#so if it doesn't make sense I'm blaming that

[yuukiiqwq]

Satoru Gojo was more than ready to propose to you. For you to be his pretty little wife. For you to take his last name. To see you walk down the aisle in a white dress. He has spent weeks picking out a ring for you. Weeks finding the perfect place to propose. Weeks just for this moment. He knows you'll say yes.

Today was the day he would propose. He had everything all set up and ready. The ring box is in his pocket. He just needs to come home to you and get you ready for the date. He had long made a promise to himself. He'll make you happy because you are the world to him.

He then felt a vibration in his pocket from his phone, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts. He opened his phone to see that Shoko had called him. He accepted the call and was about to ask Shoko what she needed before she interrupted him.

"Satoru."

Satoru immediately freezes. Shoko had never called him by his first name. It was always Gojo.

"Come to my office," was the only thing Shoko said before ending the call. Her voice was shaking.

Dread filled Satoru's body. A chill was sent down his spine. Something was wrong, so he immediately teleported to Shoko's office. He was greeted with the sight of Shoko, his students, and you. The students' eyes red from crying. Shoko is unable to look him in the eyes. You covered in blood. Your curse energy completely diminished. Your lifeless body is on the table.

Oh. Oh.

"I'm sorry, sensei! It's all my fault!" Yuji apologies as he cries.

"She saved us." Nobara whispered as she continued to wipe her endless tears.

"We let our guard down." Megumi looks down. He was holding in his pain. "It's my fault. I was careless. They were wrong about–"

Satoru doesn't register the rest of Megumi's word. His ears were ringing, and his vision was blurring. A void in replacement of his heart. The ring in his pocket felt a lot heavier. He stares at your body before closing his eyes. He then turned toward his students with a smile.

"Hey, hey! It's alright, guys. It's not your fault. It was an accident! Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault at all. How about you guys take the next few days to relax! I'm sure this was very traumatic for you to lose a teacher in front of your eyes!"

"Gojo–" Megumi started, but he was pushed out the door with his friends before he could utter another word.

"Here, take my card and buy some stuff to help you take your mind off this, yeah? You guys need rest!" Satoru says as he closes the door. He's glad that he has his blindfold on so the students couldn't see the grief and pain in his eyes. He waited until he could no longer sense their curse energy before turning around towards you and Shoko.

"Shoko. Can you leave too? Just for a bit?" He asked. No. He pleaded. His voice was no higher than a whisper. He can't cry yet. Not in front of anyone but you. He's the strongest.

Shoko nodded and walked towards the door. "I'm sorry, Satoru. I tried to save her. I know today was suppose–" Shoko stopped before she finished the sentence. She bit the bottom of her lips before apologizing once more and then left.

Now, Satoru was left alone in the room with your lifeless body. He took off his blindfold and walked up to you. He held your once warm hand in his. He caressed your cheek as the tears that he was holding back finally fall down his face. He was going to propose to you today. You were supposed to be his wife. You were supposed to be with him until the day he died. But now... he would no longer see you. Your smile. Your laugh. You would no longer be smiling at him. In his arms. In his embrace. He wouldn't get to see your beautiful eyes open. Your voice. He wouldn't be able to hear your love for him. He won't be able to hear your "I love you, Satoru." You would no longer call his name. Oh, how he loved his name coming from your lips. It was supposed to be one of his happiest days. If he could only go back to yesterday. Where you were still in his arms, the two of you whispering your love to one another. Kisses being exchanged. Where you were still warm and alive. Where he can still stretch out his hand and reach you.

Fate loves taunting him with his loved ones. It loves to ruin him. To tear him apart. To rip his heart out and shred it to pieces because he's the strongest. So he'll always fail to protect the ones he loves. Fate is laughing at him because he is a joke. Fate is celebrating his grief. He has losted and fate has won again.

He doesn't know how much time has passed. Him next to your lifeless body, praying that you would just wake up. He wants to join you. Join you in the afterlife. To see you. To be with you. But he can't. He knows you'll never forgive him if he did. He still has his students to look after. A world to save. A revenge to sought after. He wiped his tears away because you would hate seeing him cry. He kissed you gently for the last time and whispered his eternal love towards you and a "I'll see you soon."

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. Your ring. He slipped it onto your ring finger and asked– "Will you marry me?"

A yes forever unspoken.

#gojo angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #gojo satoru #satoru gojo drabble #gojo satoru imagine #jjk imagines #gojo satoru headcanons #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x y/n #satoru gojo angst #gojo satoru x you #this was my brainrot before bed

[fruity-fruition]

I NEED more angry Saki content at this point. GENUINELY.

Guys, I love Tsukasa, Shiho, and Honami with all my heart but I desperately need Saki to finally let out all her anguish.

Shiho and Honami were middle schoolers, you can't blame them, but so was Saki. I love how bright she is, how bubbly, but for the love of god you just know she had some sense of betrayal when Ichika was the only one who appeared constantly.

I want Saki to stand before Honami and Shiho, trying her best to act as her usual self, but finally breaking down and telling them how hurt she was when they never replied to her text. When Ichika kept saying "they'll visit soon" because she knows they never will. How she felt so alone in that hospital room, missing two of her best friends and being so far away from home.

I don't want their friendship to wither, but I have her to be angry because she has every right to be. I want her to hold a grudge, and I want her to feel hurt because she cannot move forward without acknowledging how shitty the cards she was dealt were.

Again, I'm not saying it was Honami and Shiho's fault. They were middle schoolers, they were scared. they were children who didn't know how to cope with their friend being so far and so out of reach. But that didn't mean they weren't wrong. Saki has every right to feel abandoned, because in her eyes, she was.

And Tsukasa. This is a different betrayal, because he treats her like glass. Again, it's not his fault, because for a good while, she basically was. She couldn't go out, she couldn't move around, she couldn't do most things. And he saw her through all of it. Of course he'd be scared for her, of course he'd be wary about it.

But Saki's so tired of being treated like this. She wants to move on, to keep going, to feel normal but she can't do that when everywhere she goes, it's a constant reminder. I want her to lash out, not being she's in the right, but because she's a teen who's childhood was torn away from her.

I want to see Saki snap, I don't even want it to be for a right reason. She could be totally in the wrong, yelling at her brother for caring and trying to make sure she's okay, but she's tired of being reminded she isn't a normal teen. So she lashes out, because she's hurt.

Saki's feeling of betrayal towards Tsukasa reaches another part too, with Tsukasa refusing to trust her the way she trusts him. Tsukasa never opened up to her, being so determined to be the reliable older brother. She's not stupid. She sees what he's doing. She knows something is up, that something is wrong. He's hiding something from her, and it pisses her off that she most likely will never know what.

She feels like he doesn't trust her. She feels like her just being younger is burdening him. That he thinks she can't handle it because she'll always be the "younger fragile sister". She is wrong, and he's never seen her as such, but she feels. That's the whole thing here.

I just want my girl to be able to finally feel and not squash everything down. She'll have to accept the consequences of her actions, but she'll grow from it after, that's for certain. Because she's not going anywhere if she keeps ignoring it and just smiles through (Tenma Sibling trait apparently...)

GOD Saki Tenma I LOVE YOU.

#pjsk #project sekai #saki tenma #tenma saki #prsk #proseka #prosekai #l/n

[10underoot2]

I'm here in my agony to say that discussion between Haein and Hyunwoo after he moved his stuff into the nursery will kill me with how painful it is.

They're both in so much pain it's visible there but they're unable to talk to each other about it.

'How could you move your stuff without telling me?' She's so hurt. Her tone is accusatory. She's hurt that she just emptied her unborn child's nursery and her husband decides to move away from her as well.

'You never told me you were emptying this room either.' He's pained that they've lost a much awaited child and she didn't bother consulting him before removing everything. He didn't get his closure. He's angry and upset and so hurt but he doesn't know that he needs to get through a very strongly wrought shield around her heart to have her acknowledge his pain.

'What are you getting at? Are you blaming me for the miscarriage?'

I never imagined Haein would think Hyunwoo would want to blame her. I want to cry that in her grief she failed to have enough faith in him and his love. She's hurt by his decision to move out so she takes it out on him. She's a classical study of saying something to completely annihilate the other when you're the one who's hurt.

