#I am this close to using these terms out of spite

[strawberryspence]

Because I am obsessed with the famous trope here’s another one that kept me up all night.

Steve and Eddie dated right after Vecna in ‘86 and it’s perfect. They date each other and it’s like two puzzles clicking together. But they’re young, foolish and they both have mountains of trauma. And sometimes, the passion and love, just isn’t enough to keep a relationship going.

They have a messy break up that has Eddie packing all his stuff up in ‘88. Eddie goes to LA or New York, either way that’s where he gets discovered. He then goes on to write some very angsty and angry rock/metal music about the break-up that gets him up on the map.

Steve hates it. He hates it with every fibre of his soul because it’s one thing when you and you ex still have the same friends and have to be civil with each other, but it’s a whole other thing when you open the radio and this man you dated, this man you loved and cared for and failed is just out here singing it for the whole world to hear.

And yeah listen, it’s petty and dumb. But Steve writes his own fucking songs, it’s not the direct response to Eddie’s song but it’s close. By that time it’s already ‘90 and Eddie’s made a whole name and career out of their relationship. Steve writes the songs, he sings, and he sends the damn demo to almost fifty different companies. And he gets picked up by one company.

Steve takes the pop star route, and with his looks and his somehow amazing vocals, by ‘94 Steve’s on the charts with Whitney and Mariah. The whole Party has solemnly promised to not get involved with their petty songwriting fighting anymore. They also haven’t spoken in person in almost six years, and the only way they communicate now is through the freaking songs.

There’s not a lot of overlap with the rock and pop community, and no one notices it until ‘05. It’s one fan that makes this one blog post talking about this weird freaky coincidence in Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson’s songs. It becomes a whole thing, like someone from Hawkins pulls out the yearbooks and finds out that they could’ve known each other. Their faces are splashed together into every magazine and celebrity entertainment shows.

They don’t say anything about it. No one comments about it for a few years and it infuriates the public even more. The next time Steve comes out with a song, Eddie comes out with another song a few months after and it’s once again a literal conversation about their relationship.

The whole thing continues until ‘11 and by then there’s blog dedicated for all the clues. It’s now a long running thread, and it gets updated when there’s another clue to this massive confusing puzzle. There’s a whole subsection with names of every Party member and how they connect the two artists together. There’s freaking flow charts and pictures and family trees.

It only ends when Eddie finally posts two pictures on Twitter. The first one is taken backstage. All you can see is Steve’s back, but you will know it’s him because of his hair. He’s standing at the side of the stage, and on the stage is Eddie Munson singing. The second one is a picture of Eddie sitting in a couch as Steve looms over him, hands crossed on his chest. Eddie’s signing his own album with a smirk, while Steve glares at him. If you zoom, you can see the sign on the album saying, “To Steve. This album is for you.”

The caption says: “Me and my biggest fan. Circa 2004.”

Steve replies to the original post saying: “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Eddie deletes the post and reposts it with: “Me and my wonderful, gorgeous, talented husband. I can’t believe I am married to THE Steve Harrington.”

It’s the first time the term “break the internet” is ever used.

Turns out, they were just writing the songs to spite each other and to add fuel to the fandom fire. (In an interview, Eddie says, “It’s our foreplay.” and Steve doesn’t talk to him for a solid 30 minutes for running his mouth. It only lasts for 30 minutes because Eddie made it up to him by using his mouth for something else.)

#HA #i love famous steddie #theyre so petty #also dont come for me #i dont know where the ‘break the internet’ term came from #so dont get mad #anw #i love them #steddie #daeheadcanons #steve harrington x eddie munson angst #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steddie hc #famous steve harrington #famous eddie munson

[weebsinstash]

for the whole marriage thing, it would be kinda funny if you marry someone else out of spite, especially right after Miguel found out that you two were actually destined for each other.

You, out of breath and looking upset: Dude, this is gonna be a lot but, I need your help doing something to spite Miguel--

Hobie: don't even have to finish mate, you've already sold me on it

You: you and I need to get married because I wanna be my own person and rebel against Miguel because he wants US to get married but I don't want to because fuck him and fuck canon and I wanna choose my own destiny idk am I being dumb 🥺

Hobie, who Definitely Has Nothing To Gain Here Wink Wink: alright, that's what I'm talkin about, fuckin mental, let's do it 😌 fight the man ✊️

But no for real, you were actively avoiding relationships and suddenly Miguel hits you with "you and I are canon and I want to start getting to know each other better" and you're, I dunno, would "panic fucking" work. Would you be so bold. You're just trying to hook another person that YOU choose (and again Hobie would still apply here lmao) because, no, no, you can't let canon TRAP you like this!! And it would fucking suck if you had like, neutral or even negative feelings about Miguel. Shit, I've thought of, imagine being his FWB that he's actually catching feelings for but then the Miles Morales Incident happens and, you're just kind of disgusted how he acted, how he spoke to Miles, how he treated Gwen, but before you can officially tell him "hey, I want nothing to do with you anymore", that's when Miguel comes to you wanting to get more serious and he uh, does not accept you wanting to move on

I guess detouring into a different idea but imagine being kind of a FWB or fling of his that you kind of moved on from him from for whatever reason (he can have a temper, he can be too intense, you don't like when he did xyz, or maybe you're a free spirit and don't want to get serious and break things off when you feel he's too clingy) and he like. Cannot accept you've moved on. He's cockblocking you at the Spider Society bars n clubs and little holes in the wall where the adults go to drink and get together. By reputation alone, people know to avoid tou because Miguel wants you back, everyone still sees you as His Girl, like he's claimed you, but he still catches people dumb enough to get close to you (and I imagine his surveillance slips or he gets busy and you have a casual fuck under his radar and he sees hickeys or something on you later and goes ballistic)

But yeah gosh imagine like, he tells you up front you two are canon and not even 24 hours later you can notice the atmosphere has changed in the Spider Society with how people treat you in terms of respect, personal space, not being too touchy or overly familiar, but, most importantly, you just feel. Awkward. It's like everyone knows. Did they all know before you did, or did Miguel quickly spread the news around? You're not sure which of those is worse. He's wanting to get you know you more intimately, he wants to try and take you on dates, but, he sucks at it, he's been out of the game way too long and he's a stressed temperamental half-spider workaholic, so, his dates amount to, him just trying to spend time with you in different ways while trying to make awkward small talk. He takes you to dinner. He sees if there are any movies or entertainment you wanna see in the Spider Society, making awkward attempts to try and hold your hand

But also. Imagine. A version of Miguel that wants to move much faster than that. I mean, you two are going to be canon, so, you might as well get acclimated to him right away, right? He wants you to immediately spend more time with him, he starts controlling where you are and what you do so he can be spending time with you or connected to you in some way, you're living with him in his own residence now, he INSISTS you sleep in the same bed like a married couple, and while he may not immediately demand you do what married couples do, he makes it clear that he wants to eventually. God, you can barely even relax knowing he's in bed with you and he still forcibly cuddles you, getting used to feeling his body against your own (and what if he slept in the nude 😳 he provides you pj's but they're kind of small and thin and he keeps the room cold on purpose so you have to seek his warmth under the covers)

Miguel is like an established adult in his 30s or something all "we'll get to know each other and then we can start planning our wedding. We'll have dinner dates at least once a week and we'll have joint bank accounts--" meanwhile you're just sitting over here like " um 🥺 I um 🥺 have never really even dated anyone before 🥺" and suddenly this 6 ft 9 man is looking down at you realizing there's a lil bit of an age gap and definitely an experience gap and he gets to have all of your "firsts" and he's Just So Weird About It in like, kinda a fetish way. He gets to have your first kiss, your first time (maybe he even wants to wait until marriage), he gets to teach you things, like, lowkey it's kinda like a mentorship as well as a relationship, he's your teacher, your protector, your husband, your jailor

Like imagine you finally have your first baby and you're freaking out and you're so scared and worried about doing everything absolutely perfect and he's just like, so happy but also kind of romanticizing/fetishizing you being a new/first-time mom, he thinks you're so cute, so eager to do good and learn how to do the best for your baby. He teaches you all kinds of things about childcare and being pregnant since, he's already cared for his fiance before his canon event, he remembers all the things he learned to become a dad, all the things he picked up during the second go around, and now everything new he's learned just for you. I mean really if we follow the combo comic/movie canon, you're the first time he's getting a BABY baby and getting to raise it and do everything from the start, and it's his CANON baby so he knows you're both safe.

I just feel like between his literal list of trauma (beaten by abusive father who also abused his mom, he was betrayed and drugged with a highly addictive and agonizing substance to basically be enslaved, he was sabotaged and atomically spliced with a spider while trying to cure said addiction, his pregnant fiance died, his second family died as well as an entire universe) and him not really even having much of an OPTION with breaking canon at risk (which would have such a domino effect because it happening in his Nueva York would dismantle THE ENTIRE SPIDER SOCIETY, so, this is like, QUARDUPLE RISK) he would just. Like damn you don't even need to have yandere stuff in there, he HAS to make you stay with him? Obviously he eventually has no problem with it and fully enjoys the excuse if he wasn't crazy about you on sight, but like. LMAO you're just hanging around HQ with big sad eyes and people are whispering "who's that over there that Miguel is hovering over" "oh that's Miguel's wife. she's scared of him and he's way too intense" "well why doesnt she just leave him" "can't, they're canon, and even if they werent, i dont think he'd allow it. Shit just the other day she wanted to leave HQ to swing through the city and she didn't get his permission first and Miguel activated the Morales Protocol and sent us all chasing after her" "like ALL all?" "Oh yeah it was totally an 'all available units' situation, and once she saw she was being chased she started freaking out and panicking and tried to run, which pissed him off even more, and is why she's got a babysitter now" "oh wow, that's rough... so anyways do you know what they're serving in the cafeteria today?"

#miguel o'hara x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere spiderverse #yandere stuff #sinprompts #woe! my constant barrage of long cringe posts be upon ye

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Rook, Ortho: Princess Power

BRUH 💀 Go figure, giving the guy obsessed with beauty two of the least flattering screenshots in his background frames… But hey, his groovy is very different from everyone else’s so far! ^^ Very relaxed and peaceful.

Cbjssbjsjskendb new tidbits about pre-Pomefiore Rook?? He used to cut his own hair with a knife and focused on keeping his bangs out of his line of sight… and he wasn’t as confident about his style (mood). It’s also interesting to know that he started doing ballet on Vil’s recommendation, and that has helped a lot with his posture, working out muscles he doesn’t normally use, and appreciating the art of performances. We love Pomefiore out here breaking gender norms 👊

A Tale as Old as Time.

Rook drew out a longing sigh, gently easing into the quiet of the museum. The soft sound lingered, coiling around his fingers like thread from a spool. It, too, did not wish to part ways with the stunning beauty laid out bare before it.

A fair maiden was framed in shining platinum. Hair black as ebony, lips as red as the rose, and skin as white as snow... Truly, she was the fairest in all the land.

Her graceful frame was folded, kneeling on the forest floor to greet the woodland creatures that had gathered. The pale yellow skirt of her gown spilled out, blue bodice and puff sleeves fitted well by her figure. Her face round and gentle, in spite of the high collar encircling it, crowed by a petite red bow.

Here was pure innocence, a young girl reveling in nature.

“Beauté,” he marveled—to no one in particular, but such beauty warranted verbal acknowledgement.

“It seems that this painting has captured your interest, Rook Hunt-san!” a voice chirped. A neon blue light emanated from the darkness, accompanied by the silver flash of metal.

“Bonjour!” Rook greeted Ortho. "I must confess, I have been enchanted by this particular work of art! The brush strokes, masterful! The composition, immaculate!! The subject—oh, how it makes my heart quiver with nostalgia!! I am a man close to being moved to tears!!”

Ortho curiously glanced at the girl and her animal friends. No strong emotions arose within up from him. Perhaps he did not feel as much, or perhaps Rook felt too much. “Is there a sentimental experience or memory you have related to this painting…?”

“Oui! It is a tale as old as time.” Rook gestured to the snow white young lady. “They say that this maiden was a princess forced to flee from her home country, as a hostile presence threatened her life. She retreated into the woods and found comfort in a humble life there. Her tenacity is most admirable!!”

“Tenacity… That’s the value that Pomefiore was founded on!” Ortho, floating overhead, beamed at Rook. “I understand why you would like that story. It has a good moral that sticks with you.”

“That is the beauty of telling tales! They inspire those who hear of it, ensuring that the spirit of the story is never truly extinguished.” The huntsman’s eyes held a keep glint to them. “Tell me, Ortho-kun. What do you believe makes a princess?”

The boy blinked. A split second, and he had already input the term into an internal search engine, the formal definition loaded up to recite.

“Prin-cess, noun. The daughter of a monarch or wife to a prince. A woman having sovereign power.”

“An efficient, succinct answer!” Rook applauded, his cheer never faltering. “However, my desire is to know your interpretation. In Ortho-kun’s own words, what makes a princess?”

“My own…?” The words stretched, unsure, on his tongue. Ortho hesitated—seeking, processing, and analyzing. Rook’s heartbeat sounded where there was the space for the boy to think.

Then, finally, Ortho spoke.

“From what I’ve observed in movies and books, the princess is a pop culture icon. She’s usually presented as a role model for little girls. Someone who is beautiful, dainty, and composed, wearing a pretty dress and a glittering crown."

A pause. Ortho assessed Rook’s hard-to-read, bright expression.

“… Is that closer to the response you were looking for, Rook Hunt-san?” he asked.

To this, the third year’s lips quirked. “There is no correct or incorrect answer! I was curious to see your perspective. Everyone holds one that differs, lenses of all designs and colors with which to see the world through! You have my most heartfelt thanks for sharing your view with me.”

"Oh, I see! You're collecting data from a variety of sources to compare to a standard." The android (literally) lit up from within. "Let me ask the same back! Rook Hunt-san, what do you think makes a princess?"

"Mon dieu! You've set my own trap upon me," Rook teased.

The Beautiful Queen, the Fair Maiden, Vil, his peers... So many fragments of beauty in his collection. Plucked, collected, hoarded.

He ran a finger along his chin, contemplating. The thoughts assembled like a collage. Ideas taken, cut up, and pasted together into a new, glorious artwork.

"A princess can be many things," Rook declared with certainty. "They are a princess to their very core, even when their power is stripped from them or they are dressed in only ashes and rags. What defines them is not royal heritage or political influence, but the strength of their character, their values and virtues. They are not bound by a singular trait, but are aspirations to all in their own ways."

