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1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

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Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

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aspoonofsugar · 2 days

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Charlie and Vaggie: Anima and Animus

There's something that I've been dying to say More than anything, more than anything Need you to know I love you more than anything More than anything

Charlie and Vaggie have intertwined and complementary arcs, which are beautifully explored through the jungian archetypes of anima and animus.

WHAT ARE ANIMA AND ANIMUS?

According to Carl Jung, the anima and animus are parts of the human mind. In particular, the anima is the feminine and the animus is the masculine. Everyone has naturally both, but society promotes specific gender values and drives people to repress traits culturally associated with the opposite gender. So, to fully be complete, a person should integrate the negated part. In stories, this usually happens through a meaningful romantic relationship.

Charlie and Vaggie are two women, but they still exhibit opposite gender traits:

Charlie is a princess, who sings her heart out at every chance. She is focused on words, ideals, feelings and she strongly believes in love. All traditionally feminine traits.

Vaggie is a soldier, who shows pride in her fighting abilities. She is focused on actions, pragmatism, battles and she strongly believes in strength. All traditionally masculine traits.

And yet, things are not so simple. Let's consider Charlie and Vaggie's designs for example:

Charlie usually wears masculine clothes, as she prefers androgynus suits. Not only that, but her name means "free man" and she goes with the gender neutral "Charlie", rather than her given name "Charlotte":

Valentino: YEAH! That BITCH Chuckie or Chandler, or I dunno- Something mannish like that.

Vaggie usually wears feminine clothes, as she sports a short skirt and loose long hair. Even her name is linked to femininity, as it literally means "vagina":

Angel Dust: You're doing great, Vagina.

Even when it comes to Chaggie's The Nightmare Before Christmas's allusion...

Charlie references Jack Skellington, as she is the Princess of Hell and a passionate dreamer

Vaggie references Sally, as she is a run-away and Charlie's level-headed helper

So, Charlie seems superficially more feminine and Vaggie appears more masculine, but their looks and inspirations suggest otherwise. Why?

In truth, even if Charlie is a singing disney-like princess and Vaggie is a badass super-soldier, they don't perfectly fit the typical anima and animus characterization. This is true for their appearances and on a deeper level. Specifically:

Charlie is linked to the anima (feminine), but she is active (masculine) and stronger than Vaggie. Finally, even if she is passionate about feelings, she is often insensitive. For example, she doesn't notice her loved ones' struggles, like Angel's pain and Vaggie's insecurities.

Vaggie is linked to the animus (masculine), but she is reactive (feminine) and very sensitive deep down. Moreover, she is weaker than Charlie in terms of raw power, so her obsession with protecting the princess is misplaced.

Charlie is an anima character with a strong repressed animus and Vaggie is an animus character with a strong repressed anima. They have to integrate with each other to become whole. Still, what should they learn from their partner?

LOVE AND HATE

Charlie and Vaggie have the same problem declined in opposite ways:

Husk: Princess, is a bleeding heart who wants to solve everybody else's problems 'cept her own.

Husk about Vaggie: This one judges everyone and everything because she hates herself.

Charlie wants to fix everyone in an unconscious attempt to fix herself. She loves everyone because she herself wants to be loved.

Vaggie is cold and closed off out of guilt and self-hate. She is suspicious of everyone because she can't really forgive herself.

Both girls have low self-esteem, but Charlie tries to compensate with love, whereas Vaggie tries to defend with hate. These different coping mechanisms stem from their upbringings.

Charlie is the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, who love her deeply, but are also distant and neglectful. As a result, she admires them, but feels unworthy of their attentions and legacy:

Lute: The only reason you're still here is because daddy gave you and your hellborn kind a pardon from an exorcist blade. How does that feel, to know how little you matter?

She is stuck being the lovable, but useless princess.

Vaggie is brought up in Adam's army, which is an abusive environment, where hate is seen as strength. Vaggie has a place in the world because she kills and is good at it:

Adam: You were on the front lines, I wouldn't forget a bad bitch like you. It's why I named you after the best thing ever. Vaggie. Anyway, you sure fucked up, didn't you?

She is stuck being the ruthless and remorseless soldier.

The path ahead for both girls lies in discovering they are more than just the princess and the soldier. In particular:

Charlie must accept she herself is capable of feeling negative emotions, like pain and anger. She can be aggressive and this doesn't make her mean. It makes her healthy.

Vaggie: Well, I mean… You're the princess of Hell. You don't really use the power that comes with that, which I love about you, but maybe you can… I don't know, command a little more… Authority? Charlie: But that's so mean. Vaggie: It's not mean, exactly. It's… uh, aggressive kindness.

Vaggie must learn to open up to others. She must show vulnerability and express her positive feelings more. She has a merciful and sensitive side, which doesn't make her weak. It makes her strong.

Chaggie have the potential to help each other bloom. Vaggie is the first person to tell Charlie she should be more self-assured in her role of Princess of Hell. Charlie is the first person, who takes care of Vaggie as she is hurt and unable to defend herself. Charlie can teach Vaggie to embrace her inner maiden (love, mercy). Vaggie can show Charlie how to be a real warrior (aggressivity, strength). At the same time, their opposite mentalities lead to some problems in their relationship.

TRUST FALLS (APART)

Charlie: I trust everyone, so maybe you know better on how to build it properly!

Angel Dust to Vaggie: To be fair, do you trust any man? Any men? Men?

Charlie trusts everyone, whereas Vaggie trusts no-one. So, none of them really knows how to trust properly. This becomes obvious in the episode Scramble Eggs, where:

Charlie trusts Vaggie so much she doesn't realize she is putting a lot of pressure on her partner:

Charlie: Oh, come on. It'll be easy! I'm sure you can handle this. Vaggie: Yeah, um, Sure, I can handle this. No problem.

Vaggie trusts Charlie so little she isn't able to confide nor lean on her partner:

Charlie: It's no big deal, Vaggie. You know, maybe I can just help, uh- Vaggie: No. I told you you could trust me, and I'm not going to let you down.

Charlie acts like the damsel and lets Vaggie handle the whole situation. Vaggie plays the knight and refuses to share the burden with Charlie:

So I, I'll be your armor Do whatever it takes, I'll make the mistakes I'll spend my life being your partner

The song Whatever It Takes plays the princess/knight motif straight. Vaggie sees herself as worthy of Charlie only if she can be her knight in shining armor. This may seem sweet, but there is something to be said about Vaggie echoing Carmilla, a mother who is singing to her daughters:

So I, I'll be your keeper Do whatever it takes, I'll make the mistakes I'll keep you safe and keep this secret

It makes sense for a parent to shoulder the burden for their kids' sake. However, a person wanting to do the same for their lover is unhealthy. Especially, when the secret of a balanced relationship is established early on:

Charlie: From the dust of Earth, they created Adam and Lilith, equals as the first of Mankind.

The two partners must be equals, but Vaggie sees herself as inferior to Charlie and tries to over-compensate. In this way, though, she takes away Charlie's agency. Charlie instead knows something is off deep down. However, she does not address the matter because she would need to go deeper into herself, her feelings and her relationships. And Charlie wants to avoid it at all costs.

Chaggie's communication issues are conveyed meta-narratively in Charlie and Vaggie's individual songs:

-Charlie's Happy Day in Hell has our princess sing so loud that she almost covers Vaggie's warning:

Charlie: If I can show them the dream I've dreamed That any soul can change! Vaggie: Those angels' minds are hard to change Charlie: Then they will know everyone can be redeemed From the evil to the strange! Vaggie: They're bloodthirsty and deranged!

She doesn't listen to Vaggie.

-Vaggie's Whatever It Takes is sung by our knight to her princess, but Vaggie has Charlie leave before the beginning:

Charlie: Vaggie, don't say that! You do so much! It's- Vaggie: I'm sorry. I'd… I'd like to be alone for a minute.

She doesn't talk to Charlie.

Eventually the couple's trust exercise is solved positively:

Charlie: No, no, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put pressure on you. We work as a team. I guess I just thought all this would be easier, but, we'll figure it out, together. I mean, look what your exercise did for them.

Charlie goes out of her way to talk with Vaggie and Vaggie's team-building works. Charlie puts both her and Vaggie's feelings into words, whereas Vaggie builds trust through her actions.

Despite this, Chaggie don't really address their problems, which come back stronger:

Adam: Don't you act all high and mighty Did you ever think your little girlfriend might be a liar? Vaggie: Don't, Adam, please! Adam: What's the fuss? Why hide the fact that you're an angel just like us?

Charlie has been ignoring Vaggie's dark side, so she is devastated when it comes out. Vaggie instead has been hiding the truth from Charlie, so it is revealed in the worst way possible. After this, there is an inversion in Charlie and Vaggie's dynamic:

Vaggie: Charlie, can we talk about this-- Charlie: We can talk later. Right now, we have a job to do. You with us?

Vaggie is the one looking for a conversation, whereas Charlie pushes her girlfriend away. Before they can reconcile, the two girls need to go through individual trips and to find the guidance of two mentors.

A singer

A dancer

SINGING AND DANCING

Rosie and Carmilla are mature versions of Charlie and Vaggie:

Rosie is the Ruler of Cannibal Town, one of the nicest place in Hell. She is good-natured, but respected by her people. Moreover, she runs an Emporium, where she helps her clients with their personal problems. This is pretty much what Charlie would like to do with the Hazbin Hotel. Rosie is also a singer and is inspired by Dolly, from the musical "Hello, Dolly!"

Carmilla is Hell's top weapon dealer, so she specializes in war and is herself an exceptional fighter. However, she is not ruthless and mostly fights to protect her loved ones. She is the kind of person a more balanced and self-assured Vaggie might become. Carmilla is also designed as a ballerina and her two daughters are called after protagonists of famous ballets.

Why do Charlie and Vaggie's adult selves have a singing and dancing motif? That's because Charlie and Vaggie are respectively a singer and a dancer.

Charlie is a singer:

Charlie: My name is Charlie, I like to sing! And when we get to know each other it's the greatest thing!

She always conveys her feelings through songs, like her many attempts to pitch her hotel (to the Sinners, to Adam, to the Cannibals). What is more:

Charlie: But Lilith thrived, empowering demonkind with her voice and songs.

Charlie wants to become like Lilith and to empower people with her voice. Her objective is to grow into an inspiring leader, who changes minds and touches hearts with words.

Vaggie is a dancer:

The problem is that she has yet to realize it. Vaggie struggles with self-expression, which is why she has very few songs in the first season. That said, she shows her devotion through actions, like her determination to fight for Charlie. What she needs to learn is a new fighting style rooted in love. That is dancing, a way to express one-self through the body. This is made clear by the two cut episodes Challenge Day and The Baphomet Ball:

This cut plotline had Vaggie fight proto-Carmilla and lose. Charlie would later cheer her up by inviting her to a Ball. There proto-Carmilla would be impressed by Vaggie's dancing skills. The basic idea is obvious. Vaggie is a fighter, who must evolve into a dancer.

So, once again Chaggie is complementary:

Charlie is linked to singing, words and "soul", as she herself is the Heart of the Hazbin Hotel.

Vaggie is linked to dancing, actions and "body", as she herself is the Arm of the Hazbin Hotel.

As a result, they are given opposite missions to save the hotel:

Charlie must convince the Cannibals to join her army (singing). She must find people, who will help them fight.

