#castle stunt work

[ijustwannabecool]

The Finish Line Was Always You

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary... The world didn’t know he had someone. Let alone that he was marrying her. On the eve of your wedding in a hidden castle off the coast of Greece, old insecurities creep in. Meanwhile, Max reflects on the life he had before you—and how nothing mattered until you walked into it.

Trigger Warning: Smut, language, insecurities, mentions of past toxic relationships, emotional vulnerability, fluff overload, wedding vibes, soft husband!Max

A/N: happy reading! I hope you enjoy this story. If you like it, please reblog, like, and comment your thoughts. I wanna read your guys' thoughts. As always, requests are open. Have a beautiful day :)

----

Greece — The Night Before

The castle was a dream.

A place carved into white cliffside and kissed by sea spray. You’d first seen it in a magazine, circled it in ink, and said: this one. Max hadn’t blinked.

“If this is the one you want, it’s ours.”

You didn’t need a thousand guests or a week of events. Just this—just him.

But tonight, tucked into a suite made of stone and silk, you couldn’t sleep. Not from nerves about the dress or the weather or whether the catering team would remember your sister’s allergies.

No—it was deeper. Older.

That feeling in your chest that said maybe you weren’t meant for things like this. Maybe this was a dream you’d wake from before vows were ever exchanged.

Your fingers fidget with the edge of your robe as the sea wind dances through the open balcony doors. Lavender bushes rustle, waves crash below, and somewhere out there, Max is asleep.

You hope.

Because you’re not.

And you don’t realize that at the same time, he’s wide awake too—thinking about the first time he saw you.

---

Monaco – Flashback

Max used to date models.

Not because he liked the spotlight—they just happened to be who floated in and out of his world. Parties, paddocks, premieres. The kind of women who knew their angles and posted the right photos. Beautiful, yes. Impressive, sure.

But never real.

He remembers sitting across from one on a rooftop in Monaco. Candlelight. Champagne. A view of the harbor.

She scrolled Instagram while he talked about karting.

When he made a joke about losing to Lando in an iRacing sim the day before, she blinked slowly and asked, “What’s iRacing?”

It wasn’t her fault. But it was always like that. These dinners that felt like briefings. Women who wanted Max Verstappen the brand—not Max, the person.

So he stopped looking.

And then you walked into his life like a crash he didn’t see coming.

No PR stunts. No staged paddock photos. You were working at a café in Amsterdam when he ducked in, hoodie up, craving something sweet after a long sim session.

You served him a slice of chocolate cake and said, “You look like you need a nap.”

He snorted mid-bite. "You have no idea."

You didn’t ask for a photo. You didn’t even flinch when he said his name. You just poured his coffee and said, “Cool. Still think you need a nap.”

You were sarcastic. A little chaotic. Completely unimpressed. And the second he left, he turned right back around and asked for your number—cheeks pinker than he'd admit.

---

Present — Castle Suite, Midnight

You try counting breaths. Focus on the white drapes swaying in the breeze. But your chest is tight.

Your hand finds your phone.

To Max: Can’t sleep.

You don’t expect an answer.

Until— Max: Me neither. Door’s open.

You don’t hesitate.

You grab the keycard he gave you earlier, wrap yourself in the robe, and tiptoe across the cobblestone courtyard barefoot.

The castle is ancient. Quiet. Lit only by moonlight and flickering candles left from dinner.

When you press open the door to his suite, Max is lying in bed, chest bare, eyes already on you.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, voice deep and rough.

You crawl into bed without a word. His arms are open before you even ask.

“You nervous?” he asks softly, brushing your hair from your forehead.

You nod. “A little. Just feels too good to be true.”

Max frowns. “It’s real. I’m here. Tomorrow is real.”

“I know. But part of me keeps thinking… what if you wake up one day and realize you could’ve had someone more—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, tone serious now. “Don’t finish that sentence. I don’t want someone more. I want you.”

Your throat tightens. “Why?”

His fingers brush your cheek. “Because you’re the only person who’s ever seen me—not the trophies, not the noise—me.”

You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in.

“You wanna sleep here tonight?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod against his collarbone. “Tradition can suck it.”

His laugh rumbles beneath your cheek.

“I’m marrying you tomorrow,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

“I’m gonna spend the rest of my life loving you. You believe that?”

You nod again, and this time, it’s steady.

“Good,” Max whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then sleep. I’ve got you.”

---

Greece - The Morning Of the Wedding

You wake up wrapped in Max’s arms, your back to his chest, his nose buried in your neck. Sunlight cuts through the white linen curtains, and for a minute—just one—everything is still.

Then the day comes rushing in.

You’re getting married.

Max hums when you try to move. “No. Five more minutes.”

“You’re not supposed to see me today, remember?”

“Screw that.” He pulls you tighter, his voice raspy. “You already broke tradition last night. Might as well finish the job.”

You giggle, turning in his arms to face him.

He looks at you like you’re something he’s still afraid to blink at, in case you disappear. His thumb brushes under your eye, across your cheek, then lingers near your lips.

"You're sure?" you whisper.

Max just nods. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

And somehow, that’s all you need.

---

Castle Courtyard – Just Before the Ceremony

You’re standing behind a stone wall, arm hooked through your sister’s, waiting for the music to start.

You can hear the ocean. The chatter. The quiet hush as guests take their seats.

And then—

The music shifts. Strings swell.

You breathe.

You step out.

And Max sees you.

He didn’t believe in fate. Not until you.

But the moment you step into the courtyard, framed by sun and silk and stone, something inside him crumbles.

His breath catches.

And for once in his life, Max Verstappen forgets how to be composed.

His eyes blur. His lips part. A single tear escapes before he can stop it.

He’s seen podiums. Trophies. Glory.

But nothing—nothing—has ever looked like you.

His best man, Daniel, leans over and whispers, “Breathe.”

Max doesn't hear him.

Because you’re walking toward him now. And all he can do is watch.

---

Your voice trembles, but you don’t stop.

“I’ve never known peace like I do with you,” you whisper, tears brimming. “You see every messy, imperfect part of me and love me more because of it. You are the calm in the noise, the warmth in the cold. My best friend. My favorite person. My home.”

Max blinks rapidly, lips twitching at the corners.

He steps closer.

His vow is soft, simple, raw.

“I didn’t know what I was missing until I met you. But now I can’t imagine a single day without you in it. I don’t need podiums. I don’t need legacy. I just need you. Forever.”

There’s no dramatic kiss. No choreographed moment.

Just his hands on your waist. Your nose brushing his.

And when he finally leans in, the whole world disappears.

---

Reception – Garden Dinner

The garden glows under strings of warm light. Olive trees sway in the breeze. A long dinner table stretches across the lawn, full of candles, laughter, clinking glasses.

You sit beside Max, your hands tangled under the table.

Your cheeks ache from smiling. Max can’t stop looking at you.

He whispers things between bites of dinner. Like, “That dress is going to drive me crazy,” and “You looked like a goddess walking toward me,” and “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

It’s intimate. Warm. Nothing like what the tabloids would've imagined for him.

And that’s the point.

This isn’t for the world.

It’s for you.

---

Later — Honeymoon Suite, Greece

Max carries you over the threshold like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

You’re both quiet at first. Eyes wide. Breathing soft.

You’re married.

The dress falls to the floor. His shirt follows. Fingers trace over bare skin, reverent.

“I want to remember everything,” he whispers against your neck.

You nod, arms around his neck. “Take your time.”

Max lays you back on the bed like he’s setting down something sacred.

His mouth finds your collarbone. Your sternum. The soft underside of your breast. Every inch of you gets a kiss, a murmur of Dutch under his breath you don’t understand—but feel in your bones.

“Mine,” he mutters as he lowers himself between your thighs, licking a slow stripe that makes your back arch. “You’re mine now.”

Your fingers thread through his hair. Your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

“Max…”

“Let me taste my wife,” he growls.

And he does. Until you're gasping. Writhing. Coming with a cry that echoes through the stone walls.

--

You're still shaking when he slides up your body, pressing his mouth to yours so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

"Ready?" he asks, voice hoarse, tip already nudging at your entrance.

You nod, desperate.

He pushes in slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel like heaven.”

Your hips meet his, and the world fades.

There’s no rush.

He moves with purpose. Kisses you like a man starved. Tells you over and over that you’re beautiful. That you’re his.

When you come again���sobbing his name into his neck—he lets go too, burying himself deep as he moans into your shoulder.

---

You're wrapped in blankets, tangled together, his hand tracing over your ring.

“I want a million nights like this,” you murmur.

“You’ll get them,” Max says. “Every single one.”

And when he presses a kiss to your temple, your chest finally unclenches.

Because the voice in your head—the one that once whispered doubt—is silent now.

He’s your husband.

And the finish line?

Was always him.

The end.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story. If you liked it please reblog, like, and comment. That would help me greatly. Requests are open. :)

[lixzey]

must be love

james potter x best friend!reader

info: childhood best friends to lovers, use of y/n, reader lowkey doesn't like lily because of a few factors (#1 her being friends severus, #2 james liking her) unrequited love for a bit, head injury for this one, pining, jealousy, dumbass james, use of a nickname (james calls her bonbon, bon for short. it's an inside joke between them that i'm going to explain deeper into the story.), etc.

author's note ! - okay, so this is a rewrite. i edited a lot in this first chap, plus added a few bits here and there. i plan to post the next few chapters later this week after i get my lab work done (in prep for surgery, unfortunately). anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i love this story.

if anyone wants to be added to the new taglist specifically for this fic alone, leave me a message <3

playlist if anyone wants to check it out:

How did the two of you end up in this predicament, sprinting like wanted convicts through the halls of Hogwarts, you may ask? Simple. A prank, specifically on a certain Slytherin that harboured a hatred that could fuel a muggle car if converted into gasoline.

C H A P T E R O N E - partners in crime

September 25, 1975

The crime? Exploding dinner, as you and James had jinxed Severus Snape's food to blow up in his face, which ended up with mash and gravy dripping all over the place. The boy turned bright red, humiliated, yet again by the people that he despised the most.

You couldn't stop yourself from laughing, the sounds of your giggles infected James, who sat beside you as he admired his work.

“Really, Y/n?” Lily Evans hissed from across your seat at the Gryffindor table. “Sev hasn't done anything to you!”

You rolled your eyes, dismissing the redheaded girl off with a wave of your hand. “Come on, Evans, it's just some harmless fun! Lighten up, will you?” To be honest, you were tempted to clap back about her friend being a saint. Severus Snape was far from that. He was no better than what Lily Evans was painting you and your friends to be.

Lily scoffed, emerald green eyes blazing in annoyance. “Lighten up? Lighten up? You try having food explode in your face in front of the whole student body!” She snapped, slamming her hands against the wooden table, earning looks from everyone inside of the Great Hall.

At her words, Severus Snape's head snapped up, fury visible in his dark eyes as he abruptly stood up with a tight grip on his wand.

“Jamie?” You whispered, meeting his hazel gaze. “Time to run?”

James nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yep, let's go.” He said, offering a hand out for you to take as he stood up from his seat.

“Come back here, Potter!” Snape's voice boomed across the chatter-filled Hall as you and James made a run for it.