Also, (this pained me more than anything) notice the extreme softness and absence of anger in his voice as he responds to her.

'What are you saying? I never thought that way.'

His anger and pain seeps back in when he confesses to her, 'I'm just as sad as you -'

'Don't lie. I know you want to say that it's my fault!' I wanted to yell at her to stop. I'm so sad that she let her past trauma catch up. Is that all she's thought about since she got the news of the miscarriage? That Hyunwoo would blame her? Her fears, her pain, her assumptions they all won. And they played a part in driving them apart.

'Forget it. I can't talk any sense into you.'

I think this is the most realistic line I've heard in a Kdrama. Because people do tend to in their anger and pain just give up. Hyunwoo couldn't deal with her accusing him of something he never did, he couldn't deal with her inability to listen and acknowledge his pain as well. So he walked away - it was just simpler, easier to do.

It's also reminding me of how he told her that if they lived in a closed space they would have been forced to confront each other. They were bound to hear the other cry and console the other then. When I think about the absolutely painful, lonely, cold two years that followed this, it makes me so sad.

I didn't know a minute long scene could send me in a spiral of sadness. As sad as a miscarriage is I've had immense clarity that it never implied that they could never have children. Not to dismiss their pain it's all very valid, but if they worked towards getting closure sooner they could have been so much stronger and probably could have had a child sooner. It makes me sad how the pain rendered them incapable to mend and work towards their relationship.

#it's a minute long but it's been an hour and I'm still in pain #i never expected this confrontation to have happend #god help these two smoll cute beans #they've been through so much #ans they've come so far #queen of tears #baek hyun woo #hong hae in #kim ji won #kim soo hyun #baekhong #baby 1031 #you were so loved

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What do you think about Hermione? Love her? Hate her? Any thoughts about her being given the time Turner? Because that's what made me dislike her. There's literally no way it makes sense for her to have that other than favouritism from Dumbledore. Because if they were really willing to give out time turners to any smart kid, Barty Crouch Jr. and Tom Riddle should also have gotten time turners.

Okay, there are two parts for this answer. The first part is that I got to defend Hermione on the Time Turner bit because it's not her fault Dumbledore plays favorites.

I'm pretty sure Dumbledore knew Sirius was innocent all along (or at least suspected it) and intended Harry and Hermione to have all the means to help him at their disposal.

“Dumbledore just said — just said we could save more than one innocent life. . . .” And then it hit him. “Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!” “But — how will that help Sirius?” “Dumbledore said — he just told us where the window is — the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak — they can escape together!”

(PoA, page 395)

They were still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid’s back door. “One moment, please, Macnair,” came Dumbledore’s voice. “You need to sign too.” The footsteps stopped.

(PoA, page 401)

The back in time Dumbledore, before he sent Harry and Hermione back in time, seems almost too aware of what's going on. Even though he hasn't sent them back in time yet. So, I'm suspicious he had a plan there.

“Where is it?” said the reedy voice of the Committee member. “Where is the beast?” “It was tied here!” said the executioner furiously. “I saw it! Just here!” “How extraordinary,” said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in his voice.

(PoA, page 402)

But even if Dumbledore didn't plan Sirius' escape and the Time Turner shenanigans, it's not Hermione's fault Dumbledore wanted her to have a Time Turner. Honestly, it's good she had it for Sirius' sake, but Dumbledore's favoritism isn't on her. I feel it's wrong to blame her for a decision that wasn't hers. It was Dumbledore's and McGonagall's decision to give Hermione a Time Turner and not to other students. We don't even know how common Time Turners are for students (my guess is not at all, and Hermione wasn't supposed to have one, but that's a different post), but it was still a decision completely out of Hermione's hands.

As for the second part, which is my opinion on Hermione:

I like Hermione, she isn't in my top favorite characters, but I do like her. She's interesting, adds contrast to Ron and Harry and I related to her a lot when I was younger.

I hate what the movies did to her. They stripped her of everything that made her interesting and made her this perfect figure who always knew what to do which Hermione just isn't. Hermione tends to panic and stress out in the books often. It's often Harry who comes up with last-minute plans under pressure.

And yes, she's smart, but she isn't always the cleverest or wisest (I'll say Ron has the most common sense in the Trio), and a lot of times she doesn't think her plans through (like with Umbridge, the centaurs, and Gwamp. She didn't plan anything other than not wanting to see Harry in pain). And that's an interesting character flaw for her to have. And she knows this about herself. I mean, she says herself there's more to magic than just reading books.

And book Hermione really loves Harry and Ron and appreciates their cleverness compared to movie Hermione who's just done with both of them and their idiocy constantly. Which is a disservice to the Golden Trio's friendship. All three are really smart in different ways. and the three of them know this (sorta, Harry has really low self-esteem so he doesn't think he's smart).

My biggest grief with Hermione's character in the books was always her complete faith in authority she trusts. Throughout the series, Hermione is the one of the Trio who always speaks up that they should trust Dumbledore and do what Dumbledore says because she respects him. Hermione, once she respects an authority figure, she tends to just have full faith in them and their judgment. And that really got on my nerves sometimes. But again, that's an interesting character flaw that contrasts Harry and Ron and creates an interesting dynamic. It's a character flaw that is an extension of Hermione's loyalty. I think her loyalty is a trait that is often downplayed too, but she is so loyal. Like, once she decides you have her loyalty you could do pretty much anything and she'll try to justify you. She'll make excuses and justifications so people she's loyal to are in the right.

And she does this justification with her own actions too. I like Hermione's ruthlessness that is so often ignored. She:

Set Snape on fire as a 1st year (but, yeah she loves all authority *sarcasm*)

Kept Rita Skeeter in a jar

Marietta Edgcomb (the curse on the DA parchment in general)

Came up with the DA coins and told Harry she got inspiration from the Dark Mark:

Harry looked sideways at Hermione. “You know what these remind me of?” “No, what’s that?” “The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they’ve got to join him.” “Well . . . yes,” said Hermione quietly. “That is where I got the idea . . . but you’ll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin. . . .”

(OotP, 399)

6. Confounded Cormac McLaggen so Ron would get the Keeper position.

7. Basically everything she did in Deathly Hollows, I'm not listing all of it.

And there are more I'm probably forgetting!

The point is, Hermione is ruthless when she wants to be. She's not to be trifled with.

I think her loyalty, as I mentioned above, is a very distinctive trait of her character. She didn't have friends before Hogwarts (she was probably bullied for being a know-it-all. Like, it shows in her behavior) and she latched onto Harry and Ron and has been incredibly devoted to their friendship since. She's not only devoted to her friends but invested in keeping Harry and Ron as her friends (and each other's freinds).

And she actually is really smart. Yes, book smart, she can memorize books like a pro, but she's also a really good puzzle solver. From the riddle in the obstacle course in 1st year, figuring out the basilisk, finding out Lupin's a werewolf, figuring out Rita's Animagus form, etc... Hermione is really good at organizing information and putting the puzzle pieces together. And that's before I mentioned her magical talent, from brewing Pulyjuice Potion (a complex and advanced potion) in 2nd year in the girls' bathroom to usually being the first in class to get spells right.

Hermione's desire to know everything, as I mentioned in another post, I think is an extension of her desire to belong. She arrives in a new world as a muggleborn, and she takes each and every chance she gets to learn about the Wizarding World. To appear as if she was always there. Because she wants to be a witch so badly she doesn't mind Obliviating her parents and sending them to Australia.

I have more thoughts, but I'm just blabbering...

So, Hermione, while not in my top five, is an interesting and flawed character that I like a lot.

#harry potter #hp #hermione granger analysis #hermione granger #hp meta #harry potter meta #asks #anon asks #anonymous

[shut-up-danny-kun]

I've read hundreds of Star Trek TOS fics by now and it never ceases to amuse me how many different ways there are to fuck up Spock's characterization...now hold on just a minute - this post has a more interesting point than “fanfic writers stupid”, I promise you.

Every time, it's a spin on the massacre wheel. It's kind of amazing. Will he be overly emotional to the point where he's not himself anymore? Will he be so cold it's unpleasant and kind of hard to understand how he's lived to this point? Will he be extremely horny for no good reason? Will he speak in a way that sounds complety wrong?