Vaggie must discover from Carmilla how to fight the exorcists. This means both learning her fighting style (dancing) and obtaining the angelic weapons.

And yet, to succeed in their respective areas of expertise both Charlie and Vaggie must step into the other's shoes.

Charlie learns to better understand Vaggie and by doing so she realizes the importance of actions:

Rosie: If there's anything I've learned, it's that words are cheap, but actions, they speak the truth. So, what have her actions said? Charlie: That she believes in me, and what we're doing.

Not only that, but she is forced to take a look inside and starts unpacking some of her negative emotions:

Charlie: My girlfriend is an Exorcist angel, and she never told me Rosie: Oh, shit! Quite a secret. How does that make you feel? Charlie: Just, angry, because we share everything, because she always supported me, and my ideas, and-and- and now, I don't know whether or not that was just more of the lies! Oh no that's a horrible thing to think! Do i think that?! Yes! N-no. Kinda?

As a result, she comes up with a song that combines her natural showmanship and charisma with a new resolution to act:

Charlie: For the first time in my life I might have to be ready for this Ready to be the one who's leading from the front Gotta come into my own Gotta come into my throne Gotta take charge and defend my only home And although I kinda feel unsteady Now I need to be ready for this

Charlie steps into the role of leader and is ready to take action:

All: For the first time in our lives We know that we are ready for this Rosie: We'll show Heaven a fight they won't forget! All: It's time to take a stand Charlie: It is time to lend a hand! (Cannibals: Huzzah!) Against the angels and their deadly threat! All: We cannot take it anymore The time has come to go to war Prepare to fight, we're ready for… THIS!

Vaggie inspires the residents of the Hotel to stay and convinces Carmilla to help. By doing so, she shows how much she has grown thanks to her time with Charlie:

Vaggie: What's important now is that we're going to have a fight on our hands. Look, this hotel is about to become the most dangerous place in hell, and we….I, can't guarantee your safety anymore. I still believe in Charlie's dream. I know this place can work. But none of you signed up for this. I'm gonna go learn how we can fight back, and when I come home….Well I'll understand if none of you are here.

Moreover, she learns to fight in a new way intertwined with music (Charlie's passion and world):

This fighting style is focused on defense and survival, rather than attack and killing:

Carmilla: Angels attack quickly, viciously, and without mercy. You'll need to defend better than that.

Carmilla: Well, look at that. You might just survive this.

It is based on love:

Carmilla: I see you're driven by your detestation Your every step is stoked with animus You need a different type of motivation Or there's no way that you can handle this I know you're thirstin' for vengeance, Vaggie You're out for blood But you'll only stand a chance if you're out for love

By the end, Charlie and Vaggie meet each other in front of the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie leads the people (soul) and Vaggie has the weapons (body). They have also grown enough to better understand each other. Charlie empathizes with Vaggie and forgives her lie. Vaggie realizes how much Charlie cares for her and is ready to value herself more:

At the same time, Charlie faces some of her repressed "aggressivity" and makes an important step as Princess of Hell:

Rosie and Alastor: She's bound to pass the test as Princess of Hell Like her Daddy, she is madly power-fell!

Vaggie instead learns some "self-love" and makes progress into becoming a true angel:

Carmilla: You're gonna fight without gloves And when that push comes to shove Yeah, you just might rise above Long as you're out for love

These changes are fully embraced and tested in the final battle.

FINALE: DEVIL AND ANGEL

The fight against the Exorcists is where Charlie and Vaggie's integration is on full display, starting with their designs:

Charlie wears a mini-dress with a heart decoration and wields a shield.

Vaggie fully covers her body with an androgynous and practical attire. She fights with her signature spear.

The usually masculine looking Charlie appears feminine. The usually feminine appearing Vaggie looks masculine. Their outfits also fit their respective fighting styles. Charlie is defensive, whereas Vaggie is aggressive. Wait... isn't something wrong? Shouldn't Charlie grow more aggressive and Vaggie more defensive? Yes and this is precisely what happens as the battle progresses...

Charlie is overwhelmed by her anger and grief over Sir Pentious's death and unlocks her full demonic form. She goes from defense (shield) to offense (pitchfork) and injures Adam. Finally, she transforms her arm into a claw and stops the First Man in his tracks.

Vaggie is attacked by Lute, loses her spear and is forced on the defensive. She protects herself from Lute's relentless assault until she reveals her angelic wings and traps her opponent. Eventually, she has pity of Lute and lets her live.

Charlie's climatic moment is a show of strength, whereas Vaggie's is a show of mercy.

In other words:

Charlie appears more feminine, but acts more masculine

Vaggie appears more masculine, but acts more feminine

In comparison to their usual dynamic, Chaggie go through a complete inversion. This development is conveyed also by a small detail: their hair. Charlie lets hers loose, while Vaggie ties hers.

Charlie's hair usually covers her horns and is tied because she represses her demonic side. The moment she gives in to her inner demon, the horns come out and the hair gets loose, just like her feelings are untamed.

Vaggie: I'm not used to fighting with long hair.

Vaggie's hair is an attempt to hide her past and vulnerability. She has it grow after her abandonement to mask her scars (her eye and missing wings). In the finale, she ties it to fight freely. In this way, her brand new angelic wings can come out in all their beauty.

So, Charlie embraces her demon side, while Vaggie has her inner angel emerge. The twist is that Charlie the demon teaches Vaggie how to be a proper angel. Vaggie the angel instead shows Charlie that there is value in demonic traits. They integrate with each other to become the best versions of themselves. This shows also before and after the fight.

In the Finale, Charlie expresses all her self-loathing:

Charlie: He did it for us, the ultimate sacrifice He gave me his trust, and look how we paid the price This bloodshed could have been avoided If I convinced Heaven to work together I took a hotel and I destroyed it I know I could have done better Better, instead of letting you down

Thanks to this, her loved ones come to her side and support her. What is more, she starts to back up her words with actions:

Katie Killjoy: Charlie Morningstar managed to fend off the angelic attack with more than just nice words.

In More Than Anything Reprise, Vaggie conveys her love to Charlie through words and is there for her in a moment of self-doubt and weakness:

Vaggie: You've already done so much So many lives you've changed So many souls you've touched And in the end, if it's only me you've saved

She shows her sweetness and sensitivity.

By the end of season 1, Chaggie are together and stronger than ever. They have made the first steps into integration and tapped into their respective potentials. Both as individuals and as saviors of the universe.

THE MYTH OF EDEN

Charlie: Drawn in by Lilith's fierce independence, Lucifer found her, and the two rebellious dreamers fell deeply in love.

The series starts with a retelling of the myth of Eden, which is set-up as the heart of the series:

Plot-wise all the characters are living with its consequences

Theme-wise it shows the birth of love between the first man and the first woman...

The twist is that the first couple isn't Adam and Eve, but Lucifer and Lilith:

Who are foils to Charlie and Vaggie:

Both couples have a demon and an angel, who fall in love against the odds.

Both Charlie and Vaggie foil Lucifer in different ways. Like her father, Charlie is a wide-eyed idealist, who doesn't fit in her kingdom and wants to change it. Like the devil, Vaggie is a fallen angel, who is let down by heaven and finds love in hell.

Both Charlie and Vaggie are set-up to foil Lilith. Charlie is a demon full of love, who wants to empower others with her voice. Just like her mom. Vaggie is an angel hidden in hell, who keeps secrets out of a misplaced wish to protect others. Lilith is a demon hidden in heaven... wanna bet that she is keeping secrets from her husband and daughter to protect them?

Why is there such a juxtaposition between the two couples? Two reasons:

Charlie is gonna deal with her complicated feelings for her parents through Vaggie. Her partner is gonna challenge her to grow into her own person (microchosm).

Lucifer and Lilith unwillingly broke the world, but Charlie and Vaggie are gonna fix it (macrochosm)

This is why the two couples are immediately juxtaposed:

After Charlie ends her retelling of The Story of Hell, Vaggie arrives to check on her.

Lucifer and Lilith destroyed the status quo:

Charlie: But this gift came with a curse. And with this single act of disobedience, evil finally found its way to Earth. With it, a new realm of darkness and sin. And the order Heaven worked to maintain was shattered.

Charlie and Vaggie will bring a new and better one:

Charlie: We'll make a difference, wait and see Charlie and Vaggie: We're gonna do this, you and me

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie morningstar #vaggie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel meta #my meta

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munariplans · 2 days

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Hello there, Your writing deserves a Michelin star. I eat it up every time and I’m NEVER disappointed. Thank you. If I may, I’d request (in a very polite and “no pressure” tone) a fic about Natasha and spider-reader regarding the Odesa mission Natasha outlines in The Winter Solider or a “first time” fic for the couple if you are comfortable.

Keeping doing what you are doing. You are great at it. In the meantime, I will be talking to Michelin about getting you more stars.

synopsis: based on the request for the odessa mission above! plus a backstory and a little character exploration of our spidey!reader, wherein the mission highlights a little of their dynamic too.

natasha romanoff x reader

word count: 3.4k words

a/n: i'm back :) thank you everyone for your patience, and i hope you enjoy this one.

masterlist

a thumb brushing over your own. her knee pressed up against yours. her scent calming your senses down. natasha was beside you, red hair a stark contrast to the all-black tactical suit. on her face, was a comforting look. she didn’t smile, but she didn’t need to. her being there was enough.

“you okay?” you knew she knew something was troubling you deeply. but for the sake of the mission, yours and her sanity, and the engineer sitting behind the both of you at the train station, she didn’t ask. you thought she did it so naturally, being able to comfort you.

you didn’t know it was taking all she had in her not to freak out. she wasn’t sure if this was what people did, or how best she could do to comfort you. she could only reciprocate what she found she liked best when you comforted her. but in the presence of everyone else, she couldn’t do the last thing you always did for her; pull her into the tightest hug and let the world itself disappear away. she knew the both of you needed to be half-alert, at least.

natasha felt like she was the one breathing out a sigh of relief when the wrinkles in your forehead disappeared slightly, your own thumb rubbing hers back. “yeah, i–i’m fine.”

“do you want to talk about it…?” she was pushing her luck.

you looked back at the engineer. he was asleep. the contact for the rental car wasn’t due to arrive in an hour. natasha looked back at him as well, and offered you a small smile, “ninety percent of the mission’s done anyway. simple in and out, get him transported back to SHIELD. makes me wonder why fury asked us both. maybe he felt guilty for sending you away on that undercover for so long; let us have a little bit of a workcation together.”

your mind was screaming at you; but you shrugged and gave her a smile back. “yeah. maybe he did.”

she didn’t know that you and her had separate missions, after all. while hers had been to sneak into the research facility and escort the engineer out, and transport him safely back to SHIELD, you had been informed that there would be…obstacles, in the way. you just didn’t know when.

you remembered the meeting with fury well. you had told him, that with such a statute and reputation the winter soldier had, that you weren’t confident of taking him alone, especially in a place so out of your element. but he had reassured you that you would be fine, and that you should focus on your own assignment when the time came, while natasha focused hers solely on the engineer. you had thought it wasn’t very fair. natasha deserved to know of any dangers, at least, that might pop up, but fury insisted that since it was one of her first few missions as a team lead, he hadn’t wanted to shake her confidence. you had no choice but to comply.

turning your attention back to the hand holding yours, you squeezed it for a moment, then said, “when we get back, can we…just…have a break around the chrysler building? the rooftop, just you and me?”

natasha nodded. she understood. and she didn’t push.

