#a fourth instance would just be bad

[lowcountry-gothic]

I'm not a fan at all of this new trend in Star Wars to avoid developing a new planet by showing it obscured by mist and fog. Just feels cheap and unimaginative. The three places they've done it so far (Mimban in Solo, the Clone Wars vision in Ahsoka, and At Achrann in Skeleton Crew) are all fine, I guess, I just hope this doesn't become a recurring thing.

[deikshen]

Well, he (user: HeavenlyPillar666) is just a guy who only reads a webnovel out of boredom after his martial arts classes and finds himself unfortunately trapped- the plot is uninteresting in the first instance, the descriptions are long and absurd (SERIOUSLY, FIVE PARAGRAPHS TO DESCRIBE A DAMN PLANT? TEN PARAGRAPHS TO DESCRIBE A MONSTER? More action scenes than dialogue!? Who the hell is that IcedBlueBeast and why the hell does he insist on making everything SO DENSE AND SLOW?), but... one of his characters? DEFINITELY HIS FAVORITE CHARACTER IN THAT HORRIBLE WORLD. HIS MISUNDERSTOOD BLORBO. HIS BELOVED.

In a summary not summarized, a story about two twin brothers who were separated at birth, and both found their way to cultivation world in different ways. Reunited first like disciples and then Peak Lords of different peaks of the same sect, suddenly, the brother who remained with his wealthy family - Shen Yuan - was seen as something of a villain for having had kind and lovely parents, a home and an education, always portrayed as the spoiled rich kid who bought his way into the Sect, while the REAL SCUM VILLAIN ACCORDING TO HEAVENLYPILLAR666, that bitch Shen Jiu who was stolen from his family and raised as a slave and then on the streets, ended with basically a harem of peak lords, fanning himself with his fourth-rate victim role.

And the rest of that pathetic novel it's just... shit full of dramas, betrayal and eternal descriptions being an ode to finding the hundreds of ways in which Shen Yuan's inherent kindness was misinterpreted as manipulation, judged and accused of wanting to do something bad just because he comes from a rich and well-off background.

And how it should be fair after all that gaslighting and psychological torture, Shen Yuan finally agree with them!

Crack under the pressure and the mistreatment of everyone, he just decide that if everyone thought he was a villain, then he was one!!

Allying with the demons first as an informant spy and then rising to power among the court, he ended up being something like a emperor-demonic cultivator eager for revenge and proving that no matter where he came from, he would show them what he was capable of! If the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect believed that a powerful cultivator was only forged through hard work and suffering, look at him now!

So all that good revenge plot would go to shit with Shen Yuan start to fucking monsters in scenes that were almost fade to black despite the deep descriptions and CHEMISTRY between the passionate Shen Yuan and the mythical creatures to have more power for the revenge that never seemed to come... To end with a completely unsatisfying shitty ending in which Shen Yuan gave up his revenge for filial love and the power of forgiveness, giving his own life to save his fucking damnit brother's life!

Where was the cruel revenge?! The taking over of the world?! HeavenlyPillar666 is RAGING, more than anyone else in all those damn comments!! Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!!!!!

...

Yea, the user HeavenlyPillar666 shouldn't have said that while choking on his damn glass of water. It's not that he thinks he could die by drowning in a glass of water, LITERALLY. That's ridiculous. It's the height of ridiculousness.

But now he is dead, and he has transmigrated into one of Shen Yuan's less filial disciples who would ultimately be the person who would hurt him the most when he turned his back on him, after having been practically raised and adored by Shen Yuan, this damn disciple who always treating his Shizun with contempt and disdain knowing his invented reputation, but despite that, he was so dear to Shen Yuan who more than once was capable of putting himself at risk for him...

No, nothing like that!! No more of that trash!!! Shen Yuan deserves MORE, and the one who now is Luo Binghe is going to make sure Shen Yuan has all of it. A happy ending, a filial disciple, someone to count on, someone to stand up for him when no one else will. Someone by his side when he decides to destroy the cultivation world, someone to HELP HIM DO IT AND GET REVENGE ON ALL THOSE ASSHOLES SONS OF A B-

If only that fucking System would stop yelling at him for being OOC. Luo Binghe already knows!!! Fuck you System!! He's not going to respond that rudely to his Shizun, he is a beautiful little sun, what's wrong with you!?

[katakaluptastrophy]

Masterpost of TLT metas

This is mostly for my own reference, as tagging doesn't seem to guarantee something being findable on Tumblr...but if you like wildly overthinking lesbian necromancers in space, enjoy!

Overthinking the Fifth House:

What is a "Speaker to the Dead"?

Actually, Magnus Quinn isn't terrible at sword fighting

Imperial complicity: Abigail the First

Pyschopomp: Abigail Pent and Hecate

Did Teacher conspire with Cytherea to kill the Fifth?

What does the Fifth House actually do?

The Fourth and the Fifth can never just be family

Cytherea's political observations at the anniversary dinner

Abigail Pent's affect: ghosts and autism

Were the Fourth wards of the Fifth?

Abigail probably knew most of the scions as children

Magnus Quinn's very understandable anger

Fifth House necromancy is not neat and tidy

Are Abigail and Magnus an exception to the exploitative nature of cavaliership?

"Abigail Pent literally brought her husband and look where that got her" (the Fifth in TUG)

The Fifth's relationship dynamic

The Fifth's relationship is unconventional in a number of ways

The queer-coding of Abigail and Magnus' relationship

Abigail and Palamedes, and knowing in the River

Was Isaac the ward of the Fifth?

Did Magnus manage to draw his sword before Cytherea killed him? (and why he probably had to watch his wife die)

How did Abigail know she was murdered by a Lyctor?

Fifth House necromancy is straight out of the Odyssey

The politics of the anniversary dinner

Was Magnus born outside of the Dominicus system?

Overthinking John Gaius:

The one time John was happy was playing Jesus

Is Alecto's body made from John's?

Are there atheists in the Nine Houses?

Why isn't John's daughter a necromancer?

The horrors of love go both ways: why John could have asked Alecto 'what have you done to me?'

Why M- may have really hoped John was on drugs

What is it with guys called Jo(h)n and getting disintegrated? (John and Dr Manhattan)

John's conference call with his CIA handlers

Watching your friend turn into an eldritch horror

Why does G1deon look so weird? (Jod regrew him from an arm)

When is a friendship bracelet not a friendship bracelet?

Why did John have G1deon hunt Harrow? (with bonus update)

The 'indelible' sin of Lyctorhood and John's shoddy plagiarism of Catholicism

Are John Gaius and Abigail Pent so different?

What was Jod's plan at Canaan House?

John and Ianthe tread the Eightfold path

The Mithraeum is more than a joke about cows

When was John Gaius born? (And another)

John Gaius and the tragic Orestes

John and Jesus writing sins in the sand

John and Nona's echoing chapters

John's motivations

Overthinking the Nine Houses:

'No retainers, no attendants, no domestics'

Funerary customs and the violence of John's silence

Juno Zeta and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time

The horror of the River bubble

Every instance of 'is this how it happens' in HTN

Feudalism is still shitty even if you make it queer and sex positive

How do stele work?

Thought crime in the Nine Houses

The Houses have a population the size of Canada

What must it be like to fight the Houses?

You know what can't have been fun? Merv wing's megatruck on Varun day...

Augustine's very Catholic hobby (decorating skeletons)

Necromancers are not thin in a conventionally attractive way

Matching the Houses with the planets of the solar system

Why don't the Nine Houses have (consistent) vaccination or varifocals?

How would the Houses react to the deaths at Canaan House?

How does Wake understand her own name (languages over 10,000 years)

What pre-resurrection texts are known in the Houses?

Camilla and Palamedes very Platonic relationship

The horrors the Cohort found at Canaan House

Do the Houses understand the tech keeping them alive?

Overthinking House religion:

What do the Houses believe about death?

Was M's nun a Franciscan?

Cavaliership and arbitrary socio-religious structures

Ritual scarification

Sacraments and sacramentals

What did Silas think god wanted at Canaan House?

In defense of Silas

There's no such thing as a 'good' necro/cav relationship

Veiling and shaving in Ninth House cult practice

Tongue-in-cheek thoughts on Eighth and Sixth religion

A very long deep-dive on House belief and practice

Overthinking Harrowhark Nonagesimus:

'The meat of your meat...belonged to god' and 'that is how meat loves meat'

The horror of parental touch: Harrow, John Gaius, and Abigail Pent

Why is Harrow so obsessed with Abigail's hands?

Frontline Titties of the Fifth and transgressive necro/cav relationships

Harrow, Wake, and permeability of the soul in HTN

Bible studies for weird queer necromancers:

Epiphany: revealing god's child to the wider world

The Holy Innocents and the creche massacre

The Virgin Mary and Commander Wake

John Gaius and John the Baptist

Instantiating the Trinity and the Second Resurrection

What's the significance of Paul?

St Paul's theology of gender and sexuality and the House theology of cavaliership

Maundy Thursday: consuming another for eternal life

Harrow and the Harrowing of Hell

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 3: falling down ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 3k

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes, mentions of alcoholism and AA

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ MDNI smut in explicit dreams, domestic situations, attempts at writing sexual tension, reader gets clocked by logan, breaking the fourth wall, scent descriptions

AUTHOR'S NOTE: thinking of where the story would go after this chapter! might take a break and look at my inbox. please suggest story ideas if you have any <3 and thank you for reading + interacting with my work!!!

It’s Friday night. Laura will be over in an hour.

A look, and one would think you’re approaching this the way you do your job. There’s something about the way you weave yourself around the kitchen that is precise and methodical. What they wouldn’t know is that you view this as much more than just a professional responsibility.

Because Logan walks around with a hardened shell around him. Old, battered, and growing thorns with time. Witness to the difficult years he has been through, something to protect himself with lest—or is it to protect others from himself, you can’t decide. 

And that is exactly why when he asked if you could cook, you knew it was a request to be taken seriously.

He’s always been a quiet giver. So when the opportunity presents itself, you want to give back as much as you can. 

“You sure I can’t help?” Logan asks, looking almost like a dejected puppy as he watches you from his spot at the island.

You shake your head sternly. He said that as if he didn’t help at all. He went to the grocery store to get ingredients, washed and cut them up for you…

“You helped plenty,” you grit the words between your teeth, struggling with a stubborn jar of homemade barbecue sauce. Logan furrows his brows and approaches you, hand outstretched.

“Here, let me—”

You turn away from him, then twist. The lid opens with a loud, airy pop.

“Finally,” you sigh, grinning at him before continuing with your tasks.

You don’t see his frown deepen when he drops his hand.

Even as the sweet, slightly metallic scent of slow-cooked meat encourages his stomach to growl in anticipation, Logan can’t help but wonder if asking you to do this was not a good move after all.

Because he notices… things. About you. The initial guardedness when you were first introduced. Your outermost layer of professionalism, which he should have found repulsive, but instead was intrigued by. 

Constant kindness that hides a melancholy.

If anyone can clock a survival instinct from a mile away, it’s the man with a million of his own.

He was clued in by small, nearly negligible instances dotting the period of time you got to know each other. And now, that jar joins the rest of them as evidence, filed neatly in his head.

That is not to say you never accepted or asked for help. You actually reached out to him a few times today—more than he thought you would.

“Logan, I hate to bother, but could you pick up some onions? I forgot I needed them.” He was out the door and came back within fifteen minutes.

“If you wanna help, you can dice up the stuff for the guac?” Done. And he mixes them together for you after.

“I’m going to shower, could you keep an eye on the slow cooker?” Whatever you say, sweetheart, I’d do fucking sommersaults in the living room if you asked me to.

But with every assistance you receive, you shoot him a smile. Sweet and sheepish, like you feel bad for getting the extra hand. 

Survival instinct means you’re doing this out of self-preservation. From what, he doesn’t yet understand.

He watches as you hover over the slow cooker, fork in one hand. It’s too late to second-guess, because you’ve done it—you’ve cooked, and the kitchen smells amazing. He takes comfort in the small tasks you delegated to him earlier. If anyone understands how difficult it is to ask for help, it’s him. 

At least you asked. Had you insisted on handling everything yourself, he’d die. 

So when your eyes catch his, your hand beckoning him to come over, he’s by your side, three big steps traversing the little kitchen. You hold out the fork with some meat on it.

“Taste this for me?”

Without thinking, he leans down, capturing the utensil in his mouth. 

He nods. Hazel eyes widen just enough to see the light reflected in them. They snap to yours, and the moment freezes. Mere inches separate your face and his. Neither of you realized how close you are standing next to each other. 

“Good,” he rasps, “really good,” before pulling away to get some bowls from the top cabinet.

Laura arrives right on time with a big bag of tortilla chips and some salsa. 

“Nice place,” she says, looking around. “Smells great, too.”

“I hope you’ll like it,” you reply.

Logan emerges from the kitchen, a small smile on his face—the kind reserved just for her—before ushering her to the living room. There’s hushed conversation while you make one last adjustment to the fried rice and kill the flame on the stove. It has to be about AA. He went again on Wednesday, and out of the people who care for him, she’s undoubtedly the one who’s most proud.

You quietly approach the dining table, placing the skillet on a coaster. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Laura smiles, helping you with the pan. Logan stands up to get some plates and cutlery.

