#because guilt has made him feel unwelcomed

[partywithoutsmiling]

Do you think you can tell us what happens in would tour specifically at the end when the strings are broken? Is branch there? Does the world go gray or does it stay colourful because their technically is more strings? Oooooo how do the leaders react/find out about this random gray troll who sum how has made more strings?!?!

I think Branch would be there for sure

Skipping ahead of the timeline, after the events of the 1st movie- and realizing Poppy did miss him, he would be rather reluctant to leave his Tribe again for a while (his reawakened crush on Poppy certainly not helping matters)

However, he has now been on the move for so long, that staying in one place indefinitelly gives him jitters (and bit of a spoiler, but he did manage to meet at least one of his brothers on his travels, that made him realize that perhaps this Wanderlust is hereditary to an extent)

Also ever since returning to Pop Village, he came to realization that King Peppy seem to know more about the wide world than Branch had suspected; before, he just thought that the Pop Troll's ignorance stemmed from their isolation and decades of selective culling- knowledge and histories are bound to be lost and forgotten in that case, but given the nervous glances Peppy sends his attire and his rock guitar, Branch can put one and one together.

But Peppy doesn't ask and Branch doesn't offer any explanation, and while Poppy is curious enough to ask Branch where he went, she doesn't push when he just says 'away'. She still remembers when Branch just up and disappeared one day and no-one cared to notice that for weeks- to an extent, not even her, even though she is the most aware of his prensence than anyone.

After that fiasco with the funeral, Poppy just figured Branch holed up himself in his bunker to sulk- or so she thought- and will come out when ready. And truthfully, she thought that it was, for once, a good idea- because the mood of the community was not great, when it came to the grey troll, and she herself was at loss what to say or do to make it better. She could hardly defend Branch's actions for all that she understood his freakout (at least a little bit)

It was only when more time than usual passed that she grew concerned- while the other trolls around her didn't.

A little bit of angsty idea was that Branch, in his shame, left behind both Floyd's vest and his old Hideout Plan, as those were two mementos that really tied him to his old life, and Poppy- with bit of brute force- managed to get her way into the bunker and found both.

She was really just a teenager then- and was suddenly forced to come to a reality where a Troll that was supposed to be her responsibility as a future Queen just... left. Left, because he felt so unwelcome in the Village- unwelcome in her presence- that feelings themselves driven him away.

And similar to Branch, Poppy had no idea other trolls existed- there was only the Village and the Bergen Town, and all the dangers that existed between it. It was unspoken rule that to leave the Village meant a certain death- and here she was, holding Branch's iconic vest that he never ever takes off, holding a yellowed scrapbooked plan of childlike wonder, that revealed a familial history of heartbreak and abandonment (after all, she knows these names, she knows Brozone songs and trivia by heart)....

Honestly, She and Branch probably came to be peas in a pod, when it comes to feeling of self-loathing and lack of self-worth.

After all, perfect Queens don't allow their subject to become outcasts

Perfect Queens don't turn blind eye towards unjustified shunning

Perfect Queens don't certainly drive away their friends to perish in the wilderness

And for the next 4 years- especially after the uncomfortable realization that only handful of people even care that Branch was gone- she felt deep guilt and suppresed grief very keenly, plagued by what ifs; what if she went to him the day after the funeral, what if she checked up on him that very night- would he had stayed? What if she never pushed him like she did, secretly delighting in crafting the most annoying glitter-spewing invitations, knowing it irritated him What if she was kinder, respected his refusals better, listened to his warnings

Would he had stayed?

And honestly, up until the point that he returned, she had no answers, and thought she would never got any

So after their reunion, she burns with questions and curiosity- and holds it back, because he already left once, and she is terrified to push him away again, this time for good. Because that's what she focuses on now- he came back.

Of course, that relief changes nothing when mere seventh months after their peace with the Bergens- after they repaired their village, after Poppy got used to having Branch by her side, singing, dancing, playing, harmonizing

She is suddenly feeling like thrown into a cold water when he tells her he wants to go traveling again, and all the fears and past grief comes rushing

I believe they would have quite the row about it- unknowingly reminding Branch of the night his brothers argued and left, which only pushes him to be angrier- while Poppy uses her outburst to hide the irrational terror she feels

So it ends with Branch storming off in a huff and Poppy storming off in a huff- but when her senses catches up to her and she is quite panicked to make ammends and to sooth the argument over, Branch is long gone

Few more months passes, and while not as cheerful, Poppy tries to keep herself upbeat- then the invitation comes, Peppy finally admits to there being more kind of trolls, and to her it is like Oh, of course.

The excitement returning, she now has secondary goal to her 'unite the tribes together' under big party- she just knows Branch is living with one of the tribes now- and she is right, when she encounters him in Lonesome Flats

(Well, after he learnes that she got thrown into jail for her Crimes against Music that is pf)

Branch, naturally, still has no idea about the Strings (as he dipped out before Peppy gave that piece of history away) but learning about them now doesn't give him any more peace of the mind. Contrary to his first mindset in the original plot- where he wanted to avoid the other trolls altogether- he is now stalwart defender of all genres, and hates the idea of any of them disappearing.

(A side note: in his wanderings, I think the only rulers- or would be rulers- that he had met was Delta, Trollex and Barb; Trollex had just been freshly crowned and Barb has not been queen yet) (He and Barb probably struck a very odd friendship- where Branch had no idea he was hanging out with the princess of Rock- namely because Rock Trolls didn't use the term of 'prince' and 'princess' for their heirs- and he probably told her all about his travels) (Hearing that she is behind this mess makes him feel horrified. Did he gave her the idea to try and take over the world?)

Anyway, events happens, the finale comes- the final showdown XD

Only, the fight plays out quite differently

Branch and Barb being friends, he confronts her about what she's doing and quite stubbornly gets into her face about her ideas. Dares her to change him the way she wants to change everyone- dares her to erase him, like she dreams about

It makes her hesitate for sure- she already went so far, and wont be stopped now. Expression hardening, she aims her guitar at Poppy and strikes the chord- not expecting Branch to jump between them.

This event probably doesnt have the desired effect that she imagined. Had Branch had been just a normal Pop Troll- or as close as to one genre as one can get, he would have been Zombified without any issues.

But with the Power Chord, it's Strings against Strings- and the results are probably quite... explosive. Devastatingly so.

Only, Branch has an unknowing advantage- his seventh String, shining so innocently from his hair among the others.

When it comes to matching powers, the Royal Rock Guitar looses, pathetically so- and as the stage around them explodes, so does the guitar, taking the power of music with it, leeching everything of colours and light, untill nothing but darkness and greyscale remains.

Except for a singular troll that stands tall and proud in the middle of it all, injured, sure, but colourful, rainbow heart shining through the fuzz on his chest, the strings in his hair glowing brighter than ever XD

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls fandom #trolls branch #wanderer!branch au #ask

[llolianarchives]

The Prefect and The Draconia

A short overview of the Ramshackle prefect and their strange (but kind) horned fellow friend: as seen through the eyes of outsiders.

(A/N: #Malleyuu notes with an OC but feel free to project. We're all delulu here ╮⁠(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠╭ )

His Henchman is crazy.

Or at least, that's what Grim thinks when he's woken up at sunrise to Yue's bizarre ramblings. Something about the time being 1 AM, then fireflies at night, and a tall, horned figure – is what he takes from their babble amidst his own groans and pleas to return to sleep. He'd think them delirious from slumber, mumbling about another dream, if it weren't for the way Yue's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. Grim yields, in the end, for one of the many things he's learned about his reliable servant is that they can be awfully enthusiastic when it comes to this world's curiosities.

“He told me to call him whatever I want,” Yue continues, ruffling Grim's fur dry with a clean rag. Before he could insert magnificent ideas of his own, they beat him to it with a soft smile on their lips.

“I'm thinking of naming him Nyx: the personification of the night. What do you think?”

“What? Because he only shows up at night?” Like some wacky cryptid.

“Yup.”

He hears his henchman forgo the brush, letting it clatter loudly against the table.

“Hm... Nyx, huh...” Grim falls into thought, testing the name on his tongue like premium quality tuna. He doesn't even notice how Yue ties the striped ribbon around his neck. Triumphant, he turns to them with a grin.

“That's not half-bad, Henchman! It's cool and mysterious. Not as cool and mysterious as me, of course, but I'd say it's a close second!”

“Naturally. I wouldn't dare bestow a name mightier than the Great Grim's.”

Despite the stream of praise his henchman delivers (which he pleasantly basks in), Yue eventually derails, returning to speak of the horned man yet again. What Grim's superior brain gathers is this: One, this Nyx guy is super weird. Two, Yue's interest has been piqued like no other before.

He'll demand some omurice as payment for his counsel later on.

. . .

Malleus has made a friend.

The news was dropped onto Lilia's lap rather unceremoniously when one night, the Young Lord—having just returned from another evening excursion, went to sit with him in the Diasomnia lounge. This time, however, the quaintest of smiles adorned his face... It was an unusual sight but certainly not unwelcome. And much like any doting parent, his curiosity led him to ask.

Malleus had replied with a question of his own.

"Lilia, do you know of the Prefect that resides in Ramshackle Dorm?"

"Yue? Why yes, of course. I've spoken to them once or twice. They made quite a show during the Ceremony."

Yue— Lilia soon comes to learn— is completely unaware of Malleus's identity as a prince and a figure of authority, of power. As such, they bear no fear for him, even going so far as to bestow him a pet name, of all things.

(“Nyx? As in the night spirit? How fitting.")

Thus began the pattern of Lilia covering for Malleus's nighttime absence, not daring to ask nor scold when the prince would return in strange and stranger states.

When he would return to the dormitory partially caked with dirt and mud (a consequence of helping the prefect with their little garden of life.) Or when he would return with a box of homemade cake, a pretty stone from their walks, a drawing of him supposedly made by the prefect's beast, and with inquiries of the complexities of human nature.

Sometimes, Lilia can't help but feel a bit guilty, constantly boring witness to Silver and Sebek's searches into the night.

Yet that sliver of guilt fades, in the end, when Malleus smiles more often than before, when he approaches Lilia in the winter with the request of delivering a Holiday Card.

As he watches the magicless human rush into their abode, card in hand, ghosts and Grim awaiting their entrance...

he has never felt prouder and more grateful for fate.

. . .

From a distance, Vil watches.

He watches as the feared Briar Prince lets a small, feeble human talk his ear off, calm and unresisting, a hand on his chin as he ponders along Yue's barrage of words. He gives the prefect full reign of the conversation. He lets himself be taken away by their stories and details. He lets them speak, which they do.

Just after the horrors, highs, lows, and thrills of the VDC, the two chat as if nothing even happened. The onslaught of it all feels like a fever dream to Vil. First, the mental toll of overblotting, then their loss to RSA's nursery rhyme performance, and now the shocking reveal of Yue (innocent, bold, mundane little Yue) and Malleus Draconia's relationship.

He isn't even sure what to make of it. They're clearly friends, yet Vil can't bring himself to chalk it up to just that. His years and years of showbiz cinema has taught him the ins and outs of body language. He watches. He sees:

There's the smiles on both their faces; cheeks raised taut, dimples carved with genuine laughter. There's that glimmer in Yue's eyes and the odd tenderness of Malleus's own, both gazes locked onto one another with an undisturbed focus. There's the fact that Yue had given him an invitation to the VDC, or that Malleus had fixed the stage partially to show off to the magicless human, or that their hands are currently mere centimeters away from each other.

In the end, Vil averts his gaze, weariness crashing into him all at once and he feels a pair of hands grasp onto his shoulders, keeping him standing. Rook smiles, gentle, knowing, annoying. Vil resigns to his whims and lets his Huntsman guide him back to the Pomefiore Dorm, the chatter of Yue and Malleus and everyone else fading away.

#theyre so silly #so pookie #theyre so wholesome in my mind<3 #dont you love it when its mainly platonic but maybe something more? #yue-lorren #idk im just having fun #twst #twisted wonderland #yuu twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #lilia vanrouge #grim twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #rlly not a good time tho #the diasomnia chapter is WRECKING ME #i might write something for it soon enough #the-night-and-the-moon #inkless-printer #twst x oc #malleyuu #yuusona

[gotham-daydreams]

With that last ask I wanna ask now since it made me think.

Since we have been gone for a good couple of months, but there's no dust in our room does that mean Alfred cleans it regularly as well :(. Does he clean in in hopes we might come back?

Also for the box we but our journal in it has a bit of dust so that that mean Alfred doesn't know it was there or that Alfred was planning on making everyone yandere since we left and purposely left it unkept, he set it up for Bruce to search our room he'll find the box with a bit of dust 😥?

How far has he gone?

Yes!!! Someone noticed!!