—

when the three of you finally reached odessa, you sat with the engineer as natasha convinced the guards to let you through without passports. knowing russian, aided with a heavy handed helping of flirting and subtle lowering of her zipper, definitely did wonders. and while nervous as you were, spider-senses tingling all over for the winter soldier, you still managed to let out a less-than-annoyed tsk when she returned, taking great care to zip up the rest of her suit and glaring at the guards behind her.

“careful,” she smirked, hand reaching for your cheek to turn your eyes to her, “they won’t let us through if they don’t at least find it believable that they can have me.”

“no one else can have you,” you replied, but she was already walking towards the car, hips swaying purposefully so, and another wave of irritation crept up upon you, “no one, you hear me?”

natasha waited for the engineer to get in, before chuckling and looking back at you. “are you getting in, spidey?”

when you had safely passed the borders and began driving on the snowy, white roads, natasha unbuckled her seatbelt for a minute, before pulling you in from your attention on the road to steal your breath with her lips. it was only when the cherry from her lipstick had fully melted into the heat of your mouth did she let go, panting just as hard as you were. you were very thankful the roads were empty.

“god, i love it when you get jealous,” she muttered.

to her displeasure, however, the engineer behind let out a disgusted scoff, and murmured, “you guys know i’m here, right?”

“yes, and we don’t mind returning you right back to HYDRA if you complain one more time,” you replied.

—

at a gas station pit stop, natasha knew it was wrong to pry, but she caught a glimpse of your wallet as you paid for snacks on the trip, and an old, almost-faded picture of a younger you next to an older woman was all that her eyes could zero on. you were in a new, freshly-ironed SHIELD uniform, and the woman had her hand on your shoulder, grin mirroring yours. natasha had never seen her before.

you shut the wallet promptly after, and natasha trailed behind as you both returned to your car.

about an hour into the drive later, with the engineer’s soft snores behind the both of you, and natasha’s own eyes drooping, she knew she had to keep the both of you awake somehow.

“you can take a nap, it’s okay,” you told her, but she sat up, the sight of your wallet on the dashboard reminding her of her curiosity earlier.

she angled her head to face you, admiring the older, finer lines on your face that grew more beautiful as time passed. the younger you couldn’t compare to the sight she was treated to now.

“you always this good-looking, or did something happen when you were younger, to turn you like this?” she decided to start.

a tint of red on your cheeks, you chuckled nervously. “um…i don’t think….no. i’ve always been like this.”

“was SHIELD your first job?”

“my first job was when i was twelve. worked for a car mechanic near my place. then i took up newspaper delivery, then a restaurant, researched for my university, and a ton of other jobs,” you said sheepishly, “i wasn’t…that well-to-do.”

she let her thumb caress your cheek. you relaxed a little more. “what did you study?”

“quantum physics. full-ride scholarship, or i never would’ve been able to afford those years.”

then, after a beat of silence, you continued. “it was also where fury found me. recruited me to SHIELD intelligence then. i guess you could say it was my first official job. i wasn’t…uh…wasn’t supposed to be front-facing, you know? i wasn’t a combat agent or anything, just the intelligence. i was in intelligence for five years.”

“what changed?”

you looked at her through the mirror, eyes carrying an emotion natasha could not quite figure out. you looked away again, before sighing. “intelligence got bombed one day, everything was on fire. i was helping my teammates escape, was one of the last few out, and a burning pillar fell on me. i almost died then, paralysed from the waist down. i guess nick felt bad, that the medal of bravery he awarded could only do so much to my current situation. felt even worse when he saw my mother crying by my side. he gave me a second chance.”

“the spider serum.”

“it was experimental then, i believe the number of exclusion of liability clauses i signed reached the hundreds. i was lucky it worked. there were a few others…not so lucky ones.”

natasha reached over the console to where your leg was shaking, and she ran her palm up and down, helping you regain your sanity. “thank you for telling me.”

“it’s not–” you never finished your sentence, because in the next second, your senses overloaded with warning signals, and your hands moved quicker than your brain in swerving the car, the steering wheel jammed to the left so the bullets that you barely saw incoming landed on the car’s tires instead of the glass and right at the engineer. you remembered the engineer screaming as the car skidded off of the cliff, and you remembered jumping out right then to shoot a hanger web to save it from falling completely and crashing onto the ground.

you groaned as you gripped onto the web, feet planted on the ground as you tried pulling the car back up. you have to be quick, quicker than this. he’s here, your mind ran through those thoughts, but your arms were burning. you pulled little by little, hoping natasha was protecting the engineer down below, and the car was moving. it was probably a minute before it was near the edge, and you had one last pull left to bring it up again.

but of course, right as the wheel of the car barely touched the ground you were on again, a blunt force came ramming to the side of your head. you could hear the metal whirring of the winter soldier’s metallic arm as you felt the webs slip from your fingers, sending the car right over again.

—

luckily, the last of your webbings managed to catch on the railings of the edge of the cliff, preventing the car from crashing, but merely hanging precariously in the air.

the blaring pain in the right side of your head was all-too-consuming, but you managed to recover and gather yourself quickly enough, to see him in full view, stature almost twice of yours, face looking down to where the car was hanging. then, the winter soldier raised his rifle, and taking aim, you flew off from where you were to tackle him, throwing him off as the bullet landed astray. he grunted in annoyance, fighting you off as you tried snatching his gun off of him. your legs were straddling his torso, holding him down as the gun was wrestled between the two of you. from below, natasha was holding onto the engineer’s arm, watching the fight as she tried to figure out an alternative escape plan; rather than merely relying on you.

but when the winter soldier felt the gun finally slipping away from his hands, instead of pulling it back, however, he gave one final grunt, before pulling you in. the air was knocked out of your lungs as he slammed the both of you against the railing, his metal arm then travelling to your neck, squeezing as tight as he could.

natasha watched in horror as you struggled against his hold, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach as the winter soldier began choking you. it didn’t look like a fight you could win, and her hand went to the handgun in her thigh holster, taking a leap of faith and shooting at him.

the bullet riveted off his metal arm, but it was enough. the man took his eyes off of you for a moment, and zeroed in on natasha. unfortunately, it meant that he noticed the engineer behind her too, and immediately, he threw you off of the cliff, and came closer to her. she wished she had the capacity to worry about you, but she was immediately obligated to protect the engineer first.

she angled her body over his, heart pumping in her chest as the winter soldier took aim again. from how she was shielding the engineer, and the angle the winter soldier was at, there was no way he would have a clear aim. he wouldn’t take the shot.

surely not, she thought, as his gun clicked. surely not, she thought again, as the look in his eyes became empty, almost as if he was seeing through her. surely not. he pulled the trigger.

the last thing natasha could register was the burning sear on the side of her stomach, before she was falling straight into the sea below.

—

on your end, you caught the moment right as the shot was fired, and immediately jumped off of where you landed to catch both bodies falling through the air before they hit impact and broke the surface of the water. while you were thankful that natasha’s distraction worked, it was even more horrifying to have to pull her body out of the water beside the engineer’s, your eyes fixated on the gaping wound on her stomach.

you dragged them to shore, and it was then that you noticed both of them were bleeding out, the wound on natasha was bigger than you imagined, and the bullet was still lodged within the engineer, you were sure, as he grappled with a neck that was drenched in red. he was struggling to breathe, mouth opening and closing desperately as the blood loss incapacitated him.

you were cruelly reminded of your own assignment to capture and / or kill the winter soldier, as you glanced upwards to where he was, half-expecting him to be gone already. but he was there, standing still and watching you. almost as if he was challenging you. the hatred rumbling in your heart could not account for the disappointment you felt in already failing the mission. he held eye contact with you, gun no longer aiming at either you or natasha, but instead tucked into safety. his head tilted for a moment, you heard a car pulling up a few seconds later, and he broke eye contact first. entering the car leisurely, he made his getaway without pursuit.

you contemplated giving chase, swinging upwards and taking him down. killing him with your own bare hands, for what he did to natasha, stuffing his own gun down his throat–

natasha shuddered underneath you, and those thoughts were gone as fast as they came, replaced by the instinctive need to stay and make sure she makes it out of this alive. you gathered the first aid materials from the boot of the hanging car, cursing when you dug through the kit and only found the bare minimum. half a roll of bandages, stitches, and some antiseptic. barely enough to only keep one of them alive.

when you made it back down, the engineer was seizing, and you had to turn him on his side and stabilise him for a brief moment, the coldness in your fingers not merely from the frozen waters you had just come out of. natasha, clutching onto her side, managed to notice your dilemma, and the materials you had, and her hand reached out for yours.

she was shaking, and on the verge of bleeding out, but her hands were more steady than yours. she knew. she shook her head as you began grabbing the antiseptic for her wound.

“save him. they…they…need him more,” she choked out, eyes darting between you and the engineer, but the tears brimming in your eyes barely noticed it. you swallowed down a broken sob, looking between the two one last time, before making your final decision.

fuck the assignment. fuck fury, and SHIELD, and anyone else who was going to punish you for saving natasha, anyone who even thought of saving the engineer over natasha, anyone who thought natasha was more dispensable than the engineer. you let go of natasha’s hand, and began working on her, despite her protests. the antiseptic splashed onto her wound, the stitches came weaving through her skin, you tuned out everything else to save the woman you loved first.

even the engineer groaning beside you. even his hand gripping faintly on your suit, him pleading, “i…have a family…a kid…back home. p-please.”

a kid back home. i’m killing this man with a kid back home. you were the worst person in the world, you were sure, as you spared a look at him, his lips blue and pale by then. natasha had used up all the supplies then, so all you could do was hold his hand, angling him at a half-sitting position against your body, and murmuring i’m sorry to him about a thousand times.

“...please.”

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” you were killing the main objective of the mission. you were killing an innocent man because of your own selfishness.

his blood was on you, literally and figuratively, as your hands could only do so much to press against the bullet wound and try to prevent him from dying so soon. but it was imminent; he was never going to make it back, and you and him knew it. the bullet was still lodged somewhere in the back of his neck, and life was leaving his eyes.

you held him until he took his last breath, still apologising.

—

when you reached out to check on natasha for a moment, her skin was getting colder then, too. the stitches and bandages could only hold for so long, and her condition would drop steadily if you didn’t make a move soon. there was no time to wait for help to arrive. so you made the final decision to rest the engineer’s body to where emergency services could easily find him, made a call for help, and promptly brought natasha home first.