The two of you bolted through the castle, desperately looking for a place to hide from the Slytherin's wrath, and McGonagall's as well. There was no doubt that this little stunt of yours would earn another weeks worth of detention. Barely even a month into your fifth year, you and James have already gotten two weeks of detention respectively.

“Over here, Jamie!” You called over your shoulder, beckoning him over as you jerked your head in the direction of the broom closet just a few feet away. “Come on, quick!”

The second the two of you reached the broom closet, you quickly dove inside and pulled James in after you, closing the door shut just as Snape stormed past your hiding spot, probably assuming that it was a couple trying to make out, as broom closets have been a popular spot to do so. 

As soon as the Slytherin's angry ranting faded into the distance, the two of you collapsed against the wall as you tried to catch your breath.

“Wow, that was close,” James panted, his glasses fogging up with every breath he took inside of the enclosed space. 

“Totally worth it though.” You chuckled, cheeks flushed from running through the castle like a track star in a marathon. “Did you see his face? Hilarious! I knew referencing a muggle science experiment would be amazing.”

“It was brilliant!” James grinned, cupping your face in his hands. “You, my darling best friend, are brilliant!”

“I know, I know.” You laughed, taking the praise to heart. “I'm pretty amazing, y'know? Now get off, your breath stinks.”

James pulled his hands away from your face, feigning hurt. “It does not!”

You giggled, tucking behind a strand of your hair behind your ear. “It does, in fact, stink.”

James let out an exaggerated gasp. “You take that back!”

You and James have been friends since the two of you were six. He's meant the absolute world to you ever since he saved you from playground bullies. 

You had been happily playing alone on one of the swings in the neighborhood playground when a group of older boys approached you and started teasing you, their taunts ringing in your ears as you tried not to burst out crying.

“Look at the buck-toothed beaver!” One of the boys jeered, pointing and laughing at your crooked teeth. They kept on teasing you, making mean faces and calling you all sorts of names, like carrot muncher and bunny rabbit.

You covered your mouth as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. Just as you were about to give up and go home, you felt a pair of hands grip your shoulders from behind. You jumped, startled by the sudden touch before turning around to see who it was. Part of you wanted it to be your mother while the other felt comforted just by the tingling warmth that suddenly erupted from your belly. 

Standing before you was a boy your age, with messy black hair that stuck weirdly in every different direction and bright hazel eyes under round spectacles. “Oi, leave her alone, you lot!" He shouted, his voice echoing through the playground, as if he had swallowed a microphone or something. 

“Go on, get lost!” The raven-haired boy demanded, pushing the older boy in the middle away. “I said get lost, you gits!” He yelled again, the air around him humming with unfamiliar energy. 

The older boys scowled, surprised by the younger boy's outburst, before turning away and leaving the two of you alone.

“Are you alright?” The raven-haired boy asked, turning to face you with a worried expression.

“Uh-huh,” You mumbled, avoiding the boy’s gaze. “I'm..uh, yeah…I’m alright, thanks.

“You can take your hand off your mouth now, you know? They’re gone.”

You eyed him hesitantly, doubting his intentions. “No.” You shook your head, clasping another hand over your mouth. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t make fun of you.” He gave you an assuring smile, offering his hand out. “I’m James, by the way. James Potter.”

You stared at his hand as if he had some sort of disease. “I'm Y/n L/n." You muttered, still avoiding his gaze while wishing the ground would swallow you up whole.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n.” James grinned, his hazel eyes bright and kind. “You know, you shouldn't let those idiots get to you,” He said, taking a step closer. His voice was surprisingly gentle, and for a moment, you were almost tempted to look up at him. “They're just gits, jealous gits.”

“Thanks, James,” You forced a smile, meeting his gaze for the first time. His eyes were bright and curious, and you found yourself lost in them for a moment. You couldn't help but be a little more at ease around him.

“No problem,” James chuckled before sitting on the swing next to you. “So, what are you doing out here all alone on a Saturday afternoon?”

You shrugged, averting your gaze. “I…uh…” You hesitated, hoping that he wouldn’t think of you as weird. “I don't really have any friends, they think I’m a tad bit peculiar.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Well, you've got one now,” He nudged you playfully, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Now, what do you like to do for fun?”

Ever since that day, the two of you have become inseparable. You were the Bonnie to his Clyde, the peanut butter to his jelly, the yin to his yang, the gold to his red. You were the best of friends, always there for each other through thick and thin.

Growing up, you both shared everything, from secrets to dreams and ambitions. James was always there for you, and you for him. You were comfortable with him, like he was the other half of your entire being. He protected you from bullies and made sure you were always happy and you did the same. The only thing that ever mattered to the both of you was being by each other’s sides, you were stuck together like glue and everyone in your neighborhood knew that if they saw one of you, the other wasn't too far behind.

You and James had playdates where you'd dress up to have dance parties or tea parties, have adventures in their large orchard, and so much more. James would talk endlessly about Quidditch, which you were never really interested in but you’d listen to him nonetheless. You would ramble about your favorite things, and James would listen with a huge smile on his face at your enthusiasm. You’ve spent so much time with James that your parents had to literally pry the both of you away from each other at the end of the day, much to your and James’ parents’ amusement.

When you were eight, you realized that you loved James—more than just as a friend. A simple crush that blossomed into something greater. Your parents had their suspicions, the way you looked at James was already a dead giveaway—you looked at him like he was the only person in the whole world—but he was always oblivious; he was far more interested in going on adventures with you or obsessing over Quidditch than ever noticing the way you look at him. You were perfectly content with that, but everything started to change when you and James received your Hogwarts letters in the spring of 1971. 

Of course, you and James were still the best of friends but with the addition of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. Despite that, you knew that no one can ever replace you in James’ heart.

The two of you were ecstatic when you were both sorted into Gryffindor. You and James have been dreaming about setting foot at Hogwarts and learning more about magic since the two of you were nine. Both of you had lots of plans for the next seven years, like wreaking havoc inside the halls of the castle, finding secret passageways, and so much more. James wanted to be on the Quidditch team and someday hoped that he would become captain—which, he actually achieved not so long ago—while you just wanted to be at the top of your class, to become a prefect, and hopefully get the position of Head Girl in your seventh year despite it being a long shot given your detention record from first year.

You had the next seven years mapped out, hoping that you and James could still spend as much time as when you were kids despite your studies and everything else in between, but that wasn’t the case when a certain emerald-eyed redhead came into the picture.

James was absolutely smitten with Lily Evans, a muggle-born witch in your year and house.

Smart, beautiful, amazing Lily. 

You watched from the sidelines as James constantly tried to get Lily's attention and impress her with his Quidditch skills and charming personality, which always ends up failing because she despised him for bullying her best friend, Severus Snape, and his, in her words, ego the size of the black lake.

You were nowhere near competing with her and you couldn’t blame James for taking a liking to the feisty redhead. Lily was intelligent, kind, gorgeous, and probably made of angel dust. She's just so remarkably perfect, always Lily this and Lily that, and it hurt like a thousand stabs to the chest. Despite that, you still supported James, helping him think of ways to win Lily, even if it broke your heart in the process.

You sighed, snapping yourself out of your trance. Silence enveloped the two of you,  the only thing you could hear being James’ obnoxious breathing.

“I think the coast is clear,” You whispered, standing up and cracking the door to take a peek outside.

“Is it?” James asked, leaning over you. “We should’ve brought the map with us.” 

You turned to look at him, your face a mere inch away from his. For James, it was probably nothing, just close proximity inside a cramped broom closet with his best friend, but for you? Merlin, it made your heart beat like crazy and made your stomach do somersaults simultaneously. 

“Look at you,” James chuckled, looking down at you with a smirk that annoyed the shit out of you. “You're tiny compared to me.”

Damn it, James. Stop messing with my head, you big oaf! 

You quickly brushed the feeling of a million butterflies fluttering like crazy inside of your stomach aside before pushing James away from you. “Right, uh, yes...we should've brought it before we jumped into this. Where’s the map anyway?”

Before James could utter a reply, the door opened behind you, making you stumble back and fall onto your arse. You looked up to see Sirius peering over you.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Sirius smirked, eyeing you and James suggestively. “Have I interrupted something?”

“Shut up, Sirius,” You hissed, glaring at the prat you unfortunately call a friend. “It’s not like that, you dirty minded prick!”

“Well, can you blame me? This particular spot's a favourite—”

“Ugh, please don't talk about your disgusting shagging habits.” You grimaced as the image of Sirius' bare arse came into your head. A week ago, you had the unfortunate luck of walking in on Sirius shagging some Ravenclaw in the dorm that he shared with James, Remus, and Peter. “I still haven't recovered from that incident!”

“It's not my fault you didn't knock, sweetheart.” Sirius grinned, looking like the smug bastard that he is. “At least you've—”

“Nope, stop right there,” You fake-gagged, clutching your stomach to emphasize your point. “Oh, Merlin, I think I'm going to be sick.”

“Ha-ha, drama queen,” Sirius chuckled before turning to face James. “Anyway, what are you two doing here?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as James helped you back to your feet.

“Just taking a little breather,” James replied, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know—”

“I will physically hurt you if you finish that sentence, James Fleamont Potter.” You growled, glaring at him, which effectively shut him up. Gods, why are boys so annoying? Well, even though they're annoying pricks, you'd still prefer it over anything else.

“You’re lucky I was the one who found you and not Snape or Minnie,” Sirius shrugged, opening the map to show the retreating figures of the Slytherin along with Professor McGonagall. “She was fuming, you know, and Snape was suggesting a whole lot of bollocks.”

“That greasy git,” You scowled, rolling your eyes at the mental image of Severus Snape complaining like a child to the head of Gryffindor house. You then shot a playful glare at James as the two of you stepped out of the broom closet, pinching his arm in the process. “This is all your fault.” 

“Oi, that hurt!” James whined, rubbing the spot you dug your nails into. “That's gonna leave a mark, y'know?”

“Don't care.” You grumbled before snatching the map out of Sirius' hold and stomping forward, leaving the boys behind.

Sirius snickered. “Oooh, she's mad.”

“You think?” James rolled his eyes at his friend before running after you, Sirius following closely behind. “Oh, come on, don’t be mad at me, bon,”  He murmured as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s go cause some more trouble, yeah?”

Unable to be mad at him for long, you sighed. “You're lucky that you're my best friend, Potter.” You then shook your head as a yawn escaped your lips before resting your head on James' shoulder. “Nah, let’s head back to the common room. I’m a bit tired after all that running.”

“Fine, party pooper,” James teased, ruffling your hair. “You heard the boss, Padfoot, off to the common room.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Sirius gave a small salute, causing a chuckle to escape your lips as the three of you made your way towards the common room.

You couldn’t help but smile as the familiar warmth of the Gryffindor common room greeted you, the smell of butterbeer and crackling fire filling your nostrils in a comforting way.

As you made your way inside, your eyes landed on Remus, who was sitting on one of the soft couches by the fire. “Remus!” You called, causing the boy's head to snap in the direction of your voice, A smile making its way back to your face as you approached. 

“Y/n,” Remus smiled as he met your gaze. “Heard you and Prongs had put on quite the show?”

Before you could even form a word or comprehend what was happening, a quaffle came flying in your direction and hitting you hard in the head, knocking you down face first onto the cold stone floor.

