, the crash of armour too loud, echoing as they rush toward the room you have just left behind. Perhaps they have been drawn by the sounds that had taken your attention also.

It forces you to seek a hiding place. You dart into the nearest alcove, and though it is not covered, you pray that it is too dark for anyone to take notice. Thankfully, it works. Your Papa’s men thunder rumble past with nary a look your way.

A creak from the door. A faint thudding, and whispers, and a gruff voice sounds out, clearer than the rest. “Something to cover it with… for the body… and fetch the High Septon to… wedding will take place when he arrives…”

“Now?”

“Yes, now! So, go and…” A wail, and then it is quiet again.

A manservant hurries his pace, footfalls ringing in the near-silence as he takes the steps up and up and up. You watch him disappear from view, surely having gone to carry out the order given to him. To fetch the High Septon, withdrawn into his own rooms somewhere far, far from your own, awaiting the day he is called to perform the ceremony. Tonight’s ceremony.

Tonight? The wedding is tonight? There was to be seven days before ’Nyra was married to Laenor! That is what Papa said earlier… is it not?

It takes a moment for you to remember how you have come to be here, so caught up are you in your whirling thoughts. A part of you wishes to return, to make sure that Papa and ’Nyra and Alicent are safe. ’Nyra is a Princess, you remind yourself. Alicent is the Queen, and Papa is King. Everybody will want to keep them protected. Besides, there is little you could do that the guards could not. You are only a little girl.

Then, it strikes you. Your purpose. Uncle. Where has Uncle gone?

You peer out, and immediately snap back into shadow. The hall is not empty as you had assumed, though it was perhaps silly of you to think otherwise. It is always full of life and activity. There are guards stationed by the stairs, by each archway projecting a further passageway, branching out from the main corridor; two or three messengers await, milling nervously opposite the doors you had just exited from; maids and servants walk by, uncaring of the chaos within, busying about with their duties as normal. Any one of these people could see you and know in an instant who you are. Your hair—your dress—it is all too easy to identify. And if they see you, know you, they will pass you off to a waiting guard, who will ensure you are returned to your rooms, to Septa Marlow.

How will you discover where Uncle is then?

You wait, hoping that the bevy of bodies will thin with each passing minute. As you wait, you listen to passing snippets of conversation from those who walk by. Then, you hear it. Uncle’s name is like a clanging bell out of the mouth of a nearby maid. Your ears strain to catch the rest. “… for Prince Daemon’s belongings to be… King’s Landing tonight… waiting in the courtya…”

“Yes, ma’am…”

Footsteps. Your mind races. No, no, no… Not again. Not now. Not so soon.

Belongings. Tonight. Waiting in the courtyard. You may be young, but you are no fool. Those words, in that order—it can really, truly only mean one thing.

It means that Uncle is leaving.

You wait. You wait through the fractured exchanges drifting to your shoddy hiding place, the morsels of what life must be like for those who live and work in the Keep. You wait through the spilling of people into the hall, the nobles who had witnessed whatever it is that had been hidden from you. You wait through their bewildered conversation—“a Kingsguard!” and “such a terrible omen!” and “what a ghastly sight!” being some of the choice fragments you can hear—and through their slow scattering back to whichever lodgings they had managed to secure themselves. You wait through the barking orders of the Kingsguard to “find the Princess!”—it seems all have finally realised you are no longer in the room—the thud of their boots easy to detects as they grow fainter, fainter, fainter.

Finally… quiet.

Well, not entirely. The doors are open once more, and you can just barely hear voices within, the sound of something heavy being dragged out. Grunting, as with some great effort. None of these are important. What is important is that finally, finally, the way is clear enough to steal out of the alcove and just across to the staircase, to sidle out of the hall and down the corridor. You thank whatever gods had favoured you that something shocking or maybe even horrid had occurred and given you a free path to the courtyard.

Your mind immediately rebels. What a terribly wicked thing to be glad for. If you had spoken it aloud—if Septa had heard you—you know you would pay the price for such sin.

When you arrive, the sight that awaits you is one you had hoped against hope you would not be greeted by. Even though you had heard the proof, the crushing weight of disappointment still feels heavy in your chest.

“Where are you going?” you ask, standing on the steps that lead to sand, to dust. To Uncle.

There he is—tightening the bridle on Varlet’s muzzle, reins in hand. Dark Sister is at his hip again. He must have fetched it from his rooms before commanding the servants to pack up his things, to send them along who knows where.

“Fu—” He cuts himself off, spinning to face you. A bad word, you presume. You see his face relax as his eyes scan you, recognising you even in dim torchlight. “Go back inside, sweetling,” Uncle says.

You cannot help the rush of tears that prickle behind your eyes. “You—Uncle Daemon, you cannot leave now!” You cast around for some reason, any reason you can find that might persuade him. “The—’Nyra is going to be married in the Great Hall soon. You have to be there. You said you would dance with me.”

This makes him release the reins, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his eyes like slits beneath the steel shelf of his brow. The horse nickers cautiously behind him, toeing at the ground. After a moment where he does nothing but stand, silent and still, he moves, taking large strides toward you. Up, up, up the steps he goes, and then he is crouching before you.

“Talītsos”—little niece, he says, and as he speaks, his fingers reach out to swipe loose hair back behind your ear—“the King has asked me to leave. I must do as he says, correct?”

When have you ever cared what Papa says? you want to tell him. What about ‘Nyra? You are leaving her behind.

What about me?

Instead, what comes from your mouth is this: “When—when will you be back?” Your lower lip begins to shake. One of the tears falls, even though you tried so hard to keep them from doing so.

His thumb brushes it away. You can still feel the sting of it in the cool night air, though his skin leaves a trail of heat over your cheek. “I’m afraid… I’m not coming back.”

His face is unbearably soft as he says this, but it does not banish the shock, the dread that rises. You feel ill. You feel ill. Bile burns in the back of your throat.

“But… you promised,” you say. You wonder if you look as lost as you sound.

Uncle smiles, though it is weak. “I know. If I had a choice, you know I’d stay.”

You cannot count the number of people who might hear such a thing and take it for a falsehood. He is a rake; a villain; a rogue. He lies, steals, cheats. He is mad, he is cruel, he is the very worst thing that has happened to House Targaryen since your great-great-great-uncle.

But you know he means it. You know.

“Will I ever see you again?” you ask, close to a whisper. Any louder and you’ll burst into sobs, and that will surely bring the guards—you can hear them faintly calling your name—right to you.

Uncle takes your hand. His eyes are bright, sad. “Kostilus,” he says slowly—perhaps—using the language of Old Valyria the way he does whenever he wants to voice something fond, something gentle and warm. “Kostilus daor. Jēda ivestrilus.” Perhaps not. Time will tell.

That is not good enough. That is not nearly good enough—but what can you or he do? If Papa has decreed that Uncle must leave, then he must, for he is the King. There is nothing to be done. Nothing at all.

Before you even realise it, you’ve thrown your arms around him, burrowing as close as you can get. He smells the same—of salt and smoke and love love love. “Aōma ozmijīnna, kepus.” I will miss you, Uncle.

Instead of replying, he just hugs you tight, so tight that your ribs ache and you think you can feel his pulse against your skin, even through so many layers of fabric and leather. You can barely breathe from the force of it. It doesn’t matter. You try to carve out a space in your mind for the memory of this moment, this single point in time where he is here and you are loved and the rest is trivial.

But, like all good things, it comes to an end. He pulls away. He stares at you, almost as though he means to say something. He doesn’t. He cups your cheek, and then he stands. He walks back to Varlet. He mounts his horse.

The grief of it bursts from you like an almighty cannon, wrenching with heaving, painful gulps. It surges with loud, ringing sobs, your nose stoppered up so wholly that you cannot breathe, so much so that it blocks out all sound, all feeling. You do not hear any last words. You do not hear the gate open. You do not hear the striking of hooves on the ground as Uncle Daemon rides away, getting smaller, past the gate, out of reach, going, going…

Gone.

It will not be long before the guards are drawn to you by the sound of your tears. It will not be long before they march you back inside. It will not be long before you must sidestep a crumpled Targaryen banner in the entry of the Great Hall, before you are brought into the grasp of Papa and ’Nyra, before you are made to listen to their panicked reproaching.

