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astradrifting · 3 years

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GRRM really created so many parallels and foreshadow using the DoD characters that honestly we could just figure the asoiaf ending by analyzing it. My favorite is the Aegon III-D@ny parallels, the fact that one of his closest allies was a face-scarred Master of coin Lannister who ended as Hand to Bran' parallel character just make it so obvious its funny.

Oh my god I didn’t even realise Tyland Lannister was initially on the greens’ side! I’m not super fond of Tyrion ending up as Hand, but you’re right that it’s so obviously meant to reference him. There’s so many parallels that it’s a little crazy. I don’t want to say that the second Dance will end exactly as the first did, it’d be a little too neat if history repeated entirely, but you can see so many echoes of it even in the show’s bastardised ending.

“The broken, shattered realm suffered for a while yet, but the Dance of the Dragons was done. Now what awaited the realm was the False Dawn, the Hour of the Wolf, the rule of the regents, and the Broken King.”

(TWOIAF, Aegon II)

I’m not sure what the False Dawn is going to parallel to, it refers to the period of time after Aegon II’s death but before Lord Stark got to King’s Landing, when people thought that peace had finally come. It kind of brings to mind the War for the Dawn, though personally I think that the threat of the Others will be resolved before the Dance is over. The Hour of the Wolf is obviously about House Stark’s rise back to power, and the Broken King is Bran - though if he actually becomes known as Bran the Broken I might end up committing violence ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The parts about Lord Corlys Velaryon are why I’m so hopeful that Jon’s book ending will be completely different from the show’s. He’s arrested for Aegon II’s death by Cregan Stark, even though Cregan had previously declared for Rhaenyra, because as TWOIAF puts it, “to kill a cruel and unjust king in lawful battle was one thing. But foul murder, and the use of poison, was a betrayal against the very gods who had anointed him.”

Corlys didn’t deny his guilt, and expressed no regret. “What I did, I did for the good of the realm. I would do the same again. The madness had to end.”

Cregan Stark declared him to be guilty of murder, regicide, and high treason, and he was sentenced to execution. But many spoke in his defence, even people who had fought against him in the Dance. Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, Corlys’ granddaughters and Aegon III’s half-sisters, convinced Aegon to issue an edict pardoning Lord Velaryon, which Alysanne Blackwood then convinced Cregan to let stand. Lord Velaryon was pardoned and even restored to his offices and honours, made one of the king’s regents and given a place on the small council.

Corlys’ words definitely could be Jon’s as well, a much more in-character declaration post-D@ny’s death than the drivel GoT tried to feed us. I was worried for a bit that this would be how Tyrion is let off scot-free, but Baela and Rhaena, who were vital to his release, are such obvious Arya and Sansa stand-ins, and they’re certainly not going to expend any effort in helping Tyrion. So Corlys’ circumstances more likely lays the groundwork for how Jon will be freed and remain in political power, while Tyland frankly inexplicably becoming Aegon III’s Hand after he was in favour of brutally killing him parallels Tyrion managing to fail up, as a way of reconciling the old regime with the new one.

This makes Tyrion becoming Hand more palatable IMO. Either Jon and Tyrion both should have been punished or neither should have been punished, not the travesty where Tyrion gets everything he’s ever wanted while Jon is exiled to a Watch with no purpose and a Wall that’s already half-collapsed, so what exactly can it protect against? I suppose they were afraid of seemingly rewarding Jon for killing d@ny, especially if pol!Jon had been revealed, but most people noticed how nonsensical his ending was, and it just led to ‘Bloodraven/Bran is the real villain’ takes anyway.

(Side note: Asha/Yara basically still being loyal to D at the end annoys me so much, and made no sense. Jon did more to help save her by giving Theon that pep talk than D@ny did. Maybe it was a leftover from her taking Victarion’s role in the story, but in no reasonable world is anyone going to listen to the Ironborn who brought the Fire threat over in the first place.)

Of course Tyland Lannister isn’t actually Hand for long, given that he dies barely two years later from Winter Fever, feared and hated, alone except for a maester and King Aegon. It might be an indication that Tyrion will face a similar fate, that he’ll die after he’s seemingly won, exactly what he threatened Cersei with:

“A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid."

(ACOK, Tyrion XII)

So that I can stop talking about Tyrion, here’s some facts about Rhaena and Baela that are obviously meant to reference Sansa and Arya, so much so that it feels a little bit like GRRM is winking and going “See what I did there? Huh? Huh? Did you see??”:

- their descriptions: “Rhaena was slender and graceful; Baela was lean and quick; Rhaena loved to dance; Baela lived to ride...” + “Baela was wild and willful”, “more boyish than ladylike”, and kept her hair cropped short as a boy’s

- Rhaena spent most of the Dance in the Vale, where she lived in relative comfort as the ward of Lady Jeyne Arryn. Baela was a dragonrider and so moved between Dragonstone and Driftmark, but was captured on Dragonstone when Aegon II descended upon it

- Rhaena was favoured to be queen after her brother, considered more qualified than her wild sister

- Baela liked to spend time with “unsuitable companions” she would bring to the Red Keep - including a comely juggler, a blacksmith’s apprentice whose muscles she admired (!!!), a legless beggar, a pair of twin girls from a brothel, an entire troupe of mummers once

- After her brother’s regents tried to marry her to a lord 40 years older than her, Baela escaped the Red Keep by climbing out of a window, trading clothes with a washerwoman, then walking right out of the front gate. She ran away to Driftmark and married her supposed cousin (though more likely he was her half-uncle), the legitimised bastard Alyn Velaryon, which might have had me worried about j0nrya if Alyn weren’t best known for being a daring sailor who went on many voyages, including sailing the Sunset Sea, until he was finally lost at sea during Aegon IV’s reign. Alyn’s mother was also called Mouse, for being “small, quick, and always underfoot.”

- another fun fact about Alyn: he’s a bad haggler, and had to agree to a high ransom and many concessions in order to get Prince Viserys returned to Westeros. This automatically disqualifies him as a Jon stand-in, because as we all know, Jon Snow can haggle like the best of fishwives.

- My absolutely favourite detail that has my jonsa heart singing - Rhaena was more dutiful than her sister and would have married a man that the king and council chose, saying that as long as he was “kind and gentle and noble, I know that I shall love him.” She was able to marry her first choice, whom the regents didn’t immediately approve of but that they ultimately accepted - Ser Corwyn Corbray, the brother of the Lord Protector of the Realm, a second son (!) whose late father had gifted him the Valyrian steel sword Lady Forlorn (!!!)

And as a treat for @istumpysk, some similarities between Rickon and Viserys II!

- the youngest child of their family

- separated from their older brother after they were forced to flee their home, trying to get to safety while their other brothers and mother were at war

- worshipped their oldest (half-)brothers, but were closer to the brother nearest their age

- spends the war stuck on an island, populated by people closely linked to their family’s origins - Skagosi are descended mostly from the First Men, while Viserys was on Lys, where the blood of Old Valyria still runs strong

- sought by/held hostage by a powerful and wealthy family, who will treat them well but whose intentions are dubious

- will be brought back from exile by an upjumped bastard/commoner from a port town who was raised to lordship and became their monarch’s chief admiral

- after they are returned, long after the wars and crises, is happily welcomed as the heir to their older brother’s throne (shhhhh just let me have this, let the baby live)

Thanks for the ask!

#astra rambles #asks #its not quite 5000 words but i got it in under the deadline stumpy :P #half speculation half 'my wildest dreams and hopes'#anti tyrion lannister #kind of #rickon stark #jon snow #sansa stark #arya stark #anti got #speculation #meta #dod 2.0 #dod parallels

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lupismaris · 3 years

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Ask game: Books recs pls! :D

Books!!! i admit im only just really starting to read again, mental illness brain rot meant the past few years have been a touch empty in terms of books but!!

Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh - short novella about a very old forest, its caretaker, a young dandy who turns up, and a very old magic looking for some fun. very good, a short read but a new favorite

The Sea and Civilization by Lincoln Paine - a nautical history of human society and one of my newer acquisitions, very thorough while still being super accessible, if you're a nerd about the sea like i am or looking for a fun intro to nautical history, its a great choice.

Folklore and The Sea by Horace Palmer Beck - a collection of nautical and sea related tales and stories from around the world, the kind told by old sailors and merchant men and fishwives. Its bigger than the bible and i hold it close to my heart.

Six Memos for the Next Millenium by Italo Calvino - required reading in highschool and one of the few that stuck with me. a short collection of essays about the world and our place in it as we move forward, from the perspective of a very talented author.

Kitchen Confidential and A Chef's Tour by Anthony Bourdain - we all know how much i love and miss Tony, but his books really are a phenomenal read. Kitchen Confidential is focused on his time in the restaurant business, his various jobs and the people he met, and it is a phenomenal collection of stories and lessons learned. A Chef's Tour is focused on his later experiences as a travel writer and chef, and is one of my favorite "travel" books out there. His ability to connect with people and spark the curiosity and compassion in the reader is next to none.