I chuckle and shake my head. Of course, I KNOW what Spock is like, and MY interpretation of him is the most perfect and correct one. Obviously. He's just a very nuanced character, formed by many people in an unconventional way, with traits that seem to contradict each other at first but ultimately form a rich and unique character that so many people fell in love with specifically because he's so complicated...

Or...is he?

Let's entertain the idea that there isn't one correct interpretation of Spock, that all of these messy bits of characterization are not part of a bigger picture, but...just what they are: a product of many people with starkly different visions, working on a show that refuses to properly develop its characters. What then? Well, then Spock is a Rorschach test. Each viewer connects the random dots in their own way, and ignores the ones they don't like.

Let's use an example: me! In my interpretation of Spock (the most correct one, of course) he is, first of all, gay and on the asexual spectrum, reserved, largely uninterested in casual flirting or sex. When he is interested in the aforementioned things, he tends to be quite ashamed of it.

Makes sense, right? I can show you plenty of evidence for why that could be true. However, in the beginning of the first bloody season, Uhura sings a song about how Spock is actually kind of a heartthrob who likes to drive women insane with how hot he is, and Spock smiles. He smiles at her, as if agreeing and being very amused by all this! This interaction goes against pretty much everything I think about Spock. So what do I do? I explain it away in the most bizzare fucking way possible. See, Uhura and Spock are friends (there is no evidence for this), and Uhura knows everything I've just told you about him (through telepathy I guess? Not like he'd ever tell her!) and she's just trolling him (why would she do that? That is NOTHING like Uhura!). I need to do some Olympics-level mental gymnastics here, the opposite of Occam's razor.

“But Danny,” I hear you say, “it's just the start of the show! They hadn't figured out his character yet!”

To which I say: you can say that about anything! You can blame it all on a bad writer for that episode, and ignore virtually any scene that doesn't jive with your headcanons. It's there, and I can't ignore it.

So...how am I different from the people that want Spock to be thar heartthrob Uhura is singing about? That evidence is as much a part of canon as my favorite lines. Well, I'm not any different, that's the thing. And all those writers I complained about also have a point.

It's kind of a nihilistic take, I know, but maybe the reason Spock is such a cultural icon is because he is...whatever you want him to be: just concrete enough to spur on your imagination, yet vague and contradictory enough to let your brain fill in the gaps.

Don't get me wrong: I absolutely do not believe in this. In my mind, it just so happens that I'm one of the, like, 5 people ever who truly understood Spock (and one of them is Jim Kirk himself). But I still think it's something worth thinking about next time you're mad at a fic.

#star trek tos #spirk #s'chn t'gai spock #spock #tos spock #character analysis #dannytypes #takes

[riririnnnn]

Plsplsplsplspls make headcanons for charles if you have the time UR WRITING IS JUST SO GOOD??

YO??? This was unexpected since I rarely write here. Well, I can't understand what type of headcanons you want, so I'm writing all three: Silly; As a romantic partner, and Red Flags.

-> Silly

He doesn't mind farting in front of everyone in the locker's room and then blames whoever he feels like for blaming. He'd even add a top-notch acting of being grossed out like, "What are you doing, dude? Have some manners!"

He has definitely pulled down someone's pants right in the middle of the Blue Lock's cafeteria and then ran away cackling like the little shit he is.

He pulls prank on a daily basis and the main victim of them is Tokimitsu. He tried pranking Zantetsu, but lost interest because that fake glasses boy never even understood his pranks in the first place.

He has never quietly entered that communal bathhouse bathtub (or whatever that is). He always dives or bodyslams into the water—he once nearly cracked open his skull while doing a summersault, but he never learns his lessons.

Loki put him on a child leash during the flight to Japan. He also threw a tantrum to sit on a window seat, but then whined later because he could only see clouds.

-> As a romantic partner

Loyal. Very loyal. In fact, he is so loyal that he legit finds every other person ugly except you. He is so, so whipped for you to the point he physically gags thinking about someone else.

He is definitely the guy to be at a party or anywhere else and suddenly, he misses you and drops everything to go running back to wherever you are.

Just forget personal space and breathing when you are with him because he is going to shower you with so many kisses on your face that you'll actually suffocate.

Little spoon or big spoon? He doesn't care as long as he can have his head on your chest. Your calming lub-dub of your heartbeat is the mellowest lullaby for him.

If you cook or bake something and send it for his WHOLE team, then I promise you, he isn't giving a single crumb to anyone. He is inhaling everything doesn't matter if he gets stomachache later because of overeating—it's worth it, according to him.

-> Red Flags

Be honest, we all saw it coming—yes, he is very immature. Everything is a joke to him and though at first, his personality may prevent fights and arguements, but in a longer run, it becomes draining because he doesn't take anything seriously.

If you don't find any of his 'interests' as interesting, then he'll whine and whine until you give in to his demands. However, he won't do the same for you if he isn't interested in your 'interests'. He'll just act indifferent.

He doesn't know anything about periods and he actually doesn't even try to learn about it. Even when you'll try to educate him about it, he would show no efforts and might even say that, "Girls are so dramatic."

He might indirectly, and maybe even unintentionally, humiliate you in public by talking about you in a crude or inappropriate way. Even when he is called out for it, he just thinks he is being funny.

When you'll break up with him, he'll defame your character in public. He'll make you look like the bad person, spread false rumours about you being unfaithful and will make sure his fans harasses you.

That's all, I guess.

It's a bit tough to write about him without making him seem OOC, to be honest.

I hope the above headcanons make sense.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #charles chevalier #雪 writing

[cosmicjoke]

Alright, so... Chapter 210 of "Vinland Saga"...

Excuse me a moment while I go cry in a corner.

Shit, man, this chapter got to me hard.

Spoilers ahead, for anyone who hasn't read it.

I'm so scared Thorfinn is going to die. He was shot full of arrows, just like his father. Hild saved him, and my immediate question is, "how?". Did she have to kill to save him? To get him on her back and carry him out? The fact we aren't shown what happened after she shot her arrow makes me think she did. Or did she manage to do it while only wounding the natives? She only had four arrows left, and there were more than four natives in pursuit. If she did have to kill to get him out, then I wonder how that's going to impact Thorfinn himself, assuming he survives. To know Hild will have had to take on that burden, of taking a life to save his, would be devastating to him, I think. In it's own way, it would almost be like a condemnation to him of his pacifist philosophy, that because he didn't want to kill, the burden of it has now fallen to another. I know Thorfinn would blame himself, even though this situation truly wasn't his fault, and spun out of his control due to forces beyond his power.

I really didn't expect this turn of events. I thought Thorfinn and Hild would take care of the pursuers in the forest and then make their way to the village. But Thorfinn clearly has a punctured lung from the arrow he took for Einar, and now he's been shot full of arrows, which, at the moment, I'm honestly having a really hard time seeing how he'll survive. His condition also totally takes him out of the game in terms of defending the village and its people at all.

And now Hild and him are faced with Plmk, and I have no idea if he's hostile or not. If he's hostile, they're fucked, which makes me think he's going to end up helping them, somehow. But even if he does, it doesn't do anything for Thorfinn's condition. Like I said, I'm really scared at this point for him.

And then there was Thorfinn's dream sequence, which was just heartbreaking in the extreme. His vision of Thorkill, basically saying 'I told you so', saying war would come to Vinland, no matter how hard Thorfinn tried to avoid it. And even more devastating, Ivar and then Einar, blaming Thorfinn for everything. We see here in Thorfinn's subconscious his true feelings, rooted in a sense of failure. We see how badly Einar's parting words to him have affected him. Einar's anger and bitterness toward him. I've spoken before about how it would, in many ways, be the ultimate sacrifice to his ideals, if Thorfinn were to lose Einar's friendship, his first and best friend, and the man who gave him a sense of purpose in life beyond his quest for revenge against Askeladd. If Einar truly ends up turning against him, if he refuses to leave, and takes the path of war, I don't see how their friendship can continue. Maybe that will change when he sees Thorfinn's condition, but realistically, I think him seeing what's been done to Thorfinn will only fuel Einar's rage and refusal to give up what they've built.

