#so i declare all of this canon until proven otherwise

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Vipers~ Part 1/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall part 13 of the series “Growing Strong”. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE. ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of of previous death of characters, Larys Strong is a warning in and of himself

Summary: As the family heeds Princess Rhaenyra’s extended invitation and travels to Dragonstone, Ser Vaemond’s petition to be declared heir to Driftmark creates a sudden need for a side venture to King’s Landing. This does not sit well with Harwin. At all.

A/N: Guess who's back. I apologize for my particularly long delay this time. For compensation, I hope you accept these next three parts. They're pretty hefty, and there's a great deal covered. Took a while to put the entire parts together, but I'm happy with how they turned out, and I hope you can enjoy them as well. I’m so excited for y’all to see what happens over these next few parts.🖤

Part 2 will be posted on Wednesday 12/21, and Part 3 will be posted on Friday 12/23. Until then, I hope you have a good week!🖤🖤🖤

PS, I recently hit 800 followers, and I’m literally shooketh. Thank you sm, love each and every one of yas🖤🖤🖤

It had been a long evening in the Red Keep.

But for Lord Larys Strong, Master of Whisperers, the night had only just begun.

“Are you certain?”

Larys appraised Queen Alicent Hightower thoughtfully in response to her question. The Queen looked sufficiently weary, with her hair undone and falling freely, and her typical fine-pressed gown wrinkled from the day’s wear. The news he had confided to her only caused her distress, and thus, further weariness.

“A regrettable turn of events, but my sources have confirmed it so.”

“Your sources?” Queen Alicent scoffed, not able to fully conceal the panic that threatened to break her otherwise icy composure. “I have seen the men under your employ, Larys. They do not have tongues with which to speak. How have they relayed this information to you? How do they relay any information to you at all?”

Larys smiled placatingly, neither offended nor threatened by her line of questioning.

In her personal chambers especially, Larys ought to have felt like he was on less than equal footing. But he and Queen Alicent had reached an agreement many years past- a mutual assurance, so to speak. In addition to this, Larys’ reach had extended in great strides since he had followed his father to King’s Landing in his youth. Larys allowed himself to briefly contemplate if his own influence had come to rival, if not surpass, that of the Queen’s.

Though they may be drawing nearer to equal power, Larys never felt called to acknowledge such a sentiment with anyone, least of all her. He was rather content with the role he had crafted for himself at Court, and later, the small council. It was a role that had been skillfully crafted in the wonderfully efficient tools of blood, deception, and most important of all, whispers. Larys had a purpose, one that gave him all the sense of self-sufficiency that mortals could not help but desire.

And what greater purpose could one strive for than to be the Queen’s most dutiful servant?

“The written word is one oft overlooked, My Queen. But for those who have traded their tongues for life, it is the only way. Who am I to begrudge them for that?”

Her brows furrowed; she was too preoccupied with news to have any patience for his whimsical musings.

Sensing this, Larys continued without delay. “This has been my method of communication with them for years, My Queen. Like me, they are true and loyal servants of the realm. Has any of their intelligence relayed to me, which I have in turn used to secure you, and your interests, ever proven to be false or malicious?”

Queen Alicent did not answer, for she knew it had not.

“I have every reason to believe the written whispers I have received tonight deserve no less credibility than their predecessors, My Queen.”

Queen Alicent sighed, and stiffly lowered herself onto the nearby sofa. “Forgive me, Larys.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Your Grace.”

“When will she be arriving?”

“It is hard to decipher the timing of these matters.” Larys unabashedly ogled Queen Alicent as she reached down to remove her slippers. Later, he scolded himself abruptly. “My brother and his family were being hosted by Lord Footly in Tumbleton when the raven from Princess Rhaenyra arrived. I imagine my Good Sister will arrive in the capital within the next day or so.”

“And you suspect she will come alone?”

“I do not know Lady Y/N as well as I should like. But I do know my brother, My Queen. He protects his own. He is likely to be reluctant to let his wife enter the Red Keep by her lonesome, but he will relent. He would not forcibly subject their children to these halls by accompanying her.”

It went unsaid that his brother would also be wise to make himself scarce, particularly given the circumstances. Were the rumors about Harwin’s alleged intimacy with Princess Rhaenyra true? Larys did not know, nor did he care. The legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons had been dubious since their birth, and if it was going to be officially called into question, Larys knew it would be easier to work with the situation rather than against it.

“We must use this opportunity to our advantage. Without your brother’s watchful eye, your Good Sister may yet be persuaded to confide in you. Speak with her, Larys. Ensure that neither she, nor your brother, believe the fire at Harrenhal to be more than a tragedy. No one must know.”

“I am certain your wish has already been granted, My Queen. They say my brother nearly went mad after the death of our father, the Lord Hand. And for all of his efforts, he was unable to determine the culprit. Rest assured, Your Grace- for if my brother knew the truth of the matter, he would have stormed the Red Keep himself to exact his justice.”

That had always been Harwin: act first, think later. Always, always driven by emotion rather than logical thought. Larys supposed he was rather appreciative of his brother’s inferior nature; had Harwin been focused on anything else but the emotional blow the death of their father had done to him, he might have been able to capitalize on Larys’ own oversight and discover the truth he so desperately sought.

But that’s what Larys deserved. Flawless execution was a fool’s dream the moment he decided to recruit his helpers from the lowest of the low. He may have taken their tongues in exchange for freedom, but those would not be of much use if they were reclaimed. Truthfully, Larys should have expected one or two of them to disappear after they razed Harrenhal. While most returned to be in his service, a few stragglers were never heard from again.

Fireflies would shine and dim. Like them, the men Larys recruited would come and go.

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to judge his elder brother so definitively. Harwin, for all his shortcomings, had always been kind to Larys, despite their differences. But life wasn’t fair, and Larys knew that better than anyone. As true as the skies were blue, Harwin was a simple man. If he hadn’t discovered the truth of the fire at Harrenhal by now, Larys doubted he ever would.

Despite Larys’s confidence, Queen Alicent remained unconvinced. For as well as Larys could read her, he could concede that she had grown able to read him nearly as effectively.

She bent down once more, slowly removed one stocking, and then the other.

His mouth involuntarily watered, prompting him to speak. “Of course, I will confirm the validity of all of these conjectures by speaking with my Good Sister, Your Grace.”

For the first time that evening, Queen Alicent smiled. Though it was a small one, Larys deemed it to be a victory nonetheless. “Good… good. I must impress upon you the severity of this matter, Lord Larys. Handle it with the utmost care. Ensure that no suspicions remain about the fire that claimed your father’s life in Harrenhal.”

Larys waited in silence as the Queen paused. Her request was straightforward, and in both of their best interests; Queen Alicent need not defend her position so vehemently. He knew there had to be another, more compelling reason behind her request.

“I tried to convince her to see reason once before,” Queen Alicent confessed quietly, staring blankly into the flames of the roaring fire across the room. “But I fear I was too… brazen, then. Such an oversight cost me dearly. I will not make that mistake again. There may yet be another chance to sway her to see the truth. She is a mother now, and no mother desires her children to live through times of war.”

Ah, yes. The children. Two of which had almost become collateral damage in Larys’s unyielding quest to appease his Queen. They were safe, for now, but there was no telling what would need to be done. All three of the children might still become pawns in the larger scheme of the game that he and their parents played. But what Queen Alicent did not know would not always hurt her.

Larys would protect her. He would protect her interest by ensuring that his brother and Good Sister were none the wiser about the tragic fire at Harrenhal. And, if there were any lingering suspicions, well…

Larys was no gardener. But he thought himself more than capable of pruning a few roses.

“Your humble servant shall do as you command, My Queen. And I will not disappoint.”

 “I do not like this.”

The plan had been a relatively simple one.

Having not left the confines of Highgarden too frequently over the past several years, it was quickly decided that the trip to Dragonstone could serve more than one purpose. Whilst you, Harwin, the children, some of your retainers, and the escort of guards accompanying you traveled across the Reach, you would pay a visit to noble houses you had not had the chance to speak with personally in some time.

Though it delayed the overall amount of days spent traveling, it was a good plan, and an effective one at that. Not only did it allow for you to rekindle relations with your bannermen, but it also benefited your family more directly. Luciya was just a young girl, and unaccustomed to long days of travel. Stopping to sleep in a castle every couple of days did wonders to keep her from being “finicky.”

Yes, the plan was going well- up until a few days ago.

The family was being hosted by Lord Footly in Tumbleton when you had received a raven carrying a scroll of parchment sealed by the Targaryen crest. Princess Rhaenyra had known about the family’s plans to visit other noble houses while traveling to Dragonstone, so her letter intercepting you along the journey made Hariwn’s gut sink. It could only have been bad news.

And bad news it was. Instead of calling upon Lord Rosby together, as had been agreed upon, Harwin was forced to watch you and a few of your guards gather your things and prepare to separate from the traveling party for a few days.

King’s Landing loomed ominously in the background. You could already smell the stench from where you stood.

“I do not like this,” Harwin insisted once more. His voice was quiet, so as not to be overheard by the many people around you, but no less firm. “Something is off here. Not all is well within the Red Keep- I can feel it.”

“Prince Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark has been challenged, Dearest,” you reminded him patiently, speaking just as softly and steadfastly as he. “We both know how grave the implications resulting from his displacement in the line of succession would be. Not just for him, but for Princess Rhaenyra. For you. For me. For our children. Ser Vaemond’s will must not come to pass.”

“I do not disagree,” Harwin conceded effortlessly. “But, please, My Love- enlighten me on what assistance you are personally hoping to provide?”

You were enough paces away from the traveling party that you felt comfortable speaking freely with Harwin. “Vaemond Velaryon means to build his argument and bolster his claim to Driftmark upon the rumors of Prince Lucerys’s illegitimacy. And we know that Vaemond, among many others, suspect you to have had intimate relations with Princess Rhaenyra. If I present myself at Court and stand by Princess Rhaenyra to show support for Prince Lucerys’ claim, would that not lend some credibility to the truth as we both know it- that you are truly not the boy’s father?”

Your presence could reinforce the position that Princess Rhaenyra had ascertained for years. Or, it would just make you appear senselessly blinded by your loyalty to the lady you once served. But Harwin was far too reluctant to tell you that. He knew you had always felt compelled to support Princess Rhaenyra in whatever way you could, just as much he had always felt compelled to keep you safe.

It was unfortunate for all when both of your desires clashed.

You could tell Harwin was unswayed, so you continued. “Go on, as we planned- pay your respects to Lord Rosby for a night or two. His father was a friend of your own, was he not? You should be able to find some common ground. Then move on to see Lord Darklyn at Duskendale. Princess Rhaenyra has informed me he is a kind man, and that he insists that any friends of hers are friends of his own. Should I be delayed here for longer than I intend to be, I do not think Lord Darklyn will mind hosting you and the children for a little while longer until I am able to join you. With any luck, the Princess and her family will return to Dragonstone in a few days' time. When I join you in Duskendale, then we can finally set sail to join them.”

Yes, yes, all of that had been the plan. With the exception of the unexpected stop in King’s Landing. A side trip in which Harwin was restricted from joining you, much to his dismay. He did not believe Queen Alicent would harm you directly, but he did not doubt the lengths her supporters would go to appease her. And whilst the Queen’s party posed a threat, so too did those in Princess Rhaenyra’s company. Prince Daemon was cut from another cloth. His motives and next course of action were seldom expected or socially appropriate. The thought of you being anywhere near the Rogue Prince without Harwin by your side made him extremely uncomfortable at best.

“There is nothing I would desire more in this moment than to accompany you,” Harwin professed seriously. “But-”

“It would not be wise,” you finished for him, understanding exactly what he was trying to convey. “I fear your presence would be more of a detriment than an assistance, Dearest.”

Harwin could only imagine the looks that he, Princess Rhaenyra, and her sons would receive if he attended the petitions regarding the succession rights to Driftmark. Most everyone in the Red Keep still suspected him to be the true sire of Prince Lucerys. What would they think if he stood by the young Prince’s side, whilst his mother and Harwin’s rumored lover defended his birthright? The opponents to Prince Lucerys’s claim might view Harwin’s mere presence as goading, if not incendiary.

“Besides,” you added after a thoughtful moment of silence, “The children need you. Yours are the safest hands for them to be in, especially with them being so near the capital.”

“Second safest,” Harwin jokingly corrected, though his heart was not entirely in it. “They’d be safer in the far more capable hands of their mother, I’d imagine.”

Harwin watched as you looked longingly behind him, where Derrik and Selwin were atop their own horses several paces away. Their swords, which you and Harwin have gifted them for their respective fourteenth name days, were secured at their sides. Every day of the journey thus far, Harwin prayed to whatever gods would hear him that your sons would not need to use them. Derrick and Selwin took in the sight of the city, which they had not seen in many years, with more than mild interest. But every so often, they snuck in worried glances towards you and Harwin.

Harwin continued to watch as your eyes drifted over to one the carriages, where you both knew Bryna was keeping a watchful eye on Luciya. The young girl had been in remarkably good spirits today, but Harwin suspected that was soon to change.

It was painfully clear to Harwin you were reluctant to leave your youngest child, who had yet to go without your presence for more than a day. But if not even the pleading eyes of your daughter could convince you to not separate from the traveling party, it only spoke to how strongly you felt going to Princess Rhaenyra and offering her your support.

“The horses are readied, My Lady.”

You smiled your thanks at Ser Alren. Alren was the second son of the Lord of Oakheart. Though he was closer in age to you and Harwin than your other escorts, he had been knighted for many years. The fact that he was a prodigy with a sword at such a young age was only embroidered by the fact that the young man was chivalrous, honest, and loyal to a fault. Before his knighthood, he had been your brother Derron’s squire. Harwin was at least able to take some small comfort in the fact that one of your escorts accompanying you to the Red Keep would be a man who had served you and your family dutifully for years.

While you thanked Alren, Harwin tried to resign himself to his reality; he was about to watch you ride away into the nest of vipers that resided in the Red Keep, with little more than a few hand selected guards to accompany you. You hadn’t even allowed your handmaiden to accompany you, as you insisted that your stay at the capital would be short-lived. And that there would be plenty of other staff you could ask for assistance from, should you need it.

To further Harwin’s distress about the situation, you insisted on riding into the capital on horseback, and forgo a carriage altogether. Commandeering one of the few carriages for even a short while did not sit right with you. You had reasoned that the inconvenience to other members of the traveling party outweighed any potential benefit to you. That was good and well for going to the Red Keep, but Harwin was more concerned about what would occur when you left King’s Landing. You and your escort would be traveling on horseback to return to the larger party, and you would be doing so in a much more vulnerable state than you otherwise would have been.

At least you would carry something with you that helped placate his worries.

Harwin wordlessly shifted your traveling cloak to the side, revealing the belt strapped around your waist. His eyes fell to your favored side, and he felt instant relief when the sun caught the small bladed weapon there.

The dagger was a gift to you for your first wedding anniversary. Harwin had sought out some of the finest craftsmen in the Reach before commissioning it. When he had presented it to you, you were stunned by the metal work. Even to this day, it was a work of art; what appeared to be intricate vines twirled up the hilt, with a single rose carved into the pommel.

An unusual gift for a lady, perhaps. But after your collective history, you appreciated the gift from your husband more than you could ever convey, and Harwin appreciated the opportunity of teaching you how to wield it. If such a dark day were to come, you could both rest easier knowing that you had additional defense at your disposal.

“You know,” you said, your tone light and teasing, “Some people may deem carrying such a weapon as unbecoming and not very lady-like.”

Harwin readjusted your traveling cloak, concealing the dagger from view. “‘Tis most fortunate that I value your safety more than I do the opinion of others.”

Your escorts mounted their steeds, inaudibly signaling that they were ready to set out when you were.

Time was of the essence, and Harwin could feel every moment of it slipping through his fingers. He took your hands in his, and promptly kissed both of them. “Be careful, My Love.”

“I promise I will be,” you assured him, though your efforts were not entirely successful. “And do not fret, Dearest; I am in good hands.”

For additional reassurance, you gave Harwin as passionate of a kiss as you dared with an audience. When you pulled away, Harwin was momentarily stunned by your forwardness, though he could not truthfully say that he minded.

Ser Alren took advantage of the moment and approached you silently, handing you the reins of your designated horse for the short trip. The subtle action was enough to break Harwin from his stupor. Though you did not need it, he assisted you with a lift, and you saddled the horse with a somewhat familiar ease.

“Take care of your sister for me,” you requested of Derrik and Selwin as the horses began trot forward.

Your sons nodded in confirmation and smiled. Harwin tried to force himself to do the same.

But when you looked back over your shoulder at him, suddenly his smile did not feel so forced. You called, “I will have a raven sent when we mean to join you.”

“I will eagerly await its arrival,” Harwin called back truthfully.

Harwin stood tall and watched as you and your limited escorts disappeared from his view. When the Tyrell banners became blurred in the distance, he found himself hoping that he had not made a grave mistake.

“Lady Tyrell.”

“Ser Criston.”

That was the lone figure who had gathered to receive you upon the escort's arrival into the Red Keep. To be truthful, you had not expected any audience at all; only a few even knew you rode for the capital. You wouldn’t have dared to impose upon the royal family as an uninvited guest. But you weren’t uninvited at all; Princess Rhaenyra wanted you here.

Somehow, being greeted by Ser Criston Cole felt like more of a slight than having been greeted by no one at all.

You dismounted your house and appraised Ser Criston thoughtfully. It had been almost seven years since you had been made to suffer the sight of him. Unfortunately, it appeared as though time had been particularly kind.

Pity.

“Welcome back to King’s Landing, My Lady. We have been expecting your arrival.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Have you now?”

“Your Good Brother is the Master of Whisperers, My Lady. It seems as though very little happens throughout the realm without him learning of it in one way or another. Least of all the business of his brother and his family.”

Of course, Larys. Neither of you had written to him about your impromptu visit to King’s Landing, but you had promised Harwin to see how his younger brother was faring. However, it appeared as though Larys did not need his elder brother to keep an eye on him anymore; if Larys had informants who had already made him knowledgeable of your unannounced arrival, they were effective ones indeed. Just the type of informants your Good Brother ought to have at his disposal if he desired to fulfill his role as Master of Whisperers with any sort of proficiency.

“If you will all gather your belongings and follow me, so that your horses can be given food and water in the stables. In anticipation of your arrival, Queen Alicent has already had rooms prepared for you.”