“Don’t ever run off like that again!” Papa will cry out, grabbing you by the shoulders with unsteady, shaking hands. He will loom over you, an expression battling between relief and anger playing out over his grey face. “We thought… we thought…”

“It does not matter what we thought, Father,” ’Nyra will say, lips tipped up in a smile despite her wet eyes and dishevelled hair. “All that matters is that she’s safe.”You will wonder why she appears so untidy, but there will be no time to ask.

As the High Septon performs the ceremony, as ’Nyra and Laenor repeat their vows in stunned, shaking voices, you will stand beside Alicent, in front of Papa. And, after your sister kisses her new husband on the cheek, Papa will collapse to the ground, knocking you lightly on the way. Alicent and ’Nyra and Lord Lyonel and Lord Corlys will crouch to his aid, booming voices clamouring for the guards to fetch help. Papa will be taken out of the hall on a pallet, speedily dispatched to his chambers for tending to by the maesters. Everyone will rush about, fretful beyond measure for the King’s health, while you are overlooked once more.

You will find yourself staring at the discarded banner of your House, the red of the dragon darker, deeper, like blood. You will feel a twisting in your belly at the sight. You will return to your rooms where it is dark, where you are alone, and you will ready yourself for sleep with no joy for the day that is to greet you when next you wake.

All of this will happen.But right now—here, on the steps leading to the courtyard which leads to the city which leads to a world far, far out of reach—you will watch the gate, wondering if Uncle will change his mind, waiting for him to come back.

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thedeviltohisangel · 3 months

Text

All The Things I Did (2): It's All Around, It's All The Time

a/n: wanted to end with angst but i'll save it. send in blrub reqests for these idiots falling in love

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. All he had to do was ask. He had asked plenty of girls and women out on the town before. All of them had blushed and giggled and obliged with a twirl of their hair and a bat of their lashes. But this one. Cass. She was something else entirely.

John didn’t ever think about deploying overseas resulting in him standing outside the mess hall, hat in hand and a bouquet of flowers sweatily gripped in his hand, pacing and muttering self-encouragement under his breath. You’ve done this a million times. You just ask. So what if she says no? There are a million girls trotting around here you’ve already charmed.

“Major Egan?” Shit. He had thought she was already in there, now he looked panicked and not at all manly. “Am I late?” She checked the watch on her wrist, knowing she would never not be on time down to the minute.

“No I thought you’d be early so I was out here talking myself into asking you to dinner.” There was no better way to say it than to just say it. He expected her to look shocked or abhorred. Anything but the look on her face that made it seem that is exactly what she was expecting.

“Are those supposed to go with the offer?” she asked as she motioned to the grouping of wildflowers he had tasked the children who followed Lemmons around to help him pick. He held them out sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as she lifted them to her nose.

“They’re not much-”

“They’re lovely.” She smiled, a real smile, and he felt a weight lift off his chest and his own smile spread across his face in kind. “Is dinner here or somewhere else?”

“Was thinking somewhere off base. Show you the John Egan worth knowing.”

“You’ll pick me up?” He nodded emphatically. “Then I will see you at 6.” That would give her enough time to finish her work day and get physically and psychologically prepared for whatever John Egan had in store.

“I’ll see you then,” he spoke with a hint of reverence in his tone, unable to even blink as she held the flowers to her nose again and damn near floated past him into the mess hall. Yes. Something else entirely.

----

She was nervous and she hated it. Hated that she was fretting over a fly away piece of hair only visible if the sun hit it just right. Hated that she only had two tubes of lipstick to choose from and neither of them were the right color. Hated that she had only reconciled breaking the rules to sneak out in anything other than her uniform to avoid Major Egan looking at any other girl in a pretty dress.

“Lieutenant Cooper, Major Egan is here for you.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Cass squared her shoulders and took one last steadying breath. She had faced down much worse. German border guards. Handsy bankers. Her mother when she enlisted instead of marrying Sidney Landry.

“You’re out of regulation,” were the first words out of his mouth when she finally stepped outside.

“Astute.” He opened the Jeep door for her, helping her in before rushing to his side.

“You look lovely.” He meant it sincerely. One of the most beautiful sights he had seen even before the war. And he was sure she would be even for long after.

The ride to a local pub was pleasant enough, John laughing at her earnest attempts to keep her hair in place in the breeze, making her laugh with her whole heart as he sang along to something on the radio. Sang or yelled, the verb was up for debate. He was a perfect gentleman, opening doors and pulling out her chair.

“You’ve given me plenty of grief over my debutante manners all in the hopes of covering up your own,” she mused as he returned from the bar top to their table with a couple of glasses. Coca-Cola for her, a pint for him.

“I’m not a neanderthal,” he quipped back. John went to raise his glass to his lips when he stopped, her hand resting lightly against his wrist.

“Not before a toast.” She cleared her throat. “To kicking Hitler’s ass and looking damn good while doing it.” The beer almost couldn’t get between the lips of his smile.

“You’re very surprising.” Cass hummed in acknowledgment. “I like it.”

“Like it? You like an ice cream flavor over another or you like the color of the tie your parents buy you for Christmas.”

“Well, love is a bit presumptuous, Lieutenant, but if you’re that taken-”

“Smitten. Tell me you’re smitten with me.” There was a dare behind her eyes. Daring him to dip his toes into shark-infested waters.

“I’m smitten with you,” he relented. John thinks she blushed. But before he could tease her about it, a pile of fish and chips was being placed between them.

“Miss Cooper, I wasn’t expecting you tonight! I got a fresh batch of my sponge in the back. Make sure you save room.”

“I will, Patricia, thank you.” John smiled at the interaction, enjoying this version of Spook. She was much more free off base. Captured the attention of everyone she came into contact with. He could only assume these were natural attributes for her job. Alleged job.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” she asked with a pop of a chip into her mouth.

“Wrap everyone around your finger in an instant.” He reached for her hand halfway across the table, Cass offering it instantly, filling the gaps in between her fingers with his own to emphasize the point.

“I could give you the same answer I told an empty suit in Washington a few years ago but the answer you want, it’s something I think you have to answer yourself, Major Egan-”

“John, please, Cass.” He was drowning in whatever this was. Needed her to give him an inch just to stay above water.

“John.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles one by one.

“Again.” She swallowed, mouth running dry and eyelids feeling heavy.

“John.” He could feel her pulse in her wrist. Flickering quicker ever so slightly. He thinks he could lose himself in this game. Willingly go insane if it meant having her look at him like this. “I’m smitten with you, too.”

----

Somewhere between the fish and the chips and the sponge and the more than a few pints, John had decided those two bikes out front were going to be his. And they weren’t for sale. So he had to earn them. Why not have some fun in the process?

“Aren’t you going to tell him he doesn’t have to do this?” Cass had thought about it but enjoyed the look on Bucky-no that was too much-John’s face to stamp out the fire.

“Major Egan, it’s just a stupid bet,” one of the British soldiers tried to reason with him.

“I have to do it now. Can’t look like a man who doesn’t follow through on his word in front of my girl.” My girl. That had slipped out when he was refilling his pint glass two or three pours ago. She was still tingling with the warmth it had provided.

“Who’s it gonna be then, Major?” Everyone echoed the call.

“I’ve played everyone,” he paused to hiccup, “and you Irish are about as good as hitting that bullseye as you are hammering your nails.” He pointed at a gentleman named Tommy and called him the best darts slinger in all of East Anglia, grabbing the apple to ready himself for the shot. Cass had resigned herself to the corner, content with watching John from afar.

“You two have been so cute together all night! Why don’t you go give him a good luck kiss?” A group of girls, around her age, had been at the pub either with their own soldier or hoping to find one. They had been longingly admiring the interactions between Cass and John. Like they were in their own little world in the corner of that pub.

“I don’t want to distract him,” Cass protested but she was already rising from her chair and smoothing her skirt.

“I’m sure he will find it a worthy distraction.” The cacophony of giggles followed her to her Major, Cass plucking the apple from his hand purposefully.

“Don’t go losing an eye,” she whispered.

“Fond of them already?” Her lips pressed together to block her words of agreement from slipping out. “Tell you what. I win those bikes from him but I want a kiss from you.”