The rest of the room being clean does mean that Alfred has cleaned it, and while it is partially because he hopes that the reader will come back, it's mostly because it's his little excuse to be in their space. He misses them, and just seeing their room and taking care of it makes him feel a little better. Especially because the only form or communication he's had with them is one sided, and leaves him unable to properly communicate with them. (Which will be mentioned later!)

He does clean it regularly, and even changes the sheets and such as he normally would. After all, he doesn't want the remnants of his favorite kid/grandkid to be ruined or dirty. He wants to preserve it to the best of his ability!

I will say that for the most part, Alfred actually wasn't aware of the box, but did know about the notebooks. So that bit in particular was unintentional on his part, but he did plan for someone to head into the reader's room one way or another. Crossing his fingers that someone would find the notebooks, but that's only if he got lucky. If he didn't, then he did have his own plan in mind. However, Bruce just so happened to be the first one to be caught in his trap, and the rest followed in suit.

I will say that he will go a bit far, seeing as he isn't above using old recordings and such that he has of the reader to cause certain reactions from the Batfam, and make them feel a certain way. Just as he isn't above luring someone in by playing a recording and having the volume loud enough for your voice to be heard from down the hall. Among a few other things. Recordings which are very personal to him, but also show other moments the reader has had.

Moments where they've been vulnerable, and alone. Almost like they're first birthday spent alone, but just think a little worse than that- and the reader being unaware that they're being recorded.

Regardless, while Alfred wasn't necessarily trying to make everyone yandere/as obsessed as he is over the reader, he wanted to make them feel guilty for neglecting you, and turn that guilt into worry so that they could go out and look for you. With them turning yandere as well being just a little unexpected side effect, but not an unwelcome one. His intention all along was really for the Batfam to just go out and find you, and maybe make them suffer just a tiny bit because of what they've done to you. Though, as one can see- he didn't really have to do much to spark that worry, since Bruce's mind did the work for him, and that led to the idea being planted into everyone else's heads. Though who's to say he didn't plan that either?

After all, he did raise Bruce. Presumably, Alfred would know him best, no? :]

One way or another, someone was going to search your room, and one way or another- Alfred would give them an inch so that they would go a mile.

#talking daydreams #yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere alfred #yandere batman

[zhongrin]

insignificant (pt.1 / 2)

◇ characters ◇ al haitham, cyno, wanderer, ayato

◇ tags ◇ angst, hurt no comfort, major character death (you), slight description of dead bodies, hints of wanderer's story spoiler, hints of cyno's backstory spoiler

◇ a/n ◇ happy birthday kazu @kazuuaki ily <3

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

numb.

when the news reached al haitham's ears, it feels like something was forcefully carved out of him. it’s a nostalgic feeling, but it was still unwelcome nonetheless. he moves on auto-pilot from thereon; nodding and following the messenger calmly, expression as stony as ever despite the dimming of his previously verdant green optics.

even when he sees your body - bruises and scratches marring your skin, the unnatural bend of your joints... and yet still, you look like the most gorgeous being in his eyes - he doesn’t cry. he simply confirms your identity before walking out of the morgue and immediately starting on preparations of your funeral.

he doesn’t want to touch you because he wants to remember your soft, warm hug as you left that morning for a commission, and not the chilling cold as rigor mortis settled in. he doesn’t want to see you any longer because he fears he’ll forget the lively grin on your expression and the love in your eyes as you promised each other to take care and stay safe-

never in his life had he imagined you would be the one who would break your promise to each other first.

but then again, the fact that you chose him at all was a big mystery even to him. what else did you see in him besides his intellect and stability? did you really mean it when you said you didn’t mind his bluntness and selfishness? did you ever regret getting into a relationship with him? did you ever dream of the same future that he saw in his own dreams?

in your last moments, did you think of the future you lost with him? did you curse him for not being there? did you…. at least…. pass on instantly?

the thoughts continue to run in circles inside his head, breaking the sentences of the book he reads and the paperwork he needs to sign as the acting grand sage. he finds himself continuously turning up the volume of the music in his soundproof headphones. his attention span diminishes. his temper worsens.

"are you hearing yourself right now?" kaveh seethes, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

a blank and stone-cold facade is all he gets from al haitham, “this is a meaningless topic to dwell on. i have made my statement clear and if you can’t see my point, i’m afraid it would be impossible to find a middle ground.”

“ugh, i swear to archons, you’re as stubborn as a mule! i really don’t understand why [name] likes y-” the blonde halts, the annoyance in his expression dropping into guilt and horror in mere milliseconds.

a chilly silence falls.

“i-i’m sorry. that was insensitive of-”

the older male's breath hitched. years of knowing the scribe as an acquaintance-turned-roommate, and yet this expression was a completely new sight to the architect. sure, kaveh does find the silver-haired male annoying sometimes, but he was no heartless monster - in fact, that was a title he thought his roommate held…

… that is, until today, as he witnessed the first tear fall down his roommate’s eye, therefore proving his hypothesis completely and utterly wrong.

“al haitham...”

“i don’t understand either.”

and he supposes it would stay as the one mystery he would never be able to unravel, for he would never be able to ask you now that you’re gone.

death is something the general mahamatra deals with almost on a daily basis.

it haunts him constantly; whenever cyno judges his targets with the scales of justice, he risks losing his life to the spirit that resides within him. not only that, there’s no denying the dangers that lurk just around the corner, ready to ambush him the moment he lets his guard down, given his position and the way he has to deal with criminals.

which is why whenever he has to do his duties, he always makes sure to kiss you goodbye and promises you that he’ll come back safely. to which you always reply with that lovely smile of yours and a cheerful “and i promise i’ll always be waiting for you back home!”

his dance with death is a neverending tahtib. one slight mistake could be fatal, yet cyno is anything but careless.

but what can the strongest and the most careful individual do against nature’s will?

his confident steps faltered when he received the briefing while the locals explained the situation as they walked towards the tent. several bodies had been found earlier in the day, and they suspected it was caused by the massive sandstorm that happened overnight. seeing as the victims were akademiya scholars, the villagers had asked for some people to help identify the bodies. conveniently, cyno and tighnari had been in the area, so they had volunteered to help.

the two slipped under the tent flap and the first thing cyno notices is the familiar shade of your hair.

as if he’s in a trance, his bare feet move instinctively. his heart rattles against his chest as he stops right by your side, ruby reds shaking horribly.

this has got to be a dream, right?

he dropped to his knees, uncaring of how the rough sand dug into his skin as he reaches out to trace the lacerations on your face; no doubt caused by all the sand. some of them are still stuck on your eyelashes too; and he prayed for them to flutter, to show some kind of movement, to quickly end this horrible nightmare he’s having in the middle of the day.

“cyno…”

his friend’s voice is soft and laden with sadness, as if the fox hybrid could feel the way his very soul is cracking at the edges. his calloused hands - the very same ones you used to pepper kisses upon kisses - clench around your sleeve.

“and i promise i’ll always be waiting for you back home!”

“you promised… you promised!!”

tighnari’s arms wrap around him, and he crumbles. the infamously stern and unwavering general mahamatra, broken and vulnerable, tears rapidly streaming down his bronze skin as he bit his lips until they bled to stifle the whimpers and sobs racking his body. he could barely hear his friend’s worried calls of his name. the arms around him felt suffocating and wrong because they weren’t yours.

he would never be able to feel that warm, floaty sensation from your hugs, ever again. you weren’t coming back. he will be stuck in this perpetual nightmare for as long as he lived.

“they promised….”

“……… i’m so sorry, cyno.”

as a puppet, wanderer is fortunate enough to not need many things that others find crucial to live with.

he does not need a name. after all the misdeeds he did, it felt wrong to desire such a human necessity. and yet you gave him a name nonetheless - a beautiful acknowledgment of his existence and a gift that ties you to him. they sound heavenly when the syllables fall from your lips, and he would never admit it but every time you call him that he could feel the desire to live up to your wishes behind such a precious benefaction.

he does not need love. he had craved it enough. groveled and begged for it enough at the start of his archon-made life. he tells himself he does not need the fickle emotion. not from his creator, and certainly not from a measly human who was too stubborn to let him be. still, you gave it to him with your bare hands, bit by bit, ever so patient and fleeting, with your honeyed whispers and gentlest touches upon his wooden skin. and oh, what a marvel it was, to bask in them.

he does not need to eat or drink. while he can taste and digest organic sustenances, his body didn’t exactly need them to function properly. his ‘mother’ could have taken his tastebuds and he was convinced he would not have minded… before he met you, that is. for how else was he going to taste your sweet lips and savor the intoxicating taste of your skin? and the way he just can’t seem to get enough, how he keeps starving for more, how he keeps having these funny feelings in his stomach - was it what the mortals call them “hunger pangs”? or perhaps it was something else? - whenever you are not by his side… you make him malfunction and he hates you for it.

he does not cry and he certainly does not need to cry.

so why are there liquids seeping down his polished cheeks and dropping onto your still hand?

“fix them.”

the small dendro archon returns his empty stare with a sympathetic frown. his jaw sets.

“fix them.”

he repeats, yet she remains unmoving; her green eyes flicking back down at your unmoving body.

“please.”

he does not breathe, but the pain in his voice and the cracks in his plea mimic that of a breathless, pained human.

nahida looks back at him, and then she steps forward.

something tugs within him. a little spark. a familiar sensation. one you frequently elicit from him, with your annoyingly endearing laughs and silly declarations of love.

the deity’s little hand places over your glazed eyes and closes them gently. then, she steps back.

the small spark fizzles and dies.

“not even us archons can bring back souls long since left for the afterlife into a dead body. this is the very law of nature itself,” she gives him a pained look, “you know of this.”

“…. please…”

“i know it hurts, little one. this too, proves that you’re no different than a hu-”

“THEN END ME ALREADY! LET ME PERISH!!”

for his heart has stopped beating, so why was he still alive?

“ayato.”

his name falls from your lips like the stars falling from the sky this rainy night. the downpour continues to make the ground muddy and the workers continuously struggle not to slip as they wrestle with the soil. it was not the ideal weather for this event and truthfully had he wanted he could probably order to stop the whole thing or use his vision to help with all the rainwater.

“i just feel like i needed to tell you.”

but the blue hydro gem merely hangs uselessly on his hip, along with the rest of his clothes, clinging uncomfortably onto his body. the umbrellas held by thoma hadn’t done their jobs properly, but the blonde housekeeper does not dare utter a word as the two siblings continued to stand side by side in silence, staring at one singular point.

“if, one day, you need to choose between the kamisato clan and me…”

to the elders in the family, it is a familiar sight. they could see it as if it was just yesterday. the same scene, the same setting - just a different place and with a younger version of the current lord and lady of the house. the girl had clung to her older brother, sniffling and choking back sobs, as the latter held her tightly, but with a sort of resolve that didn’t exactly fit his young visage.

just like last time, ayato watches silently as one of the most important people in his life is taken further and further away from him. as the wooden crest of the kamisato clan is eventually covered by the dirt. as his memory frays and his heart screams in pain and tears itself inside out behind his white robes.

as the pristine tomb with your epitaph marking your final resting place settles on its place.

his father.

his mother.

you.

all of whom should have been his family. all of whom he had sworn to protect and cherish.

“… i will not resent you for the choice you make.”

but [name], dearest, i will forever resent myself for the choice i made.

his vision never does shimmer as brilliantly as before from thereon.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @nachotrash | @algrimmammon | @sassy-cat-in-town

#astronetwrk #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #rin writes #al haitham #cyno #wanderer #ayato #al haitham x reader #cyno x reader #wanderer x reader #ayato x reader

[2kmps]

SMITTEN

dammon x reader | 2.5k

story summary; all it took was an argument with your party leader and an incident of misfortune for dammon to realize he was smitten with you.

story warnings; huge spoilers for act 1 & 2 of baldur's gate 3, mentions of burns and cuts, implication of dammon and mc drinking before a smooch, mc is not tav, no pronouns or descriptions used. very briefly proofread.

if you'd like a part two, please interact & reblog! ❤️

No one knew the time of day as black, tense air splintered those in fitful slumber into wakefulness that made their hearts hammer and bodies cold. There were shouts coming from outside the Last Light Inn, an unwelcome disturbance in these awful, glum days encompassed by death, shadow, and cries of beasts beyond Isobel’s barrier.

Dammon had been one of the first inquisitive souls on scene, already hammering away in his makeshift forge at some hour, surrounded by glowing iron, hot coals, and the smell of ox shit lingering over his workspace like a smoky cloud embedding its malodor into any pororous surface. As long as he stayed busy, deafened himself to all but the sting of metal, vibrations from his hammer memorized deep into his marrow, gave himself to the roar of the furnace—he didn't mind anything else, didn't think about his exhaustion, nor the fear that coiled his spine at every uncertainty around him.

But, he recognized your voice above the fierceness of his fire—knew the one retaliating your indignance just the same. He was drawn to it, leaving his tools by the anvil to step out towards the dilapidated stonework at the center of this improvised settlement, an old water fountain that once was beautiful artistry before the Shadow-Curse.