Ortho's eyes swelled. "Eh...? That's so broad! By your definition, anyone could be a princess—even you or I!”

The huntsman threw his head back and laughed. "Broad it may be, but I am of the opinion that we all have it in us to live up to the title~”

He indicated the woman in the platinum frame. Ortho’s gaze obediently followed. "Even without a kingdom to call her own, she remained kind-hearted rather than turn to cruelty. That is why she was, and always will be, a noble soul. A princess who puts out good into the world.”

“Rook Hunt-san…”

“Ortho-kun!” Rook dramatically extended an arm to him. He was practically sparkling in the dim room. “I, too, endeavor to put out as much beauty as what is gifted to me! That is my one true calling as the Hunter of Love: to not only seek out beauty, but to cultivate and to contribute to it!”

Ortho silently stared. Nii-san did warn me that Rook Hunt-san could be eccentric, but… maybe there’s some meaning to be found in it.

Cutting through the numbers and the formulas that governed him was a fuzzy warmth. Not the familiar jolt of electricity that powered his circuits. It was too wild, too unpredictable.

Something undeniably human.

Ortho let out a giggle. "Hehe. Then you must be a princess too!"

Rook's mouth formed a small "o". Unsubtle surprise—or perhaps purposefully exaggerated. "Me? Whatever makes you think that?"

"Strength of character!" Ortho parroted mischievously. "I've never met someone as uplifting as you are. Rook Hunt-san is the type of person that sees a princess in everyone."

The boy lowered himself to a few centimeters off of the ground, pretending to dip into a curtsey. "Your majesty!"

"Fufufu. You're quite charming yourself, Princess Ortho-kun!" Rook bent into a deep bow. "Most clever in all the land, computing complex problems in the blink of an eye!”

Upon straightening, the third year laid both hands over his heart. He lifted his head toward the painting of the fair maiden in the forest. A serene smile at his lips.

It was as if he was pledging his allegiance, making a vow. A worshipper at the altar to pray.

“May we all live happily ever after,” Rook whispered raptly, “like the princesses of old.”

Forever and ever.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Rook Hunt #Rook birthday takeover #spoilers #something no one asked for #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Ortho Shroud #I hope y'all notice but Rook was basically describing what makes a Disney 'princess' #since not all of them in the lineup are actually royalty

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

I love your animatronic toy OC guys so much, they have so much personality to them and their colours are really good (especially umbra)

Thank you! The funny thing about Umbra's design was that while I was developing it about two years ago and had some colors in mind, I described in text what I already came up with to an image generator for fun (shitty unconvincing old kind, vs now where it looks like shit but in a somewhat more convincing way) and it produced something so silly that I made her design better than what I would've settled with out of spite.

More details of my process and anti-AI ranting below the cut, so the examples given won't show up on search results. Google Images is getting polluted too much with slop to begin with.

Let's begin.

In 2022 I was drafting up Umbra's design with mostly concrete details. At this time image generators were newer and much less convincing, and I was a bit less aware of just how unethical they were, so I fed one a text description of what I had drafted for her design out of curiosity. Something along the lines of, "doll of an anthropomorphic owl librarian in glasses, blazer/suit jacket, skirt, corset, high heels, sitting on a bookshelf" and probably a few more terms. Really specific, lengthy prompt.

I try to be open-minded and give new things a shot, but the results were Not Great. Ideally, I'd want to not share the AI pictures at all on-principle, but I feel like it's useful, transparent, and necessary to show them. Both as a means of not hiding anything, but also just to appreciate where the design is at in spite of it.

Outside of this particular collage of Weird Owls, no other pictures on this blog are AI-generated. AI Image Generation is harmful, and I am against its usage.

But hey, two of the generated pictures look close, right? The top left is the closest, and bottom right is second.

That's because they started out worse, and I had to actually erase chunks of them and have the generator fill in the blanks to get anything remotely close to what I wanted. Misshapen limbs, unrecognizable anatomy, fever-dream clothing details, etc. They didn't even have a corset or proper legs until I slapped the generator in the face enough times to make it produce them. I was just using it to photobash, which was such an annoying process, I just went "this is dumb" and stopped. They're literally posed like that because I kept erasing and regnerating their limbs until they looked vaguely in-character. It literally only looks passable thanks to STRANGLING it with human input.

Before I used the image generator, I already drafted her to be night-themed with yellow eyes and something like purple, dark blue, or sky-blue as her main color; the generator making one owl yellow-eyed and purple was a happy coincidence, and the only thing the generative AI "came up with" that I didn't already have in mind or included in the prompt was the light blue shirt, which I did adapt into her cyan shirt and stockings/socks as well. That was a good call. You get One Point, Mr. AI.

...Which still meant that at its absolute best, it was a largely redundant step in the creative process if its contribution was worse than what a randomized palette generator or character creator could come up with.

That's already putting the ethics of it aside, like carbon emissions, data pollution, using artists' and photographers' work without credit or permission, the incentive to plagiarize, flooding sites like deviantart with slop, Willy Wonka Shit, etc etc etc. When people say "you can use AI as a tool though", this ordeal was enough to convince me that it's more trouble than its worth, even in its most ethical usage. I feel gross for having even tried. I wish I knew what sources went into the creation of those Weird Owls. It'd be better for research if the right people could be credited.

Nothing else on this blog is AI-generated or ever will be. The art below is purely my own (2022 vs a few weeks ago)):

Actually drawing Umbra and solidifying her design was far more rewarding than having an image generator vaguely approximate my own ideas. I wanted her to look really special, so I used a black cape and pants, gold highlights and buttons, and blue undertones to make something more distinct. Also, neck floof. Very important. I wanted the head in particular to look distinct and original, going with bold black streaks to really help her look distinguished.

I also have certain inevitable Hydroisms for Fancy characters like her; most apparent in these designs for Chasey and Kaita from even longer ago, which were more of an influence than anything else. (Old art of mine from like 2021, Kaita ref looks wonky but Chasey still holds up nicely):

Most of Umbra's other design elements were already commonly used with established ocs like Kaita, like her shape language, corset, skirt, heels, etc. It was my previous work with Chasey that inspired the use of gold buttons and highlights.

Umbra is also now a bluer shade of purple partly to distance the current design from that ordeal. All things considered, I'll probably make her more indigo next time. I already wanted her to have a wide color range from the get-go (Featured below is, again, purely my art from 2022:)

I may use a different colored shirt and stockings in the future. I like to think she has many different shirts and clothes based on the different stages of the night sky, from dusk to dawn, and the painting I made in the top right there was an exploration of her range in different lighting.

All in all, it's frustrating. I'm proud of her design, but explaining all of this is annoying, because it's technically all relevant to showing how her colors were picked and how the design was made. I still technically have AI to """Thank""", in the way you thank a bad experience for encouraging you to make things better out of spite.

#Umbra Beatrix

[yuurei20]

March, 2023 Interview with Twisted Wonderland Creator Toboso Yana

This interview can be viewed in its original form in the App store.

*Disclaimer: This is a fan translation and is not endorsed by anyone associated with Twst. Speaking on Yana's behalf makes me very nervous so I am very careful (and hire a professional proofreader for projects like this), but results may vary! Thank you for your understanding!

The Passion of Toboso Yana, the Creator of the Game’s Concept and Characters

Where did the inspiration for the world and characters of "Disney's Twisted Wonderland" come from? 

The person who painstakingly took care of every creative element and holds the key to the entire project is well-known manga artist Toboso Yana.

“I love constraints and aiming to do the best I possibly can when surrounded by hurdles.”

- Toboso Yana (concept and scenario creator, character designer)

“I have a manga series—Black Butler—that is still ongoing, so I had been turning down offers for long-term projects. But then I heard about this, and I love Disney’s works and their characters, so I said I’d do it without a moment’s hesitation. Before I even saw it my editor told me that I would be taking this one on for sure, like a line straight out of a western TV show, and he was absolutely right.

At that time, however, the only thing that had been decided was that it would be a game themed around Disney villains. We started working with Aniplex without knowing what it was we were actually going to make. 

Initially we thought ‘Well, the first thing that comes to mind when you hear Disney is Hollywood,’ so our initial proposal was that the characters were young actors performing the different Disney IPs in a musical theater format. That was rejected. 

Disney has a lot of rules to ensure that their works are accessible to everyone regardless of age or gender, and a lot of our other proposals after the ‘training up actors for the theater’ idea were also turned down.

After that we came up with the idea of setting the game in a school, as a genre that is gaining recognition both in Japan and abroad.”

It took Toboso Yana about six months to come up with the idea that eventually became what the game is today. As she began creating stories and illustrating different elements, the world of “Twisted Wonderland” began to take shape.

“Working on my manga I would often submit different ideas over and over again until I received an OK, and then I would work closely with my editor to brush up on what had been approved. I think those experiences really came in handy.

Personally I love constraints and aiming to do the best I possibly can when surrounded by all the hurdles and decisions that come with game production. In the pre-development stages we were all communicating weekly with one another as I drew ideas for the rhythmic games, user interfaces and battle scenes. I think a big part of the fact that we were able to release Twst at all was that we were able to break through the parts of the game that we just couldn’t imagine or verbalize using the power of illustration."

The Message Entrusted to the Villains

In the main story you get to know seven dormitories and their unique students. You learn about the different sides to each of these characters, and, over time, the weaknesses and problems of these spiteful students who all seem to hate each other.

The depth of the storylines and character development also required a lot of effort from Toboso Yana. 

“The story and the characters were created almost simultaneously. The story itself is an homage to the fates suffered by the different Disney villains, but when fitting the characters into the story, they shouldn’t be on a radically more developed stage than the story or vice versa.

The full main plot that I was to share with Disney seemed linear and uninteresting, so I submitted character details and sub-plots at the same time.

I received very thorough checks and made corrections to what was returned to me to be resubmitted in a process that took about a year before I was really able to start writing the scenario for the game in earnest.

And since Disney’s works are universal stories, villain underlings are often a bit comical and subservient to their villain…so there was some difficulty coming up with multiple, individual characters based on them. 

For example, coming up with four different students based on the card soldiers from ‘Alice in Wonderland’, and creating a character based entirely on the poison apple from ‘Snow White’ was not easy. 

Basically I would put myself in the position of a card soldier and think about how the poison apple must have felt, then I wrote that down and built upon it. 

There is no way that apple wanted to become poisonous; it was forced into those circumstances against its will by the Queen just because it was the most appetizing option. Maybe that is what its thoughts would have been? etc.

While working out each character’s personality we created a huge character guide before the game was even released. Since we only had one or two lines for the voice actors to record in the beginning we had them read that character guide, and there were a few times that they showed genuine surprise at the sheer amount of information that was available for them to work with.”

And what’s beyond this story of villains facing their own weakness and frustrations that Toboso Yana has created? Therein lies a positive message that she hopes will reach the game’s users.

“Happy endings in Disney works come from righteous actions and love, but I believe that the villains are characters who do not get saved during the story. That is why, through this game, I want to portray the message that even if you get beat up all the way to a bad ending, you can grow from it and live your life without feeling discouraged.

Acting lame, obstinate, without hesitation, being open and honest—it’s not as bad as it sounds. 

I would like to paint a positive picture of living honestly with yourself and not worrying about others.

In today’s society there are so many people who live in fear of failure and are always walking on eggshells, but nobody’s flawless. It is exhausting to try to live your life so that no one will hate you.”

An original culture woven into costume

One of the elements of Twisted Wonderland that has had the most heart poured into it is the costume design.

Toboso Yana explains the struggles behind creating entirely unique designs meant to reinterpret the worlds of the movies upon which the seven dormitories were based.

“I started the design process from the dorm uniforms based on the original works and their worlds.

I wanted the costumes to be modern while also portraying the worldview of each dorm within this school where different countries, cultures and time periods all exist simultaneously. 

I also had to be constantly aware of whether some things were too close to existing cultures or fashion brands. For every look that actually made it into the final game, I created almost three times as many different designs for everything.

For example, for the designs for the Pomefiore dorm uniform, the more elements that were added, the wider the disconnect from the original, classic animation. It was very difficult, but eventually I settled upon using the silhouette as a starting point and reconstructing it from there, rather than focusing on individual elements. By incorporating what Japanese people consider to be classical (kimono), I was able to come up with a design reminiscent of the simple but elegant impression of the original ‘Snow White.’

For Diasomnia’s dorm uniform, I wanted to incorporate the relationship between Maleficent and her black-armored minion goons into the design. For that I chose leather as something that is both classical and rigid. I also incorporated harnesses, which were trendy in the world of high fashion at the time that I was making these designs.

While keeping the high fashion of the real world in mind, I also placed a lot of importance on expressing the unique culture of Twisted Wonderland itself through the clothing that appears in various events. For example the clothes in the ‘Harveston’s Kelkkalot’ and ‘Tamashina-Mina’ events aren’t reinterpretations of existing costumes. The starting point was designing a possible clothing history based on the daylight hours and the climate of those areas.

A region that is often deep in snow with short daylight hours is likely to develop a culture of embroidery, as people would spend long hours indoors. In hot climates, people might dye breathable materials such as cotton and linen, and maybe end up with something like this or that, etc. That was the thought process. That is how I design costumes based on the different textile histories and cultures of Twisted Wonderland.

The costumes for some of the events took almost two years to complete, including constant checks and revisions. There are often times when people will spend actual money in order to acquire these costumes, so I don’t want the quality to be anything less than one might expect to find at a fashionable store.

A member of staff at my own studio, D-6th, holds professional certifications in Western-style sewing and pattern making, so everything from the backs of the costumes to how they would be worn has been designed so that they could actually be functional. Since it is a world of magic, however, fantastical and dreamlike designs are just as important as realistic ones, so sometimes we decided, ’This part would look too awkward if it were sewn on, so let’s pretend it has been attached by magic.’"

The Epic Story of Twisted Wonderland

Since its launch in 2020, the world of Twisted Wonderland that you, the main character, have wandered into, has been developing spectacularly along the main story by Toboso Yana. Here, she explains the passion that comes from the creative development process:

“We have been able to achieve some degree of success through the combination of myself (who had only ever drawn manga), Aniplex (who were unaccustomed to creating games targeted at a female audience) and F4samurai (who handled the development and management on-site but had never attempted this genre before). 