“A kiss? That’s hardly a prize. Last I counted, you’ve kissed me plenty.” It was true. When she hadn’t rebuked his lips against her knuckles, he had moved to her palms and her wrists and had taken on the habit of kissing the top of her head every time he stood to refill their drinks. God, he had even allowed himself a sinful press of his lips to her forehead when they had swayed to the record playing in the corner only a handful of moments ago.

“A real, proper sweep you off your feet and make your head spin kind of kiss.”

“Then I guess that is worth playing for.” She handed him the apple and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek either way.

“Alright, Tommy, just not the eye.” Cass held her breath as the dart sailed through the air and let it go once it lodged neatly into the apple on John Egan’s head. The whole place erupted and she watched with a smile and a shake of her head as he hoisted Tommy into the air. He caught her eye and smiled like a champion, straightening his jacket before walking towards her. Her arm extended to hit his chest once he was within reach.

“Outside.” The air inside was suffocating, especially under John’s lovestruck gaze. Her head already felt like it was spinning and he hadn’t even tried to kiss her yet.

“This seems sturdy enough,” he said with a wave of his hand towards a stone wall lining the road.

“Sturdy enough for-” she gasped as his hands grabbed her waist and lifted her on top of it. Their height leveled within a few inches. Instinctually, her fingertips found the hair at the nape of his neck and found purchase. He leaned forward until there was no moonlight between them.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. She chased his question with her own answer, her lips meeting his and a symphony echoing in her head. John met her in kind, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand and stroking his thumb once, twice, three times.

“John.” It was a near moan. She wanted more, more, more. Her shoes fell off her stockinged feet, heels digging into his back to bring him closer.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me.” He said all the words with one breath to minimize the interruption to the havoc her lips were wreaking on his heart. His arms wrapped tighter around her waist, lifting and turning so he was on the wall and she was on his lap. Cass relished the change in position. Mewling when his hands slid up from her ankles to her thighs and settled at the hem of her dress.

“I need to catch my breath.” She pulled away slightly and pressed a teasing kiss to the tip of John’s nose.

“That feels nice.” She giggled and kissed him again. “You all caught up on your breath?” Cass nodded and with a smirk, she crashed against him over and over again. And if he whispered again how he was smitten with her. And if she rubbed her nose against his with something more than smitten in her intention. And if John Egan looked back on that night from the confines of a POW camp in Germany, that was just between them, the moon and the stars.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfiction #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fanfic

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months

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When parties fail, movements step up

This Saturday (19 Aug), I'm appearing at the San Diego Union-Tribune Festival of Books. I'm on a 2:30PM panel called "Return From Retirement," followed by a signing:

https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/festivalofbooks

Does anyone like the American two party system? The parties are opaque, private organizations, weak institutions that are prone to capture and corruption, and gerrymandering's "safe seats" means that the real election often takes place in the party's smoke-filled rooms, when a sure-thing candidate is selected:

https://doctorow.medium.com/weak-institutions-a26a20927b27

But there doesn't seem to be any way to fix it. For one thing, the two parties are in charge of any reform, and they're in no hurry to put themselves out of business. It's effectively impossible for a third party to gain any serious power in the USA, and that's by design. After the leftist Populists party came within a spitting distance of power in the 1890s, the Dems and Repubs got together and cooked the system, banning fusion voting and erecting other structural barriers.

The Nader and Perot campaigns were doomed from the outset, in other words. Either candidate could have been far more popular than the D and R on the ballot, and they still would have lost. It's how the deck is stacked, and to unstack it, reformers would need to take charge of at least one – and probably both – of the parties.

But that's not cause for surrender – it's a call to action. In an interview with Seymour Hersh, Thomas Frank (Listen, Liberal) sets out another locus of power, one with the potential to deliver control over the party to its base: social movements:

https://seymourhersh.substack.com/p/ordinary-people-by-the-millions

It's been done before. The parties are routinely transformed by power-shifts within their internal coalitions: since 1970, corporate Dems have consistently pushed the party to the right, making it the power of white-collar professionals and relying on working people showing up and marking their ballots with a D because they have "nowhere else to go."

Bill Clinton was the most successful of these corporate raiders, delivering the parts of the Reagan Revolution that Reagan himself could never have managed: dismantling tariffs and bank regulations, passing the crime bill and welfare "reform." He came within a whisper of (partially) privatizing Social Security.

This set in motion the forces that made Trumpism possible: when Dems told deindustrialized workers to "learn to code" and blamed them for the destruction of their communities, it opened a space for Make America Great Again, the (empty) workerist rhetoric of the GOP. The Dems' plan of putting "really smart people" in charge and letting them run things was a (predictable) disaster. "Really smart" isn't the same as "infallible" and really smart people can be spooked or bulled into doing the wrong thing – like Obama "foaming the runways" for the banks with the houses of mortgage holders, and leaving the bankers responsible for the Great Financial Crisis unscathed:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/15/mon-dieu-les-guillotines/#ceci-nes-pas-une-bailout

"Really smart people" can't get us out of this mess. Instead, we need the kind of muscular political action – the "whirlwind" – that characterized FDR's New Deal: "complete reformation of the banking industry.. just about every other industry as well. Regulation. Social Security. Public works. Antitrust. Soil conservation."

FDR got there by alienating his former classmates and refusing the go-slow entreaties of his cronies. He got there because there was a mass social movement that made him do it ("I want to do it, now make me do it"):

https://humanizingthevacuum.wordpress.com/2014/09/16/i-agree-with-you-i-want-to-do-it-now-make-me-do-it/

Every time in US history where one of the political party duopoly listened to its base, it was because of a mass social movement: the farmers' movement (1890s), labor (1930s), civil rights and antiwar (1960s). As Frank says:

Social movements succeed. They build and they change the intellectual climate and then, when the crisis comes, they make possible things like agrarian reform or the New Deal or the Civil Rights acts of the 1960s.

Today, we see the seeds of those social movements: the new union movement. Black Lives Matter. Neobrandeisians with their "hipster antitrust." These are the movements that are creating "ideas lying around": ideas that, in time of crisis, can move from the fringe to the center in an eyeblink:

https://doctorow.medium.com/ideas-lying-around-33a28901a7ae

They are setting in motion another transformation of the Democratic Party, from its top-down, "really smart people" model to a bottom-up, people-powered one, kept in check by movements, not party bosses. As Frank says, "They require the mass participation of ordinary people. Without that, I am afraid that nothing is possible."

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for "The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation," a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and make a new, good internet to succeed the old, good internet. It's a DRM-free book, which means Audible won't carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/17/popular-front-of-judea/#speaking-frankly

#pluralistic #sy hersh #theories of change #third parties #us politics #thomas frank #unions #labor #organized labor #civil rights movement #black lives matter #dinos #entryism #occupy democrats

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lovebvni · 6 months

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things to look forward to + ways to move forward!! <3

hello, lovelies!! i’m finally doing a pick-a-pile on this blog… after about half a year of being active

this pap will be answering 2 questions, but they have multiple parts. what’s coming in (from what i can see) and ways to get to it.

disclaimer: this pac isn’t legal advice or what you should do in your life. it is just based off your current energy. and that can change. purely for entertainment purposes.

now please, close your eyes and take a deep breath. wait until you see a swirl of colour to exhale. let your breath and spirit guide you to a pile.

piles 1 -> 2 -> 3

pile 1 — find it inside

hello, pile 1! here’s your reading :)

how close is your reward?

your reward is very close. 6 of pentacles coming out makes me have the vision on a banker grabbing their papers being put together before handing the recipient, you! maybe there’s like two more things you have to sign, or bring those documents to someone else, but at most im getting that there’s about 3 more steps left in the process? 4 at most. but seriously, you are close!

the papers can be to finally get your new business started… are you starting something like a business pile one? material wealth is coming through. the justice card comes to mind — perhaps in a legal argument with someone? i think this is the success about to come. or at least a satisfactory agreement.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

being too ambitious. you’re almost toooo focused and driven. are you cutting people off or isolating yourself from people and friends? honey you need a support group. it’s not always good to do things alone. you aren’t in a cage. your tunnel vision is too stuck on this goal you’re trying to reach. you need a breath of fresh air. just take a moment to relax and have a fun time. even students need a break from school, why do you think we have weekends? you’re wearing yourself out.

what do you need to accept?

finishing touches make everything look better. this is the final steps. just because i’m saying “oh you have abt 3 more steps” didn’t mean those are big steps. those are teeny steps. but material wealth(or a legal win) is coming either way, no matter what you change in the end. just trust the process.

a new focus & what to reject

stick to your plan! don’t back out of it last minute because you don’t like how it’s turning out. you need a BREAK! take a step back! but this doesn’t mean let everyone get into your business. keep it to yourself for now. it’s gonna work out, though!

thanks for reading, pile one! i hope this resonates, and i wish you the best!! now go have fun! stop working yourself overtime!

confirmation/additional signs: “don’t compare yourself to others”, don’t let others control you, have your own path and stick to it, “have some sort of tunnel vision”, the colour red, “girl trip!”, painting, “i need you to take a step back before i knock you on your fucking ass” — elita’s mentally not here, 555.

pile 2 — gift from the gods

hello, pile two! this is your reading!

first off, i’m doing this reading with my friend nile (nile says hi bc nile always says hi 💯) and they said they REALLY felt the need to touch on ur overall energy. so here’s what they said!