“I will not be cast aside! I will not be abandoned here to die, Dreston!” you were borderline hysterical, arms strewn about you wildly as you shouted. It was clear no one in your company wanted to feel the venom spitting from your throat. “I survived the crèche—I was integral to us all making it out alive! My abilities to heal are unparalleled, how can you just—”

“They need someone here,” said the tall drow at the core of your ire, leader of your motley crew. “Isobel needs to focus on the barrier. Someone needs to be able to heal the wounded.”

“They have a druid! They don't need me!” you tried again, rage weakening as your voice cracked and eyes gained a watery luster that you blinked back. “I've already done so much for the group. Do you think I'm useless on the battlefield? Is it because I'm not a druid like Halsin? A cleric like Shadowheart? Karlach, speak for me!”

You could've looked through Dreston at that moment and Karlach would've felt the desperation of your stare. She looked towards the ground, pushing stones with her boots. It was so drastically different from how she had been helping you with adjustments to your new armor just hours ago, laying hands everywhere now that she could thanks to Dammon

None of the others spoke for you, either. It was admission of guilt, silent consensus that you were to stay behind here and die if the barrier fell. You couldn't believe it.

“We’ll seek your aid again once we're en route to Baldur’s Gate,” Dreston said, his finality and firmness making words stick in your throat, jaws so tight your teeth could shatter. “Not a moment before. If you leave the barrier, what befalls you is of your own consequence. Protect these people here and wait for us.”

You spat at his feet, wiped your mouth, and then your tears before stalking off until you were far out of sight and alone.

Dammon stayed for the exchange and watched you go, a heart wrenching sight in his mind to be robbed of the love and passion you lived for. Adventuring and healing for you; the smithy and embers for him. Still, he never remembered you with such a temper, at least not one so outward, but these cursed lands had a way of bringing out the worst in everyone.

He had seen it many times over already—in others, in himself as well. Emerald Grove had been a perilous time just as this, but with the light of sunrise and sunset swathing him in some sort of feign comfort. This was not the same, there was no ease except what he knew with flame and steel and heavy hammer.

Still, back then, when he had met you the first time when acquiesced to eradicate the goblin hoards, you were different—brighter, skin aglow beautifully, eyes so radiant and divine. He remembered finding his gaze shifting to you more times than not, catching a jagged end of Dreston’s annoyance when he needed to repeat himself once or twice.

Dammon found it hard to focus in those days until your departure for the goblin camp, and that relief once you were gone had followed until now with your reappearance here at the Last Light Inn.

Now, he had to ask himself why he was standing before Dreston with an approachable smile, hoping he didn't fall on the receiving end of his bad spirits, and spoke his fate aloud:

“Don't worry, I'll keep a watchful eye out.”

He had assigned himself as your custodian like it was nothing, like you actually needed one in the first place. Dreston never mentioned it to you, probably for the best because your foul mood sat on your heels for many days thereafter. It took nearly a week to rouse you out of that state well enough to even visit him at his forge again.

“How are you holding up, Dammon?” you had asked with surprising calm, a similar sort of placidity you had when you'd first met. “It can't be easy being in this place. I keep looking at the barrier, expecting something to happen.”

“I can tell, you look tense”—he dunked red, searing iron into a vat of water and walked away as steam rose and hissed while it cooled—”Given the circumstances, I can't say I'm any worse than anyone else. If I worry, I hammer; if I can't sleep, I hammer. That's enough for me.”

You shared a smile with him, eyes wavering from his piercing blue to the arsenal of newly forged weapons he had managed to craft in a single night. He hadn't slept at all, but hadn't felt it until this moment.

“Don't forget to rest or you'll be one of the unfortunates lying unconscious on a bed that I have to take care of.” You said with a certain playfulness, a certain amount of snide and seriousness that he wasn't sure how to respond to. However, you gave a large logbook in your arm a pat. “I keep a record of everyone I've ever cared for—methods and medicine administered. Everything. I'd like to not add you to it.”

Dammon was a new entry in your logs a few weeks later, as it turned out. Misfortune seemed to torture everyone here beneath Isobel’s barrier, and he was not immune despite believing, foolishly, that losing himself to his projects would save him forever.

“Tell me what happened,” you already had an inked quill readied, a crisp, empty page dedicated to him. “The sooner you do, the sooner I can patch you up.”

For once, the makeshift infirmary sat barren besides the pair of you. It had originally been the bedchambers for weary travelers once upon a time, modified into a strategy room for Counsellor Florrick, and then finally commandeered as an infirmary by you and Isobel to bring some temporary sense of normalcy.

Jaheira let you have that small victory.

“Well,” Dammon wasn't sure what all to tell you that was necessary. It had all been an accident—a ridiculous oversight on his part, a disrespect to his craft and the fires of his forge. “You see—I, well, it's been a few days since I've slept. It's been difficult with those ravens constantly taking blows to the barrier. So, I've spent my time hammering away. Gets my mind off of things, off of everything.”

All went silent but the scrawl of your quill upon yellow parchment, faithfully recording his words verbatim. He waited for the feather to fall flat against your hands and eyes to rise to his before continuing:

“Honestly, it was just a freakish thing—a raven struck the barrier, startled that strange ox they have in the stable and I… my hammer missed and the sword I was working on came back on me. I had just taken out of the fire. Infernal blood I may have, I'm not immune to burns and cuts from my own craft it seems.”

Dammon tried to lighten the severity of his embarrassment with a laugh, hoping it would make that harsh crease between your brows smooth out. Seeing you worry over him did not fill him with a buzz of delight, but feeling your cold hands rest over his injured one did.

“Luckily it isn't too bad. Tiefling reflexes are impossibly good.” You sounded impressed, careful as you drew his hand closer, turning it whatever which way you pleased and he allowed it. He wasn't fond of the cold, but found himself reveling the magic that gushed out from your palms and soothed the burnt flesh on the back of his hand. “It'll be an easy enough fix, but, Dammon, you'll have to stay here and rest. You're not to return to your forge until you do. Understood?”

Perhaps, at a different time, such a demand would be reprimanded. To take a blacksmith from his forge is to take a healer from their potions and herbs—it would've at least aroused some frustration, but now, as he there on the edge of a worn mattress with your frigid hands caressing his scorched skin, wrapped in soft white light that reminded him of the long lost sun, he didn't refuse you and didn't think he ever could.

“Amazing,” he breathed out once he was awash in relief from his agony. The blistered, lacerated flesh from his own creation had closed and disappeared. Only the memory remained now, and the sensation of one of your hands hovering over his open palm. “You're no cleric or druid yet you can utilize magic like that. I've never seen the like.”

“Hopefully you never will again,” came your response, this time with much lightness and satisfaction. “How does it feel? Is there any pain remaining? I treat certain wounds traditionally with herbs and potions, but I know burns are in a league all their own.”

Dammon met the space of your palm facing his, fingers closing around you until the ridges of his well-earned calluses pressed warmth into your skin. Yours had a roughness about them as well without the same sinew and narrow bones and nails as him. There was a new sensation that struck him at that moment, like a jogged memory, a renewal of something once forgotten.

This simple touch reminded him of how much he had forced it away since Elturel was swallowed into Avernus—how much of his being now belonged to survival, and whatever was left was spent flattening iron with a hammer so his mind didn't escape him.

“I feel right, thanks to you.” Dammon said in soft, vulnerable tones that made flounder for words and withdraw your hand in a single, sharp motion.

You cleared your throat once and then twice more, closing your sizable book of records and rose from your chair. “Good! Good! I'll—I’m glad to hear it. I'll just step out so you can rest. Sleep well, Dammon.”

He did not rest for a long time because his thoughts were full of you, and that's where they stayed everyday afterward while he worked in the heat of his forge. It became easier to bear the ominous darkness that swirled around the barrier, a mere splinter in concentration away from consuming him and everyone else within.

Your company was a beacon of light to him in these terrible days, something he looked forward to after however many indeterminate hours clanging away on his anvil. He occupied a space next to you at the bar most times, some old beer in a mug that had lost its froth, listening to the dwarves among the settlement drunkenly, vivaciously explain their grand exploits while Alfira made up new lyrics to the strum of her lute.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked this a few times a day, a midday, an evening, a night, because there wasn't much else to do or to ask. But, right now, he was feeling bored and courageous with a pint in him, “Would you like to take a walk? I don't think the dwarves are telling stories we haven't already heard once every night the last tenday.”

You didn't disagree and went with him to make laps along the barrier. There was nothing new about this, either. You could walk the perimeter of the settlement with a blindfold on at this point and never snag a stone, stumble, or catch a briar on your sleeve. Dammon always stayed in stride with you despite his height, always kept himself at a decent distance from you despite how much he wished otherwise.

“What will you do once we get to Baldur’s Gate, Dammon? Hm?” It was a familiar question, one usually forgotten after a glass or two of wine in you. “I’m thinking of telling Dreston to piss off and working as an apothecary. Get some stability in my life, y'know?”

“It’d be good work for you.” He understood that desire for something solid, a safe life. “I’ve realized through all of this that I'm not the adventuring sort. I like my hammer. I like my forge; I like a bed at the end of a long day. I like—”

Dammon was quick with a glance down at you while walking, arms close and brushing. His heart was a growing drumbeat in his ears. “I like the idea of coming home to someone, to share my bed with. After all this, that sounds like a luxury—a dream.”

“Oh~” you put a hand near your lips, pretending to hide a scandalous smile. “So you are the marrying type. A couple of us were talking about that the other day, gossiping about who’d end up married or die alone in a bottle.”

Dammon let a smile grow, fingers edging nearer to your own until he could curl one or two with his. “I’d say the latter is quite extreme.”

Your voice trailed but you didn't pull away, not even as you were led away from the prying eyes of patrolling Harpers into dark foliage behind low hanging trees. It was sufficiently hot behind your ears, beneath your layers of thin clothes, and your throat tightened in your effort to look up at him.

His ribs were a prison for his heart, a good thing in this case as he tucked a hand against your neck and kissed you. He kissed you until the uncertainty fell away, until he felt your hands climb the length of his arms and every touch grew with assurance, fostering the beginning of a new dream.

a/n: possibly a part two if y'all let me know you like this??? so, pls interact and reblog to let me know!

this is also based off of my headcanons for tieflings that they're very loyal once they trust you—but they also fall h a r d.

it won't turn into anything big since I have my major projects going on in the background, but I'm just obsessed with dammon atm and figured the best way to get him out of my system was to write about him 💀. a second part would probs be smut.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 dammon #bg3 dammon x reader #bg3 dammon x you #dammon x reader #dammon x you #dammon x tav #bg3 dammon x tav #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate dammon #2k writes

[jacevelaryonswife]

Our Duties

pairing: Lucerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

a/n: I try to make my stories/headcanons interactive to the fullest (as far as possible). I not detail reader’s appearance and english is not my first language. Why tumblr is fucking my gif’s quality?

warnings: curse words, fluffy, slight angst, happy ending.

Leaving the Dragonstone hall, you hurried through the grey and unwelcoming corridors of the castle until you reached a far, dark corner. Your scream was loud before and after punching the rock wall in front of your, allowing yourself to cry violently. Your longtime bridegroom was dead. Not missing or injured. Dead. And there was nothing that could be done about your condition.

The truth is that you weren't crying for the grief or the pain that quickly took your hand, but for the sad misfortune of finding another bridegroom. Your deceased suitor had left to fight at Stepstones three years ago, he was a good lad who would give you healthy children and a prosperous life — your mother's words. However, you never fully knew him. He was a soldier, not a husband, and would certainly (quite possibly) become unhappy with you as the years passed.

You didn't notice Prince Lucerys Velaryon across the hall, deeper than you. He watched the entire scene in silence, slightly frightened by your condition. That was one of his places to hide and shed a few tears, not as many as you shed now, but expressed it all the same. What you both didn't know was that, at that moment, fear was a mutual feeling.

"My lady." The young prince's voice was shaky, drawing your attention automatically. Your face was wet and he almost regretted interrupting your moment, because he didn't know how to proceed.

Oh no. By the seven, not that.

"My prince." Forcing yourself to collect, you swallowed back the tears and the strangled cry that broke your lips. You didn't want to stop crying. You just wanted him to go away and let your pain contaminate the environment.

Luke felt like a fool. He interrupted you and didn't know what to say. Gods, he was pathetic.

"Your hand. You hurt your hand.” He forced himself to say, eyes widening. “I wasn't spying. I…” That was definitely worse for both of them. He just wanted to sink to the ground and hide from your presence. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my lady.” His eyes dropped to the floor.

He was a sweet boy. A puppy among dragons. You didn't mean to scold him before, and now, with his shy and tense demeanor, you fear that you scared him with your earlier scene. He has nothing to do with your problems, nor guilt, so you just wave in his direction.