Writers at Work around the World and Poets at Work, Being Two Collections of Interviews from The Paris Review - i dont care if it comes off as pretentious but i genuinely adore the Paris Review and the poets, authors, playwrites, and artists they showcase. They released two new stand alone volumes which are collections of interviews from the past idk 70 years or so, one volume being focused on poets and the other on writers. getting to hear fellow artists from multiple decades talk about their craft and personal histories is a gift. also in general, if you're looking to diversify your reading but dont know where to start/have a short attention span and are working to improve it, The Paris Review Magazine is actually a great place to do both. They release it four times a year and you can always check the roster for each issue on their website before you buy the hardcopy.

Gay New York by George Chauncey - focused mostly on Manhattan and Brooklyn, Chauncey details the long and incredibly rich history of the gay community in NYC. It centers mostly on gay cis men, though it touches on the trans community and the evolutions of language in terms of various identities quite a lot. Its a longer and sometimes heavy read, as the history of the gay community is not always a happy one, but it is a fantastic window into the lives of those who came before us and how the culture has changed over time (did you know there used to be debutante-esque balls to introduce baby gays to the community at large?? cause i sure didn't!!).

Giovanni's Room and pretty much everything written by James Baldwin- James Baldwin is a masterclass of a person and a master class of a writer. Giovanni's Room was my introduction to his writing but i truly think his work should be something akin to required reading. I would recommend finding a collection of his work and start there.

Homintern by Gregory Woods - I'm still working my way through this one but i do recommend it. In short its a showcase of great queer and gay artists from throughout modern history, Oscar Wilde is the first one discussed for example, and while Woods does make an effort to denounce the conspiracy theory that gays run the art world, he does a wonderful job of showcasing the home our community found in the art, and how their lives shaped various artistic and cultural movements throughout the western world. Its not sugar coated, but written with a lot of love.

The Philosophy of Jean-Paul Sartre edited by Robert Denoon Cumming - is Sartre for everyone? no. Do I love his work? yes. This collection is a great place to start if you're curious and want to start reading his work. Its not always an easy read, a lot of philosphy can be hard to work through, but I recommend it. Albert Camus and Kafka are of course also highly recommended. And i do genuinely enjoy Human all to Human and other works by Nietzsche.

i realize a lot of these are nonfiction but ive been on a kick lately, lets call it escapism through other lives lived on this mess of an earth. I'm sorry it took so long to write this up but i needed to mull it over a bit.

I'm always open for new recs as well, my library could always use a few new volumes!

#book rec #my art #jamie rambles #ask meme

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my-fanfic-library · 4 years

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Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [23]

Masterlist

Warnings: dirty talk, Dracula swearing, very VERY dom Drac, mention of a breeding kink you’re welcome, biting, fingering (f receiving), oral (m/f receiving), thigh riding, squirting, just Claes Bang in general

A/N: since you were all so lovely to DraccyBoi in your asks (he’s still anticipating more asks btw), you receive a gift of smut! Also this one is so long I’m so sorry (pun intended)

~^*^~

Jack was smiling awkwardly at you. You hadn’t seen nor heard from him since you left Yorkshire and you were certain thar your friendship had come to its second end.

“Your mum invited me.” He explained and you rushed over to hug him.

“I am... so glad to see you.” You confessed, “but why the hell did you come all the way down just for a stupid party?”

“Well...”

How could he tell you? There was a lump in his throat that stopped him from speaking any further. If he told you, he would shatter everything that you had built. By the way you were quite literally glowing, he knew that you were finally enjoying your life. He was happy for you, of course. He couldn’t tell you. Not tonight. Besides, if he was lucky, word would reach you by the morning from somebody else, anyway.

He shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m here now and you’ve been a terrible friend by not messaging me or anything. For all I knew, you could have become a bloodsucker.”

“He won’t turn me.” You told him, “now come, there is alcohol in the kitchen.”

Taking his wrist, you lead him into the kitchen and straight towards the many half-drunken bottles of alcohol. The patio doors were swung open, the sound of laughter breezing in as many of the fishwives very obviously stood flirting with Dracula. He had been trying to get away and get back to you for the better part of 10 minutes but with no success. You ignored the sounds, helping Jack to pick the best alcohol for his mood and stood laughing with him for a minute or two.

“Hey, um, I was wondering if we could possibly go talk somewhere a little more private?” Jack suddenly piped up.

“I hope this won’t be like your private “talks” with Lucy.” You teased.

“Oh god, no. I don’t want to die just yet.” He chuckled.

“Very well. I’m sure you remember just where we can go.”

The place was another little sacred trove that you and Jack only knew about. This one dated back much further than Robin Hood’s Bay and had been the location of many break downs, underage drinking sessions and of course, your outrageous teenage gossip. Taking his wrist, you plucked up your own glass and pulled him out into the garden. You ignored the stares of the many women who suddenly began excitedly whispering.

However, it was almost too hard to ignore Dracula. You knew that being seen with Jack would hurt him, and you truly didn’t know how far you could push him before he left you or killed you. But Jack very rarely wished to speak privately with you. If he did, it wasn’t for no reason.

The bottom of the garden seemed miles away with such an angry, hot glare being sent your way. Had the man somehow developed laser vision within the next second, Jack would have been left without the lower half of his left arm, you were certain. With your betrayal being spoken so carelessly as if you weren’t even there by the wives, Dracula’s temper was rising quickly. You were definitely going to pay this time. You knew it. When you reached the bottom of the garden and both you and Jack disappeared beyond the small cut out in the bushes, Dracula’s temper surged. He finally waved away all of the women and made his way inside to slump down on the sofa, ignoring all the questions of the men.

When you emerged on the other side of the bushes, a small shed greeted you. Still painted with all the little flowers and signs Lucy, Jack, Daniel and yourself had painted, it reeked of a time long ago when you had been care-free and happy. The inside was a little dusty, but the cushions were still useable and the fairy lights still worked, so it wasn’t completely abandoned. You took your seat.

“Okay, so what’s going on?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“I... well...” he hesistated.

“Jack, I hate to pressure you, but my very angry vampire boyfriend may just kill me for being with you right now, so the last thing you can do for me is tell me. I’m practically on my death bed.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m moving back to London.” He blurted out.

“You’re what?! Why?!” You were shocked. Jack had settled in nicely in that little cottage you had left. He had begged you to stay. He was convinced that living by the sea was where he wanted - no, needed - to be!

He knew he was going to have to lie to you. He refused to ruin your evening further. Just his presence had caused a shift in the mood, he knew it. There was no way he would admit the truth. Not until at least tomorrow.

“I just... I missed it here. I’m... I want to be back down here, with you. With my family again.”

“Jack,” you sighed, “youre an awful liar.”

“I know.” He smiled sheepishly, bowing his head.

“If you can’t tell me why, I understand.” You smiled softly at him.

“No, it’s just- I-.. I can tell you but, I don’t want to ruin your evening.” His eyes looked up at you through his lashes.

“Then tell me tomorrow. Should we go coffees or something?”

“Yes but... you’ll need to bring Dracula.”

Okay. Something was wrong. You could tell by the way he strained to say his name that Jack did not like vampire one bit. After all, he had turned Lucy into a monstrosity and stolen you away from him, leaving him alone hundreds of miles away from anyone he knew. For him to ask you to bring Dracula to talk to him, no, something was definitely not right.

“Jack, what is going on?”

“Please, just... we’ll talk tomorrow. Until then, I missed you.”

He moved on, pulling you into him. He had truly missed you so very much, and if weren’t for the fact that he had begun to see you a little differently than before, he’d be livid with you for leaving him as you did.

You spent a little more time in the privacy of your little shed, just catching up on the weeks that you hadn’t spoken. It was nice to be with him again.

Whilst you were in there, Dracula was sulking hard. He had heard the wives (who had come inside for the comfort and privacy of Jack and yourself) whisper about how Jack suited you much better than he did. ‘Well he’s much closer to her age, they have much more in common’ one had whispered. ‘Yes, and they’ve been friends for so long, it’s inevitable that something would happen eventually.’ Would it be bad if he went in there and tore her head off? ‘And the way he looks at her! I don’t think she realises. That Dracula looks at her like she’s food.’ They laughed. ‘Now, come on, Sally, that’s how your Mike used to look at you!’ Another bout of laughter.

Music was playing quite loudly in the kitchen, drowning out their voices, but Dracula could hear them clearly. His fingers gripped onto the arm rest of the sofa. Is this what society had come to? Mother’s bashing their own children and the people in their lives? How sickening.

“Awe, look!”

The room burst into sounds of endearment and Dracula finally stood. Stepping forward, he turned to look through the kitchen and out of the window. You had emerged again with Jack, and you were on the patio, arms around his neck, his hands dropped to your waist, swaying to the music.

‘Give me reasons we should be complete // You should be with him I can’t compete // You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well // Can’t you see // I don’t wanna slow dance // In the dark’

You threw your head back at something he had said, and he buried his head into your neck, right on top of where the bite Dracula had given you was concealed.

A hand came on to his shoulder and he turned his head to see your father. His cheeks were a little red and his eyes were glossed with alcohol.

“Don’t worry,” he began, “she’s only doing it to control her tyrant of a mother.”