As the three of you eat, the low-hanging New York sun floods your apartment and the city beyond its windows with an orange hue.

If anyone even breathed ‘I’m proud of you’ one more time, Logan would respond with something along the lines of ‘shouldn’t have told you’. So you and Laura silently agree to not make this a big deal.

There is no fanfare—no streamers, party poppers, decoration—no need for it. Not when all of you are deeply aware of what the dinner is for, and not when the reason for the dinner is allergic to pomp.

The younger woman bites into some pulled pork, closing her eyes.

“You’re killing me here,” you complain good-naturedly, trying to study her reaction.

Laura nods, a small quirk of her lips the only other thing betraying her approval. Reminds you of her dad. “Wow. Good job.” 

“She made the sauce herself,” Logan adds quietly between bites. You didn’t expect him to chime in.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got some left over, if you want.”

“Sweet, thanks,” she smiles.

It’s just dinner.

But what a good one it is. There’s soft music below your easy conversation, the backdrop of the city in sunset out the slightly open window. You ask about her studies, and how she’s holding up with her job. She asks about yours and Logan’s, while the latter contributes mostly in short sentences and grunts. A light breeze blows from time to time, keeping the three of you cool as evening begins to blanket.   

After the bowl of pulled pork is swiped clean and everyone’s stuffed, you and Logan give Laura a short tour of the unit. It’s your first time entering Logan’s bedroom since you moved in—and vice versa, actually—and you try to rein in your curiosity. It’s almost Spartan. You wonder what he thinks of your bedroom. 

Dessert came in the form of store-bought ice cream, and before you know it, Laura has to leave. 

“You’re not sleeping over?” You ask, seeing her to the door with Logan.

“Sorry, building event tomorrow morning. Resident assistant.” She shrugs.

In the end you bartered food with her: your homemade sauce and some leftover fried rice for the tortilla chips and salsa.

Laura pulls you into a hug. “Thank you for the food, it was great.”

“Anytime.” You pull away, and then it’s Logan’s turn, patting her on the back a few times.

“See you, kid.”

You give her one last wave down the hallway, watching her disappear into the lift before closing the door. The sink is running. Logan. For a man so burly, he sure can be sneaky. 

He feels rather than sees the disapproving look you shoot from behind him as he washes a plate. He lets his lip quirk.

“Told you I was gonna clean up.”

You move to stand next to him. A touch too close, but it’s too late to pull away—not like you want to.

“And I told you that dinner was for you.”

He looks at you like he’d have his hands on his hips if they weren’t soaked.

“Just let me do this, sweetheart.”

The staring competition that ensued lasts for about three seconds before you purse your lips, looking away. The nickname played a part in melting your resolve, something you hope he didn’t pick up on, but your feet remain planted where they are.

“Fine. I’ll dry them.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you stand side by side just like that. Him washing the stuff in the sink and giving each piece to you to dry. You stay next to him, cloth in hand, dutifully placing each item on the mounted rack above.

It’s hard not to be entranced by his hands as they move. They’re much larger than yours. That bowl he’s washing? You’d have to stretch your fingers wide to hold it in one hand, yet he does it effortlessly.

More than once in your innocent passing of tableware, your fingers brush against his. Fleeting touches aren’t new, what with the two of you being in each other’s space more since moving in, but there’s still that light jolt of electricity zipping through your nerves. You try to school your own heartbeat to a regular pace.

The crock pot is the last thing to go up. It’s heavier than you expected. As you lift it up, you sway backwards slightly.

“Hey—”

It lands on the rack a little harder than it should, causing a brief clang as it knocks the lined up plates.

His hand is at your lower back. Firm, cool, and slightly damp on the exposed skin, thanks to your t-shirt riding up.

Your eyes meet his.

“—careful,” he murmurs, voice low.  

Your lips part. “Thanks.”

Logan pulls away after the split-second exchange, vanishing down the hallway.

You stay where you are. The ghost of his touch lingers, and you swear you feel the miniscule beads of moisture he left on your skin, the drag of his calloused fingertips when he lets go…  

A heat travels up your spine. 

You bite your lip, returning to your room.

A week passes by quickly, then two, and before he could register it, May has reached its tail end. He’s been your roommate for nearly a month now.

He’s attended four AA meetings since moving in, each one easier than the last. He has faces and names memorized. Their stories, too. Soon he’ll recite the preamble by heart.

Three dinners with you, him, and Wade, like the old days. Althea declined when you invited her the first time, grateful for the extra peace away from a certain motor mouth. “Can’t fuckin’ see how you’ve done up the place anyway,” she added. 

Wade is, well, Wade. 

“You look good living in a house with a woman’s touch, peanut,” he pounces the moment you close the door to the bathroom, a gleam in his eye. “I’m not even mad that I’m being left out of the damn plot progression, just so there’s more screen time for the two of you before you finally fu—”

He snarls.

Two pieces of furniture assembled with you. The big bookshelf in the living room is one of them—he scolded you when you started without him. 

“Could’ve gotten yourself hurt.”

You sounded a little surprised at his distress.

“Logan, it’s an IKEA shelf. I can handle it.”

“Not saying you can’t, sweetheart, but it’d be faster if we both do it,” he rumbles, gently taking the wooden plank out of your hands.  

You were quiet. A silent acquisition that he’s right. You gave him that look again as you said your thanks, and a part of him melted inside.

So far, only one movie night with you. And it’s happening right now. 

It’s not like the ones at Wade’s. Rambunctious, themed, sometimes a little too centered around his tastes. Tonight wasn’t even planned. You somehow found out that he hasn’t ever watched the 2005 Pride and Prejudice—or any of the other adaptations for that matter—and you really want him to watch it.

Deciding it’s only fair that he makes you watch something too, he submits Casablanca as tribute. You accepted with a level of amusement, teased him a bit for the choice. 

“Didn’t peg you to be the romantic type.”

“Wait till you see it.”

A simple coin toss determined that the two of you will watch Casablanca first.

Which is the reason why he’s pouring popcorn into a bowl. The brand you bought for the usual movie nights is quickly becoming his favorite.

He hears you exit the bathroom with a content sigh, evidently just finished with your shower. You’re in your usual t-shirt and shorts, smelling like the greatest temptation known to man. 

Almost thirty days into this living arrangement with you, he’s thankful that the two of you have a semblance of life outside the shared apartment. Both you and him work overtime occasionally. He has AA and Laura, you like to take walks and meet friends.

If he spent more time at home, there would be no way he could keep himself in check.

His wits are still intact, albeit barely.

That scent. He thought he’ll get used to it. Even read the back of the bottle to familiarize himself with what lingers after each shower. Knowing will make the novelty wear off faster, right?

Wrong. Instead, he’s cursed to learn the exact ingredients perfuming your skin. They’re basically the same fucking stuff pastries are made of.

Warm vanilla. As if he doesn’t already struggle with the urge to eat you up.

“Is it on?” you ask about the television, carding your fingers through slightly damp hair as you walk towards the couch. Shit, don’t even get him started on your shampoo. 

“Should be,” he says, not meeting your eye, “just press play.”

You wait for him to sit next to you before pushing the button on the remote, a bowl of popcorn between your thigh and his. A pathetic barrier preventing your bare thigh from brushing against his sweats, as easy to discard as his ever eroding restraint.

As the old-timey Warner Brothers logo comes on, he recalls the conversation you had with him about the movie. You seem to be thinking about the same thing.

“You said you watched this in theaters?”

“Had to. This girl I was seein’ dragged me,” he answers, popping a kernel in his mouth. 

“And you liked it enough to recommend it to me?” you reply playfully. He smirks, eyes glued to the screen.

“More that I liked her, yeah.”

You let out a surprised laugh.

“Brutal.”

He’s telling the truth, though, because as the TV screen flashed montages of the opening sequence, he can’t for the life of him remember anything about the girl he went out with. Not her hair color, not her body, not her voice. Another shadow lost in a long past. 

The only girl he can think about is the one sitting next to him.

It’s warm. You stir under the sheets.

There’s a comfort that clings onto you, melting you deeper into the mattress. A soothing scent. Breaths on the back of your neck. That’s when you know the heat isn’t from the weather.

It’s him.

You hum as your body temperature begins to hike up, the aftereffect of phantom caresses on your bare arms, moving to your waist, up your shirt. You welcome it. Limbs wrapping around your torso, pulling you into a strong chest. Parted lips pressed on your neck, light brushes of a beard, a low baritone rumble.  

The warmth feels good—not like the cloying humidity of June, but coaxing. Inviting.  

Shifting, you feel the presence kissing your ear, making you loll your head to the side. A hand slips between your knees. You let out a soft sigh, recognizing the touch.

As heat blooms in your core, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder, murmuring against sweat-misted skin. You know this sensation. Have wanted this for so long, buried it under the guise of decency. But it comes back with a vengeance and there’s no escape.

So you let it. 

Fingers comb through your hair as if trying to soothe you, but you don’t need to be lulled more.

It feels so good, the haze in your mind whispers. He feels so good. 

Your breath hitches when his mouth slots against yours, deep kisses leaving you dizzier than you already are. Hands clasp onto his biceps, and as if replying, the fingers in your hair tug, exposing more of your neck to him. 

Then teeth, dragging languidly down the expanse of your throat before digging in just a little…

A sound escapes you, something between a whimper and a mewl. The sensation in your core blooms brighter, his fingers toying with you, brushing against your folds. You feel a smile on your skin.

He slowly, excruciatingly feeds his digits inside you. You cry out. There’s a pleased hum in your ear while you writhe underneath him, desire flooding your veins.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

When you open your eyes, you look straight into hazel ones.

Logan.

Your alarm blares, and you wake up sweating under the sheets, eyes wide. The erratic pounding of your heart against your ribcage makes your chest heave like you’d run a mile in your sleep, the sound of blood pumping loud in your ears. Ignoring your alarm, you touch your neck.

You can still feel him.

Swallowing, you sense the slick between your legs, warm and uncomfortable. Arousal, as real as the morning sun rising outside. 

Scenes replay in your head, more sensory than visual. The way his hand buries itself in your hair, arms snaked around your torso, mouth against your ear...

Look at me, sweetheart—    

You exhale shakily, reaching out to finally turn off the alarm, a hand over your flushed face.

You just dreamed of Logan.

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx

next chapter

[starmocha]

pain is all you'll find [Sylus/Reader ★ 630 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] It was karaoke night at Onychinus’ base. A/N: I am so, so sorry. I have no excuses for this one. It’s just full-on crack.

It was karaoke night at Onychinus’ base.

You didn’t even realize Onychinus had karaoke nights, but here you were in a room surrounded by other henchmen all applauding and cheering its fearless leader as he wailed—er, sang—the fourth song of the night.

You grimaced, and chugged your bottle of beer, wishing the alcohol would just take effect already. Beside you, Luke and Kieran were also happily (and soberly?) applauding Sylus. They couldn’t possibly be enjoying his cat-yowling rendition of Careless Whisper, could they? It was honestly hard to tell since the twins refused to remove their masks. The masks were probably there to hide their suffering, you thought grimly, unable to think of any other plausible reasoning in your semi-tipsy state.

When you turned your sight back to the TV screen and the current talentless singer hogging the mic, your cheeks pinked up when you made eye contact with Sylus and he winked at you. For just an instance, you felt your stomach flipped, captivated by his smoldering eyes and suave smile.

And then he opened his mouth again. You mentally screamed in agony, wondering why a good person like yourself was being punished so cruelly like this.

You wanted to bury your head in your arms, or maybe suffocate yourself with these tacky looking throw pillows at Onychinus’ base. Hell, you would even happily let Mephisto peck your eyes out if it meant ending this torment. How could someone with a great—no, sexy—speaking voice not be able to carry a goddamned tune? God truly had a very particular sense of humor, you realized, as you forced a stiff smile and shakily gave Sylus a thumb up.

When the song finally ended (dear god, why did he pick the extended version?), you finally let out the breath you were holding in. You politely clapped and smiled, thinking Sylus was about to return to his seat next to you, but you instantly froze mid-clap, face paling as you watched him scrolled through the song list once more.

He smiled. You worried.

Your ears bled as he rasped the first three verses, before belting out: “Hello, is it me you're looking for?”

Onychinus henchmen were clapping and cheering, and you couldn’t take this anymore. You leaned over to both Luke and Kieran, hissing sharply, “You guys can’t possibly be enjoying these murders on classic songs, right?”

You blinked, dumbfounded, when Luke casually pulled out an earplug.

“Did you say something, Miss Hunter?”

Kieran pulled both of his own earplugs out. “What’s wrong?”

“You guys have been…”

“Oh, damn,” Luke said, reaching into his pocket, “I forgot to give you yours. My bad, Miss Hunter.”

You curiously received a pair of earplugs and you looked up, seeing Kieran motioning you to put them on. The moment you did, you realized that silence truly was golden. You cracked a grin to the twins.

Suddenly you found you were enjoying Sylus’ performance more. All eye candy and not a fucking tuneless sound out of him. Thank fucking god, you thought, this time joining Luke and Kieran in their zealous cheering.