Remus was the first to come to your aid. He quickly turned you on your back, his silhouette blurry as the pain started to consume you. “Merlin, are you alright?”

“Ow...” You managed to say before your eyes started to feel heavy, darkness enveloping you by the second.

“Oh shit, Y/n!” James yelled, rushing to your side and pulling you into his arms, worry creeping onto his face. “Hey, hey, keep your eyes open for me, yeah?”

“Damn it, McLaggen! You fucking idiot! Look at what you did!” You heard Sirius growl at the person who threw the quaffle—McLaggen, apparently. That stupid, fucker.

“James, we have to take her to the Hospital Wing!” Remus insisted, his voice cracking with worry. “Who knows what damage that hit could have done.”

“Hey, bon, hey, look at me.” James whispered, his voice growing terrified with every passing moment. “C'mon, open your eyes now for me, love.”

Such pretty eyes. You thought as the view of James’ face slowly grew dark because of the hit you took. “I....I....I love you, Jamie.” You managed to whisper before everything went pitch black.

[greyhoundone]

Some things I found interesting from Rachel Talalay's live commentary of Heaven Sent at Chicago TARDIS:

- The story was originally set in a haunted house with weeping angels.

- Sometimes a single line would be shot across a mix of three locations: two actual castles and a set.

- The script was clear that the castle should have no interior lighting except for the fireplace where The Doctor dries their clothes. Rachel got some pushback from the crew on a shaft of light coming at an angle from outside, asking where the light came from. Her response was, "It doesn't have to come from anywhere. It comes from 'It looks good.'"

- Rachel worked to give more of a horror vibe to certain scenes. She did things like add a spooky wind, have Peter play the tone more for horror, and even consult with Murray Gold to keep the tone consistent. She also pushed for a “creepy garden” as opposed to the formal garden Moffat had scripted.

- Jenna wasn’t available for most of the shots where Clara is writing on the TARDIS chalkboards. They originally used a double, but the double was too obviously not Jenna. It was actually the person who did the colour grading who found other usable shots of Jenna from behind and put them in the final episode.

- Everyone was very worried about Peter hurting his hand punching the wall, especially since he had hurt his hand punching the TARDIS console in "Death in Heaven." They were going to have Peter just fake the punch and get a stunt person for close-ups, but Peter insisted on doing the punches himself because of the importance of the moment for his character. Rachel agreed on the condition that, "If you hurt yourself, you're the one who tells your wife." (He did not hurt himself again.)

- When the Doctor burns themselves and their hand dissolves away to nothing, the hand was sculpted out of Lush bath bombs. Rachel had the idea and suggested it as a cost-effective solution. So they just sculpted Peter's hand out of bath bombs and poured some water on it.

- When the Doctor breaks through the wall and the Veil collapses, the collapse was achieved by filling the Veil costume with helium balloons and then popping them.

[godjustkys]

male reader x frank castle drabble . . . (all plot, no smut or freaky shit)

“fuck you, man.” you muttered, wiping the blood away from your face as you caught your breath. “i had it.” frank seethed, his boots creaking as he stepped after you, all bloody and beaten as well. “you had it?” you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “if it wasn’t for me, the police would’ve had a great time wiping your brains off of the walls here.” you reasoned, your voice sharp and firm. you placed a hand over your forehead, sighing deeply. one guy had slammed you hard against the wall and you hit your head. you felt a bit dizzy. frank stared at you, not saying a thing. you made eye contact and you held it. eventually, it got.. weird. you placed your hands on your hips, looking at him with a perplexed expression. “what.” you spoke, staying still. “sit down.” he told you, voice rough. “yea? m’fine.” you responded, shifting on your feet. he stepped closer — slowly, deliberately. as if his steps were supposed to be a threat. “sit.” his voice was barely above a whisper, low and rough.

you didn’t budge, of course. like hell you’d be ordered around by a wanted criminal. you saw frank’s fists clench and unclench. someone was getting upset. “back up. police are on your ass like crazy and you still have the gall to act reckless?” you said, narrowing your eyes as you looked into his eyes. his jaw flexed; you swore he was going to lunge at you. attack you. but he seemed to hold himself back with a harsh swallow. frank stepped into your space, close enough for you to smell the iron and sweat clinging to him. “is that it?” he murmured, voice like gravel. “you think i was bein’ reckless?” his eyes burned into yours, dark and intense. “you’re bleeding like a stuffed pig.” he spoke. “you don’t got a damn clue how close you were to being a red stain on that wall. next time you pull a stunt like that, i won’t be savin’ your ass.”

“a stunt like what? oh, the stunt where i saved you from a suicide mission? ah, yes, sue me for not wanting you dead.” you said with a roll of your eyes, relaxing your posture. “you don’t know me.” frank reasoned, completely disregarding the concept of personal space. “do i look like i give a fuck? genuinely.” you started, not backing down. “look into my eyes. tell me where is the big sign that says ‘i wish to know frank castle’.” you mocked, your voice teasing and bordering on annoying. “i don’t care about you, i need your skills.”

“yeah, we’ve been over this. i ain’t working for you.” frank responded to you, his head tilting to the side a bit. “tomato, toma-toh, you’ll come around eventually.” you said with a small shrug of your shoulders. “you keep on wishing.” frank stepped away, turning his back to you. “have you been hanging around that daredevil guy again?” you inquired, making him stop in his tracks. “i’m gonna start thinking he’s making you all soft with his ‘no-killing’ rule.” frank’s shoulders visibly squared. “red ain’t got nothing to do with this.”

“red? isn’t that just adorable. you two on nickname terms already?” you teased with a grin. “no, seriously, frank. stop being so stubborn.” the anger radiating off of frank was immeasurable. “i’m not for hire. i couldn’t care less about what you want.” he spoke, his stance tense and stiff. “i figured you wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows about this.” with a small sigh, you crossed your arms. “though i suppose i don’t need you happy.” frank was losing it. his irritation was skyrocketing. “i can give you the normal life back, frank. no more hiding, no more running. you’d have everything.” you spoke, clearly trying to coax him. “well, besides your family, which i am sorry about.” you added flatly. in a literal second, frank was back in front of you, grabbing the front of your shirt and slamming you against the wall. “this is my life now. stop talking.” he gritted out, his face an inch away from yours. “ooh, you do know i’m into this, right?” you breathed out, not phased at all. though the initial slam hurt your head more than it should’ve. frank didn’t respond, he just kept glaring at you. “as much as i’m enjoying this,” you started, placing a hand over his injured forearm. “don’t get so riled up. you know what i meant, i wasn’t trying to be rude. or insensitive.”

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! Since the "Morgana wants to be allies with Emrys" au received so much support, here's a continuation of that au!

NOTE: You can find part one of this au here!

To recap, in this au, Morgana is never told that Emrys is her doom, and instead assumes that the whole "Emrys is your destiny" thing means that she needs Emrys as her ally in order to achieve her destiny and conquer Camelot. She seeks out Emrys to no avail, but Mordred reveals to her that Merlin is Emrys. She then tries to get Merlin to join her, but he refuses. So, Morgana is trying to fight Arthur for Merlin's friendship so that she can finally take Camelot for herself.

Without further ado, onto the new stuff! Arthur and Morgana first try outdoing each other in terms of physical gifts. Morgana notes how Merlin still lives in relatively poor conditions, so she sends him things like nicer clothes, magic books, and the severed heads of his enemies. Arthur, who still doesn't know about Merlin's magic, gives Merlin new chambers, new furniture, and better pay. This leads to Morgana sending him a chest full of golden coins and jewels, and Arthur has to outdo her and give Merlin an even bigger chest full of gold and as send one to his mother. Morgana has her men steal the chest while it was en route to Ealdor and send it under her name instead.

Arthur gave Merlin access to the royal gardens so that he could just grow his medicinal herbs instead of having to go all the way out into the woods, and then Morgana refurbished the castle run-down nearest Ealdor, had it decked out in all the best finery that magic could conjure, and dedicated it to Merlin.

Merlin, meanwhile, just wanted a break, but he wouldn't get one.

Eventually, Arthur and Morgana get the memo that physical gifts wouldn't work, so they switched tactics.

Morgana then tried to appeal to Merlin a different way. If he wanted Arthur so badly, then she could provide him with an even better version of Arthur! Morgana selected loyal Emrys-worshipping druids who looked and spoke similar to Arthur and sent them to Camelot to try and woo Emrys to their side.

Merlin, waking up and seeing six knock-off Arthurs standing around him: Wait a minute, I've had this sex dream before!

Arthur, barging into Merlin's room because he's late and seeing six knock-off versions of himself standing around Merlin's bed: ... ARTHUR.EXE HAS STOPPED RESPONDING

When Arthur could finally comprehend what was going on, he had the look-alikes all sent to the dungeon. He's not sure who he was more pissed off about: Morgana sending those men, or Merlin looking like he was interested in them. But Arthur couldn't stay mad at Merlin for very long, so his rage was settled on Morgana once more. But how could he outdo a stunt like that?

As Arthur was plotting his next move that night, he caught sight of Merlin sneaking around the castle. He knew that Merlin would never betray Camelot, but Merlin sneaking around right after being offered gifts by Morgana is rather suspicious. Maybe there was more to the situation that Merlin was keeping from Arthur? In any case, Arthur had to follow Merlin, if only to ease his own fears.

So, Arthur stealthily followed Merlin and witnessed him using magic to kill an assassin sent by Morgana. Arthur is shocked by the revelation that Merlin has powerful magic, but all of a sudden Morgana's crusade to lure Merlin to her side made much more sense. He now knows that if he loses Merlin, he'll be losing all of the magic that's been thanklessly protecting him for years.

So, Arthur does the only thing that he can do: repeal the magic ban. The threat of execution for his magic is the one thing that could possibly drive Merlin from his side, so Arthur would simply remove it and thus remove any reason for Merlin to ever leave Camelot. Merlin would be happier and finally feel safe in his own home, and Arthur's wouldn't lose his closest friend (and secretly the object of his affections) to his harpy of a sister. It was a win-win for Arthur!

Arthur, of course, faced staunch resistance from the council, but he was the king at the end of the day, and so the magic ban was revoked. Arthur had a whole speech to the people and a celebratory feast after the repeal of the magic ban was signed into law, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Merlin as he proudly proclaimed to his citizens that magic would no longer be persecuted in Camelot. Arthur knew that he would be late to the feast as he spent the next few hours after his speech holding a sobbing Merlin in his arms, comforting him and whispering sweet reassurances in his ear.

Morgana, upon hearing the news of Arthur's repeal of the magic ban, was furious. It was her destiny to bring magic back to the land with the mighty Emrys by her side, and her idiot brother's!

Morgana became so infuriated by this that she marched her army of sorcerers right up to the gates of Camelot and demanded that Arthur hand over Emrys, or else she would march into the land and tear him away from Arthur by force.

Morgana, yelling at the walls of Camelot: Emrys, get out here! I have hundreds of shirtless himbos with swords for you to choose from! Take your pick! You don't need Arthur!

Arthur met Morgana at the walls (after ordering Merlin to stay behind in the castle so that Morgana couldn't take him and leaving a dozen knights behind so Merlin couldn't use magic to escape and follow Arthur like the annoyingly loyal and devoted friend that he was) and tried to negotiate with her, but Morgana wouldn't budge. After a while though, Arthur had an idea.