“Her mother is insistent on picking her suitor?” Dracula folded his arms.

“You see that fella over there?” He pointed to a man standing in the corner. He was around your height, with a round, slightly puffy face. He wore a visibly expensive suit, fat fingers gripping a sherry glass which was empty except for a thin layer of liquid at the bottom of the glass. His flaming orange hair stood out, and he was currently talking to another young lady who was clearly jusy a little repulsed by him.

“Yes, I see him.”

“She’s been trying to get [First] to date him for years. Silly woman. He’s nowhere near good enough for my baby.”

Your words rung in his ears - “tall, handsome Mark” - and he scoffed in amusement and disbelief that you had played him like that. He looked like every middle class asshole portrayed on the television. And by the way he was shuffling closer to the lady he was engaged in conversation with, he could see why you constantly rejected your mother’s advances.

“I feel that someone should go and rescue that poor girl.” Dracula chuckled, thinking of how he could possibly get you back. He looked over at you once more. Now that the song had changed, so had your dance.

‘How long // Til you play me the song // That will me belong to you // One dance // With my baby tonight // And we’ll dance til the night is though’

You were a little more carefree, twisting your hips and laughing. Your fingers were interlocked with Jack’s as you lead your arms high above your head and arched them down and out. Jack was flushing a little and you laughed, pulling some space between the pair of you but keeping your hands locked. You were singing the lyrics. Your voice had always been pretty.

“I think it should be the taller of us, go give him a good scare.”

He intended on scaring two people tonight...

He glided across the room, quickly finding himself at the side of Mark and the lady. He pushed down his mischevuous smirk.

“I am sorry to interject, but I was just wondering if I could have a word with this fine lady.”

Her eyes lit up at his intrusion and he watched relief flood her face. He was her knight in shining armour, and he was going to milk it for everything that it was worth. Her hand immediately came out to wrap around his exposed forearm and pulled herself closer to him.

“Yes, thats fine-“

“Aren’t you supposed to be with [First]?” Mark sneered, looking Dracula up and down with disgust. It wasn’t the first time someone had looked at him like that, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“Weren’t you?” Dracula jeered and Mark’s face deepened with a scowl.

“Come on, boys, don’t fight.” The lady beside Dracula spoke, trying to keep the peace.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dracula turned his head to her, “it would hardly be a fair match.”

“Why you-“ Mark’s face reddened, really bringing out the orange on the top of his head.

“Now if you’ll excuse us. Come along, pet.”

Using his free hand, Dracula placed it over the top of the woman’s and lead her away quickly.

“What a creep.” She retorted, “you’re Dracula, aren’t you?”

“Great observation. Though, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.” He lead her over to the sofa. Her pulse was lively. He sat down, and she, like a magnet, took a seat right next to him she pulled herself closer so that their legs were touching and she was almost moulding into his side. Dracula smirked. Please, please let you walk in and have a taste of your own medicine.

“Chelsea.” She purred.

“Beautiful. Now, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Chelsea? While I have you all to myself.”

“Are you sure you should be talking to me like this? You came with [First].”

“Do you see her around?”

Her eyes lit up once more. So she was one of these girls you spoke about with such distaste. A “thot” if he remembered correctly. A man-stealer. He could not have chosen a better target.

~^*^~

You spent another hour or so in Jack’s company, and it was during this house that the house began to die down as people began to leave. Your mother had asked you and Dracula to stay the night, as it was quite a drive back to his apartment and it would be dangerous to drive so late. ‘He’ll be too tired to drive!’ She’d almost wailed, as if she had a premonition of you getting into an exhaustion induced car accident. You assured her that he wouldn’t be tired at all he hadn’t slept in hundreds of years he wasn’t going to start today. But you ended up agreeing, anyway. She had kept your bedroom the same, including the single bed, so you didn’t really know where he’d be for the night. Maybe she’d force him to stay downstairs...

Once most of the people had left, you and Jack finally decided that it was a good idea to go back inside. After all, it was getting quite cold. Your mother was in the kitchen, talking to the last two wives who had yet to leave and the two eyed you when you walked in. You rolled your eyes. You hated her friends with a passion. In the living room, the last few men were stood laughing with your father. Mark was still floating around, sending sharp looks over to the sofa. Jack was quick to grab your hand, but regretted it when you squeezed in so much anger that you almost broke all of his fingers.

“Jack.” You spoke through your gritted teeth.

“Calm down.” He whispered, “don’t give them something to gossip about tomorrow.”

“They’re already going to be gossiping about us. Might as well juice it up a little.”

“Seriously don’t. Chelsea of all people isnt worth it.”

“I swear I’m gonna go over there and rip her damn extensions out of her fucking head.” You narrowed your eyes, “look she’s touching his chest!”

Your display of jealousy was making Jack chuckle behind his stoic face. He continued to hold your hand, thankful your grip had loosened. Sure enough, Chelsea was running one of her long fingers down the opening of his shirt where the expanse of his chest was available for her to touch. Dracula looked oh so very pleased with himself. Jack immediately knew was was happening and had to snort at the scenario. Trust Dracula of all people to give you a taste of your own medicine.

Chelsea laughed at something Dracula had just whispered into her ear and she pulled herself closer, wrapping one leg over his and curling her fingers around his bicep.

“I’m going to break her fucking kneecaps!” Jack pulled you backwards as you balled your fists.

“Calm down.” He chuckled. You snapped your head towards him, and he pulled you back into the kitchen.

“After I’ve put her in the hospital, you’re next.” You warned.

“You do realise that he’s doing it on purpose, right?” You pushes yourself away from him as he spoke, scowling.

“I don’t care why the fuck he’s doing it. The point is that-... that fucking slag has her hands all over my boyfriend! All over! And only I’m allowed to touch his chest!” You crosses your arms, unable to stop the pouty scowl on your features. You were mad.

“You are never drinking again.” Jack decided, “alcohol makes you vicious.”

“Sluts throwing themselves onto my boyfriend make me vicious!”

Jack burst into laughter. Your frowned settled deeper into your features and you very almost followed through with your urge to throw a glass at him. This was not funny! You could hear your parents saying goodbye to another set of guests and you finally decided enough was enough. Your heels clicked on the tile floor and then the sound shifted onto wood. You stood before Dracula, whos arm was around the other woman’s shoulders as he laughed with her. He looked you up and down with a cocky smugness that had your blood boiling.

“Oh, hi [First].” Chelsea gave you an obviously fake smile.

“Up now.” You ignored her, gaze burning into Dracula’s face.

“I am very comfortable here, thank you.” He retorted, not holding back his smirk.

“Up.” You growled. Dracula raised his eyebrows, mouth dropping with the smirk still evident.

“Someone’s moody.” Chelsea whispered. And that was it. The switch was flipped. The button was pressed. The red mist came down and you were no longer going to hold it back.

“If you ever step foot into my parents’ house again, I swear to god you will regret it. And if you don’t remove your hands and legs from my boyfriend within the next half-second, I going to drag your rat-ass onto the street and kick your fucking ass into next year.”

Dracula was looking at you like you were a meal. He had seen you upset. Yes, many times he had pissed you off. But this jealousy driven rage you were in right now? It was the hottest thing he had ever experienced. And he’d been in some very sexy situations.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Her scratchy voice pierced the air.

“Did you not hear me?” You stepped forwards, eyeing her down like she was a piece of rotten meat covered with maggots, “did all of the plastic surgery on your face ruin your hearing? Should I repeat myself?”

Jack was in hysterics in the kitchen. Your father was watching in the corner with the proudest look on his face. Dracula was ready to jump you and help with your pent up anger.

“You bitch!” She rose, but before one of her hands could connect with you, you had grabbed her firmly by the hair and was dragging her through the room. She screamed and tried her hardest to get out of your grip but your fist had turned to steel. She pushed you hard into the door frame and you let go of her hair at last. One of her hands flew up, connecting with your face. Dracula rose.

“Don’t.” Your father stopped him, “she can handle it.”

Your father was right. You kneed Chelsea backwards, face red with a livid and boiling rage. Really, you should have had steam coming from your ears. That’s how angry her hit had just made you. Your fist came up, connecting with her face and it did a lot more damage than her hand had done. She cried out in pain, trying once more to fight back but you tangled both of your hands into her hair. The door was still open, your mother having stepped out into the front garden to watch with a look of horror.

“Don’t you ever come back!” You screamed, driving her out of the door and down the path. When she was out of the gate, you threw her body and she tumbled into the road. She looked up, glaring at you. You were heaving. Your arm came out to point at her, “don’t you set foot on this fucking street again! I’ll know if you do and I swear to the devil himself that I really will hurt you next time!” You roared.

“Sorry, did I make you insecure?” She sneered, “it’s not my fault I’m a better woman than you could ever be.”

A scream of pure rage left your lips and you stormed into the road. A car was on its way, but you ignored the blaring lights as your foot connected with her jaw. Had it been disconnected from her body like a football, it would have disappeared over the houses never to be seen again. Your foot connected with her body again, this time her ribs and then you were pulled backwards by two strong arms around your waist.