God, Thorfinn wanted so badly to make a land of peace, to atone for the sins of his past by creating a land of peace and saving more lives than he took, but now it's all gone to hell, and people have been killed. His vision of Einar telling him his experiment has failed, and that it was an important experiment, because it shows how peace can never really be achieved, shows the depths of Thorfinn's despair, I think, and the depths of his self-loathing. This is truly just a tragedy playing out before our eyes.

It's made all the more poignant, I think, by Hild's words to Thorfinn, telling him not to lose heart, telling him he wasn't wrong about anything, and if only the world were full of more people like him, maybe there really could be hope for a world without war. She calls Thorfinn precious, and I think that's true. But tragically, as we're seeing, the world isn't filled with people like Thorfinn, and that makes Thorfinn's dream an impossibility. There's always going to be someone who wants to start a war, there's always going to be someone who wants to take what isn't theirs, there's always going to be someone who wants to hurt you or those you love and care for, no matter how much you try to talk them out of it. The world is too complex and brutal for pacifism to ever be a reality, and that is a tragedy.

I don't know what's going to happen back at the village at this point, either. It seems to me anyone could die. Thorfinn was their best defense, and now he's out of commission.

Ugh, man, this chapter hit me on a deep, emotional level.

Don't die Thorfinn. I'll be devastated if you do.

Also, just again, shout out to Yukimura's art. I don't know how this guy does it month after month. His art is second to none.

#Vinland Saga #chapter 210 #thorfinn karlsefni #hild #einar

[kiaxet]

So it turns out the latest update in @somerandomdudelmao‘s apocalypse comic has been living in my head, and when that happens I need to get it out, so ~900 words of sad it is!

~~~~~~~~

Donnie is good at birthdays. He has been once he was old enough to understand the concept. It's a point of pride.

Specifically, he's good at presents. According to his data, most people who fail at presents do so because of the guesswork they seem to think needs to be involved. He's never understood the point of that. Data and hypotheses, certainly, but why guess when a definitive answer is available after a simple direct inquiry?

"What do you want for your birthday?"

Early on, the presents are easy. Art supplies. Comics. Stuffed animals. Things he could hand to Papa in an easily followed list format, or obtain for himself once they all got old enough to start safely leaving the lair and venturing into the city above. It's simple and straightforward and so, so easy to get right.

(Of course, he always has an annotated list of his own desired gifts to provide to his brothers; if he's solved the guesswork issue, he may as well make things easy for them too. Plus, that method ensures he gets what he wants.)

Things start getting a little more complicated as he and his brothers get older. Art supplies and comics and stuffed animals are still very much appreciated, and he's documented his brothers' tastes well enough to know exactly what they like, but the answers to his simple direct inquiry are different.

"Dee, can you help me plan this mural out? I think I have enough space, but I could use a hand with the measurements."

"Donton, my half of the day is gonna be a Jupiter Jim marathon, and I need you there. Without your laptop." A beat. "But you can pick one of the movies if you want."

"Hey Donnie, you think you can help me out fixing up the gym? Things just stay put longer if you weld 'em."

After a few years of documentation, Donnie spots the pattern. His brothers appreciate physical gifts from him, certainly, but that's not what they want anymore. What Donnie's family wants from him is time - time outside the lab where he spends a good amount of his days, time spent in conversation or shared activity or simply in the same room. It's not as easy as finding the right physical gift, but if that's what they want, then he's more than happy to provide. Now that he's discerned the pattern, it's just as easy to give his brothers what they want, and Donnie can continue to maintain that he is Good At Birthdays as a point of pride.

~~~~~~~~

The Hamatos don't do birthdays anymore. There's no time in the apocalypse, no supplies, and Donnie is one of the few who actually keeps track of the calendar date. The apocalypse certainly has its share of anniversaries, a list that only grows the more people they lose, but birthdays are no longer celebrated.

With one exception.

Casey Jones Junior, their collective adopted kid, is young enough that birthdays still matter - should still matter. They do their best to keep him safe and keep those days calm and happy for him, despite everything happening around them, and while they don't always succeed, they at least try.

And damn it all, Donatello is still good at birthdays.

"Casey Junior!" He greets the kid with a grin, leaning on his bo like it's not both an inconvenience and a humiliation to need to rely on it in order to stay upright.

"Uncle Tello?"

"Since I'm not very good at guessing, I'll ask straight out." This is not entirely true - he has a list of potential gifts for Casey drafted, with 98% certainty that whatever Casey asks for will align with one of them - but he requires that confirmation to move forward. A certainty in a world where certainty is in short supply. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"My...ah." Casey's expression falls and he looks away, gaze fixed on the paperwork in his hands. Donatello says nothing, pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room in order to give Casey space. "You...can do anything," Casey starts.

"Pretty much, yes." Material issues aside - spirits know he'd have a cure for whatever the Krang had infected him with if those weren't a concern.

"I want you to stay alive," Casey says, and Donnie's smile freezes in place as Casey looks back up at him. "Can you do that?"

Damn that two percent uncertainty.

"Ah. Of course." He shrugs, as though he doesn't know exactly what Casey is asking for, and pulls up a holographic display of a calendar. "According to my calculations, I will be alive next month, which means I'll be here for your birthday." Not talking about it won't solve the problem, but it may salvage this conversation. "So! What's an actual gift you want?"

"I want you to be here." Casey's gaze finds a point on the floor, and Donnie falls silent. "Not just for a month."

No. No, he needs something concrete - something he can act on - he knows how long his list of responsibilities is, but he still feels stymied, rushing up on the end, and he needs something he can do- "But it's not a gift," he replies, a last-ditch effort he's fairly certain is bound for failure-

"No. No, it is."

As always, all Donnie's family wants from him is time.

And now, at the end of his rapidly-shortening life, it's the one thing he can no longer give them.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #somerandomdudelmao #cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt casey jr #fic #I wrote this with a wicked case of vertigo #so if it doesn't make sense I'm blaming that #breaking that writer's block WIDE open #writing

[q-starhalo]

I think I've said this before but there's something about the fact that q!Bad is related to Death in a way. He's a Grim Reaper, part time or not, he's a Grim Reaper. And his relationships with the eggs are just so unique. Especially with Tallulah.

Bad and Tallulah value family in a unique way I must say. We always tease on how Bad misses Skeppy and question his actions (ex. Skeppy toaster) but character wise, Skeppy is the only person Bad knows that will never leave. And now he's gone. One of his main comforts. Gone. Taken away from him. Just how he had to take away the souls of people who didn't want to be taken away. It hurts. And he knows that hurt, especially with the dead eggs.

Wilbur has been so soft with Tallulah and that has been her comfort since the beginning. The softness and gentleness. Tallulah wanting to hear his letters is comfort to her because it's from someone who held her so gently. So gentle like his voice. And expressive. Expressive like his music. He's a storyteller and Tallulah finds comfort in Wilburs stories.

Both situations are so unique yet so similar. Both of them miss someone who is now gone. So when Tallulah calls Bad a father figure, when she asks him when Phil isn't around to take her back home or if they can talk in a quieter place or if he can read her the letters from Wilbur, it hurts. Because Tallulah has found comfort in Bad. Bad, a Grim Reaper. Bad, one who holds so much guilt and sadness for the eggs deaths. Bad, someone who understands her in a similar way. And Bad, he understands her worries and her feelings because he's in the same situation. It's easier said than done when it comes to missing someone and they both know it. It hurts badly but it's something they're trying to accept.

Just, the implication that a little girl finds comfort in a Grim Reaper (and an Angel of Death, can't forget about Phil) hits me a lot.