The Queen? “If Queen Alicent was also knowledgeable of my intent to visit, did she not wish to join you in welcoming us?”

Ser Criston did not take the bait. Dryly, he replied, “The Queen keeps a busy schedule these days, acting as a steward in the name of His Majesty, King Viserys. As we speak, she convenes with the small council. Her Grace the Queen thought it more fruitful to dedicate her time to the struggles that face the realm, and has entrusted me with the honorable task of welcoming you in her place.”

You bit back the scoff that threatened to slip from your lips, and forced a smile instead. “Very well, Ser Criston. My escort and I would be honored if you would show us to our accommodations.”

You and your escorts gathered the packs that had been tied to the saddles of your horses, and once the steeds were led away by stablehands, you all lined up to enter into the Red Keep. You decided to linger behind the group, though Ser Alren strategically positioned himself at your side.

The rest of your party entered through the courtyard doors without a fuss. But when you and Ser Alren went to pass Ser Criston, who had remained posted at the doors, you were stopped.

“I must confess, Lady Y/N, Queen Alicent did not know whether to expect the rest of your family as well.”

“To assuage the Queen’s concerns, please inform her that I do not intend to stay in the capital long. My husband thought it best for him remain with our children, and I intend to return to them in a few days.”

“Ah, yes, your husband,” Ser Criston feigned forgetfulness. You knew it was all for show, for how could a man forget another who had bludgeoned his face? “Tell me My Lady, how does Ser Harwin fare these days?”

“My husband, the Lord of Harrenhal, is very well, thank you. I shall pass along your kind greetings and well wishes when I speak with him next.”

Ser Criston’s eyes narrowed briefly, but he received his composure just as quickly. “If that is your wish. Shall I show you to your rooms now, My Lady?”

It was relatively easy to slip from your rooms whilst Ser Alren and the rest of your escort settled into their own.

The stone corridors you used to frequently roam should have felt more soothing than they did, but the air of the Red Keep felt… off. Long gone was the place you had once called home. In its stead was an imposter, a true likeness in appearance, but a terribly inaccurate depiction of its soul.

A cold, joyless place, you declared to yourself bitterly.

You decided not to bother any staff with questions; you were fairly certain of your destination regardless. After a few minutes of meandering through the halls, you overheard a pair of familiar voices, and knew at once that you had hit the mark.

“You must have patience, My Love.”

“īlon issi se ānogar hen zaldrīzes. īlon issi vēttan syt action, daor patience.” (We are the Blood of the Dragon. We are made for action, not patience.)

“We are guests of the King and Queen, though it is only the Queen who is able to walk these halls anymore. Now, lower your voice, lest she or anyone else hears you.”

“Why should I care if I am heard? I only speak the truth. My brother is the King, and you are his heir. Yet neither of you sit the throne. Instead, it is being warmed by a fanatical queen and her forked-tongue father for that drunkard and complete and utter waste of a dragon that they call your half-brother. This cannot stand!”

“Shhh!”

“As if I care what that self-righteous zealot thinks of me,” the man snarled darkly. “That… līve hen iā dāria-” (whore of a queen-).

“My Valerian is quite rusty,” you called down the corridor in a controlled tone. Your pace was a calm one as you walked towards the two blonde figures who had been conversing at the opposite end. “But I know of an insult when I hear one.”

Princess Rhaenyra whipped her head in your direction, visibly tense at the prospect of having been overheard. But when her wide eyes focused upon you, her shoulders slouched with relaxation.

Prince Daemon turned to you with an indiscernible look on his eyes. “Lady Tyrell,” he greeted, perfectly cordial. He took a few steps forward to meet you halfway, with Princess Rhaenyra perfectly in time beside him. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“Is it, My Prince? Then you are among the minority, I fear. It seems my Good Brother shared news of my impending arrival with our Queen, who in turn declared the lone presence of her sworn shield to be an adequate greeting party.”

“Ah, yes. Ser Crispin,” Prince Daemon recalled with a playful smile. His tone was deceptively pleasant sounding, considering the subject matter.

Princess Rhaenyra’s face soured at the mere mention of the man who had bludgeoned another to death at her own wedding feast. But perhaps that was not the only foul memory that came to her mind at the thought of Ser Criston Cole. To Prince Daemon, she said, “We should take our sole greeting from Lord Caswell as a compliment, in light of what the other prospect may have been.”

You raised your eyebrows, mildly surprised. House Caswell of the Reach was loyal to Princess Rhaenyra, no doubt. But- “The Queen did not welcome you personally?”

Prince Daemon ignored your question altogether. “Tell me, Lady Y/N, how does the Queen’s lapdog fare these days?”

“Ser Criston looks to be in good health.”

“Does he? Such a shame. Perhaps I ought to see to that myself.”

You didn’t dare to wonder what the Rogue Prince was suggesting by that statement. Your feelings about the younger brother of the King were complicated at best.

Princess Rhaenyra must not have deemed Prince Daemon’s threat credible, despite how plain it was. She merely frowned at him with a fondness a mother might have displayed towards her misbehaving, but well meaning, children.

Prince Daemon glanced between you and Princess Rhaenyra thoughtfully. “... I sense my presence is not needed here. I shall leave the both of you to it, then.”

Prince Daemon made one more remark in Valerian to Princess Rhaenyra, but you did not catch it, as it was said under his breath. Without another word, he slunk past you and disappeared down the corridor from where you’d come and out of sight.

With her husband gone, Princess Rhaenyra’s focus was able to be solely on you. Her violet eyes looked you over thoroughly. As she took in the sight of you, you did the same.

At last, she smiled, and took your hands in hers. “I am glad to see you, my friend.”

After returning the smile, you squeezed her hands once before releasing them. “The feeling is mutual, Your Grace.”

Despite the passage of time, Princess Rhaenyra looked the same as you had last seen her. Except for-

Princess Rhaenyra’s hands fell to rest upon her protruding stomach. You felt your composure slip with the shock; you did not know she was with child again.

“You look well,” you observed. “Are you?”

“I would not dare risk my health to entertain this folly of a proceeding if I was not.” Before you could think of how to respond, Princess Rhaenyra took a step forward to your side, and linked your arm in one of hers. “Come, Y/N. We have much to discuss.”

Princess Rhaenyra guided you without force, as you were very much a willing participant, out into the gardens. Though many things about the Red Keep seemed starkly different, the worn paths of the gardens you used to tread years ago had remained much the same, despite the passage of time.

Nostalgia arose as the two of you became surrounded by the familiar greenery. Once you had made a fairly decent headway into the gardens, Princess Rhaenyra felt confident broaching the first of many topics that were to be discussed, albeit quietly.

“We arrived a few days ago. Lord Caswell, gods bless him, was the only member of the Court who cared to greet us.”

“Such blatant disrespect for the future Queen,” you muttered disapprovingly, imagining the scene she described in your mind’s eye. “‘Tis shameful.”

Princess Rhaenyra teased, “Now you sound like my husband.”

You faltered at the comparison, but quickly recovered. “Have you been to see the King? How is he?”

It was Princess Rhaenyra’s turn to falter then. She put on a neutral face, but it would not fool you. You had been friends for years, and it was far too simple to detect the hurt behind her words.

“The King is not well. Queen Alicent, in all her good intentions, along with her gaggle of maesters handpicked from Oldtown, have deemed it necessary that milk of poppy be incorporated into the King’s daily treatment… When I spoke with him on the day of our arrival, he scarcely recognized me.”

The troubling images of King Viserys confined to the chains of sleep and completely baffled and dazed when he was not flooded your mind. How had he not been able to recall his own daughter, his own blood? An awful fate for anyone, especially for a king. Awful for a child too, to be deemed a stranger in the eyes of a parent.

Had King Viserys truly been that ill? Princess Rhaenyra once confided to you that her father had frequently sought the insightful care of maesters. But you had always ventured that it had been out of caution, and a means for the King to preserve his existing health more than anything else. With Princess Rhaenyra’s latest concerns, it seemed more likely that King Viserys and those closest to him had gone through great lengths to disguise his existing ailments, as they might have been doing all along.

“I am so very sorry, Your Grace.”

Princess Rhaenyra shook her head. “It matters little. I expect none of us will be here for long- Ser Vaemond’s petition is to be heard by Queen Alicent and the Hand in a few days time. Once that has concluded, my family and I will return to Dragonstone with great haste, and the Queen can continue to treat my father as she deems fit.”

You surmised by Princess Rhaenyra’s flippant tone that the matter was nowhere near as settled as she attempted to portray as, but you said nothing.

There was no point in inquiring as to whether Princess Rhaenyra was concerned about the outcome of Ser Vaemond’s petition. But you also knew that she had no other option but to meet his challenge head on. Ser Vaemond’s lust for his brother’s titles and lands could not and would not be obtained at the expense of Prince Lucerys. Princess Rhaenyra would defend her and her late husband’s familial arrangement until the end of her days, for if she did not, she would lose everything.

If fate forced her hand, you believed Princess Rhaenyra could live a life without a crown upon her head. But you were loath to imagine a world in which she was stripped of her children.

“Did you come alone?”

You nodded affirmatively. “Harwin would have joined me, but someone had to stay with the children.”

Princess Rhaenyra grimaced. “When I wrote to inform you of Vaemond’s petition, I only meant to notify you that my family might not be present at Dragonstone when you arrived. I had no intention of pulling you away from them.”

“Which you have not,” you reassured her. “I wished to come and offer you and Prince Lucerys the support of the whole of House Tyrell and House Strong. I would hope it does not come by surprise that Harwin cares a great deal about the both of you. I can say with the utmost certainty that he would have joined me in offering you our support personally, but-”

“There is no need to explain. I would not doubt Lord Harwin’s intentions to be genuine, had he chosen to accompany you here. But maintaining distance was certainly the wisest move for everyone… At least for now.”

Harwin looked forward to reuniting with Princess Rhaenyra and her sons as much as the rest of your family did. But it was understood by all that the reunion would be better served away from the vengeful eyes of those who would deem his care as an admission of guilt to a crime he did not commit.

“There is little else my husband values more than the safety of those he cares about,” you reminded her redundantly.

Princess Rhaenyra smirked, though it was without malice. “You married a good man, Lady Y/N.”

You certainly did. And there wasn't a day that passed by that you didn’t find yourself incredibly thankful for Harwin.

But that only reminded you of Princess Rhaneyra’s losses.

“Words penned to parchment cannot properly conveyconvey my sympathies for Ser Laenor’s loss, Princess.”

Princess Rhanyra’s neutral expression remained steady.

When she said nothing in response, you continued. “I may not have always judged Ser Laenor as fairly as I ought to have, and the burden of guilt I bear for that is a heavy one.”

“Please, do not feel any guilt,” Princess Rhaenyra insisted, breaking her steely reserve. “He would not wish for it. Wherever my late husband is now, rest assured that he is far happier than life as a Prince Consort and as a brother still in mourning for his dear sister would have ever allowed him to be.”

Although you had not been present, you knew most of what transpired in Driftwood that one night years ago, largely in part to Princess Rhaenyra’s own writings and the windstorm of rumors that followed shortly thereafter. Lady Laena was put to rest, only to have her dragon claimed by Prince Aemond that very night. Prince Aemond had tamed the beast that was Vhaegar only to have his eye cut out by his nephew, Luke. Luke, the son that Princess Rhaenyra fondly called her “sweet boy”. And then there was the madness that had ensued after, when Queen Alicent drew blood from Princess Rhaenyra with King Viserys’s dagger and faced no consequences for it, despite assaulting another member of the royal family.

But what took you by surprise the most was Ser Laenor’s sudden death. Your shock had given way to appall when the word of Princess Rhaenyra’s swift remarriage to her uncle, Prince Daemon, reached your ears. You did not believe the Princess to be capable of murder, or even able to conspire to it… but you did not doubt the extended lengths that the Rogue Prince would go to achieve his own ends.

However, if Ser Laenor’s death had not merely been an unfortunate betrayal by his former companion, and if Princess Rhaenyra knew more about his passing than what she had previously told you, she had never said.

… Then again, perhaps she could not.

“I hope the Seven Heavens welcomed Ser Laenor warmly,” you said truthfully, not knowing what else to say. “And Lady Laena, too.”

Princess Rhaenyra gave you a small, sad smile, still offering no further comment on the matter.

You took the few moments of comfortable silence that followed to contemplate your next words. Part of you thought it wise to omit what you desired to say altogether, but the other part of you hated the idea of leaving the topic unaddressed.

“If I may, Your Grace, there is another for whom I wish to express to you my sincerest condolences.” One person had never dared to put your words to parchment about, lest it be intercepted.

Princess Rhaenyra’s smile fell, but her eyes remained keen. “You speak of my companion Ser Royce, do you not?”

It was your turn to smile, and it was a grateful one, as you were thankful she had given you an out. After letting out a light, nervous laugh, you answered softly, “Yes, My Princess.”

Ser Royce Baratheon- the true father of Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest sons.

Ser Royce’s passing the previous year was just as sudden and as tragic as Ser Laenor’s had been. He and his grandfather, Lord Boremund Baratheon, had gone on a hunting trip. In the end, it was a wild boar that had taken town the Lord of Storm’s End and his grandson. In hindsight, you thought it surprising that Lord Boremund had been allowed to go hunting at all; he was one of the oldest lords in the realm at the time. But his stubbornness was legendary. If Lord Boremund had been bested by the beast first, there was little doubt Ser Royce would have been out of sorts after witnessing the death of his grandfather. The boar would have easily taken the advantage.

“Your words are kind, and I appreciate them. I hadn't had the pleasure of speaking with Ser Royce since before Joffrey was born. But we still wrote to one another on occasion, even up to the month before.”

You wondered if Prince Daemon knew about those letters. And you had often wondered over the years if he knew anything about Ser Royce at all.

“Princess, is Prince Daemon aware of the… companionship you had with Ser Royce?”

“Yes. I told him several years ago, in fact.”

As you continued to walk, her head swiveled about, rapidly ensuring that the pair of you were still alone. You were. Just the same, her next words were spoken so softly you had to strain to hear them.

“Prince Daemon forced my hand in the matter, you see. I love my husband, but he is a jealous creature by nature, try as he might to deny it. I quickly grew tired of his off-handed comments about your husband, which only grew fouler once he discovered that Lord Harwin and I still write to one another. I had no choice but to tell him the truth- if only to cease his attempt to sully your husband's image.”

You almost shuddered at the thought of Prince Daemon being anything less than apathetic towards you, Harwin, or your family. How many years had passed with Prince Daemon believing Harwin to be the father of Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest sons? … Probably far too many. The rumors about the Red Keep had been stirring for years, and that was before Prince Daemon had even returned from Essos. Before the fire at Harrenhal.

The fire at Harrenhal…

Surely, Prince Daemon couldn’t have-

“How does Lord Borros fare these days?” you questioned hastily, forcing the dark and troubling thoughts away. “I am afraid there is not much need for me to correspond with him politically, and there are no personal connections between us, either.”

“The man waited a great deal of his life to inherit his father’s throne. Once he did, it came at the cost of his son.”

You couldn’t imagine such a loss. From the heaviness lingering behind her words, it appeared that Princess Rhaenyra could not either.

“Lord Borros still has his four daughters from his late wife, to be sure,” Princess Rhaenyra supposed. “But I suspect it won’t be long before we hear word of his search for a new wife. I dare say he shall have a son once more.”

A son who could never be the replacement for the one he had lost, you thought gloomily.

You realized, “It seems the Stranger has not been unfamiliar to many of us over the past few years.”

Finally, the shrubs around you gave way to an opening. Just up ahead was the balcony on the far edge of the garden. You snuck a glance at Princess Rhaenyra as the pair of you continued on, only stopping once you were before it and able to rest your hands on the cement barrier.

You looked out into the Blackwater Bay, and sighed wistfully. Many years ago, you had watched the Bay as Velaryon ships and several dragons descended upon King’s Landing for Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding to Ser Laenor. Though not entirely sparse of ships now, when compared to your memory, the Blackwater Bay looked eerily empty before you.

So much had changed.

“I really am glad to see you again, Y/N.”

Fortunately, some things never did.

“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.”

You were invited to have supper with Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, and their oldest children that evening.

Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys had grown as much as Derrik and Selwin, much to your dismay. But they had become fine young men, and undoubtedly made their mother very proud.

Prince Jacaerys had been very courteous, and had asked you specific questions about trade to and from the Reach. It was apparent he had taken care to familiarize himself with the knowledge beforehand.

On the other hand, Prince Lucerys, though also polite, was noticeably more quiet and withdrawn than his elder brother. But you could not fault him for that. Who would not be, if they were in a position such as his? Both he and his elder brother favored their father’s looks greatly, but Ser Royce’s visage was made most apparent in Luke. It was sad in a way, for neither of them would ever know.

The ladies Baela and Rhaenya were at supper as well. Thankfully, it seemed that they took after their mother, Lady Laena Velaryon, in many ways. You looked forward to getting to know them better over your short stay in King’s Landing, and then again once in Dragonstone.

As you left supper, Princess Rhaenyra bid you a goodnight with a promise to introduce you to her youngest children on the morrow. You could scarcely wait; would you even be able to recognize Prince Joffrey? He’d been only a babe the last time you saw him.

Being surrounded by the Princess’s family did wonders to assuage the emptiness that had begun to brew within you due to the separation from your own. But when you returned to your chambers that evening, and you were left with nothing but silence, your heart felt impossibly heavy.

You tried to alleviate the drowning feeling by writing a letter to Harwin, assuring him that you made it to the Red Keep safely, and did not anticipate to be delayed by more than a few days. You set the letter aside for the maesters to send it by raven in the morning, and took some comfort in the fact that Harwin was sure to receive it as soon as he arrived in Rosby.

You poured yourself a glass of wine, and hoped the small indulgence would help calm your nerves.

As you stood out on the balcony, which overlooked King’s Landing, you heard a knock on the chamber doors. Perhaps it was a servant checking in, or maybe even Ser Alren. Either way, you did not mind.

You called, “Come in.”

The hinges of the door squeaked as the door opened, and you turned away from the balcony to step back into the room. What- or who, rather- you saw halted you at once.

A deep green dress made of luxurious fabric enveloped the very last person you had expected to come calling upon you at this hour of the night.

“Queen Alicent.”