“With the number of face cards that are in this spread, and the general theme I thought about while pulling out the cards, it seems like pile 2 is the type to ask others for 2nd and 3rd opinions alot? I mainly thought about family members but it could easily be like, friends, classmates, school counselors/teachers, etc. Pile 2 maybe feels like they're conflicted because they're getting way different opinions on something (or maybe that's the normal dynamic) and they aren't sure which one is good advice and which one isn't”

don’t second guess urself 😡😡 ur intuition is always right!

how close is your reward?

this idea is brand new, isn’t it? some something you just decided to try, to dabble in. to dip your toes in, maybe as a distraction? i feel like this is something you decided to do on a whim, so maybe you’re not that far along with it. i mean you aren’t even in the pool yet… how can you start swimming? so, i would say about a 1-3 out of ten.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

wow, fear of some sort of older male figure. you may have an older sibling, nile got a brother or a cousin. they have divine masculine energy. they may or may not be a male, though. they may be someone who reaches out when they need something from you. you need to learn to start saying no to them. i also think that this could be where your double and triple checking could come in. are you someone who asks “should i do this for them?” and most of your friends say no, but you only need that one yes and you’ll take it? why would you do that to urself :( it’s so harmful to give away your energy without gaining.

nile also brought up inner voices, “inner voices that has that sort of vibe, but this is the energy of a young, mean-spirited, holier-than-thou, smart-ass that moreso likes to spout their own ideals than to actually consider what is pile 2's idea of a 'reward'” and you know what i say to this energy? SUCK ON MY DICK!

sorry. that was out of pocket. but tell them to get a life, and cut them off !!

what do you need to accept?

have u had a romantic offer? or do you think someone’s attracted to you? grab them 🤭 get ur man!! this person may also be an important friend. maybe friends w benefits? that was js a side thought. but focus on them, accept them into your life, and allow them to make your life better! i also get the feeling they could have darker hair (dirty blonde at the lightest)!! masculine energy btw!

i got the need to ask if yall r gay but 💀💀 ok girl u slay!! i’m gay too!! dw!! nblm here girly 🤞🫶‼️

a new focus & what to reject

an older, calm spirit. they could be a father or grandfather — but they could also be the person in the romantic offer trying to support you. they may advice you to focus on the here and now rather than the future or the past. stay grounded in your truth and your faith. spend some time in nature, too! you really just need a minute to take a break.

is there a person with extroverted, wild energy? they may be an energy vampire. they could be a friend of a friend, and they might spread rumors around a lot. but don’t waste too much time with them. they could make you physically sick.

that’s all i have for you, pile two! i hope your messages resonated!! have fun :)

confirmation/additional signs: “on those we call”, rapunzel’s healing song, past lives, ancestors guidance, black panther, a calming energy, (air or water sign?), the colour purple (movie + colour), issues being grounded (root chakra?), Oh No! by Marina, knowing what you want but not knowing how to get there, knowing why you make actions you don’t want to, beating yourself up, spiritually, 555.

pile 3 — black cat, do you belong?

hello pile 3!! this is ur reading :)

how close is your reward?

i also heard goal, by the way, so this may have been something you’ve been working to for a while. your card was knight of wands. homestretch, almost. i keep thinking of soccer/football. that may be something you’re into, but i’m gonna use sports references now.

this is the final quarter, not even. there’s 3 minute left in the game. you know you can win this! i feel like you’re almost too carefree in this moment though. i mean you have a carefree spirit, so that’s good! but you need more focus. overall, i would rate you the highest of any pile, a 9! at the least it’s a 9, at the most you’re literally on the last step.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

nile and i both thought it was weird/important that ace of wands came out. this is a card that obviously symbolizes new beginnings, and it’s probably the most creative card too. it shows swiftness and excitement in a challenge. you need to remove your carefreeness just for a moment to be able to grab the ace of wands from the hand of the universe. i feel like you’re being a bit lazy, so don’t! reignite your passion!

this is what nile said btw (it genuinely made me laugh 💀)

“pile 3 shouldn't just think about what they want - they should act on it! I really don't have much else to say, maybe pile 3's guides think that there's no other way to say it - it's a one way or the other type of thing, you do it or you don't - chop chop”

what do you need to accept?

5 of wands is usually about fights and rivalry, but in this context nile got sports, and i totally agree.

i mean, sports already came up in this pile for you guys already, so i feel like spirit is saying join a club or do something with other people!! stop isolating yourself! you need to do something competitive, primarily because you like fighting in a friendly way (maybe sometimes a violent way! anger issues).

if there isn’t a sport you can join, maybe because of finances or time issues, be competitive! race against yourself! do something that makes you feel good!

“if not sports, then something at the very least that gives pile 3 a sense of competition; something that makes them feel like they have to put their best foot forward to reap the best rewards! this isn't something that will wait for them if they do things half-a-step, every once in awhile kind of pace or attitude.”

in other words — DONT GO SLOW, GIRL! ACT LIKE ITS THE LAST THING U GET TO DO!! RUN!

a new focus & what to reject

focus on relationships. i want to say i get the feeling most of u guys are shifter and shifting for someone, but i could just be biased and projecting bc this like really resonates and resembles me in a lot of ways — and it’s scary!

anyways, there’s some romance in this pile. someone who has a calm spirit, maybe cold on the outside but warm on the inside. they may have been sending you signs that you haven’t been picking up much. or maybe you have been picking them up but you aren’t making an effort to reach out or you just forget easily. i totally get that, by the way, but try to put some time and focus into this romantic offer! even if it’s not in this reality, or in your mind (be delulu, and may it become trululu). nile also got this person may not want a romantic offer, but idk abt that one. getting a strong sense this is a romantic offer.

ok, sports coming through again! maybe you’ve been thinking about them a lot, but for some reason it’s in the context of something to reject. maybe this is a coach or a controlling person in a sporting way? maybe someone from your past? someone who thinks with his head, not his heart. they aren’t very emotional, and they could be cruel to you.

“maybe pile 3 is getting offers for more than one team/group? if that's the case, then I think pile 3's guides is saying to avoid the one(s) that have no-nonsense, frownie face leaders, the type of person to cut down any chances of fun and straight-up running things like a marine. whoever this is, they're way too tough on everyone else and they're allergic to fun, their authoritative stance prevents the teammates from develop a bond with each other, and this energy would probably damper pile 3's motivation.”

i’m gonna be so for real, pile 3, i had to hold off posting this pick-a-card because of yall — it’s not bad, by the way! it’s just that something that i need to say to you guys — its a personal message, i believe. i was talking to a friend, sigyn (love u girl, even if you don’t see this), and she made me think about my own journey with shifting and breaking out of a shell. i said these words: “but man, even tho i’m scared, i don’t care, because my happiness… no, im worth more than fear.”

i feel like this was what i was missing no matter what happens, no matter how scared you are of success or messing up, you are worth more than fear. it cannot hold you. and, as i said before, do it with fear. be like miles morales, jump off that roof fucking BACKWARDS. fear cannot control you, you control it. omg i’m about to cry, but you guys, fear is not all. i promise you this. if you need to talk about fear and how to get over it, send me an ask and i’ll dm you. this is not the end of this journey, nah man, this is the beginning of your life. i love you pile 3.