#Can we just talk about these two? please? #don't even get me started when it comes to Dapper #Bad is so scared of losing Dapper and this is a Grim Reaper you're talking about #wouldn't blame him though everyone he knew died when he arrived and caused destruction #but still do you get what I'm talking about? #sorry if the wording doesn't make sense by the way #qsmp #badboyhalo #q!badboyhalo #qsmp tallulah

[tarashima]

Sooo... guess who's secretly been playing Genshin Impact since July last year and thought up this joke about a week later but couldn't finish until recently due to work and adulting?

also yes I ship them in a "Ryouken would be absolutely livid about getting stuck in Teyvat with Kaeya so I'm gonna let him get stuck in Teyvat with Kaeya" kind of way because crossover ships will never stop being hilarious/emotional

also, small bonus because why not:

#my art #kougami ryouken #kaeya alberich #vrains #genshin impact #also please tell me how these two take a somewhat equal amount of time to draw #by all accounts it doesn't make sense #I blame Ryouken for being so goddamn impossible #but yes hi I'm playing genshin and enjoy it a whole lot #and here I spent more than 2 years going “I WILL ABSOLUTELY NOT PLAY IT DESPITE IT BEING MY AESTHETIC” #oops

[sweetrevxnge]

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter Three

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter I

Chapter II

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 5k

A/N: *me explaining to my friends why there's 17 tabs about medieval europe and vampires open on my computer* "you know, i'm something of a historian myself"

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

“Get up.”

Your eyes burned as you pried them open, waking to find the Commander standing over you, the door to your cell now open behind him. Nestled between his fingers was the fallen key, its shining silver now a brilliant gold in the candlelight.

“What?” you croaked, your head still foggy with sleep.

“I said, get up,” he said, enunciating the last letter of each word as he stepped closer.

Finally tearing your eyes away from the open door, you propped yourself up, discovering that the cuffs on your wrists were gone. The thought of him touching you while you were asleep—even if it were only to take the restraints off—made your skin crawl. A glance at your clothes reassured you that only the restraints had been meddled with.

Obeying his command, you staggered to your feet, backing away as much as you could manage. Your eyes darted between him and the cuffs. Was this another one of his tricks? For all you knew, he had freed you just to lock you in a pillory, leaving you for all of Hosnian Prime to watch as you rotted away.

“I come bearing good news,” he said flatly.

“What ‘news?’” you asked, matching his enthusiasm.

“Don’t sound so upset. It comes from your General.”

The scowl twisting your face dropped. “What is it? What did she say?”

“Perhaps if you would let me finish, I would tell you,” he sneered. “Shortly after your failed incursion on our camp, the First Order generously presented her with terms of peace. In a rare moment of sensibility, she has agreed.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. The flame of hope in your heart shuddered, shaken by the Commander’s words, but you couldn’t let it die. The Leia you knew wouldn’t submit to the First Order so easily—certainly not after one of her officers was captured. There must have been more that the Commander was withholding from you.

“And what exactly are the terms of her agreement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

He was quiet for a long moment, allowing the ambient creaks and groans of the dungeon to bleed into the conversation. Finally, he said, “In return for peaceful relations, the New Republic militia will stand down at once and pledge fealty to the First Order.”

Oh.

He continued, “Leia will control–”

“General,” you hissed. “You have no right to address her by her name.”

The Commander let out a quiet scoff. “Don’t I?”

Your eyes narrowed. Insufferable bastard.

“As I was saying, in exchange for this peace, she will oversee the land north of Republic City. I trust her experience from collecting donations for the Resistance will serve her well in this duty.”

You couldn’t fathom what he was saying. Leia exchanging her role as general of the Resistance for warden of a First Order territory was completely out of her character. Instead of providing clarity to your questions, this revelation was only creating more.

“That is…wonderful.” You had to force the sour words out of your mouth. “Yet, I must confess my confusion.”

“Yes?” the Commander asked with mild curiosity.

“Unless I am mistaken, if the New Republic and the First Order have settled their conflict, then there is no further need to have me as your prisoner.”

“You’ll find that you are mistaken, Lieutenant. The crimes you committed against the First Order occurred before the introduction of this treaty, meaning your actions were indeed treasonous. But you needn’t worry.” With that, the Commander turned his back to you, swiftly exiting your cell in a few long strides.

“Forgive me, but I feel as if I should,” you said frantically, chasing after him.

As your feet carried you, you realized that something else was missing. The fragments of bone riddling your lungs had vanished, making your breath effortless once more. Every ache in your body seemed to disappear overnight. Either the Commander had been true to his word, or the gods had answered your prayers, allowing you a moment of respite from your suffering. Given the Commander’s sudden generosity, you would have preferred it to be the latter.

“Your concern is unnecessary,” the Commander said, stopping in his path. “The two entities will be allies, united not only with a treaty, but with a marriage, as well. Since General Organa clearly values you enough to make you a lieutenant, wedding you to me will ensure her compliance with these terms.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath you. Blood roared in your ears as sweat gathered in your palms, which were searching for the stone wall beside you for stability. This was a nightmare. A vivid, terrible nightmare designed to crush your spirit. “N-No, you can’t… She wouldn’t…”

The Commander placed a hand on your back and began guiding you through the dim corridor, unfazed by your reaction. “The matter has already been settled.”

“No, please, there must be another way–”

“Enough!” he snapped. “Unless you would like to spend the days preceding our wedding inside a cell, I suggest you save your breath.”

 Numbness pricked at your fingertips as your breath quickened. Never mind what you had said about the gods earlier—they were cruel, now serving you a punishment of a different kind. Forced to marry a monster, the man responsible for the slaughter your men. The man who had taken you prisoner with the intent of turning you against your allegiance. Death was a more desirable fate than this.

At your silence, the Commander pushed you forward, his hand still planted firmly on the center of your back. You concealed your panic as the two of you navigated the dungeon. Flickering sconces cast tall shadows on the stone walls as you passed, each dark figure moving like ghosts in the night.

Dozens of cells surrounded you, each one occupied by a stranger with a story of their own. Some were dressed in civilian attire, others in Resistance uniforms. All of their bodies were bruised and bloodied, their brows stained with dirt and sweat. It was easy to determine those who had been there longer than you by the bones protruding from their limbs. Nausea rolled through your stomach.

At the end of the path was a short staircase that led to an iron door. If you didn’t know any better, you would have expected it to be made of feathers from the way the Commander pulled it open. He stepped aside, revealing another dark corridor, only this one stretched into the heart of the castle.

“After you,” he said, sliding his hand to the small of your back and pushing you forward. Bile rose in your throat at the sensation.

The First Order’s opulence oozed from the castle walls, as if flaunting their wealth would make their claim to power any more legitimate. Black velvet drapes lined the corridor, a stark contrast to the crimson quatrefoil tiles marking the path. Mounted between the drapes were portraits, each one illuminated by candlelight. Predictably, the paintings seemed to be reserved for the knights and noblemen of the First Order, with no ladies among them.

One portrait in particular caught your attention. The man was striking, with long, dark hair framing his alabaster skin and a stoic expression gracing his features. Though it was merely oil and canvas, your heart flipped in your chest.

Though it came at no surprise, the portraits of the knights were the most chilling among the artwork. Their empty gazes seemed to follow you through the hallway, even after you pulled your eyes away. Each helmet was unique to its owner, but they were all equally as ghoulish. From what you could see, there were six knights in total, yet one was missing. The Commander’s image was absent from the walls.

“Commander, if you don’t mind me asking…” You hesitated, debating if the question was appropriate to ask. “Where is your portrait?”

The only response you received was a low laugh vibrating through his mask. How am I to marry this man if he won’t so much as give me the time of day?

The Commander glanced at you before turning the corner, leading you through the entrance of a vast room. Your face burned at the realization that he had heard your inner dialogue. Quickly, you turned your attention away from him and focused on your surroundings. Overhead, a grand chandelier cast light upon you, its crystals shimmering from the flames of fresh candles. Intricate rose windows graced each of the walls, the red-stained panes of glass obscuring any view of the outside you may have seen. Their design was undeniably beautiful, yet haunting.

The Commander steered you toward a spiraling staircase, leading to another dimly lit hallway. Every velvet curtain was drawn, with only the candles mounted along the wall guiding you. Did the First Order prohibit the use of natural light? You could only imagine what percentage of Hosnian Prime’s taxes were spent on supplying the castle with fresh candles.

When you reached a set of tall doors near the end of the corridor, the Commander stopped you. “These are your chambers. You are not to leave them unless I instruct you to. Do you understand?”