A/N: Thank you for reading🖤 Part 2 will be posted on Wed 12/21🖤

#harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #house of the dragon #ser harwin strong #ser harwin strong x reader #ser harwin strong x y/n #ser harwin strong x you #harwin strong x y/n #harwin strong x you #hbo #ryan corr #hotd #got #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #harwin strong fanfic #harwin strong fanfiction #ser harwin strong fanfic #ser harwin strong fanfiction

[silversiren1101]

Stuck in a writing rut again so just going to stop feeling shame on working with so many WIPs since context switching actually helps me in this regard!

Enjoy some Hellknight bureaucracy (lol) from the pre-canon Mino origin fic

The Master of Blades laid down the last page of the report that’d been presented to him approximately one hour ago. His now freed hand pinched at the bridge of his nose as he worked through the details once again. It’d been thorough enough, consisting of several dozen pages despite the short turnaround time and necessary speed of the investigation. He had a much clearer understanding of the situation now, but, still, there was one lingering mystery pressing on his mind. One that his pride and conscience would not allow him to go unanswered.

“Well, bring her here”, Jaisade’s voice was gruff as he exhaled the words more than spoke them. The hour was late. He was exhausted. This situation had thrown the usually well-oiled operations of his men, especially given the war still raging around them, into just-barely tolerable delay, and it was only through burning the midnight oil that things hadn’t become completely derailed. 

But this could not wait until the morning. Time was of the essence.

Not his, at least. 

The knight standing before his desk, features dark and pale skin typical of a Chelaxian, tilted his chin at the order. Maralictor Strawn shifted his grip where his hands dutifully clasped behind his back, the motion betrayed by the subtle sound of armor clinking, and his expression took on an air of mild confusion. Whether out of deference to the chain of command or some innate aversion to questioning orders, however, the younger knight did not immediately speak up.

Jaisade felt a twinge of annoyance. It was too late for this. 

“You have your orders.” He stared pointedly at Strawn, voice perhaps sharper than usual on account of his exhaustion. “Unless you object, Maralictor?”

Strawn shifted again. His balance bounced from foot to foot as if his thoughts themselves had weight as he  assessed whether they were worth speaking aloud. A nod ultimately preceded his decision.

“Sir, would it not be more prudent to speak to her within her cell?”

“‘Prudent’?”, Jaisade repeated the word back, enunciating to show exactly what he thought of the implication. “By your own report you’ve concluded that she is not a criminal in this situation. Do you think her a danger even so? Or that she will attempt anything once freed?” 

Strawn, to his credit, remained resolute as the questioning took a sudden turn towards interrogation. He would go far in their ranks, so long the war didn’t lead to a premature end like with so many other promising young officers.

“No, I do not, Sir. If only for the current physical state she is in.”

The ghoul fever, Jaisade caught the implication. Even if she were to succumb the very instant she was brought here, it would kill her first. She’d rise again not until the next night.

“All the more reason for expedience, then, of which I hope you see the importance of. As for your objection, you have written, expressly—”, Jaisad looked down at the documents before him and pointedly read about the closing remarks on the cover. “—’conclude the survivor’s story is legitimate’.”

He then laid the paper back down with a finality, and stared at Strawn yet again, the annoyance palpable in his tired features though he could not see them himself. “There is no declaration of any wrongdoing, proven or suspected, anywhere in your assessment of the investigation and this woman at the center of it. This is correct?”

“It is, Sir.” 

A look of something like recognition settled into those dark eyes. Strawn had misstepped. His report said she wasn’t a danger. His objection suggested otherwise. When challenged, he backed down, deferring to his report. It was a contradiction that could have been lethal had the woman in question actually been of any threat and his report passed off to other knights, believing her to be safe to handle.

Jaisade knew it was only because he was paying heed to protocol that he suggested the questioning continue in her cell. Still, the lesson was there, and prudence was still apt in meaning. There was a time in place for blindly following protocol and abiding by common sense.

“Then…”, Jaisade exhaled, “trusting your report, which I choose to do so: this woman is not guilty, is not a danger, and thus no longer needs to be detained.”

It was not a question as much as it actually was, and Maralictor nodded in both understanding and affirmation.

“I rescind my objection, Sir.” 

“Very well. Now, I would speak with this woman as I would any other petitioning civilian. Bring her here.”

Strawn saluted in response, issuing a well-practiced, “Yes, Sir”, in perfect tandem to his motions. A sharp nod served as Jaisade’s acknowledgement and subsequent dismissal, to which the younger knight wasted no time in departing the room to fulfill his orders.

The door to Master of Blade’s office closed with a rattle—that damned rattle—but, this time, Jaisade hardly paid it any mind. His thoughts were too preoccupied, heavily weighed by the contents of the report that had been previously neatly assembled on his desk, now lightly scattered as he’d used the pages to stress his point.

More specifically, his thoughts were on the survivor. His weary eyes, grey as the hairs beginning to silver despite not even having reached forty years yet, scanned the report’s cover page for what must be the dozenth time.

#work: ??? #silversirenwrites #oc: minovae arangeir #hellknights #pathfinder #please know this fic is going to be soooo much hellknight posturing and bureaucracy and politics lmao #i love writing things like this im so sorry

[infinitedungas]

i have spent more of my precious time on this earth than i care to admit deciding which of the doctorwhos will say fuck

here are my findings, please enjoy

first doctor: swears once in a blue moon. always catches people off guard which he thinks is hilarious, cue much heeheehoohoo wehehehe

second doctor: a wholesome grandpa who has never said anything stronger than "fiddlesticks". gently bonks jamie on the head if he says a naughty word

third doctor: let off a litany of curses in front of the brigadier once, just to see what would happen (outcome: subject rendered puce and speechless)

fourth doctor: will let off a booming great “FUCKING HELL” when under stress but rarely in front of sarah jane. censors himself less around romana and definitely swears at K9

fifth doctor: absolutely does not swear, thinks it’s terribly bad taste and tegan swears enough for all of them anyway

sixth doctor: RIP peri and mel they put up with so much from this foul mouthed little rainbow gremlin. swearing intensifies when mel puts him on a diet

seventh doctor: swears with an impressive amount of creativity, mostly to get a laugh out of ace and usually in languages no-one else can speak

eighth doctor: swears often and with enthusiasm, prone to following with a ramble about the etymology of certain curse words

war doctor: has been through the wringer so hard that most swear words feel insufficient now, but will use a well-timed f-bomb now and then

ninth doctor: realises soon after his regeneration that northern accents were made for swearing. fookin ell rose it’s the fookin daleks

tenth doctor: keeps it extremely tame. most companions get a half-joking, half-serious “oi. language” if they swear - the exception being donna bc he quickly realises she is a lost cause

metacrisis doctor: canonically curses in the extended universe stuff and rose calls it “donna swearing”, confirming my suspicions that donna will say fuck and ten will not say fuck

eleventh doctor: absolutely does swear but people are always surprised / mildly scandalised by it because he looks about twelve

twelfth doctor: of course he fucking does, get in the fucken box clara we’re gonnae go shit up davros and his wee pepperpot cunts

thirteenth doctor: not a swear in sight. possibly got it all out of her system in the previous incarnation. yaz reacts with mock outrage if she even says “heck”

#we will never know for sure because it's a family show #and mister beeb says no swears before 9pm #so i declare all of this canon until proven otherwise #also i was tempted to do separate entries for book eight audios eight and film eight #or at least pre war and mid war eight #because eight varies so much #he contains multitudes #doctor who #first doctor #classic who #second doctor #third doctor #fourth doctor #fifth doctor #sixth doctor #seventh doctor #eighth doctor #doctor who edas #big finish audios #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thirteenth doctor

[miraculouscontent]

Alright, so apparently certain love square shippers felt the need to go into the Lukanette tag to celebrate/mock that Lukanette is “over” (Marinette broke up with him to keep him safe but go off I guess) and that officially crosses all my lines of not dealing with the fandom’s garbage.

The sheer pettiness is astounding to me, to take joy in the end of what was a lot of people’s comfort ship (people don’t choose comfort ships, by the way) because of “toxic Luka/Lukanette stans,” essentially lumping chunks of the fandom together and letting the opinion of those fans shape their own opinion on a character/ship. The sheer sensitivity on display to have so much spite and disdain for a ship that appeared in less than 10% of all episodes in the show. The sheer vindictiveness to feel smug and self-righteous while also being panicked over a non-endgame ship that’s as temporary as their claim of positivity and condemning of salt until they’re presented with something they don’t like.

Goliath really be beating up on David over here because he's bigger and thinks his opinion is more valid. For the record, no, opinions are not more valid due to shipping an endgame ship or presenting oneself as a beacon of positivity.

And it just goes to show how ship-blind these people are, to care about nothing more than the fact that Lukanette has broken up. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’ve seen people who openly admit to caring more about the love square’s security than Marinette’s happiness, which is just part of the issue here.

These people did not care how Lukanette broke up, only that it happened. Marinette’s crush backpedaling (because of the show feeling the need to cater to these exact people, who are so worried about their obviously endgame ship being “in danger”) and Marinette ending the episode in literal tears because she wanted to date Luka but couldn’t are both things that didn’t matter to them because it’s all about their ship in the end. Marinette’s life has been made more and more miserable due to her crush on Adrien while straining her relationships with various characters (see: Alya’s claim of jealousy as a reason for why Marinette “must be lying” about Lila), but so long as these people feel secure in their endgame ship, that’s all that matters.

They didn’t care if it was a clean break where both sides came out satisfied (or at least content). If anything, they wanted Lukanette to end as shoddily/dirtily as possible with zero care into how it affected Marinette, whether because they just don’t like the ship or because they actively desire for the suffering of the people who found comfort/happiness in the ship. Adrien had literally nothing to do with the break-up itself and him being mentioned served nothing for the story, but it’ll be completely overlooked or outright praised because god forbid Marinette spend an episode not talking about Adrien since that would imply that her life doesn’t revolve around him and that would be an apparent detriment to the love square.

By the way, newsflash: Luka was not an obstacle to the love square. He sent Marinette away in “Frozer” to go talk to Adrien. He told her that there was no pressure and that he’d be happy for her no matter what. Had Luka not existed, the love square would still be as stagnant as it is now, and it’s pathetic to complain about Marinette liking/dating another boy when she’s not only allowed to do so, but when “Oblivio” and “Chat Blanc” both exist as little more than tools to hold the supposedly “starved” love square shippers over.

These are the same people who will say they dislike/hate Luka, then do a 180 and claim that they “just feel so bad for him” and how he “deserves better than Marinette” (the sudden sympathy of which conveniently serves to hate on a ship that interferes with their own, further proven by equally convenient and appreciation/liking of Luka when he’s not a “threat” to the love square) while simultaneously shipping her with their sunshine boy because Ladybug is who Adrien wants and what Adrien wants is what matters.

These are the same people who will say that Luka is unnecessary and unneeded, then use him as a prop and stepping stone for love square fanfics and fanart, or suggest that Kagami is fine because she makes Adrien feel good about himself (when Luka does the same for Marinette but sure).

These are the same people who say that “Marinette can’t date Luka because she’s busy with hero stuff” while making fics about the love square getting together mid-”hero stuff” and then giving complete radio silence during “Chat Blanc” outside of how good they thought the episode was.

These are the same people who will tell others not to denounce Adrien for “a few mistakes” and then preemptively denounce Luka’s behavior based on a written synopsis for an episode that hadn’t even come out yet (and also after complaining that Luka was “too perfect,” I might add).

These are the same people who will say that Luka/Lukanette makes them feel “uncomfortable” (usually without offering any tangible reasons or being vague about Luka giving off “bad vibes” when he’s done nothing less than support and respect Marinette's agency) while the show’s endgame ship features the “m’lady” hand kissing Chat Noir who Ladybug has pulled away from multiple times yet he keeps persisting (which is apparently considered okay because Adrien is Chat Noir as if that discredits her discomfort/disdain for the gestures).

These are the same people who will say that Luka is “barely there” or “hardly exists” and then complain about how much screentime is dedicated to Lukanette, the utter greed on display going right over their heads when they have the actual endgame ship.

These are the same people who will absolutely reach for anything about Luka to complain about (again, after saying that he’s “too perfect,” then claiming he “tricked” Marinette into kissing him, claiming that he tried to force her into telling him her secret, or criticizing him for teasing her for her stuttering despite him immediately apologizing) and then either defend or turn a blind eye to Chat Noir (who tried to kiss her mid-battle instead of helping, made Ladybug feel bad for keeping secrets that weren’t hers to tell plus threatening his kwami that he’d quit if he didn’t get let in on said secrets, and mocked her instead of apologizing when she told him to stop calling her by a nickname she doesn’t like and has told him before to stop calling her) at every opportunity.

These are the same people who will say that Lukanette is “forced,” then proceed to ship Luka (regardless of if they like him or not) with literally anyone else for the sake of taking him out of the romance equation (because he has to be taken out via already dating as they couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason for Marinette to not want him otherwise), and the only requirement for this person he’s shipped with is that they breathe and aren’t Marinette.

These are the same people who act bothered by Marinette “””treating Luka poorly””” because of her crush on Adrien (by the by, Adrien’s crush on Ladybug has hurt Kagami as well), inadvertently admitting that Marinette’s crush is a problem, then continue shipping her with Adrien in its canon form anyway.

These are the same people who will say that they hate salt fics (specifically ones that target Adrien) and how they “bash characters,” then write fanfics or draw fanart that intentionally make Luka out of character for the sake of having him look bad or giving Marinette an excuse to run to Adrien (because Luka apparently needs to be made worse so that Adrien can look good instead of Adrien being able to stand on his own merits as a good love interest for Marinette).

These are the same people who will slam Luka when he’s Marinette’s support, then go off and ship him with other characters so that he can support them instead (fun fact that this is usually either Adrien - thus leaving Marinette completely alone and miserable when Luka canonically likes her - or characters that Marinette is actively against, such as Chloe or Lila).

These are the same people who will complain about how salty the fandom is (even when the salt is for catharsis/getting out anger from an episode in a productive way) and then laugh when a simple side ship ends because they’ve been letting said ship live rent free in their heads and couldn’t stop anticipating the episode that declares them “over.”

These are the same people who tell or suggest that people should “just leave” if they don’t like the main ship, unapologetically implying that the main ship is either all the show is about, all that they personally care about (bringing us right back to that little “not caring how torn apart Marinette is about the break-up” thing), or that people aren’t allowed to watch/like the show for other reasons (like Marinette herself, the miraculouses, other characters who may appear intermittently but nevertheless bring them joy to see, etcetera).

These are the same people who get on other people’s case for being spiteful while they themselves ride their high horse into the sunset, playing victim when people call them out for intentionally provoking others or purposefully mistagging to avoid people’s blacklist (tagging is not for the comfort of the tagger so they can “””avoid the toxic stans,””” for the record; it’s for the comfort of the people who don’t want to see that content).

And these are the same people who will go on and on about the toxicity of the stans who ship something they don’t like and then either ignore or downplay the stans who ship what they do like because they personally don’t have to experience it. This isn’t even about ship wars, it’s about the hypocrisy and lack of self-awareness.

I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about how cruel the Luka fans or Lukanette shippers are when these people are celebrating Marinette’s misery because it means the end of a ship that they don’t like and certain people find comfort in. I don’t want to hear about people cross-tagging/mistagging when the Luka/Lukanette tag has been flooded with people who talk trash about the ship without any additional tags to filter it away, getting so bad to the point where some Luka/Lukanette fans had to find workarounds and/or avoid the tag entirely. I don’t want to hear about how certain shippers are worse because [x] [y] [z] when everyone has different experiences, showing a severe case of close-mindedness or at least ignorance on these people’s parts.

And, with how this season is heading, if something bad happens to the love square by the end of Season 4, I most definitely do not want to hear these same people decry the people who will do the exact thing that they’re doing now.

#category: salt #category: fandom #category: long post #((Mind you--this doesn't apply ONLY to the people who cross-tagged to ''celebrate'' Lukanette ending or mock Luka/Lukanette)) #((so... if the shoe fits.)) #((I literally don't care if people want to salt.)) #((I think the whole situation is gross but like--whatever.)) #((But we shouldn't be forced to deal with it because salty clowns want to make sure the people they're salty over see it.)) #((And I don't want to hear ''oh it'd be different if people cheered the love square getting a wedge driven in it because it's endgame!'')) #((as if mockery is okay if done by endgame shippers.))

[lostcauses-noregrets]

The creators of AOT: Levi was the last strongholf of Ereins humanity. The only man he trusted completely. Levi is ackerbonded to Erwin and will never regret marching into hell for Erwin cause all he ever wanted was to be by his side. Isayama: they are soulmates.

Homophobes: theres no proof they are canon 🤬

Before I answer this ask I feel duty bound to point out that the "soulmates" quote comes from an interview with SnK Director Tetsurō Araki that appeared in Animedia magazine. The headline of the article, which featured a picture of Erwin and Levi holding the Titan serum was "Oh my soulmate." It doesn't come from Isayama himself.

Some people have been very exercised by this article in the past, claiming that fans took this as canon proof of Erwin and Levi's relationship, when the caption was probably just written by a random magazine copy editor. Personally, I think the reason that Erwin and Levi's canon relationship is so important has nothing to do with articles like this and everything to do with how it's portrayed in the manga and the official supplementary materials. Having said that, it's always interesting to hear other people discussing Erwin and Levi and giving their own take on their relationship.

The quote about Levi being the last stronghold of Erwin's humanity comes from Ono Daisuke and it's one of my favourites. It's from an episode of the Dear Girl: Stories radio series where he and Kamiya Hiroshi discuss Midnight Sun. @tsuki-no-ura has translated this interview here. The quote in question is

O: "However, in coming back to being a human, it was when he talked to Levi, probably" (K: *assents*) "Well, all this time, probably, Levi was the last fortress, I think, that he can be as human."

Quotes from directors and seiyū aside, it is interesting that the burden of proof always falls so heavily on queer relationships. I've written a few posts about this in the past, including this one. We don't seem to have progressed very far from the assumption that all characters are heterosexual until proven otherwise, and the only acceptable proof of a relationship is a wedding ring or an onscreen kiss, otherwise they're just friends, or colleagues, or comrades, or brothers in arms, or whatever. It's so reductive it drives me insane. Meanwhile a man and a woman only have to glance at each other to be declared the most romantic of couples. I've lost count of the number of fans who have already pointed out that if either Erwin or Levi were female there would be no question over the status of their relationship. Though having said that, some people are still convinced that Mikasa and Eren's relationship was one sided at best or non-existent at worst, so sometimes it's not just queer couples that suffer from this kind of denial.