"Thank you my prince." You noticed that he was crying too, but to a lesser extent. Poor boy. "Are you okay?" You voice came out soft.

“Y-yes, I’m fine.” He lowered his head, embarrassed.

You know that your next act was inappropriate and thoughtless, but you didn't spare the impulse that made you approach the prince to hug him. It took Lucerys a moment to reciprocate, not knowing if your intention was to bring comfort to yoursel or him— you didn't know either. At the end of the doubt, he returned your affectionate gesture with his head resting on your shoulder, letting out the breath he had been holding.

Time seemed to freeze for the moment, neither of you pulling away from each other. Sometimes the comfort of a stranger could be good.

“See you later, my prince.” You murmured as you pulled away, watching him wave with puppy dog ​​eyes.

Later, your tears were added to the bathwater. Your chest was tight and desperate thoughts roamed through your head. The palpable fear at family's decision to find another groom choked your mind. You shouldn't be like this, after all, that's what you were raised for: getting married and having children. It was your function, your only and exclusive function as a woman and lady wife. You weren't Princess Rhaenyra and you couldn't reach a male-dominated place.

“The choice of another bridegroom will also be in your hands.” Assured your mother that night, almost making your sigh of relief audible. Fuck! — in the good sense.

Though the smile you radiated was genuine, a little apprehensive, across the palace Prince Lucerys stood terrified and confused. How could he not be? How do you expect him to assume the title of Lord of the Tides if he never had experience? He's not a seaman, he doesn't know how life at sea works, he's not even a Velaryon. He will be completely devoured by the waves of Driftmark.

“It is your duty, brother. I know it might sound scary, but eventually you'll start to understand.” Jace had said a few days ago.

He didn't want to bother his family again, nor did he want to be a nuisance, so he took to taking walks at night to release his turmoil alone. Perhaps the sea surrounding Dragonstone could guide him properly. Luke hadn't noticed sneaky footsteps behind him, surprising himself with your voice almost cut off by the strong wind.

"I didn't know we had preferences for the same places." The young prince turned suddenly with wide, surprised eyes, earning a sweet smile. "I didn't mean to scare you, my prince." Your hair flew violently along with your dress, stopping just inches from him. "I'm sorry if I bothered you earlier and now."

"No, you didn't." His voice was low and meek, sad smile on his face. “I’m sorry about your bridegroom, my lady.”

"Thank you my prince. May I accompany you?”

He nodded.

The first steps were marked by a comfortable silence, just contemplating the dark sky and cold wind that made the night pleasant, but it didn't take long for you to start:

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

“Yes, my lady.”

“You don't have to answer if you don't want to, my prince, but why were you crying earlier?” Your tone was low.

“It was nothing, my lady, don't worry.” He answered uncertainly, pinching his nose. "And and you?" When he realized the question, his voice cracked a little. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid question."

"No. It was not." Your gaze fell on the sea, imposing, violent and infinite. A true force of nature. “I wasn't just crying for him. I didn't even know I needed to cry like that, I didn't know there was so much sadness and fear in me, I just… needed to get it out a little. It's normal, sometimes we need to intentionally cry.”

Your confession was true, contained in certain parts, but true. A previously unknown part of you wished he could open up. You don't know why, but you feel like he needed to be heard. Feels like he wanted to be heard.

“I don't like to cry.” Lucerys answered.

“No one likes it, my prince, but we need it sometimes.”

“II was scared.” He initiated. "I still am." His head lowered. “If you needed to do something that you don't feel capable of doing, but it is your duty to do it, what would you do?”

Oh.

You think you understand the situation.

“Our duties were established without our consent, what would I say? Fuck the duties. What I would do? I would be reluctant to lower my head, but we know what the forces are like that command us and make us give in.” Your posture surprised him, drawing the young prince's wide blue eyes. “You may not feel prepared to command driftmark, but you still have time to learn, my prince. Why don't you travel to be tutored by Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys? You would learn from the best seaman that ever lived.”

“But I wouldn't be him.” He was quick to respond. “I will never be him.”

You let out a heavy breath, stopping to face him. “Yes, you will not be like him. I don't know how it feels, but I believe he'll do the best you can. Don't beat yourself up, my prince." Your smile was weak but sincere, being mirrored by him.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Would you like to return?”

"No. Not now at least.”

Holding his forearm, your smile widened: “Well, I know a place among the mountains where the sky is clear and the stars are big, if you want to join me.”

With the shyest, sweetest smile you've ever seen, Prince Lucerys confirmed, following his trail through the mountains of Dragonstone in the moonlight.

For: @madame-fear ✨

#lucerys velaryon x reader #lucerys x reader #lucerys velaryon #prince lucerys #lucerys x you #lucerys velaryon x you #luke velaryon #luke velaryon x reader

[charleslee-valentine]

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fanworks Event Day 3: Alternate Universe

One where both twins survive

Ship(s): None

Word Count: ~1,500

Warnings: Description of injuries, blood, mild panic attack, picking/harmful stimming.

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

_____

The hospital keeps little mittens on his hands so he doesn’t pick his scabs.

The sutures on his face are his favorite.

Nubbins has been in here for a long time. They can’t blame him when his body gets overwhelmed by the pain and the itch. Digging his nails into the unwelcome feelings makes them go away. Makes his thoughts calm down a little anyways.

When he’s alone for too long, he gets a little unsteady.

He’d never been to the hospital before, and now he’s been trapped here for months. It’ll be just a little longer now, until they can take the stuff holding his jaw together back out. That’s what Drayton told him anyways, translating what the mean old doctors were saying into words he could understand.

It got scary, when he didn’t have one of his brothers here. All on his own, freezing cold, not allowed to hum or play or pick, forced to act by their standards. He hates them all. Almost as much as he hates the neighbor girl for pushing him in the road.

Almost as much as he hates his twin brother for leaving him.

He knew Nubbins couldn’t come with him. He knew that! And then he went anyways! It made him so angry he could just-

A faint gasping cry echoes in the hallway. It sounds like one of the nurses maybe, sounds like going into shock.

If he could get up, he would, but he’s forced into this dumb bed still, so he stays put, stretching his neck so far it hurts from trying to see what’s going on.

Whatever’s happening, there’s blood out there.

Nubbins always thought being afraid of blood was stupid. Then again, he also thought he was safe on the road.

Here they were.

He’s never being sure of anything again.

Unless that counts as being sure of being unsure. Even through the cloth wrapped around his hands, he scratches at his skin. He’s just- he’s angry! There’s so much buzzing underneath his skin and he just wants out!

Nubbins balls up his hands and hits. Anywhere he can reach. His arms, his chest, his legs, and dammit he can’t even feel it in his legs. The beepy-sound the screen beside him makes to measure his heart gets loud and fast.

But nobody comes to check on him.

A sick, sweaty kind of feeling rises up in his chest. It’s panic. He is afraid.

That blood must mean something.

Maybe he’s hurt again.

But no. The nurses do come, eventually, but they’re different from his usual ones. They aren’t there for him.

It’s another patient. Another Sawyer patient.

“Wh-What is he doin’ here?”

Like he’s stupid, like he’s a child, they explain it slow. They say his brother got hurt in the war and had to come to the hospital to get put back together. Just because they’re family they’re getting shoved in the same room. The Veterans hospital was too expensive to keep him, so here he is. Invading Nubbins’ space.

Bobby smiles and waves like nothing is wrong.

“Nubbins!!”

Nubbins folds his arms, at least as best he can, given he’s just regaining motion in them, and shouts, “No!! D-Don’t you t-talk to me! I hate you!”

It seems to cut Bobby deep. He practically whines, like he used to when they were little and pitching fits to get what they wanted, “Nuh uh! You-You love me f-forever! I’m your brother!”

The angry in Nubbins’ heart mixes up with those memories of his brother and gets sorta tangled. In a way that makes him queasy.

He covers his ears with his hands, “Shut up! Sh-Shut up!!”

“Why sh-should I?” Bobby argues right away, loud as he can to defy the order.

So Nubbins explains why, grumpy that Bobby couldn’t just get it on his own and leave him be, “‘Cause I-I’m mad at you... B-But if you stays q-quiet, I might ch-change my mind.”

Guilt made him add that last part. Drayton always taught them you could love someone, but didn’t have to like them. He still loves his twin. It’s just confusing when he doesn’t like him. Like he doesn’t know whether to be upset or not. Nubbins wants to like him.

Bobby tries to comply and be silent. Really, he does, and it’s clear in the loud beeping of their neighboring machines being the only sound. He gives in eventually as it drones on, “But Nubbins-“

“Shhhhh!”

“Okay.”

Nubbins’ thoughts are like mushy applesauce. Like rot after it’s already sunk in deep through the body of a raccoon or a opossum on the side of the road. None of it makes sense and it’s all just too much. Nubbins angrily swishes his hands in the air to kill some of those bad feelings bubbled up in his body.

The silence lasts this time. Gives Nubbins a moment to just be a little spastic until he’s ready to speak.

“I-I’m mad a-at you.” He finally announces, voice sounding a little wavy and strained.

“W-What’d I do?” Bobby asks, and it’s genuine.

So Nubbins answers genuine back, simple facts without all those mean emotions getting in the way, “You left.”

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” Bobby nods, like he’s going to accept it, but then a thought occurs to him. He raises shoulders up a little so it’s known he’s going to speak before he even starts, “B-But I..I didn’t want to.”

They’d tried to tell him that. Bobby said so in his letters home, and Drayton put it into words, bringing what the paper said (and what Nubbins couldn’t read) to life.

Nubbins hadn’t believed either of them.

He thought that’s just what was said to make him feel better.

Now he feels the need to defend his pain, “I was a-alone. Forever.”

Bobby nods again, like he gets it, but he taps the big stitches and staples and leaky bandages on the side of his head, “I got hurt. Y-You can see it. L-Look at my head. A..A machete d-did that.”

“We-Well I c’ain’t e-even walk!” Nubbins shouts it in frustration.

That truck stole a lot of things from him that day.

None of them hurt as bad as when the government stole Bobby away to go fight.

Maybe. Maybe his anger was never really at his brother anyway. That's the most confusing part. Still, he’s willing to listen now and answer Bobby’s questions cooperatively.

For starts, Bobby seems confused by the confession Nubbins made, “Didja for-forget how?”

“I got huh-hurt too.” Nubbins explains, showing the scars down the backs of his arms from all the pins they put in to fix his bones, and turning his head to show the big sutures on his face from his jaw problem.

Bobby doesn’t even hesitate to reassure him, at the sight of his brother hurt, just like the way it used to be, “The doctors’ll.. th-they’ll getcha all better! They’s helped me l-lots. ‘Til.. ‘Til I tore my scab o-off. Nurse lady run o-outta there screamin’!”

So that explains that. The bloody woman must’ve tried to help him and got scared off. Nubbins wonders how bad it is under the bandages on Bobby’s head, but he doesn’t ask. That would be not nice.

Nubbins doesn’t want to be not nice anymore. Maybe he forgives too easily or something, but he’s not mad anymore. It still hurts that Bobby left, but they both suffered together, even far far apart.

Always connected.

He giggles at Bobby’s story and shows the thick mittens still on his hands, another thing they have in common, “Y-You pick ‘em too?”

Bobby nods in agreement, but he does it too fast and looks like he gets sick and dizzy. After a moment, he lays his head down on his pillows, a little pale.

It makes Nubbins feel yucky. Like he might lose him.

He whispers, “Are w-we gonna be.. o-okay?”

Bobby looks all around the room before he answers, just as quiet, “I-I think so. We’re to-together again so’s.. that-that’s gotta be good. R-Right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I-I think you’re right. We’ll get out, a-and we’ll go home. We-We can’t play by the road but..but we can.. we can have fun again!” Nubbins gets all excited when thinking about having fun again makes his heart and his stomach feel better.

Until a thought occurs to him, and his smile drops away a little, “D-Do you still want to?”

Bobby doesn’t hesitate to encourage him, “‘Course! Me an’ you, Nubs, a-and Bubba too!”

And Nubbins believes it. Maybe it’s dumb but he doesn’t wanna hate his brother forever. They promised they’d be together all their lives, and that was broken. But maybe now it won’t be.

They’re both busted up. The family’s gonna have to give them some space, and they’ll spend it all telling each other about the last year. Maybe it’ll be like he never even left.

It makes Nubbins happy. His hands flutter about and show it. It hurts a little in his shoulders and chest, but he doesn’t care. He shakes and wiggles and claps all the good energy out into the world.

Bobby joins him. He makes noise when he does it, always has. A little hummy sound that gets higher based on how much his arms is wiggling.

It’s comfortable. Familiar. Happy.

#tcmfanevent #nubbins sawyer #chop top sawyer #bobby sawyer #tcm 1974 #tcm 2 #tcm fanfic #my moodboards #my writing

[hyperfixatedfandomer]

Kaltxkí!