Everything went on well for a few minutes, but unfortunately, the night seemed to drag on, and everyone watched with dismay as the leader of Onychinus showed that he had no intention of letting anyone else have the mic. Your brief moment of faux enthusiasm died down after each song he performed until you could do nothing but mentally sighed as you clapped like a trained seal with your stupidly rigid smile plastered on your face.

You watched the lyrics danced on the TV screen as Sylus ‘sang’ along: Welcome to your life.

You mentally groaned for the umpteenth time. It was going to be a long, long fucking night. Goddamnit.

[loveandmurders]

Red string and crimson hands (Poly!Sinclair brothers x f!reader) - Part IV

Hi everyone, this is the fourth part of this new soulmate AU requested by @mrstargayen09 . You can find part 1 here, part 2 here and part 3 here.

Hope you'll enjoy <3

Warnings: no proof reading, mention of slutshaming (from Victor), mentions of Trudy being ill, mentions of death

That night, the boys insisted for you to sleep in their house and not in the one you used to live at with your parents. They pretended it was because they hadn’t fully finished cleaning things up, but you knew they were lying. They just wanted you under their roof. For once, Lester was even eager to stay over. You agreed because you trusted them, and you saw how it made them happy.

They were excited puppies around you and you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed their constant attention on you. You were certain something really bad must have happened for you to decide to run away from them. They were attractive, they weren’t shy about their love for you, they wanted to take care of you… They were perfect. And yet you left. It scared you.

What were you going to find out?

You eventually wished them good night and they watched as you climbed upstairs. Jonesy followed you and stayed with you for a little while before going back to the boys. Despite your closed door, you could hear the three men whispering between them. You would have loved to hear what they were saying. 

At first, they talked about how amazing it was to finally have you back, then about how hot you were, and about your memory loss and finally about everything they needed to do (or not to do) to convince you to stay. They agreed, for instance, that they needed to keep tourists away from Ambrose the following day. They couldn't kill anyone else in front of you, they needed to make you forget about all of this or you would leave again. Lester agreed to leave the twins alone with you for the day, but he asked for a moment with you on his own in the evening. The twins weren't too happy they would need to share you during the day, but they would spend more hours with you than Lester, so it was a fair deal.

The next morning, you woke up with a delicious scent of pancakes. When you went downstairs, Bo was cooking breakfast. As you entered the kitchen, you had a flash of a teenage boy preparing pancakes as well. Your young self walked to him and hugged him from behind, thanked him as he warmly smiled at you. You then remembered about a man - his father probably - breaking the moment by telling you were interested in an angry beast who will hurt you. You took Bo’s defence; the man shrugged before saying “you're just a slut for my three sons”. You remembered the shame of such words.

You went back to reality when Bo turned around and greeted you. He noticed the look on your face and frowned.

“Ya ‘kay, love?” he asked

“Yeah, no worries” you tried to smile but he kept looking at you and you remembered Lester begged you to always tell them what was on your mind, unlike before you left them “I think I just had a memory of your father calling me a slut” you finally said and Bo tensed, his fists clenching

“Sorry 'bout that. I should've broken his jaw that day”

“You were still a kid and I’m not so surprised to be treated that way in a small town with three soulmates who also happen to be brothers” you replied, trying to be rational “Pancakes smell good” you added to change the subject as you came closer to the food “You’re the cook of the family?” you asked with a tilted head

“‘M the eldest, that’s my job to take care of my family” Bo replied

“And of your soulmate?” you hummed

“Same thing. Ya didn’t leave ‘cause we weren’t lookin’ after ya” Bo let you know but before you could ask for more Vincent entered the room and you greeted him.

You helped him dress the table and waited for the pancakes to be ready.

“Lester not coming for breakfast?” you wondered

“Lester’s protecting the borders of Ambrose today so no tourist’ll interrupt us” Bo explained

“You casted him away?” you pouted

“No. It’s his job. But tonight he’ll be left alone with ya, for some egality or whatever” Bo rolled his eyes and you laughed

“It does sound fair. You wouldn’t want your brothers to be with me while you would be working away either” you added and Bo couldn’t argue with that. “So the “tourists” are how you call the people coming in Ambrose, the same people you kill?” you asked again and Vincent nodded

You finished your breakfast in silence but you could feel how the twins' attention was all on you. You enjoyed the warmth of it, the tenderness or it too. Vincent was a silent and comforting presence.

You could tell that you spent a lot of time in his arms when you just were feeling a little bit down and needed to snuggle your sadness away. You quite wanted to be a little bit physical with him, but you didn’t dare. You were a stranger to them too, even if they were eager to welcome you back in their lives.

You were a little bit more defiant of Bo who clearly was the seductive southern guy. But at the same time, you were pretty certain that whenever you had nightmares in the middle of the night, you would go and find him, because he could protect you from anything. One thing was certain they were both dangerous people who would kill for you.

You wanted to have a look at the House of Wax. Vincent was pretty excited about it. Bo a lot less but he tagged along, mostly to translate what his twin would want to tell you. You promised yourself you would force your brain to remember ASL.

At some point, you barely listened to Bo anymore, as you walked around the museum. Some of the faces were familiar, like if you had already met them in what could have been a dream.

The smell of wax was completely engulfing you and you remembered more of their mother, Trudy. You remembered she was spending hours with her art. She took Vincent by her side because he was talented but she was ashamed of his face, hence the mask. She had no interest in Lester because he was her last one, and she had so much work to do in the House of Wax before dying from her illness. And she despised Bo. He was handsome, but he was a little monster of a child, always angry, always asking for his Mama’s love when she didn’t have anything to give to the world and her family but her art. She was obsessed. 

She liked you when you were taking Bo and Lester away from her, but she hated you when you were also taking Vincent away, when you were telling her that it wasn’t true that he had a face only a mother could love. She hated that you were able to love her sons, because they didn’t deserve it. And she hated even more how Bo’s fit of angers were calming around you, how Lester wasn’t in need of her attention when you were there, how Vincent was more himself when you gently smiled at him.

You found yourself stopping in front of the sculpture of a man. It was odd because you remembered him being the mailman. He was always observing you four. He even told you one day to stay away from the Sinclairs: the mother was crazy because she was talented, her husband was a cruel doctor and the children had to be monsters. Especially because the day before the brothers had almost beaten to death another teenager, who had touched you and made you feel so small. 

“Love?” Bo placed a hand on your shoulder as you seemed to be frozen in front of the sculpture

“I remember him. You sculpt real people?” you asked and the twins exchanged a look at your phrasing

“Yes, Vincent, and our mother before, take inspiration from people we meet” Bo replied after a little while “Before Ambrose became a total ghost town, Vincent tried his best to reproduce the people who used to live here” Bo continued

“Did you make sculptures of your parents?” you suddenly asked, not even really knowing why

“Just our mother.” Bo said

“And of me and my parents?” you tilted your head to the side as you looked up at Vincent who shook his head

He signed something, and you read one of the words: perfect. Bo translated:

“We were too focused on you to really remember precisely what your parents looked like. And for you, you are way too perfect to be sculpted”

“Smooth talkers” you hummed and looked away, blushing a little

You resumed walking but a thought kept bugging you over and over again:

“What happened to your parents?” you asked

“Our mother died of illness when we were about 17” Bo replied instantly but you noticed how strained his voice was “Her last words and thoughts were for the House of Wax, the masterpiece of her life. She asked Vincent to keep takin’ care of it, no matter what the price’d be.”

“It must have been awful” you softly commented, remembering her funeral in the small church of Ambrose

“It got worse when our father went insane. I guess she was the only thin’ he loved, or felt somethin’ for at least.” Bo shrugged “He died too” Bo added but he didn’t say what he died of, and before you could ask more questions about it, Vincent uncharacteristically boldly reached for your hand to get you on another aisle of the museum.

The gesture alone made you forget about your interrogation.

You spent a fun day with the twins. They kept you entertained quite well and answered most of your questions. You noticed they avoided the church and other parts of the town, but you didn’t mind for the moment. You were happy with them, and they managed to make you feel at ease. 

But truth to be told, you had missed Lester’s presence. You had seen his red string all day, waving in the air for you to follow again. You disliked being away from any of your soulmates.

You could remember that when you were living in Ambrose, you wanted your boys around you all the time, and the three brothers - who weren’t loved and wanted by anyone else - were more than happy to oblige. The more you thought about it and the more you realised that your absence must have been cruel and impossible to fill for them.

The twins groaned when they heard Lester’s truck and you shot them an amused glance. Lester parked and opened the house door, an instantly bright smile lighting up his face as he spotted you.

“Come for a ride?” he offered and you agreed, getting up and putting your shoes back on

“Where goin’? Bo asked his baby brother

“Don’t know, ‘round” Lester shrugged “Don’t have to stay in Ambrose all the damn time. And maybe the girl’d like to grab a snack or somethin’ he offered

“Oh yeah, that would be nice!” you exclaimed

“But ya come back here tonight?” Bo asked again “Both of ya”

“Yes, yes, we both sleep here tonight” you replied before Lester could answer and you saw the twins nodding and relaxing back in their seats.

Lester wouldn’t argue with you but he would have loved to keep you all to himself for the night as well. But he understood that his brothers also needed you under the same roof. After all, you had disappeared from their existences for so long, and knowing you were resting in the same house was bringing them all such a new kind of relief.

You waved the twins goodbye before following Lester to his truck. He started to drive and as you put loud music on, you both started to chat around. You loved how easy to talk Lester was. He was funny and he managed to make you laugh pretty easily. 

“Hope the twins didn’t bore ya to death?” Lester teased

“Nah, they’re good but I’m glad to leave Ambrose for a moment” you admitted

“Why?” Lester frowned

“It’s not about the twins, they’ve been perfect to me” you quickly precised “It’s just… It’s so strange to be in a ghost town filled with wax sculptures. Also the House of Wax woke up quite a lot of memories and it was getting tiring” you admitted to him

“I understand” Lester hummed “I don’t live in Ambrose anymore”

“Which drives Bo crazy” you smiled

“Vincent too. The twins are pretty similar on a lot of thin', but Bo’s always the one voicin’ it. Vincent’s great at manipulatin’ ya though, he smooth talk ya” Lester hummed before realising he could sound bad “I don’t mean…”

“It’s okay, I understand.” you reassuringly smiled “You’re all dangerous people, I don’t really expect less from any of you, including you, Les” you added without realising you used the nickname

“Ya’re as dangerous as us, ‘cause we’re completely wrapped ‘round your little finger, even more when ya use nicknames” Lester told you with eyes shining in happiness

“Ah yes, what’s everyone’s favorite nicknames then?” you asked, curious and Lester let out a little laughter

“Bo likes to call ya “love”, but ya already noticed it.”

“Yeah, he’s not subtle, isn’t he?” you chuckled and Lester smirked

“He likes when ya call him “hon”. Vincent calls ya “muse” and he likes it when ya call him “handsome” for obvious reasons…”

“What happened to him?” you asked

“Bo and Vince were born conjoined twins and our father wasn’t the most careful doctor on Earth. But ya’re really handlin’ it very well so far, askin’ for him to remove his mask ‘round ya and all” Lester was grateful

“Trying my best” you shrugged “What about your nicknames?”

“I like to call ya “sunshine” and ya can honestly call me anythin’” he replied

“But what’s your favorite one?” you insisted as Lester kept looking at the roads

“Darl’ or darlin’ I believe” Lester shyly said and you smiled to yourself

“Thanks for that, I’ll make sure to use it against all of you” you laughed and Lester chuckled with you

“Not expecting any less from ya, sunshine”

--

Part 5

--

Taglist: @staley83 - @joyfulllittlething - @qardasngan

[creamcheesetaro]

UNLUCKY GIRL SYNDROME

Kita Shinsuke x Reader

Tags: F!Reader, Fluff, High School Setting

Wordcount: 924 words

next

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

You were sure that the Gods hated you.

Atleast, you were certain it all started when you transferred to Inarizaki High.

The endless streak of the embarrassing instances you caught yourself to be in made you want to cease your existence from the minds of your schoolmates.

After all, who wants to be remembered as that girl who accidentally poured her lunch meals to one of the school’s star players? (You were thankful that Ojiro just laughed the incident off).

Or that one time you accidentally burned your school project because you steered your candles too close to the chemicals? (This has prompted your group leader to cry since it was due the next day).

It was all accidental yet memorable enough to be branded as the school’s unluckiest girl.

The moniker continued to haunt you until you were in your second year.

While it did not cost you to make friends with other people, the moniker deterred you from confessing your feelings to Kita Shinsuke.

Your mind was bombarded with voices that kept uttering he deserves someone as perfect as he is. The Gods favored man– born with looks, intelligence, standard athleticism, with a green thumb, and so much more.

Never mind that he seems to be uninterested with any romantic relationships, you cannot help but gravitate towards him so you started watching his volleyball practices from time-to-time or just ask for info from Aran.

Though, your unlucky streaks also occasionally pops up during your visits such as getting hit by the ball in the head and failing to duck on time because you were busy making googly eyes to Kita, or that one time you did not know sitting on your usual wooden bench spot was faulty that that that it made you fall over your butt.

Still, you were content in watching him from afar until you heard that one of his classmates confessed to him one day.

To the utter shock of many, he also agreed to go out with her.

You cursed your luck but you did not take it all to heart because it was just a lighthearted crush anyway.