that’s all i got for you, pile three! wishing you the best, and i rlly hope your work pays off before the new year :) i know how hard it is to keep motivation, and keep moving after such a long time of hard work, but know it will all pay off in the end. nothing {bad} can last forever, as all things must come to an end.

confirmation/additional signs: football, hockey, sports in general, Doja Cat, fire truck (victim of sa), food, especially salads or greens, “almost there”, “i can’t give up now; i have to prove them wrong,” getting back what you lost, anger issues, self doubt, the colour blue (throat chakra?), 2020 music 💀💀 (my heart went oops by tiagz came on…! and so did savage by megan thee stallion), chaos, thriving in chaos, not from the us, barbie, sia, black and white, contrasting colours, i know better by noahfinnce — “and i won’t stop running until i hear the sirens coming…”, not stopping until you get to your goal, “i’m just ken” — ryan gosling, 69, miles morales, impulsive decisions, 555, 999, alien blues.

thank yall for reading my first pac on this blog !! it was really fun, and i hope to do it again soon <3

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mentallyisekaid · 5 months

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「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 3✦ 」

---

Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5 [Part 3]

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

A/N ~ hey there, if you're following this story but haven't yet seen my pinned post, you should go and read it since it's where I'll update general stuff regarding the fic~

---

Featured in this chapter, we have... a certain dubious duo?

Warnings: half-intentional ooc moments

Word count: 2.3k

---

A week or so had passed.

It's not that you were complaining about this endless 'trial period', per se. Still, just going through piles of boring documents, day after day - any immortal being would've lost their mind sooner or later.

Half a millennium dulled all shine there was to a mundane life, so seeking out a bit of excitement was crucial for maintaining sanity. But even making bets with Childe wasn't thrilling enough (though it did come close!)

Without a drastic change of pace soon, you might have just gone feral.

And your colleagues were quite aware of it~ In time, you better believe they would've even stolen the Moon from the sky for you if you only asked for it, but nevertheless, first, you needed to prove that they could trust you.

The Fatui took immense pride in loyalty - yet yours was very fickle, and they knew it. But rather than allegiance, what your Harbingers seeked for was sign of your devotion toward them, something that exceeded the boundaries of professionalism and demonstrated... a much deeper level of trust.

"Was revealing the secret of this stupid Vision a mistake, after all?" a thought that had plagued your mind.

Well, who could say... but apparently, it had been worth it!

No one could really fathom Pierro's decisions, but it seems that after hearing you'd confided a part of your past to some of them, the Director had thought you'd proved yourself enough. And maybe it was because he knew you just a bit too well, having been there all those centuries ago.

But did this mean that all of them now knew of your little conversation with Scaramouche, Columbina and Childe?

Well, such a thought hardly occupied you.

Because more importantly, you were finally about to get (*insert an ominous fanfare*)...

Your very first field mission!

Good riddance, eternal paperwork~

---

A sign of their trust, or... just another test?

You didn't care either way.

"Lady Harbinger," a Cicin Mage had bowed her after entering your office. "The Jester has assigned you to an official errand with Lords Ninth and Second. You are to rendezvous with them at the gates. Effective immediately."

And girl, you couldn't have bolted out of that room faster! It made the poor Cicins squeak in alarm. The mage only sighed while shaking her head, not sure that you'd come out of this one with your sanity still intact.

So, your bored prayers had been heard. But by the gods, or a devil? A field assignment with this specific pair of Harbingers had the potential to turn out chaotic beyond belief...

and you were all for it!

It was daybreak in Snezhnaya.

The early morning air was even more frigid than usual, making your grip the coat on around you tighter as you waltzed through the snowy yard. From a distance, you could make out two shadowy figures next to the gates of Zapolyarny Palace, their menacing auras unmistakable.

When Regrator and Il Dottore were working together, anyone even remotely involved had better be on their guard...

Lest they wanted to end up in horrible debt.

Or as a part of human experiments.

But the shady banker and the heretic researcher had failed to intimidate you, and they found such fearlessness quite... captivating.

As you got closer, Pantalone offered you a warm smile.

"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"

"Hello... and no, *yawn*... it's impossible to get decent rest with these working hours. But," a smile made its way onto your lips, "I'm pleased to finally get to work outside of the palace~"

And with the two of you, it might just be twice as fun, a totally weird thought that you didn't voice out, and instead sighed:

"Though, at the cost of skipping my yummy breakfast pancakes..."

You took a bite from the frostbitten, red fruit in your hand. This earned a chuckle from Dottore.

"No, no, you won't get sufficient vitamins from that. How about trying the special pills I gave you? You'd help me with my research while you're at it, too..."

"I'm afraid your experimental supplements might end up turning me into a slime."

An apple a day hardly kept this doctor away. But much to everyone's surprise, you seemed to know how to handle his eccentric personality and... the segments. Even Scaramouche was impressed by this.

"Don't you look rather young today, Zandik?" you questioned with a hint of playfulness; a habit you'd picked up from Damselette.

The Doctor only replied with a smile, gently sweeping away a few snowflakes from your hair as if admiring a most precious specimen (no objectifying here, Dottore's just being Dottore~)

This one seemed to be of the more reasonable segments, if such a concept even existed - though regardless of the form, you were really quite fond of their antics.

Pantalone, too, was a difficult person in his own way, knowing how to both frustrate you to no ends, and yet make you feel so endeared.

As usual, the banker seemed just a bit too amused by everything.

That, and he found you adorable.

"Hehe, I must admit that dealing with the two of you off-duty is always rather delightful~ but we ought to leave duly," he stepped forward and offered you his hand. "After all, we wouldn't want to be late on Y/N's first mission, now would we?"

Dottore mimicked his gesture. "Indeed, off we go."

These two....

But on that note?

"Dare I ask," you raised an eyebrow, "what the mission might be?"

They only smiled at you - Pantalone while adjusting his glasses, Dottore with his expression half hidden by that asymmetrical mask, and both in a suspiciously mellow way.

You frowned. Pierro had definitely been up to something when sending you on a nameless errand, and with this dubious duo, no less...

and you were quite enjoying the suspense!

---

Three Harbingers waltzing through the snowy streets, a dozen of Fatui agents following close behind, was a slightly unnerving sight; one could only wonder who had wronged the infamous organization this time, and pray the lot wouldn't fall on them.

Someone sure was out of their luck today.

You tried to ignore the not so subtle gazes the citizens threw you as you walked past them, though understanding their curiosity.

It was the first public appearance of the rumoured 12th Harbinger, after all.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, you tried to distract yourself by focusing on the scenery. It had been over a month since you'd last set foot outside the palace grounds, but Snezhnaya's beauty never faltered...

At some point, you got a bit lost in thought.

Dottore's lazy comment, however, caught your attention.

"Now then, I've heard some interesting things about that Pyro Vision of yours…"

Pantalone smiled, as if oblivious.

You sighed. "Well, that's unsurprising. From Scaramouche, I reckon."

"Tsk, you have so little imagination." The Doctor clicked his tongue. "Then, allow me to ask you... How long do you think the oldest one of my segments has been around? Or, how efficiently all these clones are capable of gathering information? Or, how much more I can figure out just by knowing a few things about you?"

"Such roundabout hints~"

"What he's trying to say, of course," Pantalone chimed in, "is that the Second Harbinger has many... unconventional ways of finding out what his curiosity desires."

You sighed, "and he shares everything with you, because why not?"

As expected, more or less.

It was granted that your secrets were never going to remain hidden from them forever, and frankly speaking, you didn't care. Pierro was already aware of every scandalous detail there was to your past anyway, so was there a reason for you to be so reticent about it?

Well, certainly not anymore...

but it was still a tad too early to completely let your guard down either!

A weird silence filled the air for a while, probably making the lower ranks behind you a bit uncomfortable.

But since Pantalone and Dottore didn't pursue on the topic, you thought, 'why should I either?'

Yet they obviously expected you to.

"Then," you sighed, giving in, "I assume you want to ask me about something? My Visions, plural, no doubt."

Pantalone patted your head, "Only if our little Harbinger wouldn't deem it prying."

"That's exactly what it is, but by all means, go ahead."

Knowing both of them were exceedingly shrewd characters, manipulating others so effortlessly, they could easily lead you into a trap here.

But somehow, they always did so gently enough not to hurt you.