Arthur offered Morgana the chance to return to Camelot as a noble guest and live within the castle again, granting her full access to Merlin at all times so that she could try all of her tricks to lure him over to her side. In exchange, Morgana would call off her army and send them away and NOT try to kill anyone while she was living with them. Arthur's offer stated that if she did manage to get Merlin on her side, then she could, as she said, fulfill her destiny and try to take the throne from Arthur.

Arthur's logic was that if Morgana ever did get Merlin as her ally, Arthur's reign was already over then and there. If Merlin ever willingly turned his back on Arthur, then it surely meant that Arthur was no longer fit to be king. However, Arthur was certain that that would never happen. So, to Arthur, this deal would keep Morgana in the castle and keep her from killing anyone, allowing him to try and make amends with his sister.

Morgana thought over the deal for a while. To her, while living in Camelot and not being able to kill her enemies and claim the throne while she was there would be disappointing, having unimpeded access to Emrys would make achieving her destiny much easier, and once Emrys was her ally, they could easily conquer Camelot from within. Yes, Arthur was a fool, and this deal was a straightforward plan for her to take her rightful throne!

To Arthur's surprise, Morgana accepts her deal and sends her army away, willingly entering Camelot, much to the citizens' unease. Morgana glares at him and the knights as they make their way up to the castle.

Morgana was given her old chambers back, which hadn't been touched in the time that she was gone. All of her old clothes and jewelry were still there too.

Morgana settled in very quickly, she didn't have much to bring with her anyways. She'd have to have Mordred send Aithusa over to her though, since the young dragon hadn't been with her at the gates.

For now though, it was time to get down to business: she had to get Emrys to join her cause.

Granted, that might be a bit harder than she anticipated, given that the man in question looked like he had swallowed a lemon when he saw her in the castle. Clearly, he was wary of her, but she was certain that they would grow closer, as their glorious destiny intended!

In the meanwhile, Arthur had foolishly given her a seat at his council, so that she could advise them on magical topics and affairs. She did take great pleasure in seeing the lords and knight at Arthur's round table squirm at the sight of her though.

It didn't take long for Morgana to see how useless and inept Arthur's advisors were at actually running a kingdom. Dear gods, it was a miracle anything got done at all with how much those worthless lords squabbled with each other over inane topics! And all the while, her idiot brother sat in his chair, almost falling asleep!

Morgana was about to get up and storm out of the pointless meeting, but stopped when she saw Emrys, who was standing behind Arthur holding a pitcher and looking at the soon-to-be-deposed king (such a disrespectful job for someone as powerful as Emrys!) with a disappointed frown. Wait, this cold be how Morgana wins him over!

She has to prove to Emrys that she would be a better, more efficient ruler than Arthur! Then he would side with her!

So, Morgana threw herself into outwitting Arthur's useless council and winning arguments against them, making the whole thing much more productive really. She strongarmed them into discussing topics that actually mattered and not their own personal petty squabbles.

She was so busy watched Emrys's reactions that she completely missed how Arthur's eyes lit up with joy at seeing bits and pieces of the old Morgana shine through.

From there, Morgana is slowly redeemed as she tries to prove herself to be a better ruler than Arthur. Arthur has trouble ensuring that the harvest will be plentiful enough? Morgana can use magic to make crops grow with ease! Arthur has trouble negotiating a trade treaty with a neighboring kingdom? Morgana knows how to intimidate them into making a deal favorable for Camelot! Arthur's worried about an invading army getting too close to Camelot! Morgana can blast them all away with the wave of a hand!

Slowly, the people of Camelot become less and less scared of Morgana. As she's redeemed, Merlin gets closer with her again, almost sharing the friendship that they once had. Morgana sees this as a sign that she's close to winning Emrys over, so she doubles down. Morgana gets better, Emrys grows closer, and the cycle repeats itself until Morgana finds herself looking at Arthur and doesn't feel any of that familiar dark rage under her skin that usually accompanies the sight of her brother.

Maybe... maybe she could get used to the idea of staying in Camelot indefinitely, at least until her brother got himself killed. But the world seemed to already be doing a good job of throwing Arthur into deadly situations without her, so maybe she could just sit back in Camelot and teach those idiots in the council how to actually get some work done. Yes, that sounded like a good plan.

And that's all for this au! I hope you all enjoyed it! I have a little surprised planned for my next post, so be sure to stay tuned!

Also, here's everyone who asked for this continuation! Thank you so much for your support! @kj-owl, @smileytrinity, @nannersthespellcast0r, @nalua93, @wolfnight2012, @lucifertookmyshoe, @ath99, @thisinhumanplace, @hopeaha, @lightoftheemeraldstar, @valiantkittenwitch, @adragonhoardingstories, @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego, @the-king-and-the-druidess, @jellytamalies, @keenest-of-heart

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[holylulusworld]

No exceptions (5)

Summary: He likes your guts and your cake.

Pairing: Mobster!Frank Castle x Baker!Reader

Warnings: mafia business, flirty Frank (he tries, okay), making out, pussy sniffing, pre-smut

Catch up here: No exceptions (4)

No exceptions masterlist

“Sweet cheeks,” Frank moans against your lips, tasting you again when you willingly open your mouth for him. He’s out of breath, just like you. Weeks ago, you hated this man, even despised him, and now, you can’t stop kissing him. “Fuck, I want to do this right. Ask you out like a gentleman.”

He stiffens when you say, “You’re not a gentleman.” You tug at his jacket, wanting to get him out of it. “You’re an antihero wearing a leather jacket instead of a cape.”

“Y/N, I’m the bad guy in this game, but,” he murmurs your name as he kisses your temple. “I could be nice to you.”

You tug at his leather jacket, laughing as he looks at you, crunching up his face in confusion. “You only want more of my cake, right?”

He smirks and replies, “I want more of your cake, and some. Maybe you’ll give me a taste of something even sweeter.”

Frank laughs when you push against his chest. He could’ve devoured you and given in to his needs, but for the first time in a long time, Frank wants something more. Something deeper. “Did I scare you much when I came around to collect?”

“No, you’re like a big guard dog, all bark and no bite,” you reply, but your heart is speeding up, remembering the first time Frank stepped into your bakery and life. “You’d never hurt me that much, I knew.”

“I could’ve bent you over that counter and slapped your butt,” he grimly replies, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not a good guy, you know that.”

“You defended your mom, and you helped me today. You are a good man, even if you don’t see yourself as one." You can’t believe you’re saying this about a man you feared not so long ago. “Even though you can be scary as shit.”

“Yeah?” Frank cocks his head. “I’m scary as shit.” He leans closer to peck your lips. His hands move to your thighs, squeezing your flesh. “What if I’m very nice to you and you let me taste something sweeter now?”

“Frank,” you gasp, feeling his hand move between your legs. He brushes over your panties, aware you’re soaking the fabric. “I need to open soon.”

He only smirks. “Yeah? You think you can work with wet panties?” You don’t know how to react. Frank is so different from any guy you've ever dated. “Do you want me to take care of the problem now, or we can go for dinner tonight and I’ll be a gentleman and only sniff at your pussy.”

“What?” You squeak again as he goes on his knees and presses his face between your legs. He inhales deeply, almost purring against your panties. “Frank, what are you doing?”

“Having a taste,” he states, nuzzling you through your panties. “I must say, your cunt smells as good as your cakes.” Frank is crass, but you don’t mind as long as he’s rubbing his face against your pussy. “A shame you must open soon. If not, I’d have devoured you in no time.”

You whimper, tempted to not open the bakery and let Frank fulfill his promise. You can’t, though. People will gather in front of your bakery and watch you and Frank do the nasty.

They are already talking about you and your connection to him after the stunt he pulled today; you’re sure about it.

“Frank,” you moan his name. “We must open the bakery, or people will talk. Your boss won’t be happy hearing we didn’t make any money today.”

“Fuck,” he curses against you. “Let me just…” Frank kisses your clothed pussy, promising himself to get a taste soon. “You’re right. I’ll help you open the bakery. I only need a moment to…”

You watch him rise to his feet to adjust his pants. Frank clears his throat as you try to straighten your dress. “Your hair is a little messed up.” You laugh and try to straighten his hair. “Maybe we should open a little later.”

Frank nods, trying to think of anything but you wrapped around him or the scent of your cunt. “I second that.”

Part 6

[rallamajoop]

That time Heisenberg stabbed Ethan with a rusty fencepost

Thanks to this one fic project that needed a pornographically detailed list of Ethan’s most memorable injuries, I've spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Heisenberg stabs him with when they first met. Working mostly from a free-camera version from youtube, I settled on calling a metal pipe with a square profile.

Tumblr: I was wrong. The reality is so much worse.

Having cracked the game files and installed my own free-camera mod, I tracked down the original asset for this thing, and, well...

No, really, this is it! Check out those matching cross-bars if you doubt me.

FWIW, it isn’t actually a spear. Those semi-mangled crossbars flag it instead as a spear-headed fence-post. (This may not be a distinction that Ethan would find very comforting after being stabbed with the thing, but there it is, regardless.)

In fact, if you poke around the cemetery area just outside the castle gate, you can even find the fence it presumably came from.

Look in on the cemetery near the church from the lane leading up to the Duke's shop beside it, and this is what you'll see.

It's not a perfect match (in fact, it's even worse viewed from the opposite side, because someone has clearly stuffed up the textures on different sides of the same asset). I'll also note that if you go back to this fence again after meeting Heisenberg, you won’t find any suspicious gaps in it where a post was recently ripped out. So I’m going to just go ahead and assume this particular piece was lying in a pile of surplus scrap in the cellar somewhere, and Heisenberg did not, in fact, drag the thing all the way there from well outside the whole damn building. I mean, at that point, you’re just showing off.

The fence post is, admittedly, pretty hard to get a good look at in the actual game. Unlike all the other crap Heisenberg already has levitating around him in this scene, the fencepost doesn’t appear at all until Heisenberg stabs Ethan with it. It actually seems to emerge at speed from between a couple of barrels at the back. But if you’re enough of a lunatic to play around with the various slow motion/rewind settings that came with the free camera mod, you can get a decent shot of it in flight, cleaning up any remaining doubt that this is the same asset that was used in game.

It even freaking spins in the air as it moves. FTR, yes, it does go in pointy-end first. And the whole fucking spearhead ends up buried in poor Ethan. (Please feel free to insert your own dick-joke here.) Those paying really close attention might even note that the blood on Ethan's shirt is present even before the spear hits him, but that's just going to be virtual-stunt-coordination having a normal one.

I can offer you no similarly definitive insight into why Heisenberg would think stabbing Ethan with this thing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you if he knew for sure that it was Ethan Winters he was talking to at this point (maybe he's just playing dumb, pretending not to recognise him. Or maybe he legit didn't know that Ethan himself had made an appearance until Miranda told him. Sure, he's already got that whole conspiracy board, but finding real pictures of this Ethan-guy is surprisingly hard.) But whether Heis was already testing out Ethan’s ‘interesting body’, or whether he’d just generally assumed that anyone who could survive a full lycan assault on the village wouldn’t be too seriously inconvenienced by a little stabbing, hoo boy was this one way to make a first impression.