At this stage I've given up arguing with people about the nature of Erwin and Levi's relationship. Everyone is free to interpret it however they want, however that doesn't change the fact that theirs is a deeply committed adult relationship based on a shared bond of mutual trust, and that's enough for me.

#asks #eruri #eruri relationship #erwin smith #levi ackerman #ono daisuke #araki #snk

[fandoms-explained]

A thing I think a lot of people don't realize, both in fandom and among content creators themselves, is that with fiction there's this agreement between the author and the audience - they've released that fictional content to the public, which means they've opened themselves up to any interaction with it, including fan works of all kinds. But they also don't have to view that interaction - meaning if you want to write fic of an author's characters, go for it, they can't stop you, and if they try it's a bit of a dick move - but you also shouldn't send it to them on twitter unless they say it's okay, you know?

This doesn't apply to content creators who make nonfiction content, like a lot of YouTubers. Their content is their product; the people themselves are not a part of that. Making let's play videos on YouTube is not consent to ship people. Doing so can strain relationships between content creators and make things weird between otherwise good friends.

With roleplay where people are playing characters who aren't explicitly themselves, this is fully fictional content and the same agreement applies as above. When it's something like, say, the Dream SMP, where the characters are largely very similar to the people playing them, it's a little different. By declaring them a separate character from themselves, content creators are making the same agreement - but if it's not a sure thing, err on the side of caution, and if they declare boundaries, you stop. You can write c!Ranboo and c!Tubbo in fanfiction as being in a relationship and raising a child together, because that's canon. You shouldn't draw Ranboo and Tubbo cuddling, because Ranboo has said he doesn't know if he's okay with it. It's on a more case by case basis.

Tl;dr: the limits on fan content for fiction are far less stringent than on fan content for nonfiction. You can make as much content for fiction as you want, as long as you're not pushing it into content creators' faces without their consent. Don't make content about real people unless they've explicitly given permission. If it's a grey area assume you don't have consent until proven otherwise.

#fandom #content creators #consent #fanfiction #fanart #fan content #mcyt mention #dsmp mention #ranboo #tubbo #boundaries

[itsclydebitches]

A weird defence I've seen of RWBY's conflicts has been that it's good writing simply by the virtue that people can disagree on what's the right thing to do in said conflict. Which doesn't work when one decision is being presented as the only valid choice while every other option is either not addressed or demonized. This isn't a story leaving a nuanced set of stances to explore, it's a guy on stage signalling the crowd to boo whenever someone goes against the Protag's decision.

Real quick, I want to talk about RWBY by not talking about RWBY. I’ve seen this argument a lot too and the tl;dr is that just because your audience debates the right action in a conflict  — something that is inevitable given how subjective media is  — doesn’t mean the story encouraged that reflection in any way. As you say, RWBY pretends that those disagreements don’t exist and that This Is The One (1) Right Answer... which entirely defeats the purpose of a morally nuanced situation in the first place. That lack is bad writing because it demonstrates the author’s inability to provide an accurate picture of the conflict while still ensuring we come out of it liking the parties involved. The conflict was too complex for them to manage alongside equally complex characterization, so they just pretended it was far simpler than it actually was. That’s not something to praise. 

But to get to the not RWBY part. I’ve mentioned this a couple times before, but one of the scenes that I think manages these sorts of conflicts really well is the funeral fight in The Haunting of Hill House, episodes 6, “Two Storms.” So warning from here on out for spoilers. Sometimes, the best way to see what’s not working well in one show is to look at another show that does (basically) the same thing successfully and compare the two. 

Normally I’d include screenshots, but Netflix doesn’t allow that :/ So I’m forced to rely on bullet points. 

The basic premise is that the Crain family has assembled in daughter Shirley’s funeral home, the night before they bury their sister, Nell. A lot of secrets are about to come to light. 

The scene kicks off when their father, Hugh, relays the call he got from the housekeeper the night of Nell’s death. She had committed suicide in the family’s childhood home. 

Though everyone knew how she’d died, son Steven is distraught at hearing the details and reveals that a few weeks prior Nell crashed a book signing of his. This shocks the others given that this was very unusual behavior for Nell. 

Shirley likewise reveals that she got a call from Nell who’d been worried about their brother, Luke, but hadn’t spoken to her the night of her death. The implication is that no one did. They’ll never know what was going through her head the night she died. 

Hugh reveals that she did call him. “I talked to her.” 

Stunned by this news, his children demand to know what was discussed and Hugh is clearly reluctant to continue. However, he eventually says that Nell wasn’t just worried about Luke, but also the “Bent Neck Lady,” a specter from her childhood.

The viewer knows that ghosts are real in this show. The kids don’t. Or rather, they all experienced supernatural occurrences in their childhood, are still experiencing them now, but only some of them are willing to admit they’re real. Steven is the diehard skeptic of the bunch and starts yelling at his father, accusing him of aiding Nell’s delusions and ignoring a family history of mental illness. In particular, he declares that this “makes you culpable [in her death].” 

Steven continues to accuse Hugh of “holding back information” about Nell and Hugh shoots back that “If I held back anything it was to protect you kids.” The viewer understands Hugh’s dilemma: the only reason he keeps things to himself is because Steven and the others refuse to believe the truth, with an added dose of this supernatural stuff being very dangerous. Steven asks, “Why do I need protection from the truth?” 

Before their fight can go any further, Shirley tells Steven, “You might want to check yourself before you start talking about the truth.” He published an autobiographical book about their childhood trauma and notably capitalized on a supernatural angle he doesn’t believe in. Shirley calls it “blood money.” 

As the argument about the ethics of his book rages, Shirley defends herself primarily with how everyone else thinks this is “blood money” too. No one took a cut when Steven offered one, proving how despicable they all think it is. 

Meanwhile, sister Theo has been getting heat for being drunk (a coping mechanism for her own supernatural troubles) and Shirley eventually pushes her far enough that she admits she did take Steven’s money and used it to get her degree. “It’s good, fucking money.” Suddenly, Steven has someone in his corner and Shirley’s main defense has crumbled. 

Shirley is furious that Theo had this secret income but was still living with her and her husband. Theo reminds her that she offered to pay rent, but Shirley isn’t interested in hearing that. She demands that Theo move out immediately and uses this betrayal as the new way to protect herself. She’s the victim here. 

Steven, sensing another secret in the works, cautions Shirley to “get off your high horse before you fall off.” 

Shirley maintains her position until her husband blurts that they also took Steven’s money. Shirley hasn’t been running the funeral home well and they would have sunk without it. 

Despite being the punching bag for the second half of this fight, Shirley is offered both reassurance and dignity. Her husband emphasizes that the only reason they’re struggling is because Shirley is a good person. She does too much work pro bono. Shirley also delivers the line, “Do you have any idea how much you’ve humiliated me?” calling into question the husband’s choice to admit this now, purely as a way to prove her wrong. 

Shirley leaves to get some distance and discovers that someone — something — has put buttons over Nell’s eyes. The shock of this keeps the fight from continuing and, as plot intervenes, gives the characters the space needed to eventually start healing and forgiving one another, notably by sitting with the various truths they all now have to grapple with. 

Phew! A long summary, but I’ve put this much detail in to highlight the nuance of the scene. Obviously RWBY would differ in many ways  — less cursing, for one  — but the core elements of any morally complex scene should be the same. The important takeaways here are that no one in the Crain family are “pure” or “evil” and everyone gets their chance to be both right and wrong. Hugh is right that Steven won’t listen to him and wrong in that he didn’t do enough to help his kids. We get Steven and Hugh’s frustration, their understanding of the world at odds with one another. Steven is wrong to put everything on his father and justified in starting his writing career with their story. We watch the scene move from “Steven is Wrong and everyone agrees” to “Oh shit nm, more and more of the family are revealing that they benefited from his money, complicating how “wrong” he actually is.” Shirley is right to point out that Theo is getting drunk during their sister’s funeral and Theo is right to point out that being drunk doesn’t erase having a good point. Theo is allowed to scream at the group and then immediately be offered help when she falls. Shirley pretends she’s better than all of them and is slowly, horrifyingly proven wrong, but is then still extended compassion and is allowed to point out how horribly they’ve just treated her. The husband is right about the money, wrong about keeping it a secret/revealing it the way he did, right in how he tries to diffuse the other fights, and VERY wrong by getting caught kissing Theo down in the storeroom! 

The scene twists and turns in a way that highlights everyone’s points and their flaws, the moments when their perspective should be upheld and questioned. The end result is a scene that has space for the audience to debate everyone’s choices without imposing the single view of This Person Is Obviously Wrong/Right and If You Think Otherwise You’re Not Watching The Show Correctly. The show itself acknowledges the complexity and nuance of these problems. It asks, “Hugh should have tried harder, but what more can he do when his kids literally don’t believe this stuff exists? Was Steven really justified in writing a book about their collective experiences? What does it mean that something his family sees as capitalizing on their trauma also helped them keep businesses and schooling afloat? Was it okay for Shirley’s husband to keep that money a secret, even if it helped them? How might he have told her in a less cruel manner? What about Shirley’s life has led to her intense need to be on that ‘high horse’?” 

And of course: “Who is really responsible for Nell’s death?” By this point the viewer already knows that there is no “really” here. This is too complicated a tragedy to lay the blame at any one person’s feet. Everyone in this room has moments of justified accusations and moments of chastisement because they’re well written, well rounded characters who are neither saints nor devils. The length of the scene (done in a single shot!) emphasizes that if you just wait long enough, even the most perfect looking person will eventually have a skeleton pulled from their closet. No one is above mistakes. 

RWBY has NONE of that. Zip. Nada. Nothing. RWBY gave us a scenario with many of the same, core themes  — secret keeping, secrets unwillingly revealed, blaming others for your mistakes, hurtful actions with helpful consequences, questioning who is responsible for a tragic death  — and instead of even attempting to give us some of the above nuance, RWBY said only that Ruby was right, Ozpin was wrong, and demanding that the audience ignore the nuance they could already see in order to accept the canon. 

RWBY’s scene asks the audience to play dumb and look at the world as a Black and White place, despite the show simultaneously insisting that “the world isn’t a fairy tale” and is, in fact, filled with shades of gray. 

Just not any shades of gray that mess with that dichotomy that now drives the story.  

That’s not good writing. It’s oblivious and contradictory writing that makes the audience frustrated. Not satisfied, surprised, contemplative, or curious. Just frustrated. 

#rwby #the haunting of hill house #mymetas #Anonymous

[queen-scribbles]

Ours

Here we go, only three years overdue, canon version of Tel finding out he’s a dad. :D

---

Elara was fidgeting.

It was an unusual enough sight it almost stopped Tel in his tracks. Elara Dorne--well, Airen--didn’t fidget. No matter how pleasant or unpleasant or boring the circumstances, she was the model of poise and professionalism. And she definitely. Did not. Fidget.

Except, apparently, for now. Her fingers picked at the small metallic object she held as she sat on the couch in their quarters, and she looked a hairsbreadth from bouncing her knee as well. Which meant whatever was on her mind was likely something beyond serious and should be treated accordingly.

So he swallowed any jokes he been planning and plopped down on the couch  next to her. “You wanted to talk, Els?”

“I did.” She nodded, her attention still on the object in her hands. She turned it over and over, picking at the edges.

“Must be important,” Tel hinted gently when she didn’t continue.

A wry smile pulled at one side of her mouth. “It is. Dearest...” Elara bit her lip as the words petered out, then shook her head slightly and started over. “I have... something important to discuss with you; a topic I’ve been wanting to broach since... since Iokath. With our schedules it’s proven difficult to find a good time, so I’m doing it now, whether or not it’s good, and I apologize for any meetings you may miss as a result.”

“I’m all ears,” Tel promised, reaching over to give her knee a comforting squeeze. “You’re way more important to me than any meeting.”

She mustered a smile at that, then leaned forward and placed the object she’d been fiddling with on the low table in front of the couch. It was a small holoprojector, etched with a simple design, the type made to be portable and store images long term. A brush of Elara’s thumb over the controls brought it to life.

Tel examined the pale blue image when it appeared. It was a young girl--maybe seven?--with dark hair that hung almost to her waist. She was smiling impishly, and even as a holo there was no hiding the twinkle of mischievous charm in her eyes. Her hands were clasped behind her back as if trying to keep something secret just a few moments longer.

“Cute kid,” Tel said, glancing at Elara and wondering which potential direction this was going to go.

“She is,” Elara confirmed with a faint smile. “Her name is Kaira.” She reached over and laced her fingers between his. “She’s ours.”

It took half a second for her meaning to hit, and Tel flinched, grip tightening around her hand, when it did. The air seemed to freeze in his lungs for a moment as he stared at the holo.

“She...” he finally managed through the punched-in-the-gut feeling. “...Yours-and-mine ours?”

She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Are you alright, Tel?”

“Sweetheart, I’m...” A dad. I’m a dad. He gave a breathless laugh. “I’m great. A little stunned, but elated.” He freed his hand to drag her into a hug, still staring at the holo of his daughter. He had a daughter. “Weighing the pros and cons of punching Arcann in the teeth for making me miss... her, but otherwise...” A thought occurred and he frowned ever so slightly. “Did Jorgan know?”

He might be having words with the man if he had and didn’t say anything.

Elara shook her head and sat back to meet his eyes, her posture noticeably less tense. “She must have been conceived just before the Expedition was... lost” --her voice faltered for just a moment-- “and I didn’t discover I was pregnant until after the Supreme Chancellor had relieved me of my Havoc command. Jorgan and I didn’t keep in touch much past the first month or two, while he was helping me attempt to get the position back.” She smiled. “He probably wondered why I wasn’t fighting for it harder, truth be told. But between my condition and Chancellor Saresh’s obvious obstinance, it quickly became evident that was not a worthwhile fight.”

“So working for Malcolm...”

“Was actually rather perfect,” Elara confirmed the unfinished question with a nod. “I was still involved, still doing my part, but in a more administrative capacity than field work. It allowed me to... look for you and prepare for raising a child alone.”

He winced. “Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Considering you were frozen in carbonite half a galaxy away at that point, I think I can safely say it wasn’t your fault, dearest,” she said lightly.

“And we’re back to me punching Arcann in the face,” Tel muttered, tugging her in for another hug.

“That wouldn’t really help anything at this point, darling,” Elara remonstrated, though her lips quirked toward a smile.

“Would make me feel a hell of a lot better,” he grumbled. “But I guess it wouldn’t set the best example, would it? For... Kaira.” It made him grin a little just saying her name.

She giggled faintly, the sound muffled by his shirt. “No, it wouldn’t.”

Tel rested his chin against the top of her head and gave an exaggerated huff of resignation. “Oh, fine, I won’t punch the reformed tyrant for makin’ me miss my daughter growin’ up.” He hesitated a beat, gaze back on the holo. “Els? What’s she like?”

Elara was quiet for a moment, her fingers curling into his shirt, but he could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. “She’s... wonderful. Challenging at times, but worth every moment she’s made me want to pull my hair out. She has your smile, a fact I’ve both loved and hated depending on the day.”

He hugged her closer wordlessly, shifting so the corner of the couch would offer some support.

Elara took a deep breath. “She was a good baby, for which I’m grateful. Could likely sleep through a bombing run.”

“Els.” He didn’t want to dwell on the odds that theory had been tested, knowing what the Eternal Empire had done to Coruscant.

“We’re fine. Nothing ever came close enough,” she promised, before carrying on. “She’s extremely curious, very smart-”

“She gets that from you,” Tel muttered, which earned a quiet chuckle from his wife.

“I wouldn’t sell yourself so short, dearest. You’re not a stupid man,” she said teasingly, her fingers tracing light patterns against his collarbone. 

“I was smart enough to marry you,” Tel conceded. “So I guess I’m not a total lost cause.”

“There you go, Kaira gets her smarts from both of us,” Elara laughed softly.

But more from you. Tel kept the thought to himself. “If anyone could raise a smart, amazing kid by themselves, it would be you,” he said instead.

“There you go putting me on a pedestal again,” Elara said, playful chiding in her tone.

“Again implies a point where you came down from the pedestal,” Tel rejoined.He kissed the top of her head. “You’re there for life, sweetheart.”

“Ah.” There was a smile in her voice. “Well, before you go counting up more honors for me,Tel; I did not raise her entirely on my own. I had friends who helped, and Aleksei did as well, when he could.”

“Okay, that one’s a bit of a surprise,” Tel admitted. “I thought your brother was in Republic custody?”

“He was. A ‘person of concern’, I believe was the classification; same as I once was. And then he made some valuable contributions at great personal risk in fighting the second Zakuulan assault on Coruscant, which earned him some greater freedoms. Such as lending the Republic his technical expertise and assisting me with Kaira.”

“‘Great personal risk’?” Tel repeated, having noticed how her voice caught on the phrase.

Elara gave a shaky sigh. “Let’s just say you are no longer the only person I care about who has gotten himself blown up in the course of being noble. It wasn’t quite bad enough to require cybernetics, but there was scarring. And a limp.”

Tel blew out a breath and rubbed her back. “I’m glad he’s okay, Els.”

“As am I. After recovering, he was tasked with something computer-related that kept him on Coruscant, so he could help sometimes with Kaira. A lot, actually.” She smiled again. “They’ve grown quite close. She calls him Uncle Lesky, even now that she can say his name correctly.”

Tel smiled, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. “Oh, yeah, she must be, what, six or seven by now?”

Elara stilled for a moment, then reluctantly slid from their hug so she could look at him. “That’s part of why I felt it so urgent to tell you; she’ll be six next week. I assumed you would want to meet her before then. So we could celebrate as a family.”

Yes. “I dunno Els,” he deadpanned with a faint smirk. “Depends on what you’ve told her about me.”

Elara matched his smirk. “Oh, you know, as we discussed; you’re brave, handsome, charming. How you took the stuffy Imperial no one liked and made me the happiest woman in the galaxy, every day we were together. That you always stood up for those who couldn’t protect themselves, and helped those who could stand their ground. That you have a ridiculous sweet tooth she apparently inherited along with your kindness. That you like to steal the blankets,” she continued playfully, leaning in to steal a kiss. “And that you always know how to make me laugh.” She paused, sighed. “How much you would love her.”