Until it wasn’t.

Come second year and you were also put in the same class as him, Class 2-7.

You were sure that your feelings for him dwindled until that time when you were paired with him in a group project.

The God’s penchant for Murphy's law to sprout in your every waking moment grew tenfold as every group task always involves your dog eating your fair share of paperwork so you had to retype and reprint it at school, or your ballpen unexpectedly inked on your answer sheet.

Yet, to Kita, he handled all things like a champ. Though his way of fixing things involves a little bit of scolding on your end (you swear you’re not clumsy!), he never made you feel bad about it.

Lost your ballpen when you just put it in your bag last class? He has a spare one that you can borrow. Presenting in front of the class yet your USB corrupted your ppt file? He would merely suggest that you guys used notecards and papers marked with keywords when presenting in front.

You were eternally grateful for his quick-wittedness through it all but it just worsened your predicament– your admiration for him has only heightened.

You knew holding feelings for a taken guy was wrong so you try to keep it under wraps.

It was all under control until one time during sports fest when the sole of your shoes gave up– worse of all, it happened during midrace when you were about to pass the baton to Misaki (your other classmate who participated in the relay race also).

The crowd gasped as you fell face flat as your shoes’ left sole flap loosely. Although Misaki helped you sit up (and got the baton also), she hurriedly ran off to pass it to the fourth runner.

You can feel the blood surged all throughout your head and neck as you can hear chuckles amongst the crowd. 

Chucking in this moment as one of the instances that would bolster your infamy, you pushed yourself off the ground to start dusting yourself off.

Before you could fully get up, you were surprised there was a shadow casting above you.

You turned to look and your cheeks only reddened furthermore as Kita crouched beside you and you heard him mutter, “Why does this keep happening to you?” before helping you stand up.

That statement should have made you feel worse about yourself but his tone of amusement only served to speed your heartbeat.

Still keeping your sanity intact (nevermind that your left brain has completely shut down by how close he is besides you), you forced a grin while dusting off and stated, “The Gods must have personal vendetta against me.”

He merely chuckled before his eyes trailed down and a hint of worry flashed in his eyes, “Your knees…”

You looked down and saw that your left knee sported a huge scar and a bit of bleeding on it.

Before you can assure him that you’ll just go to the clinic, he hurriedly ushered you away from the track line and towards an empty spot of a secluded bench.

“Stay here,” he said, then immediately power walked to gather his bag and come back to you to cleanse and patch your wound.

Your face was burning all throughout the predicament that you failed to notice that his girlfriend was approaching the both of you…

part 2

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 17: The Winds of War

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 2.8k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ It is too easy for broken hearts to declare war.

Aemond had never felt more conflicted in his life. 

There was scarce ever a time when there were multiple emotions that hit him at once. He was not used to feeling so much in such a short period, it had made him begin to act unlike himself. Though, that was not entirely a bad thing.

Only a few instances in the two millennia of his life had he ever felt so overwhelmed.

The first time was the death of his father. They were never close, but he could recall moments, during the brief periods of his father’s lucidity, when the two of them would sit silently together as they poured through history books. The old king's death did not come as a surprise, but it was crushing regardless. 

The second time he had been overwhelmed was just shortly after his father's death. His mother quickly died. Elf marriages wound the bond between two souls so tightly that when one dies the other follows. He was more angry then. Aemond had been closer to her. The only bit he had of his fond childhood memories was connected to the scent of those azures that she loved so much. 

There was not so much emotion when he beat Aegon in a duel and became king – that felt more natural to him. 

The third time was when he lost his eye. The pain, wrath, betrayal, and heartbreak were too much for him. After it all, when his vision dimmed to one, it tore out the rest of his heart to kill Prince Lucerys for it. The deed had to be done, there was no other way, but Aemond still cursed himself until the ends of the earth for it. He had been like a brother, a chosen brother, but all failed. 

The war had, like being crowned king, not overwhelmed him. At that point, his heart cared little. 

The fourth and final time he experienced such a myriad of emotions at once was when he made the off-hand decision to welcome a human into his kingdom. A human who had so easily ripped down his very being to expose nothing but the scarred essence of his self. Aemond had resisted at first. It was true – he had cared little. Yet, that sentiment did not last long. It was like his brain punished him at every hour. 

Everything was just her. 

Her,

Her,

Her, 

Was it his hubris that caused the gods to send such a siren? Or was it the cruelty he inflicted on the word? There could be no other explanation for her presence in his life. The gods sent her there to punish him. A thorn wedged in his side, but springed forth a rose that smelled as sweet as she treated the people around her. 

That was what did it, what caused him to fall so effortlessly.

Her unflagging efforts to help. 

Not for any selfish reason, nor any reward. The simple act of kindness gave her satisfaction. As if nothing else mattered in the world. She was determined and stubborn – a bit like himself. Though truly she felt like a foil,  an opposite that brought out something better in Aemond.

He tried to reach inside himself and uncover what she had brought out of him, truly, but it was a struggle at first. 

It had been so long since he had to treat someone that gently, it was foreign to him. All he had to do to relearn kindness was simply watch her. Watch as she tended to her patients so skilfully and passionately, watch as she bonded with Daeron over healing, watch as she spent time with Helaena and encouraged her passions, watch as she brought out a better side to Aegon; one a little more sober that before. 

How could such a being simply be so good?

Humans had caused Aemond nothing but pain in his life. They took his eye, attempted to burn his lands down, and hurt his family beyond anything. Yet, this human – who had miraculously stumbled across his sister one day, hurt and in need – had been able to do what he never thought possible. 

She had caused his heart to beat. 

That was what it felt like. Each time he thought of her, frequently as of late, his heart would beat faster. It was like some kind of locator, the closer she was the faster those thumps came. It breathed new life into his body. 

Aemond was not naive, at least, not anymore. He knew what this meant and why his body reacted the way it did. He loved her, simply and truly. Elves felt more intensely than humans, so it was easier for them to get so strung up in care. It was his kind's greatest strength and greatest downfall. Quick to love, quick to hate. 

That was why it hurt so profoundly when she hurled such accusations at him; called him a liar and implied his good friend Cole had killed her father. It was harsher than any blow on the battlefield. He had welcomed her into his home, and let her have access to his library, all on the words of his sister and this was how she repaid him? He was angry but understood. 

There had to have been a reason for her conclusion. She was not hysterical or had a penchant for making up lies. Something had come up or was discovered for her to act that way. She was still in mourning over Lyra so anything could have set her off. 

Aemond had decided to leave so the both of them could cool off and get their thoughts in order. He would listen to her concerns and address them. However, when he went to her room to visit she was not there. That itself was not unusual, so it did not set off any unease in his mind. She was likely in the laboratory and working tirelessly in her pursuit of a cure. Her recent experiment with Daeron had been a damn close solution and Aemond felt nothing but pride swell in his chest when thinking back on it.

He approached the laboratory door but knew not to barge in. If she was focused, he could not bear to ruin that. He was already on thin ice with her trust. There was nothing in the realm that would make him break it further. He knocked on the engraved wood and waited. 

There was no response. 

Again, that was not unusual. However, when he knocked again with a little more force to make sure he was heard, Aemond was surprised by the slow creaking it made as it opened. The door was ajar, which was unusual. His fingers gripped the handle and he pushed it open. His gaze was lowered and noticed the strewn about papers at first. His brow furrowed as he scanned the area further until… 

Gods no… 

Faster than Aemond knew he could move, he flung towards her body that lay bloody and limp on the stone floor. His heart sank with his body. He assessed her and quickly found an open wound on her side. Aemond had flung off his leather doublet and torn off a sizable chunk from his white shirt to try and cover the wound – as if it would make a difference. He was frantic, scrambling to staunch the wound as he kneeled.

Aemond lifted her limp body with his other arm having wrapped it around the back of her neck. Her head was limp and swivelled to the side, a sight that made him feel sick. His eye searched the room for any immediate threats but found none. He looked back down at her closed eyes. Aemond was too shaken to focus and see if she was breathing or if it had been a trick of the mind. 

He muttered her name a few times like it was some sort of prayer; a plea to anything out there that could hear. Quickly, he released his hold on the wound and brushed her cheek, leaving a trail of blood. He went back to putting pressure on the wound, but truthfully it did not look good. Aemond was not shy of wounds. He had seen countless different ways the body could bleed out – this was one of them. 

“But I came to say sorry…” Aemond whispered. Water gathered at the rim of his eyes. What surprised him the most was that he felt the same tingling sensation on the scarred lining of his other eye. He did not know it was possible, but here he was; nearly weeping over the body of a human. 

Aemond noticed her arm was outstretched and went to move it closer to her body. Surprisingly, he saw something sticking out of her closed fists. He moved the arm that was holding her neck out from under after leaning her head on his thigh. Aemond opened her fist and took out the crumpled piece of parchment. 

Mothers flower. 

Lake water. 

Every little thing.

The last one was underlined multiple times for emphasis. It was her writing, but he could not understand the reason for it. On the table, he saw a myriad of scattered ingredients and an overboiling cauldron. The smell emanating from it was burnt and he could tell she had been brewing something. He looked back down at the parchment and it all came to him. 

His little rūklon had done it.

She had found what very likely could be a cure, but something had taken her from him. He shouted for the guards or any possible person who could hear.

The feeling of hopelessness had morphed into rage. Someone had done this to her; someone who would surely pay the price. 

Hurried footsteps sounded from the door Aemond had left open. In just a short moment, he watched Cole come in. His face morphed into shock at the sight. Aemond had never been more thankful that Cole had been in the area. He needed his friend. 

The other door located on the opposite side of the room burst open. Daeron and Aegon had been in the sick hall but came immediately when they heard the noise. While Aegon had froze at the sight, Daeron sprung into action. He dashed to his brother and fell to his knees to assess the damage. 

“What in the seven hells happened?” Daeron asked.

“I found her like this. Why aren't there any guards around?” Aemond directed his last question at Cole with a fire behind his voice. 

“Early morning is when the night shift switches, my king, there are little guards at this time,” Cole answered. Aemond shook his head before looking back at the woman in his arms. That was not a good enough answer. 

“Daeron?” Aemond voiced. It was clear what he was asking. He needed to know if there was a chance to save her. 

Daeron gave his brother a grim look, “I don’t know.” Those words were like a dagger to Aemond’s heart. Aegon had gathered a bunch of supplies from around the room and dumped them by Daeron so he could start assessing the wound more. 

“My king,” Cole spoke out and Aemond turned to him, “I found these.” He had a scrap of fabric in one hand and a bloodied knife in the other. It was easy to see that the colours of the fabric were part of the emblem of the human kingdom. 

“They must have heard of our efforts to find a cure and snuck in to foil them. The council's suspicion of it being human-made could be correct. She happened to have the misfortune of being here.” Cole theorized. Both Daeron and Aemond were struck by it. Aegon, however, looked at Cole with underlying skepticism. 

“Convenient that you found such an important piece of evidence that was not spotted by us when we came in,” Aegon spoke up while he took over the hold on her wound so Aemond could go see the items. Aegon’s words went unnoticed in Daeron’s attempt to focus on the problem in front of him. 

“It’s laced with taint.” Aemond had taken the knife to inspect it and his voice sounded far away, as if caught in the trouble of wondering if what he said was true. 

“This is a direct attack on our kingdom, your grace. They have gone beyond a violation of the peace treaty.” Cole informed, “We must respond.” 

Aemond did not acknowledge Cole’s words at first, instead choosing to speak to Daeron, “You can heal her wound, right?” 

“I can try,” Daeron looked around the room for any kind of supplies that could help, “But the taint…”

“Then use the previous experiment to halt its spread,” Aemond argued. His anger increased as Daeron spoke. He felt that his brother was giving up on her, but that was not the truth. However, he was so overwhelmed he could not think clearly. 

“The last of the brew was used up on new patients. Even if I were to make more… it would take too long. Aemond, the wound is deep, the taint may have reached her heart already.” Daeron’s words were grim and he had been reluctant to voice them, as if speaking them would make it come true. 

“You will try regardless. Get every fucking healer to work on it.” Aemond commanded. He had never used his kingly voice with Daeron before. It was something Aemond did not wish to do, to command his family as such, but all of his care had gone with her. 

“Cole,” Aemond started, “Send for all of our legions to gather at the border. We ready for war. Send some to gather taint samples as well. They used it on her, so we shall use it on them.” Cole nodded at his king's words and made his way to leave the room. 

As Cole reached the threshold, Aemond spoke again, “I want whoever did this brought directly to me.” Cole hesitated for a moment to really look at Aemond, but eventually nodded and left. With Cole gone, Aemond moved to his brother and presented the parchment that had been in her hand. 

“She was holding this. I assume it may be concerning a cure. Get some healers to work on it as well.” Aemond instructed. Daeron took the parchment and looked over it. 

“I don’t completely understand,” Daeron scrunched his brows at the vague messaging in her scrawl. 

“Elf azure and Lake Rosemagne water,” Aemond clarified. A light behind Daeron’s eyes sparked and it seemed as though he clued in to exactly what she had figured out. 