—

it was inevitable that you were suspended for almost a year for what you did. you had taken the brunt of the punishment, and volunteered to take natasha’s end of it too. fury had never looked more disappointed, and upper management had a field day berating you for your poor decision-making. you distinctly remembered one of them yelling at fury that you were the reason why they should implement a relationship ban among agents.

you should have known better. you knew you should have done better, as well. more than blaming the winter soldier, everybody could see that it was your own self that you placed the heaviest blame on. the team also knew you would have almost lost yourself, if not for natasha.

she gave you a second chance this time, making clear that you were the only one she would trust to help her get back on her feet, to help her heal. you were reluctant to ever leave the training grounds, to even let yourself handle any other mission other than getting back stronger and better, but she was there. she always was, and she ensured that you wouldn’t regret saving her instead, even if she also thought it had been a difficult choice.

when you lay in bed each night after her recovery, tracing the scar on her stomach and killing yourself in your own mind, she would run through her fingers through your hair, reminding you to get out of the headspace. when you doubted your abilities even in training the younger agents, she would back you up. even when you made the weekly visits to the engineer’s home back in the states, helping out his wife and apologising for your failure to her family. she knew even supporting his child financially for the rest of his life wasn’t enough for you.

odessa was probably the biggest failure in your career as a SHIELD agent. and there was no happy end, or satisfying outcome, you would have achieved then. but at least having natasha through the journey of your recovery from that, helped your growth and acceptance in part.

when she would be asleep beside you most nights in the years after, you would often sneak out and, in the quite space between your balcony and the rooftop of the building, tell yourself that you would have done the same thing over if you were placed in the situation again.

natasha liked to think of herself as cold, her personality and actions as impersonal as things got. she was never sure she was doing right by you, or able to comfort you as much as you comfort her. but clearly, she was quite the opposite.

most nights when you came back after your hours alone, pondering over the day of the incident over and over again, you would look at her sleeping figure on your shared bed, and think to yourself how no one was able to know you the way she knew you. no one came close.

she was your sanctuary as much as you were hers.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel cinematic universe #natasha romanoff x spidey!reader

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txttletale · 1 day

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(Other than the really weird bit about "Male presenting Doctor") what were your thoughts about the specials?

pretty mixed bag, pretty messy, but good overall. i think they were very obviously a nostalgia trip for people around my age lol and it worked! i loved seeing tennant and tate back onscreen together, their chemistry hasn't aged a bit, and honestly just watching doctor who that wasn't written by chris chibnall was a breath of fresh air. they weren't boring, like seasons 11 and 12 were, and they didn't go too far off the other end into nonsense like flux did. characters want things again! the show can let itself just be silly! i was literally cheering out loud when donna and the doctor were just saying random scifi gobbledegook at each other for like a solid several minutes during the star beast.

the structure of the specials kind of baffles me. i love wild blue yonder--i think it's definitively the best of the specials as a standalone, it's absolutely fantastic, creepy and atmospheric and bringing things around to RTD's strength, which is well-written characters interacting with each other and letting good actors just act. but at the same time i dont understand why it exists? it feels like...idk. imagine if you watched the star wars original trilogy but instead of the empire strikes back the middle film was just a feature length film about luke and han surviving on an ice planet with no reference to anything that happens in the last film except the two characters' relationship. and then the next film was still return of the jedi, unchanged. it felt like that

i liked all the weird campy silliness of the star beast and the giggle, and they were both very fun! neil patrick harris gave a fantastic performance, there are a lot of very memorable sequences from the giggle, but it's very very all over the place. so many threads get kind of picked up and go nowhere. the toymaker's haunted house dimension goes nowhere. RTD's eyerolling social media commetnary goes nowhere (thank god tbh but yknow im illustrating something here). even the toymaker kind of goes nowhere, after ncuti gatwa shows up he's bascially an afterthought who loses by dropping a ball. obvious parallels to david tennant's first episode with that ball scene could be made, but just... aren't. it feels like load-bearing sectikons of the plot and themes were cut out to make room for a backdoor pilot for the stupid fucking UNIT spinoff

oh and it goes without saying i fucking hate all the UNIT wank in the star beast and the giggle. i hope space nine eleven 2 happens to their stupid fucking avengers tower i cannot stand kate stewart who is constantly a murderous bonehead (in the giggle alone she gets two pepole killed by not listening to the doctor and assuming that this teleporting godlike entity could be restrainted by Two Guys) who is both in and out of universe just a boring nepo baby with no merit of her own

um. i still dont know what happened with the regeneration. i think the implication is that when david tennant dies hell time travel back to become ncuti gatwa inside himself--at least the rehab dialogue seems to make that implication. but it's not really explained or explored? baffling. i do think that fourteen getting to settle down and live a peaceful life with his friends is cute.

oh yeah and the ask said other than that but goddd there was some good stuff in the star beast and honestly with the state of the UK media i will take any perspective on trans people that includes baseline human erespect but some of those lines made me cringe so bad. anyway overall i am cautiously optimistic for the future of the show--oh ncuti was fucking great did i mention that i instantly bnought him as the doctor he owned the scene, the moment he was there it was clear he was the protagonist, and i liked the church on ruby road well enough too--i am cautiously optimistic but i worry that a big UNIT-shaped tumor will devour huge chunks of it and it'll be annoying. also russel t davies is like 60 and i just dont want to hear what he has to say about twitter so im not looking forward to dot and bubble

#ask #doctor who

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brailsthesmolgurl · 3 days

Text

CHASTENED

The Foreseer was only tasked with one job, to be the guardian of the Creation Protocore under Astra's rule. Men of all walks of life, all kinds of statuses tried to get close to the Creatio Protocore only to deeply regret their decisions. But how about a young lass at the verge of death with a motive to steal the eminent gem takes on the impossible challenge?

Warnings: Angst, Extreme Pain, Character Death, Blood and Gore, consideration of a part two soon. Spoiler towards Zayne's lore.

Y/N pulled her coat tighter over herself, the huge bundle of animal fur still not effective against the harsh gales of the region. Her lips were severely chapped, if she were to lick them at any point, she might either end up with her tongue stuck to her lips for the remainder of the journey, or else she would have a bleeding issue. None of the options on the table present a feasible method.

The tower sprouted from below the hills, the achromatic slates of the gray towers stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the span of white snows. The sight of the towers a reminder to her that she just needs to hang on a bit longer to get to her destination. The closer she reaches the towers, the smaller she felt as compared to the towering structure.

She stood at the doors that could easily fit a snow giant and looked at the scriptures carved onto the heavy doors. '𝕿𝖔 𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖘, 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖞. 𝕿𝖔 𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖊𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖗, 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖕𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊, 𝖙𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖗. 𝕿𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖊𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖆 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖞, 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝖎𝖋 𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖑.'

Pulling off layers and layers of animal fur, she revealed her uniform underneath, a chain mail clad to her small stature, with a layer of thick yet fine leather draped above a gown of woven silk. The emblem of the castle she hailed from sewn onto the front and back of her leather armour. You see, this trick of hers would cost her kingdom a great fortune as every century, the King would send his troops out to the Towers of Thorns to receive a prophecy for the next coming century.

It has been a tradition since the first formation of the kingdom. However, y/n had travelled regions beyond one's imagination, to get an answer for her cure. However, all answers lead back to the towers she is currently entering into. There was a small door which is of the size of a mundane. She pushed the door and it creaked open, heavy iron scraped against the snow covered grounds. The snow becoming a good lubricant for the cracks that grew deeper into the floors.

She managed to squeeze into the small opening and was met with a huge hall, tall ceilings held up by pillars made of solid mortar. A highly sought after material for her nation, to build their own castles and for the symbol of wealth. Mortars were shipped in by boats from lands afar but coming across it is entirely rare. Chandeliers made of soft rime hung from the high ceilings, with the purpose to capture the moonlight at night and to provide what little lighting the hall already has.

The hall would have easily been mistaken to be a ballroom hall, if it was not so dead and cold. Literally dead and cold. Y/n figured if there were a bit more decorations; such as extravagant paintings, sculptures and better lighting, this place could easily surpass all of the other ballroom halls she had ever attended. She walked towards the end of the ballroom hall, a huge and wide flight of stairs welcomed within her sight.

Up to the second floor, the floor had transitioned from tiled marble to stone made out of the hands of a very talented stonemason, given its adjacent patterns. The halls presented on both side were long and seemingly endless, with only four doors occupying on each of the sides. She will have to figure out eventually which room leads to the Foreseer.

She came to the last door, disappointment slowly etched onto her face as she have only been greeted with nothing but empty rooms. She actually wondered for a moment if she had ended up in an abandoned castle. The last door opened with a slight creak to its hinges and she saw a spiral staircase leading upwards. Off she went, feet stepping onto the steps carefully as they are quite steep.

She came across another room, a larger one this time, but not as big as the ballroom hall she had first entered. Windows aligned the room, a sight she has been missing out for a bit when she was exploring downstairs. The middle sat a man, eyes closed as if he was resting, with a large sceptre in his hand and the Creatio Protocore floating within it.

That is the Foreseer. Her mind spoke out as she slowly approached the man in slumber. She had only heard of stories of the Foreseer, but she had never known that he was this handsome? This could explain why troops that were dispatched to this tower refused to reveal the looks of Foreseer. It was clear jealousy brewed within those men, if they were to describe the Foreseer as how y/n is admiring his features, the troops would not be scoring any women anytime soon and this castle could and would be swarmed by females.

The Foreseer's skin was pale, akin to the snow that surrounds the tower, but his raven hair a contrast to his complexion. He adorned a dark blue outfit, that carries an iridescence of silver, a subtle match to his silver accessories that were embroidered onto the ends of his long coat and sleeves. His hands were hidden under a pair of gloves just as black as his hair and he was sat in his throne. Or more like chained down to it.

Eyeing the Creatio Protocore, y/n thinks it would be the best timing to grab the protocore now while he was still sound asleep. She reached her hand out to inch closer to the sceptre, but when she is close enough, the Foreseer's eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her. She clumsily fell, startled by his sudden wake. "What do you think you are doing mortal?" The Foreseer's voice was surprisingly low, no hints of grogginess despite him just waking up.

"I represent the troops from the land nearby to receive the prophecy for the next centenary. I would wish to know it so that I may bring the destiny back to my people." She lied, pushing herself off of the cold floor. The back of her gown now stained wet but she could care less.

"The tradition has been banished I see." The Foreseer slowly blinked his eyes, to wake himself up better and took in a deep breath. "You are not here for your people. But it is for your own." His eyes snapped towards her, deep forest greens darkened.

"I...I..." She hesitated, eyes darting everywhere when she tried to come up with a valid explanation for what she was trying to do earlier. "I need the Creatio Protocore, in order to cure my heart that is dying of a reason that nobody could elucidate."

The chains wrapped around the Foreseer emitted a faint glow and she watched them disappeared off of his body, except for his thorax. The chains on his torso were pointy but it rested comfortably on him, with every breath it takes, the chains expanded and contracted accordingly. "It is very assumptive of you to think I would give it to you, just because you asked nicely. What a fool you could be." He remained seated on his throne. "Many men who stepped foot in here with reasons and excuses similar to yours ends up getting deprived of their existence. Should you wish for the same ending as them?"

"No. Please no." She begged, getting onto her knees this time. "Please do not kill me. I will do anything. But please do not kill me."

"Even if I do not, your heart shall anyways." He acknowledged, beckoning her to her feet. "As punishment, you shall remain in this tower to serve me through the end of your days." His voice and facial expressions are alike, stoic. "Should you try to leave, I shall not show you any mercy as how I have dealt with the previous trespassers."

"Where are we going?" Y/n asked, speeding up her footsteps behind the raven haired man. The man had woken her up, provided her with a few pieces of rye bread and here they are, walking up a stair well that goes up in a spiral. The rye bread she had yet to finish still in her hands. She was worried she might get motion sickness and waste what had already went down her throat. The Foreseer remained silent, footsteps steady on every step. A candlestick within his grasp, illuminating the steps ahead.