I think one of the reasons for this is how close all three of us were able to work with one another. I enjoy every meeting that we have. Despite having no idea how game development works I am always coming up with these ideas, and they are always so accommodating and are never caught off guard. It feels like we have always been working by trial and error together.

The text of the first book is 35,000 Japanese characters long but book 6 has over 250,000. Up until about book 3 users are still getting to know the characters, so we prioritized helping people come to understand the world of Twst and keeping things compact. After the game was released, however, it felt like people were reading much more deeply into the story than we had anticipated. So now I include much more information than was provided during those setup chapters.

Going forward things are going to be on a much larger scale, incorporating not only the vertical and horizontal axes of the story but also expanding upon elements such as a present, past and future. 

Look forward to Book 7 (currently on chapter 2)!

What I thought of while writing the story is that villains can become extremely strong if they can keep their mindset flexible while developing mutual understanding without compromising their own identities.

The core of this game consists of becoming stronger while reaching an understanding with the strengths, weaknesses and points of view of those who are different from you.

I think that this might be similar to the stance that we all share as we create it. 

I think that I have become tougher myself since I first got involved with the development of Twst. I am a manga artist, and this is my first attempt at creating a game. I was surprised, at first, by how many situations there were where my skills were completely useless: meeting the different team members for the first time, being so unfamiliar with the culture of the gaming industry and the strictness of being judged as part of a global work instead of as an exclusively Japanese form of entertainment.

As a result I have reached the point where I am able to adapt my approach to different challenges when my first attempts fail, rather than simply fight them.

Since the characters in the story are villains they do not admit defeat, but they will admit when their opponent does well. Even if they don’t like each other, they will recognize each other’s abilities. 

We will continue to develop this game that emphasizes the spirit of villains that cannot be discouraged, and we hope that our users will continue to enjoy it."

#twstyana #twisted wonderland #twst translations

[jkrockin]

Wait what guy who hadn't read Atlas Shrugged?

I was pretty sure I'd told this story here, but a cursory search suggests that I have not. Okay let's gooooo

Many moons ago, I worked in an emergency services call centre. I worked nights- I could get regular shifts, it paid well, and I am a huge freak, just like everyone else who works nights in a call centre. It is a lifestyle that attracts freaks. Some of my coworkers weren't full-time creatures of the night, but students or whoever who picked up occasional nights for the extra money, and one of them was Libertarian Shithead, who we'll call LS for short.

LS was a twentysomething white dude who wore a lot of name brand surfwear and designer sunglasses. I assume his parents were rich. LS loved nothing better than recreational arguing. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it; he had some of the most dogshit opinions I've ever encountered in the wild, and was terrible at defending them. He'd say some crap about how Gattaca-type eugenics is Fine, Actually, because if you let people make designer babies, the ~*Free Market will decide what traits are desirable! Racism and colourism and ableism and sexism and intersexism won't affect those choices at all! And I'd get mad, because I have principles to speak of, and we'd get into it, and WITHOUT FAIL, we'd get maybe halfway into an actual discussion about whatever horseshit garbage he was on tonight, and the second he thought he was losing, he'd say "oh, well. I'm an ~*Objectivist, so you can't really understand my perspective unless you've read Ayn Rand." Then he'd sigh, and change the subject.

At the time I had not read any Ayn Rand. Being fundamentally powered by spite, I withstood maybe three weeks of this shit before I pirated an epub of Atlas Shrugged, put it on my e-reader, and proceeded to slam through it at supersonic speed so I could finally get to finish an argument with this terrible boy.

Anon, I fucking hated Atlas Shrugged. The book is bad. It's way too long, every single character is an unbelievable douche, the prose sucks. Ayn Rand wants to fuck a train so so so badly, but the prose is so turgid I couldn't even get invested in how much she wants to fuck a train. And the core of the matter, the politics I was there to understand, are, y'know. Objectivist. Eye-bleedingly selfish and capitalistic, expressed in amazingly childish and blinkered terms. Even the bits where it seems like the shithead capitalist dudes want to fuck each other are too mired in the scunge of Rand's terrible views to be enjoyable.

But I read the fucking thing! I powered through it with only quite minimal complaining! I finished the book on the train to work, and when I saw that LS was on that night, I plonked myself in a seat by him, and metaphorically cracked my knuckles, ready to fuckin' party. In a perfect world, I would have been cool enough to have waited for the perfect mid-argument moment to drop, but I didn't. I think I lasted exactly until we were both off a call at the same time, and then leaned in as close as the desk dividers would let me, and said "So I finished Atlas Shrugged. I have some thoughts."

I cannot overstate how quickly it became obvious that LS had not read the book. For a hot second I thought maybe it had just been a while and the fine details had escaped him, but no; he didn't know who half the characters were, or key points of the plot, or even know any of the stuff in the John Galt speech, i.e. the big juggernaut of Here's How Objectivism Works near the end of the book about Objectivism that this fucking guy hypothetically based his Objectivist views on. It took me maybe five minutes, in between calls, to realise this, and another five for him to admit he hadn't actually read any Ayn Rand. He'd read her Wikipedia page.

ANYWAY I didn't speak to him for like a month after that, and I don't think either of us lost out there!

#at the time I was very angry #but in hindsight I think it was very funny #storytime #ask me ask me ask me #anonymice

[belovedyandere]

OMFG love, you can’t leave us like that!!!! You have us a cliffhanger!! What happened to y/n and yandere emperor?! YOU HAVE TO MAKE A PART 2 PLZZZZ!

part I

cw. aggression, force, nipple play, noncon, sexual themes, top yandere x bottom male reader, yandere themes

Dragged into his chambers, you were pushed onto the bed, the softness of it encasing your body. The gentleness that you’ve never felt, you’ve never sat or rested on something so tender. You would have felt comfort from it, if it weren’t for the man ahead of you, closing in between the distance, his eyes fiery and cold. You wished you hadn’t said that. It may have been truthful, but now the truth didn’t matter, surviving his rage did. You kicked your feet against the bed sheets, attempting to pull you up, to have a chance to get away. But he was all over you in an instant. His limbs covering every escape, his body above yours, caging you.

“I thought trash weren’t able to move, hm?” His voice pierced through your thoughts that were filled of plans to get away. You cautiously turned to stare into his eyes. That eye contact seemed to light a new fire in him. Beneath the iciness was wanting, but that didn’t ease your soul at all. “I wanted us to go gentle the first time, or at least start that way, I am…” he tried to find the words, “vigorous, in all I do. But, you did this. You have yourself to blame.” Ripping your new attire, baring your chest and stomach to him, revealing yourself to him. Feeling embarrassed, you tried to use your arms as coverage but his hands were quick, grabbing your wrists with one hand, encasing it so tight you winced and went limp. “Ah ah ah, what did I say about trash moving, hm?” You whimpered, and he groaned. He was, in simple terms, angry. But, as long as you were by him, he didn’t care what you thought of him. His tongue travelled to your perking nipples, teasingly sucking one while the other pinched roughly. Pulling it with spite while sucking the other to the verge of being swollen.

His eyes were on you the entire time, watching you writhe and mewl, it was agonising for his cock, throbbing for your entrance, but his need to punish you held out. “Please! I-I’m sor…ry..!” He pulled your nipple harder, and bit the other teasingly. “Trash mustn’t talk. Or will you admit that you are my beloved?” He was met with silence, and your diverted your eyes from his gaze. Rage. His thorough punishment flew out the door. Fine, if you were to act like trash, then you will be treated as such. Pulling your legs to rest on his shoulders, saliva travelled from his mouth to your hole. He would have gone without preparation but he would rather at least have you feel some pleasure. After a few minutes of you fighting against his fingers stretching you with his saliva as lube, he felt satisfied to enter. And when he did. It was a slice of heaven.

You were so warm, so inviting, he could feel every twitch and throbbing against him. He could feel his eyes loll back, but nothing made him lose control when you laid beneath him, crying out with tears staining your red cheeks, your lips inviting him to ravage. “For trash, you’re quite stunning.” He said with dark eyes, he stilled his movements only to surprise you with harsh, fast thrusts. You cried out, your hands stilled trapped with his hand, the other slapped your nipples, there was too much sensations for you to handle. You were disoriented, seeing stars appear, and then you felt him grow sloppy with movement. That’s when you felt hot spurts enter you, and you yourself felt sudden, forever release that sent you into a high you’ve never experienced before. Before you could rest in that high, you felt him move again, no decrease in sped or roughness.

His fingers played with the cum that you left on your chest, “My, an artist you are, I can’t wait for you to see my artwork inside you.” He chuckled darkly, pulling your nipples once more to bring you back to reality. “My darling trash needs to stay awake, though I surely won’t stop even if you grow unconscious.”

#yandere #yandere smut #belovedyandere oc #male reader #yandere emperor #emperor smut #emperor

[systemofcryptids]

hey. hey.

when someone asks you for a source on something, can you please actually link a source? not a page with two sentences linked to no external documents and no actual evidence besides it being a page on an online wiki.

pluralpedia with no supplemental sources for a claim is not evidence.

i was genuinely curious about something and i got blocked for asking for a medical or theraupedic source. can we not do that, please? i know this person won't see it, given they have me blocked, but oh my god, for future reference, can people not do that to me? i wasn't being hostile, i just wanted actual... evidence.

claim i was curious about was essentially this:

persecutors only cause internal harm (impacting self) to the system. the term for alters who cause external harm (impacting others) are prosecutors.

i wanted to see if that was a genuine term that was more correct than simply using persecutor for both, since that was what i had been doing and saw nothing otherwise, and wanted to see if there really was a distinct difference between the two. pluralpedia didn't scratch that itch for me - that tells me nothing about the term itself, not its history or detailed usage. the page has about two sentences. it has no sources linked inside, just to other related pluralpedia articles that didn't explain it either.

i am still open to the idea of this being the case! that might be correct! i'm just miffed that someone was so childish as to block me for asking for a better source than an online wiki that cites zero sources, who then later makes a post whose only source is that same page, acting like its the end all be all of that statement, case closed.

pluralpedia isn't bad from what i've seen, either. it just won't utterly shake my idea of what the term "persecutor" fundamentally is on its own, not without something else to back it up with.

this feels like spiteful misinformation, almost??? am i going crazy for being bothered by this. one of the persecutors in my system is fighting for front with me and its hard to tell if im being reasonable or if he's emotionally lashing out through me.

did i make an entire sideblog just for this? maybe.

#syscourse #persecutor

[thegoblinboy]

Omg I LOVE the 30th by Billie Eilish! 53 I believe. I am super excite.

I also really love this song and have been wanting to write something for it for a long time. This only forced me to do so lol so thank you!

Wanna force me to write? Send me a number from my list of prompts!

Click Here For My List

Number 15 - The 30th by Billie Eilish

tw; car accident

Eddie had just put his turn signal on when the sirens of the ambulance started to come from behind him. He was already running late for work, traffic was busier than normal and he was going to get his ass chewed out by his Uncle if he didn’t hurry his ass up. Groaning, he stays put instead of driving forward when his light finally turns green, unable to move the vehicle forward without driving in front of the ambulance.

His hands dance on his steering wheel, impatient as Ozzy’s boneyard plays in the background. Only a light buzz behind his ears compared to the panicked thoughts he was having about being late. “Come on, come on, come” He mutters under his breath. The light was green, but he was staying where he was as he watched the emergency vehicle fly by. The light goes yellow when the Ambulance is close but then turns red when it is finally out of the clear.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Eddie curses. Hands slamming down on his steering wheel out of agitation. A slight bubble of shame formed in his stomach knowing that his reaction was ridiculous. Someone's life depended on that ambulance, while he would be perfectly fine being a few more seconds late then what he would have been if the ambulance didn’t get in his way. 

Taking a deep breath he waits for the light to turn green and doesn’t think much about the ambulance after those few very brief seconds. Rushing to get to work, pulling into his normal parking space ten minutes later. He’s so anxious about getting in trouble that his hands were a bit shaky and fumbling around with his binders of notes. All filled with ideas on getting his driver better. 

His driver is Steve Harrington, a more well known name in the racing industry then what he was used to. The people he normally ended up coaching normally started out small and grew into fame with his help. The way he preferred it but that was not the case here and he was constantly anxious about making himself look like a fool around the far more experienced Steve Harrington. Who probably didn’t even need a coach with the amount of knowledge he had. Which was why Eddie couldn’t stand the guy most days but also wanted to drop on one knee and propose to the guy for making some parts of his job easier. Possibly on both knees for more serious occasions. Though when Steve wasn’t putting Eddie into shock he was shooting down every idea Eddie had before it could even go into the ballpark of possibilities.

Speaking of the guy, Eddie had two missed calls from him. Probably to bitch him out about being late. Rolling his eyes a bit he slides his phone into his pocket, not thinking much about that either. He figured that he would see the other in a few minutes, till then he was going to enjoy the calm before the Harrington storm hit.

 They were now thankfully on speaking terms (the last argument they had almost led Eddie having to find a whole new career) and possibly fucking terms again. He wouldn’t be shocked if Steve ended up riding him in his car again out of pure spite for ignoring him. Or they would have another falling out. Who knows. He sure as hell didn’t know what was ever going to happen. 

Walking into the entrance of the building, people were flying around a lot more than what they normally did on a normal day. His face pinches up into confusion seeing people stopping mid place on the floor to pull their phone out. To look at God only knows what. Seemed to be very important. 

Eddie walks by, feeling very much out of the loop. Moving a hand and pulling his hair back as he hears the soft panicked voices of his coworkers. Only catching bits and pieces of what they were talking about. 

“Oh my god is he okay?”

“Was Dustin with him?” 

“When will the hospital say anything?” 

The more he heard the more concerned he started to grow. He no longer cared about being late, no one else seemed to either. He moves to the far back of the building, knocking on his Uncle's door before entering the small beat up office. The concern shifts to panic when he sees his Uncle hunched over his desk, phone pressed tightly against his ear as the news is pulled up on his computer. Something his Uncle refused to ever check out as he believed it only brought more negativity to his day. That and the man could barely function his phone, let alone his computer on a good day. And today he was handling both better than Eddie has ever seen him. 

“I don’t care, give me any update, literally anything.” Wayne says, a slight murmuring of words coming from whoever he was talking to on the phone. The older man looks up from where he was crouched over when he hears Eddie. “Hold on, I'll call you right back. Yeah- okay. Bye.” He rambles out. Tossing his phone down on the desk, not bothering to hang up. Whoever was on the other line was going to have to be responsible for hanging up. 