You weren’t done with her yet and as his grip tightened, dragging you backwards, you bent your leg, tearing your shoe from your foot and launching it at her. It struck her right on her forehead, bouncing off with a thunk and she finally rolled on to her back.

“I suggest no one follow us, I’m going to calm her down.” His voice rang through your ear as he momentarily propped you down before grabbing your wrist and pulling you up the stairs. He had clearly been snooping during the length of the party, as he got your bedroom right the first time and swung you in. Due to the imbalance of your legs with only one heel, you stumbled. The door shut and you angrily turned to face Dracula. He had blocked the door.

“Move.” You growled.

“You are not going to kill anyone tonight.” He warned you.

“No, I won’t kill her. I’ll fucking destroy her.”

“Right. Calm down.” His voice was stern and had you not been so livid, it would have turned you on in an instant, “it’s not so clever now, is it? Sneaking away with other men. It’s not nice feeling such intense jealousy.”

It hit you that he truly had been doing it on purpose. He had let her crawl all over him, put her hands all over him - just to get back at you! You hadn’t seen Jack in weeks and you simply wanted to talk to him! How childish!

“I fucking hate you! You’re such an asshole!” You cried out, digging your fingers into your scalp as you tugged on your hair. You were so far gone into the red mist that it was beginning to feel difficult to leave it.

“You don’t hate me.” He stated plainly.

“Yes I fucking do! I definitely hate you right now!” You were red in the face.

“Is that so?” He cocked his head.

“YES!”

He was in front of you within and instant and his hands firmly gripped your waist, driving you backwards until the back of your knees hit your bed. You toppled backwards and his lips were on yours.

This dream was nothing but calmness. A warm water up to your waist. It rippled around you as you walked forwards with no problem. You were in nothing, and neither was he as he outstretched his hand. You were soon in his embrace, chests connecting as he tilted your head up to look at him. He held you close, freely falling back into water. It crashed over you, but you did not need to hold your breath, nor feel as though you would drown. Your hands moved to his face as you sunk further down, a darkness slowly overcoming you both. His lips came into yours and a warmth spread throughout you. His hands dug into your waist, pulling you close. Your legs automatically wrapped around him.

Coming out from the dream, you were panting, a string connecting yours and Dracula’s lips. You were now in the same position that you had been in in the dream - legs around his waist, hands on his face, his hands still firmly on your waist. It had calmed you down. Only a little. But it has definitely worked.

His eyes glossed over you and lifted you up a little, to undo the ribbon at the back of your necklace. He gently pulled it away , using his other hand to force your head up so that he could get a good look at your scar.

“Jealousy is a wonderful colour on you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on so quickly in my 524 years.” He purred.

“You’re an asshole.” You breathed. On the outside, your body was calming down from the rage, but mentally, you were fuming still.

His mouth came down, tongue working on the beautiful mark he had made. You moaned out, fingers lacing into his hair at the contact. You wondered if this mark would feel the same if someone else kissed it? Or was it like werewolf lore, in which you were marked and connection by your mate with it was a nerve straight to your heat?

Either way, your body immediately lit up at the contact. You pressed a messy kiss to his cheek in response, breath hitching every time his tongue worked on the scar. Pulses were shooting through your body.

Dracula pulled away for a moment, kneeling up between your legs as he pulled them from his waist. His hands travelled down your left leg, fingers soon having the clasp of your shoe undone and gently pulling it away.

“I can’t believe you threw your shoe at her. I planned on keeping them on you.” He sighed.

“What do you know, Count Dracula has a thing for fucking girls in heels.” You teased with a roll of your eyes.

He began to chuckle and your hands worked at his jacket. You pushed it down his broad shoulders and he helped you pull it away from his arms. You laughed at the sight of him. His dress trousers were tight on his waist, accentuating his waist and you began to laugh harder. He was looking down at you with an unreadable expression. Most likely out of habit, his chest was rising and falling, straining against the shirt. His hair was a little disheveled.

“What is it?” He smirked.

“You look like you’re about to go and do the samba on Striclty!” You chuckled.

“At least someone is feeling better.” He smirked.

“Oh, I’m still fucking livid with you. I’m just taking the piss to keep myself calm.” You chuckled.

“Then maybe you want to take some of your frustration out on me, my darling?”

Using the material of his shirt, you pulled him back on to you, attacking his neck with kisses. He sighed at the feeling. Your warmth was spreading through him and all he wanted was to get you out of that dress.

“I need to tell you something,” you mumbled over his skin, your fingers now working at the buttons on his shirt.

“Yes, my darling?” His hands were running up and down your sides.

“I may,” a kiss, “or may not,” another kiss, “have forgotten,” another kiss and you pulled away to look up into his eyes with a faux innocence, “to put on any panties before we left.”

At your words, an animalistic growl tumbled through his chest like thunder.

“Fuck.” His hands stopped your own from undoing any more buttons and he pulled the material over his head in one swift movement, “you dirty fucking thing.”

You mewled. You’d never get used to way profanities spilled from his lips. You loved it. A rush went straight to your core. He came down once more, attacking your neck with kisses and working down to your collar bone. His hands grazed over your breats, still covered by the soft material of your dress. While he was busy, your fingers began work on the buttons of his trousers. When he had finally kicked them off, you pushed him up so that you could sit up a little.

“I should lock the door and leave you in here for the rest of night. And tie you up for good measure.” You whispered, paraphrasing him from the first time you had done this.

“Do you really think I’m not strong enough to break anything you attempt to bind me with?” He grumbled, moving to kiss your neck again. You stopped him.

“I want to try something.” A look of wickedness set in your eyes.

“What is it?”

“Go sit.”

He decided to listen to your command, making himself comfortable at the head of your bed. Within the next moment, you were straddling him. Your dress had ridden up your thighs. Dracula’s cool hands grazed up to the material.

“Can I?” He asked softly.

“You don’t need permission, Drac. Use me however you wish. Do whatever you want.”

He groaned at your words. With one fluid movement, the dress was off and you were straddling him, completely bare. He sucked in a breath at the sight of you. Chest a little flushed, nipples already perked up for him, legs over his, your hot core not quite touching him.

“Shit.” He whispered, “what do you want to do, darling?”

“Has anyone ever ridden your thigh before?” You sighed back, willing yourself to be still. There was something else that you were interested in riding, however, you knew that you couldn’t. You wondered if he’d every tell you why.

“I don’t think they have, no.” He sounded like all of the breath had been stolen from him.

“First time for everything.”

You shrugged and then manuvered both him and yourself so that you were straddling his left thigh, but you still did not make contact. His hands moved down your body, making sure to quickly give both of your nipples attention before resting on your hips. Your pussy was already drooling. How, he had no clue. He had barely touched you.

“Do I turn you on that much?” He chuckled.

“No, anger does.”

And you sunk down. Dracula watched the way you threw your head back, biting your lip as you help back your whimper at the feeling. You had only done this once before, and with with your ex. His thighs had never been too big and it had been a little uncomfortable for you. Dracula however... sweet Jesus. Such an expanse of muscle, thick and hard like other things, you suspected. His coolness spread over you and you wiggled your hips to get used to the feeling. You didn’t think you ever would.

“Move.” He suddenly commanded, voice dark. You dare not disobey, rolling your hips slowly against his thigh. The friction was enough, sending little jolts through your clit. Within a matter of minutes, your juices were covering most of the front side of his thigh, dripping down on to the bedsheets that hadn’t been changed since you were seventeen. Pink with white hearts. So mature.

He was enchanted. He couldn’t believe he’d struck absolute gold. The way you moved against him, the heat you were providing had him hissing. He was straining against his boxers, but he was too busy watching every minuscule movement of your body to care.

Your hands flew to his shoulders to stabilise yourself and you quickened your pace. Pleasure was building with the constant friction and you gasped when Dracula decided to flex his thigh beneath you. Your hands slipped, head rolling onto his shoulder and he had to grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements. You were trembling with the sudden build of pleasure and your hands moved down his firm front, coming to rest on his bulge. You smirked, biting lightly on his shoulder as one hand slipped beneath the waistband.

His girth was heavy in your hand, the only part of him other than his mouth that was hot. Your fingers couldn’t quite reach all the way around and you wondered if he was scared of hurting and if that was why he wouldn’t just fuck you into oblivion.

“[First]-“ he cut himself off when your thumb ran over his slit, collecting the few beads of precum that had collected. He groaned.

“You were saying?” You began pressing soft kisses against his shoulder. He flexed his thigh in response, a horrid tremble racking over your body and you sighed into his shoulder. His fingers were going to leave bruises. You were certain of it.

“You don’t have to.” His own head lolled back to rest on the highest metal bar of your bed frame.

“I want to.”

Your hand began to slowly pump his length, which was most definitely proportionate to his 6’4” tall body. Just feeling him in your hand had a hot wave of your slick dribbling down his thigh. You were going to cum. He knew this, too, slipping one of his hands down between your legs to help stimulate your clit a little more. The extra coolness, the firm, quick circles he drew had your body trembling as your orgasm washed over you. You kept your hand on his cock, loving the heat and the feel of it. When you had rode your orgasm out, you removed your hand and peered up at him.

