#there is always a lighthouse. there is always a man. there is always a city.

[atopvisenyashill]

what do you think of waymar 😭 george wanted us to dislike him?

no, i don’t think george wants us to dislike him at all! rather, i think waymar is our introduction to the themes george is most fond of - the arrogance of the noble class, the concept of a true knight, and the randomness of death.

our introduction to waymar royce is kind of quintessential spoiled little lordling. his clothes is too fancy, he’s dismissive of the smallfolk who clearly know better than him, he’s got that shiny knighthood but he’s not all that impressive, he doesn’t even have the right type of horse for ranging! he mocks both gareth and will, despite them being more experienced than him, and despite gareth being an “elder” of a sort. for waymar, the idea that gareth could have a better understanding of the situation is unthinkable. when gareth tells the story of frostbite in an attempt to get waymar to turn back, waymar dismissed him wholesale. he leads them, unknowingly, to their doom because he is simply too arrogant to see the sense in what gareth is saying. not only is that entire dismissive attitude prevalent in the story, but someone marching themselves and several innocents straight to their doom over their pride is a HUGE issue throughout the series as well. just as varys says - it is always the innocent, the peasantry, who suffer the most and here, poor gareth and will are forced to pay a price for the foolishness of someone they KNOW is less experienced.

and then the others come.

There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Ser Waymar met him bravely. "Dance with me then." He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night's Watch.

The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.

He won’t win this fight. He knows it, the Others know it, and Will knows it. But the fact that Waymar has doomed himself and his men to death doesn’t matter here; what matters is that he doesn’t give up! When faced with a monster from a story book, an impossible nightmare, Waymar picks up his sword and he fights, and for a moment, Will has hope.

That’s why it’s Waymar in the prologue. He’s not an exemplary sort of man, he’s not particularly smart or skilled or kind or even overly cruel or stupid. He is a very normal, common type of man who led a very normal life until this moment. But he still tries.

And so does poor Will! And so does Gared! Will is terrified as he hides in the trees, watching Waymar fight and die, knowing that going to help will just get them both killed. He’s not particularly brave, but I would say he’s smart! Genre savvy even, when he knows the fight is hopeless and makes the decision to keep hidden and fight another day. Gared flees (and it’s interesting that we have the theee main fear responses here - fight, hide, and flee) but he’s so traumatized by what he’s seen that as he’s questioned he can’t give a good, clear answer. And then he’s uselessly, needlessly killed by our shining example of chivalry and honor in Ned Stark, his head kicked like a toy by Theon Greyjoy. As Jon says, he only dies “well” because he’s shell shocked - he is confused and deeply afraid in his last moments.

the three of them - gared, will, and waymar - are the entire series diluted down to one chapter, to three unextraordinary men. but with them lies a lot of the point of the whole story. and waymar specifically, for me, is about all those moments of bravery in the face of unbeatable odds. he’s a very normal, very flawed person who reaches down deep in himself and finds something good and brave at the very end.

[blood-orange-juice]

@theatrevelyan

This didn't fit into a comment so I had to write a post.

They do have similar vibes but hear me out!

In "classic" heroic myths hero is usually special in some way. By descent, circumstances of birth or whatever. Modern stories recreate it more often than not, very few actually try to subvert it.

Being Parsifal's descendant would be exactly that, making our boy a classic Hero With A Calling. And one important thing about Childe is that he's hero-shaped (if you squint) but not a hero.

Genshin has a different cool thing though!

Stories are important in some way, they tend to repeat themselves in each world cycle, with completely unrelated people playing the same roles. Sometimes with different outcomes but the core story is still recognisable.

This it what Nahida calls samsara. Not the real world Buddhism samsara, just this tendency of stories to be reenacted. Somehow they are the core of Teyvat.

And I believe that is exactly what's happening to Childe. He's not some important person's descendant or reincarnation, he's just another one in the line of idealistic boys obsessed with knightly tales, who had the misfortune to be fitting enough for a particular story.

Like Enkanomiyan Ajax and Old Monstadtian Parsifal and probably many others.

There's always a whale-dragon beast, there's always lost hope, there's always a treasure which brings misfortune. There's always a beautiful woman with whom he's separated when they are betrayed by others.

(Tsaritsa spoilers?)

They always succumb to illusions. There's always something... questionable about them.

So he's just that. A random guy who randomly fell off the edge of the map and by sheer strength of belief, wanderlust and stubborness summoned an eldritch god, linking himself to it and to a type of story.

He's still nothing special (not like he cares).

It still doesn't bode well for him.

[vuulpecula]

✖ @tapalslegacy ❤'d for a starter !

"It always starts with a man with a big idea." She twisted the hook around in her hand, lounging a little too casually against boxes labeled EXPLOSIVE. "Thinks he's gonna change the world and all that." Her hand waved as if they had an audience. "Until he starts to put the people he swore he was helping under the same boot he squashed the others with." Fox's booted foot slammed down upon the wooden lid, nails groaning beneath her sole. "Which one are you then? The man with the boot or the one underneath it?"