“What's going on?” Eddie asks, eyebrow raising up. His gut was doing flips. Something was terribly wrong, he knew it. But what terrible thing he had no clue and he hated being out of the loop/ 

“There was a car accident on the freeway, Steve drives in that way every morning and no one has heard from him.” Wayne explains. Running a hand through his thinning hair, Eddie’s sure more would fall out from this whole ordeal. 

“What do you mean no one has heard from him?” Eddie asks, panicked. Before realizing he had. ‘Wait- shit. He called me three times this morning. I didn’t pick up because I was on my way here.” He rambles out. Accidentally dropping his binder from underneath his arm. Not caring that the papers went all over the place, more worried about grabbing his phone from his pocket. Hands shaking as he does also nearly dropping that as well before his Uncle is gently taking it from him. 

“Breathe kid,” He says simply. Before he turns his nephew’s phone on. Clicking on the notifications that said he had three missed calls. Eyebrows pinching together, similar to that of Eddie as he clicks on the voicemail.

A slight coughing is heard immediately, causing terrible goosebumps to form up and down Eddie’s body. His first reaction is to lift his hand up and cover his mouth. 

“Hey, Eddie - it's Steve.” There's a long pause filled with shaky breathing. “I’m currently hanging upside down from a car and your stupid station decided to be the one that the channel changed to. Something- boneyard? I can’t tell if the screen is cracked.” Steve laughs a bit patheticly. Eddie could faintly hear one of the songs that he had been listening to that morning playing in the background. “And- I don’t think this song is helping. I’m so scared right now and they are singing about weed.” The man makes a pained noise as Eddie’s heart was in his stomach at this point. Face a bit pale, legs threatening to buckle at any moment. Steve was a professional race car driver, things like this shouldn’t be happening right now. 

“Wayne?” Eddie says panicked, tears forming in his eyes as he could feel a panic attack bubbling underneath his skin. Breathing became shallow as he tried to focus on Steve’s voice but it was hard. He was confident he would never be able to listen to ‘Sweet Leaf’ by Black Sabbath the same ever again. The familiar tune playing in the background as a louder cry is hear. Steve is obviously in pain and Eddie wants to be there. To hold him and let him know that everything was going to be okay.

Wayne is quick to stop the voicemail after that, realizing the rest was just Steve crying for help. Trapped in his vehicle, afraid for his life. Eddie's wide eyes were glossy as he met Waynes. Both of them sharing the same colored eyes as Eddie finally breaks down.

*  * * * * *

They had gotten the update about which hospital Steve was placed into an hour later. They were in the car and on their way there within a few minutes after finding out the man's location. Wayne took charge easily, driving his car and forcing Eddie in his passenger seat. Refusing to let the other drive in the state he was in. 

Eddie hated hospitals, and this occasion was no different. It took them a ridiculous amount of time just to sign in, filling out paperwork (Where Eddie lied about being Steve’s boyfriend) and shit. If word about this got out, that race car driver Steve Harrington was with a guy? His rep would be down the toilet. A part of him is worried that the nurses at the front desk would say something to the media, but he was more concerned about Steve and put that thought in the back of his mind. Letting Wayne handle everything.

It took them two hours to finally be allowed into Steve’s hospital room. Where he laid in mostly all white, except for the ugliest hospital gown known to man. And Eddie felt like one of the sickest men alive for even having the thought that Steve somehow looked pretty in a hospital gown. In a hospital where he nearly lost his life. Sighing in relief when he hears the others heart monitor going, seeing the others shallow breathing as he sleeps along with the soft snores that once annoyed the hell out of him. After this was all over he was never going to complain about the other being a lawn mower. That was if he ever stayed the night with Eddie again after a hookup. 

Eddie's hand shakes as the overwhelming smell of hospital hits his nose the strongest near Steve. He slowly walks to the other side, afraid to wake him and mostly worried about hurting him if he even touches him. The other was a smidge to pale for his liking, causing Eddies anxiety to raise more. Moving his fingers carefully to the other's forehead, brushing back a few strands of hair as he sees a huge bandage wrapped around his head. 

The simple touch that had so much concern put behind it didn’t seem to be soft enough to not wake up the other man. And fuck. Steve Harrington was the most gorgeous man alive, and Eddie was definitely falling in love with his stupid dopey smile. Forgetting to breathe as his eyes meet the others, both of them start to tear up a bit. Steve moves closer to Eddie as he smiles wetly. Tears running down his face, he was very much out of it but it didn't stop him before deliriously looking at Eddie like he was his whole world.

“You came.”

Whatever shell Eddie had built up was broken immediately with those two words. Finally allowing the other in. 

“Of course sweetheart, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t.” He smiles gently. Carefully placing his hand on the other's face as he traces every detail. Quickly deciding he was going to pick drawing back up after all of this. So he could trace the other features down on paper and immortalize him.

“Boyfriend?” Steve asks, confused, but a wide smile breaks out onto his face. Before he starts to repeat the word over and over again like it was keeping him grounded in this room, along with Eddie's hand. Obviously high off his mind as he mumbles softly. “Love that- love you.” Under his breath before he tiredly moves his head to the side to fall asleep. As if he didn’t shatter and rearranged Eddie’s world with just a few words.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #bxb #steveharrington #steve and eddie #eddie stranger things #racecar driver steve harrington #worried eddie munson #80 prompts of steddie

[coyotes-rules-of-change]

A Blessing for the Cursed

I’m notorious for making little changes to the lives of those I pass on the street, but those changes always come with just a hint of chaos. This isn't as much the nature of my abilities as it is an indulgence of mine. In cases like this one, I demonstrate an occasional soft spot where there's an itty-bitty, minuscule, trance amount of a chance that I am capable of something resembling altruism.

Charlie, on the right, caught my attention at a school a few years ago. I'm always looking to take a jock down a peg or two so I'm known to frequent these places. Instead I found his sorry ass crying in the bathroom, and I couldn't—in my current form as an average student—get him to talk. Obviously I followed him home and dug around until I got answers—y'all, I'm not perfect. Anyways, I found out he was closeted and simultaneously being bullied by a number of students. Despite my sleuthing, I couldn't get names, so I couldn't rectify the situation through punishment.

Charlie became the recipient of a spell I normally cast as a curse, but in this case I re-worked it into more of a... blessing?—I'm not used to blessings. Don't get used to it. —Anyways, my classic curse for a homophobe: every time you demonstrate harm on anyone in the queer community, you change to become a member—shifting first in body, then in mind until you are everything you hate. In this case I inverted the trigger so that Charlie would get a bit gayer every time he received abuse or harm for being gay.

The most unusual part of this situation for me is that I've continued to check in on Charlie as he's grown into adulthood. The first time I checked in with him, six months after I placed the curse, the changes were significant. Charlie had come out and become a prominent member of his student body, starting a thriving GSA club and making a cohort close friends who would help him stand up to his bullies. He went from an unassuming kid at the back of the class to someone who kept up with the latest trends and fashions. He started eating a bit healthier and being more active—stopping just short of fully working out—and caring more about his appearance. I couldn't help but notice he had a few guys and girls looking his way. Despite all the physical changes, the most notable change I saw was that he was happy.

That might have been the biggest shift I've seen over the years. I think the upgrades largely kept the bullies at bay and thus kept the changes over time much more gradual. I know he's kept up one hell of a sex life through college, but now he's got his first long term boyfriend. Unfortunately being openly in a same sex relationship in public for basically the first time in his life has opened up Charlie and his new boyfriend Danny to more homophobia. Turns out, Charlie's curse kicked into overdrive. Danny, the quiet theater kid he was dating has become a hot muscular hunk who's on the brink of becoming a moderately successful movie star.

At this point, they're never going to be completely free of the judgement and discrimination of the ignorant, but they don't care. Charlie and his fiancee are out and proud and happier than ever, plus it seems the curse I placed on Charlie will guarantee he and his fiancee will always be hot and rich in spite of what the haters try to do to them.

#male tf #male transformation #blessing #gay #tf story #transformation story

[galacticwildfire]

Sad, Beautiful, Tragic | Alicent Hightower

Five

Alicent Hightower x Targaryen!oc

Their fathers sworn enemies, Viserra and Alicent should never have been as close as they were, yet it was a connection neither could fight. What began as an innocent girlhood companionship becomes something scandalous, with the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen showing her true colours. As the dance begins she finds herself torn between her loyalty to her house and her love for her father. Yet neither hold a candle to her forbidden love for the new queen, a love which threatens to destroy them both.

Word count : 4.9k

A/N: okay here we go, steadily moving through the first half of the series



~

~

~

Almost a year has passed since I left Kings Landing, and now it appears I may never return.

Laena is by my side at Driftmark as I overhear my father threatening the maesters outside my door, the fever is taking hold, and I wish I could say I'm not afraid, but I am.

Who knew all it could take to bring down a dragon rider is an ambush upon landing, Darkfyre burned every last one of them but not before they'd managed to put an already bloody knife in my gut and leave me for dead. It was not the blood loss that nearly took me, no, it was the infection as the maesters have deemed it. The skin around the wound agony to touch, as if it's eating away at itself. But the fever- it's the fever that's truly taking hold.

"What do you mean you can't fucking help her!" I hear my father raging and Laena holds my hand tight as Corlys intervenes.

"My maesters can only do so much- she needs the kings maesters. They've treated these wounds on him have they not?"

"His are from the damn throne not from battle," father argues as if it makes a difference and he storms into the room, followed by Colrys. "You are not dying on my watch!"

Never in my life have I seen him so maddened, utterly senseless, but Corlys is right. I need my uncle's maesters. He looks at me, at the festering wound and the sickly shade of my skin, we both know I am dying. 

For my sake he puts aside his spite towards his brother. "Corlys have a ship bring her directly to Kings Landing."

"No, it will take too long," I grit out. "Put me on Darkfyre and we'll make it."

"She's right Daemon," Corlys says. "She has mere days at best, we can't afford to put her at sea."

"You," my father begins with a finger pointed at me. "Are not flying on dragon back in this state. I will take you."

"You're exiled remember?" I remind him and Laena helps me as I attempt to drag myself out of bed. "I'll be damned if I can't fly my own fucking dragon!"

"Viserra," my father warns. "Don't you dare disobey me."

"I'll do as I wish," I mutter, holding on to the wall as I hobble across the room. "I'll be damned if I don't fly on dragonback one last time."

"Fucking hell," he snaps and marches past me to ready Caraxes, and perhaps it's pure spite that keeps me standing as I find my way to the shore, Corlys electing not to order his guards to keep me here as I come to find to Darkfyre who nests on a separate side of the island to Caraxes.

"Darkfyre!" I yell and she hears my call, coming to me and I grip onto the ropes of her saddle, she lays down to make it easier for me as I pull myself up and into the saddle. "Soves."

She lifts off and I hold on, knowing she'd never let me fall and somehow I know she knows where to take me. I look down, my father no doubt raging as I leave but I refuse to die so easily, and if I must it will be on my own terms, not in a damned bed drunk on milk of the poppy.

The journey is a blur, my vision darkening by the moment and only vaguely aware of her beneath me until I see Kings Landing beneath us.

Darkfyre lands at the entrance of the keep and as I go to take a step down the rope ladder my body meets stone and I cry out, laying there in agony as heavy boots rush towards me, the blood in my mouth a bitter reminder I'm still alive.

"By gods it's Lady Viserra!"

Vaguely I recognise the voice of Ser Harrold and I'm lifted up off the ground, my feet dangling in the air and there's movement beneath me, feeling as if I'm on dragonback but my blurred vision takes in the ceilings of the Red Keep.

"Take her to the grand maester now and get the king!" "Uncle," I murmur vaguely and my mind even in its half conscious state goes to her. "Alicent."

It's as I'm carried up a flight of stairs and laid down on sheets I see it's Ser Criston who's carried me.

"My lady-"

"Alicent," I breathe out hoarsely as I'm surrounded by strangers. "I need Alicent."

"Her grace is in bed-"

"Then fucking wake her!" I yell out as the infected flesh of my abdomen is prodded and I'm screaming out bloody murder for her "Alicent!"

"Pin her down!" the lord commander yells and I fight as they go to do just that.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I scream. "Alicent! Rhaenyra!"

I hear light feet run in and through my blurred vision see a blond head come to my side. "Viserra-"

"Get them off of me!" I scream out, fighting the hands that try to hold me down. 

"Her fever is advanced, we'll need nightshade to subdue her."

Rhaenyra holds my hand tight, almost forcing it down.

"Where's Alicent?" I demand to know, needing her. "I need Alicent."

Even through the tears I see the look of hurt and confusion in her eyes at those words. "She- Ser Criston get the queen!"

"I'm here!" I sit up despite the pain at those words, my head whipping around towards the door to see her rush in clutching a large stomach. "Viserra!" She comes to my side, getting down on her knees, and looking at me with horror "Viserra..."

"I couldn't die without seeing you," I whisper to her, not caring for the people surrounding us. "I couldn't die without you."

"Die?" she repeats back to me and looks to the grand Maester. "What-what's happened to her?"

"Your grace you should not be here in this condition," he scolds and I grasp her hand tight, if they want to tear her from me they'll have to kill me. "The babe-"

"What is this!" A voice bellows and the room falls utterly silent as Viserys marches in and he goes pale at the sight of me. "Seven hells-"

"Is Daemon with you?" Rhaenyra asks and even half dead I can't help how my eyes roll into the back of my head. "Viserra-

"I came on Darkfyre," I breathe, grasping Alicent's hand, the only thing keeping me from falling into unconsciousness. "The maesters at High Tide- they couldn't help me."

"Can you save her?" I hear Viserys ask and my head falls to the side, my eyes opening to Alicent's terrified and tearstained face.

"The queen shouldn't be here," is what the maester replies. "The child-"

"I asked if you can save my niece," Viserys repeats sharply. 

I watch Alicent's lip tremble as the maester answers "It is too soon to tell."

"It's okay," I whisper to her so only she can hear. "I'm not afraid."

A lie, I'm utterly terrified. 

"Save her," Viserys orders. "Alicent, you don't want to watch this."

I've seen her again, perhaps that is enough I can die with peace. 