He groaned at the look of you. Cheeks pink, eyes blown with the utter horniness you were currently in the midst of, lips parted and plumped from all of the kisses.

“Drac,” you began, in a quiet purr, “I need to taste you.”

“No.” He breathed sharply.

“Why not?” You repositioned yourself on him, purposefully connecting your core to the bulge in his underwear. Your hands flew around his neck, the utter feeling of it making you shakily moan. Your slick began to soack through the material.

“Because...” he began, “fucking shit.” You kept moving lightly, loving the way it felt. He gripped your hips once more, holding you in place, “stop.” He groaned.

“Drac, I need you. So badly. You can’t keep denying me when all my body craves is you.”

Oh, his heart. Of course, all he wanted was to pin you down beneath him and fuck you so hard that you forgot your own name. He had driven himself crazy thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you. He’d given himself all sorts of grief wondering how well you’d fit together, stretching you out, feeling you take him like how you took his fingers. There was just one problem.

“I can’t,” he looked over your face, clearly upset himself at having to deny you something you both wanted, “I’ll be honest...” he took a breath.

“Tell me.”

“The last thing you want inside of you is undead sperm, darling.” He whispered, catching your neck in a kiss.

“Why is that? Surely it’s all the same?” Your body was beginning to ache for more.

“It’ll kill you, [First]. Either way it goes in, that’s it.”

“But you... Lucy...”

“Do you really think I cared if she lived?” He looked up at you, “I love you, [First]. I want no part in hurting you. Ever.”

“Then I just won’t swallow.”

Another groan left his lips. Had he known you were such a fox in the bedroom, he may have thought twice before falling utterly head over heels for you. What on Earth was he going to do with you?

You managed to get out of his grasp, pushing yourself backwards, simultaneously curling your fingers around the waistband of his boxers and tugging. He lifted his hips, knowing that you were going to be stubborn on this. His member sprang free, hitting his somach as it did so. Now, it was your turn to eye him up greedily. Once his boxers had met the fate of the rest of the clothes in the bedroom, you lowered yourself down to all fours to assess your options. Your mouth quite literally dropped in surprise. Dracula chuckled.

“Have you finally realised that you may be a little too big for your boots?” He teased.

“Jesus Christ, Drac, you’re too big for my damn boots.”

He burst into laughter.

Seriously, how the hell were you meant to do this?! You knew he’d be hung, because, well, he was so tall! And broad! But you didn’t expect him to be so...

“What is it? Like six inches?”

“Why would I know something like that? It’s not like I go around... measuring. But since you asked so nicely, seven and a half.”

“Typical man. You all need to know your dick sizes, don’t you? What do you do, compare in the bathroom?” You chuckled.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the stereotype that women congregate in bathrooms together?”

“Yeah but guys are obsessed with their cocks.” You rolled your eyes.

Before he could get another word out, you had suddenly moved forwards, licking a long, slow stripe from the base of his shaft and to the top. Hot and heavy on your tongue, you hummed, letting the vibrations rack through him. He gasped. You smirked, running your tongue over the tip, collecting a little more precum.

“Promise me you’ll stop before I release.”

You nodded.

“Wait,” you peered up at him, “can’t we just use a condom?”

“Absolutely not.” He answers sternly, “I’m most definitely only fucking you with nothing between us. I want to fill you up with my children, watch you overflow with my seed, bulge with my offspring. There’s no way in hell that I will do with any such thing preventing me from doing so.” His eyes darkened considerably as he spoke, dick twitching at the thought of fucking you full of his cum. You felt your juices spill from your cunt, between your thighs.

“You kinky motherfucker.”

His moan ripped through the room as you sucked him into your mouth, tongue swirling over his tip. Your jaw immediately ached with the stretch of accommodating him. You couldn’t help but giggle at his response to your mouth, the feeling of your laugh heightening the sudden pleasure.

He gazed down at you, unable to conceive that this moment was his reality. Locking eyes, you sucked more of him into your mouth, and whatever you couldn’t fit, you used your hands. Slowly, wanting to savour him, you began bobbing your head up and down. In all honesty, you were surprised he could even get hard, considering he had no pulse and no way for the blood to course his veins. His taste was pretty much the same as any other in the world. Salty, the bitter taste of his precum silencing the taste of the skin. But, because it was him, it was just a little more of an enjoyable taste.

Your tongue worked as your head bobbed and his fingers soon found their way tangling in your hair. He was wasting no time in controlling the pace and the depth of your movements. Slowly but surely, he was forcing your down more. Noises of his absolute and pure pleasure filled the room and your stomach was flipping. You were soaked and then some, feeling your juices almost flowing down your legs. You needed something on your core. Anything.

“You can take it,” he groaned, talking about his entire length down your throat.

You probably could. You’d definitely taken bigger during your post-breakup hookups. But you were still pissed at him. So you pulled off, coughing just a little to make it seem as though you truly couldn’t. He gazed at you.

“I’ve had enough.” You stated stoically.

“[First]?”

Truth be told, he panicked. Had he pushed you too far? You stood, facing away from the bed to let your grin of pure evil break out on to your features. Dracula was momentarily frozen in shock. He couldn’t believe he’d just-... his eyes caught your reflection in your TV and he suddenly grew just a little angry again.

You moved towards your dresser, leaning against it as you looked down at the wood, inspecting the groves. He picked himself up, prowling towards you. You gasped when his hands tugged at your hair, pulling your head backwards. He was looking down at you.

“Bitch.”

The sound of his hand connecting with your ass filled the room (and most likely the hallway, too), and you squeaked, arching your back more. He watched the way his smack rippled through your flesh.

“I wasn’t finished.” His mouth moved to your neck as his hand kneaded where he had just hit. He bit down hard on your scar, and you arched your back further, ass knocking into his dick. He hissed, “hand. Now.”

You offered him your hand and he lead it to his length. His other hand fell from your hair and moved to grasp your breast, pinching your nipple hard. Guiding your hand, he helped you to pleasure him and you turned in his arms, sinking to your knees. Taking both of your hands, you batted him away and leaned to drool all over the tip which was now blushing violently. He was close. Good. Wrapping your fingers tightly around him, you quickened your pace and he had to arch over you, gripping the edge of the dresser just to try and keep himself calm. As much as he had wanted these intimate moments to be sweet and loving, there was something in the anger that made this nasty, utterly fithy version feel phenomenal.

“Shit.” He growled through gritted teeth.

He twitched between your palms and you tipped your head back.

“What happens if it touches skin?” You inquired softly, slowing your movements for a moment.

“Nothing-“ he gasped, “don’t- don’t stop.”

His own voice stuttered and immediately, you picked up the pace. Oh, the growl that came from him as his hot seed shot out, soaking your chest in a sticky substance. It ignited your skin, a moan rippling from your own throat at the feeling of being covered in his cum.

When the strands stopped, and he began to grow flaccid in your hands, he took a step back to admire you. His seed was slowly seeping down your chest, over your breats, over your stomach.

With no hesitation, he picked you up and threw you back on to the bed, quickly settling between your legs.

“What a good little thing you’ve been for me. Look at you,” he meant your cunt, of course. You were soaked. Your legs gleamed with your juices, “all for me?”

“Every last drop.”

“Let me repay my debt.”

Your fingers balled the sheets the second his tongue darted out, trialling the taste of you. He groaned and went straight back for seconds. He lapped up your juices, circling your clit before moving back down towards the source of the sweetness coating his tongue. Thank god he read that book Lucy sent him on how much sex had changed, otherwise he would have never known bliss like his head being between your legs.

The feeling of his hot tongue giving your core much needed attention had you crying out. It didn’t matter that your parents were downstairs, or that Jack was most likely still here. Fuck them. You had a vampire eating you out like he was starving.

Your hands once again found their way to his hair and your hips began to move on their own accord. It had been so long since you had been in this situation, and the Count was most definitely outdoing every other person before him. He was devouring your cunt like a starving man and holy shit, nothing could ever amount to this. Your hips were quite literally jerking at the pleasure taking over your body.

Dracula’s hands moved to cup your ass and pulled you closer, prompting your legs to wrap around his head and hold him there. It only took a few more flicks of his tongue, a few more sucks on your clit before you let go, body trembling as your pussy contracted over nothing. More of your juices spilled and Dracula wasn’t quite done with you yet.

The hungry look he gave you when your legs finally released him had you rolling your head. You couldn’t go again. Your stomach was knotting.

He slid two fingers in with ease and the feeling of finally being full was enough for years to begin to stream down your face. The pleasure was growing too intense for your body to handle, but it seemed Dracula didn’t care anymore.

“I can’t-“ you panted, “I can’t go again.”

“Yes you can. You’re going to cum all over my fingers and prove to me who owns you.”

He began to thrust his fingers, loving the lewd sounds that filled the room. Your knuckles had turned white, your fingers curled. He was loving every second. His cum was drying on your chest now, becoming more visible as it stopped glistening. However, the sheen of sweat on your body gave you a heavenly glow.