They would never hurt you.

"Ask away, I suppose?"

Pantalone subtly gestured the Fatui agents to put some distance between them and the three of you - was it courtesy, or perhaps... protectiveness? Either way, it would prevent bothersome rumours about your past from spreading any further, so you gave him an appreciative smile.

Dottore was walking leisurely with his hands behind his back, giving you sidelong glances.

"Then, tell me, Y/N - why do you think Celestia grants Visions so heedlessly? Why is it that even some of the strongest individuals never receive one?"

The vapor from your breath formed clouds in the cold air as you took a few deep breaths before answering.

"Well, I can only speak for myself? I've always been quite ambitionless and ran away from all my problems rather than facing them. So, thinking back, I never should've received a Vision in the first place, fake or not."

You sighed, "Rosalyne, on the other hand... I think she had every right to receive a blessing from those crafty deities. She was assertive, gifted - yes, a bit of a diva at times - but somewhere beneath lied a gentle soul."

And here you were again, talking about her; she haunted you when she was alive, and haunted you as dead.

Pantalone raised an eyebrow. "My, I've never heard anyone say such things about the Fair Lady?"

Dottore, too, seemed reluctant to accept these praised you directed at your sister, as he'd only seen her as a shallow, crude woman.

"Don't get me wrong, though," you commented, "she was no saint..."

"But?"

You shrugged, "...but nor was I."

The two Harbingers had quietly moved closer to you, now walking on your both sides - you only noticed this when their arms slightly brushed against yours.

"After my father created this... thing and gave it to me, and how I greedily accepted it, I always wondered if we had angered the gods so thoroughly that they didn't grant my sister a Vision out of pure spite."

Pantalone brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.

"Perhaps... you shouldn't be so merciless toward yourself."

"I'm not. Rosalyne and I were very similar, after all."

Dottore raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We both wanted what we felt we deserved - power, attention... acceptance. I don't know whose yearning was the greater one, but neither one of us settled for any less. So, I tied a manmade Vision on my hips, and Rosalyne left to study the art of liquid fire in the Akademiya; the divine refused to acknowledge us, so we searched for our due elsewhere."

Pantalone stroked his chin, seemingly amused. "Well... what a pair of blasphemous sisters?"

"But," the Doctor chuckled, "what you did surely made those self-important gods grit their teeth in frustration. I find such heresy quite commendable. Bravo, truly~"

"And then you went and became a Fatui Harbinger," Pantalone sighed. "Poor Celestia..."

You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at their comments.

"Though, I am curious about one thing," Pantalone continued. "You said Celestia 'rejected' you, yet here you are, with a bona fide Cryo Vision? Isn't that a sign that the gods did, in fact, accept you?"

It was something you'd been wondering ever since that day as well...

And the lamentable conclusion was this:

"Perhaps Celestia just took pity on me. Or, perhaps a real Vision was intended as a warning."

"A warning," Pantalone smiled eerily, "for what reason exactly, my dear?"

To keep your mouth shut?

To not cross such lines ever again?

And yet... "That's a story for a later time," you told them as well, smiling.

Dottore and Pantalone were adept at concealing how they really thought and felt about things, so you couldn't quite decipher their reactions to your cryptic words.

Still, a fleeting sentiment had flashed across their faces - resentment, perhaps. Not toward you, though.

Suddenly, they both stopped walking.

You took a few steps more before noticing and stopping as well, glancing at them over your shoulder.

"Well, would you look that? Time flies so pleasantly with Y/N around." Pantalone checked his pocket watch. "It seems we're here a bit early."

...and where was 'here', exactly?

It looked like a small, secluded village, somewhat. There were no proper houses, just some dilapidated cottages and cabins, and only a few of them. The people outside, wearing clothes way too ragged and light for this type of weather, had quickly fled inside once seeing the Fatui had arrived.

You knew there was a lot of poverty in rural Snezhnaya, but this was... well, it reminded you of the times when you'd struggled to get by as well - memories you'd rather never have had brought up again.

Dottore mumbled something about "these ones" being "too malnourished for test subjects" as he walked past you.

Pantalone had also went ahead with his subordinates, discussing some questionable economics that apparently concerned this place.

But you lingered behind them for a moment, lost in thought.

The people here have surely lost enough, so why choose to bring themselves even more misfortune by getting involved with the Fatui? I understand humanity less and less with every decade that passes...

Just now noticing that you hadn't followed them, the two Harbingers strode back to your side.

You quickly hid any remnant of hesitance from your face, giving them a smile.

"Time to prove myself, no?"

Dottore chuckled, "You don't seem too anxious about your first field mission, my little Harbinger, even though you don't know what's waiting up ahead..."

"Well," you sighed. "For the Tsaritsa, and all that... you know? And I reckon I've faced worse anyway."

"I'll ask you to elaborate on that some other time~ On a similar note," Pantalone mused, playing with your hair softly, "we all saw something in you that day, at the funeral, and it seems... you won't disappoint us?"

You shrugged, "We should hope so."

And with their arms loosely linked around yours, the two Harbingers started leading you toward a particular cabin...

(to be continued)

#genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #genshin x reader #dottore #fatui harbingers x signora's sister #pantalone #pantalone x reader #dottore x reader #signora's sister #platonic pantalone #platonic dottore #platonic fatui harbingers x reader #platonic genshin #intimately platonic #platonic dottore x reader #platonic pantalone x reader #genshin impact #genshin

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a-forbidden-detective · 5 months

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Curious add-ons: additions and deletions, Episode 11 (Part 7)

A bit of a warning: photo-heavy post

Eleven episodes in, and it is safe to say that I love these versions of Ron and Toto. Don’t get me wrong Akira Amano hasn’t done anything wrong, it is just these RonToto are kinder and more codependent from each other that I am 110 per cent sure they’d compete with that kind of codependency from the manga RonToto, and anime RonToto would win.

They diminished Toto’s comedic childlike expressions on this episode removing the giggle on Toto’s part, for example, when he asked Ron if the latter had a friend. Junya Enoki, for his part, admitted that because Toto is a grown man and a police officer, he doesn’t need to act cute all the time. The reason this scene is much more tender than in the manga. The “what’s so funny?” question from Ron was omitted and instead the anime writers made Toto stammer with his “N-not even… one?” After hearing Ron’s answer that he considers Toto to be his friend, he replies with a much more humbled “I am glad to hear it” and not “Gee, thanks.” And then the blush on Toto’s face as if he is darn proud and happy because after all they have been through, Ron treats him more special than the others, that is being allowed to be closer to him by becoming his friend.

Truth be told, these instances of blushing from the main characters would turn me into mush.

Another passage omitted from the manga and the new dialogue has become a Sherlock BBC reference in the anime.

Kawasemi san: “If you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest.” (Episode 11)

SH from Sherlock BBC: “If you wanted to hide a tree then the best place to do it is a forest, wouldn’t you say? People would just walk past it, not knowing - not able to decipher the message.” (Episode 2, Season 1, The Blind Banker)

Surely, one of these days I’d write a list of all these Sherlock BBC references: from the manga to anime, because they are so many. Of course, it could have been the translator’s choice in the end.

Continuity problems in the manga are explained in the anime.

a) the reason Ron eats dangos 🍡 on the train;

b) Constable Kimyou, whose surname doesn’t mean “strange”

c) Ron accompanying Toto was not a chance where he got an email from the neurology institute, but it was a planned or let’s just say a convenient way to ride with Toto on the train at the same time going to Aichi with a purpose.

The anime crew adding this scene. Toto’s joyful reaction upon seeing his friend again after witnessing Kawasemi’s slump in person. Probably Toto was relieved and had missed his friend so much after their abrupt and odd parting at the Nagoya train station, in which he had so many questions that were partly answered at the end of the episode.

Can you see the puppets and the No. 96 (Ron’s scar which has become part of him) from the shop? Not only they increased the price from ¥900 (in 2021) to ¥960 (2023) but Ron’s puppets Kamo-kyun (platypus) and Eli Pyon (frill-necked lizard) are on sale.