“And the fact I was declared KIA? That come up yet?” he asked dryly.

Her brow furrowed briefly, and Tel caught the flicker of pain that danced through her brown eyes. “It did, when she was three. I told her some people believed you died fighting something very dangerous to protect the galaxy, but they were wrong. You were still alive, fighting to keep us safe.” She looked him in the eye. “Because that’s what I believed, with all my heart. She accepted it--what’s the saying about mother knows best?--and it didn’t come up again. Then the Republic learned of your Alliance, and I could show her you were alive and” --she smiled drolly-- “fighting bad guys to keep us safe. I suspect she’d be very excited to hear she can finally meet you.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Tel grinned, kissing the tip of Elara’s nose. “She with your brother right now?”

Elara nodded. “She is. Whenever I’m off-planet.”

“Then hell yes, see how fast you can get ‘em out here.” He kissed her again. “I know Aleksei might not be able to stay long if he has a job to get back to, but I’d like the chance to ‘meet’ him without transparisteel and a Republic watchdog in the picture.”

A soft, giddy laugh escaped her. “I’ll get right on that. As soon as I steal you for myself just a bit longer,” she amended, leaning back into his space and bracing a hand against the arm of the couch to kiss him.

Tel grinned slyly, cupping her face with one hand and running his thumb along her cheekbone. “Seventy three minutes?”

Elara smiled back mischievously and carded her fingers through his hair until her hand rested at the back of his head. “If you think we can manage that long...”

He closed the distance to capture her lips in a kiss. “Sweetheart, I’d like to see them try and stop us.”

----

They got forty seven minutes, which was frankly longer than either of them had really expected, before Tel’s comm started trilling. And so, with much grumbling about “no rest for the wicked”, he got himself together and headed off to see what the Alliance needed, leaving Elara to work out getting their daughter to Odessen.

She slipped the holo in his pocket as he headed out the door. “In case you want to show her off.”

And show her off he did; to Theron, Lana, Vette, Senya--anyone at all  who commented on the grin he couldn’t seem to wipe off his face. He did his best not to be distracted from the Important Alliance Business that required his attention, but a man had his limits.

He slipped a hand in his pocket to curl around the cool metal as he tried to focus on Aygo’s briefing about ship deployments rather than what was (hopefully) coming soon, and smiled to himself. 

I can’t wait to meet you, Kaira.

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

(I was originally gonna take this through Tel actually getting to meet Kaira, but that part’s getting crazy long and I need to work on other stuff that has actual deadlines, so it’ll have to wait.)

#queens fic #telcontar airen #elara dorne #telara #otp: 73 minutes #i love them i love them I LOVE THEM

[miss-tc-nova]

Fluffcoat - Bragi x Reader

It’s here!!! I’ve had this on hold for a while now, but I’ve been dying to share it! I can’t guarantee this is accurate to Bragi’s character, but I love it anyway!