Here you were, on the end of his fingers, eyes rolled back with the pleasure he was giving to you and you still managed to look like an angel. He breathed an amused sigh.

Your hips were grinding down into his fingers, you were spilling over his hand. Never had he met anyone quite like you... Who got this turned on by a vampire?

“Let’s see if I can just...” he trailed off, and when he pulled his fingers back, he inserted a third. The stretch didn’t burn due to the amount of lubrication you had created between your juices and his saliva. Instead, you felt even more pleasure, the stretch satisfying every thirst you’d had since... well, as long as you could remember being into the man currently using you.

“Drac-“ you whined through your tears, “please-!”

Though you weren’t explicit, Dracula knew your body all too well and bent down to press sweet and tantalising kisses to your clit. You whined, grinding onto his face and onto his fingers. Your stomach was burning with an ache of the overstimulation now and the orgasm that was building was going to be intense, you knew it.

Once again, his tongue worked on your clit and huge sparks of electricity coursed your body. His pumps grew faster and he widened the space between his fingers to stretch you even further. Your pussy was throbbing to release. It was so close. You squeezed your eyes shut, moans growing louder and higher.

“Holy shIT-!”

He pulled away as he felt a gush overcome his fingers. You clamped over his fingers so tightly as the most intense wave of pleasure came over you. He watched, mouth agape as the fluid squirted out, soaking the sheets below. Dracula held a smirk on his face. Your body convulsed as your orgasm continued to wash over you and a little more fluid gushed out. When you went limp, panting heavily, Dracula pulled his fingers out and couldn’t help but want to try the newest substance to come from your body.

It coated his tongue and...

“Well, now that’s better than blood.”

You laughed at his words, but the tightening of your stomach due to overstimulation made you “ow.” The realisation hit you that you had literally screamed down the entire house as Dracula had mouth and finger fucked you and you continued to laugh despite the intense pain in your gut. Dracula moves to your side, curling into you and laughing into your neck.

Breakfast was going to be awkward as fuck.

~^taglist in the reblog sorry^~

#did i get a measuring tape to ensure i didnt go over the top with the size #perhaps #did my own mother ask me why i was dying of laughter #whilst holding a measuring tape #i simply didnt want to go out of the bounds of realism #so 8 was way too long #;)#something different #dracula #bbc dracula #netflix dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #netflix dracula x reader #claes bang

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hirazuki · 4 years

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So, I finally caught up on... season 2? the movies? whatever we are calling the most recent installment of LotGH: DNT XD

Some bulleted thoughts/impressions under the cut! I’m still in a whirlwind of chaotic emotions, so who knows if these make any sense :D

REU 👏 EN 👏 THAL 👏

Okay, had to get that out of the way XD

That’s it, that’s about as coherent as I can get about him right now. There was an instant spark of “future favorite character” back in S1 simply based on his design and his demeanor, but I now have actual character actions and development to back up my love.

I can’t remember for sure because it’s been *checks* almost two years holy shit it’s been almost two years since I stopped watching the original series with any regularity due to having no time, but they switched the order that scenes are presented in, yes? I don’t remember meeting Hilda in the original yet, nor any of the stuff with the coup d’etat happening. I had left off right after a bunch of flashbacks regarding Galactic Empire nobility, which I didn’t see incorporated here, so I’m assuming they pushed the present-day events up in the chronology of what events/scenes they’re showing. Watching stuff for the first time was exciting :D

Reuenthal + Mittermeyer = best duo combo since the Akatsuki pairs. I never knew I needed to see two competent admirals acting like gossiping fishwives in my life, but here we are and my life is all the richer for it.

Oberstein is right. About what? Everything. Next.

Walter von Schönkopf continues to be amazing, even showing up 10 min late with not only Starbucks but kisses too, I can’t with this man.

Poor Yang. Let him retire. FREE HIM.

Let’s just skip over the main big event of this season, I’m not ready to talk about that yet I mean, I knew Kircheis would die at some point; he’s not a character who can continue to be at Reinhard’s side story-wise, if Reinhard is going to continue on his set path. It’s like when you kill off the comic relief in a tragedy; it’s necessary. But I wasn’t expecting it to be so soon, like damn. I miss him already T_T

Did I mention that Reuenthal is awesome? He’s awesome. The only silver lining here was that Kircheis’s absence allowed for Reuenthal to take the stage more.

I love all of Reinhard’s admirals (except Bittenfield) Okay, ngl, I love Bittenfield for what he adds to the story and character dialogue/interactions XD

Jessica T_____T Another one I knew was coming but like :(

It is an extremely odd experience to be watching this at this particular moment in time in 2020. Not that it isn’t relevant to any given point in human history with regards to its takes and nuanced understanding of humanity and human nature, but like. Especially right now.

Cults. It’s always cults.

Forever grateful to Yang for retrieving my man Cazerne (sp? is there a consensus? I’ve seen a million different variations XD) from the frontier. He did absolutely nothing wrong, took responsibility for people who didn’t listen to him, and I was worried I’d seen the last of him when he got sent off.

I love Yang’s whole crew. They are all babies <3

Falk... reminds me of certain personalities I know irl. Very strongly. Watching him is a highly unpleasant experience.

I am so relieved Admiral Bewcock was okay. One of the few extremely capable and rational men in the upper echelons of the FPA military. Protect him.

The Schönkopf-Julian dynamic? I am so here for it.

I’d comment on the politicians of the FPA, the coup d’etat folks, and the Empire’s nobility, but I’m pretty sure y’all already know my thoughts on all these clowns XD

Super worried, in terms of whether they’ll continue rebooting the series, to see that they kept the same opening; but they had a brand new ending song, by Anly no less, so... tentatively hopeful?

Animation was stunning, expected no less from Production I. G.

Voice work also, goes without saying. (Haha, Miyano Mamoru has such a distinct voice when his characters go into panic/frenzy; even if he sounds really different while voicing a character the rest of the time, once it goes into that oh-shit spiral of self-destruction mode, it’s so familiar).

Hmm... that’s all I can think of off the top of my head at the moment!

#I'm sure I'll have other random thoughts as I process the season more #I wonder if any local cosplayers I know are into this series #I had been waffling before about who I might want to cosplay but this season made it super evident #and I would love to have a mittermeyer by my side ;)#also big plus his eyes despite being 2 colors are both colors I regularly have contact lenses for due to other cosplays so #it all works out XD #yeah so in case it wasn't clear i have found a new love #be prepared for lots of reuenthal (and lotgh in general) on your dashes some point soon #apologies in advance ^^

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butaneplate02-blog · 5 years

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Kaiseki at Hayato – Los Angeles

Just as the sun began to set over The Row, Cecelia and I tucked into Hayato for a one-of-a-kind kaiseki dinner orchestrated by Chef Brandon Go. We had secured reservations as soon as the restaurant expanded their offerings beyond lunchtime bento boxes and were excited to experience “true Japanese cooking” (washoku) in downtown Los Angeles.

Lasting nearly three hours and costing $200 per person (plus a 16% service charge), dinner at Hayato is hardly a casual affair. It is the kind of meal that ought to be planned in advanced, eagerly anticipated, and completely relished in the moment.

“Hayato is the culmination of a 20-year journey I have taken as an American-born chef learning about Japanese cuisine,” says Chef Go, who was born in Southern California and raised in his father’s sushi restaurant in Seal Beach.

We were joined at the counter by two other guests this evening. The four of us were greeted with sake and treated to a dozen courses, each highlighting a traditional Japanese “cooking” technique—sashimi, grilling, steaming, frying, and simmering. The results were seemingly simple, austere even, deriving their complexity from the impeccable ingredients.

The parade of tastes was mostly prepared in the open kitchen and served directly by the chef, which made dinner quite the intimate experience. Chef Go has an easygoing way about him, so the meal was as casual and conversational as we desired.

The first course featured grilled Santa Barbara spot prawns, okra, and seaweed served with a congealed dashi vinegar sauce. The bright, acidic flavors woke up our palates for the feast to come.

The Spot Prawns were followed by their brains, deep fried to an appealing crisp.

The next bite featured a fritter of fresh corn kernels and scallops in a tempura batter. A sprinkle of coarse salt brought out the fritter’s intrinsic sweetness.

The Spanish mackerel sushi was served on rice speckled with Japanese chives and topped with grated ginger. I could’ve easily polished off an entire roll or two or three—so it goes for a sushi fiend.

Next to follow was the seabream (tai) sashimi served with fresh wasabi, salt, and soy sauce. Dipping the fish in salt was a game-changer, enhancing its supremely clean flavor.

A pristine dashi, prettied with gelatinous “flower tips,” arrived cradling a hunk of Dungeness crab with a lone baby turnip. This dish epitomized what Hayato seems to strive for—serving the very best ingredients and letting them shine without any fussy flourishes.

And then there was steamed abalone served with its delicious liver, abalone stock, and fresh wasabi. The liver “sauce” had the entire counter buzzing.

A grilled filet of blackthroat seaperch (nodoguro) was next on the scene. The binchotan‘s smoky essence enrobed the fish, crisping its skin and balancing its fatty flesh. Served alongside was a bit of salt and burdock root with soy.