Rhaenyra is the one to take her from me, guiding her out of the room as the grand maester orders. "Four drops of nightshade to put her to sleep, prepare to cut away the infected flesh."

Viserys comes to my side, and it's the fear in his eyes that strikes me as he tells me "You are my brothers daughter, I won't allow him to lose you."

I taste the nightshade on my tongue and the darkness takes me.

~

My body tingles from what can only be milk of the poppy as my eyes begin to open, though it is not enough at the utter ache that possesses me.

"Here," I hear her saying and feel a chalice at my lips. "For the pain."

"I'm not dead?" I murmur in confusion and feel a cool cloth on my forehead.

"No, it seems you're more stubborn than death." My eyes rest on her face as she fusses over me, wiping the sweat from my brow and her voice catches. "This- this is why I didn't want you to leave."

I take her wrist and move her hand from my face, lowing it down onto the bed and covering her hand with my own. She struggles to look at me. "I had to leave."

There is a venom in her eyes that I've rarely seen until now. "You left me to face my wedding night and every night after alone." Her voice trembles with rage. "You left me to face it alone."

Immediately I go to my defence. "You had Rhaenyra-"

"Rhaenyra," she breathes and her jaw clenches. "Rhaenyra has hated me since the day she learned I was to marry the king."

"That can't be right," I say quietly, still struggling with the light let alone making sense of things. "Rhaenyra-"

"Hates me, she won't even look at me," she says and withdraws her hand. "You left me here alone with no one to save me."

"I tried," I grit out and she just shakes her head. "I tried and you refused, so do not blame me for your predicament when I was willing to commit treason to save you from it."

"And yet all I ever asked of you was to stay." Teardrops run down her cheeks. "You were willing to do anything but that."

I feel tears burn in my own eyes but don't regret it, especially not at the sight of her now. "And share you with my uncle? Leave your bed empty for him? No, I would do anything for you but that."

Her voice is stiff. "Then you'll return to the Stepstones once you are well enough to fly." She pushes her chair back and leaves without another word, the coldness that's become her filling the room as I slip back into sleep.

~

Bedridden I wait for her to return, but she does not. It is only Rhaenyra accompanied by Ser Criston who comes to see me.

She sits by my side, asking of the war, telling me of her rides on Syrax. I remember them well, yet they pale in comparison to flying into war reigning down fire from above.

Finally she asks what I've been waiting for her to ask "How is Daemon?"

"Not here," I answer stiffly, having expected him to be following behind me on dragonback, but it seems he cannot bring himself to return home. "But other than that war seems to entertain him."

She nods and her voice is quiet "I've missed you." She reaches for my hand. "Sister."

She has stayed the same, yet I feel as though the girl who flew from the city a year ago is long gone. As is the lover I left behind.

"Alicent never wanted this," I say again and she doesn't want to hear it. "You don't need to be cruel."

"Cruel? That's bold of you," she says harshly and Ser Criston stands there confused, but she doesn't need to remind me. "Then leaving without a word."

 My eyes find themselves on Ser Criston who stands with his head hung, having betrayed his trust in leaving and being bedridden with little energy to fight I concede, although with little effort in actually sounding sorry, "Yes, that was a poor thing to do, my apologies."

But she knows they are empty words. "I needed you here Viserra, my father took a new wife and now means to replace me with Alicent's child. I needed you by my side-"

"Yes, you and Alicent both," I murmur offhandedly. "I never knew the both of you held me so dear."

"You knew we did," she replies, heat in her voice. "Although I never knew just how much Alicent did."

I raise an eyebrow. "And I never knew you shared the same affection for her."

She stands, having had enough. "Come Ser Criston."

He follows after her like a dog, again leaving me alone. Rhaenyra and I were raised together, more sisters than cousins, we fight and we forget, it's not her anger I worry for.

With the silence boredom quickly sets in, missing the company of Laenor and Laena. Missing my father.

Missing my dragon.

And so definitely against the maesters orders I pull myself out of bed and dress myself in a simple gown considering it's more comfortable than the riding clothes I've been accustomed to wearing. It feels strange after dressing in men's clothing for so long.

I gulp down the remainder of the milk of the poppy before finding my way through the halls of the castle, people surprised to see me but not questioning it after landing on dragon outside the keep. I've almost made it to the exit when I hear her voice.

"Viserra?" I still having been caught and turn to see Alicent standing there holding her stomach. "You should be in bed."

"I was bored," I answer truthfully and she gives me an exasperated sigh.

"Bored? What are you, a child?"

"Yes, as are you although you may be carrying one," I remind her and she only looks annoyed. "Does the queen forbid me from going on a walk?"

"The queen forbids you from going to the dragon pit," she answers, knowing me too well. "Darkfyre is being taken care of."

"She hasn't seen me since we arrived, she'll be fretting."

She breathes in heavily and hobbles over, clearly uncomfortable with every step. "She will be fine, you need to rest."

"I need to get out of that room," I retort. "Four days I've been in there now."

"You spent two of those unconscious."

"Yes, exactly," I reply and she rolls her eyes. "I could say you should be resting."

"I am nine months pregnant, I can't rest, I'm in a permanent state of discomfort."

"So you're due any day then," I realise and she nods, my stomach drops at what that could mean and I negotiate. "Let me come be with you, it's been far too long since I've been with you."

Her eyes soften and she gives me a pained smile. "I would like that."

I wrap an arm around her, helping her as we go back through the castle to her rooms, I open the door and help her over to the lounge chair where I sit her down, remembering well how much discomfort Aemma was always in. 

"Is that alright?' I ask her, putting a pillow behind her back.

"That's good, thank you," she says and I sit down beside her, remembering too well it was less than two years ago Aemma lay there and look around, the room noticeably absent of maesters.

"Where are your attendants?"

"The last thing I want is to be surrounded by midwives and maesters when I'm like this," she answers. "And they aren't as worried as they were with our last queen, this is my first child, they believe it will be healthy."

I was my mothers first and she still died in the childbed, but I do not remind her of it. I don't want to frighten her. 

"I hope so," I tell her, the most genuine words I've spoken in a long time. "Let's hope for a boy and it will be the last time."

She just laughs, but there's a sadness to it "No, they'll fill me up until I can't carry another, you know how it is." 

Unfortunately I do, and yet it is something I'll never have to experience myself.

"Well is queen at least all you thought it would be?" I ask and she only frowns. "I guess not."

"I'm the wife of a king, hardly a queen," she tells me. "Maybe that will change when I give him a son, maybe then they'll respect me but it feels these past months as if I've just been confined to these rooms, maesters coming every day to ensure I'm still with child."

"It must be awful," I say quietly and she looks at me, the first anyone ever said those words to her. "You don't have to pretend with me Alicent, I know you never wanted this, you don't have to pretend as if you do."

Some of the tension leaves her body and there are tears in her eyes as she tells me "When the maesters told me I was pregnant... I was relieved. I was relieved because it meant he wouldn't summon me to his chambers at night anymore." She rubs a hand over her stomach. "I'm scared for when the baby comes because I don't want it to start again."

I feel ill, I feel the guilt creeping to the surface at leaving her to face those nights alone because I was too selfishly weak to face them with her.

"I'm sorry Alicent," I say quietly. "I'm sorry for what's happened to you." Tears slip down her cheeks and I reach for her hand, bringing it to my lips. "I'm sorry for everything. I-"

The door opens and Viserys enters, Alicent quickly pulls her hand away and he's none the wiser. "Ah Viserra, glad to see you out of bed, I can't say the same for my dear wife." He laughs at his own joke and Alicent fakes a smile. "Do tell your father- tell him that he is welcome home as long as he recognises Rhaenyra as my heir."

I lower my eyes as I tell him "Then I'm afraid he will not be returning home." There is no gentle way to put it and I see the disappointment in his eyes. "The disinherentment was one thing, but the war... it isn't just a farce to keep him entertained, and he will not set his sights on the city until it is won."

"Well," he sighs. "I hope at least you will stay at court, it is no place for a lady out there."

I see the fear flicker in Alicent's eyes, the fear of me leaving and I clear my throat "We will see." I stand and bow my head to Alicent. "Rest well."

I find my way out, a sadness in me that no longer can I spend endless nights with her without anyone daring to look for us, without intrusion. Those days are over. 

~

The walk to the dragon pit is one filled with a quiet agony as the milk of the poppy begins to wear off, but the city seems to have remembered me, or rather my father.

Ser Harwin seems to have taken over as Commander of the city watch as he greets me in the street. "My lady, glad to see you home, how fares your father?"

"Better than I," I answer, no doubt word has spread quickly since seeing a dragon landing at the steps of the Red Keep. "I trust the fear of the gods my father struck into the city still remains."

"Aye," he answers, walking with me. "A knife in the stomach I hear?"

"Ambushed when climbing off my dragon, I killed who I could, Darkfyre did the rest but the damage was done. Lord Corlys's maesters couldn't treat me, so I took things into my own hands."

"Made quite the entrance if I recall," he says proudly. "Your father always wanted to train you up to be tough, bringing you down into the city with him, it's not surprising he made you a soldier." That brings a smile to my face. "Tell me, do you fight with a sword or on dragonback?"

"Both," I answer as I'd told Rhaenyra. "Although truthfully I prefer dragonback, Lord Corlys's son Laenor and I often fly together in battle, doing what we can from above whilst the soldiers fight on the ground."

"And is that where you're going now?" he asks me. "Walking injured through the city to sneak off to the dragonpit."

"Yes," I answer. "Though don't drag me back to the castle, I don't intend on leaving yet. I just want to see my dragon."

"Don't fret I'm not a Kingsguard," he reminds me as we come to the Dragonpit. "Would you like to be escorted back to the castle?"

"I dare say I'll take a horse back," I assure him. "Thank you Ser Harwin."

"My lady," he says, nodding his head as I enter inside the Dragonpit, having always found Ser Harwin agreeable but he's quickly forgotten as I step inside and see her.

It's a relief, and I know it's one she shares as she lowers her head, almost to nuzzle into me. A bond between a dragon and their rider... there is nothing else in the world like it. 

"Has an egg been chosen for the babes cradle?" I ask the dragon keeper who stands nearby.

"Not yet, my lady."

I nod and ask "May I?"

He doesn't dare refuse me and brings me to the clutch of dragon eggs, one of white and gold with flecks of pink catches my eye. Pure, beautiful. My father had chosen mine, a fearsome one of red and black, even as a babe he knew I'd be fire and blood. But I can't help the tenderness I feel at the sight of the egg, a tenderness Alicent needs in her life.

I take it in my hands and tell the dragon keeper "I choose this one for the king's new child."

I can sense the hesitance after my father robbed them of their last egg, but my intentions are nothing but pure.

"As you wish my lady."

~ The next morning I go to see her, finding her resting in that damned chair utterly miserable, but she smiles at the sight of me.

"How are you faring?' she asks me, noticing I'm walking easier than before.

"The milk of the poppy is certainly a help," I tell her and her brows draw together in confusion at what I carry, the egg wrapped in fine cloth. "I brought something for you."

"For me?" she asks in surprise and falls quiet as I unwrap it for her. "Oh."

"Your child will be a Targaryen, it's only right to carry on tradition," I tell her and place it in the crib at the end of her bed. "The colours, they seemed pure, bright. It only felt right that I choose this one, gods know it's what you need in your life. A child that will bring you joy."

I look back at her and see the tears in her eyes, tears she does not attempt to wipe away as she tells me "I'm afraid Viserra. Any moment now the babe could come and I- I'm not ready to die in the child bed."

I walk over and kneel down before her, taking her hand in mine, noticing the red surrounding her nails. "You won't, I won't let you."

She just laughs sadly "You can't stop the will of the gods Viserra, as hard as you may try."

I wear an equally sad smile. "No, but I'll be here by your side. That I promise you."

She looks at me with hesitance. "You won't leave me again? You won't disappear in the night?" 

I shake my head and bring her hand to my lips. "How can I leave you? Certainly not like this."

"Thank you," she breathes and I look at the girl I love, a girl who is no longer mine to love if she ever was, but I'll be damned if I lose her. "Viserra I-" it's then she hisses in pain "Ah!"

"Alicent?" I ask as she hisses. "Are you alright?"

"Just a contraction, I get them often, the maesters say they are nothing to worry about," she insists then cries out. "No- this one's different." 

It's then I notice fluid wetting the chair and panic. "It's coming." She looks up at me and immediately I spring into action, running to the door where Ser Harrold stands and telling him "Get the midwives, now!"

I run back to Alicent who's trying to climb out of the chair to the bed and I grab her arm. "Come on." I help her over to the bed where she grabs onto the bed post, beginning to hyperventilate and I start at the laces at the back of her heavy gown. "Let's get you out of this." She helps me pull it off her as the midwives come into the room and lay her down in her shift, the maesters following quickly behind.

"Has anybody gotten the king?" I ask one of the maesters.

"His grace is celebrating with the Lord Hand and will be informed she has begun her labours," he answers, and I realise Viserys won't be coming. "Her water has broken?"

"Yes," I answer and he ignores me to go to her, she lays there on the bed surrounded by almost a dozen people yet her eyes meet mine in panic as they pull her legs open and so I come by her side, on my knees and holding her hand tight. "Just look at me okay? Everything will be alright."

It's then she whispers to me with fearful eyes "Don't let them cut me open like they did Aemma."

I go cold at those words and swear to her "I'd cut down every man and woman in this room before letting a blade touch you."

And I mean those words, she knows I do.

For hours I stay by her side, never letting go of her hand as she suffers through the labour, watching closely the faces of the maesters and midwives as she screams. No one dares tell me to leave as I grip her hand tight, telling her she'll make it through this unlike our mothers.

Finally as night falls the babe comes out screaming and she falls limp on the bed, the babe being carried away by the maester and I press my lips to her sweaty forehead, still holding her hand. "You did it, you're both okay."

Her head falls towards me and we both smile, it's me the maester hands the babe to as the midwives sit Alicent up in bed and look down at him before I pass him to her. "A boy."

With those words I see both the relief and devastation those words bring her and she whispers "Rhaenyra-"

I shake my head, stroking her wet hair out of her face. "Shh, all will be well."

She looks down at her son as if she doesn't quite know how to feel, and then flinches, crying out "It's starting again."

"The afterbirth," a midwife says and she passes me her boy as she begins crying out again, I look down at the screaming babe in my arms, white whisps of hair on his head, it takes me a moment to realise he isn't just Alicent's son but my cousin just as Rhaenyra is.