A thud followed by a creak was heard and sunlight poured in. Both of them had arrived to a roof top. Not being a lover for low temperatures, the warmth of the sunlight made her sighed in enjoyment. "Come here." The Foreseer called out to her and she went towards him, towards the stone barrier. Her eyes widened when she took in the view of the snowy mountains in the far distance, the snow had came to a halt, leaving white traces over the whole span of land ahead, with occasional barren stalks of trees reminding her the consequences of the harsh winter. She never knew she could find beauty within a sea of pristine white.

"This shall be your punishment." He pointed towards a small pot on top of the stone barrier, a single bud remained unbloomed. "Bloom this plant and your punishment shall be voided and you shall regain freedom." Y/N raise her head to meet his gaze, blinking in confusion.

"The weather is so cold here, I don't think it will be able to bloom under such harsh conditions." His never-changing expressions made her gulped. "Nevertheless, I would give it my all." Her surrendering stance made him huffed in approval. "So do you come up here often?"

"Making small talk I see." He turned to face the view. "Casual notes will not lessen your punishment."

"I know for sure it would make our accompaniment more pleasant." Her bravery got commended when the man eyed her for a second. "I certainly do not wish to spend the last of my days talking to a wall or a flower when I acknowledge the existence of another person within the same confinement as me."

"I come up here whenever I want to see the view, or to be under the sun." He replied.

She pointed towards the bud in the pot. "How and where did you obtained that because it will practically be impossible for you to find that out in the cold here."

"Someone gifted this to me and this is not an ordinary flower." His gloved hand traced the clay pot that holds the bud in place. "I was told it could bloom even in the harshest of winters. So, ensuring the flower to bloom shall be your expertise."

A series of shrill chirps pierced through the silence and both of them looked up in sync. The man looked relaxed while poor y/n looked like she was about to witness god herself, although she is already in the vicinity of one. "What is that sound?" Her hands were halfway lifted up, next to her ears, getting ready to cover either her head or ears, depending on what happens next and whether it would involve her head or ears. "I have never heard of such sounds!"

The chirps are continuous, leading her to cover her ears with her small hands. A gust of wind hit her head and down came a bird-like creature, about the size of a hawk. The bird-like creature is almost-crystal like, coated in a silverish blue from head to toe, body texture a close resemblance to crystal glass on chandeliers. It's raptorial claws beats the impression of it being a fragile bird. "This is an Arcticyon, they pass by here whenever they migrate. Alas, that was eons ago." His look resembled a quaint longingness, staring at the bird.

"I suppose being in the cold, all the way out here, away from civilisation, things get pretty lonesome." His cold gaze returning and the bird rejoiced with it's flock in the skies, a moving blue cloud then proceeds towards the opposite direction it came from.

"You are not here to study my behaviour. Your curiosity almost led to your own demise." His cruel reminder made her wished she never said anything earlier on.

After a couple of days, the daily routine of caring for the bud got emblazoned into her head. She was assigned to a room which has all of the amenities she needed to keep herself alive and entertained. That includes having her own clothes, food sources and bathroom. She assumed all of which are a part of gifts from the royals who came to visit.

She got out of bed at the crack of dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon of one of the mountains in the far distance provided a normal circadian rhythm for her. Time is not a limitation here for her, she is free to explore within the towers. Visiting the Foreseer is out of the question for her. She lit up a candle and started climbing her way up to the top of the tower, speeding up her footsteps just so she could catch sight of the early sunrise. It is an unspoken competition now.

When she arrived to the top, the Foreseer had already beaten her to it. Not that he had ever been a part of this 'competition' of hers but she did not expected him to be up here this early. "Good morning---" Her right arm violently jerked and she gasped in surprise, the candle falling from her hand and onto the snowy ground, instantly getting extinguished. Hands were tightly pressed to her chest, screams muffled with her biting down harshly onto her lips. Tears welled up in her eye sockets almost instantly.

The Foreseer approached her, watching her closely as she faltered to the snowy grounds. He said nothing, but stood next to her figure within reaching distance, awaiting for her next move. Her gloved arm make it hard for him to assess where is her actual pain spot. Her twitching slowed and he took a step back, to give her some personal space till he noticed something falling from her face, wetting the grounds beneath. She is crying.

He was about to take a step closer but she pushed herself off of the floor, head remained facing downwards and muttered under her breath, fleeting misty clouds formed when she spoke. "Good morning, I will go ahead to water the bud now." She took her time to walk over towards the edge of the rooftop and there sat the pot, with the bud already at the verge of blooming. She surely have a good pair of green fingers, just like what the Foreseer had suspected.

The Foreseer could see why she needed the Creatio Protocore now. Her weakness hails from her once in a lifetime disease, Cryotasis. This disease only occurs to people whom are born to be Astra's nemesis. The God inflicting this upon the chosen one a sign of a cruel punishment, and nothing could heal them other than the Creatio Protocore. Throughout centurions, the Foreseer had witnessed only a handful of Cryotasis victims, mostly wanting to get the protocore so that they could heal themselves, but of course, the Foreseer would never succumb to the greed of a mundane. But now, she is the tainted individual, cursed with the touch of a God.

"Are you alright?" He could not stop those words from rolling off of the tip of his tongue. It was certainly very rare for him to ask someone about their condition, not that he ever thought about caring either. He is incapable of sensing emotions or resonating with them but with her, she makes him feel things that he had never felt before. It is a new sensation for him, so maybe that is why he thought it was only right for him to ask if she was okay.

"Yeah I am used to it by now." And he saw a reflection of him, a fraction of him in her. How she holds back her pain and diverts her attention to something else to suppress her mind. Whenever he felt lonely, he too, would divert himself from having to feel the loneliness creeping in. Her words of dismissal made the man leave her to her own desolation. When the Foreseer had went down the steps, she lifted her sleeve up, the blue veins stuck out like a sore thumb against her pale skintone, imprints of webbed and black snowflakes emblazoned on her skin, cold to the touch, even colder than the winter she is currently in if that makes any sense at all.

She ran her fingers over it, but it did not hurt, she only felt the scars raked across the pads of her fingers, but her affected arm did felt numb and stiff. The young maiden stood up, leaving the watering can by the side of the potted plant and she proceeded to head downstairs so she could layer on an extra coat. Upon arriving at her room, her wooden door was slightly ajar and she saw the man sat on the plush chair inside of her room, a book held up to his face and his legs crossed comfortably. "Come in."

"I never thought I would be able to see you read." She commented, slotting herself into the adequately sized room. The Foreseer paused momentarily, book lowered and his icy stare pierced through her, just like his following sentence.

"First, you asked me about being on the roof and now you are mocking me about my habits." Although she never had that intention to mock him but she could tell he does not like sharing anything about himself. He is a lone man locked in a tower afterall, the act of sharing would practically be impossible. "I may be a deity who has responsibilities, but this does not defer me from my hobbies." Tapping the hard cover of the book, she took a seat on the edge of her bed, trying to initiate more conversations and the day went by, with them both exchanging conversations. More like her asking him questions and him replying in impermanent statements.

But two weeks had passed, with her being reluctant to leave now. Be it her wounds are getting more and more severe, the cryotasis on her arms had gotten so severe that she had limited movement for her thumbs, sometimes not being able to bend it to pick things up or to hold things. The nights she had spent rolled up in bed, enduring the excruciating pain littered all over her arm. Stygian veins now a replacement of her previous symptom and she strongly believe that she is rotting from the inside out.

The knock on her door woke her up, eyes snapped open. “May I let myself in?” The voice of the only man she had been acquainted with for the past two weeks came through the other side of the wooden obstacle at the entrance.

“Yes you may.” She could not hide the weakness in her voice. The door then opened up, revealing The Foreseer in his usual outfit but without the blue coat this time around. He claimed that his coat resembles nothing more than an accessory and she remembered teasing him about accessorising himself even though he does not even have any visitors on a daily basis. His retort was witty, turning the table she had set against herself, emphasising that if it was not for him, she would have been stuck in the clothes she had originally worn and the amount of methane gas buildup on her would have made the Foreseer kicked her out of the tower.

He stood still at the entryway, lips slightly parted as his eyes traced the maiden in front of him, from top to bottom. Her cheeks flushed at the way she was being stared at. This is the very first time the deity had looked at her so tediously. “We need to get you to the hall downstairs.” His feet hurried across the floor and he scooped her up into his arms, her squeaking in response to his sudden actions. Till she realised that she no longer felt like she had a pair of legs. Her thoughts of the Foreseer wanting to make a move on her immediately got diminished. She is now in her late stages and there is nothing she could do. Nor would she want to do anything about it. She realised throughout these past weeks, she had fell for the man, the deity himself who showed her no signs of interest other than entertaining her questions with one-worded sentences.

She was pretty certain that she has a one-sided affection towards the man holding her now. His footsteps are hurried, the sound of his shoes thumping against the tiled floors echoed through the long hallways. As she was about to say something, another series of pain struck her and she arched her back involuntarily, wailing in pain. The man laid her down onto the floor instantaneously and he held her torso up to keep her from breaking her back. She did not know that this man, the deity himself reciprocates the same feeling towards her. This only took him a week to finally come to a conclusion to the ache in his heart. He ached for her belongingness, her company, her smile, her curiosity; he is in love with her.

The eyes of the deity burnished into flames of gold and the sceptre that houses the Creatio Protocore formed in mid air and landed into the hands of the Foreseer. She had regained her breathing, still panting heavily with tears slowly forming icicles on her pale stricken face. The linings of black veins now climbing upwards like vile vines towards her neckline, peeking out from the collars of her night gown. The parasitic nature of the curse now taking its full course on her. “The Creatio Protocore will heal you.” The deity looked at her and for the first time, she could notice emotions within his gaze. “For that, I shall give it to you.”

“No you can’t, you can’t do it.” She used every last bit of strength she had left in her body to push herself up, watching the deity kneeling on one of his knees, statued right in front of her. “You will lose your life.” He had explained to her the sole purpose of his being and presence within this world. He is only here, as his name suggests, as a tool of Astra, as a Foreseer of men. His duty held him back from having to step out of the premises of the towers and that he is strictly forbidden to foresee his own future. She called it an irony, but he called it his responsibility. “Don’t do this for me. You know how important you are to us, to everyone who looks up to you.”

The maiden staggered and he caught her by her waist, pulling her closer to him effortlessly. “What a fool of you to come up with that, through my own will, I shall be losing my sole purpose of living to someone of significant importance to me.” He ran his fingers through her hair, his touch warm and gentle, unlike what she had expected, including this intimate moment between the both of them. His willingness to kill himself just to save her received an immediate rejection from her but it fell upon deaf ears as the deity remained stubborn with his decision. “With this, I bequeath my Protocore to you. So you are to be set free from Astra’s curse.”

The sceptre emitted a blinding light, a high pitched screech came along with it and the both of them closed their eyes together. She hung onto his coat as blustery winds engulfed them, a pathetic attempt to try and separate the both of them. The Foreseer’s grip tightened on her waist, pulling her closer to him till her face caved into his neck. Once the gale had stopped, she pulled back from his embrace and she sat up hurriedly, eyes bearing concern as her sobs jerked her back to reality. The physical pain of hers disappeared but not applied to her faint heart as she watched his skin take on the shade of cement, grey and tough-looking. He is solidifying, a common telltale sign of deities dying before they fade into dust. “No. No. NO!” Her screams elevated with every word, hands coming up to cup his face, his eyes meeting hers directly. Orbs of hazel brown and deep green held emotions that meant the world to her at this moment. “Please no.”