I’m not even sure which of these losers is the bigger idiot here: the one who imagined Ethan might still agree to work with him even after inserting a very convincing imitation-spearhead into his intestines, or the one who never thought to seriously question how he keeps shrugging off injuries just as exciting as this one.

They probably deserve each other.

[randomspagetti]

Long ago, the Virtue's were first baked into earthbread, their duty to spread peace and prosperity, to witness the creation of the new world for all cookiekind. The witches bestowed upon them the power of the souljam; Knowledge, Volition, Happiness, Change, and Solidarity.

Seemingly unlimitess power compared to any ordinary cookie, none saw issue with it but two witches.

What they forsaw was terror, agony, and ruin

Yet another decision was made that day, one to seemingly stunt any decay. The first guardian, and the first fae, was baked into existence. His thin sugarglass wings delicately crafted by the Witch of Logic, while his essence and soul, made to withstand corruption and corrosion, were baked by the Witch of Order.

Days spent perfectly planning every single part of the cookie they intended to have devote to their will.

When the final day arrived, a cookie with silver wings and gentle periwinkle hair opened its eyes.

What he saw didn't frighten him, thought it very well should have. He felt confused and disoriented, the world around him bright and new.

"Welcome to the world,

.

.

.

Elder Faerie Cookie"

°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°

Hai guys it's been a bit of an art week, someone said that the original witches from witches castle aren't canon anymore but idc canon doesn't exist

I'm working on my writing guys 🫶

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

and roses, too

Long hair is a luxury on Chemos. Everyone’s got a story—everyone has an uncle, or a daughter, or a friend. It gets caught in gears, twisted into spinners, stuck to pressed. Every great machine in the factories springing up all over Chemos these days seems to have a hunger for hair.

People try all kinds of things. Hair ties, tight caps, gel. Nothing quite works, not completely. There’s always another story—the spine-tingling screams, the crunch of bone, the blood from scalps, the bits of human that show up in the product that comes out. That’s the real problem—it ruins the product, gums up the machines. Can’t be having that on the assembly line.

More and more, people just cut their hair. Sometimes it’s mandated by the foreman, but most folks don’t need any prompting. The great machines hunger for human flesh. Mostly fingers, but sometimes hands and arms too, or toes and feet and legs. And hair, always hair. You can’t cut off your arms and legs, but you can cut your hair.

So long hair disappears on the lines. No more ponytails, no more dreads. No more updos, no more afros, no more buns or braids or blowouts. Spikes? Gone. Layers? Gone. It’s not needed on the line, and who’s got the money for that, anyways?

It’s different in the corporate castles, of course. If anything, it’s the opposite. The higher the office, the more elaborate the style, and if you merit a corner office—phew! Business people have needs, after all, and one of those needs is looking the part. Gotta make sure everyone knows you got money!

So the poor cut short and the rich cut long. It’s custom, not law—not until Emala grows her hair out and flings the Labor banner across the sky. There’ve been insurrections before, but nothing like this, where the union madness spreads like plague from factory to factory. Chemos is wracked with war for a full generation, and simmering unrest for another. Everything changes after that.

Ragillan, Inc. is the first corp to establish sumptuary laws, but all the others quickly follow suit. Buzzcuts for the lines, chin length for the cubicles, shoulder length for the lower offices, and of course the upper floors can do whatever they want. Not that they’d be caught dead with a bob, of course.

Years, decades, centuries pass, and slowly other sumptuary laws are added to factories’ regulations. Industria has long been the primary deity on Chemos, but a new philosophical trend begins circulating amongst her worshippers. It is the duty of the poor to save and the rich to spend.

Poverty is a product of laziness, of poor discipline, insouciance, disobedience, bad attitude. Therefore let the poor learn discipline through frugality. Abandon luxury for the important things in life—hard work and a go-getter mindset. Cut the fat from the budget! You can relax when you’ve clawed your way up through the offices. Does man need beauty to survive? Surely not!

The executives quickly realize their duty to shepherd their lines to a higher moral standing. Line workers are a dissolute lot, naturally inclined to sloth, theft, filth, and ignorance. They need a strong hand to keep them on the straight and narrow. Heavy is the executive’s lot, burdened with the duty of uplifting their workers!

And so the sumptuary laws expand. No more sweet-smelling soaps, no more silky-smooth conditioners. No more make-up, perfume, or cologne. No more brightly colored clothing cut to flatter the form, no more patterns or embroidery. No more, no more, no more…

Thirty thousand years after the birth of a forgotten god, Chemos is a dull, grey planet full of dull, grey people. Everyone is stunted, shorn-headed, dull-eyed, dressed in shapeless coveralls, filthy with grease, coughing up soot, exhausted and malnourished, overworked and underpaid. Stare at enough of them and they start to blend together. Labor is a virtue and beauty is a sin.

And then one day—

One day, Tullea and Corrin’s son walks into work, and everyone stops to stare. He’s always been an odd one, as pretty and wise and impossible as his namesake god, but today takes things to the next level. Overnight, his hair has grown down to his waist, and he has teased and twisted and braided it into an elaborate style. Washed and dyed with stolen products, it seems to shift from color to color as it sways in the light. His eyes match his hair, painted with glittering, multicolored eyeshadow and lined with dark, dramatic mascara. Blush dusts his cheeks, lipstick brightens his mouth. Amidst the dull, gray assembly lines of Chemos, the boy is an explosion of color, of beauty, of joy.

Fulgrim looks across the factory floor—at the enthralled workers, the slackjawed foremen, the uncertain enforcers, the distant manager scrambling for her phone—and smiles. Fulgrim smiles, and everyone knows that the lines are going to march.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Himbo Baratheon gets betrothed and all of his brothers keep trying to sabotage the proposal, not wanting anyone to steal their beloved brother away from them.

I’m just imagining Home Alone (or really any early Disney show) type of antics. Like, here are these grown ass men pulling out these childish and honestly idiotic shenanigans to keep their brother from getting stolen away from them. And by “grown as men” I mainly mean Robert and Renly. Stannis would be the one to come in and actually come up with a cohesive plan that works in their favor.

I also could totally see a young!Renly and a younger!Robert having pulled these exact same stunts in their youth whenever there was any talks of betrothals for Himbo!Baratheon!Reader in general. Their stunts only got worse when there was an actual romantic interest in the picture. And because they thought it worked for them then, then it of course will work all the same now too. It would be the only time the other Baratheon brothers actually work together for something.

I can’t help but envision King Robert and older Renly hiding and peeking behind a corner, watching their beloved brother in the midst of courting someone only for them to have sent out a rat that scares the ever loving life out of the offensive newcomer and they fall into a nearby water fountain or better yet over the side of the castle and land in the water below. Then again, I’m also sure that at least one time in their youth Robert full on distracted Himbo!Baratheon!Reader while young!Renly snuck up and full on pushed whoever the Reader was courting out a window. So, it could either play out as fun, gimmicky shenanigans that somehow end up working or complete and utter murder.

[sparkletastic-cookiedough]

Danny Phantom is immortal. His best friends, not quite

Danny absolutely loves the people closest to him. His mom and dad, his sister, Sam, Tucker, Val, even Wes.

His accident permanently stunted him as a preteen. He can’t age or move past the awkward begining of puberty. His best friends age, grow up, live…

Danny stays the same. Well, he slowly takes on more responsibility in the realms as the ghost king. He trains with Pandora, he fights any ghost that wants to battle, he grows more powerful.

The biggest change in Danny happens when his parents die.

Of course they did. It’s been years, they both grew rather old, and passed away peacefully in their sleep. Danny prevented any major ghost attacks on the earth, so things were very relaxed for his mom and dad. They switched their focus from hunting and fighting ghosts to studying them.

Danny waited for their ghosts to form in the zone. Surely they had been around enough ectoplasm?

Well, no. They didn’t end up forming as ghosts. It didn’t work well for Danny’s plans. He had a whole wing of the castle for them!

Clockwork comforts Danny, tells him that Danny will see his parents again, just not in the way he expected.

Time continued to move on. Jazz became a therapist, with a specialty in occult based cases. Sam worked in phantasmobotany, some weird ghost plant science. Tucker worked in tech, and even created a few cool video games. Val jumped jobs all the time- fashion design, bodyguard, technology- she kept changing and growing. Wes went into investigative journalism.

His friends grew up, became successful, became happy. They never forgot about Danny. They still spent time together every week.

His friends were still mortal, though. Eventually, they each passed on. None of them ended up as ghosts. Clockwork continued to promise that he’d see them again.

Danny mourned the loss of a world that moved on without him. His time in Amity ended with a flicker. He left his home dimension for good, returning to the Ghost Zone for years.

He wasn’t alone. Vlad and Dani halfas too. Even if it was Vlad, Danny was still happy to have a familiar face. And Dani was always a pleasure.

Danny’s fellow half ghosts helped him through his loss. Despite Clockwork telling Danny he’d see his family again, Danny couldn’t help but worry about the worst case scenario.

Eventually, clockwork announced that the time was right. He explained why exactly his friends and family hadn’t become ghosts. Where they had been this whole time.

They had been reincarnated

Danny’s closest friends and family members were all alive, in different bodies, in a different dimension. Their souls were the same.

Clockwork explains that spending enough time with the right people will let their memories return slowly.

So now Danny just has to find people who act like his best friends and family, spend two weeks with them, and hope he found one of his family members.

Danny wasn’t excited for the quest. But seeing his family again? That was worth it.

Danny arrives in the DC universe, ready to reunite with his loved ones.

If he can figure out who they are.

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 8: Marked Flesh

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 3.8k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ Mysterious markings appear on the bodies of infected patients that leave you stumped in your research. In another turn of events, drunk words draw you into the enigma that is the royal family.

It was another day in the elven kingdom. You were dressed that morning by Amara and Liriel - who did not speak about the stunt you had pulled. Surprisingly so, your venture in the woods was not spread around. You wondered if Aemond was keeping it secret for his own sake. It would be embarrassing to admit a human was able to sneak past his guards and escape the castle. It could be just as easy to sneak in as opposed to sneaking out. 

You were glad he kept it secret regardless, for you wished not for the trust built between you and some elves to be broken. Revealing it to everyone would hurt not just your reputation, but Aemonds. It was, in a slight sense, relieving to have a mutual standing with the king. A draw was more like it. 

A smile made its way on your face as you approached your first patient visit of the day. Lyra was sitting in bed, staring up at the vaulted ceiling that spanned the length of the hall with intricately carved stone. The chandeliers glittered with light, casting the hall in a yellow warmth. 

“And how is my favourite elf?” You asked as you placed her food on the small wood table beside her bed. You snuck a bit of peach slices into the meal, as they were her favourite. 

Lyra’s wide and glistening eyes turned to you. Despite her obvious pain, she was still chock-full of wonder, “I have a question.” 

“And what is it, sweet girl?” You sat on the edge of the bed. She rolled up the sleeve of her white flowing dress. She exposed the upper portion of her bicep and revealed the inner area by her armpit. On the delicate skin were dark lines. They each moved in succession to one another, like scratches. 

“May I?” You questioned with your hand reaching out and she nodded to permit you. The pads of your fingers traced the markings gently. This was not something you had noticed in the other patients, nor was it in anything you read. They were gnarly and ridged, composed of rough marks.

You brought out your notes and wrote about it. You went through the standard questions you ask all the patients each morning - how are their symptoms, has anything changed, how much sleep did they get, and a few others to gauge how bad the taint has infected them. 