Oh! Also, THIS GUY was an amazing inspiration! I don’t know if I believe the whole Bragi/Braig theory yet, but he’s my official voice head canon until proven otherwise.

~~~~~

                The sky above grows irate, preparing to let loose on the citizens of Scala Ad Caelum. The humid air thins out in the rising heat, giving signal to all living things of the impending showers. The lively streets begin clearing out—people returning to their homes in a bustle while animals scurry about in search of shelter. We are among those people.

                “Whose bright idea was it for us to come out before a storm again?” Urd mumbles.

                Xehanort’s argent gaze glances to her. “Today? Vor’s.”

                The petite blond frowns at him. “I’m sorry. I really thought it was a Heartless.”

                Eight of us—the students of Master Odin—trek through the clearing streets back towards the citadel. All too eager to see some real-keyblade-warrior action, the rest of us naively jumped into action and chased after little Vor and her mistaken monster.

                “At least she had the instinct to do something about it,” Hermod reasons.

                Baldr nods, “If it had really been a Heartless, it needed to be dealt with as quickly as possible.”

                Urd is not so forgiving. “It was a dog.”

                “A pretty ugly dog,” snickers Bragi. He’s right; it was the scruffiest looking dog we’d ever seen with a crooked under-bite and a ridiculous walk.

                I catch up with the boy. “His owner was still happy to have him back. And he wasn’t that ugly.”

                “His under-bite was so bad I’m surprised he could smell anything other than his own breath.”

                “It gave him character,” I argue, hardly able to stifle my laughter.

                Eraqus turns to put his two munny in. “And he was pretty happy-go-lucky.”

                “Aww, feel like a kindred spirit?” Xehanort teases, shoving his best friend and watching him stumble. Mr. Fleetfoot manages to stay standing.

                A drop patters before me and I make the mistake of looking up in time to be struck on the nose. I shove Bragi in response to his mocking. “We got rain incoming fast.”

                Hoods are pulled up while Hermod declares, “We’d better pick up the pace.”

                I follow suit after my classmates until a shimmer of silver catches my eye. Before I can lock on and process what exactly it was that I saw, it’s gone.

                “Hey.” With a simple word, Bragi drags my attention back. His head jerks towards the others leaving us behind. “Stop day dreamin’ or you’re gonna get left behind.”

                “Coming.”

                The red-head questions me as I catch up, “What was that about?”

                Smarmy Fluffcoat, I mean Bragi, and I have been good friends since we began our keyblade training. I’m good friends with all my classmates technically, but I don’t have a crush on the others. As aloof and smarmy as he can be, the moments of genuine enthusiasm remind me he’s not as cool and collected as he’d like everyone to think. Those are the moments I love most; the childish excitement, the pure happiness, the rare frazzled mess. While I find those flustered occasions adorable, I know inside that he’d have me a complete wreck should he know my secret. It doesn’t help that Bragi seems able to read me like a book; he just hasn’t gotten to those last few pages that give me away.

                “Nothing. I thought I saw something,” I reply.

                “Do you want to check it out?”

                I hesitate. The correct answer is ‘yes’ but the heavens are threatening to come down on us at any moment. “No, it’s okay.”

                “Are you sure?” His face draws closer, his honey-colored eyes taking in every detail, looking for a contrary sign.

                I break the stare, trailing after the others again. “Yeah. I’m sure I was just seeing things. Anyway, come on. We don’t all have the same insulation you do, Fluffcoat.”

                We arrive home just in time; the sky has just started dumping buckets of rain. Coinciding with said occurrence, guilt begins to set in. My brain starts questioning whether or not I actually saw something. The thought that I did is enough to become a distraction. Then the lightning strikes.

                I stand, unable to take it anymore. Hermod lifts his gaze from his book. “You okay?” That grabs Vor and Xehanort’s attention—the four of us were trying to take on the homework due in a few days.

                “Yeah,” I say, scooping all my things back into my bag. “I just can’t focus right now.”

                “We can work on something else if you want.”

                “No, it’s fine. I’ll work on it myself later.” They get a brief wave from me before I abandon the study group.

                In the students’ quarters, I literally throw my things in my room, snatch up my jacket, and rush outside. With the rain pouring down on me, I break into a run. Some people may think it’s ridiculous, but I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t check—perhaps in that aspect I’m more soft-hearted than Vor.

                Upon reaching my destination, I peer around for any sign my guilt is founded. My body heat is slipping away while the rainfall doesn’t let up even a little—clothing in Scala isn’t exactly made for such dramatic weather. Without finding what I’m looking for, it’s time to move on.

                My foot stutters and I hesitate. The prattle of the rain fills the void of silence, making my world feel so much smaller—meaning it must be close. Eyes closed, I mentally shuffle through the white noise in an attempt to pinpoint what I’d heard. It sounds again, beneath a line of shrubbery. The leaves rustle as I kneel and when I push past the greenery, I’m met with a pair of large blue eyes. Pointed ears flop forward and the silver fur sticks to a small frame, making him appear all the more pitiful. I was right.

                “Hey,” I coo softly. His reply is a loud cry. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” The feline gets a good sniff at my frozen fingers before suddenly winding between my legs and wailing at me. Not liking the feel of his shivering, I strip my jacket and cover the cat. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”

                Suddenly, there’s a weight across my back and fluff on the verge of blinding me. “Yes, let’s. Before you catch a cold.”

                “Bragi?” Just beyond the fur, I get a look at said boy standing over me.

                “Grab the furball and let’s go,” he insists, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

                Shoving my arms through the sleeves and scooping up the small creature, I quickly comply. “What are you doing out here?”

                “I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, amber eyes glimpsing the bundle. “But I guess I have my answer.”

                His hair hasn’t soaked up much rain and his jacket is relatively dry; he hasn’t been out here long—he knew exactly where to find me.

                Back at the citadel, Bragi is trying to hold back the tremors. On the other hand, my toes are cold but I’m actually pretty warm.

                “Are you okay?” I ask, peeling off the wet shoes at the entrance.

                “Yeah. I’m fine.” The quake in his voice says otherwise. Even so, Bragi speaks as if his words are true. “You better get that fluffball something to eat after he’s dry.”

                We part ways there. In a fresh change of clothes, I wrap my new friend in a towel and head to the commons where there’s a fireplace.

                “There you are,” Urd greets from a chair. “Bragi was looking for you.”

                The thought that he’d asked around for me combats the chill. “Yeah, he found me.”

                Eraqus hops up. “Wha’cha got there?” I show him the cat happily bundled. “Oh cute. Find him in the rain?”

                “Yeah.”

                Xehanort shakes his head. “So that’s why that smarmy guy announced he was going out.” Urd giggles. “I see you have his coat too.”

                Indulging in the warmth of the fire, I try to ignore the little implications. In hopes that it’ll dry, I spread the fluff-coat in front of the fire before turning my attention to the feline. He’s perfectly happy to be out of the rain, purring away and putting up with me.

                “Aren’t you supposed to be feeding him?”

                I look up at Bragi, dry and wrapped in a blanket. “I had to get him dry first.”

                “Well since you gotta make him something, you should make me a hot chocolate,” he grunts, plopping beside me.

                “Fine,” I laugh. “But you gotta watch him.”

                “And sit in front of the warm fire? No problem.”

                Entrusting the cat to Smarmy, I make my way downstairs to the student kitchen. It’s one scrambled egg and two hot chocolates later that I return to the commons, spying the red-head teasing the cat with a hand beneath the blanket. It warms my heart to see that smile.

                “I never would’ve pegged you as a cat person,” I announce. The plate is set on the floor and, once he gets a whiff, the cat is all over it.

                “Cats are alright,” he replies while receiving a cup. “Those classmates of ours though—kind of a pain.”

                I glance around; I hadn’t even noticed that they were gone. “Where’d they go?”

                “I dunno. Urd said something about birds and dragged those dorks away. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

                We enjoy our time in front of the fire talking nonsense. Basking in front of the fire, playing with a cute cat, and hanging out with my favorite person, I couldn’t ask for more. Okay, there is one thing I could ask for; the fire can only warm up one side of me at a time.

                “Alright, gimme your cup,” I say. The snoozing cat protests when transferred into my friend’s lap.

                “Hm? Where are you goin’?”

                The empty dish is also collected. “To put the dirty dishes away. Also I need a blanket too.”

                “You cold?”

                “A little.”

                Bragi sets his cup aside and reaches for the coat I forgot about. It feels like he’s playing with my insides when, for the second time tonight, he wraps his coat around me. “There. No excuse to leave.”

                My nerves twist at my guts more. I pull the toasty fabric tighter around me, hiding my face in the fur of his namesake.

                Instantly my anxiety melts away. Wafts of cinnamon and spice consume me, immediately turning intoxicating—I can’t get enough. It’s comfortable and sassy and perfectly Smarmy.

                Is this what he smells like?

                With another deep inhale to numb the dither, my eyes flutter open. He’s there, within my reach, watching me as if expecting something. There’s a dust of pink in his cheeks.

                “You didn’t catch a cold did you?” The quietness of my voice is surprising yet it’s plenty loud for our proximity.

                “No.”

                I graze my hand against his cheek. “Are you sure? You’re warm.” His face falls from my hand and his laugh encourages the jitters to attempt a comeback. I am so confused. “Bragi?”

                The laughter dies. “Yeah. I’m okay.” Those aren’t the words he wanted to say. Nevertheless, Bragi sits up, smile in place along with the faint tint on his skin. Without warning, he pulls the hood of his jacket up and over my face. “You worry too much.” Too perplexed to fight back, I push the hood up enough to get a look at him. That flush becomes more prominent and Bragi heaves a dramatic sigh. “You’re killin’ me.”

                Muscles go rigid when he puts a hand behind my head. The chill, the concern, the cat, everything is completely forgotten in the instant that Bragi begins to lean in.

                “What are you doing?” I whisper.

                He responds in the same hushed tone. “Do you want me to stop?”

                “…No.”

                Shock mitigated, I easily conform to his slow, undaunted demands. Each move comes with a craving for more which seems to be part of his agenda. I thought I would be a nervous mess but I’m at peace. The scent from his coat is stronger on him, sending me further down that spiral of content.

                A tongue glides across my lower lip and my peace upturns like a flipped table. Jerking away, I’m fully aware of the knots writhing in my stomach and my racketing heart rate. That, I had not been prepared for.

                Fluffcoat’s chuckle makes his coat a bit too warm for me; the fact is, no doubt, plain on my face based on his smirk. The offending tongue swipes around his mouth.

                “Never thought second-hand cocoa would be so sweet.”

                Gods, does he know what he’s doing to me?! “Why?” It’s the only thing I can manage to say, even then my voice nearly fails me.

                Eyes roll towards the ceiling in thought. “Mmm, I couldn’t really pick one specific reason.” That gentle expression agitates the knots. “You’re sweet and a little crazy and everything about you is amazing.” A hand slips under my chin, forcing me to meet his smarmy gaze. “And you just look so damn cute in my coat.”

                The attempt to hide my embarrassment using the fluff is pretty pathetic. He doesn’t dwell on it though.  

                “It’s getting late. You should get to bed,” he hums. “You’re going to be out all day looking for this floof’s owner.”

                I take a risk, revealing my face to take a look at the comfortable cat. “Yeah.” It chirps when Bragi scritches at his ear. “Someone’s probably worried about him.”

                “Lucky he had you looking out for him.” It takes a lot of discipline not to hide when Fluffcoat winks at me, but I still look away.

                “Come on, kitty,” I coo, cradling the creature in my arms.

                The fire goes out along with the lights and we head towards the bedrooms. At his door, Bragi stops.

                “See you in the morning,” he yawns.

                “Don’t you want your coat back?” I question.

                There’s that signature Smarmy smirk. “You hold onto it for a while.” I don’t understand his motive, but I’m not really up to arguing—not with my new addiction. “Good night.”

                “Night.”

                That night, both the cat and I sleep beneath the fluff-coat that kept us warm today. 

#bragi #kh bragi #khdr bragi #bragi x reader #khdr #smarmy fluffcoat #love that smarmy bastard #xeha-non #novas requests #gender neutral reader

[worangetraveler-multiverseguide]

And we’re back

Part 2 of chapter 9

We jumps forwards into the girls back on Earth and Iko finally waking up... I was gonna say there’s not much to it but she falling sleep gets mentioned and... *takes suspicious notes*

Before they part way Teru goes all up to how bad she is at being a hero and... at least she ends the selfdeprication to declare she will become stronger so Iko will never have to cry for her again :)

MDSH: Tears... promise... Am I the only one thinking Fullmetal Alchemist?

Me: by this point this manga is hitting all the right spots isnt?

Iko gets it! Teru is sensitive AF (nothing wrong with it) and that reflect in her heart AND power, yeah me likes

“Your hero name is SHY, and your face is burning as red as a flame“

That has to be the most silly idea of why SHY is named SHY... its canon until proven otherwise (and even after)

Laughing together :)

So Teru lives on her own... I’m not ready for that truck to hit yet, can we wait?

And we end the chapter with the looming presence of Stigma doing shit on China which is shown on the news, and Teru being determined (while scared) to be the hero that can protect everyone

So very standard last part... lets jump to chapter 10 right away!

Chapter 10: I hate it (Lady Tsundere chapter? mmm... ok)

Teru is buying stuff at a store and as relatable as usual when no one around calling to people is horrible (I usually dont cry but yeah its awkward)

Oh! seems its a place she used to frequently go with Mei-chan... who’s Mei-c--?

NO! NO TRUCKS TO HIT ME TODAY PLEASE!

Simple backstory talk. Chihiro san has had it rough with her back and her husband’s death but she still does what she can to take care of the store, even when not many people show up anymore...

And the reason Teru showed up after like at minimun 4 years? A memory of a mountain and a painting that’s in the store... and Chihiro san remembers she and her late husband climb its peak every year... she as being doing it alone to remember him but her back is at her limit

Oddly comedic break back to prove it I guess xD

“Losing interest in the places I used to be familiar with” okay Teru stop reading my mind!

She wants to help Chihiro san but she doesnt know how, or at least iis thinking of something but she cant heal her so...

So I guess the plot convinience fairy is knocking at the door?

IT IS! Lady Tsundere is here to give Teru a check-up... oh dear... okay lets be open minded and see where this goes

While on check up we get some extra info! Pilse (Black Lady’s real name) is a university student trying to become a nurse? Nice... also that STILL leaves Teru as the youngest hero by a WIDE margin!

Funny how sometimes one doesnt even question the language barrier yet the media always makes sure to explain WHY people from different countries can communicate in japanese in this case I guess (its the bracelets)

Teru has an idea!

Pilse instantly goes on the defensive

... that was a perfectly timed comedic turn page transition... also Pilse is never NOT gonna be Lady Tsundere

Again, moods are EXTREMELY different but all these heroes share having a kind heart :)

Kind MEDDLESOME heart in this case since Pilse upon Chihiro san’s question if she can hike the mountain inmediatly offered herself (and Teru) to accompany her... I’m starting to like Pilse, good job manga.

A stubborn heart is more accurate then, since she hates hiking and the mountains yet she is good at it cause she wanted to prove she could

Also she is an asshole... and yet this is entertaining so she’s alright

Also also I presume emotional energy makes up for her lack of athletisism but Teru might need to shape herself a bit :P

...

DAMN

I did not see that coming... but comes to show how adversity is not easily noticeable until it hits you with (in this case) her prosptetic legs

I’m glad Pilse has a better opinion on Teru for walking up the mountain despite being difficult to her

... she is still Lady Tsundere... but its now in a WAY more fonde tone

I was actually fearing she was gonna be a tsundere of the obnoxious type but instead I get a kind yet harsh person who has lived hardships and life but fought them off and wants everyone to do so as well, despite she knowing not everyone CAN be the same way inmediatly

OH! Trivia in Pilse’s last name (Dunant) coming from the man who co-funded the red cross? NICE!

Overall great chapter! We get to meet Pilse and Teru trough her interactions with her recognizes she has to climb her mountain, yeah it was good

Gonna start the next chapter but unsure If I’ll post it right away, we shall see

#SHY #liveblog #casual liveblog #chapter 9 #chapter 10 #this probably is the end of chapter 5 according to Gale's anime mapping of the manga :P #it works perfectly tbh #also now I need said episode to have Celeste like music!

[heartscfvalor]

Introducing: Draco Malfoy // Heavily Book Based-Canon Divergent

I always ask myself How could this darker cloud make me stronger now I'll always ask myself When will this go away?

NAME: Draco Lucius Malfoy BLOOD STATUS: Pure Blood WAND TYPE: 18" Elm with dragon heartstring core DATE OF BIRTH: 5th of June HAIR COLOR: White-blonde EYE COLOR: Grey MOTHER: Narcissa Malfoy nee Black FATHER: Lucius Malfoy HOUSE: House of Black STATUS: Werewolf IDENTIFYING MARKS: Sectumsempra scars on his stomach, chest, shoulders and the left side of his neck; Dark Mark on left forearm covered in self harm scars; werewolf’s bite mark on the back of his neck BOGGART: Bellatrix Lestrange/Fenrir Greyback PATRONUS: Phoenix

(*)

Draco is the only child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and grew up wanting for nothing, which made him incredibly spoiled. Because of his upbringing in a family who held prejudices against Muggles, Muggle-borns and “blood traitors”, he was brainwashed fairly early into believing that being a pureblood wizard was the only right thing to be. Half-blood witches and wizards could be tolerated if they followed the same mindset, but otherwise were ignored or looked down upon just like the rest.

Being the son of former Death Eaters, Draco had been taught that if Lord Voldemort had risen to power the way he wanted to, then the pureblood wizards could have had a happier life in the open, whilst killing Muggles and Muggle-borns alike, but since Voldemort had failed he was taught to not speak these ideas in public, or his father would have gotten into trouble. Being placed in a bubble of like minded families only reinforced his beliefs, and by the time he arrived at Hogwarts, he had proven himself to be a rather arrogant, self centered figure, already with a band of boys his own age that he could boss around at his leisure.

However, despite appearances, Draco was far more insecure than he put on. The first time he faced real rejection was when he tried extending a hand in friendship towards Harry Potter whilst on the Hogwarts Express, as his family had believed that the Potters must have had Dark blood in their veins for the boy to defeat the Dark Lord without any issue as an infant. But when Harry rebuffed him for his attitude, creating their animosity filled rivalry, it shook Draco to his core, briefly tilting his viewpoint before he violently rejected the idea of being swayed. Thus he spent most of his schooldays picking fights with Harry and Harry’s own friends.

When he was in second year at Hogwarts, Lucius basically bought Draco’s way into the Slytherin Quidditch team in an effort to try and one up Harry. Most often than not, he failed in this endeavor, and by their fourth year it only resulted in Draco developing a crush on Harry, which he squashed as often as possible.

At the age of fifteen, however, things took a turn for the worst for Draco when Lord Voldemort rose again, as if back from the dead. He returned home that summer holiday to find the Dark Lord had taken up residing in the Malfoy Manor for a time as he “recovered” from his half death state, and it only took a few weeks for Draco to become very much disillusioned to the idea of becoming a Death Eater himself. Going back to Hogwarts felt like such a relief, but the building stress his family was under began to put an enormous burden upon his shoulders, until the next summer when Lucius and several others were arrested in the Ministry of Magic, and Voldemort’s existence was finally proven to be true and revealed to the public. When he returned home for the holiday, he was forced into joining the Death Eaters, the Dark Mark burned onto his skin despite his protests.

In punishment for Lucius’ failure in attaining the prophecy, Voldemort forced Draco into a mission that would have spelled out his death; try to fix a Vanishing Cabinet that held a portal like magic within it, while the Cabinet that was being held at a shop in Borgin and Burkes would be it’s twin. He spent countless days and nights in the Room of Requirement, driving himself into exhaustion, as he tried everything he could to kill Albus Dumbledore under Voldemort’s orders, while undergoing intense training with his aunt Bellatrix to become skilled at Occlumency, all of his attempts failing, and his desperation mounted.

The one person he confided in was Moaning Myrtle, one of the resident ghosts in Hogwarts and the only one he felt safe enough to talk to. She became his confident and only friend during this school year, and was the only witness to the brief and unexpected duel between Draco and Harry in the bathroom, in which Draco was nearly killed by a spell that Harry used, Sectumsempra. Despite his near death experience, Draco survived, and practically hid himself away in the Room of Requirement again, until he finally succeeded in fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, and the invasion of Hogwarts came into being.

Unfortunately, things fell apart almost instantly. When Draco finally had his chance to kill Dumbledore, he found he could not stomach the idea of killing, and lowered his wand, forcing Severus Snape to kill the older wizard in his place, before he was whisked away from the Battle to Lord Voldemort’s hiding spot, and Draco was officially declared a criminal by the Ministry of Magic, unable to return to school or leave the Malfoy Manor in any capacity. As Voldemort’s power rose and Harry, Ron and Hermione seemingly vanished from the face of the planet, Draco stayed close with his family, refusing to venture out to do Voldemort’s bidding, unless he was forced into doing so otherwise.

One night, when Harry and his friends had been captured and brought to the Manor, Draco made a last ditch attempt at doing something good by pretending that he couldn’t identify Harry, as Harry had been put under a spell that made his face look swollen with an infection, and during the fight later that night after Hermione had been tortured, he let Harry steal his wand and the rest he had “confiscated”.

His punishment for such a thing was being bitten by Fenrir Greyback, transforming Draco into a werewolf.

The remainder of the year was eventful. Draco tried in vain to regain some control over things during the Battle of Hogwarts, intending to pretend to bring Harry, Ron and Hermione to Voldemort after cornering them in the Room of Requirement, but Crabbe’s former loyalty had broken, forcing the hulking boy to conjure Fiendfyre. The curse spread out of control, and Crabbe ending up burning to death within the magical room, while Draco and Goyle escaped with Harry, Ron and Hermione. During the Battle, he lost his mother’s wand and was cornered by a Death Eater, pleading for his life before he was saved again, and when the Battle was over he was reunited with his family.

The Malfoys avoided imprisonment by the skin of their teeth, as they had all clearly defected before the Battle of Hogwarts ever happened. Draco now struggles in life as he tried to rid himself of his old family upbringing, as well as trying to live to the best of his ability with his werewolf status. He now runs an apothecary shop in Hogsmeade, in the outskirts of the little village, tinkering with his own experiments from time to time.

#visage;; draco #regarding;; draco #aesthetics;; draco #musings;; draco

[dukeofriven]

Captain Marvel Didn’t Need A Subplot About Sad Familyman Pain: A Very Late Captain Marvel Review

So I finally saw Captain Marvel last night  (like a week ago now but it was the Tuesday before Endgame came out and then this sat in my drafts folder for days and days) - yep, down to the wire almost - so I’ve obviously missed all the Super Important Captain Marvel discourse that Tumblr prattled on about: still, I’ll add my thoughts to the pile.