This ending that fuels a few questions. Ron was sort of refusing to look at Toto as he explained his meeting with Dr. Mofu and her subsequent referrals to the other medical professionals concerning his pathological condition to pressure the criminals to suicide. Instead he looked at his reflection on the glass train window, Toto’s delightful enthusiastic voice had become white noise. This Ron is more pessimistic and not so much looking forward to the therapy and its possible outcome. I wonder if the anime writers (Jackson Ou wrote the episode with a storyboard from Shingo Tamaki who were also responsible to previous Kawasemi episode) would deviate a bit from the manga.

Two more episodes and I don’t want it to end. There are so many materials available and it seems we haven’t scratched the surface yet. The tension is getting bigger. It would be nicer if they are given the second cour and end the first season with the Plateau Aubege arc. A perfect ending to establish a canon RonToto.

#kamonohashi ron no kindan suiri #ron kamonohashi #totomaru isshiki #akira amano #ron et toto #ron kamonohashi: deranged detective #deranged detective #deranged detective: ron kamonohashi #rkdd spoilers #curious add ons #rkdd wall of text #rkdd vs sherlock bbc #episode 11 #ron kamonohashi's forbidden deductions #kawasemi omito #rontoto #rontoto moment #long post #bbc sherlock

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followthechick · 1 month

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Random headcanons on the Weston boys

Okay since Weston anime is out, I’ll be sharing some headcanons I’ve collected during 10+ years of being obsessed with this saga and its characters.

I’ve been so invested into these headcanons that I consider them to be canon at this point. Anyway please don’t be mad if they don’t match your personal headcanon, it’s still my own interpretation and silly ideas about characters that don’t belong to me so anyone can disagree.

First I’m gonna write down the ones that involve more than one character, then I’ll be more specific and list them by character.

Brace yourselves for a pile of totally self-indulging blabbering.

Lawrence and Edgar are canonically childhood friends (Yana confirmed it), I like to think they grew up together thanks to their mothers being best friends with each other.

While Lawrence and Edgar already knew each other since birth, they met Herman and Gregory during their first year at Weston.

Because of the rivalry, friendship between students from different dorms has always been rather frowned upon, so the boys decided to put all their efforts in becoming the best students of their respective dorm to one day become Prefects and be free to meet and be friends without being judged by other students.

To freely chat and keep in contact prior to becoming P4, they secretly exchanged letters hidden among the library’s textbooks.

While we know Lawrence has 7 sisters, Edgar and Herman don’t have any sibling, while Gregory has an older brother. He’s doesn’t talk about him often as they’re not very close and don’t get along well.

Gregory met Cheslock while he was at his 3rd year (Cheslock is one year younger). They often spent their free time in their dorm’s common room, Cheslock would practice violin and Gregory would silently sit near him while drawing. One day he made a portrait of Cheslock and left it near him as a gift with the encouraging inscription “Keep playing”. The next day Cheslock asked him if he had any request for him on what to play, and that’s how they started talking to each other.

Headcanons by single character

Edgar:

His zodiacal sign is sagittarius

He has a sweet tooth and would live on sweet food alone

His maternal grandmother is french

His noble title comes from his mother, who is a Viscountess and older sister to Viscount of Druitt

He’s either pan or gay

Lawrence:

His zodiacal sign is capricorn

He’s ambidextrous (he usually writes with his right hand but is more comfortable doing other activities with his left one)

His sisters’ names are: Isabel (6 years older than him), Deborah (4 years older than him), Madelyn (2 years older than him), Adela (the only one to have a canonical name, 5 years younger than him), Rebecca (the one who has a crush on Edgar, 7 years younger than him), Rosalind and Amelia (identical twins, 9 years younger than him)

His father is a banker

Pretty sure he’s either ace or gay

Herman:

His zodiacal sign is libra (though I feel like aries might suit him better)

He took after his mother the most

He’s notoriously good at many sports, but he’s not very good at dancing (he’s not graceful enough for that kind of activity)

He’s good at cooking

He’s either a straight ally or a disaster bi

Gregory:

His zodiacal sign is cancer (mayhap also aquarius could suit him tho)

He used to wear charcoal and inks as make-up in his early years at Weston

His father is a politician

He’s kind of a picky eater and doesn’t like meat and seafood

He’s 100000% ace-spec

Cheslock:

His zodiacal sign is scorpio

His iconic “scar” is actually make-up, though beneath it he does have a smaller scar on his left eyelid, which is the result of a quarrel with his sister when they were kids

His father is a surgeon

His full name is Victor Theodore, which he hates

Pretty sure he’s bi

I might add more in the future, though I don’t have many headcanons for other characters but who knows.

Also I’m up for asks to chit chat about what I’ve shared, or for other headcanons o/

#text post #headcanons #kuroshitsuji #black butler #weston college arc #edgar redmond #lawrence bluewer #herman greenhill #gregory violet #cheslock

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love-little-lotte · 2 months

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A Look Into My New Guilty Pleasure: Poldark (2015 Series)

My biggest weakness is period dramas — especially period dramas with a talented cast, sweeping romance, terrific scenes (preferably set in some kind of country/provincial side), and lots and lots and lots of just sitting around and talking.

That's probably why Poldark has captured my heart. As a big fan of Outlander, it's no surprise that I fell in love with this show. Outlander and Poldark have so many similarities that I may make a lengthy post about it, but for today, let me just rant about my new guilty pleasure. I'm so obsessed with this show that I actually finished watching the entire five seasons in one week!

Poldark is based on Winston Graham's novels and adapted by Debbie Horsfield. I was so excited to start this show, with a male protagonist originally written by a man, created and written for a series by a woman. I haven't read Graham's novels (I'm going to one of these days, I swear!), so I'm not sure how well Debbie's adaption worked. I've read many Reddit threads, though, and some fans of the novel are not that impressed with how she omitted and added details to the show (will get back to this once I've read the books or at least the seven ones that were used in the show). The show has also been adapted in the 70s, so this was not the first time Graham's novels were seen onscreen!

Despite not having read the books, I fell in love with the story, the characters, and the cast! The show follows Ross Poldark returning to Cornwall after fighting in the American War in the 1780s. He looks forward to marrying his childhood sweetheart Elizabeth but, believing him to be dead, is now engaged to his cousin Francis. He then tries to resurrect his family's mining business and hires a young girl Demelza to be his kitchen maid (whom he eventually marries) while also crossing paths with the villain George Warleggan, a corrupted banker who stops at nothing to ruin Ross's prospects and personal life. As the show progresses, we also meet other characters, including Prudie and Jud, Ross's servants, Verity, Ross's cousin and Francis's sister; Ross's friend Dr. Dwight Enys and his love interest Caroline Penvenen; Sam and Drake Carne, Demelza's brothers, and Morwenna Chynoweth, Drake's love interest.

Yes, this show has a large ensemble cast, and trust me, there always comes a point when you hate or love them. Especially our protagonist Ross Poldark. Ross... is an interesting character. He's terribly, terribly flawed and many times times, I'm so infuriated with him to the point that I want him to suffer. I swear, you cannot go through this series without screaming at Ross. (When that moment came up in Season 2, I swear I had my middle finger ready every time Ross showed up on my screen from then on.)

But my favorite character in the show is Demelza, Ross's wife who started as his kitchen maid. She's the heart of the show, the voice of reason, and even though she makes questionable decisions along the way, you can't help but get on her side no matter what. She's the perfect fiery yet gentle match to Ross's stubbornness. He treats her like shit many times in this show, which makes me angry to no end, but they eventually grow to be understanding, loving partners.

And it also helps that Aidan Turner and Eleanor Tomlinson have one of the best romantic chemistries I've ever seen. They're terrific actors as well and they bring the characters to life so effortlessly. They just seem like they have the best time shooting this show. I kind of want to rewatch Loving Vincent now just because they're in that movie, even just in supporting roles.

Poldark is a roller coaster, with so many ups and downs (mostly downs, to be honest, please give Demelza a break!) My favorite season has got to be Season 1. Season 1 had the best Ross and I loved the early stages of his relationship with Demelza. It also has my favorite episode: Season 1, Episode 8. That episode broke me so much, thanks to Aidan and Eleanor's perfect performances. It's the only time I ever cried watching this show. I usually cry in period dramas (I've cried countless times in Outlander and Downton Abbey), but for some reason, I only cried once in Poldark. Most of the time, I'm annoyed and infuriated (hahaha but I still love it!)