[writer-logbook]

How to get back into writing: a 5-steps guide

As someone who hasn't written anything in a decade, this is what I did to get back into writing seriously.

Identify which archetype of writer fits me better. You may have heard George R.R. Martin saying there are two types of writers: gardeners and architects. Whether you believe in that statement or not isn't relevant per se, but the actual meaning behind that point is that you need to get to know yourself as a writer, how you work, what you need, etc., so you can adapt your environment to achieve your goals. Speaking of which…Gentle reminder : you're a person not a robot. You are allowed to work the way you want to, and not to follow whatever pieces of advice that are linked to these archetypes.

Set a realistic word count/session I can stick to over the long term. When you're a 9-6 office employee, it's not always easy to find time to write and sometime our day at work got the very best of us. Having that in mind, I set my word count up to 200-500 words per session or 1 chapter per week (they're rather small in my case). Gentle reminder : babysteps are better than no-step at all.

If I'm not writing, fine, I'll do some research or anything else. Your story will always require something from you. When I'm not in the mood for writing, there are two options : forcing myself or doing what I call para-writing. For instance it's : reading articles or books about improving my writing style, improving my worldbuilding, drawing a map of my city etc. This are not things that would appear in the novel but it would guide me throughout the process the way a walking-stick would do for an injured man. Gentle reminder : you always find something useful to do but at the end of the day, you still have to write.

Have a general idea of what I want to tell. I won't lie, I've plotted my entire novel from the very beginning to the very end, which means I know exactly what to write and when. If you're against having a defined plot, I'm no one to judge, but having at least the key events or the major points will definitely help you. Like a lighthouse, it will help you navigate through the mists of confusion or hesitation. Gentle reminder : It's better to know where to go even if you end up losing yourself along the journey. Having the map doesn't mean you have to follow it, but rather when you can allow yourself to take a step to the side.

Write something I enjoy. A bit cliché I admit, but it's the best advice I could give. You'll spend hours, days, weeks - even years !- on that story so better buckle up to something you really want to write. Otherwise the risk is to abandon that hard-work you've done halfway through the process. No one needs that frustration and that self-doubting questionnings. No one. Not you. Not even me. Gentle reminder : it's okay to want readers and reviews but I promise you, your writing will be really different on something you trully want to share...Remember how pissful it was to write an essay for class you didn't want to ?

[mosswiind]

neve gallus isn't actually a mean lady

Heavy spoilers ahead, tread carefully if you do not want to see spoilers for Dragon Age: The Veilguard, specifically related to Neve Gallus and Lucanis Dellamorte.

Neve Gallus isn’t actually a mean lady. 

Since the release of the game, it has become clear that most people have chosen to save Treviso, under the logic that there is no army or meaningful defense against a dragon. This is a fair decision. What is unfair is choosing Treviso because “Minrathous should be able to defend itself against a dragon.” 

The dragon attack was never the main event with Minrathous.

It was always a Venatori takeover. This isn’t even metagaming, this is literally text presented when Neve and Lucanis are making their cases for their respective cities. 

If you save Minrathous, Treviso is blighted. The Crows lose a number of key people. The market is a field hospital full of civilians with the blight. The fallout is awful. There are many, many casualties on your conscience. 

If you save Treviso, Minrathous does not fall. The city is not top-down blighted. Infrastructure still functions in some places.

However, the Shadow Dragons are demolished, the sitting Archon is killed, and the well-established large Venatori presence results in hundreds of literally visible civilian corpses. There are cartloads of bodies on every corner. There are gallows erected in every neighbourhood. The number of slaver cages grows exponentially. The Viper, one of the primary symbols of hope in Dock Town, is blighted.

There is blood everywhere. Blood that is on your hands for making the choice to save Treviso. 

The point of this decision is that there is no good or obvious option. Both options are devastating, especially for the companions impacted, who are both hometown heroes. Both are understandably very upset that the team they are a part of prioritized the other. 

Most people choose to save Treviso. Most people have only seen Neve upset. 

Neve is, understandably, a very guarded person. She has been a solo private investigator for most of her career. She lives alone in her little Dock Town apartment. She has contacts, sure, and some friends, but due to her line of work, connections are a liability that cannot go deeper than professionalism without putting people in harm’s way.

She has always, and will always, put Dock Town first, a priority that does not change based on Rook’s relationship to her. She does this because the Templar order, the Magisterium, and infrastructure of Minrathous have made it abundantly clear that they do not care about her impoverished hometown, or any of the people in it. 

She is upset with you because you followed the same logical flow chart as all of the other people who should have helped.

I would be fucked up about it, too.

And after all of that, Neve is still open to repairing the relationship and tentatively exploring a romance with Rook. 

Lucanis, on the other hand, is gregarious, charming, funny, and while he is a wildly different character to Zevran, for many people he seems to scratch a similar itch - a hot Antivan man who wants to hang out with you. He has strong feelings about making sure everyone is fed and cared for. He is a supportive friend. He looks out for the other members of the team. He is an objectively good man, and makes it obvious, especially if you already dig his vibe.