The man pulled one side of his lips upwards, a crooked smile landed its way on his face and he spoke what was seemingly his last sentence. “I hope in the next life, we shall never cross paths again as I shall always pick you over anything else.” He let out a soft chuckle, already accepting the fate of him dying. “I love you.” He then leaned in, sealing their lips together for the first and last kiss before his body fully solidified and she was kissing nothing more than a statue. She did not even got a chance to tell him about how she felt.

She was caught up in an emotional turmoil, losing him after a confession was the worst ending she could hope for. But the blinding light behind her lover made her covered her eyes. Uncovering her vision, she noticed a lady had appeared from the source of light, adorned in gold that could build a whole empire, her olive skin a compliment to her outfit. She matched the description of Astra, with aura that immediately establishes tension within the whole hall and with eyes the shade of the iridescence of the sun, sometimes yellow and sometimes orange. Tutting both in disappointment and strong indignation, the deity stood in front of the couple, her height towered over the late deity whom kneeled in front of her. “Betrayal is what I caught on I suppose.” Her voice booming, reverberating through the hall. “A mere sign of affection towards a mundane cost him his life. What a blot on one’s escutcheon.” Although she was talking to herself, her statement indirectly suggested towards the maiden bawling on the floor.

“Now.” The deity continued, proceeding towards the mundane. “A tool I shall make of you. I hope you shall not be a replica of such a failure.” Snapping her finger, the maiden cried out as she too, experience the same fate of solidifying, just like the deity she had fell in love with. The both of them then sat as a centrepiece in the grand hall. One wore the expression of acceptance while another the opposite of it. Astra smirked, determined to make them suffer as the jasmine on the rooftop bloomed exuberantly, marking the memory of the man coming to an end and soon to be renewed in his next life.

Another deity series started and ofc, this shall take course just like how the Rafayel series did, so stay tuned for more angst my loves <3

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne angst #zayne lnds #zayne x reader

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satoshi-mochida · 2 days

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Guilty Gear: Strive DLC character Slayer launches May 30

From Gematsu

Guilty Gear: Strive downloadable content character Slayer will launch on May 30 for $6.99 / 880 yen or as part of Season Pass 3 for $24.99 / 2,750 yen, Arc System Works announced. He is the final additional character for Season 3.

Alongside the release of Slayer, the additional battle stage “Amber Fest with Kind Neighbors” will be available for $1.99 / 330 yen.

Get the details below.

Slayer (voiced by JB Blanc in English, Takaya Hashi in Japanese)

Ease of Use: ★★★☆☆

His dukes define dandyism. Laid-back and dignified vampire. A gentlemanly descendent of vampiric lineage, who enjoys genuine combat and haiku as hobbies. He abides by his own code of “dandyism” and can take nearly anything in stride. When it comes to battle, however, he wields overwhelming strength in great contrast to his calm demeanor. Due to his lifespan as a vampire, all events in human society feel trivial to him. That’s only one facet of him, however, as he finds humans and their turbulent emotions in response to such affairs both enviable and endearing. He founded the Assassin’s Guild, only to retire after meeting his immortal wife, Sharon. Currently, he enjoys an untroubled life in retirement with Sharon, occasionally venturing out for some people watching.

New Battle Stage: “Amber Fest with Kind Neighbors”

The additional battle stage “Amber Fest with Kind Neighbors” is a town set in the Season Pass 1 additional content “Another Story.” A festival is being held to celebrate the aurora’s blessings, and special illuminations are on display to give thanks to the gear who saved the town from crisis.

Guilty Gear: Strive is available now for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, and PC via Steam, as well as via Xbox Game Pass.

Watch a new trailer below. View a new set of screenshots at the gallery.

DLC Character Slayer Trailer

English

youtube

Japanese

youtube

#Slayer Guilty Gear #Slayer #Guilty Gear: Strive #Guilty Gear #Arc System Works #Gematsu #Youtube

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mrkeatingsblazer · 2 days

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Rick should make a pjo universe short story book.

Like pair up random characters with a member of the Seven and have them go on stupid quests and just do teenage things.

My favourite one I’ve thought of is Will and Leo going on a road trip to Austin to see Naomi preform. Will was gonna take Nico but Leo caught whiff of the fact he had two tickets and basically begged to go (I headcanon Leo LOVES country music, Naomi Solaces no.1 stan fr). Leo ends up building a fucking truck and is like “ROADTRIP❗️” Will is just like “huh” because he was low-key either gonna get Nico to shadow travel them or cash in his son of Apollo privileges and get him to drive them via the sun chariot.

The whole thing would just be a country filled shitshow and it would be amazing. They’d find themselves in a dance hall, Leo would get flung around on a mechanical bull and Will starts line dancing (of course they found themselves in a thrift shop before this after somehow destroying their clothes and they would buy cowboy boots and hats). A funny little moment would happen of a girl hitting on Will and he’s like “I have a boyfriend!!” And Leo just appears after winning the bull riding record and jumps into a hug with Will and the girl is just like “Awh sorry I didn’t know! You two are such a cute couple” and walks away leaving them flabbergasted.

They’d obviously have to fight a few monsters and maybe an enemy of one of there fathers(I can’t think of one that hasn’t already been defeated, maybe Geryon?!?). Both of them would be running around losing their shit bc neither of them are big fighters but Leo goes into his belt and starts tinkering and he just yells to Will who’s trying to hold the enemy back “Apollo kids have a good shot right” and Will’s like “Yeah but I’m not the best a-“ and Leo just throws something at him and says “shoot this!!!” And will just looks down and he’s holding a fucking gun that has celestial bronze bullets and he just blindly shoots and defeats the monster on his first shot leading him to realise that he has brilliant aim with a gun.This would send him spiralling for a page bc what do you mean he has good aim?!? He’s been horrendous with a bow all these years and all he needed was a gun to activate that power?!?

They would end up at the concert and have a blast (Leo 100% starts crying, Naomi is his Beyoncé) but Naomi would finish a song and invite a special guess out and out comes fucking Apollo. They would sing a duet (islands in the stream or smth idfk) and Will is just shocked. I feel like he would get a little sad and Leo’s just like “bruh you good?” through his own tears and Will just opens up and is like “ they seem so happy together, I wish I grew up with both of them” and Leo just hugs him as they watch Apollo and Naomi sing their hearts out on stage.

Sorry the Will and Leo Texas solidarity/bromance gets to me fr.

But like seriously this would be such a great idea!! Imagine Frank and Clarisse or Piper and Nico going on a random adventure together. It would be so chaotic.

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avocadorablepirate · 2 days

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What Do We Call This? - 07

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Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: On a quest to find what you've been looking for, you acquire the help of the Straw Hat pirates, who've agreed to let you temporarily join them. There are however many challenges that come along with your temporary recruitment - an alliance with a certain Trafalgar Law being one of them.

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: fluff, angst, kinda slow burn, swearing, the occasional OP spoiler, they're both kinda mean to each other in this one

A/N: I don't know whether this series has a great flow, and honestly I don't know how well I've portrayed Law's character, but that's okay cause I'm very happy with how this chapter turned out <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>. I hope you like it too!

—⁠☆✿☆—⁠

Having boarded Law's ship you trail behind him into the submarine, leaving his crew and the Straw Hats on the deck. While you mindlessly followed him, you took note of the stark difference between the Polar Tang and the Thousand Sunny. Although it seemed a lot more cold, the grey metal walls of the submarine also offered a sense of security in their own way, the faint beeping noises oddly comforting.

Shifting your focus from the walls back to the man walking in front, you called out to him when you realised he hadn't noticed you following, or at least hadn't bothered to acknowledge your presence. On hearing his name Law slowly turned to face you.

"So what did you need my assistance with?" you ask, tilting your head in curiosity. From the time you had spent with him, you knew that when it came to planning, Law was always two steps ahead of the rest. So maybe his plan required you to be in Wano, or maybe he required your assistance with something on his submarine.

"You'd only hurt yourself more if you went with Straw Hat-ya to retrieve Black-Leg. It's better for you this way."

Or maybe not.

"Really? So, that whole needing my assistance thing was a lie?" His lack of a response was enough of an answer.

"I can take care of myself Law. I don't need you constantly watching over me like I'm some child," you assert, ready to storm off before your frustration escalated. But before you can retreat, an all too familiar blue aura envelopes you. "Law-" you try to protest to his actions but your words fall on deaf ears.

"Room."

"Shambles."

The room shifts to what looks like the infirmary of the Polar Tang, and you find yourself already seated on the white matress of a surgical bed as Law shuts the door to the room. Before you can inquire about his intentions, he answers your unspoken question.

"You haven't changed your bandages since we left Dressrosa," he remarks, pulling out a gauze wrap from a drawer and positioning himself in front of you.

"I changed them yesterday," you counter, but this only leads him to roll his eyes, "Clearly, you didn't do a good job of it," he chides, gesturing at the gauze that had been haphazardly wrapped around your torso. In your defense, you were in a bit of a hurry. Robin had found some books in Zou that she thought you would like, and you were all too eager to read them (plus, lingering in the infirmary for too long risked someone seeing your wounds)

"They don't need to be changed. I'm fine. It's all healed." You once again try to convince him, but you're met with a stern look this time. "Just because filling yourself up with alcohol and sleeping every chance you get numbs the pain, does not mean you're healed."

You're caught off guard by Law's reply. Though you think to yourself that maybe you should have known that someone like the Surgeon of Death, who knew how your devil fruit worked would notice that your consumption of alcohol and constant need to sleep were clear signs of you trying to distract yourself from the pain. Evidently, you had no memory of what you had said to him a few nights ago.

"Law-" you once again try to protest, but he's already removing the bandages, and you wince as his hand lightly grazes your side. He looks at you confused, your wounds shouldn't hurt just from this, he thinks to himself, and quickly but gently removes the rest of the gauze. His expression changes from one of confusion to frustration as he looks from the fresh blue-black bruises spattered across your torso to you.

"How did this happen?" he asks, and you shift in your seat, biting down on your lip as you contemplate telling him or not.

"How did this happen?" he spits through gritted teeth, and you shift your gaze away from him, at the same time realising that he wouldn't relent until you gave him an explanation.

"Some of the Minks were still injured before we left Zou, and Chopper wasn't around, so I helped them."

You notice his fists clench and unclench in response to your answer, a sign that he was trying to control his emotions. You choose to slowly meet his gaze as he takes a deep breath before letting out a sigh, already anticipating your response to his next question, "Why didn't you call me?"

"You were meeting your crew after so long, I didn't want to bother you."

He tries to remain calm, but your answer only fuels his frustration. His fists clench once again and he bangs them into the table causing you to flinch. Law's hands now enclose you on either side, his head bent down, so that his hat just about covers the way he's clenching his jaw.

"Why are you always finding ways to hurt yourself?" he murmers, his voice barely above a whisper. But he doesn't give you a chance to repond, "Do you care so little about your life?"

"It's just a few bruises," you respond, and this time he meets your gaze, his grey eyes laden with emotion.

"I don't understand," Law pauses, his anger mounting. "Why!? Why do you not care about your own well-being!? Why do you insist on helping people who've never done shit for you!?"