As the afterbirth passes and the midwives clean it away the door flies open and Otto marches in, visible relief at the fact his daughter still lives and I turn to him with the babe in my arms, he stares at me holding his grandchild in horror, utterly unaware I was even here with her.

"The king has a son," I tell him and he pulls the babe from my arms as if my very touch is poison.

"A son," he repeats and smiles at his daughter, pale in the childbed. "Well done my daughter." 

"Let me hold him," she says, reaching out but he ignores her.

"I must take him to the king," he says immediately and gives Alicent a nod, pleased she's fulfilled the duty he forced upon her and leaves with the babe. It's then I see Rhaenyra in the doorway as the midwives check Alicent, making sure she isn't bleeding more than she should be.

Quickly I duck out the door and she pulls me aside "Well?"

There's both hope and worry in her eyes, and I know why.

"I'm sorry," I tell Rhaenyra. "It's a boy."

I watch her face change and she blinks away tears as if she's in pain. "A boy?"

I nod, having sworn my oath to her as my heir, an oath I still believe in. "I'm sorry."

"Viserra," I hear Alicent calling out and I apologise "I'm sorry."

I leave Rhaenyra to return to Alicent, who only then see Rhaenyra marching past back down the hall and her voice fills with panic. "Is she angry? Is she-"

"She knows, but she's still our named heir," I say, the maesters and midwives both eyeing me with particular carefulness at those words. "She will know that."

She nods, and reaches for my hand as the midwives cool her with wet clothes, utterly weary.

"Here," I say taking the cloth from the midwife as the others finish running her a cool bath. "I'll watch over her as she rests."

The maester nods and the midwives leave the room, the grand maester checks her over one last time before finally leaving her to rest and I kiss her head as they leave the room.

"It's over now," I tell her, lips brushing her temple. "You did so well."

"I think I'll want to sleep for days," she breathes, both of us laughing quietly before whispering in pain. "I don't want to have to do it again."

"Shh, don't think about that now," I tell her, helping her sip from a cup of water, her body still shaking as I help her lower her legs back down after being bent for hours. "You need to rest."

She doesn't argue with that, but murmurs "I'm sweaty and awful."

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," I say and help her from the bed, stripping her of her shift which clings to her skin and with some painstaking effort get her into the bath without causing her too much pain. "There you are."

Her head rests against the tub as I take a cloth and begin cleaning her, wiping the blood and all else from between her legs and rubbing sweet smelling lotion into her scalp, absentmindedly focused on the motions until she takes my hand and looks up at me with weary but beautiful eyes.

"Viserra." She says my name like a prayer. "I love you." I still and search her eyes, finding only truth. "I love you truly, I should have told you it long ago then maybe you would have stayed."

I smile sadly, tears in my eyes. "I always knew. I know your heart Alicent, better than mine."

She's pleading now "So you'll stay?"

For her own sake I nod, even though I have no idea what the next hour will bring, let alone what tomorrow brings. "I will."

She reaches for me, pulling me down until my lips meet hers. It's what I've dreamed of every night since I left her and now- now my heart is simultaneously whole and broken at the thought of what comes after this.

Masterlist

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freshmoneyalmondathlete jedi-athen-orion mlwriting5 memarrymilf megagayzone90 cupcakeexplosion pawiiefreshmoneyalmondathlete levis-butterfingers sansaery-theonsa soulmateshuh luckyplums1 mlwriting5 memarrymilf cupcakeexplosion freshmoneyalmondathlete fuckinglittlekitten

#alicent #alicent hightower #rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon #daemon targaryen #viserys #viserys targaryen #otto #otto hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #fanfic #fanfiction #targaryen oc #alicent x original character #alicent x reader #alicent x oc #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower x oc #targaryen #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #alicent hightower fanfic #sad beautiful tragic #wildfirewildflower

[dangraccoon]

Oyuba’din - Chapter 1: Reassigned

Original Character & The Bad Batch (currently no plans for romance, but this could very easily turn into a poly!batch fic ngl)

Summary: A Medic Lieutenant of the GAR has suffered an injury that by all rights should have been fatal, yet Jaine Vale has emerged from the battle relatively unscathed. After a brief discussion with a pair of higher-ups, Lt. Vale is transferred to a new unit for a new beginning.

Warnings: discussion of medical stuff, a wee bit of depersonalization, survival, talk of a fatal injury

Author’s Note: Hello! My name is Dang and this is the first fic I’m publishing for the Bad Batch, as well as the first I’m posting on this blog (I have posted for another fandom under another name). The title is a Mando’a word that I came up with. Don’t know if I got the language rules right, but it’s just a title. Comes from “oyu’baat” meaning universe and “dinui” meaning gift. “oyuba’din” would be a term for a miracle (lit. “universe gift”). Anyhoo, I hope you all enjoy this! Feedback is welcomed and appreciated greatly!

Next Chapter »

She should be dead.

That’s what everyone told her. The medical droids, the clone medics, the civilian doctors. “You shouldn’t have survived a hit like that, it’s impossible,” they had all said. Yet here she was, living out of spite it seemed.

It didn’t take long for her to become something of a legend throughout the clone ranks. The 212th medic who survived a blaster shot to the base of her skull? Obviously it must be a good story. She preferred not to think about it, even if the scarring from the blast wrapped around the back of her head and neck, small slivers cutting through her previously unblemished cheek and throat. Her hair was still cropped short from the medics assessing her damage.

She barely even had a name at this point. Lieutenant Jaine Vale barely existed without “blaster girl” following it closely.

Only your fellow officers seemed to use your name anymore; Commander Cody being a godsend. Not only had he continued to use her name, but he finally dropped the formality of using her rank and surname in favor of using her first name, as she’d nagged him to for nearly two years.

He came to her bedside in the medical bay nearly every day with a cup of caf, news from the frontlines, and a smile. She was convinced he was an actual angel.

It seemed like every day there would be new faces of medics and doctors coming to ask questions about her condition. If Cody happened to be there, they were shooed away, but if she was alone, she could expect to be poked and prodded and questioned for a while.

Today was one of those days. One of the doctors she had met previously had arrived with some colleagues. They droned on about her as if she weren’t in the room, only acknowledging her presence to inspect her injury.

She had stopped listening to the conversations weeks ago. She wished she were allowed a data pad to keep herself entertained. As her wound healed it had been uncomfortable, but at this point, nearly a standard month after the would-be fatal shot, she barely noticed it.

There was a sharp knock on the door and the doctors didn’t even look to her to see if she wanted it answered; they simply opened the door.

“Good evening, doctors,” an easy voice greeted. “I hope you will excuse me, but I am here to visit with my medic, and I was hoping to speak with her alone.”

She couldn’t place the voice. It was making her crazy. The doctors, clearly startled by the presence of this new visitor, mumbled a half-dozen apologies and shuffled out of the room. She was then left face to face with her general, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She had never interacted with him personally, typically reporting directly to Cody.

Instinctively, she sat upright in her bed, as close to attention she could be.

“General Kenobi,” she said.

“Easy, Lieutenant,” he chuckled. “There’s no need for formalities here.”

She relaxed a little, but she still felt uneasy.

“May I call you Jaine?” he asked, quirking a brow at her lack of relaxation.

“Of course, sir,” she replied.

“Please, Jaine, call me Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed. “I mean, yes, Obi-Wan.”

“Old habits die hard,” he mused.

It was quiet for a few moments, Obi-Wan enjoying the view from her window while she wondered why the general would visit her.

After, what felt like a lifetime, she finally asked “How can I help you, s- Obi-Wan?”

“I am just wondering what I could possibly do without you in my ranks, Jaine,” he sighed.

Her head started reeling. “What do you mean?”

“It seems, my dear, that the Force has different plans for you,” he turned towards her, sitting in the chair Cody typically occupied. “General Skywalker and I have meditated on your survival, and the next step your path was laid out before us.”

“I don’t understand, General. Am I being discharged?” she asked as the panic rose in her throat. She worked herself to the bone to get to where she is now. She couldn’t lose it all because she caught a blaster bolt to the neck, could she.

“I can sense your anxiety. You are not being discharged from the GAR if you do not wish; you are merely being transferred to another unit.”

Jaine’s head was spinning. Another unit? Was she not good enough for the 212th? What about the men? What did Cody think of this?

“Excuse me for a moment, Jaine,” Obi-Wan said, stepping out of the room.

He came back a few minutes later with Cody in tow, a scowl plastered across the Clone Commander’s face, despite the cheerful smile displayed by the Jedi General.

Jaine had gotten too anxious to stay in her bed and paced in front of the window.

“Should you be up, Jainey?” Cody asked, using the nickname some of the other troopers had given her.

“I’m fine, Cody,” she waved him off.

“But-” he started, only to be cut off by the general.

“Now, Cody, I believe the lady knows her own strength,” he scolded, shooting a kind smile towards Jaine, and missing the frustrated glare from Cody.

“Sir, what is my new assignment?” She asked impatiently. “In the event that I am finally released from bed rest, I would like to do some research on the men I will be serving with. I don’t like to walk into a situation unprepared.”

“Easy, Jainey,” Cody said reassuringly. “You’ve already met them.”

“Oh, kriff, Cody. Don’t tell me it’s the 501st,” she grunted before realizing her slip and apologizing to Obi-Wan.

“It’s quite alright, Jaine. Remember, I did train General Skywalker.”

She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her, and noticed the grin that cracked Cody’s usually serious expression.

“It’s not the 501st,” he chuckled. “It’s actually a specialized unit; Clone Force 99. Do you remember them?”

“Them and the messes they make,” she grumbled. “What could they possibly need a medic for? I’ve heard their success rate is 100%.”

“As I had mentioned before,” Obi-Wan chimed in. “The Force has revealed this path for you to both myself and General Skywalker, and higher command believes that Clone Force 99 could use a, how shall I put it, guiding hand.”

Jaine blinked at him and then at Cody, who looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Are you telling me that I am to be relieved of my current duties as a medic in the 212th so I can go and babysit five clones who don’t like to follow the rules?” she could feel her body shivering with anger as she looked between the two men.

“Well,” Obi-Wan hummed, his voice faltering ever so slightly. “Your duties would still entail being first and foremost a medic to the squad.”

“This position would put you more in a combat role. You would be in the field with the squad, not in a medical tent,” Cody explained, the furrowing of his eyebrows betraying his opinion on this transfer. “It would be dangerous. You’d be fit with a proper set of armor and weapons, as well as your standard medical kit.”

She squinted at Cody as he refused to make eye contact. “You don’t approve. What, am I not capable of combat?”

His eyes shot up to meet hers. “That’s not it at all,” he stammered. “I’ve become rather fond of you, as have the men. You’re like a sister to us. It was hard on all of us to face the possibility of losing you, let alone to see you go into battle without us.”

Obi-Wan gave a nod, despite maintaining a straight face. And they say the Jedi don’t form attachments, she thought with a chuckle.

She closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. She pushed all of her concern and frustration to the back as she tried to open her mind to the new possibilities. “General,” she said, facing him at attention. “I happily accept my new assignment, and hope to serve with the 212th Attack Battalion in the future.”

Thanks for Reading! - Dang

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[emmieblueeyes]

Let me introduce you to my inner voice. She is one serious bitch! She's cruel, violent and she hates me.

At my worst moments of failure and personal recognition of lameness, she is there to cast a shadow over me. She tells me that I am disgusting. She tells me that I am a mistake. That I am ugly and that no one would miss me. She twists harmless comments made by the people in my life into cruel proof that if I was to die today, people would move on. She tells me I am a coward. She tells me everybody, especially me would be better off if I wasn't here.

She makes me cry. She also makes sense to me. I know her, she's been around for a long time and I secretly believe she's right.

Positive mental health has been made into a morbidly obese happiness eater. People are applauded and heralded as positive role models when they tell you on various media platforms how to keep smiling, how to chase your goals, how to be happy in spite of your traumas, and road rage at traffic. Most of all, these welfare and mental health gurus tell you various steps on how to have a positive or solution focused mindset that will eradicate the toxic inner voice.

I am going to a funeral tomorrow. For a client that I cared about and I want to honour them. I work in social work. I bought a dress. My boyfriend asked to see pictures that he could look at from across a different time zone. The evening descended into chaos. Seven months ago I was 24 stone. I am now 17 stone. I wasnt always big. Five years ago, I had a wonderful body that I wasn't grateful for and judged. I used to wear dresses everyday. Now I rarely wear them because my big belly and tree trunk calves cause me to wince and so I wear clothes that are strategic in what they highlight and hide. I go to the gym every day. I have cut out wheat, sugar and I live in calorie deficit. It works. Week on week, I lose pounds, small and great. But when I wear the dress, there is still mounds of fat everywhere. I can't send any photos to my boyfriend. He's not going to be turned on by my morbidly obese backside and bouncy castle physique. I am not turned on by it. I have another 7 stone to lose to be at my target. I look terrible in the dress. I look terrible full stop. I look as large as I did at 24 stone. I don't look normal, I look like an eye sore.

That's when the bitch serves me her best hits. She unleashes such torment that I want to die. I truly want to close my eyes and not wake up. I don't think I would really be missed for long. I am a blimp. Remembered and then forgotten. Not truly needed by anyone that couldn't replace me. I am temporarily suicidal. Seriously and not.

I say this as someone who not only works in mental health but as a trainee therapist about to qualify this year.

Good mental health is not the absence of toxic thoughts or never having a desire to die or to hurt yourself. It is the ability to know how to make sure that you around tomorrow and the day after. To continue even with a bitch throwing shade. To try again, even when you believe her. Good mental health is being able to hold a state of hope and hopelessness - waiting for the choas to quieten and move towards a kinder reasoning.

I want media platforms to talk more about the bitch. Maybe if we talked more honest about her and her long-term stay in our own lives, more suicidal thoughts would stay temporary, and we wouldn't hide this bully so effectively. We could help each other wait it out. Like strangers at the bus stop during a storm. We talk, and we joke because together, it feels a little less shit and the bus seems to get there quicker.

#mental health #breakthrough #mental illness #suicide #toxic #criticalvoice #life coaching #self care #health & fitness #weight loss #sad thoughts #darkness #honest thoughts #writing #dear diary #i wanna lose weight #training #fitness #breakthru #secrets rp #positivity #therapy #quotes #relationship #illustration

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

The Birds They Put in Cages: A One-Shot

To escape certain execution on Asgard, Loki is forced to marry a beloved Midgardian socialite in order to bring peace to the vengeful hearts of Earth on the three-year anniversary of the Battle of New York. Meanwhile, you watch miserably on the sidelines as he saves his life by forever removing himself from yours.