A question floated to the front of your mind. Why did he wear that mask? You tried to picture how he looked beneath it. Perhaps his face was marred in battle, forcing him to now hide his ghastly scars from the world so as to not terrify any children he encountered. Women likely collapsed at the sight of him, and those who didn’t would surely run away screaming. A well-deserved curse for a bastard like him.

The Commander’s hand closing around your throat pulled you from your imagination. “I said,” he growled, “do…you…understand?”

You writhed in his grasp, clawing at his fingers as you nodded your understanding.

“Good,” he said, releasing your neck. “The Supreme Leader is hosting a dinner tonight. As liaison for the New Republic, you are expected to be in attendance.”

“I’m honored,” you sneered, rubbing the sore spots on your neck. Unlike last time, his grip was cautionary, like a hound baring its teeth before biting.

The Commander stepped back, flexing his hand as he lowered it to his side. “Be dressed in three hours time. Call for a handmaid to assist you with your needs.” 

With that, he turned away from you and descended the staircase, leaving you alone in front of the heavy doors.

Betrothed. Never in your life had you aspired to be someone’s betrothed—much less so being promised to an enemy. An enemy who slaughtered your soldiers, your brothers. The thought alone was enough to turn your vision red.

Upon entering your chambers, the first thing that caught your eye was the four-poster bed in the center of the room. Even in a large chamber like this, it swallowed the space. Similar to the drapes lining the castle’s walls, the bed was made with black, silk linens and covered with a dark, velvet spread—a color reminiscent of dried blood on your blade. After weeks of sleeping on a stone floor, it beckoned you, enticing you to crawl under the glossy sheets and sleep for an eternity.

But you didn’t. Whether it was fear of the possible consequences of missing tonight’s dinner or the layers of dirt coating your skin, you stepped away from the bed. Above all else, you needed to bathe.

Adjacent to the bed was a washroom, with cobblestone walls and an oak wood bath tucked in the corner. Long candles lined the perimeter of the room, already lit and illuminating the space. Furs covered the floor, nearly erasing the marble tiles beneath them. The luxury was nagging, inescapable.

At the Resistance base, you would draw your own baths, but here, you were clueless—not to mention barred from leaving your chambers. With no other option, you scoured your chambers for anything that resembled a call bell to summon your handmaid.

After checking behind every curtain and rearranging the furniture, you found it—an ornate, silver handle tucked between one of your bed posts and the wall. A soft ding sounded as you pulled on it, hopeful that someone would soon answer.

Time passed at a snail’s pace as you waited. It seemed nearly impossible to settle the unease that churned in your stomach inside these castle walls, but you found that busying yourself helped. 

You started with the furniture you had displaced, first moving the red upholstered chaise lounge back into its respective place, then tied the curtains back with the silver, braided ropes connected to them. Every item you touched felt more expensive than the last. A worthy use of Hosnian’s dues, you thought.

Just as you were sliding the last displaced book into place, a small knock came from the other side of the doors.

“My lady, may I come in?” a quiet voice asked, muffled by the wood.

“Yes, please do,” you replied, hurrying to open the door.

Before you could grab the handles, the doors opened from the other side, revealing a doe-eyed girl. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, but despite her youth, she seemed tired. Freckles dusted her pointed nose, spreading over her rosy cheeks. Her fine, chestnut hair was gathered in a neat bun, with a few small pieces hanging freely around her face.

You pulled your hands away, reflexively stepping back from the doors.

“My apologies. I didn’t expect…” she said, freezing in place. 

“No need to apologize,” you said, trying to cover your shaking voice. “I’m not used to having a handmaid.”

Anxiously, she smoothed out the black apron that covered her crimson smock, still standing outside of your chambers. You weren’t sure which one of you was more nervous.

“Please, come in,” you said, stepping aside and motioning her in.

The girl obeyed, averting your gaze as she slinked past. She was lithe, her fair skin taut over her collarbones. Your heart grew heavy at the sight. Despite its abundance, the First Order didn’t seem to feed their servants any more than what they fed their prisoners.

“How may I be of service, my lady?” she asked, her voice small.

“I, um,” you stammered, “would like a bath drawn. If you could show me where the water is collected, I can do it myself.” Asking this poor girl to do this mundane task for you felt unnatural, wrong.

“That won’t be necessary. I will draw it for you. Allow me a moment to gather the supplies.” She offered you a brisk smile before starting off towards the washroom.

“Oh,” you whispered. “May I start the fire for you, at least?”

“You needn’t worry about that, my lady,” she said, returning with a bucket in either hand. She was quick, already crossing the threshold of the corridor before you could stop her.

“Wait,” you called after her, stopping her in her path. “If you do not mind me asking, what is your name?”

At that, she turned to face you, bewilderment flashing in her hazel eyes. “No one has ever asked me that.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. Was that not a question you should have asked? 

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry–”

“It’s Rey,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning upwards. “My name is Rey.” As she repeated the word, her eyes brightened, as if she were uncovering a forgotten memory.

“That’s a beautiful name.” You meant the compliment sincerely. The name reminded you of the sun, an immovable presence in the sky with the power to eradicate darkness with just a touch of light.

“Thank you, my lady. I will return shortly,” Rey said, nodding at you before slipping between the tall, oak doors.

Rey was true to her word, returning not ten minutes later with both pails brimming with fresh water. Against her wishes, you had taken it upon yourself to light the fire beside your bath with one of the candlesticks in the washroom. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind.

After her fourth trip to the kitchen, the bath was starting to take form. As the last cauldron became warm, you began to undress, starting with your weathered boots.

“Rey?” you asked as you tossed the first shoe aside.

“Yes, my lady?”

You laughed softly. “You needn’t call me that. I’m not a lady.”

Her eyes drifted to your tattered clothes, lingering on the patch of orange cloth sewn onto your right shoulder. The emblem of the Resistance. “Perhaps not now. But soon, you will become Commander Ren’s lady.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, neither of you wanting to discuss the matter. But you couldn’t avoid it forever.

“His name is Ren?” you mused, hanging your outer layers over the side of the tub.

“His surname is, yes,” she answered as she poured an herbal soak into the bath. “His proper name is Kylo Ren.”

The name rolled around your head, ricocheting off the walls of your skull. It was a powerful moniker, one that fueled the anxiety building in your gut. A faceless monster by the name of Kylo Ren would be your husband, your lord.

“He never told me his name. If it weren’t for the prisoner across from my cell, I wouldn’t have even known he was a commander,” you muttered.

Rey tipped the last cauldron of steaming water into the tub, filling the air with the sweet scent of lavender and rosemary. “Commander Ren is a very private man.”

“What do you know of him?”

She stiffened, and though you couldn’t see it, you could almost feel the hairs on the nape of her neck standing.

“I can’t—I shouldn’t–” she stammered, worrying the fabric of her dress between her fingers.

“Please,” you begged, covering her hands with yours. “I need to know what he’s like, what kind of treatment lies ahead of me.” 

Her eyes seemed to darken as she looked at you, your heartbeat rising in your throat as you awaited her response.

“I could lose my head for discussing this,” she hissed.

“What do you mean?”

“It is forbidden to speak ill of our leaders.” She pulled her hands away slowly, folding them neatly in her lap.

You felt dizzy, like the world around you was spinning, but your bare feet planted on the floor told you that it was not. Her nonanswer was louder than any lie she could have conjured about Commander Ren.

“Excuse me, my lady,” Rey said, breaking the silence that followed her previous statement. “I will return later to help you dress for dinner.” 

Before you could protest, she was gone, a blur of red fabric moving through your chambers.

Warmth rose to your cheeks as steam tickled your skin, enticing you into the water. You removed the rest of your clothes and tentatively slipped into the bath.

For what it was worth, the First Order seemed to have the finest soap and herbs in the realm. The soft scent lingered on your skin as you dried yourself with a plush towel, unlike the threadbare ones you had come to know in your Resistance quarters. Small pleasures felt more satisfying now than ever before.

Rey had spent the latter half of your bath entering and exiting your chambers, each time carrying with more gowns than before. The array was overwhelming, and with exquisite craftsmanship woven into each one, it seemed impossible to make a decision. Truthfully, you would prefer to wear something comfortable, like a smock or trousers, but such options seemed to be out of the question.