I'd like your take on the nature of Q's and Paz's relationship, whether an opinion or some snippet. We as writers have nothing to go on, so it was up for interpretation from the get go BUT picture this: Spider does something that is Inherently Socorro™, something that couldn't have come from him (the stubbornness, the resilience etc) and it gives him some unwelcome ✨Feels✨ (what feels though, now that is the question...)

I’ve spent a lotta time daydreaming and theorising on what kind of person Paz could be, but I wish we’d known more about her. As it is now, based on the info available in the comics, she was a popular woman at Hell’s Gate that no guy could get with, because she was just THAT awesome and had high standards, so it’s not difficult to see why she bagged the best baddie (Quaritch) on the base.

I like the image of her walking down the corridor as guys gossip about her and how much of an ice queen she is, and as everyone’s eyes are on her being all confident and stuff, in that sea of attention, Miles’s minute stare in her direction gets lost, so no one suspects a thing.

My opinion? I honestly wish they were in love but Quaritch is a crusty old man and undeserving of good things and the cannon heavily implies that it was a one-night stand, so neither of them cared to build on their relationship afterwards, which is also what I believe. It’s kind of a power move if you think about it, that in this world of far future Paz got herself a hoe, became pregnant and went “cool!” And vibed on her own. I like the idea that she might have initially felt something of a crush on the colonel, but eventually came to kind of resent him, especially after he organised a military coup on a planet her son was supposed to grow up on. OH AND BTW—

I love the idea that Paz sees Spider as her son. Like he’s just hers and no one else’s. I like the idea of her being possessive over Spider and going “I made him, so he’s wearing MY last name and will grow 10000% in my custody, anyone else can go fuck themselves.” But eventually caved in and, as a little token of basic respect and remembrance, gave Spidey his dad’s name. Not so much as to "honour" him or anything, but so Spider could have a little piece of him.

When it comes to Spider doing something inherently Socorro and Miles having feels about it? Ok let’s see. I’ve thought more than once that Paz is this passionate, driven woman that has a feral side and can fight back an army when she’s driven over the edge, and Spider having that same ability, to go full animalistic anger on someone. Quaritch wants to make a snide comment but then sees that his late lover was exactly like this, and feels a jealousy, mixed in with a shadow of guilt. Guilt because he indirectly took Spider’s mom away from him and jealousy because Spider somehow succeeds in embodying the "mamas boy" title despite Paz being dead practically since his birth.

#atwow #atwow fanfiction #atwow spider #spider atwow #avatar spider #spider avatar #spider socorro #avatar 2 #avatar way of water #atwow quaritch #quaritch atwow #quaritch avatar #avatar quaritch #recom quaritch #miles quaritch #paz socorro #avatar headcanons

[selkiewife]

He is our brother now, and he will be my squire.

"This boy Satin. It's said you mean to make him your steward and squire, in Tollett's place. My lord, the boy's a whore... a... dare I say... a painted catamite from the brothels of Oldtown."

And you are a drunk. "What he was in Oldtown is none of our concern. He's quick to learn and very clever. The other recruits started out despising him, but he won them over and made friends of them all. He's fearless in a fight and can even read and write after a fashion. He should be capable of fetching me my meals and saddling my horse, don't you think?"

~ A DANCE WITH DRAGONS, JON VIII

I've always been really touched by the way that Jon Snow protects and champions those who are not considered "worthy" of consideration in the Night's Watch. In canon, this reveals him to be a progressive leader. However, in my own personal daydreams of Jon Snow and Satin, I do see romance between them. I think that Jon would feel guilt over it though, since Satin is his squire and he would be worry that any romantic feelings he has for him would be unwelcome and would also endanger Satin's success- since people already believe that he is only his squire because he is his "boy, pet, whore." This sentiment is revealed when Ser Malegorn doesn't allow Satin to escort Queen Selyse to the feast in A Dance with Dragons. These complicated feelings are what I was hoping to convey in this gifset.

A Daydream of Jon Snow, @jonsnow-creative || Prompt: "Boy? Pet? Whore?"

#a daydream of jon #jon snow #jonsnowedit #asoiafedit #jonsatin #satin of oldtown #satin flowers #satinflowersedit #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #cw w slur #cw sex worker slur #cw sex worker phobia #fancasts from luna nera #luna nera

[george228732]

Fylass Through the Looking Glass -Prologue - Aftermath

The morning breeze never felt so unwelcoming; a normal person would say that this day is nothing but a beautiful sight, to relax on the grass, talking with friends, eating ice cream as the sunset was setting, but in Cookie Country, there was a specific house that had a sense of sadness in the air, and maybe it was because of the new attitude of Fylass’ friends towards them every time they visited the little penguin.

From what could be a normal meeting to go to the beach with Selene and Wisp, became something different and melancholic, with Selene sitting next to their bed giving off words of comfort regarding both of their questionable parents as a way for Fylass not to feel so alone, and Wisp offering himself to sew soft blankets and sweaters as he gave them some spicy curry for them to eat and not cook something on the lonely walls that were their house, that they deep down, hated to be in on their own.

Fylass, at this point, never bothered to even get out of their bed since their mental state wasn’t great in the slightest; they thought that revealing their problems and issues back then will give them true happiness, but one week has already passed, and their state was only getting worse, as their guilt increased each time they saw someone at the door. Archie called Fylass to tell them that they were going to take another week due to some issues, and Fylass tried to be as normal as possible about it over the phone. At the end of the day though, their friends knew that they loved them; they wouldn’t even bother in visiting them if that weren’t true, and yet, Fylass couldn’t help but think they were a burden.

Then, after their visit, Fylass could only have to wait a few minutes before someone else knocked at their door, as they heard the door opening with the spare keys Fylass gave to them before leaving one day; normally it would be Twilight Knight, Verin, Dolly, Dero, Pleiades and Blossom the ones entering next.

Dolly and Twilight Knight would come in there to hug their proclaimed sibling, saying that they came to give them ice cream for them to feel better, or another badge made of yarn made by Dolly, as the best friends and siblings they were. Fylass could notice that they were feeling guilty for not realizing their condition, but Fylass could only feel even more guilt about the whole situation beforehand; they having the necessity to be there for their sibling is something that could be considered sweet, but Fylass only felt it like a curse that they put onto themself for their stubbornness and selfishness. 

Pleiades would try to talk with them about other issues, just for good measure, and yet, he seemed nervous into talking about how they portrayed him and the rest in that fantasy world called Wonderland; a fake world that just seemed so real, and to some extent, it is; but Fylass just kept on relying on it to find fake happiness, and even then, they tried to forget it along with their sadness to pretend that everything was okay. Pleiades would cook dinner for them everyday for Fylass not to get up from their bed and be on their own, but things just kept going worse and worse, to the point where the kid didn’t even like to speak, only causing even more concern for Fylass’ wellbeing and sanity.

The therapists, Genesis and Erhard, had appointments with them day by day, leaving Fylass without rest afterwards; they didn’t have free time anymore to water their flowers or call Archie that much anymore; not that they were really that motivated to do so anyways. Genesis had the idea of them to write their experiences on a book, about Wonderland and everything, but Fylass couldn’t even bother to get up from bed, grab a pen or quill, and start with a sloppy writing that would endure until the lights of their room died out of exhaustion, and Fylass would do so as well, so, there was only a blank book waiting to be filled in a bookshelf.

Erhard on the other hand, being a fellow friend of Kurabe, was appointed to treat Fylass the best they could, and prescriptions came on their way to see if they could treat them better. Fylass accepted taking those medications, but at the same time, those didn’t make them feel better, only leaving a pit on their stomach that not even them could comprehend that much. Or rather, they didn’t want to.

One day, Dero offered himself to train Fylass in terms of sword fighting one more time. Dero doesn’t really know how to treat the kid, but in his case, sword fighting always kept him motivated to have a great day; that or finding a maiden, although thanks to Dolly, that ended up being unnecessary, as Dero was hanging out with Dollmaker, Dolly’s mother. Fylass knew there was something fishy about her, but they didn’t have the heart to tell Dero about what could happen, and at this point, they loved seeing Dero happy.

It did take a little bit, but Fylass managed to stay out of bed, with trembling arms and feet due to the exhaustion of not moving for a while, but even then, they got out of the house, as the morning breeze became one of battle as Dero took out a sword for Fylass for them to do a friendly fight; he was aware of the fact Fylass was just a kid, but they were able to defeat him more than once, so he had faith that they were able to do a friendly fighting that Fylass would win without issues. Dero isn’t one to rig a battle for one to win, but he felt that if Fylass won a battle, they would feel slightly better than before.

Although… after some fighting that lasted less than twenty seconds, Dero was the one that came out victorious, although Fylass didn’t even try to fight back; they had the strength to send him far far away into a tree with their ESP, knocking him down and winning the battle, but they weren’t feeling motivated in the slightest to do anything, and so, Dero did only one attack towards Fylass, and was defeated, and as Fylass was on the ground, seemingly tearing up in silence, Dero didn’t have an idea on what to do as their proclaimed niece was there on the ground, hurt, and sobbing.

Kurabe and Mikuto were nearby, conveniently enough, as the silent but painful crying of Fylass attracted them to the area, and their faces couldn’t be more shocked to see what was happening. Their cries were trying to be as silent as possible to not attract attention that they believed, didn’t deserve, but that didn’t stop Kurabe, Mikuto and Dero to cover their wound in bandages; or well, Dero tried to, but there’s not much things you can do when you don’t have arms, and you can only use your mouth to do some things here and there, but that’s not the important matter at hand.

Fylass’ day went from bad to worse, and it only was midday.

The area was once again empty, although that didn’t last long as Chaos, Ava, Damian, and Celesta came to visit. Ava didn’t really know what to say exactly, even though they seemingly understood the things Fylass is going through as if they also did have them before, regarding everything beforehand through; Fylass could only feel shame due to wasting their time with this.

Chaos didn’t exactly know why he was there, but he figured out it was some sort of way to repay Fylass back from those times they gave him wine out of courtesy, so the least he could do was to keep them company for a little, and to not let Celesta eat all of their crops of their farm. She may be basically an aunt for Fylass, but she still can’t control her appetite when being around Fylass’ lonely home. Damian, out of all of the four, seemed the most compromised in making Fylass smile; He suffered a lot thanks to Fela, and he only noticed that when it was too late; it may not be the same thing that Fylass is going through but at least he wanted them to know that he understood them, and that was sincere.

Fylass liked the company, deep down, although they hated the fact that they are spending this much time on them, since they surely had things to do.

Afterwards, the sun started to become a sunset, and at last, Fylass could see another person coming down to their house to visit them, although something seemed off about this one visit. It was Lucid.

He opened the door with caution, and went to the second floor of their house to visit Fylass.

"...Hi, kid…" Lucid said.

"...Greetings…" Fylass said in a raspy voice that concerned Lucid a little, but he kept composure.

"...How are you feeling today?"

"...The same as these other days, so… not that great."

"I’ve been meaning to request you something, if you like." Lucid said, and afterwards, Fylass started to feel curious. "...What is it?"

"Well, would you like to go visit my home with Buddy for a day or so? I know that you like to visit the Castle, so I wanted to offer you that."

"...N-No, it’s okay, you don’t need to worry." Fylass said, trying to make Lucid drop that offer. 

"Please, kid. Buddy has been eager to have a meeting with you again, and so do I…"

"...A-Alright… Only for an hour or so, okay?"

"Alright then, kid. Could you prepare your baggage though, if you please? For us to give you some gifts that could fit here and there, and if you want to bring something with you." Lucid said, and afterwards, Fylass nodded and pulled out a backpack from their closet, in which they stored some simple things here and there, as Lucid left the room to wait for Fylass outside.

After Fylass was done with that though, a little box came out of the closet, and the Club Brooch was present inside of it. 

"..." Fylass was silent as it looked at it. They wanted so hard to break it to pieces, since it was the catalyst for the hard situation they were going through, but at the same time, they promised to keep it for Archie until they came back. They placed the box into their backpack, and as they went towards the entrance to go with Lucid, they mumbled simple words.

"...If only I could go back and prevent this from happening…"

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

@moon-mage

@loaflovesdoodling

@ilikesillythingswooo

@the-chaos-axolotl

@avathestarwarrior

@that-fanperson-meg

@galakianexplosion

@theflutteringdreameater

@kachikirby

@den-of-the-blue-dragon

@mossyriverrocks

@monsterhatdoodles

@lostsoulau-ask

#fylass through the looking glass #fylass in wonderland

[igotanidea]

Comfort: the Sandman fanfiction

A/N : Pure fluff cause that is what I need desperately today.

Pairing: Morpheus x f!reader (finally!)

Summary: after a fight and some harsh comment towards reader, she gets doubts about herself and Dream;s feelings for her. Luckily, the Dream Lord know how to change her mind about that.

***

Wrapped up in blanket, yet still cold and shaking y/n was lying down on her bed listening to the sounds of rain outside. It was almost like the weather adjusted to her mood. Y/n still has memories of a fight that happened a few hours ago.