Pairing: Loki x Reader angst Content: angst, arranged marriage, suicidal ideation, weed use, no happy ending Word Count: 4.4k

“It seems your wedding day has arrived, brother!” Thor boomed jovially from the far end of the library in Avengers Tower. “It’s an odd place for a groom to be spending his final hours as a bachelor, though, doesn’t it?”

Thor sauntered over to where Loki sat at a small desk by the window, consumed in the second act of Jane Eyre until he was so rudely reminded of the last thing he wanted to think about. He looked up with pouted lips and a tired glaze in his eye.

“Can’t you at least wait to mock me until after midday?” he replied sullenly, his eyes quickly retreating back to his book.

Thor sighed. “I thought you said you were going to pretend this was a good thing. It is, really, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

Loki snapped the book shut and looked up at his adoptive brother angrily. “How can you say that? How could I say that?”

“I take it she’s still in your thoughts.”

“Y/N understands,” said Loki, “But reasonably, I’ve considered ritual suicide in an ancient Italian crypt as a solution, among other things.”

“Oh, I get it, that’s from that Shookstick guy you like, right?” Thor asked.

“I suppose that’s close enough,” Loki replied. He looked out the window, forlorn and depressed. Well, Loki, here’s one you can’t trick your way out of, for once.

“Brother, I am sorry, but she’s gone from your life,” Thor said sadly. “You were good together, but things pointed in a different direction for you.”

“I love her still,” Loki mused quietly. “I would die for her.”

“And if you called off the wedding tonight, you would,” Thor reminded him. “But no one would benefit from that, would they? So, maybe we can sit together and have one last stein to drown your sorrows!” Thor pulled two large class beer steins from behind him, seemingly from out of nowhere, and both instantly filled to the brim with amber liquid and foam. Loki smiled in spite of himself and took one, throwing back a big gulp before setting it down on the desk in front of him.

“What’s this book?” Thor asked, picking up the tome Loki was occupying himself with.

“Jane Eyre. Its about someone who chooses their own fate, and for Norn’s sake, don’t get beer on it, Thor!” Loki snapped, grabbing the book back.

Thor shrugged and took a fifteen-second swig of beer that almost emptied his glass. “What I don’t understand is how you haven’t even tried to plan some escape with her,” he said. “It’s not like you to accept this lying down.”

Loki nodded. “Indeed, but you saw how with one sentence, Dany’s father can ruin a life. Mine. Y/N’s. Midgardians may not have seidr, but they have other ways of manipulating the mind and enslaving the soul.”

“At least, um, at least Dany is beautiful?” Thor suggested. “You’ll have the most attractive bride in the galaxy!”

Loki shook his head. “Beauty isn’t in a shape or size, Thor. I may be many things, but a shallow fop who only concerns himself with the external form? What do you take me for?”

“Sorry, brother.”

The pair sat and drank in silence a moment, Thor refilling each of their glasses.

“So, you really will never see Y/N again?” Thor asked.

“It’s part of the terms,” Loki answered sadly. “Besides, it will be enough of a pain for her to see the tabloid covers of Dany and I. The less she encounters me in earnest, the better for her to move on and recover.”

The blonde god knitted his brows in thought. “Well, that may be true, but it’s not exactly easy to ‘recover’ from true love.”

Loki looked up at Thor, a look of hope in his eyes for the first time in weeks. “You think that’s what we had?”

“My brother, you two were practically naming your children,” he replied. “I really am just trying to lighten your spirits here, but maybe it’s futile.���

“It is. It’s the most deplorable prison I’ve ever locked myself within. Please go away and leave me to absorb that in six hours, I will be permanently tethered to some show pony who blackmailed me into a Happily Ever After with her, while my twin soul weeps elsewhere and watches.”

Thor cocked his head as an idea came to him. “How far can you send projections?”

Loki gave Thor an inquisitory look. “I can call them back from anywhere, why?”

Thor shrugged. “I’m just saying, maybe you can see Y/N one more time before making yourself do this, but you have to be sneaky one last time.”

In spite of himself, Loki smiled at Thor’s hint. “Brother, did you forget who I am?”

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

Loki was stuck between a vibranium asteroid and a hard place. Three years ago, under the influence of Thanos, Loki had failed to bring down the conquest of Earth, and as a result, was handed one of two sentences after facing a tribunal made of Midgard and Asgard: either accept Asgardian justice, which Loki’s oh-so-beloved father Odin had declared would mean a death sentence, or undergo indefinite probation on Midgard under the watchful eye of Nick Fury and the Avengers. Loki was no fool, so he of course chose life in exile. However, the terms of the parole were ironclad: a single violation and extradition was imminent.

Loki knew how to behave, and it wasn’t like he was in any hurry to return to Asgard and the shame (as well as the headsman’s block) that would have greeted him. In fact, Loki quickly found exile to be a pleasant experience when you arrived in his life seven months after the tribunal, when a friend of a friend had gotten you a job as a research assistant under Stark. While you’d kept your fling on the down-low to start, it wasn’t too difficult for the others on the team to see Loki’s heart was slowly being stolen, as was yours.

At first, it was little snide comments while passing one another in the corridor. Then, you’d invited Loki to see what ‘Midgardian magic looked like,’ and allowed him to watch you as you worked with your experiments, a little flattered to see how engrossed he became in your talents. Before you knew it, Loki was sharing his heart with you late into the nights, and in spite of yourself, you fell in love, hard and fast. As much as the pair of you had initially insisted on keeping things ‘casual,’ you quickly discovered that what you had between you was much more than that.

You loved how he laughed when recalling his tricks and successes in adventures past. He fell at your feet whenever you whispered gently in his ear that you ‘needed him.’ You gave him a reason to settle into life on Midgard with contentment in spite of his nature. He was absolutely besotted with your voice every time you grabbed your favorite book off the shelf (Jane Eyre) and read a chapter out loud to him. You didn’t even mind when he stopped you to ask questions half way through a paragraph.

Once, you swore you heard Tony Stark call you “Mrs. Reindeer Games.”

Then came Danielle Ashton-Banks, the heiress to the Ashton-Banks Hotels and Suites fortune, and the world’s most eligible bachelorette. Known for being charismatic, charitable, and a big partier, it was as if Pygmalion had carved the woman out of marble. Tall, thin in all the right places and curved in all the right places, with jet black hair that shimmered in the light, and a smile that said “I have the best orthodontist in Beverly Hills,” Danielle was a catch, and she was among the world’s most popular celebrities.

You’d been with the God of Mischief for nearly a year when she walked into an investors’ party and stole the attention from everyone in the room. She, like any woman with eyes and a sex drive, fell at Loki’s feet. They did share some personality traits and got on like friends, to your slight jealousy. At the end of the evening, you didn’t think twice about ever seeing her again, as you and Loki had left the soiree hand-in-hand.

Danielle, whether she was being encouraged by unseen meddlers or doing so of her own volition, began showing up more often and attempting to cozy up to Loki. She began encouraging him to go out in public with her, and while there was never any obvious physical contact or chemistry between the pair, the public ate it up. Approval ratings for the Avengers skyrocketed, and the general populace even seemed to be willing to forgive Loki’s transgressions for the most part, if someone as perfect and wonderful as Danielle Ashton-Banks was clearly macking on him.

The only reason Loki had been polite and remained on friendly terms with her is because he knew he had you waiting for him just behind the cameras. He had no idea what was coming when Danielle came up with the ‘brilliant’ idea of marrying Loki in a grand spectacle meant to rival even the Royal Wedding of 2011.

“It will be like William and Kate, but for the whole world to cheer for!” Danielle’s father, Marcus, had said. “And if it doesn’t happen, perhaps Asgard can have the final say. I know that when it comes to a royal wedding, those guys don’t chop corners, do they, Loki? Asgardians sure know how to keep their heads about them when planning such grand events, yes?”

The God of Mischief suddenly found himself powerless as the idea was approved by the probationary board. “It will bring that last bit of approval that the Initiative needs to regain momentum,” the Head of the Probationary Board had said.

“An arranged marriage? How utterly archaic!” Loki had defended himself. “You would bind me to someone I don’t love, when you all know well that my soul belongs to another?”

“You’re having a fling with Stark’s research assistant,” Marcus had replied. “Easily fixed. She’s fired.”

Danielle always got her way, and the official engagement announcement that followed broke the internet, as well as your heart.

Nothing plucked at your heartstrings more than listening to Loki, alternating between fury and sorrow, explaining everything to you that night. You graciously accepted and understood that Loki had no say in this. In fact, it made you weep for him to see him so vulnerable. The God was caged. Gods didn’t do well under lock and key. It was all you could do for him to quietly relieve him from your relationship, kiss him once on the brow, and to look away when the entire world collectively squealed with glee at the announcement of the Loki/Danielle Ashton-Banks wedding.

You were made to pack up your desk while CNN played in the background covering the betrothal and the preparations for the ceremony, to be publicly televised. Danielle and her father had arranged it so that you were unceremoniously shoved out the door without even being able to say goodbye to most of the others.

You did manage to catch a glimpse of him as you left, his head turned away from you, his forehead against the door, as if he were hiding his face on purpose from anyone who could catch on that the great God of Mischief was finally beaten inside.

It was the worst image to be the last of your love, but it remained burned into your retinas as the days passed and the wedding day neared…

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

Thor stood as Loki’s best man, and was a little too reserved as the sanctuary of St. Patrick’s was filled to the brim with everyone connected to the Avenger Initiative and the Ashton-Banks fortune. Paparazzi lined the back of the chapel, cameras and mics at the ready to record the blessed event. Thousands of fans lined the roads outside the church, and some of the Avengers themselves acted as crowd control as the wedding party arrived at the cathedral.

Loki stood at the altar, dressed in a black suit, his dark waves tied back at his neck. He looked oddly blank-faced, staring right ahead as the organ player finished warming up, ready to play the march (or, as far as Loki was concerned, the dirge).

The crowd in the pews got to their feet as the music swelled. Camera flashes started twinkling so furiously, Thor couldn’t help but try to blink them away, to no avail. Ohs and Ahs rang out as Dany stepped into the aisle to meet her husband, her satin white dress made with more material than most stories had in stock. She was a vision in cream colors, not a hair out of place or a crumb of makeup smeared. Seeing Loki, she beamed her pure-white smile, fluttering her eyes, signaling to her beloved.

Loki hardly reacted, nodding curtly at her, no sweat on his brow, no tremble in his lip, no regret in his face.

Thor had to fight back a giggle at the humorously-unbalanced scene. Oh, I hope no one figures it out. He needs a little respite today, if just for a minute.

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

Jersey smells, you thought. And now I’m contributing to the stink.

There was no way you were staying in the City today, even sequestered in your loft in Brooklyn. The promo images for the wedding were everywhere, Dany’s interviews playing on every station. Hell, people had even made t-shirts commemorating the blessed event of your soul mate marrying another woman. It was all you could do to muster the energy to rise that day before dawn in order to enter self-imposed exile on your cousin’s apartment building rooftop in Newark, which had a decent view of the City skyline as early evening rolled in.

You sat on the edge of the roof, a comically large glass pipe in your hand (shaped like a green dragon winding itself around a pile of gold—a gift from Loki for your last birthday). You crammed as much cannabis shake as you could into the bowl, spilling some onto your lap.

If I get absolutely shitfaced and fall off this roof…eh, who’d care?

You knew at any moment that fireworks would be set off over Midtown, and that would indicate the wedding was signed, sealed, and delivered, and that your beloved Loki was a married god. To cope, you did what you did best: taking an eighth of Maui Wowee outside and blazing yourself into stupidity while watching the night rise and singing off-key.

Singing was your favorite way of showing off for Loki. One would think it was your research, as that was what had brought you and Loki together in the first place, but it was when you were alone, him begging you to sing a verse from a Broadway show, that you truly felt like a princess. His princess.

YOU were supposed to be his princess. Sadly, you were as powerless as he.

The air was stilled that night, so you had no trouble lighting an ember in the bowl and sucking back long and deep, the massive quantity of skunky smoke filling your chest to the point of bursting. You held it there for nearly ten seconds before slowly releasing your breath, watching your emission gather into a dusty cloud and slowly hover off into the dusk.

You sang to yourself from the darkest show you could think of, inspired by the greenish-brown cloud that hovered over New York like an unnatural mist. “Smoke? Smoke! Sign of the Devil! City on fire…”

“Well, if the city is on fire, it certainly isn’t my fault, is it?”

You nearly dropped your pipe at the soothing, incredible sound of Loki’s quipping voice. The last thing you’d expected to hear, but the most desired.

You resisted the urge to believe what you were seeing, and instead you felt yourself laughing in a wave that quickly grew out of control.

“Oh, that just isn’t fucking fair,” you muttered, taking another quick drag off of your dragon. “Tanya’s stuff doesn’t usually have this effect. I’ll kill her for lacing this.”

“Effect? Darling, you aren’t hallucinating. I’m here, well, maybe not entirely,” he answered you, smiling, dressed to the nines in what you could only assume was his wedding attire (fucking hell, he was so sexy and imposing!). “I had to see you.”

Though your brain was quickly fogging over, you chose to accept that Loki’s specter was here before you, interacting with you as if he were flesh and bone before you. “My love, you’re getting married right now,” you said woefully, placing your weed beside you on the ledge before getting up and running to meet him in the middle of the rooftop.

He nodded. “I am. We’re at the altar right now, actually, although my heart is here.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just waiting on the fireworks.”

“Those are merely ostentatious bombs that you are about to see. Fireworks are here with you,” he answered. “Oh, were I able to hold you now! It should be you at my side.”

You immediately felt the insides of your eyes go hot and wet, listening to Loki’s longing for you. “Hearing you say so is almost enough.”

“Yet it can’t ever be enough,” he moaned.

You shrugged. “As long as it saves you from death—”

“—it IS death!” Loki shouted, his voice sharp and loud, barking frustration into the darkness. “Had I only realized it sooner: you can’t cage a god and expect him to thrive!”

“I know that technically, I was invited, but I hope you understand why I can’t exactly watch as you declare your eternal vows for someone so beneath you,” you answered.