“I’m scared.” Lyra’s voice broke you from your focus. You looked up at her to see a faraway look in her eyes. 

“Of what?” 

Lyra then made eye contact with you and spoke plainly, “Death.” 

You were left unable to answer. What could be said to comfort a dying child? What possible words could be used to cover that void of fear? You put down your notebook and reached to grab both of her hands and rubbed the knuckles gently. 

“I want to say you are brave - and you are - but darling I wish you did not ever have to be. The healers and I are working tirelessly for a cure, just hold on. Can you promise me that? After I will take you wherever you wish to go, our little adventure.” Your smile was forced as you tried to keep your composure around her.

Lyra’s face lit up at your words, “Wherever I wish?” 

“Of course,” You ruffled her hair gently and got up from the bed. You stayed to make sure she broke her fast and then went about the rest of your rounds. 

For each patient you visited, you inspected their inner upper bicep and found the same strange markings that were on Lyra. You took note of each of the markings and asked the same questions, hoping that you could find a connection between everyone. After collecting that information, you rushed to the laboratory. 

Daeron was already there as he looked through a pile of books on one of the tables. He muttered to himself - a frequent habit of his to organize his thoughts. You coughed to catch his attention and not startle him. 

Daeron turned to see you, “Ah, how is the adventurer today?” He teased about your recent venture into the woods. 

“You know?” You sighed loudly. Daeron laughed and picked up the book he was looking for. 

“Helaena was told, so naturally, she told me.” Daeron gave you a mischievous smirk. You were not entirely surprised by that. The royal siblings seemed close, especially Daeron and Helaena. 

“Please, let's move on from this. I have some new findings.” At those words, Daeron perked up and approached you. You handed him your notebook to read what you wrote about the markings. “This came to my attention this morning.” 

You waited as Daeron flipped through the few pages. Occasionally he would look up at you and then back down. You could tell he was taking it all in and searching all the previous knowledge he had. 

“Curious,” He muttered, “Peculiar…” Daeron handed you the journal back and paced the laboratory. One of his hands gripped his chin in thought. You watched the elf contemplate for a few moments as he went back and forth. In a quick moment, Daeron snapped his fingers. He glided across the room and reached for a dusty old book. He opened it and started to frantically flip through the pages with determination on his face. 

“They almost look like…” He trailed off as the parchment pages turned. He stopped at a page and let out a hum of approval, “Like these.” He placed the book on a table in front of you and double-tapped the drawings on the page. You leaned in to take what he was presenting you. 

You saw similar markings, but these lines had been inflicted by a knife to the skin, not randomly appearing on them like the patients. You scanned the words and became even more confused.

“Casting marks?” You questioned. 

Daeron brushed a strand of silver hair out of his face, “Blood magic. When you cast strong enough enchantments, it demands a sacrifice of your blood.” 

“But the marks on the patients were not carved… they appeared.” Your brows furrowed. 

“It is only what they looked like to me,” Daeron spoke, “That is all.” Both of you stood in contemplative silence. You placed your sketchings next to the book and looked back and forth. They were exact, except for the fact that one was cut into skin and the other were black lines. 

A dull throbbing emerged in your head. Prior to this, you were confused, now even more so. It seemed that every time you made good headway, something came to stop it. There was almost intentionality in the changing of the taint. A change brought about by its wish to survive and destroy everything. 

“More information to keep you up at night.” Daeron broke the silence. You glanced towards him. 

“I just wish I brought all of my supplies with me. There might be something there.” You wondered about the possibility of something in your home helping. It was cluttered with items, ingredients, books, and trinkets you had collected in your years of research. While the laboratory and library here had surpassed expectations, you longed for the small room of your home. The quiet peace you got there and your ability to work for longer periods - not having to speak to people and just focus on what you needed to get done. 

Daeron patted you on the back, “I’m going to see what the marks look like on the patients.” He stepped back from you and approached the door to the hall. You were left to think, though mostly you just stared.  Frustration built up in you. A phrase you had gotten used to floated through your mind. One step forward, two steps back.

The bustling hall of elves was filled with merry music and chatter. It marked another week since the last dance. In that time, the bridge between you and other elves strengthened - particularly your relationships with Helaena and Daeron. They had been rocks in your stay in the kingdom, always aiding when needed. Amara and Liriel were not relaying your talks to the king, as Daeron reassured you. After, you allowed yourself to get closer to them and spoke on more personal topics. Truly, it had been a long time since you had others to call friends. 

You had yet to get close to Aegon, as he was often about on some adventure and never in the castle. However, he made it a goal to be present at all of the celebrations. He had stalked in to see you, Daeron, Amara, and Liriel at one of the tables. You wished Helaena was there, but understood her aversion to large crowds and loud noises. As Aegon approached, you saw that he carried a sack in his hands. 

“Lovely ladies!” While not drunk, there was an air of aloofness to him. He noticed his brother at the table, “Ah, you as well.” 

Daeron rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, “Should we be worried about whatever you are carrying in that bag?” 

Aegon feigned offence, “It burns me that you think lowly of me. In fact, it is good.” He reached in and pulled out a brooch. It was gold and embedded with jewels to resemble a honeybee. He handed it off to Amara. 

“One for you,” He said with his voice pitched up slightly. Aegon pulled another one out, this time it was silver and blue in the shape of a butterfly. “One for you.” He gave it to Liriel. 

Aegon reached you, “And for the lovely human that pissed off my brother and gave me a great laugh,” He pulled out a brooch that was made of silver. It was a beetle with their wings out. The wings were made of emeralds with the base of the bug being a large sapphire. He passed it to you and you felt the weight in your hands. Cool and surprisingly heavy for such a small object. 

“And you stole these from where?” Daeron interjected. 

“Not theft, brother. I won them in a gamble at some pub… uh, ‘the Merry Maiden’ no, that wasn’t it. Uh, ‘the Gilded Goblet’... no not that.” Aegon’s brows furrowed as he tried to recall the pub's name, but you understood he was likely too inebriated to remember where he was. “Helaena picked the dragonfly one, but I thought the others could make some fine gifts for my friends.” 

Liriel placed her brooch down on the table, “You simply wanted to give them to us?” 

“Alright,” Aegon sighed, “I was hoping one of you could make sure I reach my room tonight and not end up passed out in some room or field. I need to wake up early tomorrow.” You exchanged a look with Daeron, him hiding his smile behind his goblet. 

“I will,” You volunteered. Aegon smiled and thanked you before wandering off - likely to the nearest keg. 

“You will regret that,” Amara warned you in a joking tone, “Last time I tried to get him back to his room, I had to drag him down a hall by his boot.”  You looked to Liriel and Daeron for confirmation, to which they nodded vehemently. You sat back in your chair and sighed before taking a swig of your drink. You were begging to wonder if that was the best decision. 

Daeron got out of his chair and held his hand out to you, “Care for a dance?” 

“Of course,” You placed your hand in his and he escorted you to the floor. Many of the elvish dances are a lot like the ones back home, so you were glad there was not an extreme learning curve. “Have you spoken to her yet?” You remembered his confession the last time you two danced. The supposedly enchanting elf huntress he always treated consumed a large portion of his mind, yet he had been too embarrassed to far as to tell you her name. 

Daeron looked around the room with a faint blush on his cheeks, “I’m working on it.” 

“Ah,” You slowly nodded, “Yes I can see how much progress you have made.” Your sarcastic tone earned you a look of funny disapproval from him. 

“And what about you? Any person back home?” Daeron asked as he spun you around. 

You could not hold back the laugh that slipped from your mouth. You unclasped your hand from his and covered your mouth at the sudden outburst, “No. The options available are… less than desirable.” You tried to find the most gentle words to use and Daeron seemed to understand while he spun you around again. In just a short moment, the smile on Daeron’s face morphed into a serious one. 

You raised your brow at him as he stopped dancing and the two of you stood there. You turned to where he was looking and nothing could prepare you for what you saw. Aemond was right there, with his hands clasped behind his back and a smug look on his face. He never came to these dances, from what you heard, so why was he here now?

“Forgive me, brother,” Aemond spoke to Daeron, “I shall step in.” The blood in your veins turned to ice. Daeron looked at your reaction and stepped close to you. 

“We must discuss a bit of research,” He intervened. 

Aemond hummed, “I am sure you two will have plenty of time on the morrow.” He held his hand out to you and you knew there was no way to deny him - especially in front of the eyes of all the elves in the room. You placed your hand in his and were surprised at the feeling. The skin was cold and rough, his hand larger than yours. Aemond nodded to his brother before moving you away and proceeding to dance. 

The feeling of him being so close reminded you of the sword he held against your throat, yet little fear came over you. He smelled of burning wood and parchment, with something akin to a medley of spices. Aemond did not speak but carefully guided you through the steps. Confusion was not a good enough word to describe your bewilderment. This was the only time you had ever seen him operate with a modicum of respect and possibly kindness. 

That sentiment died the moment he spoke. 

“You two needed to discuss research? Am I correct in guessing that your little adventure was for nothing?” Aemond taunted. The two of you spun before going back to the calm back-and-forth stepping. Other elves around you kept a portion of distance from the king and granted him more leeway on the dance floor.

You knew you had to remain as calm and poignant as possible, “No, your grace,” You would never outright address him as king for as long as you could, “We have yet to begin testing the flowers.” 

“I would advise not to be disappointed when it fails, but I am sure you are used to it.” Aemond’s smugness always managed to dig deep. You could not help but wonder, in all the years of his life, how nobody had yet to knock some sense into him. While none of the other royal siblings had spoken about it, you surmised there had to have been parents or some guardian in their youth to raise them. His siblings were kind, why was he not? 

“Then why did you save me?” Your question caused him to look at you. A glint of confusion shone in his eye. “You wish for me to fail, I could have then and there in that forest. Are you so selfish in your hate towards my kind that you would jeopardize a possible chance of saving and curing your people?”

Aemond’s grip on your hand and waist tightened, though not greatly enough to cause discomfort, “I did not jeopardize anything. If you can recall, I did save you.” His voice lowered in both volume and pitch. 

“Then why?” You questioned again, “Why did you save me?”

“You forget easily, I already told you,” Aemond reminded, “For my sister.” 

“For your sister?” Your tone was not convinced. Ultimately, if you looked at him closely, he looked just a tad nervous. There was an underlying feeling of anxiety in the way his eye darted around the room. He acted indifferent, but there was only so much falsity one could use before they ran out.

“You ask a mighty amount of questions.” Aemond deflected. 

“I wouldn’t be good at what I do if I was bad at asking questions.” You raised your eyebrow as a silent challenge. He turned his gaze back to you, a subtle fire in his eye. Before he could make a retort, you spoke again, “You did not answer my question.” 

Aemond scoffed, “Get used to disappointment.” 

You gave him a feigned and innocent look of confusion and kept your tone polite, “Did you not start this very conversation saying I was used to disappointment? Do you forget easily?” He did not appear to like you and disliked how you used his own words against him. The music came to an end and he pulled away from you as if burned from the contact. 

He looked as though he was going to speak, but chose not to. Aemond stalked off and passed through elves that immediately parted and bowed their heads. While making a big deal of not tolerating anything, he sure did let you get away with a lot. Why must he go out of his way to make you miserable? Does he not have a myriad of tasks to tackle as king?