­-Look at everyone around you! Your friends have families of their own! Husbands, kids. And you? You are and always will be alone. You are a freak and no one will ever want you.

-You know shit about life. You live in your own world and look where it got you! Nowhere! You’re just a waste of space.

y/n was never the person wearing a heart on her sleeve. When someone tried to attack her personally and emotionally she would just put on a brave face, never letting anyone see her weak or wavering. Her tactic was to just shake it off, not giving the attacker any satisfaction. And it worked quite well for the time she needed. However, after some time, which might have been two hours as well as two weeks something broken inside was clawing its way to her heart. And those were the days when she would just isolate herself from everyone trying to deal with the accumulated pain. Those were the days when she was desperate for comfort and hugs but at the same time the mere thought that someone might see her like that was repulsive. She was using all of her power to keep her demons at bay, convincing herself that whatever was said to her was not true, but it was just too much to carry.

So now, with blank face, she was just staring outside the window, deep in her mind. Hoping this will all end soon. She really needed Dream, but would never go as far as calling for him. Well, the thing was that she didn’t have too. It was enough for her to blink and he was already in her flat, standing behind the table looking at her with concern.

-Hello, Dream – she sighs collecting herself – what brings you here?

-You called for me.

-That I did not.

-You thought about me and I felt it. So I came.

-Just because of a single thought?

-Yes.

-Why?

He seemed startled by her question. Taking a few steps towards, he sat on the edge of her sofa eyeing her again to the point where she felt embarrassed and looked down.

-What do you mean why? Is my presence unwelcomed?

-No! –she yelled – Of course not. It’s just….. I’m not fully myself today, like I’m a bit emotional and I know you don’t like when it happens so….

-y/n – Dreams slowly lifted her chin so she was looking at him again – tell me what happened. Emotional or not, I care about you. You are important to me, my love.

-Why?

Morpheus almost rolled his eyes.

-Do you wish to elaborate on that question?

-Why do you care? Why do you love me? I don’t understand that – at this point she couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. – I’m nothing. Like a meaningless, worthless piece of….

-Stop it! – Dream ordered stopping her talking. His eyes also became a bit watery as he got the memory of how empty and useless he felt after imprisonment and retreating his tools. It was painful to him to see his lover in such state. – Is that really how you think about yourself?

-Sometimes. I just … I have times when I feel like I’m not good enough for anything. There are so many people who are smarter, better, more successful and more worthy of love. I…. – she stuttered sobbing not capable of stopping now that she started and let her guards down.

-My love – unlike himself Dream opened his arms invitingly and she just threw herself into them. Feeling his embrace made her sob even more but it seemed like he didn’t care, just holding her tight against him. To be honest Morpheus felt guilt growing up inside him as he felt her shaking in pain she was holding too long. – Do I make you feel unloved? – he asked quietly not letting her go.  

-Of course not – she pulled away but was immediately yanked back to him.

-No. Stay. - he said embracing her once again and gently stroking her hair. – Talk to me.

-I can’t say it – she simply stated calming now, thanks to his touch and affection.

-Please. Tell me why do you feel like that. Did I do something?

-I love you so much Morpheus. But at the same time I think you can do so much better. I’m not beautiful or skinny and you are just so breathtaking that it makes me wonder that maybe I don’t fit…

At this point he did not gave her opportunity to finish as his lips found her, capturing them in the most gentle yet passionate kiss she ever had. Like he was trying to convey all the feelings he held for the girl who stole his heart and soul. His grip on her waist tightened as an indication that he was not planning on letting her go or finding someone better, whatever that meant. His strong hands holding her close and giving her comfort just the way she needed. They both could stay like that forever but eventually had to pull up for air.

-Hi – he rested his forehead on hers, still holding her close.

-Hello – she whispered back. She was not cold anymore. Being in his arms was just so right.

-Feeling better? – he smirked as she closed her eyes and put on the smallest of smiles noding – you are beautiful y/n - Dream cupped her cheek slowly caressing her face -You are witty, intelligent and strong. You are the only one to ever put me in a place, which, I hate to admit, is pretty admirable. You are observant, quick to think and I could never ever stop loving you or get bored with your personality. Whoever else try to tell you that you are less than perfect I shall condemn to eternity with nightmares, if that is your wish.

-I don’t think that would be necessary. You are enough to make me feel strong enough to face the Devil himself

-More like herself, love. And even thought I know you are capable of everything it is unwise to mention that name in a conversation – he gently rubs his nose against her breathing her in, silent warning in his voice.

-I’m sorry – she whispers leaning in and kissing him again, completely lost with the contact.

-I love you, y/n, and don’t you ever feel differently. Now, rest, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.  You don't have to act stronger than you are when you're with me.

#sandman #sandman x oc #morpheus #morpheus x oc #the sandman imagine #morpheus fanfiction #fanfic #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x oc #dream #dream x oc #dream lord #dream lord x oc #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x oc #the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #matthew the sandman #matthew the raven #fluff #fanfiction #sandman fanfiction

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 3 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Angel

I don’t remember if he was Catholic as a human (he was Irish like a few hundred years ago so probably) but his guilt complex as a vampire is so fucking massive it has to be Catholic lbr

well he's from 1700s ireland so. theres that. he's (for most of the series) the only vampire with a soul and he uses that soul to feel really guilty for everything all the time. he moves to LA and starts saving people from demons to try and atone for everything he did while he was a soulless vampire

he makes exactly one facial expression and its |:<

Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler Propaganda:

good lord where do i start. in the animated series he converts logan to catholisism and then fucks off basically thats the main thing he did there. i think one time they tried to make him a demon to explain how he looked but everyone hated that. he sold his soul one time to help his friends out after he died. he and logan have a weird little gay thing. he was a priest one time but he was made a priest by a fake bishop from a religion that hates mutants iirc so he just wasnt a priest. like 3 people have written him in a way i like and one of those is my friend just talking about how they view him.

wow marvel loves making catholic characters dress/look like demons

Kurt is a mutant who was born to mystique who looks a LOT like a devil (technically is half one but that cannon truth isn’t real go back to bed), his mother dropped him off a cliff when he was born and he was picked up by a Romani group/circus (fuck old comics man) however he then narrowly escaped being sold to a freak show and found himself in a small German town. There he met a kind priest, who showed him God, and he quickly grew attached to the idea- However, it wasn’t long before people began labeling him a demon and soon the whole town was against him with pitchforks and fire. Cornered and injured, Kurt thought this might be the end for him- maybe he would see heaven so long after finding it- but he was then saved by Charles Xavier who invited him to the X-Men. AND ITS BEEN SO MANY YEARS AND HE HAS BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH THERE. SO MUCH. SO GOD DAMN MUCH. BUT THE MOST AAAA THING TO ME CONCERNING HIS FAITH HE WHEN HE LITERALLY DIED AND WENT TO HEAVEN BUT THEN BECAUSE OF DRAMA WITH HIS FATHER HAD TO BRING HIS FRIENDS IN WITH HIM FROM THE BEYOND. THEN WITH ALOT OF TROUBLE THEY FOUGHT HIS FATHER AND THE ONLY WAY KURT SAW TO STOP HIM WAS IN A MOVE THAT STRIPPED THEM BOTH OF THEIR SOULS AND PUT THEM BACK ON EARTH. SO KURT CANONICALLY HAS NOW LOST HIS ABILITY FOR ETERNAL PEACE, LOST HIS VERY SOUL, TO SAVE PEOPLE- AND ALSO TOLD NO ONE NOT EVEN HIS GAY LOVER WOLVERINE.

Nightcrawler is a mutant vigilante who looks like a classical demon. He can’t even go to church without people panicking and trying to exorcize him. Despite it all, he’s so full of faith and hope and compassion, and he wants to believe the best of everyone. Also, he’s bffs with an extremely angry Jewish sword lesbian. That has nothing to do with anything, but it’s important to me that you all know that.

What if you were a devout christian and literally looked like the devil? He nearly became the pope, which was a plot by some supervillains that also involved faking a rapture? There is nothing like comics I swear to god.

A catholic who is half demon I don’t think I can better explain a struggle than that. But his character is so relatable to people who feel unwelcome with their congregation because of something that is a part of them but still feeling a connection to the faith. Kurt actively engaged in his faith and shares how his faith helps him through all the things he has faced in life and how he found a home with those of the church who leave the judging to God.

so they made kurt a priest briefly before deciding to retcon it, resulting in nightcrawler actually being part of a plan by villains to promote him to pope then reveal to the world that the pope is a demon. wild.

I have a side blog and a tattoo about him and i really really want him to win

Wisecracking devil-appearing devout Catholic with the Best superpower (teleportation)? HECK YES

German Catholic circus acrobat who looks like a demon & can teleport through a hellish alternate dimension with a puff of sulfur. Character of all time.

hes catholic and his dad is the devil. what could be funnier than that. also hes my silly little guy.

Nightcrawler is the world’s most fun catholic priest. I first was introduced to this kindhearted teleporting acrobat while he saved a boat full of stowaway refugees from inter dimensional pirates with swashbuckling gusto!

#cct polls #tumblr tournament #tumblr bracket #tumblr polls #angel buffy #buffy the vampire slayer #angel the series #r3 #polls #kurt wagner #x men #nightcrawler #marvel #xmen #x men comics #marvel x men

[raionmimi]

I love your art of Setanta and Medb Lily, is there any evidence of them actually being childhood friends in the Ulster Cycle?

Short answer: Not exactly, it was just me piecing together timelines that are extremely vague and plot points that would make way more sense if fleshed out more. So I started making comics based on my childhood and kids I know for a surreal idealization that would be the catalyst for their problems when they fight in the war

Long Answer:

All that I know is that Fergus is 20-ish years older than Conchobar. Conchobar is older than Medb, who would have to have been in the 10~16 range and been officially married at 15-16. (I’m assuming she’d be about 17-18 when divorced because she was forced to bear an heir) Cú was 5 when he came to Ulster and about 7-10 when he left, but it’s never mentioned that the two talked to each other at that time since it’s not relevant to the story

But it would make sense that they met considering their relationship to Conchobar, who was Medb’s betrothed and Cu’s uncle. Even further, Cu’s warp spasm when he was 7 was stopped by Mugain, who was Medb’s sister. Meaning, Medb was probably there when it occurred, but there wasn’t a reason to mention her

Then in one story, Cú and his friends decide to get Medb and Ailill to be judges for their “Who’s the best warrior” competition. They figured they’d be the most fair, but this was prior to the war. How would they be familiar with the Connacht rulers since Cú doesn’t really spend much time with official political shenanigans? All three had to have known of Medb and Ailill before this event. Since Medb often hosted people from other kingdoms, namely Ulster, they probably have all visited her nation before

It all kind of leads back to Cú knowing Medb personally, which could give more emphasis and weight as to why he listened to all her demands/schemes and refused to harm/fight her in the war. It’s unknown if he knew what abuse was happening to her when she was married to his uncle or what his uncle did to her after they got divorced. BUT we do know his uncle directly confronted Cú and demanded him to kill Medb, and Cú said he refused to his face

Then you have Fate’s interpretation. Medb is treated more like a troublesome neighbor rather than a threat. Cú lets her off with a slap on the wrist more than anything. He tells you in a voiceline that Medb is one of the women he broke a promise to so he wants to be more reliable this time. Fate has never mentioned what promise he made Medb, even though you can guess what he probs promised Emer, Scathach, and maybe Morrigan. Medb says she wants to dominate Cú but she never does much to actually do that because there’s some invisible line drawn that she herself put down

In my brain, it makes sense that there is something connecting the two with an unsaid past. One that drives Medb to having mixed feelings about Cú (both hating him but not being able to leave him alone) and Cú to feeling like he has to be there for Medb. Something that neither really wants to talk too much about, and especially not with each other

The easiest connection would be them being friends at a young age when they met in the Ulster kingdom. They’re both lowkey unwelcomed as Conchobar abuses Medb for her refusal to yield to him, and he didn’t even want Setanta to join his army at first. He kind of hates and fears both of them. Makes sense for them to just be regular kids together to set up the dynamic change for later.

A shattered friendship is one of the most devastating things that could happen to a child growing up, and could easily warp to an obsessive hatred and lingering guilt. Leads to feelings like “You betrayed me,” “Why didn’t you take me with you?” or “I wasn’t there for you, I need to make up for it.”

I like tragicomedies a lot, so I think it’s the best foundation for both causing and healing the severe rift between them when they’re older

So no, there’s no actual source material that would outright say that they’re childhood friends, it’s just something that would make the most amount of sense when you go back and align the dots. At least to me in my brain

#tain bo cuailnge #magical college girl medb #retained memories #long post #i hope that makes sense #rip mobile users #I like creating happy memories of Lily and Setanta #because it makes Cú and Medb that much more tragic and angst ridden #like it’s one thing to be angry that a warrior won’t take you seriously in a fight #it’s another when it’s your old friend who pities you and won’t let you take out your anger on him because he cares about you too much #it just gives them more depth and clarity for their actions #they’re kind of a cautionary tale that parallels rin and shirou in a way I guess

[audacityinblack]

Day 1: Tradition

Touch

Summary: Zevran has always had trouble with touch, but there are little ways Albine brings him that comfort.