Next up was fresh water eel, battered and deep fried, served in a ginger-infused dashi thickened with starch and garnished with Japanese scallions. The warm broth demanded to be slurped long after the eel was gone.

For the penultimate course, Chef Go prepared a beautiful filet of rock fish in a dashi fortified with extra konbu (kelp) along with shiitake mushrooms, bamboo shoots, and Japanese mustard greens (mizuna).

The finale was a show-stopping rice dish made with seasonal ingredients including baby barracuda and Japanese parsley stems. I was so incredibly full at this point that I had to refuse seconds, which broke my heart more than a little.

Note: While it is acceptable to pick up one’s bowl to shovel rice directly into one’s mouth in Vietnamese culture, Japanese tradition dictates that the bowl should not leave the table one can pick up the bowl and use chopsticks to pick up a portion. Chef Go is fine with either method.

Served on the side was miso soup, as well as daikon radish and cucumber pickles.

Before sending us waddling into the night, Chef Go prepared a serving of peaches marinated in rice wine (mirin) and a few cups of green tea.

I walked away from dinner at Hayato with a deeper understanding of traditional Japanese cooking. The evening’s flight of impeccably prepared seafood was truly excellent from beginning to end. While I generally gravitate toward more flavor-forward foods—noodles swimming in funky broths, drippy cheeseburgers, and chili oil-dipped dumplings—Chef Go’s understated approach resonated with me long after the meal. At Hayato, less is absolutely more.

—

Hayato 1320 East 7th Street #126 Los Angeles, CA 90021 Phone: 213-395-0607

One year ago: Fishwives – Pasadena Two years ago: Welcome to the Suburban Years Three years ago: Jeni’s Splendid Ice Cream – Los Angeles Four years ago: Craftsman and Wolves – San Francisco Five years ago: Striking Street Food Gold: 10 Fabulous Finds on South Yunnan Road – Shanghai Six years ago: Restaurant Pierre Gagnaire – Paris Seven years ago: ‘Lette Macarons – Pasadena Eight years ago: Bolognese Sauce with Cloves and Cinnamon Nine years ago: Russ and Daughters – New York City Ten years ago: Le Toit Gourmand – Ho Chi Minh City Eleven years ago: Cơm Hến: Second Best Thing to Come Out of Huế Twelve years ago: Turning the Tables: Restaurants from the Inside Out – Steven A. Shaw

Source: https://gastronomyblog.com/2018/09/20/hayato/

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budgetcloset30-blog · 5 years

Text

Kaiseki at Hayato – Los Angeles

The first course featured grilled Santa Barbara spot prawns, okra, and seaweed served with a congealed dashi vinegar sauce. The bright, acidic flavors woke up our palates for the feast to come.

The Spot Prawns were followed by their brains, deep fried to an appealing crisp.

The next bite featured a fritter of fresh corn kernels and scallops in a tempura batter. A sprinkle of coarse salt brought out the fritter’s intrinsic sweetness.

Next to follow was the seabream (tai) sashimi served with fresh wasabi, salt, and soy sauce. Dipping the fish in salt was a game-changer, enhancing its supremely clean flavor.

And then there was steamed abalone served with its delicious liver, abalone stock, and fresh wasabi. The liver “sauce” had the entire counter buzzing.

Served on the side was miso soup, as well as daikon radish and cucumber pickles.

Before sending us waddling into the night, Chef Go prepared a serving of peaches marinated in rice wine (mirin) and a few cups of green tea.

—

Hayato 1320 East 7th Street #126 Los Angeles, CA 90021 Phone: 213-395-0607

Source: https://gastronomyblog.com/2018/09/20/hayato/

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pien-art · 7 months

Text

baby fishwives🤏

prints available here!

#my art #wot #wot fanart #the wheel of time #wheel of time #siuan sanche #moiraine damodred #moiraine x siuan #novices #fishwives #siuaraine #siuanraine #siuraine #sweet little babies #novice moiraine #novice siuan #wot tv

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pandajames59-blog · 5 years

Text

Kaiseki at Hayato – Los Angeles

The first course featured grilled Santa Barbara spot prawns, okra, and seaweed served with a congealed dashi vinegar sauce. The bright, acidic flavors woke up our palates for the feast to come.

The Spot Prawns were followed by their brains, deep fried to an appealing crisp.

The next bite featured a fritter of fresh corn kernels and scallops in a tempura batter. A sprinkle of coarse salt brought out the fritter’s intrinsic sweetness.

Next to follow was the seabream (tai) sashimi served with fresh wasabi, salt, and soy sauce. Dipping the fish in salt was a game-changer, enhancing its supremely clean flavor.

And then there was steamed abalone served with its delicious liver, abalone stock, and fresh wasabi. The liver “sauce” had the entire counter buzzing.

Served on the side was miso soup, as well as daikon radish and cucumber pickles.

Before sending us waddling into the night, Chef Go prepared a serving of peaches marinated in rice wine (mirin) and a few cups of green tea.

—

Hayato 1320 East 7th Street #126 Los Angeles, CA 90021 Phone: 213-395-0607

Source: https://gastronomyblog.com/2018/09/20/hayato/

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lakeofsilverpike · 5 months

Note

Do you have a favorite chapter of "In This Life"?

Oh my gosh! I have been writing this story for a year and a half. I definitely don��t reminder chapter numbers! Sometimes I do reread sections, because I wrote this fic as fluffy comfort for me (and am delighted other people read it too).

I think it took a few chapters for me to get into the rhythm of things, but I remember in the early sections really liking some of the stuff I wrote with the fishwives’ anniversary and then their first trip to Tear. And then I remember liking some of the explorations of Lan’s guilt and Moiraine supporting him and trying to help him find peace.

I enjoyed some of the early Leanna stuff when she was a baby, and I had fun with all the animal friends. I really like food centric chapters (I’m sure that’s obvious). The fishwives being horrible cooks tickles me. Moiraine and her mangoes - I just like her being happy and enjoying these little pleasures she denied herself.

Some chapters are definitely better than others, but I’ve tried to just keep writing something regularly, and I think that’s worked for the sense of time. Some days are nothing but cooking pancakes or eating mangoes or watching the sunset. But I like trying to write the fishwives’ gratitude for those little moments and their joy in simply being together. I don’t love each chapter, but I do love that I’ve written a story that spans six and a half years now, and so there is room for really slow change, for healing that takes time and isn’t linear. And I like writing all these years later how Moiraine and Siuan only grow happier and more in love.

I still am unsure about how I wrote some of the stuff with Siuan. I thought the suicide attempt made sense in this world where she would have been deposed, stilled, and then immediately heard her wife was dead. And I imagine Siuan holding onto shame about that and about the coup, especially since she really couldn’t process any of that until much later with Moiraine. I hope I have written that plot line respectfully and that her progress in letting go of the shame she was carrying felt organic.

I definitely didn’t answer your question. Sorry! I just cannot remember chapter numbers at the moment (while I’m at work counting down the minutes to leave). Thanks for the ask and the interest in that story and giving me the chance to ramble!