Once seeing that she was in relatively good hands, Aemond made the prowl for the door to start the familiar habit of plotting war. When he reached the exit, he paused and turned around. His gaze hovered over her still body while his chest rose up and down almost erratically. Both of his brothers could see the emotion flicker over Aemond’s face. They understood her meaning to him and mourned what could have been. 

Without any further words, Aemond stormed out of the room. Daeron got to work quickly and commanded Aegon to help him pick her up. Together, the two elves moved her body into the sick hall and to a private, curtained area. Daeron had yelled at some of the nearby healers, something which he had never done, and commanded them to start brewing both the slowing elixir and a few side brews of the newly modified recipe.

He hoped that the slowing elixir could be administered in time so if the modified version ended up not curing it, the very least would be that the taint would not further damage her body as it recovered from the stab wound. 

However, Daeron would be lying to himself if he said there was a guarantee of healing the wound. It was so deep and human bodies were a lot weaker than elf ones. Aegon, on the other hand, was doing surprisingly well in hiding his fear. He shook just a little but followed his brother's directions to clean the wound. 

Daeron leaned down to put his head against her chest. He was searching for a heartbeat, but could not find one. He then moved to hold her wrist. He waited a few moments. As if a miracle had happened, there was the faintest of thrumming. It came slow and was weak, but it was there nonetheless. Daeron let out a breath he had been holding and nodded to Aegon. 

Aegon understood and tears welled in his eyes and he sighed with relief. Daeron then organized the supplies on a table beside him that was meant for stitching the wood. Despite his lengthy experience as a healer, he had never treated someone he was close with and had an incredible personal investment in their survival. 

As he moved his shaking hands towards the wound, Aegon’s own hands covered them, “You’ve done this countless times, what’s one more?” 

“I can do it.” Daeron’s words were more for his own sake than for Aegon’s; though both needed the reassurance. 

Together, both the brothers provided comfort in their presence while they set about the task of saving a human from near death.

On the opposite side of the castle, the king prepared for war.

Chapter 18: Past, Present, and Future Preview

It was then that it struck you that where you were was a memory – not the present. You could not remember the present. 

Why could you not remember the present? 

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

taglist: @izzicle @arriettys-song @ggukiespace @wasntpriscilla @marielahurtado @shamelessblazecrown @peachysunrize @lolliespocketfullofpollies @lanadragon04 @kokosg @sinistersnakey @aemondtargaryenwifey @m-riaa @sarcasticwitch11 @coriellesmarya @simpinonyouz @scrumptiousloser @gcdofchaos @whorrorbellee @saturnssrings @ashjade19 @uniquecutie-puffs @fan_goddess @impossiblepersonastranger @certifiedhaters @crystal_siren @dejiekoo @ladyofthewoods15 @lilostif16 @papichulo-4 @liannafae @f4ntasywh0re @jessyoutofspace04 @ribbetzetoad @rxvenswxxd @iamtoriasworld @blackswxnn @qardasngan @ximetrevino2021

[saerins]

⋆୨ prologue ୧˚ all see through, just like glass

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ next: chapter one - thorns without flowers, bars with no drinks ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 1.6k | ೀ content warnings: modern au, rich!reader & rich!sae, fluff/angst, swearing, somewhat boys being boys, manipulation/gaslighting, bad parents, yn has a sister here but won’t be mentioned too much !

i. y/n

“Don’t be so overly emotional, sweetheart. Isn’t this absolutely perfect for you?”

“You’re saying no? Can’t believe you’d say that… you know if you don’t do this you’re only damning your little sister instead, right?”

“Sweetie, we are listening to you. But don’t you think we would know what’s best for you? We’re only criticising you because we love you.”

Marriage; a concept you’d been familiar with since young, way back when you had a dream to marry your one and only Prince Charming—someone who’d appear one day and completely sweep you off your feet. Five year olds are silly like that. You’d believe in Prince Charming and fairytale endings and that two people in love would always work things out.

Being the daughter of a very successful businessman, a lot of things were given to you as a child. You never had to ask for toys, or books, or anything at all. Your father would ensure your material needs were well taken care of, and your mother would ensure you’re pampered from head to toe, buying you designer assets and making sure you look the best you can at each instance.

Life in the upper echelon is mostly desirable; the privileges are apparent, the favouritism rampant. You’re grateful for what you have, but there’s a small ball of thought inside you that wishes for your parents not to see you as a product, but as their child. Most of the people you had met had absolutely zero problems with their upbringing, perfectly content with being handed everything on a silver plate.

Most people except Mikage Reo, your best friend since the fourth grade. He hated having his life dictated for him too, and you both found common ground in that. Ever since then, you’d both been close as ever.

“Wait wait wait,” he nearly chokes on his rice, the disbelief in his tone overwhelming, an eyebrow cocked as his fringe falls over his left eye. “Repeat that again.”

A small sigh escapes your lips, your fork poking against the rice in your bowl, any form of appetite you had earlier being sucked out just by revisiting the topic. “It’s an arranged marriage.”

Reo appears unamused, but he restrains himself from commenting too much negativity. “And… what did you say?”

That’s why he’s a good friend—he feels you out first before filtering what he needs to say. He’ll still speak his mind, but depending on your decision, he’ll choose his words carefully.

You’ve always been eternally grateful for his presence. It calms you down, that sense of comfort irreplaceable. You know that if you ever really screw anything up that bad, you’ll have him—and really, that’s enough for you. Out of everything you have, you think this friendship’s probably the most precious one.

“The wedding’s in a couple months,” you half-answer, deciding to stop playing with your food and putting your fork down. The clang of the metal hitting the marble-top table is the last sound you hear for a while before Reo clears his throat.

Before Reo can get any words out, you interject. “The guy said yes too, apparently.”

Now he chokes on his rice.

You slide the glass of water across the table and Reo chugs it down, water trickling down the sides of his lips at his urgency. “How the fuck did your parents get Itoshi Sae of all people to say yes?”

Itoshi Sae. The name of your to-be husband. You know him as much as what you can search online. Twenty-five this year. No hobbies but it’s rumoured he’s good in soccer. He’s a lot like you when it comes to status and standing in the business world—the kid of successful self-made parents who everyone in your immediate circle automatically expects good things from. The pressure to perform and become someone of note since birth is probably something you both share. Except, maybe, Itoshi Sae looks like he’s a lot less obedient than you are. He looks like he’s more rebellious than not, and that’s why you wonder if he has any hidden agendas by agreeing to this business arrangement.

You know why you’re agreeing.

“Seriously, we raised this child and yet she’s so ungrateful!”

“Y/N, you know if you don’t do this then he’s just going to force this on your little sister, right?”

How can you let that slide as a big sister? Especially when your little sister is perfectly happy in a long-term relationship? Unfortunately, threatening their children isn’t below your parents.

Even when you revisit the conversation in your head, your mother’s faux concern is nauseating. She’s always been that way; everything your father says goes and she doesn’t offer much else other than what he expects of her. Maybe that’s why you grew up to be this way.

Shrugging, you turn your attention back to Reo, a small pout forming on your lips. “You know my dad. He’s always been good at talking.”

“What about you though? Are you really okay with this?”

At this point, Reo’s the only one who’s genuinely concerned for you. Maybe because he knows about all your childish dreams about finding The One. While you appreciate his concern, you brush it off.

“Yeah, I mean, how bad could things possibly get with Sae?”

Reo’s eyebrows show he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t say more.

“I’ll be fine, Reo, promise.”

You’ll just have to win Itoshi Sae over. Even if it’s hard, you’re determined to try and make the most of it. It won’t be that bad if you work hard on it… right?

ii. itoshi sae

“Either do this, or I’ll get Rin instead. It’ll be a pain, but don’t think I won’t do it.”

“Honey! Stop speaking like that… Sae, please try to understand, this will be a huge opportunity. It’s the least you owe us, hm?”

“You lost your shot, do you want Rin to lose his too?”

“If you don’t want her, I'll take her.”

“Go ahead.”

Sae’s completely tuned out of the conversation, the thoughts of his upcoming wedding filling his head. Now that everything’s settled between yours and his parents, it’s really kicking in that fuck, did he really let them dictate his love life like that?

“She’s pretty hot, though. I think she’s just a year younger than you?” Oliver’s scrolling through your Instagram—typical behaviour from his end. The moment Sae told them your name, it took only half a minute for Oliver and Otoya to find your online presence.

L/N Y/N. He’s always heard of you. Your name constantly leaves his parents’ mouths, ever since he was a kid. Apparently, your parents and his have been tight since high school. Sae is sceptical about the relationship, though. Nothing is ever that plain and simple between rich families. There must be a reason Sae’s never personally seen you, after all, despite his parents claiming to have a good relationship with yours.

“What the fuck’s going through their heads?”

And by that, Sae assumes that Otoya means his parents. If that’s the case, Sae has long decided he’s given up trying to understand what goes on in their heads—but if he had to guess, it’s probably all because of a simple business deal.

Having their kids wed each other would mean that one of them is absorbing the other. A little side knowledge that Sae doesn’t care for, so he only shrugs in response.

“Aw, little Sae is growing up,” Oliver sneers, earning a snicker from Otoya and a middle finger from Sae himself.

Otoya eggs him on, adding to the fire. “Yeah, to think that the guy who only ever dated once in his whole fucking life is the one getting married first,” he comments, eyes gazing to the side in deep thought, “what was her name again? Mirin?”

“Oh fuck, yeah I forgot about her,” Oliver exclaims, smirking at Sae. “First love type shit, right?”

Sae rolls his eyes, ignoring him, forcing him to change the subject.

“Shit, didn’t think you were the kind to ever say yes though,” Oliver remarks, eyes still glued onto the screen, likely still scrolling through your posts.

Oliver’s standards are quite high. Are you really that pretty? Sae’s never actually seen what you look like.

“I’m not fucking marrying her. I don’t even know her.”

“Maybe we should just pull Rin out then, get him to come back here and handle all this.”

“Sae, be a good boy and listen to us, okay? How about this—if it ever gets too bad, we’ll look into a divorce in the future, hm?”

As if he believes that. His parents are insufferable. There’s no point in ranting to this group though, so Sae brushes it off.

“Not like I care about this marriage shit,” he leans back, an air of nonchalance around him. “I’ll just shut my parents up and wait for the right time to leave.”

Otoya scoffs, smirking. “Lucky girl.” Sarcasm is his forté.

Oliver laughs, finally putting his phone down. “Okay you do that, and then I’ll pop up and be her Prince Charming and sweep her off her feet.”

Sae inwardly sighs to himself. His friends are insufferable as well, though he’d argue whether that’s the correct term for them. They’re only a group because their families happened to meet often. Somehow, Sae had been dragged into this weird association one day, and the rest is history.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

The rest of the night, Sae drowns out their conversation, choosing to ignore whatever shit they’re talking about. In his head, he’s only thinking about how long it’ll take before he can safely absolve himself from you without his parents threatening his younger brother’s career. More importantly, he’s wondering how the fuck he’s going to tell you he’s thinking of a divorce even before you get married.

Surely, you don’t really expect anything to come out of this either, do you?

If you do, you’ve got a rude awakening coming.

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover

[sexhaver]

What makes Jeweled Bird so bad?

first, some context: wayyyyy back in the stone ages when dinosaurs walked the earth and MTG first released, it was envisioned as less of a serious competitive card game people would explicitly try to minmax and more of a fun little diversion for your D&D group to play while you wait for Jared to get off his shift so you can actually start your campaign. this explains a lot of design choices that seem backasswards 30 years later. for instance, yes, Richard Garfield knew Black Lotus was unbelievably busted, but figured it was fine to print since it's not like people would do anything crazy like buy up hundreds of packs/hunt down singles on a secondary marketplace and play the game competitively for cash prizes.

one of the wackiest outcomes of this design philosophy was the concept of "playing for ante", an optional game mode/modifier where each player would begin the game by putting the top card of their library directly into "the ante", a pile of cards off to the side. whoever won the game won permanent, real-life ownership of all cards in the ante. basically "playing for keeps" but in a TCG instead of with Pogs or those weird tiny cardboard Beyblade tops that came in chip bags.

as you might guess from just reading that description, it was pretty wildly unpopular with most of the playerbase at the time and only got less popular as time went on. people didn't want to risk losing their cards, especially once the game became established and some of those cards were worth, like, actual amounts of money. and then there was the variance - it was entirely possible for you to ante up your only copy of an expensive card (meaning you were even less likely to win because now you can't draw it) while your opponent anted a basic land.

partially due to this, but mostly due to WOTC lawyers learning about the concept of "gambling laws" and WOTC PR learning about the optics of getting children into gambling, ante was officially removed from all sanctioned MTG tournaments very early into the game's lifespan (in fact i think this might have been enshrined into law before the actual first official tournament) and mostly memoryholed from the comprehensive rules, outside of section 407, which leads with this literal legal disclaimer:

there were 9 cards printed before this that explicitly reference "the ante" and do something unique to the cards in it. all of these cards have been errata'd to include the rules text "remove this card from your deck before playing if you're not playing for ante" and banned from LITERALLY ALL SANCTIONED FORMATS, including Vintage, the format whose entire appeal is "we never ban anything" (laughs in Lurrus).