----

He flinches when she touches his shoulder. She pulls her hand back and hesitates, but says nothing. She knows what it's like, to be afraid that every touch could turn into a slap, a shove, an unwelcome grab, a violating grope.

But he's shivering, and she isn't sure if it's from cold or anxiety or he just hasn't eaten since last night again. Her hands feel weak and empty, incapable of providing the comfort he needs because he can't stand to be touched or held except in the manner of sex.

More than that, she craves intimacy - warm embraces, tender kisses, held hands idly playing with fingers, lips and hot breath whispering in her ear. Someone more than something to hold on to. All avoided in the Circle, lest an attachment grow that could be cruelly severed by the Templars. But which is truly the greater cruelty, to tear lovers from one another's arms, or to deny oneself a lover's touch altogether out of fear of losing them?

Once she was free of the Circle, she had seized every opportunity to satisfy that long-suppressed hunger. Alistair gave hugs that were warm and comforting, Leliana gently toying with her hair and leaving tiny, feather-light kisses on her cheeks, but somehow she was left unsatisfied. She wanted more of something, but she wasn't sure what.

And then, the assassin came along. The man whose hands could deliver pleasure as well as they could deliver death, who even once tried to kill her. He came with eyes to look and words to sweetly invite, and fingertips like fire that he was only too eager to use to please. She almost accepted his offer when it was first made. But, hearing about his enslavement by the Crows, and his endeavor to escape them, makes her hesitate. She has no desire to take advantage of a man who has already been used and abused, and now depends on her for protection. His desire, she insists, must be true. Besides that, she herself still sometimes flinches at a touch, feeling the quiver of uncertainty if the hands that touch her mean to heal or hit, harm or hold. And there's so much vulnerability in it - too much to take things too casually. She needed to be certain of trust, respect, care, safety, and it would take time before she would be comfortable in the same hands that once tried to kill her. She is honest, and he is understanding and patient. He makes no effort to rush or pressure her, his flattery gentle, his words encouraging. They trade the smallest and simplest gestures first - his blown kiss across the campfire, her warm smile as she pulls him into her tent to get him out of the third rainy night in a row that week. But there's a problem. The muscles of his shoulder tense when he touches them, and he always seems to place himself just outside her reach. It makes her gut tighten with worry and guilt, fearful that she might have triggered some kind of unspoken ache. She questions it, but his answers obscure and deflect; he doesn't seem to want to speak of it, so she doesn't, and keeps her distance lest she trouble him further.

But her own desire refuses to fade, and now only seems to grow more intense. She doesn't just want the kind of touch he seems to know, she wants to hold his hand, to throw her arms around him after they survive a near-death experience, to lean against him as they listened to Leliana's lute.

In fact, it's Leliana she speaks to. Once the giggling and teasing about crushes is over, Leliana explains that there are other ways to soothe those soft cravings. Little tricks, she calls them, to make him feel safe in her hands. She hands him bowls of hot soup that leave him feeling warm and full. Extra blankets, to keep the late autumn chill away. He sleeps heavy and content, and wakes full of vigor and a lust for life he had not seen in months.

And soon, she starts to give in to the little ministrations he offers - "Might I help you tie your corset, my dear?" My dear, my sweet, querida, bella mia, hair tucked behind her ear, an arm around her waist, kisses to her forehead that he has to rise up on his tiptoes to deliver. Slowly but surely, he delivers what she desires, and just as surely, she returns the favor.

She learns that he prefers to initiate, so she lets him come to her and indulge in what is soon revealing itself to be his own craving for a soft touch. She begins to mirror him, subtly - trading flattery and innuendo and humor, speaking floridly and passionately. She takes the things from him that make her heart bubble with delight. And he finds that these little gestures soothe him. His chest doesn't tighten on reflex anymore when she comes to speak to him, his muscles don't shock when she touches his back. He slouches comfortably under the blankets she drapes over his shoulders, and savors the mouthfuls of soup she asks him to taste test. There are still times when he needs his space - there might always be - but when he speaks, she listens, just as he does to her. And yet, she still checks in on him and ensures his needs are met. More and more often, he needs to speak less - she knows his desires well, simple as they are. And then, one night, with hardly a word mentioned of it before but in passing weeks ago, she comes to him inquiring of a certain pair of leather boots with an unmistakable aroma. She claims her intent is merely to appraise the boots, asking if they resemble the ones he saw on the way out of Antiva. His jaw drops, breathless as his heart races, his hands trembling with pure joy. Tears form at the corners of his eyes as he urges his heart to be still. It was such a trivial thing, nearly forgotten even by him, but the Warden, the brilliant, cunning, lovely Warden, remembered his words after so long. Remembered him, thought of him in his absence, returned to him with thoughts of his happiness. When he realizes the boots fit perfectly, all ability to hold himself back leaves him. He gives her a wide, bright smile and asks if he can kiss her. She accepts, and one kiss turns into another, and kisses turn into other things.

#zevwarden week 2023

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

Good morning dear Patchy!

It's nice to stumble into your little shop on this fine October day~

Been looking around and that Demon Slayer book of old has really caught my eye. Would you mind too terribly to part with it?

Well, good morning to yourself my dear Yezi! I am so happy to finally see you within my little shop after our fateful meeting; especially now as I have plenty of items to give away to curious people like you. I am grateful you wished to partake! 💛

I also see you were comfortable enough to rummage through all I had already. I always hope the patrons who enter my store feel that same sense of ease to do the same as you did. More than happy to part with that book, my friend, especially if it has caught your eye as it did.

And well, we have all morning, so why not sit and read for a little bit? 🔮

You shuddered as the wind howled around you, chilling you in its ruthless hold as rain splattered across your skin. It was truly not your idea to be riding out in a hailing thunderstorm that showed no mercy to whoever traveled, be it rich or poor, but the guilt that gnawed at you gave you the courage to continue forward. With each ragged breath, one that ravaged your throat and left remnants of pain, all you could focus on was getting to the castle that once held you prisoner.

After all, even a beast could so compassion, could show mercy, could showcase a level of tenderness never thought possible. To be humane, even in the most inhumane environment possible.

Even a beast could love.

And you would never forgive yourself if you stood idly by and allowed those who let fear run through their veins, the same kind of fear that makes a wounded animal lash out and attack, to find him and take his life away. To lead said beast to slaughter simply because he allowed you to go home and be with your father. You couldn’t.

You shook the water that had accumulated upon you lashed, that has forced them to droop and obscure your vision, and urged your steed to run to even faster. You had to get the mob, and to the man who congregated and led them, before the reached their destination. And sadly, the ground you had to cover to reach them was much too great for your comfort. Though, when you saw the silhouette of the castle your body slumped forward, tension leaving your shoulders for a moment, in relief as you regarded the almost run-down palace like an old friend. It almost made you laugh when that feeling overcame you. For when you the same view months previous you did not have the same warm comfort as you did then.

No, back then it was dread that filled you when you slowly approached the dark gates that surrounding the land. How unwelcoming, almost threatening, everything looked – a clear sign to you, and anyone in your position, that you were not welcomed here. But you knew your father was there, you had to help him, for who knows how sick he must be without your care?

He was always sickly, your father. In his aging years his body seemed to turn against him in some fashion. That was why you stayed at home, so you could care for him; a task easier said than done given his energetic nature. He was never one to sit and allow the world to pass him by. Why is why, despite your pleading otherwise, he had taken it upon himself to go to the next town over to participate in a fair being held. To see if he could sell some of his homemade trinkets and furniture. But he never wrote to you once he arrived. When a week had gone and passed, you grew even more concerned; and when his horse came back without him, you took it upon yourself to jump upon its back and thus set off to find him.

You were sure he got turned around at night, chose the wrong path when two choices appeared. So, you did the same when the option came; given how your beloved horse wanted to do otherwise, you knew it was the right path.

It led you to where you are now. To a castle of grand nature, on you were sure held a lot of beauty and charm, but had been neglected for years and thus seemed unwelcoming of anyone who came to see it. You heard your fathers cries, and when you found him locked away you did all you could to break the locks and set him free. Though, you were stopped by a thundering voice asking you what you were doing.

“W-who are you!” You called out, eyes struggle in the dim light to make the man who loomed over you in the shadows.

“I am the master of this castle.” He deep voice sent a shiver down you spine as it rumbled forth. “And now I ask who you are.”

“I’ve come here for my father! Please let him out! Can't you see he's sick?” You pleaded, tugging on the iron that separated the pair of you. “Please he could die! I’ll give you whatever you want, just let him out!”

“Then he shouldn’t have trespassed!” He growled out, his frame growing as he stood taller “There is nothing you can do for him now, you can beg for his release all you want but it will not be done. He is my prisoner!”

You remembered in that moment the choices set upon you, to run and leave your father to die or for you to take his place so he may get the help he needed. As your heart pounded in your chest you cried out how you would take his place, that you would stay here forever if it meant his freedom.

The man took you up on it, throwing your father into and enchanted carriage and allow him to go back to your village. Your relief of his safety was short lived when you finally saw him in the dim light of the moon. It was not a man you had made a deal with, but rather a hideous beat covered in grey fur, almost the colour of snow; with horns, a tail, and claws you were sure could rip through anything if the scars along his body were any indication of the power their wielded.

But you had made a deal, and you were to keep you word – at least for now. Swallowing your fear, you squared your shoulders and gave him your name, trying to keep the tremble out of you voice as you spoke. He only replied with one word back before motioning you to follow him to where you would stay.

Sanemi.

That was his name, the servants of the castle would tell you as they informed you of all that had befallen them. How they were cured and the forgotten, doomed to spend the rest of their days trapped in a place that was no longer home, in forms no longer their bodies.

You felt a sense of pity for all of them, even the master of the estate, though it took you a long time finally allow your guard to come down and to see them all in a light different than the one your first casted; especially to Sanemi. How you tried in vain to escape, to throw yourself in the throws of danger just for a taste of freedom, for death seemed a better option that staying within a castle you were frightened of.

But he always saved you, always came to your aide whenever you were attacked, bruised, or beaten by whatever worse creatures that lurked in the forest around you. He always ensured you the best care, for it became clear to you that he simple wanted a companion rather than a prisoner. That even if it meant caring for someone who would never do anything in kind, he would do it for even a sliver of your kindness.

It took you months to do so, to open up to him and allow yourself to try and enjoy his company, but once you did you could not help but find yourself happy to wake in the grand room given to you. To eat meals with him, to enjoy the plethora of books in his library, to enjoy some evening tea, and to walk along the castle gardens – ones he decided to upkeep once more for your enjoyment – with him.

You grew fond of him, of the man he used to be that was hidden away in the form of the beast, and he in turn grew to love you unconditionally. So much so, that Sanemi did not even hesitate to allow you to leave him, to condemn him to a life of solitary once more, if it meant your happiness. Thus, he sent you away to be with your father.

When you returned, however, you were met with mod who had imprisoned your father for insanity due to his tales of the beastly man he had met and were now out to kill him and destroy the castle for good. At first you could not fathom why they would take such cruel and dramatic measures, but when the man you had refused to marry lead the charge, you got your answer. Out of desperation and jealousy, this man wanted to destroy all you had enjoyed and loved to ensure your had; turning into the beast you once thought Sanemi was.

That was why you had to get to him first, to prevent his death and to spare those lived in the home you grew fond of. Disembarking off your horse you scrambled, feet sliding along the wet cobble stone, to find Sanemi and try and make all this right. You ran through the estate, calling out his name in hopes of a response.

You finally found him atop of the balcony of his room, a place once forbidden to you, struggling against an attack from the man from your village. You did not hesitate, much like when you first arrived here, to throw yourself into the dangers before you – to try and give your life for another.

But it was too late.

The man had struck Sanemi’s chest with a broken arrow, wounding him and causing his to fall to the ground in a defeated heap. Though he could celebrate his victory for long, as the slick marble of the balcony’s ledge caused him to trip and stumble back and fall the long way down. But his life didn’t matter, not to you anyway, as you stumbled and threw yourself atop of Sanemi and wept.

“Please, please don’t go!” You cried into his coarse fur “I don’t want to go, I need you here with me! I-I… I love you, Sanemi!”

After you quite, muttered admittance to your true feelings, you felt his body move before a blinding light overcame his form. You stumbled back as you watched with bated breath and awe-struck confusion as his body was lifted into the air and slowly his form shifted and grew smaller. What was once a beast now seemed to be a man as he was lowered back down upon his feet.