An incredible cast with great chemistry can do nothing to fix one of the blandest scripts since Doctor Strange, which at least had imaginative vistas and unusual set design to carry some of the story-telling weight. Captain Marvel is possibly the worst-looking Marvel film: at the very least I am confident it is probably the worst-edited, and unquestionably the worst-lit film in all the Marvel canon. Captain Marvel almost consciously doesn't seem to want you to see anything in the movie, going out of its way to shoot scenes at night, in boring and dark spaceships, and in sandstorms at night on dark planets. Lousy fight choreography, coupled with rapid-fire edits with lousy coverage, made the film’s frequent hand-to-hand combat scenes visual nightmares. The worst offender is probably Danvers’ escape from the Skrull ship, in which basic shot-to-shot continuity is lost. The action becomes a literal blur as an anarchic assembly of seemingly-random coverage is cut together to create a confusing mess of movement. A fantastic late-film aerial dog fight and an incredibly powerful 'gloves come off' space sequence make the movie's last twenty minutes its visually strongest, but can't repair the damage done by the previous 90 minutes of blur and uncertain scene geography. (Rogue One has this exact same problem viz. rear-loading the entire movie onto the last twenty minutes.) The movie is at its best when it chucks the undeveloped plot out the window and just lets characters talk to one another, revealing their warmth and great on-screen chemistry, making otherwise forgettable dialogue work through great delivery and comedic timing. This is how most MCU films work anyways: good-to-great actors take weak dialogue and make it work through talent and charm. Off the top of my head I can’t think of any dialogue in the MCU that’s good for reasons other than excellent delivery: Marvel doesn’t seem to care much for writers who have a grip on the craft of dialogue.

The moment the plot reasserts itself, which usually means pretending that anyone cares about Jude Law's one-note bad guy, anything good about the film disappears. There's the bones of a great movie here hampered by incredibly poor framing decisions. Rather than reduce the flashbacks to five-second bursts of mental confusion, a better version of the film would have had two parallel stories A) Carol's quest to become a great pilot while fighting against prejudice and B) A present-day fight to regain that past. As is, the film makes the pretence that it has a feminist theme about overcoming patronizing men, but in practice this is introduced through jumbled flashbacks at the start of the film, essentially dropped for the rest of the run-time, and suddenly re-introduced at the final moments with a triumphant declaration of "I don't need your approval." Had the movie spent any of its middle running time acting like Carol was being patronized by anyone, this might have carried more weight. However, perhaps unwilling to make Nick Fury seem sexist in any way, Carol spends most of the movie surrounded by completely supportive people who do nothing but tell her how great she is. A single shitty stranger on a motorcycle with four lines of dialogue does not a 'triumph against chauvinism' narrative make. Even Jude Law's villain seems to be holding Carol back largely out of a need to follow orders and make sure her brainwashing was working - not out of any chauvinistic impulses. You could make the argument that the brainwashing is an analogy for the way patriarchy brainwashes women into accepting false limitations, but the movie isn’t that subtle: it wears its themes on its sleeve. Besides, you don’t get the sense that the Kree are doing anything out of gender motives - frustrating given that neighbouring franchise Guardians of the Galaxy has proven time and time again that you can still fo Asshole Space Chauvinist  without detracting from the heroism of the leading female. (Well, sorta. Guardians 2 does this much better than 1). Part of the problem is that Jude Law spends most of the movie on a ship waiting to get to Carol and having exposition-only phone calls. We get very little sense of Carol's relationship with him outside of the opening punch-up in a dojo - and the weakness is reinforced by Law’s character insisting only that Carol isn’t ready yet to do various things. This could work - there’s more to sexism than blunt and obvious HURR DURR WYMINS CAN’T DO THINGS declaration, but the the narrative repeatedly demonstrates that Jude Law is correct. It takes the whole movie for Carol to learn how to take her own breaks off. Which is a serious problem when she confronts the villain insisting he’d been holding her back. Not... not really, Carol. At no point in the movie did you seem like you were holding back because Jude Law’s voice was in your head telling you you weren’t good enough. You didn’t do X, Y, Z things because you just didn’t know how to do them, and you needed more experience. Jude Law spends the whole movie... not being wrong? It’s an issue. So when Carols stands there and says ‘I've never needed your approval” or some-such it’s great on a thematic level to see a female superhero so utterly reject the so-called necessity of some kind of male mentor (and if nothing else everything Carol learns in the film she learns on her own) - but it’s nonsense in the context of the film itself, where Carol spends most of it ignoring anything Jude Law says to her and doing her own thing, It weird to have her reject a man who has power over her - when he has had no power over her since the pre-credits sequence. She doesn’t listen to him at all the moment they go on their first mission. And, again, despite the text of the movie that framing suggest that Jude Law is not wrong about her not being ready to do the Light Thing until she was ready to do The Light Thing. A better movie would let Larson’s great chemistry with Lashana Lynch sing. I was so hyped going into this movie because Larson was quoted as saying that the “real” relationship of the movie was between Danvers and Rambeau but it’s... it’s not. Maybe in the script Larson originally filmed, maybe it felt that way on set, but if that was the case then it’s completely lost in the edit, where Rambeau has a nice through-line about regaining her place as a pilot but whose relationship with Danvers is mostly relegated to being another “no you’re super great Carol” hype man. Her best scene - where she and Carol sit down and she says how hard is was to lose her best friend - is undermined by some of the most mawkish music ever inflicted on a Marvel film; all the power of the acting  marred by a track that sounds like it came out of All My Children. In a better movie we’d get to see Carol live her life as a woman triumphing in a sexist airforce - half the movie should be flashbacks that build to that fatal, final flight. Danvers and Rambeau meet and crush on one another, mutually crush on Annette Benning (because god-damn), fly planes, fly better than anyone else flying planes, and do karaoke together to forget all the shitty airforce dudes in the lives who resent their good, good plane flying. This shitty people might have identities as villains and maybe do double-casting with Jude Law so we can see the parallels in her old life and her new life instead of pretending for an hour that Jude Law is her friend - like hell, movie, we’re not stupid, that’s not a shock. You cut between those scenes and modern Carol - and you do Good Writing Stuff like make New Carol a different person than old Carol: more timid, more cowed by the brain washing, more subservient to this guy who feeds her approval and virtue. You know - the stuff you do when you want to tell a movie about gaslighting like actually feature gaslighting. And we, the audience, who can see old Carol and how incredible and tough and take-no-shit she was, stare at the screen with burning eyes, hating Jude Law’s guts and waiting for the moment Carol beats his shitty ass into the ground and smooches Rambeau. And we see that Carol come back - fighting and clawing against this brain chip. And maybe the Supreme Intelligence could actually be in the movie as a villain like the movie seemed to want, instead of a brief cameo at the start of the film and then a baffling return at the end as some kind of ‘final boss’ that we don’t give a damn about because they sat out the entire movie. The film should come to a head with the crash of the experimental jet coinciding with the moment Carol remembers it in the present - maybe we take it a step further and use that great Skrull framing device at the start of the film: the past and the recent present align in the actual-present in the Skrull machine as Carol both remembers her old life, realizes the Skrulls are just trying to help her, and wakes up. Her eyes Do The Thing and she leaps out the back of Rambeau’s plane and blows the Supreme Intelligence’s armada up (not Ronan, because nobody gave a shit the first time why would you introduce a nobody like this instead of the person you want to be the Big Bad in your movie?) like a badass just like she does in the current film and then beats the shit out of Jude Law for some serious emotional catharsis. A casualty of this would be less screen time for Samuel L. Jackson. Who gives a shit? This is Carol and Rambeau‘s movie not Scary CGI Plasticine Jackson and Really, Really, Really Scary CGI Plasticine Clark Greg’s movie. You might get less Ben Mendelsohn too. A shame but, and I can’t stress this enough this should be a movie about Carol and Rambeau and Anette Bening. Ben Mendelsohn’s need to reunite with his loving wife and daughter has no place here. Did not need a subplot about manpain.

Or, conversely, if you want a movie about a totally badass female superhero kicking ass then cut out the gaslighting plot entirely. Make a different movie. Go the Iron Man route where Tony Stark is allowed to be an egotistical badass throughout and nobody ever patronizes because we don’t write movies about men that way. Just do the same for Carol (but not literally, because Ant-Man already did “Iron Man But Again” and it sucked). Really: you want to write the great feminist superhero movie? Don’t make it about a woman’s struggles against shitty men. Just make it about an awesome woman doing awesome things and stop making The Woman’s Superhero Movie be defined by her relationship with A Man’s World (see also Wonder Woman and almost every period piece about a female character ever made). Stop Othering the woman in her own movie! Finally, Captain Marvel has one of the most generic and instantly forgettable scores, a problem with Marvel generally but actively noticeable here as scenes with good acting are ruined by saccharine music like a bad soap opera. Captain Marvel is a mediocre and forgettable film, another in a long line of movies I got hyped for as some kind of ‘feminist masterpiece’ and discovered a lot of the same old shitty, lazy superhero tropes with the clunky addition of what a boardroom of executives think constitute feminist themes according to their quantitative marketing data. I will say for the eight year old girls out there it was a powerful movie and they were inspired seeing a woman superhero and I won’t take that away from then or pretend it’s not great. But they could and deserved a much better version of this movie - one in which that unquestionably glorious fuck-shit-up scene where Carol smashes through a battle fleet like it’s fucking paper because fuck you I am the biggest badass this franchise has ever seen Thor got punched by a star once who cares watch me atomize a dreadnought with my face! was matched with the same level of care elsewhere in the picture - so when Danvers lands and beats the stuffing out of Jude Law we’re not struggling to remember his character’s name which I haven’t successfully done once this entire review. I have yet to see Endgame but I have high hopes that - much like Paul Rudd and Benedict Cumberbatch - once out of the confines of her own under-written movie Brie Larson will get a chance to really shine, because we don’t get to really see Carol Danvers until that one great ship-smashing scene and that’s a pity. We should have had a chance to know the Captain Danvers of the USAF and to be able to mourn her even as we celebrated the emergence of the new Space Badass Danvers - who isn’t the same person, who can’t be, but is something greater than before. (For the record this isn’t a bad movie. It really is just a mediocre one. It’s far, far from the MCU’s worst film. That would be - despite my biases screaming ‘Ant-Man and the Wasp’ - still probably Thor: The Dark World, which you likely forgot existed again.)

#captain marvel #MCU #Lashana Lynch #brie larson #samuel l jackson #carol danvers #Maria Rambeau #nick fury #Annette Benning #skrull #kree #guardians of the galaxy #movies #long post #Thor: The Dark World #ant-man #ant-man and the wasp #please don't come citing Endgame spoilers #because like the review says #I STILL HAVEN'T SEEN IT

[sometimesrosy]

What he means when he said non-romantic because that it is not what we see ,every person who sees bellarke in the show knows they are romantic, those looks are not precisley non-romantic, and the way they love each other 2.199 calls, becoming the man who he is because of her, i am just a casual fan, but every person i know that watch the 100 is like where bellamy and clarke will get together? I do not know what he is doing, but is not fooling anyone when you witness this every episode.

This question is a lot harder to answer than it looks. Because I can’t tell you what JR means, I can only analyze the situation, which is not just about what he SAID, but also what his agenda is, the medium he is speaking in, how the fandom interprets it, what happened in canon, his marketing strategy, the politics of fandom and the media and hollywood. And none of what I interpret about this is a fact, except for the canon, the show that we see on screen. I am not in JR’s head, and even if he answers directly, there is no guarantee that what he says is genuine or straightforward. He has been proven to be tricky and ambiguous in his interviews and social media ABOUT The 100. He is simply not going to tell us, and in order to avoid telling us, he tells us things that are inconclusive.

What JR says in the media, social or otherwise, is commentary and interpretation, not canon. The way I look at it is the way I look at ALL non-canon information and interpretations. His statements are a way to LOOK at the canon that we see on screen, and can give us a good lens with which to interpret the show. But canon is ONLY what we see on screen. Not even the scripts count as canon, because we do not know how they have been changed to get to the screen, and they do not take into account the actors, directors, cinematographers, costume and makeup people, editors and composers who’s work went into telling the story in the script. Scripts and writer/actor commentary can help us with how we look at the canon, but is only for interpretation. WHY? Because 20 or 100 years from now, the show The 100 will probably still be here to be seen, but none of the commentary, politics, fanon, or fandom interpretation will be a part of it. Just like we’re reading Shakespeare plays, and not what Shakespeare himself said about them, nor any of the fans who loved Hamlet, nor the Queen’s opinion on Gertrude or whether she thinks Hamphelia is true love or Hamatio is her OTP. 

Canon is ONLY the show. Anything else you take into account is, honestly, moving into cultural criticism and sociology and psychology etc. Which, yeah, you can DEFINITELY explore, but it’s not about the story of The 100 anymore. 

SO.

When you are looking at what JR says about Bellarke, first you have to consider his INTENTIONS. He has stated, with 100% clarity, that he is not going to spoil the story. He WILL NOT TELL YOU WHETHER OR NOT BELLARKE IS GOING TO BE ROMANTIC. He refuses. None of them are allowed to speak about it. Whether or not that’s a bad policy is not the point. He won’t tell us.

So I have to ask myself, then what does he mean when he says Bellarke is “non-romantic partners and soulmates.”

 JR (and the cast) talks about the characters and show ONLY at the point of what we have ALREADY SEEN on screen. They do not project or speculate, or tell us about storylines that we haven’t seen yet (unless they are approved by spoiler police as part of the marketing strategy.) So when JR talks about Bellarke, it is either what has already happened, what the characters themselves have already been shown to feel, or marketing strategy.

The marketing strategy is a game. It is NOT to be trusted. It is NOT about understanding the story. It is about getting an audience. The story and the marketing strategy are two separate things. I do not trust JR’s marketing strategy, but I do trust his story. When JR is marketing, he says things that are intentionally vague and ambiguous so that the fans can read into it whatever they want. So when I listen to him, I ALWAYS compare his words to what I see on screen, and if the canon and his words contradict themselves, then I the CANON is the authority, and JR is playing word games. In my three years of analyzing his tweets, I have seen him do this over and over. He does not LIE to us. He tells us something ambiguous that we can take to confirm our desires, and then doesn’t clarify. He manipulates the words.

His declaring them soulmates is new. He only started saying that when he was writing s5, after s4 was over. Whether he uses the qualifier “non-romantic” or not. Which he has done twice. First it was “non-romantic soulmates” and now it is “non-romantic partners and soulmates.” He did not use the word “platonic,” although fandom keeps saying he did. 

 Within the show, “non-romantic,” “platonic,” and “soulmates” are not ever  used. The word “love,” however, was used. And that is the first time their relationship has EVER been defined as love. And implied to be romantic love, at that, with the comparison to Bellamy’s girlfriend being made. Bellamy loves Clarke, and this is now canon. That makes it ROMANTIC. Whether confessed to her or not, Bellamy’s interest is romantic. Therefore the relationship is not platonic. Whether it will be endgame OR NOT. Their relationship has romantic elements. They have declared a Love Triangle between Echo-Bellamy-Clarke. And that makes it, by definition, romantic. Whether he eventually chooses Clarke or chooses Echo. It is a romantic situation.

Clarke is declared to “care” for Bellamy. This is the word that has been used since season 2. “you care for him,” “i always cared,” “do you know how MUCH she cares for you?” And the 2199 calls were used as proof for just how much. I do not think it is a coincidence that it is only after we saw the 2199 calls that JR started calling them soulmates. Because this story is a classic romantic soulmate story. if people don’t want to believe that clarke loves Bellamy, they can ignore it, but that’s pretty bad analysis to ignore the evidence of how much she loves him, when trying to figure out how much she loves him. We see her SHOWING how she loves him more than we see her saying it. THIS story element is reinforced by JR calling them soulmates and the unknown question of romance within it does affirm the “non-romantic” statement. But…the scene where Clarke is shocked and horrified by her “non romantic” soulmate kissing someone else, put the question of “non-romantic” to the lie.

The canon shows a great deal of romantic development for Bellarke, if not in declaration (which it has, as shown above) then in film making and narrative techniques. All the people who have been watching and reading love stories all their lives can see, straight up, that Bellarke is being told as a love story and a romance. Even people who don’t like Bellarke see it. This means that, in canon, Bellarke is a romantic story. The list of evidence is too long for this post, you can search my #bellarke development tag. But it is DEFINITELY there. In canon. On screen. We’ve all seen.

Calling Bellarke “non-romantic” seems to contradict what we see in the canon. So it is either a lie, or it’s a vague statement that does not contradict the romantic portrayal of Bellarke on screen. JR’s past tweets have NOT been lies, but sometimes they are ambiguous and misleading and if you define the words used properly, are actually true. You have to consider the tweet from HIS perspective, not the fandom perspective. The fandom interpreted it as platonic. But he DIDN’T say platonic, although platonic is a TYPE of non-romantic relationship. But to say the clearly romantic development was platonic would be a lie. So THAT IS NOT HIS MEANING. 

So we MUST examine “non-romantic.” 

Okay.

I told you this was a harder question than it looked. SO. 

Non-romantic.

Doesn’t mean platonic

Is a statement only about what has happened on screen until this point.

Does actually describe their partnership, which, outside of feelings they have not shared with each other, is not related to romance.

The comment was, before the season “non-romantic soulmates” and after the season “non-romantic PARTNERS and soulmates.” I might be splitting hairs, but that might ALSO be an upgrade as the soulmate part has been separated from the non-romantic part, while keeping their partnership, in canon, non-romantic. This part COULD be seen as the soulmate being also romantic in nature while the partnership is still non-romantic.

Bellamy now has a romantic partner and a non-romantic partner. THAT… is a story. He now has TWO relationships that will be and already are compared to each other. The comparison has not been defined yet. It seems like it is ABOUT to be. Also, the romantic partner is not the soulmate. 

ALSO, JR said “as of yet” about a million times.

So if I put all of this thinking together, here’s what I think he was saying. 

As of yet, at this moment in the story, Bellarke have not admitted or pursued their romantic feelings, so their relationship is a soulmate relationship that is yet to be explored and their partnership remains non-romantic. Which will incidentally be a problem next season when Bellamy must deal with both his non-romantic partnership who is his soulmate and his romantic partnership who is not his soulmate. This is a current storyline that is actively developing but as of yet, it is non-romantic as far as the characters can tell, because they do not realize the other returns their feelings and/or there is a real canon romantic relationship that serves as an obstacle to the realization of their feelings. I will not tell you how it turn out because that would be spoiling, but if you follow the story, you can see how it’s set up. 

that took a long time. I don’t know if i got everything.But i’m gonna post it anyway.

#the 100 #the jr whisperer #bellarke #platonic my ass #soulmates

[jonnmurphy]

Kinktober Day Fourteen | Asphyxiation | i think you think i’m intimidated; contemplating taking stabs at your back but i don’t need to | McCreary x Clarke | The 100

Words: 2949

Tags: Breath play, Manipulation, Blowjob, Face fucking, Deepthroating, No discussion of limits, Dubcon, Violence, Sadism, Canon verse

Note that this is a kinktober prompt fill. It will be explicit smut, and quite likely, kinky. Mind the tags.

ao3

Clarke knows that Madi and her need more protection than what they currently have. War is looming, and she’s certain she’s on the winning side, but she needs to be certain they won’t turn on her once there’s no longer a greater threat. After a few hours agonizing over how to make herself more useful to a group of thugs, Clarke’s first, stupid idea still reigns as best.

She knows there’s no time to delay and come up with something better, which is why Clarke finds herself leaving in the dead of night, making her way to the home McCreary had claimed for himself. There are guards outside, but they let her pass with nothing more than a few suggestive looks. Of course, because why else would she be going to him in the middle of the night? Clarke can think of a million reasons, but the simple minded criminals aren’t exactly wrong in this case.

McCreary is still awake when she walks into the main room, sitting on the edge of his bed and flipping through the notebook that never leaves his side. He looks up at the scuff of her boot, brow curving in silent question.

“Clarke to what do I owe the pleasure?” McCreary speaks with an easy laziness that shows exactly how little of a threat he views her as. Normally that would irk Clarke somewhat, but right now, it works in her favour.

“All alone?” Clarke looks around the room significantly, stating the obvious. McCreary, for his part, simply gestures to the emptiness as way of answer. Clarke hums thoughtfully and walks over to one of the walls, making show of inspecting the knicknacks there. “You’re the leader, and there’s plenty of attractive enough women out there that you could choose from. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on Diyoza.”

“Hardly. In fact, if that bitch weren’t carrying my baby, she’d be long dead by now,” McCreary spits. Clarke has no reason to doubt him, and there’s a certain sort of lust in his voice when he talks about killing Diyoza. She can imagine hardly anything would make him happier; pain and death is his bread and butter, after all.

“Really? Then why not find someone to replace her?” Clarke inquires, keeping her voice carefully neutral, never looking directly at him. She can’t be too direct with this, otherwise he’ll guess the intent behind her actions. Even so, he probably will, but she can’t risk being seen as desperate.

“Too many…” McCreary trails off with a frown that Clarke sees from the corner of her eye, “Complications. Too much at stake to have some woman getting the wrong ideas. Not now.”

“There wouldn’t be complications with all of them,” Clarke suggests, still as calm and cool as if talking about farming reports or the weather.

“Why the sudden interest in my sex life, Clarke? What, are you… volunteering?” McCreary narrows his eyes at her, obviously suspicious. Clarke stops her idle wanderings about the room, finally turning to look at him directly with her arms crossed over her chest.

“And if I were?” She challenges him with her gaze and her words, hoping he’ll rise to the bait.

He does so beautifully, standing and crossing the room to stand a step closer to her than he needs to. Clarke tilts her head back to keep her eyes locked on his, and she has to admit, even though this is purely political, he’s not physically repulsive. Perhaps a bit on the rougher side than her past partners, but Clarke’s intrigued by the dark and gritty more and more these days.

“Then you’re dumber than I thought. You know I don’t care about you or your little kid, and you’ve seen how I treat things I don’t give a shit about. You really want to open yourself up to more of that?” McCreary warns her, eyes searching her face for… what? Regret? Fear? He won’t find anything like that. Clarke knows what she’s doing.

You might not care, but you might need. Or want. Whatever I can get.

“I’m not scared of you, McCreary.” Clarke’s voice is even, unshaken by his paltry attempts at intimidation.

“So you are stupid.” McCreary sneers, and in a flash, his hand is around Clarke’s throat.

He squeezes, not enough to cut off airflow, but enough to be somewhat concerning. Clarke’s heart races, and she swallows against his grip. Okay, maybe she didn’t know exactly what she was getting into, but she’ll be damned if she backs down now. Clarke holds his gaze, defiant, and after a moment McCreary releases her with a scoff, crossing back over to his bed and sitting on the edge of it with his legs spread.

“What are you waiting for?” McCreary gestures at his crotch, brusque and vulgar, “My dick isn’t gonna suck itself.”

Clarke hesitates, brow furrowing. She had been offering sex, but the sudden change from warning her away and choking her, to demanding she gets on her knees is a bit much for her to keep up with. McCreary cocks a brow, leaning back.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got cold feet now. And after all that talk about not being scared.” McCreary tuts, shaking his head.

Clarke feels a flush creep onto her cheeks, much as she might try to will it away. She takes a deep, grounding breath as she crosses the room, sinking to her knees fluidly between McCreary’s thighs. She looks up at him, wondering if he’s going to give her any direction or rules or anything, but he simply looks at her expectantly. Not like he’s waiting for to start, though; like he’s waiting for her to back down.

Clarke’s competitive side rears its head in a flash. Seriously, backing down from a simple blowjob, just because the guy she’s sucking off is a mass murdering sadist? He doesn’t even rank in her top ten things to be afraid of. Wasting no more time, Clarke runs her hands up the inside of McCreary’s thighs, palming him through his pants when she reaches his crotch. Not gentle or teasing, a firm declaration of intent. She doesn’t imagine he’s much of one to enjoy the finer things in life, anyway.