#asks #my fic #wot book spoilers #very vague

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

Eddard

He found Littlefinger in the brothel's common room, chatting amiably with a tall, elegant woman who wore a feathered gown over skin as black as ink. By the hearth, Heward and a buxom wench were playing at forfeits. From the look of it, he'd lost his belt, his cloak, his mail shirt, and his right boot so far, while the girl had been forced to unbutton her shift to the waist. Jory Cassel stood beside a rain-streaked window with a wry smile on his face, watching Heward turn over tiles and enjoying the view. Ned paused at the foot of the stair and pulled on his gloves. "It's time we took our leave. My business here is done." Heward lurched to his feet, hurriedly gathering up his things. "As you will, my lord," Jory said. "I'll help Wyl bring round the horses." He strode to the door. Littlefinger took his time saying his farewells. He kissed the black woman's hand, whispered some joke that made her laugh aloud, and sauntered over to Ned. "Your business," he said lightly, "or Robert's? They say the Hand dreams the king's dreams, speaks with the king's voice, and rules with the king's sword. Does that also mean you fuck with the king's—" "Lord Baelish," Ned interrupted, "you presume too much. I am not ungrateful for your help. It might have taken us years to find this brothel without you. That does not mean I intend to endure your mockery. And I am no longer the King's Hand." "The direwolf must be a prickly beast," said Littlefinger with a sharp twist of his mouth. A warm rain was pelting down from a starless black sky as they walked to the stables. Ned drew up the hood of his cloak. Jory brought out his horse. Young Wyl came right behind him, leading Littlefinger's mare with one hand while the other fumbled with his belt and the lacings of his trousers. A barefoot whore leaned out of the stable door, giggling at him. "Will we be going back to the castle now, my lord?" Jory asked. Ned nodded and swung into the saddle. Littlefinger mounted up beside him. Jory and the others followed. "Chataya runs a choice establishment," Littlefinger said as they rode. "I've half a mind to buy it. Brothels are a much sounder investment than ships, I've found. Whores seldom sink, and when they are boarded by pirates, why, the pirates pay good coin like everyone else." Lord Petyr chuckled at his own wit. Ned let him prattle on. After a time, he quieted and they rode in silence. The streets of King's Landing were dark and deserted. The rain had driven everyone under their roofs. It beat down on Ned's head, warm as blood and relentless as old guilts. Fat drops of water ran down his face. "Robert will never keep to one bed," Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm's End. "I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale." Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. "Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature." The girl had been so young Ned had not dared to ask her age. No doubt she'd been a virgin; the better brothels could always find a virgin, if the purse was fat enough. She had light red hair and a powdering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and when she slipped free a breast to give her nipple to the babe, he saw that her bosom was freckled as well. "I named her Barra," she said as the child nursed. "She looks so like him, does she not, milord? She has his nose, and his hair . . . " "She does." Eddard Stark had touched the baby's fine, dark hair. It flowed through his fingers like black silk. Robert's firstborn had had the same fine hair, he seemed to recall. "Tell him that when you see him, milord, as it . . . as it please you. Tell him how beautiful she is." "I will," Ned had promised her. That was his curse. Robert would swear undying love and forget them before evenfall, but Ned Stark kept his vows. He thought of the promises he'd made Lyanna as she lay dying, and the price he'd paid to keep them. "And tell him I've not been with no one else. I swear it, milord, by the old gods and new. Chataya said I could have half a year, for the baby, and for hoping he'd come back. So you'll tell him I'm waiting, won't you? I don't want no jewels or nothing, just him. He was always good to me, truly." Good to you, Ned thought hollowly. "I will tell him, child, and I promise you, Barra shall not go wanting." She had smiled then, a smile so tremulous and sweet that it cut the heart out of him. Riding through the rainy night, Ned saw Jon Snow's face in front of him, so like a younger version of his own. If the gods frowned so on bastards, he thought dully, why did they fill men with such lusts? "Lord Baelish, what do you know of Robert's bastards?" "Well, he has more than you, for a start." "How many?" Littlefinger shrugged. Rivulets of moisture twisted down the back of his cloak. "Does it matter? If you bed enough women, some will give you presents, and His Grace has never been shy on that count. I know he's acknowledged that boy at Storm's End, the one he fathered the night Lord Stannis wed. He could hardly do otherwise. The mother was a Florent, niece to the Lady Selyse, one of her bedmaids. Renly says that Robert carried the girl upstairs during the feast, and broke in the wedding bed while Stannis and his bride were still dancing. Lord Stannis seemed to think that was a blot on the honor of his wife's House, so when the boy was born, he shipped him off to Renly." He gave Ned a sideways glance. "I've also heard whispers that Robert got a pair of twins on a serving wench at Casterly Rock, three years ago when he went west for Lord Tywin's tourney. Cersei had the babes killed, and sold the mother to a passing slaver. Too much an affront to Lannister pride, that close to home." Ned Stark grimaced. Ugly tales like that were told of every great lord in the realm. He could believe it of Cersei Lannister readily enough . . . but would the king stand by and let it happen? The Robert he had known would not have, but the Robert he had known had never been so practiced at shutting his eyes to things he did not wish to see. "Why would Jon Arryn take a sudden interest in the king's baseborn children?" The short man gave a sodden shrug. "He was the King's Hand. Doubtless Robert asked him to see that they were provided for." Ned was soaked through to the bone, and his soul had grown cold. "It had to be more than that, or why kill him?" Littlefinger shook the rain from his hair and laughed. "Now I see. Lord Arryn learned that His Grace had filled the bellies of some whores and fishwives, and for that he had to be silenced. Small wonder. Allow a man like that to live, and next he's like to blurt out that the sun rises in the east." There was no answer Ned Stark could give to that but a frown. For the first time in years, he found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels; somehow he thought not. The rain was falling harder now, stinging the eyes and drumming against the ground. Rivers of black water were running down the hill when Jory called out, "My lord," his voice hoarse with alarm. And in an instant, the street was full of soldiers. Ned glimpsed ringmail over leather, gauntlets and greaves, steel helms with golden lions on the crests. Their cloaks clung to their backs, sodden with rain. He had no time to count, but there were ten at least, a line of them, on foot, blocking the street, with longswords and iron-tipped spears. "Behind!" he heard Wyl cry, and when he turned his horse, there were more in back of them, cutting off their retreat. Jory's sword came singing from its scabbard. "Make way or die!" "The wolves are howling," their leader said. Ned could see rain running down his face. "Such a small pack, though." Littlefinger walked his horse forward, step by careful step. "What is the meaning of this? This is the Hand of the King." "He was the Hand of the King." The mud muffled the hooves of the blood bay stallion. The line parted before him. On a golden breastplate, the lion of Lannister roared its defiance. "Now, if truth be told, I'm not sure what he is." "Lannister, this is madness," Littlefinger said. "Let us pass. We are expected back at the castle. What do you think you're doing?" "He knows what he's doing," Ned said calmly. Jaime Lannister smiled. "Quite true. I'm looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don't you, Lord Stark? He was with us at Winterfell. Fair-haired, mismatched eyes, sharp of tongue. A short man." "I remember him well," Ned replied. "It would seem he has met some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed. You would not perchance have any notion of who might have wished my brother ill, would you?" "Your brother has been taken at my command, to answer for his crimes," Ned Stark said. Littlefinger groaned in dismay. "My lords—" Ser Jaime ripped his longsword from its sheath and urged his stallion forward. "Show me your steel, Lord Eddard. I'll butcher you like Aerys if I must, but I'd sooner you died with a blade in your hand." He gave Littlefinger a cool, contemptuous glance. "Lord Baelish, I'd leave here in some haste if I did not care to get bloodstains on my costly clothing." Littlefinger did not need to be urged. "I will bring the City Watch," he promised Ned. The Lannister line parted to let him through, and closed behind him. Littlefinger put his heels to his mare and vanished around a corner. Ned's men had drawn their swords, but they were three against twenty. Eyes watched from nearby windows and doors, but no one was about to intervene. His party was mounted, the Lannisters on foot save for Jaime himself. A charge might win them free, but it seemed to Eddard Stark that they had a surer, safer tactic. "Kill me," he warned the Kingslayer, "and Catelyn will most certainly slay Tyrion." Jaime Lannister poked at Ned's chest with the gilded sword that had sipped the blood of the last of the Dragonkings. "Would she? The noble Catelyn Tully of Riverrun murder a hostage? I think . . . not." He sighed. "But I am not willing to chance my brother's life on a woman's honor." Jaime slid the golden sword into its sheath. "So I suppose I'll let you run back to Robert to tell him how I frightened you. I wonder if he'll care." Jaime pushed his wet hair back with his fingers and wheeled his horse around. When he was beyond the line of swordsmen, he glanced back at his captain. "Tregar, see that no harm comes to Lord Stark." "As you say, m'lord." "Still . . . we wouldn't want him to leave here entirely unchastened, so"—through the night and the rain, he glimpsed the white of Jaime's smile—"kill his men." "No!" Ned Stark screamed, clawing for his sword. Jaime was already cantering off down the street as he heard Wyl shout. Men closed from both sides. Ned rode one down, cutting at phantoms in red cloaks who gave way before him. Jory Cassel put his heels into his mount and charged. A steel-shod hoof caught a Lannister guardsman in the face with a sickening crunch. A second man reeled away and for an instant Jory was free. Wyl cursed as they pulled him off his dying horse, swords slashing in the rain. Ned galloped to him, bringing his longsword down on Tregar's helm. The jolt of impact made him grit his teeth. Tregar stumbled to his knees, his lion crest sheared in half, blood running down his face. Heward was hacking at the hands that had seized his bridle when a spear caught him in the belly. Suddenly Jory was back among them, a red rain flying from his sword. "No!" Ned shouted. "Jory, away!" Ned's horse slipped under him and came crashing down in the mud. There was a moment of blinding pain and the taste of blood in his mouth. He saw them cut the legs from Jory's mount and drag him to the earth, swords rising and failing as they closed in around him. When Ned's horse lurched back to its feet, he tried to rise, only to fall again, choking on his scream. He could see the splintered bone poking through his calf. It was the last thing he saw for a time. The rain came down and down and down. When he opened his eyes again, Lord Eddard Stark was alone with his dead. His horse moved closer, caught the rank scent of blood, and galloped away. Ned began to drag himself through the mud, gritting his teeth at the agony in his leg. It seemed to take years. Faces watched from candlelit windows, and people began to emerge from alleys and doors, but no one moved to help. Littlefinger and the City Watch found him there in the street, cradling Jory Cassel's body in his arms. Somewhere the gold cloaks found a litter, but the trip back to the castle was a blur of agony, and Ned lost consciousness more than once. He remembered seeing the Red Keep looming ahead of him in the first grey light of dawn. The rain had darkened the pale pink stone of the massive walls to the color of blood. Then Grand Maester Pycelle was looming over him, holding a cup, whispering, "Drink, my lord. Here. The milk of the poppy, for your pain." He remembered swallowing, and Pycelle was telling someone to heat the wine to boiling and fetch him clean silk, and that was the last he knew.

#GameofThrones

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