His words strike a nerve, and you scoff. You can only assume that he's referring to the Straw Hats. Your own emotions are starting to get the best of you, and you throw him a glare of your own, "What the fuck do you know!?" you yell back. Law's taken aback by your outburst, but is quick to regain his 'composure'. However, you don't give him time to respond.

"You know absolutely nothing about me Law, and you have no fucking idea what I've been through and what these people have done for me! So stop trying to protect me!" You grab at the gauze wrap and try to push him aside, but he doesn't budge. His hands grip tightly at the white sheets of the surgical bed, but he doesn't say anything.

"Move Law," you command, but his grip only strengthens, his knuckles turning white.

"I know enough about you to know that you knew Cora-san, and that's enough of a reason for me to protect you."

Law's jaw relaxes, but he remains silent and unmoving, reverting to his stoic demeanour as he waits for some sort of reaction from you, or maybe deliberates over what to say next. You're taken by surprise at first, not knowing how to react to his revelation. But the emotions are quick to come back, and your frustration with him that has been unknowingly brewing over the past month refuses to back down from this confrontation.

"Then you know that he wanted both of us to keep living. Yet you were ready to give your life in exchange for bringing down Doflamingo. So, don't fucking come to me about not caring about mine," you retort with more spite than you intend, your words almost like venom to Law. But you're far too infuriated to take them back. With one final shove you manage to push past him.

"(Y/N)-ya," he calls out to you, attempting to sound firm, but the tremble in his voice is unmistakable.

"I think it's best if we keep our distance," you mumble more to yourself as you walk out the door, leaving Law behind.

_______________________________________________

A/N: This was actually supposed to be longer, but I decided not to include the next part cause it would kinda downplay this part and just lose the drama. So y'all are going to have to wait till next week for them to maybe make up :⁠-⁠P.

taglist: @trafalgardaria @deathsmajestysworld

#law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law fanfic #one piece x reader #law x you #trafalgar law fanfiction #trafalgar law x y/n

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atopvisenyashill · 2 days

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seeing how some greens act like rhaenyra being groomed by her uncle, and subsequently being unable to let go of him, is HER personal failure turned me into a rhaenyra extremist when i simply enjoyed her character beforehand.

im really glad you're speaking about it because even though it's fiction, it still perpetuates a very dangerous rhetoric

wait this gives me an excuse to ramble, pls excuse me if i phrase things maybe a little crassly here, it’s a delicate topic i’m speaking indelicately about but also, i think i should be allowed bc [redacted] BUT-

obviously i don’t like, love, some of the changes to the show but i think the first half does a great job of setting it up to where you can see both alicent and rhaenyra are surrounded exclusively by much older men who want to fuck them, and have just no way of knowing who is being genuine with them. because no one is really! so you have episode 4, where alicent is sleeping in a room with pornographic art on the wall and being called to her husband’s bed and she can’t say no, and he’s not going to do anything to make the whole thing even marginally easier for her. and then you have rhaenyra, pulled from her bed by her uncle to a brothel, and she’s completely exposed, and she’s experiencing new things, and he’s purposefully trying to make this feel good but also overwhelming for her, then abandons her drunk & confused & half naked. this is The Same Thing - they’re both being used and manipulated by a much older man, but because that manipulation looks different, they react different. but it’s still manipulation.

yes, the type of abuse is different when it’s like, your ugly ancient grandpa grooming you vs a handsome 30 year old stranger you met online that you tell all your high school friends is your boyfriend, but ultimately, both the grandpa and the 30 year old boyfriend are abusers but more importantly, the granddaughter and the high schooler are both victims!!! i think a lot of people when analyzing this whole thing, will pin daemon as a groomer but then completely forget that this also makes rhaenyra a victim. some people will even hee hee haw haw over it because “oh your feminist icon would rather marry her groomer uncle than her gay cousin in the book” DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF. could it possibly be that rhaenyra prefers daemon to laenor because daemon has manipulated her into thinking she is only free with him? she is only safe with him?? could it possibly be that he has been giving her gifts and taking physical liberties with her for her whole life, and being the Good Cop, Sweet Confidant to her parents Bad Cop her whole life, that she feels taken in by him because he is all she knows???? in the same vein that alicent just swallows all the poison and bullshit from otto because that’s her father, and his protection is all she knows????

honestly part of like ~the discourse~ that’s most frustrating is that most greens just refuse to see rhaenyra’s pov or see that she’s also a grooming victim grasping for power to protect her own children, again just like alicent, but on the flip side, most of the analysis from the blacks side is like “if you think nyra is a victim of grooming you are just as bad as the people calling her a whore for having children out of wedlock” and like, how do you even engage with that. with either of those opinions. you can’t wksjd so if youre, ya know, like a normal fucking person who can see how both girls are being manipulated, but you have like a fondness for nyra specifically, it’s just constant bad takes. there’s nowhere to go to escape the bad takes.

i thought we had already hashed out this idea that being aware or unaware of your victimhood doesn’t suddenly mean you’re not being oppressed during the main show with arya and sansa but no, we’ve actually just taken this exact same annoying fandom discourse about which teenage girl is dealing with being abused in the most acceptable way and made it a thousand times worse.

#and like the ~analysis~ side will be like ‘nyra is a dumb bitch for trusting daemon’ but if you said that about ali and larys you’d get shot #and i’m not even exaggerating the way people talk about her it’s always this ‘she should have known better’ HOW #if u get that ali couldn’t have ever known better when it comes to her own kids. why does this not apply to nyra.#perhaps………….it is bc you cannot concieve of her as anything but the aggressor.#asks #anons

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third-generation-female-warrior · 1 day

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As we get closer to the finale of the Bad Batch, I'd like to post something that's been in my head for a while.

I want to take an in-dept look at the theme of the show and how I think that shapes the ending.

Firstly, we'll need to look at the theme of the show.

The Bad Batch is a story about a group of rogue clones who must survive the rise of the Empire. Okay, that's what happens, but that's not the theme.

The theme is what the story is about. The lesson you want your audience to walk away with. It is the singular thing that shapes the character arcs and choices, from the protagonists to the antagonists.

I would argue that the theme of the Bad Batch is, "Our strength comes from our individuality and differences" and "We need to make our own choices and let people make their own choices; blind allegiance is the downfall of us all." There's also an ongoing argument about loyalty, but that's a different rant.

From the beginning, it's all been about individuality, and how stripping that away is wrong. The inhibitor chips was the first overarching plot device to further this argument.

The chips take away the individuality of the clones by making them a part of a monolithic hivemind. Gone are the individuals who fought with the Jedi, and in came the Empire. The sterile, uniform Empire where individuality and free thought is treated as dangerous and treacherous.

Our heroes, the titular Bad Batch, retain their individuality and differences and disobedient streak and are celebrated as a virtue, and, for the most part, do not fall into the trappings of becoming the monolith.

Now let's talk about Crosshair, specifically.

Crosshair, however different, fell into the Empire, thinking he was going to be heralded as better and superior than the other clones. His choice to stay with the Empire was a choice at first, but even when it was, this was treated as bad in the narration. Even if it was his choice, he came to ultimate realization that... no, he's not different than the other clones in the eyes of the Empire. He's not treated different or better. He's a number. He's cannon fodder. His blind allegiance almost led to his death (not for the first time (Bracca, anyone?)). It led to Mayday's death as they both realized too late: "We were good soldiers. We followed orders. And for what?"

So the first choice Crosshair makes for himself? The first free choice that he makes that contradicts the blind allegiance?

He shoots the Lieutenant.

And it was great! Narratively, it was treated as the right move because it was!

Okay, it lands him in Tantiss, but through that series of events, it eventually brought him back to his family. He was redeemed.

Moving on, let's look at another interesting character.

Emerie (beloved)

Dr. Emerie Karr, I would argue, is a woman who never had a choice.

I mean, how could she? Shipped off of Kamino, into the clutches of Hemlock?

Look me in the eyes and tell me that you think Hemlock (derogatory) was an affectionate father-figure to Emerie. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Emerie never had a choice. She was not in the battlefield or even with other clones to learn what her free thoughts were. I would argue she was raised to be afraid of the consequences of what Hemlock would do to her if she stepped "out of line" wherever that was when growing up.

She's constantly warning other clones what happens if they don't cooperate with Hemlock. She's constantly held back by her inability to think for herself.

Until Omega.

Time and time again, Emerie regards Omega as her sister in what way she can, in what little vocabulary she has for such a meaning.

Because Omega, Emerie breaks protocol, just in the little way she can, and returns the straw Lula to her. We see the beginnings of the Imperial bonds start to loosen. It's the first crack in the mirror, so to say, when Omega shows her what it could really be like, to have siblings to love, instead of whatever validation she fights to earn from Hemlock. (There's more on that, but again, another rant, another time.)

It keeps going for Emerie, when she's let into the Vault, all coming to a head when she meets Echo.

"I didn't have a choice," she says. "I've heard that before," he retorts, disbelieving.

She has a choice now, is what's not being said. Do the right thing, make a choice, for once in your life. Don't go along with what the doctor wants.

So, what's all this to say?

The ending of the Bad Batch will be dictated by the themes of individuality and free will.

It will all come down to a choice.

Omega, the protagonist, will have to make a choice.

Over this season, in Point of No Return especially, Omega sees how relentlessly the Empire hunts for her. Willing to do anything to get there hands on her.

It's this injustice that makes her angry. She can not let people suffer for her sake.

She won't let her brothers get hurt for her sake.

This drives home the foreshadowing of The Harbinger.

How Ventress warns Crosshair and Hunter, that if Omega was Force-Sensitive, she'd need to leave them to be properly trained.

When Ventress tamed a giant beast with the Force.

I know I'm not alone when I say that I think this will work with Omega's recent discovery of the Zillo Beast, in foreshadowing her and the other kids in the Vault using the Force to "reach out" (which Omega couldn't do with the distraction of her brothers) and tame the beast into wrecking the base and eating Hemlock.

With this discovery of abilities, and newfound charge over these young kids, Omega will be faced with a choice.

Stay with the Batch, or leave for them?

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb s3 #tbb s3 predictions #tbb meta #tbb omega #omega bad batch #tbb crosshair #bad batch crosshair #emerie karr #tbb emerie

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cosmerelists · 3 days

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What The Radiant Orders Would See as their Fandom Job on the Internet

Orders on the internet requested by @justheretoreadnotwrite :)

Justheretoreadnotwrite pointed me to this very fun 17th Shard thread, and asked if I could do a riff on the Radiant Orders being on the internet. Since I wanted to try avoiding the jokes already there, I thought I would focus in on how they'd act in fandom on the internet. Specifically, what would each Order think is their Duty in Fandom?

1. Edgedancers: Finding & Leaving Comments for Zero-Kudo Fics

The Edgedancers make it their mission to listen to those who are forgotten--in this case, fics with no kudos, no comments, or no notes. The Edgedancers come to read them, like them, and comment on them!

2. Lightweavers: Posting Fanart & Engaging in Character RP chats

You want your favorite character or OC to have art drawn of them? Just ask your nearest Lightweaver! Or, if you just wish you could roleplay with your favorite character, the Lightweavers can do that too. They are, like, VERY good at pretending to be other characters.

3. Bondsmiths: Writing Alt-Text

The Bondsmiths want to make sure that fandom is accessible to all, so they're out there writing descriptions and alt-text for any fanart or tweets or other images that screenreaders might struggle over. Barriers of communication are no match for our friendly Bondsmiths.