“Where did you find all of these gowns? Does the First Order have a storehouse specifically for them?” you joked, hoping to lighten the conversation.

“No,” she replied with a stiff laugh. “The castle’s tailors have been working tirelessly for weeks at Commander Ren’s request.”

“Weeks?!” you exclaimed. “Gods, time was lost to me in the dungeon.”

Rey was silent, busying herself with a black, satin dress. The material flowed onto the floor like a dark tide, eclipsing the intricate pattern of the rug. Long, tapered sleeves fell at its sides, with thin, silver threads connecting the rubies sewn onto the chest and shoulders. The gems were vibrant against the dark backdrop, like stars filling the night sky. It was truly stunning.

You and Rey shared a look, and within moments, she was loosening the ribbon at the back and helping you step into it. The fabric was cool against your flushed skin, from both the bath and the fireplace across the room. With one final pull, Rey laced up the bodice, allowing the dress to hug your figure. Its high collar wrapped around your neck, leaving just enough room for you to breathe.

“It suits you, my lady,” Rey said behind you, her voice full of awe.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you replied, staring down at the lustrous rubies gracing the front.

“Now, allow me to fix your hair.” Rey was already returning from the washroom as she spoke, holding a brush in one hand and ribbons in the other.

Fortunately, the heat from the fireplace had dried your hair rather quickly. You perched yourself at the edge of the lounge, allowing room for Rey to sit behind you. The excitement of donning the gown began to fade, giving way to the reality of the occasion. You were tied on the end of a string, the pet sheep for the First Order to treat however they pleased. Dread filled your gut once more.

Rey gently combed through your locks, separating knots that had formed from countless days of sleeping on a stone floor. Her fingers were nimble as she braided, carefully securing each section with pins and ribbons. The process was calming, distracting you momentarily from the night ahead. A tranquil silence filled the room, only interrupted by the occasional hiss or pop from the fireplace.

As she worked through your hair, you wondered what Rey’s life was like—what it had been like before the First Order. Was she born into this role, serving lords and ladies of the New Republic before its collapse? Or had she been like you, captured and given a harrowing ultimatum: a life of servitude or the blade. For her sake, you hoped it was the former.

“I am finished, my lady,” she said as she stood to her feet, gathering the remaining supplies in her apron. “I shall see you when you return from the feast.”

The thought of her leaving made your stomach drop. It wasn’t necessarily her you had grown fond of—you had only known her for a matter of hours. It was the sinking realization that you were going to be alone again, alone with Commander Ren. Given that his parting gift to you had been a hand clutching your throat, you were less than eager to see him again.

Rey was already in the hallway when you finally whispered, “Farewell.”

As the doors fell into place, a swarm of hornets erupted in your chest, rattling your ribs with the force of their anger. Emotion washed over you, too many at once to know the difference. Immediately, you thought of General Organa. Was this really her plan? Allow the First Order to rip out her spine and oblige their every demand? Years of loyal service dedicated to the Resistance, all for you to be used as leverage for the Supreme Leader to maintain power.

Yet, that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, that would be a fair treatment in comparison to being Commander Kylo Ren’s wife. In the eyes of the gods, as well as the laws of the land, he would own you, every part of you. The only escape from this torment would be in your mind, but even then, the sanctity of that was uncertain.

A stream of tears rolled down your cheeks. You wiped them away with the back of your hand and focused on steadying your breath. Everything you did was still in the name of the Resistance, in the pursuit of liberty. If sacrificing your own freedom meant that countless others would gain theirs, then it would be a worthy cause.

The light of hope flickered in your chest, wrapping its glowing tendrils around your heart. It had never abandoned you, and now, it was your duty to foster it. 

Just then, another knock fell on your door, this time landing harder than that of your handmaid. The sound startled you, prompting you to stand to your feet and fix the creases in your dress.

“Come in,” you called, folding your hands in front of you. As unnatural as it felt, it seemed as if the etiquette you had been taught as a child was slowly resurfacing. Poised shoulders, delicate hands, and eyes trained on the ground in front of you. If she were alive, your mother would be beaming with pride at the sight of you.

The two doors creaked open, revealing a tall stranger on the other side. You lifted your eyes, and as you greeted him with a nod, you recognized him. The man from the portrait—the one with ivory skin and russet eyes. Your pulse quickened.

“My lady,” he said, returning your greeting with a small nod. His voice was low and smooth, almost melodic. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he were a divine being, not a man.

The dress fluttered over your feet as you stepped towards him, closing the space between you. “Forgive me, I am not yet familiar with the First Order’s procedures. Are you my chaperone to the dinner?”

At the question, the man took his eyes off you and looked around the room, rolling his tongue over his teeth with a scoff. “I suppose so.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “My apologies, I only meant–”

“No need,” he said, offering you his arm. “Please, come with me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, slipping your hand around the bend of his elbow and stepping outside of your chambers. He was breathtaking, with long, dark locks framing his sculpted face and an aquiline nose sitting perfectly between his high cheekbones. He wet his bottom lip as he watched you take his arm, the contact of your bodies sending electricity across your skin.

A black cloak cascaded from his broad shoulders, pinned to his suit by two silver insignias. Like many of the accents in the castle, the inside of the cloak was lined with red silk, only seen every few strides. He wore a matching black suit, as dark as the night sky with a collar that reached his jaw.

The nerves buzzing in your stomach gave way to a different sensation, one that was much softer and hummed louder with every glance you stole at your escort. An oil portrait couldn’t do his beauty justice. Despite being betrothed to another, you allowed your mind to wander, imagining how his smooth, leather gloves would feel on your bare skin, or how his plush lips would move against yours. To make matters worse, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty for thinking such things.

Rich aromas wafted through the grand chamber below the staircase, an unspoken cue that you were nearly at your destination. Your mouth watered, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten fresh food in weeks. If only the circumstances of this dinner were different, you might have been able to enjoy yourself—even if it were only for a fleeting moment.

As you rounded a corner, the entrance to a grand dining hall came into view. A polished mahogany table stretched the length of the room, with attendants filling nearly every spot along it. The room was alive with energy, vibrating with laughter and conversations of the guests. Cheery voices overlapped with the scrape of silverware on porcelain, the sound of glass meeting glass as greetings were exchanged. It reminded you of special occasions within the Resistance. If it weren’t for the First Order emblem on the cloth table runner and the countless uniforms scattered throughout the hall, you could almost fool yourself into believing that it was. 

Your knuckles blanched around your chaperone’s arm as the two of you reached the tall doorway, trepidation churning in your stomach at the sight of the dinner party. 

“I do not know where I am to go,” you said quietly.

He looked down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, someone else spoke.

“Silence! Silence, all of you!” a husky voice bellowed throughout the hall. An older man stood from his seat at the end of the table, a seat lined with black velvet and silver accents fastened to the upholstery. From this distance, it almost resembled a throne.

The blood coursing through your veins turned to ice at the sight of him. Supreme Leader Snoke, in the flesh.

“We have all gathered here tonight to celebrate peace in the realm, but such a feat would be impossible if it weren’t for the union of our two powers.” A cacophony of voices cried out in agreement, the sound grating to your ears.

You clenched your free hand into a fist at your side. His words were poison, and somehow, you felt as if you were the only person in this room privy to it.

“It is with great pleasure that I welcome our honored guests—Commander Ren and his bride. Cheers to the lovely pair, and to a new reign of the First Order!”

Glasses clinked and spirits flowed at the Supreme Leader’s declaration, but you couldn’t hear the roar of the celebration over the blood rushing in your ears. Your fingers burned where you gripped Commander Ren’s arm, as if you were clinging onto a smoldering log in a fire pit. Quickly, you tried to retract your hand, but before you could, he clasped it in his.

“Cheers,” he echoed, flashing you a wicked smile.

#no beta we die like men #also I'm super sick rn so if this doesn't make any sense I'm blaming it on that #ben solo #ben solo x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren x you #ben solo x fem!reader #ben solo x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars self insert #kylo ren smut #ben solo smut #my writing #vampire!kylo #vampire kylo #vampire kylo ren

[fromtheseventhhell]

The worst part of the GOT and HOTD adaptations is that they remove any sense of narrative or themes being explored from George's writing. The showrunners rewrite characters and change plotlines on a whim and remove any sense of cohesive storytelling. There's just...literally no point to the story and the writers struggle to come up with sensible explanations for the changes they've decided to make.