okay so with the context out of the way we can start getting into why Jeweled Bird specifically is A Bad Card

first, the obvious: it's an ante card, which means you can't play it unless you're playing for ante, and if you ask anyone at your LGS to play for ante they will try to surreptitiously call the nearest retirement home to report an escapee from their memory care unit. so right off the bat it's quite literally unplayable as an MTG card (ante doesn't even work right in cube drafts, usually the last solace of jank-ass mechanics), which is not a great start.

now that we've established that ante cards are bad because they're effectively banned everywhere, let's assume we're living in some bizarro land where you've managed to convince a handful of friends to play in your personal MTG tournament bracket that allows ante. even then, all but one (don't worry we'll get to that one in a second) of the banned "ante cards" are just. unplayably bad. like absolute dogshit.

ok actually you know what i hadn't looked over all the ante cards in a while before typing up this post and now that i have i think Jeweled Bird is arguably the third or fourth best one out of the lot, and it's STILL unplayably bad in a modern context. it's effectively 1 colorless mana to draw a card, which is theoretically decent in some colors nowadays if you squint but would have actually been notably good back in its heyday. it actually gets pretty close to what WOTC was trying to go for with most of these ante card designs: you get a powerful effect (card draw for 1 colorless mana in an era when even blue had to jump through hoops for a rate that good outside of Ancestral Recall), but at the cost of adding something to the ante, but since the effect is so powerful, you should ideally be able to win the game off of it and completely negate the downside of adding your stuff to the ante.

you know what, fuck it, let's just go through the other ante cards from worst to best:

this card looks absolutely batshit until you get to the last sentence and realize it's effectively 6 mana to force your opponent to ante a card. if you spend 6 mana doing effectively nothing, you are not winning the game or that ante

this one is this low because in 99% of circumstances it's 10 mana over two turns to burn your opponent for 10. however, it takes the edge over Amulet of Quoz because 1. it just bypasses the ante zone entirely to literally steal the card directly, outcome of the game be damned 2. if your opponent has 9 or less life, they have to either let you steal their card or concede on the spot (which means they lose their ante) and 3. if i'm reading this ruling correctly you can set up the 9-or-less-life scenario with a TOKEN COPY of Bronze Tablet and give them a literal bar napkin with a doodle on it in exchange for their judge promo foil Elesh Norn:

so for 6 mana, you can heal yourself back to full at the cost of anteing an additional card. if that was all this card did, it would still be pretty bad, but the icing on this shitcake is that your opponent can just. also do that. but without spending their entire turn to cast a 6 mana spell. so now you're both on equal footing lifewise, but they have their entire turn to gain tempo advantage after you spent your turn healing them. and you gave them another one of your cards once you inevitably lose because of this. i guess theoretically you could run it in a super heavy control deck that aims to win via mill as a safety valve against aggro? idk man

this card effectively does nothing, but doing nothing for 3 mana is still an improvement over "doing nothing for 6 mana", "doing 10 damage for 10 mana over two turns", and "helping your opponent for 6 mana". i guess if you're really confident that your deck can win anyways (perhaps because of another card on this list) you could use this to force your opponent to ante another card for you to win? mostly this one is this high up here because "if the opponent doesn't concede the game immediately" is the funniest possible opening to a MTG card's rules text. like that's always true. you could add that to quite literally every card ever printed and it would change nothing other than making the game way funnier

okay so this is a three mana 1/1 with an ability that costs three MORE mana to activate that effectively just makes your opponent ante a card. i know it looks like it destroys and then literally steals an artifact, which would actually be a pretty good effect since it impacts the board (something none, but the entire thing is countered by anteing a card so that's what's gonna happen every time. at least this one can chump block

okay now we're starting to get into cards that at least make you think a little bit before deciding they suck (Jeweled Bird would go around here)

this scores higher than Timmerian Fiends for several reasons. obviously, a 4 mana 3/3 is a much better rate than a 3 mana 1/1, and the sac ability being free (other than a tap) makes it a lot more usable. the effect is even debateably good in red specifically: either it "draws" (literally legally steals irl) you a card, or it does 10 burn to the opponent's face. however, it does lose points due to the part where you, uh, have to give it away after using it once, win or lose. basically this is like Bronze Tablet but 6 mana cheaper and on a body that can actually theoretically do something. also lol at the "or conceding game" clause like Demonic Attorney, i really want to start seeing that wording on every card ever printed

now this might seem similar to Demonic Attorney at first glance, but the Oracle text makes it make more sense: "You own target card in the ante. Exchange that card with the top card of your library." notably, like Efreet and Tablet, this swap in ownership happens regardless of the outcome of the game, and unlike those two cards, you don't have to trade Darkpact itself for the card you're stealing. stealing your opponent's card out of the ante does mean that now both of the cards in there belong to you, meaning you have twice as much to lose, but hey, you just stole (and got to draw and cast, lol) your opponent's shit. "do what you must, i have already won" type beat

as powerful as Darkpact is, it's still only the second best ante card, and it is not even in the same zip code as the first best. ever heard of a little card named Ancestral Recall? draws 3 cards for one mana? and that's such a busted effect you're only allowed to legally run one copy in the one format it isn't explicitly banned in?

hahahahahahahahahaha holy shit sorry every time i remember this card i cackle at it a bit. what do you MEAN "discard your hand and draw 7 for 1 mana"?? discarding is an UPSIDE these days! people have unironically run One With Nothing, which is this card except for all the words after "discard your current hand". that "add the first drawn to the ante" bit might as well be flavor text because if you manage to lose after casting this then your deck was never even theoretically capable of winning in the first place. jesus christ.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Masterpost of TLT metas

This is mostly for my own reference, as tagging doesn't seem to guarantee something being findable on Tumblr...but if you like wildly overthinking lesbian necromancers in space, enjoy!

Overthinking the Fifth House:

What is a "Speaker to the Dead"?

Actually, Magnus Quinn isn't terrible at sword fighting

Imperial complicity: Abigail the First

Pyschopomp: Abigail Pent and Hecate

Did Teacher conspire with Cytherea to kill the Fifth?

What does the Fifth House actually do?

The Fourth and the Fifth can never just be family

Cytherea's political observations at the anniversary dinner

Abigail Pent's affect: ghosts and autism

Were the Fourth wards of the Fifth?

Abigail probably knew most of the scions as children

Magnus Quinn's very understandable anger

Fifth House necromancy is not neat and tidy

Are Abigail and Magnus an exception to the exploitative nature of cavaliership?

"Abigail Pent literally brought her husband and look where that got her" (the Fifth in TUG)

The Fifth's relationship dynamic

The Fifth's relationship is unconventional in a number of ways

The queer-coding of Abigail and Magnus' relationship

Abigail and Palamedes, and knowing in the River

Was Isaac the ward of the Fifth?

Did Magnus manage to draw his sword before Cytherea killed him? (and why he probably had to watch his wife die)

How did Abigail know she was murdered by a Lyctor?

Fifth House necromancy is straight out of the Odyssey

The politics of the anniversary dinner (and further thoughts)

Was Magnus born outside of the Dominicus system?

Overthinking John Gaius:

The one time John was happy was playing Jesus

Is Alecto's body made from John's?

Are there atheists in the Nine Houses?

Why isn't John's daughter a necromancer?

The horrors of love go both ways: why John could have asked Alecto 'what have you done to me?'

Why M- may have really hoped John was on drugs

What is it with guys called Jo(h)n and getting disintegrated? (John and Dr Manhattan)

John's conference call with his CIA handlers

Watching your friend turn into an eldritch horror

Why does G1deon look so weird? (Jod regrew him from an arm)

When is a friendship bracelet not a friendship bracelet?

Why did John have G1deon hunt Harrow? (with bonus update)

The 'indelible' sin of Lyctorhood and John's shoddy plagiarism of Catholicism

Are John Gaius and Abigail Pent so different?

What was Jod's plan at Canaan House?

John and Ianthe tread the Eightfold path

The Mithraeum is more than a joke about cows

When was John Gaius born? (And another)

John Gaius and the tragic Orestes

John and Jesus writing sins in the sand

John and Nona's echoing chapters

John's motivations

Is Alecto just as guilty as John?

John's cult (and what he might have done to them)

The horror of Jod

Did John get bloodsweat before he became god?

Some very silly thoughts about John and Abigail arguing about academia

Overthinking the Nine Houses:

'No retainers, no attendants, no domestics'

Funerary customs and the violence of John's silence

Juno Zeta and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time

The horror of the River bubble

Every instance of 'is this how it happens' in HTN

Feudalism is still shitty even if you make it queer and sex positive

How do stele work?

Thought crime in the Nine Houses

The Houses have a population the size of Canada

What must it be like to fight the Houses?

You know what can't have been fun? Merv wing's megatruck on Varun day...

Augustine's very Catholic hobby (decorating skeletons)

Necromancers are not thin in a conventionally attractive way

Matching the Houses with the planets of the solar system (though perhaps the Fourth *is* on Saturn)

Why don't the Nine Houses have (consistent) vaccination or varifocals?

How would the Houses react to the deaths at Canaan House?

How does Wake understand her own name (languages over 10,000 years)

What pre-resurrection texts are known in the Houses?

Camilla and Palamedes very Platonic relationship (further thoughts)

The horrors the Cohort found at Canaan House

Do the Houses understand the tech keeping them alive?

The scions from an external perspective (sci fi baddies)

Cav cots

The Nine Houses and feudalism

The horrors of early necromantic education

[angelinthefire]

Montage and "Cocktail Molotov" pt 1

I think montages sometimes get a bad rap. They're often associated with speeding through a character's training in sports movies or whatever. But when the technique originated with Sergei Eisenstein in the 1920s, it was groundbreaking.

The idea is that by placing unrelated shots next to each other, the viewer makes connections that they would not have made otherwise. It adds meaning and evokes emotion.

"Cocktail Molotov" is a great example of a well-done montage, I think for a couple of reasons.

The scene itself consists of intercutting between Vi fighting in the ring, and Vi spiralling outside of the ring. Creating the sense that her life is a fight, and one that she's losing.

But I actually want to focus on something more specific: shots of coins spinning.

After Vi's initial reintroduction, the bag of money dropping on the table and coins spilling out is the first shot. It really gets the montage going. So it must be important, right? But why would that be if all it's supposed to represent is money?

There's four shots of the coins. here they are in context.

1: the shot takes us from Vi in the ring to Vi at the bar.

2: the shot connects Vi fighting in the ring with her opponents hitting the ground.

3. The shot interrupts a different shot of Vi passing out drunk at the bar.

4. The shot of the spinning coin finally dropping connects Vi looking in the mirror to Vi punching her reflection.

Those four instances invite different interpretations, that build on each other.

In the first instance, there's a straightforward narrative interpretation. Vi fights, she gets paid, she goes drinking.

In the second instance, taken in isolation the implication is that Vi is getting paid for winning fights. But we already knew that, so why include it? There's something else going on.

In the third instance, taken in isolation it might mean that Vi is spending all her money on drinking. But that's not really the main story here. The coins are definitely more abstract at this point. You start making connections between the image and what it evokes, not what it literally is. Spinning thoughts, spinning in place.

In the fourth instance, it's clearly supposed to be more abstract. The coin stops spinning, and drops. Like a thought dropping, like something breaking, something collapsing. It's Vi not being able to take it.

That's what montage does, it creates symbolism through juxtaposition. And in a lot of cases, like here, through repetion. The role of repetition is also really important in this segment, there's a lot of repeating shots, and each one adds an additional lay of meaning.

And then that meaning can be read backwards too. By the fourth time they appear, the coins are clearly symbolic, but did they ever just represent money? No, it was always Vi's consciousness, how she has the same thoughts spinning in her head that keep going around.

In addition, a great detail that's hard to pick up when watching the show at normal speed, is what's on the coin.

It's the events around the bombing of the council chamber that are haunting Vi. The whole story starts with the coins, spinning, like Vi is turning events around in her head, Jinx firing on the council, killing Caitlyn's mother, everything that happened after. It's always there throughout, spinning in her head.

I think it's significant that just before the final bit with the coin, Vi is shown being taken home by Loris, and we see that the Kiramman banner is hanging in the street outside Vi's apartment. So this is something that she really cannot escape.

She's trying to escape into fighting and drinking, but she's paid in these coins, and the Kiramman banner hangs outside her door. It's always there. Like she's trapped, in a pit, in a prison cell.

And that's what the lyrics of the song say as well:

So lock me up, I cannot take it / Lock me up, I've already lost / Lock me up, I've gone and jinxed it / Hold my cocktail Molotov

She was in prison for so long, and she's back to feeling like she's locked up.

[candeathbereal]

Small Astro observations

-Sun conjunct ascendant in synastry is an odd moment for me. Mostly cause as a Leo rising I have met some Leo suns and I have no bad blood for them. It just feels weird because most times the Sun person will mimic the ascendant person in some way. From what I’ve noticed at least. Maybe my Uranus being in my seventh house has a mild affect because Aquarius is all about uniqueness or something along those lines. So naturally I can enjoy the idea of someone doing/acting similar to me but not enough to make a bond with a person. Idk it feels odd for me at least. Other people enjoy it though but maybe it’s just my ego talking idk.