You were frozen as you awaited to finally see the man who was hidden beneath the mast of a beast, the one you had found to love, for the first time; waiting for the blinding light of the enchantment put upon him to go away before throwing yourself into his arms.

It seemed forever before the light faded, and finally you got to see him. His hair that match the white fur you had touched so many times, his face….! ~

You jolted as a hand covered up the words you were so invested into reading, stopping the enchantment you seemed to be under – one that made all of it seem real – as you blinked up at the offender. It was merely the peddler who allowed you to take the book you held within your hands; free of charge. You watched as the corners of her mouth moved into a kind smile as she removed her hand from the written work.

“Apologies for interrupting” She spoke, voice soft and soothing almost as if to fend of any wrath you may hold for her “But my shop is now closed for the night.”

“Night?” You questioned, eyes now darting around the room to find a window to confirm her accusation, to which you did “Have I really been here that long?”

“Afraid so!” She chuckled, “Suppose you found that book to be really good, hm?”

Apologies again for causing your strife in ending your reading session just as you got to the end! As much as I wanted to allow you the chance to finally be with him, as you seemed quite fond of him, I desperately needed to close so I may rest.

Though, I can promise you shall see him soon. Though I suspect without such a beastly enchantment upon him🔮

I do hope you wish to keep what you found, for all 'sales' are final

#i got carried away with this one #wrote WAY more than I planned #guess I just really wanted to write this fairytale for Demon Slayer #but I digress! #i do hope you like this for I had a lot of fun writing it 💛 #🔮.the peddler's one year event #demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader

[horizon-verizon]

Who do you prefer more Book! Rhaenyra or Show! Rhaenyra?

*EDITED as of 6/11/23*

Book!Rhaenyra, most definitely. This is a rant.

Though she is not as good with strategy as she could have been on her own--due to Viserys not giving her a proper political and military education like Jaehaerys I gave his sons--I prefer her because her being a "girly girl" from birth while pursuing her claim to the throne and never wavering from the belief that it is her birthright when the some of the court and Alicent have made it their business to remind her--most likely since she is the first female appointed heir--that her gender makes her less worthy of it gives me a thrill.

It could have been tempting to give in at several moments throughout her life not long after Alicent birthed Aegon--again, Alicent and the greens plotted, harassed, disparaged ("safe from Criston Cole"), and thus also most likely made her feel unwelcome in her own home since Rhaenyra was 10. It takes special persistence and resilience to be as sure as Rhaenyra was. Even if she did have private moments of doubt unrecorded, they never stopped her from her course or even made her pause (...until the betrayal of course. We all have limits, and again her childhood though Martin could have at least put in a few refusals against Celtigar's taxes and/or have put out one mid-successful strategy. How hard would it have been to clarify that it was her idea to send Daemon and Nettles out against Aemond or be the one to provide one element of the plan to take King's Landing?).

The determination to do as she thinks despite naysayers, while being as femme as she is great to see. And I don't mean that I think "soft femininity" will win the day or some Sansa-Stan bull, I mean that in patriarchal societies, the more femme-presenting a person of any gender is, the more they are taken as weak of heart or lacking in courage and strength and ability and competency, bc such elaborateness and care to one's appearance that could be read as "seductive" is societally coded feminine/"weaker".

And Doylstically, while GRRM made her much too vulnerable and w/o strategy or focus for much of the war (which is itself scented with sexist writing), again, that boldness and self-advocacy is what I like. She reminds me a lot of Cersei, but with comparatively more sense. I also think she was, for the most part, what alinahams says about her HERE. Except Rhaenyra--before her paranoia--took counsel pretty well....unlike Aegon her brother.

Show!Rhaenyra, from her Milly/young self to her Emma/older self annoys me a bit. Just from the way the writers chose to write her.

Show!Rhaenyra losing much of her fire in her adulthood and by episode 6 might seem expected or inevitable to some people because of the long fighting mostly spent alone, the guilt over Joffrey's death, and her need to look out for her sons in a hostile court, but I see it as a flaw in the writing and more sexist than the original story.

Show!Rhaenyra does not really contend with Alicent unless it concerns her kids. And she is not as decisive as the book! counterpart until Daemon chokes her out, her son dies (but not her daughter, who died before Luke and she called a council for in the book after losing?!), and she realizes that Viserys never told Daemon about the prophecy and thus shows to her that Viserys had much more confidence in her than in his male possible-heir...even though she has witnessed--everyone has witnessed!--for YEARS Viserys never named Daemon heir and she has already been the declared heir for those years. Finally, for YEARS, she has known that the greens sought to usurp her, yet at her moment of truth, she hesitates and disproves Daemon fortifying the castle?! That's all he's doing, too, fortifying it! When she has specifically proposed to Daemon asking for his violent/effective help and support for this very reason (other than loving him)?!!!

No Rhaenyra would be more decisive in such a scenario -- not necessarily gungho into violence after she's had w minute from her rage at Visenya's loss, but she'd be planning for a war and accepting that it would happen! Ignoring this just dumbs her down and makes her overly emotional and more vulnerable to Daemon's supposed roughshodding/external pressures instead of her own urgency and drive for power.

Aside from Rhaenyra already having left KL for Dragonstone after she marries, before she births Jaecaerys and ruing it for years alone before she marries Daemon, coming to befriend Laena, and having the chance to rule away from Alicent's presence, @xenonwitch points this out about Alicent:

the writers decided that a woman could only align with patriarchy if she had been brutally crushed beneath it and deprived or all agency. Hence Alicia becomes a doll for the men in her life to play with. This victimization also causes massive discontinuity during the scenes the writers decided to include actual text-based Alicent moments. The character they have set up is simply not designed to state the agency/ambition-based quotes that her book “counterpart” (term used loosely) showcases so easily.

I feel that something like this is also true for Rhaenyra in that the writers could not feel or imagine how/why a woman would fight for her throne on her own merit without the justification of an overhanging prophecy or her father's instructions, or with some awareness of some grand plan set down to define your entire existence to: to make sure that they create progeny who will fight in the Long Night. Both women suffer from the toothlessness of their fathers: Rhaenyra-Viserys, by what I say in the linked post above; Alicent-Otto, by the show making Alicent younger and unwilling to marry Viserys, only doing it by Otto's pressuring her, thus making both more victims than they are supposed to be.

Constant victimhood is not compelling, it's just trauma plot AND it's misogynist because it espouses that a woman can only hold power through suffering to uphold her male relatives' desires and that female power in any form is always given, not taken.

And when has the Dance or any event in the Westerosi monarchial/feudal history has it ever been about "the realm"? That goes for before the Targ Conquest as well--can we actually sit back and assume that any of these people are ever acting for the smallfolk (Alicent against Dyana, the bursting through the floor who Hess called "civilians", Otto not thinking about smallfolk when he pressured Alicent into bonding w/Viserys, etc)? So who is the "realm'? The only ones left to count as "the realm" are rich traders, merchants, and nobles. These are people that Alicent and Viserys tell each other, themselves and Rhaenyra needs protecting?! No, this is a narrative excuse for the prophecy to be the only real indicator for the "good" people vs the "bad" people. The "good" ones are Rhaenyra, Alicent, Rhaenys, & Viserys--those who think of the "realm", while the "bad" are Otto, Daemon, etc. are those who think selfishly--such a reductive thing to do! It became less about Rhaenyra-the-person, and more Rhaenyra-the-device of every male in existence and in her lineage for the sake of the known prophecy.

And to make Alicent more...central or impressive, they took some of Rhaenyra's properties or moments and gave them to Alicent. For example, the show took away her moment of self-advocacy when they gave it to Alicent in episode 5, the reveal of the green dress. Probably b/c they so stripped Alicent down to a helpless goody-two-shoes that they had to give her something some people would sympathize with her for, or think she's heroic. Just to make her more interesting. At the expense of Rhaenyra's characterization, though. And the result is that we also can't really imagine show!Rhaenyra calling for Vaemond's head (she may have or have not made eyes at Daemon, but she still bothered to try and defend herself to the greens when before in the book she took matters into her own hands concerning the Driftmark claim. Viserys didn't have to make a long walk to defend her) OR feeding his corpse to Syrax OR saying "they stole my crown" or "they killed my daughter". this Rhaenyra is nearly unrecognizable...you know why? Because she has become a mere protesting tool.

That isn't at all what ASoIaF--with all its (mostly) gray, well-developed characters--is about. I fell for ASoIaF because it depicted characters trying to find control and a stronger, more autonomous sense of identity in a world that wishes to deny them these and they often find the building blocks. Book!Rhaenyra found strength by recognizing herself as at least part of a great house, similar to what Dany does. In contrast to people like Jon, Tyrion, Arya, who all suffer struggle from their "ancestry not giving them enough solace" to create stabler and healthier identities:

I don't like how the show has made this story about what's good for the "realm" because it detracts from Daenerys and the Big Five's stories by claiming to be that story. And it's not just about fighting for the Long Night, it's also developing personhood through living conflicts between love vs duty vs power.

The Dance is where the Targs began to lose it all. Dany/the Big Five and the main ASoIaF story is when the Targs are gone and the real realm of Westeros AND the realm of humanity are facing a huge fantastical environmental catastrophe. Let the Dance be the Dance, Dany be Dany, etc.

@mononijikayu states with Alicent:

i also have to mention that many people said that the story was not feminist enough when the literal title of the origin was princess and the queen, focusing on the two powerful women who held the reins of power - one fighting for her right to the throne and her house and the other wanting to establish a legacy of her own by using her own children. it wasn't an just an archetypal stepmother story, thats just one part of the vindictiveness that runs along the story. it was two women challenging the status quo in their own way, creating a sense of agency in the damn patriarchal society. people like to apply so much of the modern peripheral on medieval society but look away when the main lead were women trying to decide for themselves what their lives should look like.

This part is especially true: "the main lead were women trying to decide for themselves what their lives should look like." This is what both book!Alicent and Rhaenyra were, women who both were trying to create a future for themselves where they'd benefit, trying to engineer their own lives by their own means and claims to resources, by their own will.

No, because a girl or a woman couldn't possibly try to flout patriarchal mores or try to decide her own fate if she truly is as "girly", feudal woman/girl (think Lucrezia Borgia from 2011 The Borgias) as canon states Rhaenyra to be. We have to have a modern, 2000s, "independent" young girl placed in a feudal world to suffer its inequities (look how bad things were, aren't we so much better off?!)....only to basically give up entirely and not fight for the birthright because....of a page that her treacherous former friend gives her...and ignore the risk to lives and dignities of not only her sons but herself, her husband, her sworn lords, and every other black faction member?

Therefore, it's also the stark dichotomy of her young vs older selves that is justified, by the show's writing, that Rhaenyra is less self-confident or willign to fight back. That she didn't fight with Alicent through innuendos, slight jabs, references of suspicions, or even hint that she thinks that Alicent is after her and her throne. Where's the clever verbal sparring? (This doesn't appear in the book, but esp with Rhaenyra having had her red/black dress moment, do we really think that she would have taken comments like "who protects the princess from Criston Cole" down lightly, as we should know Alicent definitely would have kept making such comments up until Rhaenyra left for Dragonstone and whenever she came back to KL?)

Now just because you get older, doesn't mean you lose a temper or that anger doesn't fill you up when you feel slighted if you are the type of person Rhaenyra in the book was. Remember, her canon characterization was that she could be charming but "never forgot a slight".

azureflight has a post explaining Rhaenyra's canon character HERE, while alinahams has one HERE.

Rant over.

*EDIT* (8/21/23):

THIS is a great post by mononijikayu about medieval queens, female rulers, the history of how women in leadership positions were made and seen as threats to the very structure of social “order”, and contextualizing Rhaenyra thru Empress Matilda. I didn’t even know about Matilda’s husband being comparable to Rhaneyra’s Daemon! PLZ READ!!!!

Excerpt:

just as much, along with these fictitious portrayals, more lies are depicted. these women are considered vixens that cause havoc to men by shifting them into desires and danger. through the written word, we see how women are cast in roles of villains in men’s lives. it is because by their conclusive thoughts, women are the only creatures that are able to turn ‘good honorable men’ into despicable creatures who do shameful, deplorable acts for the sake of women’s pleasures. […]  it is within this narrative that ancient chroniclers declare that women were in fact the doom of men. if they were not able to control the dangers posed by the wiles of women, then the foundations of the mighty society they had built would be up in flames.  [...] as i mentioned, these factors of community are written down and preserved. and with that, the example of the ancients were the foundations by which medieval society built itself. the same concepts continued to cause the same issue within society and that was the exclusion of women from participating in the bigger picture of community and state, much so with governing states in their own right—without judgment or disapproval. 

#asoiaf asks to me #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #hotd characterization #fire and blood characters #fire and blood #hotd #house of the dragon #rhaenyra's characterization #rhaenyra targaryen #character comparison #hotd writing #hotd aegon's prophecy #hotd wrongs