Loki scoffed. “’Beneath me’ is an understatement, my love. She only wants to go out and dance at clubs, or be seen on red carpets. She thought Mr. Rochester was a brand of cleaning fluid! She’s made it very clear that I am an ornament for her arm and a doll for her bed.”

You both looked at your feet, him in despair, and you in despair mixed with intoxication.

“Do you think there is ever a way we could see each other after this?” you asked.

Loki shook his head. “I think we would’ve figured it out by now, dearest heart.”

You nodded, recalling how as soon as the plans were being put in motion for the marriage, you and Loki had plotted in desperation to stop them, only to find that Dany’s loud charm (and her father’s even louder bank account) had sealed off all escape routes for Loki. Loki pleaded with Fury and Stark, which had disturbed both men to see the normally arrogant being brought so low as to beg before a superior.

It made you fall to pieces to see it for yourself.

The noose had tightened around Loki’s neck before either of you knew it, and nether of you had any cards to play in the end (especially seeing as you weren’t even allowed in Avengers Tower on Dany’s request after you were terminated). You both were forced to accept that this was it: this was how the light would leave your life. Tomorrow and the future would perhaps be bearable but hollow, and every kiss Loki shared with Dany echoed off the walls of his prison and shook his will apart at the seams.

“Arranged marriage,” you scoffed. “I thought this was 2015, not 1015.”

Loki sighed in agreement, wishing he could touch your face to wipe away your tears, and feel your warm skin against his palm. “This would happen to me. It’s almost a more fitting punishment than the death sentence.”

“I can’t bear to see you go off into this lonely life, especially without me!” you broke down, taking off in a sprint to fall into Loki’s arms, only to fall right through his projection and land up against the brick wall behind him.

“Norns, Y/N! Be careful, okay?” Loki called, turning and watching helplessly as you showed him that there was only a tiny, painless scrape on your elbow. “I could heal that, if only—”

“—no, no, it’s not the only scar I’ll keep from tonight, believe me.”

You looked into Loki’s eyes and saw where the real pain was. His blue irises stood in front of whites that were tinted with the red of sleeplessness, his eyes cradled in large, dark bags. Dressed in his best, he looked like an awkward teenager unsure of himself and just wanting to run and hide. Yet, he was such a beautiful creature, even in the depths of sorrow. “I wish…I wish we’d never met. You can’t lose what you never had,” you hissed angrily, looking over his shoulder towards the NYC skyline, now completely aglow against the black sky.

Loki shook his head and thoughtlessly reached out a hand for you. “Please, of all the pain that we are facing today, those are by far the most agonizing I’ve heard yet. Don’t make me hear those words again!”

“But why not? We’d both be so much better off!” you sighed in defeat.

“My darling, my life, if I never knew you, how could I know what love is at all? At least I can take your final words to me and let them play over in my mind’s eye like a pleasant, haunting memory.”

You bit your lip, looking against over the horizon anxiously. “Loki, my love, may I ask one last thing of you?”

“Please ask me to plunge a dagger into my throat...or more to the point, hers.”

You shook your head and smiled sadly, looking back up at Loki, hoping he would catch on for what you had in mind. “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you."

You just knew that Loki immediately realized what you were asking for. He straightened his position and looked tenderly at you, reciting: "And your will shall decide your destiny, I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions."

By far, the most intimate moments you’d ever shared with your otherworldly paramour were when you shared your favorite scene of your favorite book with him, and he’d proposed that you read it to one another, acting out the roles of Miss Eyre and Edward Rochester, using the passionate recitations to ignite your own flames of affection. Tony Stark once referred to it as “foreplay for dorks,” but nothing stoked your dreams faster than when Loki pulled out the book and asked to ‘go over something’ with you in private.

Now, here you were, declaring your love for Loki from the rooftops for one last time.

“You play a farce!”

Loki’s look grew more intense as he began to lose himself in his character’s thoughts. “I ask you to pass through this life at my side, as my second self—”

“—and for that fate you have already made your choice, and I must abide by it! I am torn away now, and cannot return, for your bride stands between us.”

Loki began shaking, realizing how much he wished he could be speaking his lines in sincerity. He raised his voice, and with the most conviction he’d felt in months, Loki’s declaration boomed into the night:

“My bride is here!”

You couldn’t continue. The tears flowed freely now, and your voice quivered and faltered, bringing you back to Earth, the last place you wanted to be.

You closed the gap between you and the projection, and were Loki corporeal in your presence, your chests would’ve been pressed against one another. Looking up into his eyes again, you just wanted everything to erase. All of it.

“You really don’t…you have regrets about us?” you asked between your sobs.

“Never. Not a single one. I love you, Y/N. No matter what becomes of our separate lives, I will always imagine it’s you in bed next to me. I will pretend my children have your eyes, that you carried them inside you, and that I was at your side when you brought them forth,” Loki vowed to you. “No matter what the gossip says about us, my love, please know in your soul that she will never own my heart, and I’m longing for the day she grows bored of me and files for a divorce, so that I may run home to you.”

You felt a hopeful pang in your chest at the mention of divorce. “Do you think that could happen one day?”

“I’m afraid I’m still not clairvoyant, my pet,” he replied with sorrow. “It could, it could not, and I’m afraid if I forced it onto her myself, it would backfire and make things worse.”

You nodded. “You’re probably right.”

Loki chuckled. “Darling, we’ve been a pair of doves flying together for two years, and you only just admitted for the first time that I can be right.”

The smile Loki’s joke induced spread across your face, breaking through the pain. “Well, if not now, when?” you giggled.

That was when the first firecrackers boomed in the distance, back towards the NYC skyline. You heart fell into your abdomen. Reality sank back in.

Loki choked back a tear, trying to maintain at least a little sliver of positivity to return to the festivities with. “It appears I’ve just kissed my new wife.”

You nodded silently as the explosions increased and technicolor sparks grazed the skyline. “Mazel tov,” you whispered. “Please try to find some happiness, wherever you go from here.”

“Don’t envy my gilded cage, my love,” Loki replied. “I would rather be chasing the horizon with you.”

“I love you!” you pushed through the tears. “Forever!”

“And I love you, for always, my soul,” Loki whispered.

Before another word could be uttered, the specter of your true love faded into non-existence as he returned to where he was expected to be, leaving you standing on the rooftop, alone, listening helplessly to the matrimonial celebrations reach a crescendo behind you.

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I know the plot has ‘been done’ quite a bit. Just wanted to try it out for myself. 😊

@mochie85​

MY MASTERLIST MY AO3

#MCU #MCU fanfiction #MCU Loki #Loki #loki fanfiction #fanfiction #angst fanfiction #loki angst #loki x reader #loki/reader #sad ending #loki laufeyson #thor #asgard #MCU Thor #Love and Thunder #Avengers #MCU Avengers fanfiction #Jane eyre #mr rochester #how has Tom Hiddleston not played Rochester yet because holy fork #forbidden romance #forbidden love #loki arranged marriage #tom hiddelston loki

[becauseits-important]

Ok so I'm a very new fan of CBS Ghosts and I am absolutely obsessed! I became very quickly emotionally attached to all the characters and the show is just so funny and charming in every way.

I was excited when first getting into the show to watch the original version when I finished BC yay! More of this concept on a different historical context! But then in my search to find fandom spaces for CBS Ghosts I was discouraged to find so much unnecessary hate towards the show I'd really come to love from the BBC fandom. I honestly will never understand what the BBC shooters who feel like they have to insert their hating voices to spaces meant for people who like and actually watch the show get from doing so. I get wanting to promote your fav show but how does shitting CBS and telling fans to watch BBC instead help sell your show? Both shows could peacefully coexist but some BBC fans really out there acting like the CBS version they didn't even watch just existing is the worst sin that could ever be committed.

But anyways that's not the point of this post. I actually wanted to talk about my journey currently watching the BBC version after completely falling in love with CBS.

I will admit that I have biases watching that I wish I didn't. It's almost subconsciously out of spite for all the times I've seen BBC fans INSIST it's a masterpiece and better written than CBS. It's also probably my emotional attachments to the CBS characters that make it a little tougher to feel close to the BBC characters. I've taken into account the things that make me a little more critical in my watching experience and try to push them aside so I can enjoy the show as it is.

It's what fans of both show need to do (and lots already have) BC despite the shows having the same concept and having similar character tropes and some of the same jokes/punchlines, they are vastly different shows. A lot of the critiques I have towards BBC comes down to me being used to the tone and characters in CBS so adjusting to the different takes on the concept that BBC had is a bit of a tonal shock. In this sense I completely understand avid BBC enjoyers being put off by CBS at first. But it's not a matter of bad writing like some fans insist, it's just DIFFERENT.

Honestly I find them to be about the same in terms of quality and writing. I bust a gut laughing watching both and thoroughly enjoy the different ghost antics that both versions get up to. Each show explores the concept in different and fun ways which really makes them both worth the watch. I just think it's unfair to say one is bad just BC it's different.

CBS isn't trying to be exactly like BBC. Where BBC functions closer to a comedy drama, CBS functions more like a slice of life (slice of death if you will) sitcom. Where BBC builds the relationship between the ghosts and Allison slowly overtime, CBS jumps right into it to establish a feel good nature to the show focused on the bonds they have with each other. CBS is also very camp in a way that I love. It's very important to understand that the tones of these shows are fundamentally different and I think both work really well for what they're trying to be.

This is entirely too long but I just wanted to get my thoughts out. I'm enjoying the BBC version so far but I wanted to discuss how my biases were playing into my viewing experience. I also feel like I needed to rant since so much of the criticism I've seen towards CBS feel very silly and like people are just trying to find an arbitrary thing to complain about and call it bad writing without taking into account it's like that BC the show functions differently in tone. And that this goes both ways! Acknowledge your biases folks and don't spread unnecessary hate in spaces where people just wanna spread their love for a show they genuinely enjoy! Don't yuck my yum and I won't yuck yours!

#cbs ghosts #i wont tag the other show bc honestly the fandom scares me a little #ghosts cbs #im attached to my silly CBS ghosts! sue me! #at least I'll admit that i have biases #i refuse to let them get in the way of my enjoyment of the other show bc i am having fun watching it #some of their criticisms toward cbs just anger me tho #like someone said the cgi in cbs was really bad ??? #sure them walking through the walls in the 1st episode isnt the best but you cant tell me that fanny falling out the window is good cgj

[lady-snowbl00d]

Undisclosed Desires and Power Plays

Coriolanus Snow x OC Warnings~ This chapter has no warnings. If continued, this will probably get spicier than paprika hendl though (?) About ~ Post-TBOSAS. Takes place when Snow is Head Gamemaker and he has to work with someone who doesn't exactly like him. Enemies-to-enemies with weird shit going on. If you want me to continue or tag you in future chapters please reblog or comment! Just please let me know if you like this. Also: Posted on ao3 as well. Not beta-read. We die like Rue. Enjoy (hopefully)!

“You called for me, Mr. Snow?”

The way she said his name, her heavy intonation of those last three syllables as compared to the easy way she said the beginning of her sentence, made him seethe. He knew she was one of the many who did not like him much. He also knew, however, that one day he would be President, and addressed as so by her and everyone else.

For now, he would relish in his role as Head Gamemaker.

“Ms. Fontaine.”

He nodded his head and gave a quick signal with his hand to motion for her to sit before his desk.

“Please, take a seat.”

Demetria Fontaine stood still for a moment, then looked down with a small smile and sat down in front of him. She tugged at the waist of her shirt, smoothed out her skirt, and folded her hands on her lap. She looked at him in a sort of unnerving way. She was proper, polished, and even had the polite hint of a smile in the corner of her lips, but her eyes were void of much. Disconnected. Funny he would notice something like that. But he had grown accustomed to that – inspecting people like the deceitful specimens they were.

“I wonder if you realize the role you’ve been given for the second year in a row is important to our efforts.”

She didn’t respond, only tilted her chin up a bit.

She was one of the Gamemakers working with him, or well, under him (he much preferred the term). She was the most skilled at the data and technological aspects, and in spite of the fact that she was…privileged and likely given her role due to her name and finances, she was skilled.

Although anyone was replaceable. It was good to remind those under him that they were. Especially those who bothered or disliked him.

“The more cooperative you are, the more you deliver to the Games, the better your future will be.”

He smiled, an easy, kind smile, and tilted his head a bit.

Demetria found it unsettling.

“Yes, I am well-aware. I was born into this, Mr. Snow. Have I done something wrong?” she smirked a bit, then stopped abruptly.

“Did I say that?” he blinked. He allowed a melodious sarcasm to enter his tone.

“Of course not, the Capitol is very keen on their choice of words,” she said in something close to a whisper, leaning forward towards him as if she were sharing gossip with a friend from University. Her eyes were even a bit wider then. It was almost comical.

Coriolanus almost smirked. Intrusive thoughts flashed through his mind briefly, in reaction to her poisonous words. He shook off his thoughts – and her words -- with a tsk, and looked back at her as she straightened back on her seat. Sorry – his seat.

“You work very well,” he assured her. “I only mean to remind you that we can all do better. Don’t you think?”

“I agree. We can all do better,” she said simply.

And he was unsure what she meant by that. Her hands remained still on her lap, shoulders back in good posture. Something irked him about her character, something about her seemingly physical stoicism made it hard to read her. He would look over her more if he could, but he wished to use their current eye contact to his advantage.

“I’m so glad you feel that way,” he said as he leaned back and looked into her dark eyes. For a moment there was only silence.

“Am I dismissed?” she said.

“No,” he said smoothly.

On his desk there were roses, paper, writing utensils, and a bowl with some green apples to snack on. He reached over and took one.

The young woman before him inhaled and exhaled sharply. A small crack in her demeanor, and it produced him great pleasure to see it - her chest rose and fell unevenly with the effort. He took a bite of the apple and Demetria’s eyes wandered to his lips. She withheld a sneer of some sort, obviously thinking – and rightly so – that he was wasting her time to assert his power over her. To remind her of who she worked under – and that she was being unreasonable to dislike or distrust him, who had gained such authority.

He relaxed in his seat and took a second bite. After a few moments, he regarded her with another kind smile.

“You are dismissed,” he said finally, raising his eyebrows a bit before taking a third bite.

She stood, probably a bit quicker than she intended to, and gave him a courteous nod before exiting the office.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x oc #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the hunger games #hunger games #tom blyth