-Pisces suns from what I have seen have either sleepy eyes or something distinct about their teeth. Some people have said that Pisces have fish teeth but that isn't all they can have. Idk I've noticed that most Pisces I have met can have fish like teeth but overall their teeth just has something distinct about them. For instance, my dad has almost no teeth but still chooses to eat steak and all that even though it doesn't seem that easy for him to do. I also think it's the Taurus moon and mars that adds to his stubbornness. You could read this observation for either tropical or sidereal since I've seen the same with some Aries suns (tropical). I myself am an Aries sun but Pisces sun in sidereal and I have a lazy eye and some interesting teeth imo. Mostly cause I have two sharp teeth kinda where you would see vampire fangs but I have a similar moment with two bottom teeth like directly below my other two teeth. There is just a odd sharpness to them that my other teeth don't have. Plus I have always had problems with my teeth to the point that apparently at the age of 12 I had to get most of my back teeth removed (they were baby teeth so they grew back).

-3rd house synastry creates more of a sibling like bond with a person or that person could remind you of one of your siblings (depends on you I guess idk how many siblings people have so yeah). Whereas 4th house synastry has more of a likelihood to remind you of a general family member as opposed to one of your siblings or just a sibling in general. I've noticed that 4th house synastry causes an emotional comfort where you can talk about your trauma or just childhood in general with someone one, but 3rd house synastry is more like a weird assumption that you don't really have to talk about that because somehow it is just accepted that you know it. Again kinda like a sibling moment cause most times you don't have to have deep talks about your childhood with your siblings (at least for me most times). Funnily enough I have fourth house synastry with both my sister and one of my brothers (I have my moon in my sister's fourth house whereas my brother has his moon in my fourth house), so we do have those talks about our trauma and such. Honestly I have always felt more close (emotionally) with them than my own parents. It's an interesting bond for sure for me. I feel very lucky that I have that bond with my siblings.

-6th house synastry is a moment to live through because it can manifest differently based on the planet. I think moon in sixth house causes the most mixed reactions to each other, because the sixth house is all about routine and service. So the moon being there causes a emotional bond for each other through service towards each other. Although it does depend on other aspects of the synastry most times it's a mutual I help you you help me kinda vibe to it. I think it can work out but both parties would have to have some level of emotional maturity or even just a lack of Pluto influence. It's not like it can't work out with Pluto influence but it just would take a lot more work since Pluto is a little cunt who likes messing around with shit so the emotions get fucked around with the most. I can't blame Pluto too much for it since it is a planet all about transformation and obsession and people can control their own actions. Take what you can from what I said.

Anyways I haven't posted in a while so I figured I'd do that real quick cause it would feel wrong not to. I would love to hear you guy's thoughts on this or even anything at all. Feel free to message me for any questions you might have. I can't guarantee anything great or even smart. A veces no tengo sentido. Todavia estoy aprendiendo espanol asi que pido disculpas por mi mal espanol

[sangoqueenkoko]

Alhaitham

“i just asked (Y/N) out…”

fluff

DENDRO MASTERLIST | DRABBLE MASTERLIST

.

Valentine’s Day prompt: “i just asked (Y/N) out…”

Warnings? Two bad words (bastard and fuck)

Featuring Cyno, Kaveh and Tighnari!

Note: i genuinely didn’t expect Alhaitham to win, but i like how he matches the prompt! and i used Uno online for this. please let me. it's for a VOD reference.

and happy belated birthday to the man himself! rerun when?

1.2k words.

It's February time once again, so you know what that means. Valentine's Day! And that also means that every other shop and stall in Sumeru city would have a hint of pink within their products, aka, Valentine's gifts.

That includes Lambad's tavern, and they have a new Valentine's menu.

One of these menus was placed on every table throughout the tavern. And they would be picked up or looked at regardless.

And one of them was being cleared for a... card game. TCG to be more specific.

A blonde guy picked up a menu, looking at one side before turning it over to look at the other side, he looked rather young. As he did his two other friends who were setting up the game. One with black hair and one ash-white.

He sighed, "another year, another instance of seeing others around you happy with another.”

"You say this just about every year, Kaveh" the ash-white-haired one, also known as Cyno, said as he shuffled the deck of cards before dividing them into four smaller decks. One for each quarter of the table. "It never changes."

"Something should change soon" the black-haired person, Tighnari said, as he bought some drinks to start off the game. He set them down on the table just as the fourth friend came in and joined them.

"Well look who finally decided to show up!" Kaveh said with his hands on his hips, shaking his head with a sigh. The grey-haired feeble scholar walked over, sitting down at one of the chairs and immediately crossed his arms. He only hummed in response.

The day contained many games of TCG and many drinks, and no one managed to get drunk, surprisingly. They even tried a new card game.

Uno.

It took some time to get used to the game and its rules but it did lead to some laughable moments.

"Kaveh, I'm really curious," Cyno said as he looked over his deck with a smirk before placing down a blue seven, "let me see your hand."

This meant they had to swap decks. And Kaveh wasn't happy.

"NOOOO" he shrieked, garnering some confused looks from the tavern's other patrons. This made Alhaitham let out a laugh.

"You bastard!" Kaveh cursed.

As well as...

"Fuck 'em up, Nari" Cyno quipped.

"Uh.. okay..." Tighnari had two cards left, and Kaveh had one, which was a wild card. But Tighnari put down a +1, which made Kaveh...

"OOUUUAAAGH!" Again. Garnering the confused and slightly concerned look of other patrons.

"Nice, nice" Cyno complimented, "well done."

"Damn, that was a shriek," Alhaitham said with a slight wince as he sat beside an annoyed Kaveh.

Later that evening, not long before the tavern would be closing, they finished their current game and packed it all away.

Tighnari stood to the side looking around absentmindedly while the others waited for Cyno to organise his cards and put them away when he thought of something.

He has Cyno as a makeshift Valentine's, they do it as a friendship type of thing. Kaveh isn't bothered with the occasion this year as he's working on a big project and won't have the time for it. And that left a question for Alhaitham.

"Hey Alhaitham?" he spoke, the seemingly stone-faced man looked towards him in response, "When are you going to get a partner? I am sure with your charms you'll be able to win them over."

That made all three of the other men's attention focus on him, Cyno seemed to have frozen regarding the question and Kaveh seemed surprised. The only one that didn't seem to have a visible reaction was the man himself - Alhaitham. Of course.

"Who's to say I don't?" he said rhetorically, "you don't know that. I don't need to tell you all about my dating life."

"Wai-wai-wait" Cyno said, holding the card deck in its box in one of his hands, "just give it to us straight. Are you dating someone or not? Just say yes or no."

And he replied with a simple, "no."

It is true. He wasn't dating anyone. But it isn't a lie when he wishes that he was. He has seen someone around the city on some occasions. He has met with them a couple of times too. And they have hung out with him and the others too.

That being you.

Yes, you.

He wishes he could get to know you on a more personal level, but he wasn't quite sure how to approach you. Yes, he has the 'charms,' but sometimes they wouldn't always work surprisingly enough. Nor had he had the time to actually use them, he was at the Akadamiya all day and got home late sometimes, the only person he saw the most out of work was Kaveh, even that was debatable sometimes.

"Why don't you, you know, get out there and get to know some people," Cyno said, "touch some grass."

Kaveh and Tighnari sighed at his ‘joke.’

"Whatever" Alhaitham hummed before he mumbled, "I already have an.. interest in someone." He thought no one would hear. But a part of his soul left his body when Kaveh reacted.

"WHAT?!" Kaveh exclaimed. At this point, they were in the area in front of the tavern, overlooking the small port of Sumeru city. People's attention was brought to him again.

"Would you keep your voice down??" Alhaitham hissed. He was tired of this conversation already so he does what he's done multiple times.

He just walks away, back home. Without saying anything.

Kaveh would follow later after saying his goodbyes to Cyno and Tighnari.

A few days later, Alhaitham was around in the city for a walk when he ran into you, doing your own errands, and he was taken aback for some reason. Despite you hanging around with the four of them from time to time. The five of you were good friends.

"Oh, hey Alhaitham" you smiled kindly with a polite wave, you noticed that the tips of his ears were going red quickly, yet you never mentioned it.

"Oh, hey (Y/N)" Alhaitham said with his constant straight expression, trying to not give away his blushing emotions. But he didn't know that he was technically failing. "May I ask what you're doing today?"

Surprised by the sudden question, you replied back with delight, "oh, I am just doing some errands. Want to join me?"

"I don't see why not."

The next time Alhaitham, Cyno, Kaveh and Tighnari met up again for TCG was a little while later as it was best for each other's schedules, and, surprise surprise, Alhaitham was the last one to arrive.

Some time into the day, between games, they would have a chat. And the current topic of discussion was how each other's 'Valentine's' went. And it was good. Good.

Tighnari and Cyno hung out together as friends.

And Kaveh finally got some well-deserved rest.

But when they asked how Alhaithams went, they were quite surprised, to say the least at the answer. Even Kaveh, who lives with him, had no idea about this until now.

"i just asked (Y/N) out..."

[metalheads-trash-bin]

Bro was watching with their eyes closed if you can truly saying there was no lore or horror.

Im a writer, artist, and creator. I am OBSESSED with horror and lore like elements. Some of my favorite horror movies are Midsommar and Hereditary. I am PICKY about what I like and don’t. But now you get a ramble because you poked the bear.

POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER 4 RANT:

Poppy playtime had a lot of factors that were hinted at through trailers and teasers to be significant, for instance with Pianosaurus who had clips of playing notes and attacking you. He had multiple hints and teasers only to end up getting IMMEDIATELY killed as soon as you see him, no notes, no nothing. That was my first serious issue. First character killed off.

Then as you’re playing (Yarnaby was ALSO meant to be significant based on the MANY teasers and clips) Yarnaby is meant to be chasing you around and causing general problems, and he is in some aspects but for the amount of content posted about him you’d think that he’d be as important as Mommy Longlegs. He isn’t’, he chases you a good bit of the game but the most you get lore wise is the fact that he’s been manipulated and groomed by the doctor via notes and recording. Second Character killed off.

As you proceed on you meet Doey, who murks the fuck out of Pianosaurus. Doey had a lot of aspects I liked at first, but they played too intensely into his “wounded soldier” role which makes you feel borderline conditioned to like him. I like the fact that he has some sort of personality disorder which is evident through his emotion blobs inside his monster mouth. I also like how they handled regression vs aggression through his talking points. But his content (the vcrs, the kid clip, notes) were all so violently pointing at him being a bad person that it left little for your own skepticism. Third character killed off.

The doctor should’ve had a lot more lore attached to him as well, i understand why there was a lot of mystery with him but he genuinely didn’t seem like a semi main antagonist and was moreso just another thing to fight. A lot of that has to do with the way the game set itself up, you’re practically fighting back to back to back without any real rest breaks, there’s some forms of wandering and learning but its overall very lackluster. Fourth character killed off.

They killed off FOUR characters in ONE chapter, that goes against so many logically driven game laws. You bring four new characters in and rapid murder them in the same chapter, and a lot of that aspect made it so you couldn’t get emotionally invested into the situation or characters.

Thats just the first segment as to what I disliked. Onto the next.

The lore..ohhh the lore. How you went from something we have barely seen in games to another setup of disappointment. If you know anything about FNAF security breach + Ruin you know where I’m going.

First off, a lot of the VCRS are just dead images this chapter, making you have to sit there and watch in room that have little to interact with as you do so. A way to fix this would’ve been a cassette tape wrist band and cassettes, which is very possible for the prison to have as the area down below is so huge, so people would want to document what they find and see verbally to be written down. Having a cassette wrist band would’ve made it so the character could still wander and also give a better break between chaotic scenes, but instead you were stuck staring at a still image that pertains to a character. It no longer had a fear factor, it was just..there. Alongside this you have all of these toys and characters that are new but no merch for them on the upper levels? Its like they didn’t logistically plan to have the characters they did, as theres a multitude of merch for characters we NEVER SEE. (Daddy longlegs, catbee, stegosaurus, etc.)

Secondly, the creators were bragging on twitter about the amount of lore they dropped and how it’ll give you “a lot to think about”. It doesnt. A majority of what was dropped (for instance Ollie being the prototype) was already rumored as we saw this WITH FNAF RUINS. Fnaf ruins did the mimic route, fnaf in general did the children stuck in mascots route, it also did an evil dude that practically grooms children route. So much of that was already seen, and this chapter focused way too much on that vs the things that are different between them. It was nice to read more about the experimentation process and the fact that they were practically mutants that mixed with kids and toys but that was also rumored. Overall a majority of the lore here was just confirmations.

As for the horror aspect, there genuinely wasn’t one. There’s a HUGE difference between just having gore and bodies everywhere vs genuinely frightening horror. Chapter Three was a masterpiece in this element alongside lore and world building. The way you know youre being stalked, the unsettling scenes and audio, the hallucinations, etc etc. instead of continuing with a more uncanny valley approach they went full on “heres some bodies and guys chasing you” route. Theres bodies everywhere, okay cool. A guy is obviously implied to be crucified which in itself has lore as crucifixion was typically to ask for forgiveness from god, okay cool. But where was the stalking? The seriously traumatic parts? Where was the genuine unsettlingness? It wasnt there, you wandered around helping out characters and getting murked. But you werent SUCKED IN like you were with chapter three, where you felt genuinely stuck and terrified having something follow you around silently, not to mention how graphic the lore and implications were.