4. Truthwatchers: Writing Call-Out Posts

If someone is out there stealing art and posting it on their own blog/twitter/pinterest page as if it's their own....well, they better hope a Truthwatcher doesn't find them. Those Truthwatchers will be telling the original artist, and they may just write a call-out post if they have to.

5.Elsecallers: Writing, just, Really Excellent Analyses and Guides

The Elsecallers are the scholars of fandom. They are writing really in-depth analyses of both the original source and of your fanfic, and they're here posting guides about how to accurately portray, like, dyeing practices of x-century.

6. Willshapers: Writing Character x Reader Fics and Creating OCs

The Willshapers are out there putting themselves into fandom worlds--and helping you do the same. They're great at creating their own OCs and/or self-inserts, and they're the ones writing all of the Character x Reader fics as well.

7. Stonewards: Writing the Majority of the Actual Fanfic

In terms of sheer output--like keeping the fandom running by doing the hard work of actually writing fics--the Stonewards are leading the way. If there's such a thing as the "front lines" of fandom, I think it's people filling A03 and creating longform content.

8. Windrunners: Forum/Discord Moderation

The Windrunners want to make sure that fandom spaces are protected & safe for their members, so they're likely to take on the role of administrators or moderators--kinda like, you know, being the king's guard but here the the "king" is 19 people who all want to talk about the same character.

9. Dustbringers: Being the Most Popular Person in the Fandom

The Dustbringers are the "great power / great responsibility" order. They know they could level that city or dissolve that person into atoms or whatever, but they have more restraint that that. Probably. In the same way, Dustrbingers are The Person in their fandom. If they choose to retweet or reblog or boost your fic/art/analysis, you are made, my friend. On the other hand, if they decide you're an enemy...

10. Skybreakers: Following the Rules. The Internet Rules.

Listen, the Skybreakers don't judge rules, they follow rules. So if a fandom on the internet has rules, the Skybreakers really have no choice to follow them. You know, like Rule 34 for example.

So yes, the Skybreakers are out there making sure there is porn of your favorite character. You're welcome.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Stormlight Archive #Knights Radiant

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lillybearrie · 19 hours

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Hello I would like to remind everyone that the first (technically second if you wanna get really technical but who cares) thing we heard from fable was

"Release Me,

You are free of Enderian, now focus on purpose"

Directed at Icarus

"Now focus on your purpose"????? WHAT HAPPENED TO "HI" "HELLO" "HOW ARE YOU MY SON"

BECAUSE NEWSFLASH SIR THAT'S NOT HOW YOU TALK TO YOUR FUCKING CHILD

THEY AREN'T A FUCKING ROBOT TO TAKE AND CARRY OUT YOUR ORDERS THAT'S YOUR GODDAMN KID!

PEOPLE TREATED SEVEN WITH MORE FAMIARITY AND RESPECT

no offense to seven great guy rip man BUT STILL

Anyway on to actual analysis

After reading this note, several deductions can be made about our antagonist's character right off the bat, which in season 3 we see to be accurate assumptions

First of all the sending of the note "release me" constantly at the beginning of every reset presumably for the past several ones gives us a base line of a few things A) whoever wrote it is trapped B) they really want out C) whomever was to recive the note presumably can help with this D) this person is either very angry and resorting to formal wording as a form of passive aggression or they are simply a very formal person Had this not been the case they would have written "let me out" or "get me out" or even "help me"

Now for the post-corruption portion

"You are free of Enderian"

1) this person knows Enderian 2) This person knows at least of Icarus 3) They intentionally have been sending these to Icarus 4) despite being trapped they have some way to know what is going on 5) their particular view of Enderian is not favorable it's not overtly antagonistic however this is the one part of the not that can be read as at least partially sympathetic to Icarus

Finally "Now focus on your purpose"

1) they don't see Icarus as anything but a means to an end 2) tone wise it feels like both the chastisement of a child and an order to an unthinking being 3) "your purpose" seemingly refers to the prior statement of "release me" either implying that the writer believes Icarus is only here to get them out of wherever they are or that Icarus's sole purpose in life is to aid and assist them and 4) the use of "now" after the previous statement implies they view the corruption arc as simply something that was inhibiting the progression of them being let out

First off once again SIR THAT IS YOUR CHILD YOU MOTHERFUCKER-

In conclusion deductions that can be made from this note with the knowledge that i now hold are as follows: Fable wanted out of purgatory, they issued Icarus with the fulfillment of this task and saw the corruption arc as merely a speed bump on the road of getting his ass outta there. Fable is a pretentious douchebag. Like everyone else in his life Fable is constantly using his own son as a means to achieving his end goal.

Other notes:

Had Fable's motivations not been his underlying obsession with keeping what he believes is "his" even when it disrupts and disregards the rules of the universe and the sanctity of life he likely wouldn't have given 2 shits about Icarus.

If we view Fable's interactions with others through the lense of him thinking of those of the overworld as "his" his people his creations his world then it starts to become clearer that he only sees individuals as tools and for their potential usefulness to him. And if we want to take this view even further we could even say that he at least on some level viewed Alerion giving a place for his deceased mortals to restate something akin to how a child views their sibling stealing a toy from their room, which then implies that the war of the gods is just a big temper tantrum where Fable hurt his brother then his other siblings stepped in and went "hey woah man not cool you can hit Al dude he is literally just playing the game" to which Fable's response was to hurt them as well and now he's just got out of timeout and basically started blaming his parents for everything wrong in his life which is so silly goofy of him until you remember that these were people he was upset about his brother "stealing" from him and it becomes less silly goofy.

"But Lilly!" I hear you say because you've totally read this far, mhm definitely "If he doesn't actually care about the dead people, then why does he act nice? Why is his charisma stat so high?" Well to that I say is it easier to keep someone in one spot when you make them believe this is where they wanna be or when they know the whole truth?

#someone take my Tumblr privileges #why is this so fucking long #and how have i not made this post before??#once again #thank you for coming to my ted talk #fable when i get you fable #i have hated this man since before we knew for sure that he sent that note because deep down i knew and i wasn't gonna let that slide #Icarus deserves better #so much better #also apologies for how discombobulated this might be i had like 4 separate trains of thought while writing this #so idk how coherent it is #fable smp

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car-sounds · 3 days

Note

Hi! I would like to request a headcanon about how would arcana twilight characters express their love in daily life. Thank you:) I love your headcanons!

How They Show Their Love

FIRST HEADCANONS ON THIS ACCOUNT (Sorry this took a while(to the other person who sent a request I'm working on it don't worry))

Main Arcana Twilight cast (+Rigel) x reader

2nd person

1062 words

Arcturus

I think Arcturus shows his love with homemade gifts and words of affirmation.

He believes handmade gifts are the most meaningful and likes to give them as a way of showing his dedication to you.

The most common type of these gifts are things he's knitted for you, usually socks and sweaters.

He also gives you compliments and encouragement as much as possible throughout the day.

He doesn’t care how small an accomplishment seems; he's always ready to tell you he's proud or that you did a great job.

He also likes receiving encouragement from you and makes sure to thank you with a big smile and a little kiss.

He can be very busy at times but always tries to use guide committee duties to spend time with you by asking for your assistance.

Other than your lips his favorite place to kiss you is your cheek or the tip of your nose.

Alpheratz

Alpheratz shows his affection mainly through physical touch.

Throughout the day whenever he gets close enough, he leans against you, draping his body against yours (if you’re shorter than him or when you’re sitting down then he likes resting his chin on your head).

If you aren’t the biggest fan of this physical affection he tones it down to something you’re comfortable with.

He’s shown you all his napping spots, and when you’re not busy he asks you to nap with him.

If you do agree to join him then he pulls you in as close as possible into his chest and makes sure you’re comfortable before dozing off.

He likes giving you little kisses favorite places other than your lips are your nose and the top of your head.

Other than physical touch another one of his love languages is gift-giving.

He insists on fully paying for every date, only letting you pay if you beg him to let you pay.

Anything you express interest in buying is purchased by him immediately, no matter the cost.

Spica

Taking time out of his busy days to spend time with you.

Even when he has mountains of paperwork to complete he makes sure to spend a portion of his day on giving you the attention you deserve.

On a less busy day, he takes you on full dates.

On the busier days, he makes sure to be by your side giving you bits of physical touch and praise.

He's not the best at directly expressing his affection for you.

He prefers showing you through acts of service and gift-giving the most.

Helping you complete your assignments for Contell and giving you thought-out solutions to your personal problems.

He also gives you occasional gifts for no specific reason. Sometimes small like a snack he remembered you talking about, and sometimes a bigger gift like beautiful pieces of Jewelry.

His favorite place to kiss you other than the lips is the back of your hand or the top of your head.

Sirius

Sirius’s preferred love languages are physical touch and quality time.

He constantly sneaks up right behind you to wrap his arms around you.

If you don’t like this he switches his greeting to something you both enjoy

He enjoys messing with you a lot.

Teases you about being interested in him even when you have been dating for a while.

Spends most of his free time around you, he likes to drape his body against you while he’s talking to you.

His favorite places to kiss you other than the lips are the top of your head and the back of your hand.

He’s in your room more than you are, he hangs out there like he owns the place and rushes to greet you at the door when you come back to your dorm.

Sirius is hesitant to be fully vulnerable with you and his cocky attitude is the best way he is able to show his love.

Vega

Vega’s favorite love languages are quality time and acts of service.

He feels the need to spend as much time together due to the fears he developed because of your pasts together.

Even if you’re interacting he wants to keep you by his side to ensure you’re protected.

Other than protecting you, he wants to make up for the time you two were separated.

His affection is mostly subtle and uses acts of service to show you how much he cares and is willing to help you.

Mostly favors like doing your laundry or running an errand, he wants to take on some of your tasks to minimize your stress.

He enjoys listening to your voice and encourages you to rant about anything on your mind for hours on end.

Always blushes and has a slight smile when you give him any kisses.

His favorite places to kiss you other than the lips are the back of your hand and forehead.

Pollux

I think Pollux prefers to show his love for you through quality time and physical touch.

He tries to spend as much of his day as possible around you.

You’ve heard from the others on numerous occasions that they’ve seen Pollux rushing around Contell asking anyone if they’ve seen you.

At first, people thought it was an emergency but after a while and after talking to you they realized he’s just being clingy.

Once he’s by your side it takes a lot for him to agree to leave your side.

He really enjoys holding your hand, it makes him feel closer to you.

His favorite places to give you kisses other than your lips are your cheek or the tip of your nose.

He always tells you about his day and asks about yours making sure to show you he’s listening the whole time.

Rigel

I think Rigel’s love language would be an act of service.

Just like Spica, he doesn’t outwardly express his affection to you too often.

He prefers giving you help with classwork and any work the guide committee has assigned to you.

If you pay attention to how he acts around others compared to how he acts with the other sorcerers he’s more laid back around you.

When you two are alone he’s still serious but smiles more often and gets a little bit more physically affectionate.

His favorite place to kiss you other than your lips is on your cheek.

(I don’t know much about him so sorry if he got mischaracterized)

#arcana twilight #arcana twilight fics #arcana twilight x reader #arcana twilight sirius #arcana twilight arcturus #arcana twilight arcky #arcana twilight alpheratz #arcana twilight spica #arcana twilight pollux #arcana twilight vega #arcana twilight rigel

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