#anti got #anti hotd #/themes are for eight-grade book reports/ like at least D&D admitted to not caring #hotd showrunners will spend an hour rambling trying to come up with a point in-between saying a rapist deserves sympathy #if the shows weren't based on books they could get away with it but the fact that we just end up with themes and arcs gone #unfulfilled because they have to inevitably draw from the source material even though they're changing things is frustrating #that's really why season 8 makes no sense cause the writers were just coming up with shit inconsistent with the earlier seasons #the dance being about misogyny and nyra's line surviving in the main Targ while the Greens die out was done for a REASON but now people #justify the misogyny towards her because they don't personally like her character and it's just so...stupid #just really stupid and on some level I'm blame George for these terrible adaptations even though I know he doesn't have #full power or say at least with GOT things would've been different if he would've finished the books on time

[uncanny-tranny]

I think multiple things can (and are) true and important to recognize:

1. Cis people are trans people will more often than not have a ton in common. Trans women and cis women, for example, can have a ton of experiences in common as women

2. Trans people oftentimes do have very different experiences from cis people, and it can be irresponsible to say that trans people have to have the exact experiences as cis people of the same gender identity. The experiences of transness can overlap with experiences of cisness, but by no means does that require them to overlap in every instance. Trans people don't need to be the same as cis people in order to be authentically their gender.

3. Trans people aren't solely responsible for "saving" their gender, or for making people better men/women/people.

4. For the love of all that is holy, cisness is not the default. It is simply one human experience of gender and/or sex, and transness isn't an anomaly - it is just as much a human experience as being cis.

These are complex conversations, and I know it can be hard to navigate sometimes. I'm not here to condemn people for not being the most Nuanced about trans topics, in fact I want to invite more people to the table. We all have something to contribute to making the world a better place for trans and cis (and those beyond or inbetween) people

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #ftm #mtf #nonbinary #i notice as a trans man that people /expect/ me to be the exact same as cis men otherwise my manhood isn't 'real'... #...or that people sometimes /expect/ me to save manhood and be a better man than every other (cis) man... #...and it's just hard sometimes to navigate because i do have a lot in common with cis men... #...but i also have very different experiences because of transphobia and queerphobia... #...so yes i am the same 'amount' of man as a cishet man or whomever else... #...but that doesn't mean that i'm not going to have differences... #...basically my point is that trans people and cis people can have common ground but to not lose sight of dismantling transphobia... #...because it's GREAT that trans and cis people can relate with one another but that doesn't necessarily solve transphobia #i wish i went into more depth with my thoughts on that post #because this is a complex topic and there aren't simple answers and that sucks - people want simple answers #and i don't blame people for wanting simple answers. but that's not where we are at right now i think #*screaming* DOES THIS MAKE SENSE /nm

[ectonurites]

almost 4am can't stop thinking about the meaning of the idiom 'to have blood on [someone's] hands'—to be responsible for a person's death—combined with the fact that Zach is the one we are specifically shown with Daryl's actual blood on his hands (once for real and once in a dream)... Not Josh who had been holding the sword Daryl fell onto, but Zach who took the sword out.

#super dark times #+ part of it that's insane to me is: Josh COULD have easily ALSO gotten (literal) blood on his hands—we see him go to check for a pulse #after Zach did... but we don't see his hands during that—they're left out of the shot! we just see his face. and when we see his hands next #there's no visible blood on them (if any got on he theoretically wiped 'em off ig? similarly Zach's hands when seen AFTER the shot of him #touching Daryl ALSO don't rlly show blood anymore—we see his hands in the leaves tho so it prob went there) BUT SO there was a CHOICE made #to give us a close up shot of ZACH pulling his hand away from the wound with blood on it... but to NOT do the same/smthn similar with Josh. #and yet ZACH is the one who CAN'T ACCEPT THE ROLE HE PLAYED IN ANY OF ITTTTT!!!!!!! GAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! #this post brought to you by me rewatching the Zach + Charlie on the phone scene and needing to just. stop and scream at Zach being #like 'Josh‚ or fucking somebody else‚ they went up there and if they found Daryl alive—' LIKE BRO. YOU *KNOW* HE WAS DEAD. #YOU KNOW. YOU KNOOOOW. YOU WERE THERE. YOU KNOW HE WAS ALREADY DEAD. the denial. the trying to find any fucking way that #there could be even a sliver of a possibility that it WASN'T even PARTIALLY his fault.... shifting the blame entirely onto Josh... #[plus like. the 'somebody else' only added in after Charlie was giving him shit for trying to complicate this more—at first he was #straight up saying Josh was the one that fucked with the body]... aghghghsfd he makes me INSANE #also fwiw. i'm forever a 'Josh didn't harm anyone on purpose until AFTER his fight with Zach at Zach's house' truther. that provides #at least SOME sort of motivation to push him over an edge into... the shit that happens. anything before that just fuckin' doesn't make #sense. To Me. ive already written a lot on my thoughts about all of that though [uhhh in the tags of my gifset of the fight at Zach's house #anyways. im also NOT trying to say 'ah so we should Just Blame Zach' because nah nah this whole thing was a fucked up accident. they're all #to blame. plus Josh did horrible shit at the end On His Own there's no way of getting around that—but the messiness of how Zach handled the #initial incident and how that ripples out across the whole movie is simply soooooooo... ghghGHGhghGHGhghghgh. To Me. #in conclusion: im soooooooo normal about the characters in this movie (<- lying)

[the-rollerchloster]

Just feeling a little salty so I want to throw a thought out into the universe...

Has anyone ever considered that when you make your entire online personality about being anti something - by filling your blog with anti tags, or actively searching out posts/blogs to publicly berate - that you just look like a sore loser?

#yes this about the battle between destiel and wincest #too many people make their entire being about being 'anti heller' #why babe? #who actually hurt you? #hellers aren't even allowed to comment on things that have nothing to do with destiel it would seem #cos apparently we ruin everything #god forbid anyone want to talk about spn in a general sense #cos it's been ruined by hellers boo hoo #i'm not saying all hellers are perfect - there are plenty of toxic people on our side of the fence #but even something as simple as the dean's sexuality poll i reblogged earlier has butthurt wincesties crying 'hellers suck' in the tags #dean's sexuality textually has nothing to do with cas #and how the fuck can you claim dean is straight and then want him to bone his brother? it doesn't make sense #interpret spn however you like - but don't get shitty when a large portion of people don't agree with you #that blog seems to have a good mix of interactions from multiple corners of spn fandom #so don't blame hellers when the results aren't what you expect #argh #rambling in the tags #anti antis #(i am aware of the irony of using an anti tag on this post) #thoughts #spn #supernatural #fuck it you can all see this and block me if you want to #idec

[pinkyjulien]

Finished the game start to finish once more and man...

It hits hard. Last playthrough until a loooong time, years from now, when I'll be playing my favorite game again full of nostalgia gfhghf

cause that's it... that's it, it's wrapped up, no more CP77, no more DLC no more expansions- we'll get new stories for sure, but V's story is done

Maaaan... ough that hits hgfhhgf That hits yeah ngl

Remember being so excited back in 2020, and then so excited for Phantom Liberty to drop and now that it's over there's that... post game credit depression / dread creeping in hardcore y'know

awh shoosh

#ooooooof I'm feeling thinnnggssssssssssss #don't mind meee #this game... ough #I got it perma on me -in me- forever #uuugggggghhh oughhh ough ough ough #Doesn't mean MY lil V story- Valentin's story is done tho #far from it- I'm so excited to get back into it and flesh him out even more now that its official over ? #idk if that makes sense but now nothing stop any of us from going apeshit with headcanons right? #not that anything was stopping us before- but I mean nothing will get added to it #empty feeling of an adventure comin to an end- but exciting to dive back into modding and expanding that universe with my own stuff again #YKNOW??..... #ghfhgf I'm extra sensible damn blame it on the recent T shot 😑✋😭😭 AAAAAAAHhgezhugez #CP77 replay