The romance in Poldark is also quite unique, something I haven't seen before. Ross and Demelza emotionally hurt each other many times in this show, and they don't have the best communication. It's not an ideal marriage, but that's what makes it so raw and real. It hurts when Ross sleeps with his first love Elizabeth or when Demelza falls for the much-sensitive Hugh Armitage, but these are challenges people face all the time, and it's interesting to view it in characters and circumstances through 18th-century lenses. Plus, it can be very tiring to see perfect couples onscreen all the time. So watching Ross and Demelza's relationship thrive, suffer, and reconcile is very refreshing to me.

Nevertheless, Ross and Demelza are still able to work together. Seasons 2 and 3 showcase the worst moments of their marriage, from infidelities to insecurity, but the love between them still perseveres and they learn to forgive. In the end, they realize that they belong together.

And despite the unconventional marriage, Poldark is not a stranger to grand romantic gestures. Two of my favorite Ross and Demelza moments occur in Season 2:

A real funny, old-married-couple type of bicker in The Beach Scene:

And of course, showing all intimacy in The Stocking Scene:

(Let's just not talk about what happened 2 episodes after this!)

The romance in Poldark not only ends with Ross and Demelza. We also got two really good couples in the series: Dwight and Caroline and Drake and Morwenna.

And these love stories don't just happen! They're fleshed-out characters with proper backgrounds and their own problems, especially Drake and Morwenna's relationship. Morwenna is one of my favorite characters, and she doesn't deserve all the shit thrown at her. The last season of Poldark is not the best (bordering on bad, actually, especially the last two episodes), but watching Drake and Morwenna get their happy ending is worth it.

Finishing all five seasons is bittersweet. I enjoyed most of the story and fell in love with different characters. I kind of regret watching everything in one week haha. But what can I say? As soon as I finish each episode, I'm so tempted to start another episode. I think the last time I stayed up until 5 AM the next morning to watch TV shows was Yellowjackets. Poldark's just too good to binge! It's one of my favorite TV shows now. Maybe I'll watch Sanditon next...

I want to write more about Poldark soon, maybe a comparison with Outlander or maybe just a post about each character. I realized I hadn't talked much about Elizabeth, Francis, and George in this post; I was too preoccupied with the love story aspects and Ross and Demelza. We'll see!

#poldark #poldark 2015 #ross poldark #demelza poldark #aidan turner #eleanor tomlinson #period drama #tv shows #a bit of a rant #current obsession!!!!

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fromforeigntofamiliarity · 2 years

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can you plsss make a part 2 to the Tommy x daughter when she got kidnapped fhgdyjhdd sorry, you don’t have to I just thought it was really well written ^^

Summary: Part One

Warning: PTSD

Requested: Yes.

Taglist 🏷: @literishdegree99 @kittycatcait219 @oppile91 @unknowntoyou2205 @naxxsstuff @katherinemelissa @faatxma @skinmittensgoblin @bmh-mjh-bitchessss

The Taglist are just of the people who asked for a part two if you would like to be untagged you can let me know.

"Alright that's all, please feel free to continue about your days." Tommy said as the family meeting was coming to an end.

Y/N Shelby sat in a chair back pressed against the large book shelf that stood opposite the door.

"I have something I'd like to say." She announced as everyone began to exit. "Something I need to say." She clarified.

Freezing in their tracks they all stop to look at the young girl before looking over to her father to see his reaction. Tommy took a few moments to also assesse his daughter before taking a seat back at his desk prompting everyone to reclaim their seats.

"And what is it that you would like to say?" Tommy asked pulling out a cigarette from his jacked pocket and lighting a flame.

"I've decided to leave." Y/N announced her eyes scanning over the different reaction of her family. "I'm gonna be moving out next week and my stuff will be gone by the end of the month."

The room was eerily silent as the family knew that in situation that concerned Y/N and Tommy it was best to stay quiet but present incase thing were to get out of hand.

Keeping his eyes on this daughter, Tommy let out a sigh before removing the cigarett from his mouth setting it on his desk along side the lighter.

"Moving out?" Tommy asked the 15 year old making sure he had heard her right. "And who exactly do you plan to do that?"

Y/N watched as he interlocked his fingers and leaned forward on the desk, at least he was taking her seriously.

"I'm going to move in with my mum." She answered adjusting her posture as she struggles to hold his gaze. "I've been in contact with her and she invited me to come live with her."

"And how, may I ask, did you get in contact with your mother?"

"No."

"No?"

"You may not ask." Y/N stated knowing that anyone involved in helping her would pay a price heavier than their 'crime'. Tommy scoffed maybe he would find this situation amusing if not for the context.

"So you, through unknown means, were able to contact the woman who dropped you off to our doorstep and disappeared without a trace and now fifteen years later expect me to allow you to just fuck off with her to god knows where?" Tommy summarized. "And you're running off with a stranger on the promises of lollipops and rainbows, does she even have a place for you to stay?"

"She was young back then, she couldn't raise a child on her own."

"I was young too, but I took care of you because you were mine." Tommy countered. "While she was too irresponsible to take care of her own child."

"She's different now, she married to a nice man...." Y/N defended her mother. "I've got sibling...they all live in London in a nice house."

"And how do you know any of this is true?" Tommy asked rubbing his hand across his forehead in frustration. "She could be telling you anything to get you to London."

"I know cause I've seen it. I've been there. met them." She confessed angrily looking to her father for insinuating she was some stupid child clinging to word with nothing to back it up. "I went to meet her last month, the week I was gone."

"Last month?" Tommy asked standing from his seat coming around to lean on the side of the desk facing her full on arms folded across his chest. "When you told me you were going to visit your friend Olivia? Though I suspect she doesn't exist."

"She's one of my sisters." She clarified avoiding eye contact for a few moments before looking back to her father's face. "I spent time with them. My stepdad is a nice man, he's a banker, he treated me nice. When mom said she wanted me to live with them he said he wouldn't mind."

"A banker? and what is they call him?" Tommy asked reaching back over to the desk to retrieve his cigarette and lighter. Y/N was hesitant at first but know he would find out sooner or later.

"Anthony Crestwood." She sighed.

"Right, Isaiah."

"Yeah Tom?"

"I need you to get the address of the the Crestwood family, I'd like to have a call with Mr. Crestwood and his wife." He informed the young blinder never looking away from Y/N.

"Your going to call them?" Y/N asked only slightly confused seeing as he had every right to want to speak to the couple who would be housing his daughter.

"Yes. Yes I am." Tommy answered lighting the cigarette between his lips. "And I will be informing the Crestwood family that upon their arrival to Arrow House in an attempt to remove my child there should be no doubt in there minds that at that exact moment their home will be burning to the ground." Taking a drag of the nicotine he watched as his daughter eyes widened in disbelief as she stood from her seat.

"You can't do that."

"I can." Tommy replied. "I can and I will but not if you don't make me. It's time you learned action have consequences" He said pointing at her with the cigarette between his fingers.

"So this is how it's going to be?" She asked. "You don't care about be so that means that no one else can?"

"I care for you, you know what I do but you have chosen to forget that in the wake of one mistake." Tommy shouted

"'It's time you've learned your actions have consequences' or does that not apply to you, just everyone else?"

"So this is a 'consequence' an attempt for you to punish me for how I've wronged you." Tommy accused.

"God are you kidding- No!" Y/N shouted. "This is an attempt to free myself. this is an attempt to not have nightmares every time I close my eyes because for the last few months that all it ever is! Because every time I look at your face the only thing I can see is that man laughing and telling my that my father didn't give a damn about me and believing him because I had no prove to say otherwise.

I've tried to forgive you, you have no idea how badly I want to. How badly I want to run to you like when I was younger and think that you'd never let anything hurt me, that the worries of the world don't exist inside the comfort of your arms but I can't.

So no Tomas...I'm not doing this to you, I'm doing this for me."

The two stood there both looking into each other's eyes it was only then that Tommy truly saw how broken his daughter was on the inside and Y/N saw how desperate her father was to keep her.

"I fucked up. I know I fucked up but you have to see that I am trying." Tommy admitted. "That I can't make this better if you run away."

"I know you are...but I can't get better if I stay."

"..."

#masterlist #peaky blinder x reader #sweet pea imagine #peaky blinders request #shelby!reader #tommy shelby imagine #daughter!reader #tommy shelby!daughter #tommy shelby

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