It felt messy and jumbled, especially with the world building it was attempting. There was borderline too much and you hung around certain key areas too little, for instance with Safe Haven there genuinely isnt much to do besides look around and proceed. Its in no way interactive and its moreso just a buffer.

The innerworkings of this chapter were very typical, the prison was definitely a surprise but the corruption, abuse, experimentation, etc were not. And the fact that the characters keep saying “this isnt like anything you saw up above” really made you anticipate much more terrifying aspects. Not bodies everywhere. It made the game boring, especially because of all the anticipation the creators gave, saying this was the most adult chapter yet.

There was just..a lot that was disappointing, especially when compared to the previous chapter which had you constantly on edge. I really hope they pick it up a notch in the final chapter, because this was full of false promise. They should’ve continued with the unsettling factor, gore is good but it needs a stable foundation and true meaning. I read all the documents and listened to all the tapes, and the foundation was still very weak and sooo much of it was already thought about or rumored. Everyone knew Ollie was the prototype, everyone knew that they were some sort of living being put into toys, everyone knew that there mustve been some sort of additional assistance to the prototype to keep things going because he is wayyyy too invested in the mc to keep whatever plan he had (which is now known) going.

Another good horror game that got too lazy with its writing.

Next.

[thingsidrawgohere]

I just finished my first run of DA4 and let me say- I probably got my money's worth. If one wants to view the experience via a purely mercantile lens. I found many bits of cheese and touched the insides of many angry creatures. But if one wishes to frame the thing as Art- Hell, if one wants to solely discuss it as the Fourth in a series of lore-dense, narrative RPGs, then, Cousin, We've Got Problems. Three interconnected niggling ideas that kinda all lead to the conclusion- for me, at least- that modern design practices simply do not trust the player. News flash, right?

Anyways, I think I'm going to have some thoughts on this subject to avoid other thoughts, thank you.

Full-Throated Spoilers Beyond. And a lot of them. It's long.

Idea 1: DA2 is my favorite of the series. That's not the problem; it's the setup. I know what I'm about and it's interesting characters interacting over time. Flawed characters. Abrasive, opinionated, STUPID ASS ANDERS characters. The story was scaled well for a handful of total losers and it was political. The most humanly political of all the games, I think. That's a very low bar, particularly for AAA, but it felt better to stand in a street, to be personally effected by events, than to look at a literal map of icons and notes and distant decisions as in DA3. It's important, I think, for DA to be about Being, Getting Dirty. You aren't a king. You shouldn't be.

Side Note 1: DA2 is a fucking miracle. The old gag that FO New Vegas, blessed be, was made in 18 months is trotted out to display Can-Do Attitude and DEEPLY unethical labor practices. DA2 got less time, fewer reusable assets (due to a different art style), and had to rebuild most of the engine. A. Miracle.

DA4, on the other hand, has a series of supportive, well-adapted people who have all worked very hard on themselves in therapy and know all the fucking right words to say. They chat with one another with kindness and sober fondness. In the One Instance of interpersonal friction, it is resolved with grace and speed. I find this Horrid. They fucking forgot to give these people negative traits. It's likability slurry. They experience no hard growth, hold no horseshit ideas, suffer no lingering doubts. It's not only unnatural but it's lifeless. It becomes Written. I can see the fucking author waving at me. I've got a note from my run that reads 'Rook told the man who is forcibly living inside his head "Thank you sharing that" and I want to scream.'

And that would be bad enough except the ideas are there. You've got a reluctant father story. Someone trapped between two cultures. A older man, already terrified of aging, of death, taking a Much Younger lover. That's Fucking Meat. I can see the writers straining against something but what they deliver is still person-shaped missed opportunities that repeat, that repeat, that repeat. It's So Frustrating. There's flashes of Good Writing. Of good character beats. But Also- from my notes, a character had just held her brother as he died, inexplicably for a second time, and Rook gives her a little pep talk that ends with him asking "You good?"

And the fucking woman says "I'm good" in response. She seemed to mean it.

How does one- react to that as a viewer? I told a man who wanted to be a lich more than anything to Not and he was cool with it. He never brought up being a lich again. He wasn't even upset. I let a man's city die and he's like I Get It, Bro. No Harsh Vibes. It rings hollow.

Talking over Solas' memories, collectively pulling out the meaning behind them- that was some of the best characters-interacting writing in the whole thing. And it's HOURS into the game. A shame.

Side Note 2: A lot of a loved-one death as motivation in this old refrigerator. If you get a name and one line, Oh Boy Brother, you are prolly gonna die bad. Lazy.

If I'm going to talk about Emmrich, let's talk about his romance. I honestly thought it was bugged. I Am playing through another run as a comparative but Wow. Larian and BG3 absolutely reconfigured what's acceptable in these types of story beats. This particular romance felt regressive, in a sense. Like a last minute addition. The very definition of love coins. No charisma or honest affection between the characters. Nothing allowed to percolate (more on that in a second). Just- now you are ROMANCED. Which means on the Blue Moon instance he has anything to say regarding being in a relationship, the best you can get is a 'dearest' at the end of a sentence. I was Excited by the idea of Emmrich really struggling with a May/December situation but he Doesn't. He has a few lines implying that he Could but it leads nowhere.

And they fuck in a coffin (???) and it's not even hot (!!!). Unforgivable. Double Unforgivable. I heard there was spice in this game? This is baking soda.

Related, a few lines awkwardly dodged the question of Emmrich's previous relationships and I have an inkling, without experiencing the other romances, that this is the world's largest case of gun-shy after the backlash with DA3's non-playersexual romances. This man can not be confirmed to be Anything but Into Rook, whatever they might be. There was also a throwaway line with Taash how she prefers women and that's as much as I saw of explicit preferences. I don't envy anyone trying to address the rabidity of fandom but it feels like unnecessary acrobatics.

Side Oh No: It's so bad that I'm honestly thinking of doing a fixit fic regarding the romance/character writing. And God, I can't right now. I have to finish my other project first.

Idea 2: The pacing. That's what ruins so much. There was a scene of a gnarled, fucked-up gate, torn from its hinges. And my guy says "Something Big must have torn apart that gate" all ominous, building a sense of- Nope. The very big darkspawn is standing ten feet away on the other side. I hadn't even swung the camera around the hall to see it before my guy goes "That big darkspawn must have torn apart the gate!"

Yes, I know there's an issue in open world games these days wherein devs are allergic to a player's millisecond of not knowing where to go but this feels applicable across the whole game. A problem isn't allowed to fester. It is brought to attention and then swiftly dealt with. If there's a locked door, a difficult decision, a feeling beyond Protestant determination, it will be dealt with, Post Fucking Haste. It's like the game doesn't trust the player to hold tension.

This happens not just in barks or small set pieces. Whole arcs work this way. Like Harding's longterm personal quest. She gets a handful of lines about feeling vaguely angry or perhaps thinking she Should be More angry about Lore Dump Retcon and then at her culmination, she's fighting her own anger. A vicious, hot, searing thing- and it wasn't earned. At all. There was room to telegraph this theme, bury it in the dirt to let grow roots. They didn't. One Line was given about her people pleasing tendencies And she's not really shown to be people pleasing to her own detriment. This is Chekhov's Gun in running shoes. It doesn't work. It feels like it comes out of left field.

Hell, there was a mission that was like SURVIVE IF YOU CAN and it was like- literally a long hallway. The Pacing is all Off.

Idea 3: I don't like that I must do this but DA4 doesn't understand its own flavor. The One Thing you Cannot Do is have Minrathous, the city of slaves and blood mages, seem nice. Particularly in the poor parts of town. You Cannot have the Crows be a lovely dovey band of scamps. You Cannot have the Blight be reversible. You Cannot CANNOT say "elves have it pretty good" as my Elvish Rook said with his face flaps. No. NO. You Cannot side-step the politics of this setting. These are the bones on which these characters are hung. To lessen the world is to lessen, to decomplexify them.

You know what my elf didn't hear in the town that canonically trades in bodies that look his? Knife ear. Eh to fantasy slurs but my point is no one said a cross word to my guy. The Qunari living in the town that had been warring with the Qunari for Centuries seemed totes fine. There were no alienages. There were no proper templars- even from other regions. No Mage Circles. No mage issues at all. Hardly anything whatsoever regarding the Chantry or Andrastianism, even as the game takes place in the Super Anti-Pope town. I had a literal demon-possessed man in my party and the world did not react.

I had a friend describe this Thedas as feeling smoothed out and Yeah. It feels like all the nasty bumps have been deemed undesirable. I don't know what to make of it. Is this simply taking the world in a different direction? Is it a mandate to tone down the unpleasantness, for sales? A shift in design ethos? Is this a sign of a very troubled project as it was with Andromeda?

I don't know. Is this still a Dragon Age game without its politics? There's enough here for me to wonder if Bioware is even Bioware anymore. There's a TREMENDOUS amount of work, of skill in DA4. Just Absurd. The environments are thick, Thicc. But work alone is not a virtue. Have we ship of Theseus'd so far that the people- the real people, not the logos- who have interests aligned with what made DA1 special are no longer there? Something went wrong with this project, narratively. Something I don't know how to fix without addressing basement level assumptions I'm clearly not privy to. I hope they can.

Final Thoughts: Game development is a fucking hole into which one pours one's relationships, time, and health, physical, mental both. It gives satisfaction very rarely. They shipped. In that way, huge success. It's not even, fundamentally, a 'bad game'. But it is a victim of a modern philosophy of pre-chewed ideas and player distrust. VGs are ultimately a business and, in these last few years, there's been a unimaginable devastation to the workers in the industry- even as the money flows ever upward. The desire to sell well has morphed into a NEED to sell well, even among the 'kept' studios. Big studios, Grand Dame Studios sitting on top of past critical and financial successes, been killed by their overlords recently. No one is safe. It's suddenly quite dangerous for large studios to make anything remotely niche, remotely unclear and Bioware has both Andromeda And Anthem under its belt. They're probably feeling the pinch. They needed a hit and hits, these days, are increasingly smooth. And DA4 is very smooth.

That's just my feeling on the matter. I'll see what a second run yields.

Smaller thoughts:

I don't care about the combat but that was- odd. The illusion of depth with all the skill trees and types of damage and subsystems of attack- all boiling down to a one button push. It's odd. I played rogue on PC so perhaps it's different for other classes, on console. But I pressed the button at the man and when I got a halo, I pressed another button and then pressed the first button again. No matter where I was on the skill tree, it never changed, never felt different. I don't know. It felt. Odd?

There was a Honest To God "It's quiet- Too quiet" and it just Happened. I would have pulled out every one of my teeth to avoid that. I get the jokey-okey but fuck, man.

Where's the chest hair? WHERE? Body hair? ANYTHING? Davrin has plastic chest. It's freaky.

Gloom Howler Gloom Howler Gloom Howler. Frankly, that whole storyline had a large gulg of the farcical. I laughed my ass entirely off when, upon her defeat, the Gloom Howler said "I'm sorry" and took a nap so hard that the scene wiped to 'some time later'. That was insane editing. PACING. And- naming. Gloom Howler. Gloom. Howler.

Teeth. Dear God, the teeth.

The devs were in a real pickle here, no doubt. My great sympathies. There's an Overwhelming abundance of world states that DA3 could have left on the board and I understand the balancing act between acknowledging the events of older games and staying generic enough DA4 could apply to All of them. Is Cassandra the White Divine? Or is Leliana? It's a nightmare of choices. Any of the people that Could be Divine can not be mentioned without lore issues. Who's on the throne in Orlais? Ferelden? Where's beloved so-and-so? Dorian canonically did return to Minrathous so he can 'safely' appear in game- but he fucking can't talk about Iron Bull, who may or may not be alive. Isabela canonically goes back to piracy but she can't talk about events in Kirkwall because she may not have been there for them. Oof. That's not a lot you are Allowed to acknowledge. The Poor Bastards.

Watched a braid slip off a person's shoulder, organically, as they were talking. Started at the bottom and look where we're at, technologically. And speaking on the technical, a lot of textures didn't load right. For the entire game, my guy's left shoulder armour thing had a much lower rez texture than the rest. Three hard crashes, which isn't the worst. One Wonderful mission wherein Lucanis' hair and his knives were the only bits of him to render.

I'm not touching the non-binary storyline. It was clunky, for sure, but the greatest sin was using Our words. There is canonical words for NGC/NB people in fiction and to not use them shows a fundamental distrust towards the source material and the players both. It's the linguistic version of the quest marker or the barks telling you where to go.

I still don't know how I feel about the dead Varric twist. Feels goofball but he got to hang out in his little pajamas. I wish I was in little pajamas.

Solas was pretty fucking tight but I think a lot of that was due to his VA. Something about the voice direction, in general, felt- flat? But old Solas was doing it good.

Ending. God, I get it. People are tired and satisfying endings are hard. And DLC exists, more cynically. But Hells Bells, I'm getting to the point wherein even the slideshow is annoying. Give me a fucking Ending to the Choice Game. Don't you fucking 'Spider-Man Will Return' at me, you bastard. I'm a child of fucking god.

Yes, I got the secret ending. I know. That was Also bullshit.

I feel better getting that all out of my system. Thank you for sharing that.