It was not until he disappeared from your vision that Daeron approached.  

He gripped your shoulder with a worried expression, “Aemond said something horrible, didn’t he?” 

You gave him a reassuring tight-lipped smile, “Just the usual.” Daeron sighed with disappointment and wrapped his arm around your shoulders to guide you off the dance floor and back to the table with Amara and Liriel. Daeron pulled out your chair and you sat down. When you were gone, food had been brought to the table and you settled in to relax and talk with your friends.

You had lost track of the hours as the night passed. Despite Aemond’s attempt to spoil your night, it was significantly better than the last celebration. It was only a week ago, but you had been so new to the castle and unsure of yourself. Now, you had felt stronger after making good connections. It was incredibly fun to bond more with them. 

Since elves lived such long lives, they were never short on stories to tell. Naturally, time passed quickly. Daeron had just finished speaking when you saw Aegon in the distance. He stumbled towards the grand doors that were left open, his clothing somewhat dishevelled.  

“Excuse me, but I am tired and it looks like Aegon may accidentally take a tumble down a flight of stairs if he is not watched.” You pushed out your chair, bowed your head goodbye to them and rushed to the prince. He just made it past the threshold when he stumbled and fell on his knees. You reached him and put one arm across the upper part of his back and the other on the front of his stomach. 

“Ah,” His lopsided smile greeted you, “My saviour.” 

“Come on, let's walk,” You helped to lift him and began a wobbly trek down the halls of the castle. The two guards assigned to watch you followed closely behind. 

The walk took longer than it should have, given that Aegon fell multiple times and it took great strength to get him up again. You wondered if you should ask the guards for help, but decided against it. Every time you had tried to talk to them previously had been met with absolute silence. You had to ask him for directions to his room, which took him a long time to remember. 

Once you reached the door to his quarters, you resisted a loud sigh of relief. You leaned him up against the stone wall to open the door. After another few minutes of struggle, you managed to get him onto his bed. He yawned loudly and stretched out his arms. 

“I am sorry you have to deal with me,” Aegon mumbled. 

You were caught off guard and confused by his words, “What makes you say that?” 

“Helaena is so smart and Daeron has his success in healing. Aemond is the king and I, well, I am a drunk.” Aegon shakily moved his hands to gesture to his body. You removed his boots and placed them at the foot of the bed. 

While you were pouring water into a chalice to place on the bedside table, you thought of a response, “You do not have to be a drunk.” 

“But that is what I am good at.” You moved to sit on the side of the bed, your feet lifting a few inches off the floor. Aegon’s eyes were half-lidded.

“Gods know he won’t remember this,” You whispered to yourself before you raised your head to look at him, “Do you know how many of my people would kill to live as long as you? To learn and grow, to hone skills and make a difference? You have been given a gift, don’t waste it.” Your tone bordered on harsh, but you reeled it in. Something told you deep down that lashing out at him would only make the situation worse. There was no guarantee that come the morrow, these words would stick, but it was better than saying nothing at all. 

You got off the bed and made your way to the door. Your hand gripped the wrought steel handle of the wooden door. When you opened the door and allowed the torchlight of the hallway to seep in, Aegon called out your name. You turned to him to see him on the bed still, but his face looked as though he had more clarity. 

“My brother is not bad, just confused in his way and lashes out,” Aegon spoke.

“What?” You questioned. Your grip on the handle tightened.

Aegon rose slightly to fluff the pillow below him with a huff, “I saw him speaking to you. It is not my place to say, but he is not what he tries desperately to convince people of.” 

“And what is that?” Your query was met with a beat of silence. The distant shouts of the party were long drowned out, nothing but the crackling of the hearth and buzzing of the fireflies outside occupied the room.

“Evil.” His words echoed in your head. 

You gave him a shaky smile, though your heart was not fully in it, “Get some rest, Aegon.” With that, you left his room and closed the door. For a few moments, you stood unable to move. The family you had been exposed to since your meeting with Helaena was more complex than you could have imagined; a fine distraction you did not want to sink into and distract from your research. However, your curiosity had always been your greatest strength and weakness.

Chapter 9: Home and Hearth Preview

“I do not hate you,” Your words caused him to stop. You were slightly fearful, but it waned with each passing day, “I do not know you enough to hate you.” 

“But you have heard enough,” Aemond’s voice had dropped back down to a natural volume, contrasting his combative attitude from before. He shifted on the saddle and scanned the darkened forest.

“Stories, yes, but I doubt them more with each day. I have not seen you gut anyone, or drink the blood of your fallen foes, or anything else like that.” You reasoned. Your fingers brushed the purple petals of the flowers in front of you.

Aemond looked away from you and towards the flowers on the ground, “How do you know I do not do those things?”

✧₊⁺⋆☾ I have a poll going at the moment regarding an idea for future writing. If you are interested, you can vote here.

☾⋆⁺₊✧ 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

[starcanwrecked-confessions]

I want Starkid to grow. I want Starkid to try new things and expand their skills.

Space Baby was an excellent example of this - it was new and bold! And now it feels like it's being buried, just like everything that isn't Hatchetfield has been. VHSCCS was brilliant and has serious potential to be something defining for Starkid; so does Space Baby, and Sissy, as described in the Labs pitch, is also something bold that could be a great, professional direction.

But this rerun is not that. Cinderella's Castle was not very good, but that doesn't mean we should forget about it and move on. I want the Langs to go back to The Lands That Are - it has serious potential! I want them to work on it and develop a story past a tagline. However, it feels like CC didn't come out like they wanted, and so they threw it up on YouTube with little fanfare.

Two weeks later, they launched the TGWDLM:R Kickstarter, knowing how it would look. I cannot imagine they didn't know. I think Starkid has hit a stagnant point. If something innovative isn't producing enough buzz, they abandon it rather than cultivating it.