Clarke massages him a few times until she can feel a certain stiffness growing behind the heavy canvas. McCreary huffs a breath out through his nose, and he looks incredibly self satisfied when she glances up at him. She’s certain that no matter what, he wins in this situation. If she runs away, like he likely expects, then he’s proven he’s a terrifying monster. If she doesn’t, he gets off. Win win for McCreary, which Clarke imagines contributes to his erection as much as the pressure and friction she provides does.

Clarke smiles a little to herself at that thought as she undoes his pants, opening the front and being confronted immediately by the sight of his half hard cock. No underwear, then. Well, that works in Clarke’s favour, given that McCreary makes it exceedingly obvious he’s not going to do a damn thing to help her. It’s one less thing to deal with, as Clarke maneuvers the clothing enough to properly free him.

Clarke gives his dick a few dry pumps, feeling blood rush there in response. Without further delay, she leans in, dragging her tongue up the underside of it. He doesn’t taste as bad as she would have expected from the greasy state of his hair, simply sweat and skin. He stiffens against her tongue, and Clarke is struck for the first time by the fact that McCreary is well endowed. Like, bigger than anyone she’s had before. Perhaps not by much, but still, Clarke finds a sort of thrill running through her as she works him to full hardness.

Clarke wraps her lips around the head of him when his cock is hard under her touch, flicking her tongue over the slit there to swipe away the precum. Tangy and salty, but not bad at all. Clarke’s always sort of enjoyed it, if she’s being honest, and her body responds despite the circumstances. If this were anyone else, she might even moan a little, at the size and heady taste of him in her mouth. But Clarke doesn’t let herself get caught up in the act; she can’t, it’s too risky.

McCreary huffs another breath when Clarke sink down a little, testing the strain he’ll be on her jaw, and how far she can comfortably take him. She can tell almost immediately that if she doesn’t get him off fast, her jaw is going to get sore quite quickly. But she’s confident enough in her abilities, and if McCreary hasn’t been with anyone since before cryo sleep, hopefully that will give her some mercy.

Clarke shifts her tongue on the underside of his cock as she pulls back, dragging it along a different part of the sensitive skin with each bob of her head. McCreary grunts when she swirls it around the head, one of his hands making its way into her hair. He holds the back of her skull, rather than twisting his grip in the hair itself, and Clarke sort of hates how good it feels. It’s been too long since she felt this, being desired by someone else so much to the point that they can’t keep their hands off of you.

When Clarke’s sinks down again, McCreary forces her a bit further, so his cock sits against the back of her throat. Clarke is thankful she doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, but it still doesn’t feel the most pleasant. She’s not keyed up enough for that peculiar pressure to feel good. Not yet, anyway.

McCreary holds her there for a moment, and Clarke lets him, breathing through her nose. He only lets her back off for a few inches before he stills her head, and then he presses her back down with hardly a break. He pushes her further, testing Clarke’s limits. Clarke takes him as well as she can, but McCreary keeps pushing even when he hits resistance. Just a little bit more, a quarter of an inch, but it’s still enough to makes Clarke’s throat burn and her eyes water.

She heaves breaths in through her nose when he allows her to back off a few inches once more, and she clues into the game plan here. McCreary is in control, and he’s going to remind her of that. Clarke should feel angry about being used like some kind of a sex toy, but as he presses her down once more, even further, she feels that emotion only as a distant echo. She tries desperately not to get caught up in everything, but twisted pleasure courses through her all the same as her throat quivers around him.

It’s overwhelming, his firm grip on her head, fingers digging into her scalp, cock filling and stretching her throat beyond reason. Clarke feels like she’s simply along for the ride, only able to try not to choke or suffocate. The struggle to take his entire length sends little sparks racing through her, settling in the heat building in her core. She can’t say exactly why it feels good, but it really does, in a way. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but it’s also incredible.

While Clarke is focusing on breathing with McCreary’s dick still lodged in her mouth, his free hand makes its way to her throat. She doesn’t even realize its presence until he squeezes, fingers digging cruelly into tender flesh. Her brain struggles to comprehend the input for a moment, and by the time she understands what he’s doing, he’s pressing her back down again.

A primal part of Clarke struggles, then, as he chokes her inside and out. He holds her in place with iron strength despite her vague jerking, his laughter hollow against the pulsing of her own blood in her ears. Her face feels hot, blood trapped there with nowhere to go, and her lungs burn. She squeezes her eyes tight, unable to do anything, feeling tears leak out of the corners.

And then, just as true panic begins to set in, McCreary releases her, entirely, not just a few inches this time. Clarke flies off of him, gasping for air and coughing. She should be furious, or disgusted, or anything other than what she actually feels. As oxygen rushes back into her, it feels incredible, like a successful hunt, almost like a climax in and of itself. She can feels wetness flood between her thighs, and a part of Clarke hates it, but another delights in it. It’s awful, terrifying, and yet she craves more of it.

Clarke coughs once more, her breathing barely under control, and wipes her mouth with the back of one hand. She looks up at McCreary and sees him smiling wide. He likes hurting her, like seeing her suffer and struggle. Well, unfortunately for him, pain and suffering are old friends of Clarke’s. He won’t be the first to break her, no matter what he does.

Clarke returns her mouth to his cock unprompted, and she’s unsurprised when his hands resume their previous marks. The one on her throat constricts immediately, like he can barely resist the urge to choke the life out of her. It should be awful, yet Clarke angles her head to give him better access to her neck. The bruising pain of his grip mixes with the hot pleasure inside of her, flowing deep and dark through her veins.

McCreary barely has to force her head when Clarke sinks down again, simply holding her in place. This time, she’s ready for it when he cuts off her airflow. She counts through it, listening to the beating of her heart. Around the count of twenty, he lets her go once more, and Clarke heaves breaths, but doesn’t pull all the way off of him.

“Looks like you might have something to offer after all,” McCreary laughs above her, and impotent anger flashes through her for a moment. She has plenty more to offer than this, but that doesn’t matter to him, she supposes.

A few more times, they repeat the cycle; Clarke sinks down to the base of his cock, nose nestled in his pubes, and McCreary fakes at killing her. Each time he lets her live is a rush, and Clarke finds herself craving it. She almost lets a moan slip out, once, as her lungs receive the life affirming air they’ve been denied. She almost forgets the purpose of this, caught up in the slide of his cock down her throat, the controlling touch of his hands on her.

McCreary begins to make more noises above her; not moans, but heavy breaths and sharp grunts. He’s not loud or talkative, but perhaps that’s a side effect of being a prisoner. Lord knows if anyone got up to anything in the Skybox, they would have had to have been exceptionally quiet about it.

Clarke sinks down to his base once more, and McCreary clamps down on her throat. But instead of holding her head in place, he fists his hand in her hair. With a sharp tug that makes her scalp tingle with a sensation that probably would have been pain at any other time, McCreary pulls her head back. Just a few inches, then he force it down again. He repeats the action rapidly, still clamping down on everything vital in her neck.

The sudden changes - the frantic thrusting of his cock in and out of her throat - is hard to adjust to, especially as the world begins to fade to the heavy pulse of her heart and a deep burning throughout her body. Clarke’s throat tries to reject him, and she fists her hands on his thighs, trying desperately to hold on. Keeping her jaw open, throat relaxed, all as her vision goes a little gray around the edges.

With one last grunt, McCreary releases his stranglehold on her neck and slams her head all the way down. It feels like fire as he cums down her abused throat, and Clarke desperately tries to balance swallowing and breathing. It’s not as easy as it sounds, and Clarke is moderately impressed she doesn’t somehow die in the process. After the last drop of cum leaves McCreary’s cock, he releases her, pulling her off of his dick. Clarke practically collapses to the ground, slumping and coughing violently. Tears sting her eyes, but she manages to get herself back in order fast enough.

When Clarke can breathe rather than gasp, she straightens her hair and clothes. She decides to tuck McCreary’s cock back into his pants, since he seems more than content to leave it exposed, watching her with an amused expression.

“Well, aren’t you just the noble volunteer, hm? Have fun explaining those bruises to your kid,” McCreary chuckles, and Clarke’s hand flies to her throat, fingertips hovering over where she knows there will be marks. Although, knowing how angry Madi is at her, she probably won’t even ask. It would be for the best.

Clarke pushes herself to her feet without another word. As she leaves the room, she just hopes it’s enough, that McCreary enjoyed himself enough he might keep her around for this, if nothing else. The thought weighs heavy on her mind, but her obsession is interrupted just as she’s about to leave.

“Come back tomorrow night.”

It’s a gruff command, but it soothes Clarke’s worries somewhat. As long as he keeps wanting her the next night, they’re safe. And, as Clarke strokes the damaged skin on her neck, she has to admit it really wasn’t all that awful.

#mcclarke #paxton mccreary #clarke griffin #kinktober #kinktober2018 #the 100 #fan fic

[cassatine]

Hi! Can I ask what makes West End Games the "genesis point" of Star Wars old cnaon? Isn't it just the movies?

MY TIME HASCOME. Have a [tl;dr] of my notes on WEG. 

Okay so - are the WEG games the genesis point of the old canon or is it the movies is the kind of question I’m not super interested in, so i’m more going to focus on what makes West End Games key, and the part they played.

Let’s dothe time warp – we’re in the mid-eighties, let’s say 86. Return of the Jedi was released in 83, the movies have been adaptedin as many forms as possible. There’s been children books, storybooks, activitybooks, nonfiction, etc. There’s been magazines and strip comics in newspapersand two trilogies of novels published by Bantam, plus Foster Splinter of theMind’s eye, there’s been Atari games and toys beyond counting. There’s been publishedscreenplays and artbooks, a Guide to the universe compiled by a fan andofficialized, some odds and ends I’m notcounting, and that list may seem long, but it’s ten yearsof content – the rate of release was nothing like today’s or the nineties’. Towrap it up, between 84 and 86, there’d been the Ewoks and Droidstv series, as well as the Ewok movies (I think a lot of kids loved them, but olderfans, not really) but the overall release rhythm was winding down: Kennerstopped producing SW figurines in 85 (they’d start again in 95); in 86 theMarvel run of comics ended (they published two spin-off series til 87, Droidsand Ewoks, tho). Star WarsInsider, still the Lucasfilm Fan Club Magazine at that point, would start its runin 87, but it featured little about SW for years - outside of themerchandising pages at least. Fandom was certainly active, but the rate of official content had dwindled next tonothing, and nothing new was on the horizon.

In myperiodization, that’s the end of the First Legends Era, and at this point SWwas basically dying, nevermind the Ewoks and Droids stuff. Again, I don’t meanthe core fandom, but without regular new content the wider audience was justlosing interest.

Somethingchanged that of course, otherwise I wouldn’t be here typing this, and somethingwas West End Games, a small company who, until then, had mostly publishedhistorical and fantasy RPGs. They could buy the license because… well, no onewas interested. Again, Star Wars had stopped being a hot property.

That didn’tlast long, and West End Games kicked off the Second Legends Era, expandingon the universe in a way none of the previous spin-off products had.

Their firstpublication was Star Wars: The Roleplaying Game in October 1987, covering thefirst movie’ events. It was followed a month later by a Sourcebook and until the license changed hands at the end of the nineties, WEG released over ahundred books, sourcebooks and miscellaneous stuff, including the Adventure Journal, which arguably kickedoff the long tradition of SW short stories that other official magazines wouldlater continue. Many of these first short stories were later reprinted, mainlyin the Tales anthologies - and a lot of people were angry when some of the Special Editions changes invalidated bits of these stories (the very first Canonpocalypse). The West EndGames material also started the tradition of in-universe works; most of theirguides and sourcebooks had in-universe passages, but some of the sourcebookswere fully written from an in-universe point of view.

There’s anumber of factors behind the success of the WEG Star Wars line; for thecore fandom, it came at a time when there was very little new content: WEG’s shortfictions were the only new fictional content (bar Ewoks/Droids stuff) from 86to 91, and with the Lucasfilm Fan Club Magazine, WEG was basically the only regularsource of content. It was also an encyclopedical exploration of the GFFA, more on that below. It was aninteractive kind of fictional content; a way to become an active participant in the galaxy-sized storyof Star Wars rather than remain a passive audience, more accessible thanthe electronic games of the times. 

And it wasgood. Like, critically-acclaimed good.

The WestEnd Games publications had a hugeimpact on the franchise in their time, and their products remained being ratherinfluential in later years. They’re still being so, as that “roleplayinggame material published in the 1980s” alluded to in the 2014 Canonpocalyseannouncement – i.e., the source from which the Inquisitorium, the ISB andSiennar Fleet Systems, and a great many other elements since, were pulled andbrought to the NEU.

But to goback to your actual ask, there’sa reason for looking at the West End Games products specifically as a the base of the old Legends canon (and also a source ofelements and concepts for the NEU). The RPG outlook is a very specific one; oneof statistics and numbers and rules that users learn to navigate the setting ofthe adventures. To create a RPGfrom an already existing world,you’d define a number of categories and subcategories for worldbuildingelements, break down those elements to measurable characteristics – but alsoelaborate on context and fill in many blanks. It’s a very methodic way to doworldbuilding, one oriented towards a specific purpose.

Inpractice, that meant the West End Games books, although not planned as such,doubled as a set of incredibly detailed reference books, something without equivalent at the time. Althoughthe first publications centered around the movies and, once the ExpandedUniverse really took off in the early 90s, some of the novels, comics and games,the company had soon started to create as much as adapt, branching out to new,unexplored grounds. With the adventures came details about the galaxy’sgeography and history, its inhabitants and its technology, the inner workingsof the Empire and the Rebel Alliance. And if some of these publications tied tothe movies or other products, this was no-one way relationships: from theTarkin initiative to COMPNOR, the ISB or foundational texts such as the Declaration of Rebellion and otherelements great and small, the galaxy was laid out in West End Games’publications, comprehensively and extensively.

Thing is, if many of the books featured pre-written adventures or “adventure seeds”, the fundamental goal of sourcebooks and the overall worldbuilding of the WEG stuff was to create a universe for the players to tell stories – stories in which the narrator has no control over the characters, but stories nonetheless. In a way, the sourcebooks were reference books intended for storytellers.

Which is why they became the base of the “old canon”, when it took off in the early 90s, with the Dark Horse comics and Zahn’s Thrawn trilogy – and make no mistake, the only reason these happened at all was because WEG had made Star Wars a viable brand again. Their success had proven there was a market.

And as we’ve seen, they’d already done the worldbuilding, extensively; Lucasfilm has always had final approval on the WEG books too, so the content was considered as “official” as could be, and continuity already mattered (if always with the caveat that Lucas could invalidate it if he came back to SW, as finally happened). It’s well known Zahn was sent WEG sourcebooks by Lucasfilm (who would later develop an internal “canon bible,” way before the holocron database, but wasn’t there yet), and over the years, writers used the sourcebooks as resource materials; I wish I could give you a list but I’m working on it. Recently Jason Fry said he still used the sourcebooks. Hidalgo talks about them here and there.

Moreover, anumber of Legends (and NEU) writers, of fiction as well as of nonfiction, first contributed to StarWars through WEG; Troy Denning, later to write novels for the franchise,authored two “gamebooks,” i.e Choose your own adventure books, and a sourcebook;Bill Smith wrote and co-wrote a number of books for WEG before writing twotitles for the first series of Essential Guides ; Daniel Wallace alsowent from WEG to the Essential Guides, though he only contributed to thefinal published issue of the AdventureJournal, and the rest of his RPG writing was done in the context of Wizardsof the Coast publications. Peter M. Schweighofer, who would also go on to writefor WOTC, wrote or co-wrote a number of WEG books; he also edited the Adventure Journal and wrote a number ofshort stories. Pablo Hidalgo went from playing the WEG games to writing forthem before joining Lucasfilm. There’s more but I’m still working onthat list.

#star wars #meta #star wars history #west end games #canon #legends #my notes are way messy so this is messy too #anon #ask

[kolivance]

Kolivance is obviously canon I mean it's hitting you in the face the first episode. The blade could choose any lion to ride in and they chose blue? Not red, the fastest which is piloted by one of their own members? It's obvious Koli wanted to ride with his boo and wouldn't take no for an answer

Hi there nonnie! Mod Blob here taking over this reply!

First of all, you should know that all of us mods screamed over this ask in our chat and we all agreed we love you.

Like. This ask is us.  This is us in a nutshell.  Amazing.

Moving on! I’ve been waiting for an excuse to talk about S3EP1 for a while now and I finally have it!!!!! I’ve got the screencaps ready! I hope you guys are in for a long post because goose do I have stuff to say…

I introduce you to a guide on how to read too much into less than 5 minutes of an episode, written by me

In EP1 we are shown that each member of Team Voltron is basically doing their own thing.  Keith (with Coran’s aid) is looking for Shiro among the remains of their previous battle with Zarkon, Allura is getting ready for diplomatic meetings, Pidge is on her own looking for her family.  Out of all of them, only Hunk and Lance are the ones fighting to liberate yet another alien civilization that fell under the claws of the galran domination.

Both Yellow and Blue are big lions, bigger than Red and Green, and out of the two options we are shown that Kolivan and more BoM members are riding on the back of Blue.

(I’ll put the rest of my reply under a read more so it won’t be tiring to scroll past this post on mobile)

Now this could’ve been entirely a casual thing, but I don’t think it’s something we should look over and ignore.  We know that Kolivan doesn’t trust others easily unless proven they are capable warriors.  For him to accept being in Blue along with the ones he’s in charge of, it means that at least to some degree he trusts in Lance’s skills.

Not only that, but he trusts that Lance will take them to the place they need to be.

I would also like to put emphasis on the fact that Lance calls him by his name.  We know that Lance is a generally friendly person, but I believe that him specifically saying “Kolivan” also supports my idea that there’s an undercurrent of trust between them.

Now, Kolivan doesn’t have doubts at any moment of Lance’s actions or skills.  I believe that this also goes to show that he recognizes Lance’s potential as a good leader, considering Lance is technically taking the leading position during this mission and that Kolivan (a more than well experienced leader) treats him as an equal.

Immediately after this scene, we are told (by Hunk) that they are past the drop zone, and Lance replies that they cannot stop.  They are under heavy fire by the enemy ships and doing so would leave not only the lions exposed, but also it would turn Kolivan and the BoM members (side note: kolivan and the bom, good name for a rock band) into easy targets.

In this situation, now it’s Lance the one showing clear respect and trust in Kolivan’s judgement.  He could’ve easily done anything else without consulting the other passengers within Blue, but instead he diverts the final decision towards Kolivan, trusting that he’ll know the right thing to do.  This shows that Lance is willing to give others key leading decisions and that he is aware that Kolivan has more experience, therefore his opinion/decision would more than likely be better for their current situation.

I mean, we know Lance is full of self imposed bravado, yet we are shown that he has no trouble fitting into co-leadership roles with noticeable ease.  His interactions with Kolivan here go smoothly, and later on in the next episodes of S3 he proves to be an excellent right-hand man.

Kolivan never once says anything remotely judgemental of Lance asking him for guidance.  And I know I’ve been saying this so much but Lance!! Trusts!!! Kolivan!!!!!!! And!!! The!! BoM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I’m mainly including this screencap because it’s a super cool shot and I love Kolivan. No, I’m not biased. Also, I think his braid necklace is super cute and adorable and ohmygod guys Kolivan has long hair, I know this is obvious yes, but whenever I think of it I always feel so weak for this gorgeous alien.)

The fight continues on for a few moments longer until Kolivan requires for help because how can they, a bunch of tall purple furry generally handsome aliens with cool blades and awesome fighting moves, fight against a canon lodged in a place waaay above their heads that’s targeting them specifically? 

Clearly, the best course of action is asking for help.  Which is what Kolivan does. I’m inclined to believe he’s actually directing himself to Lance, who is the one that replies (while keeping his eyes on his buddy Hunk and only looking away once Hunk emerges from that cloud of smoke).

(Look at Lance’s cute face here. I love him. So cute. Another screencap I’m adding mainly because Lance is cute and I’m the one replying this so I can do what I want and get away with it :D besides, who’s gonna complain about cute Lance, huh? Who? Not you, that’s for sure)

(Sidenote: the microphones/whatever you wanna call their communication devices that are inside the helmets are on the left side, proven by how Lance turns his attention towards that side.  Also, you could also say that by doing that he’s technically placing a good part of his focus on Kolivan.  Shippy goofy smile, get off my face.)

Ehem ehem.  Going back to what I was trying to say.  The BoM dealed with the situation as best as they could (which means: they are the best of the best even though they do the Naruto run. They even have saNdALS-LIKE FOOTWEAR), until this canon thing blew that up (heh) and turned them into easy targets.  They do need help.  They cannot fight blasts with blades, guys.

Here’s Lance immediate reply:

And then we are immediately shown that he cannot take it out.  Because he rushes in without really assessing how that weapon works and tries to shoot it from the front.  Which in turn almost ends in Lance getting shot.  Then Hunk, who stayed behind as Lance rushed in, does notice that the weakest spot of the canon thing is the back, and he is the one to effectively destroy it.

So far in this scene we’ve seen a Lance that was generally smooth in his actions, and this is the only moment in which he fails to effectively eliminate a target.  He notices that he needs to get rid of that thing as soon as possible, but in his hurrying up to help Kolivan fails to see the best way to counter-attack.

Fast forward to when the battle is won and the galran ships are flying the hell outta there.  We have the whole alien people come out of their hiding spots to celebrate their liberation and gape in clear admiration at the Lions.  Yet in that same scene we are shown something that, in my opinion, is a gem:

Some of the aliens, which are then declared as the leaders or most influential ones of that community, clearly glance at Kolivan and the BoM with obvious distrust (and prejudice) in their eyes.  Kolivan notices, and the change in his expression is painfully obvious:

His face falls.  He lowers his gaze and bows his head.  This is the moment I went like “I want to hug him and tell him he’s doing great and that he’s amazing and that I love him”.  I’m not biased guys, I don’t know what you’re talking about. 

What’s clear here is that he’s hurt.

This gives a whole new level of importance and relevance to what Lance does a few moments later:

He literally stands up for the BoM and Kolivan.

Upon rejection from the aliens towards them based solely on their race/appearance, what Lance does is openly and proudly stand up for them and defend them.  He extends the reason of the victory to them while also showing his gratitude for their assitance.  

He could’ve said nothing and accept the worship the aliens were giving them and the Lions, but no, he also redirects that attention and acknowledgement (rightfully so) to Kolivan and his team.

It would’ve been enough for Lance to say: “We couldn’t have done it without them”, referring to the Blade of Marmora in general.  Yet he put special emphasis on Kolivan, stressing his value as leader and showing how much Lance appreciates him.

It’s also important to notice that Lance is doing this while standing right besides Kolivan, who, in turn, has his body turned towards Lance and redirects his gaze towards him.

This scene is really beautiful and the first time I saw it I screamed. Also: LOOK AT THEIR SIZE DIFFERENCE!!!

Kolivan’s reply is the reply of a leader.  He doesn’t say it was his honor, he consciously includes his whole team.

Also, look at Lance’s fond expression.  He’s so proud and grateful.  I love him.

Anyway, I’m forcefully stopping myself here because I could go on and on and it would get repetitive.

Is Kolivance canon?

It is in my heart and nobody will be able to tell me otherwise not even after I die.

— xoxo, Mod Blob 👽

#We Speak #in which mod blob writes an essay on why kolivance is life #screencaps #kolivance #Holy Hell blob ily xDD #I can't stop laughing #cause like while this is a great analysis just #some of your comments are just #you're adorable #I love you #xDD #Mod Mizu