VHSCCS consistently attracts a large audience; tours are a great way to connect with their fan base. Space Baby was creative and different. But instead, they pour money into the same things. Yes, the audience wants to see them, but they are stunting their own creative growth. TL;DR: Starkid can be professional, but this is not it.

~~~

[sulumuns-dootah]

18. 10. Moaning - Belial

    ༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽Helltober '24☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

    ༺☆༻

There's this trend online where people walk up to their partners and moan into their ear and walk away again.

The first time you moan into Belial's ear is while he's quietly reading a book in the living room. Jiyu is already in bed, so you decide it's the best way to start your teasing. The result wasn't what you'd expected, because the demon must've been very invested in his book. You walked up to him from the back and bent down to his level. It took him a few seconds to come back to reality and to turn his head in your direction to see you smiling at him. Even with the top half of his face covered, he looked puzzled, so you just kissed his cheek and left the room just as fast as you'd entered it.

On the second occasion you found Belial in the halls of the Gehenna castle. He was just done talking to Sitri about something important, so you had to be more quiet about it as the king's right hand was still within earshot.

“Beli!” you hug him and moan prettily into his ear and then you're off again, “Gotta go, Paimon's waiting for me. Love you!”

The third time you manage to catch Belial off guard before one of those dreaded/anticipated meetings where Sitri and Amy fight for the vast majority of the time. This was a perfect distraction as your teasing seemed to work and there was a semi-visible bulge in his pants.

At first you're thinking that that's it. After the meeting's done, the excited demon will drag you to the nearest private room and fuck you senseless so you can't walk for the next week. But that's not what happens. Amy, in his anger is the one to drag you out of the room, to help him organise some sort of defensive attack just so he doesn't have to listen to Sitri anymore.

The blue balls you've accidentally given to your beloved demon make you feel slightly guilty, but are you gonna stop? Oh hell no...

Your luck sadly runs out the fourth time. This time it's you leaving a meeting with Sitri when you run into Belial. As you're about to hug him and pull your stunt again, the demon interrupts you by pushing you up against the closest wall and you know you're fucked and about to be fucked.

The heat pulsing from him is infectious and soon you can feel your own need spark up. Belial, however, ends up pulling back and hand signing to you that you better be at home once he's off from his duties. Maybe it's for the better, because just this interaction outside his door, drew Sitri's attention and if you were to continue, he'd either interrupt or try to participate – he himself is unsure of which.

Timeskip to you at home, waiting for the arrival of the pent up demon, but you're not willing to give in that easily. You're hiding behind the door to the bedroom only to slam them after him and approach Belial from behind and moan in his ear one last time.

This time the plan works out and you know for sure you're in for a long night, just from the way the demon's ripping both of your clothes off and needily plunging himself into you.

    ༺☆༻

Shhh... the prompt for tomorrow is Lap dance ^^

[theodysseymovie]

Stunt performer James Newman shares his experience while working on Christopher Nolan's 'THE ODYSSEY':

“They’re never going to make a movie like this again. I think it’s going to be an epic of all epics. It’s going to be Nolan at his best. No holds barred. He definitely fights a battle that a lot of people aren’t fighting. The coordinator came to us with scout pictures of locations, and it’s just all over Europe because Odysseus’ journey is crazy, it’s like 10 years long.” “They found locations and Nolan would go like, ‘Okay, this cave, has anyone ever filmed here before?’ And the local guy is like, ‘No.’ [Nolan] is like, ‘Okay, great, we’re going to film here.’ This like untouched place. He wants to be the first person there to do it, he wants to feel like no one has ever touched ground here. And every location is a hike. There’s a castle, I think it’s Odysseus’ home, but it’s up on a hill and it’s like a two kilometer hike to get up there.” “I had the opportunity to make some action with a talented group of people for the film and also had the opportunity to train Matt Damon and Tom Holland for the film. All the rumors about Tom being physically able are so true. He can literally do anything. He should get every physical role possible.”

“Matt definitely wanted to be more efficient because that’s the character. Odysseus, if anyone is familiar with that story, Odysseus is really the only war scene character along that journey. The guys he has with him have fought with him but Odysseus himself is like, ‘I’ve lived and breathed battle,’ and so that makes him more smart, and that’s why he’s so good. Matt definitely understood that and then we were trying to play that up as well. So he isn’t going to do flashy things. With Tom, he’s obviously more athletic and he’s younger so he’s going to almost be a younger version of Odysseus.”

[baleriontheblackkitten]

A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

And so the king's court comes to Winterfell.

Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.

It's kind of funny re-reading this passage, but it makes sense that most Starks and Lannisters hardly know each other at all at this point. It's the first time visiting the North for many of these people. You really feel the sense of how distant Winterfell is from everywhere else - no one ever goes there from the South, and the Starks hardly leave it either. Ned and Robert haven't seen each other since Balon's rebellion.

Something's off about the timeline. In Cat's first chapter, Ned says, "It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at the Lannister woman’s teat the last time I saw him," and Cat states Tommen is seven years old. Now Ned muses that it's been nine years since he last saw Robert, at Balon's rebellion. Why would Ned see Cersei and baby Tommen without Robert? Considering the queen and the kids have been traveling on a giant wheelhouse that doesn't even fit the castle gate, trained by forty horses - I doubt Cersei is the kind of person who would travel much with an infant. Unless she'd be going to Casterly Rock to have baby Tommen meet his grandfather, but why would Ned go there?

I mean, it's doesn't matter. We're just in the exposition stage. The funniest in-story explanation is that Ned and Cat were just mixing up babies in their memories and it wasn't baby Tommen they saw but baby Myrcella, in that case the timeline would work since Myrcella would be of breastfeeding age nine years ago. I'll just accept that.

Anyway. Ned is taken aback by how much Robert has changed, no longer built like a warrior, but a fat man that smells of perfume instead of blood.

So many of Ned's memories are tied to the smell of blood. He remembers Robert as smelling of leather and blood, he remembers the room Lyanna died in as smelling of roses and blood. He's a man whose past is filled with the scent of blood, that he can still smell with his memory. It's easy to point the finger at Ned's mistakes, but this is a man traumatized to the seven hells and back who uses defensive mechanisms (like the rose-tinted glasses he looks at Robert through) that progressively crumble leaving him undefended.

(It's also interesting how wolves are often described as smelling blood, and the Starks who warg into wolves, Bran and Arya, often mention the smell of blood in their noses. Something about a circle of violence, blood spilled that calls for more blood and whose scent fills the nostrils of the younger generation.)

Speaking of Lyanna.

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, “Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects.” Ned loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years. He called for a lantern. No other words were needed. The queen had begun to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.

The dead wolf girl will always matter more to Robert than his living wife, and it seems Cersei still minds that even after all these years. Jaime diffuses a potential nasty situation, which is a microcosm for Jaime's role in Robert and Cersei's marriage - keeping Cersei placated enough that the friction between her and Robert is reduced to a minimum. And yet it's not enough. (And pretty ironic, since Jaime's role in that marriage is both solving problems and creating bigger ones.)

"This king Ned scarcely recognized" Ned thinks of Robert, and that's the point, isn't it? Robert has changed physically, but he's still the same man he's always been. It's Ned that remembers him different - a better man than Robert has ever been - and will struggle with the realization.

“I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell,” Robert complained as they descended. “In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined.” “I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?” Robert snorted. “Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I’ve never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?” “Likely they were too shy to come out,” Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. “Kings are a rare sight in the north.” Robert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!” The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended. “Late summer snows are common enough,” Ned said. “I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild.” “The Others take your mild snows,” Robert swore. “What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think.” “The winters are hard,” Ned admitted. “But the Starks will endure. We always have.”

A very effective picture of the North in just a few lines! Although there's more to the North than the hard parts.

Robert's description of the South in summer is pretty poetic, I mean, if you ignore the misogyny in his description of women. Okay, it partly speaks of Robert's privilege as he can enjoy all the pleasures his land can offer. But I also think he's not that far from the truth when he says that everyone is "fat and drunk and rich". Obviously that's not true true, since peasants are still peasants and not rich, but the kingdom is enjoying a long period of peace and prosperity. They've been having a long summer. The only war since the Rebellion was fought in the Iron Islands, leaving the rest of the kingdom untouched. So Robert is, like, getting the right answer while using the wrong formula. Most people are not as weathy as he is, but there's good crops, food in abundance for everyone, and the economy of the kingdom is flourishing. Which makes it ever more heartbreaking when war breaks out and everything goes to hell. Winter is coming for the kingdom in horrific ways they don't realize yet.

It was always cold down here. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by. By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not. The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North.

Actually, Ned, I think it's going to be a good thing that the ancient Kings of Winter are around. Just in case something passes by that the ancient Kings of Winter would be used to deal with. Just saying. I do wonder what will be the role of the dead in the crypts of Winterfell, but of one thing I'm sure: they won't be used as puppets by the Others. The ancient people of the North knew better than to leave their dead undefended. Like the Wall is inbued with defensive magic, I'm sure these tombs have a heavy dose of magic against the enemy. Maybe those swords were never supposed to protect the living from the dead in the crypts, but were supposed to be wielded by the "good" dead to protect the living from the "bad" dead, and in time that knowledge was lost.

Anyway, they are so very going to play a part, these ancient Starks whose eyes follow Ned and Robert as they pass. It's always meaningful when something that should not be sentient feels like it's watching. It usually means there is, in fact, something sentient watching. Maybe this is also [going to be] Bran, maybe not.

The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that.

Something that seems creepy while they're alive - the tombs meant for them - turns out to be something desirable once they're dead. Ned's bones being prevented from reaching their supposed resting place, Robb's body defiled and desacrated, Cat's body (she might not be a Stark, but she becomes one during the war) being given a sacrilegious mockery of a Tully funeral - none of them can rest, they all haunt the kingdom and the narrative, in Cat's case she literally comes back to life as a revived corpse, but Ned and Robb also haunt the South. And of course, the absence of them in their place in Winterfell also creates a spiritual imbalance in Winterfell itself.

(Also, honestly, I find there's something sweet and comforting in the empty space in the marble of the family grave where my picture and name and the pictures and names of my loved ones will eventually be placed. It's inevitable that each of us will die, after all, and it's nice to know we'll be in the same place to rest together.)

The dead of House Stark will need to be put to rest before the end of the story. The fact that Ned's first chapter is set in the crypts... I see what you did there, George. Ned's journey will find its conclusion here.

There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned’s father, had a long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchres on either side were his children. Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule. Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.

Both Ned and Robert had their lives uprooted by the deaths of the two Stark siblings. Ned took Brandon's place as Lord of Winterfell and as Catelyn's husband. Robert, well. Ironically he takes the place that was supposed to be Rhaegar's and marries the woman Rhaegar was supposed to marry originally. But Ned embraces his unexpected role and quickly grows to love his wife, Robert just despises the responsibilities of the throne and Cersei.

The fact that Ned was not supposed to rule Winterfell... It makes you wonder if this is ultimately the reason Ned is so unequipped to deal with the court and eventually loses the game of thrones. He was not raised to be Lord of Winterfell, he was raised to run some holdfast for his older brother (like he tells Bran he'll do for Robb - I see what you did there, George). Catelyn, on the other hand, was raised almost like a firstborn son for years since her father was afraid he'd never get a son. And it's Catelyn that almost makes it - she insist they hurry to eat under the Frey's roof, so that the rules of hospitality will keep them safe. She plays the game well... it's just that the other side breaks the rules of the game. You can't blame her for that.

Anyway, let's not get too ahead of ourselves. If "by ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts" then it means that Brandon and Lyanna don't have one. Maybe Brandon was given one anyway, since he was meant to be Lord of Winterfell. But Lyanna surely hasn't been given a sword. I don't know if that means anything metaphysically, but metaphorically her ghost is haunting the two men visiting her grave for sure.

I love how Robert dislikes her resting place arrangement, unable to understand what it means to a Stark. Robert never understood anything about Lyanna, and I am convinced that it was her choice to go with Rhaegar instead of marrying Robert, that she purposely did it to avoid marrying Robert.

Speaking of Rhaegar... in the previous chapter, Dany thinks of Rhaegar's death as something Rhaegar did "for the woman he loved". Now Robert and Ned obviously think of Rhaegar's death as punishment for harming Lyanna... The truth is probably in the middle, alright. Rhaegar was not the perfect man Viserys has described him to Dany, but he was not the man Robert thinks of him.

Rhaegar is still a mystery we're given clues to here and there in the books. Personally I think his tragedy was the weight of prophecy on him - at some point he must have realized that the "ice and fire" part of "the song of ice and fire" did not refer to "our side (fire) and the enemy (ice)" but "Stark and Targaryen" (as in the "Pact of Ice and Fire" established during the Dance of the Dragons), which must have made him think of his marriage to ~more fire~ (a Martell i.e. the sun) the wrong choice, because the prince who was promised could not be fire+fire but fire+ice. And then he possibly met a Stark girl who was very determined to create her own path instead of marrying the man her father had promised her to... and the rest is history.

“In my dreams, I kill him every night,” Robert admitted. “A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves.” There was nothing Ned could say to that.

Ned is fucking thinking about keeping a certain boy as far away from Robert's eyes as possible for the entirety of Robert's visit.

They start talking about Jon Arryn's death, which happened so fast and unexpectedly, not suspicious at all.

“Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear her grief?” Robert’s mouth gave a bitter twist. “Not well, in truth,” he admitted. “I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?” Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin, but he left his doubts unspoken.

Ned is so funny.

(Also, Robert is so misogynistic, seven hells, why do you think the girl ran off with some other guy, Robert?)

“The boy is my namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn. I am sworn to protect him. How can I do that if his mother steals him away?”

I have some thoughts about namesakes. Ned named his eldest ~sons~ after Robert and Jon Arryn, and only the youngest sons after his brother and father. His daughters are also given Stark names. That leads me to believe that Jon actually has been given a name by Lyanna, that Jon is just a cover Ned finds to make the baby believable as his son. Because the boy named after Robert dies, and the boy named after Jon Arryn... also dies. It seems only fitting that Jon is eventually reborn with a different name. The Stark children who have been given non-Stark names cannot survive, only the ones carrying Stark names can survive.

"But Marghe, Rickon has a Stark name and there's no way he survives the story," you might say. Okay, maybe it's not a universal truth for all Stark children and more of a "you doomed those two boys by naming him after your Rebellion companions" thing. Or maybe Rickon survives after all. Fingers crossed.

“I have more concern for my nephew’s welfare than I do for Lannister pride,” Ned declared. “That is because you do not sleep with a Lannister.” Robert laughed, the sound rattling among the tombs and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling.

Here it is, the crux of the troubles soon to happen. Robert's priority is preventing his wife from ~nagging at him, and that's going to get Sansa's direwolf dead, Sansa's trust in Ned broken, and everything that follows.

And then Robert gets to the reason he went to visit Ned in person. Gods, he is so selfish. He hates being king because it's annoying and tedious to him. He says he hates being surrounded by liars and flatterers and he wants someone who's gonna tell him the truth to his face - but he won't listen to Ned anyway, so. (Makes you really appreciate Stannis actually listening to Davos, uh. Damn it Robert, Stannis should have been your new Hand, you just didn't pick him because you find him annoying!) He knows that Ned will hate the job, but he wants him to do it regardless.

Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. “If I wanted to honor you, I’d let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave.” He slapped his gut and grinned. “You know the saying, about the king and his Hand?” Ned knew the saying. “What the king dreams,” he said, “the Hand builds.” “I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit.” He threw back his head and roared his laughter. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them the dead of Winterfell seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes.

Robert also complains Ned is too serious, to which Ned responds with his own brand of humor:

“They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man’s laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death,” Ned said evenly. “Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor.”

Re-reading the chapter, Ned keeps joking, but it's a kind of deadpan humor Robert doesn't really get.

Now comes a bit that makes me go mmm.

“You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

Did he really love Lyanna, or was he in love with the idea of becoming ~brothers~ with Ned? Did Ned possibly encourage their father to betroth Lyanna to Robert, blinded by the enthusiasm of becoming brothers with Robert, not realizing that Lyanna would not be happy with him at all, and inadvertantly sending everything to hell?

There's also another layer to this - Robert wanted to "rule together" with Ned. He basically wanted Ned to be his queen. Making him Hand of the King basically makes him his queen. (See also Davos as Stannis' truest queen.)

I think that Robert and Ned's affection (obsession? inability to see each other as they truly are but seeing a fictional version of each other instead?) for each other destroyed Lyanna first, and Sansa later.

For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.

So tragic when the characters themselves see the foreshadowing but cannot but walk to their doom anyway...