But, and this is a huge but, in the wake of a Minrathous prioritization, Lucanis disappears for the same amount of time.

His return is triggered by the same quest.

His comments about not being chosen are the same amount of venomous and sad.

He believes he is unable to count on Rook and the team until a similar point in the story. The second he arrives back in the Lighthouse, it becomes clear that he is no longer open to even considering a romance with Rook.

Neve feels like she is the only person looking out for the Minrathous underclasses, because based on the text, that is almost true. There are the Shadows (her affiliates), and the Threads (her contacts), and one Templar who isn’t in the Shadows (shoutout to Templar Rana). It is made clear by the text. 

If you choose to support the poor and enslaved population of Dock Town, Neve still has to do damage control, just like Lucanis does. She checks in with unhoused civilians and provides instructions for those who are unsafe to connect with the Shadows. 

A Neve who is not hardened by Rook’s calls is kind, sweet. She goes on a mission to track down the unpublished sequel to Bellara’s favourite serial. She then successfully tracks it down, and delivers it, complete with the author’s artistic renderings of several characters. She helps Taash with their gender identity, supporting them and providing them with other safe people to talk to about it. She and Davrin make plans to set up shop together, to solve more problems. She is brusque but professional about Emmrich’s necromancy, but also gives Manfred a nickname. She regularly gets chastised by Davrin for giving Assan too many treats.

She’s self-proclaimedly not a lover of animals besides cats, but if you pet a cat while on her personal quests, she approves. She also explains that she probably would love animals more, but if they’re “larger than a cat, they’re probably demonic.” 

If romanced, Neve expresses genuine fear that Rook will get hurt. She is concerned for her heart, but not because she doesn’t love Rook. She is not afraid that Rook will leave her. She is afraid that proximity to her will get Rook killed. 

Neve is, contrary to apparently popular belief, a nice fucking lady. 

All of this is to say that there is an obvious, glaring difference between Neve and Lucanis, and I don’t know if you can play spot-the-difference between them, but Neve is a brown woman, and Lucanis is a white/white-adjacent man. It probably isn’t conscious on most peoples’ parts, but the Dragon Age fandom has a long history of deprioritizing women, especially women of colour, in their cast lineups. Off the top of my head, see Vivienne, Isabela, and Josephine.

I have seen Neve called a bitch, a whiner, a baby, an asshole, for being justifiably upset that her city is in the exact state she told y’all it would be, in favour of “the obvious choice,” Treviso.

The response from the community has been “but obviously Minrathous could defend against a dragon.” 

Yes! You’re right! It can! As I said earlier! But not quickly or effectively enough to prevent any public emergency level confusion that can be taken advantage of! Which was literally always the point!

You can pick Treviso for whatever reason you like. Being a Crow, loving Teia and Viago, loving the Venice vacation vibe, wanting the cuntiest casual clothing, preferring Lucanis. I don’t actually care what you do. 

But please, please, please, shut the entire fuck up about Neve being the only complainer in the party. 

She’s just doing what she’s always done. She’s the hero Dock Town has, will always have, and the hero Dock Town deserves. 

[mysunshinetemptress]

Call Your Mom

Leah Williamson x reader

Warnings: talks of suicide please please know you are never alone

Tears streamed down your face, blurring the already distorted image in the mirror. It had been years since the suffocating darkness of suicidal thoughts had threatened to consume her. Back then, Leah had been your anchor, your lighthouse guiding you back to the shore. But lately, with the weight of the loan to Manchester City pressing down on you, a familiar coldness had begun to seep back in. The vibrant colours of your recent success with Man City seemed to have drained away, replaced by a suffocating grey.

you had convinced yourself it was just the stress of the new environment, a temporary blip. But tonight, the blip had morphed into a monstrous wave threatening to pull you under. The once vibrant colours of your apartment seemed muted, the silence deafening. The thought of reaching out to Leah, of tarnishing the happiness you'd built together, felt unbearable.

But as the racing thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last, the fear became a raw, primal instinct.  Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring the digital clock on the nightstand. 3:12 am. Shame burned in your gut. How could she be feeling this way again, after all, Leah had done to pull her back from the brink .

 Leah's voice, even thick with sleep, was a lifeline.

You fumbled for your phone, the familiar warmth of the screen offering a flicker of comfort. Leah's name on the contact list taunted you. Reaching out felt like a betrayal, a regression. Yet, the darkness whispered terrifying thoughts, a relentless chorus you couldn't seem to silence.

With a shaky hand, you hit call. One ring. Two. Three. Just as you considered hanging up, Leah's drowsy voice filled the silence, even thick with sleep,  it was a lifeline.

"Y/n? Everything alright?"

You sucked in a breath unable to answer.

"Baby? Hey, what's wrong?" Leah's concern, though muffled by distance, sliced through the fog of despair. Shame threatened to choke you, but the words tumbled out, ragged and desperate. Leah listened patiently, her voice a soothing balm even across the miles.

"Stay on the phone, babe. I'm on my way."

You choked out a protest. "No, Le, it's too late, you..."

"Don't argue," Leah interrupted gently. "Four hours. I'll be there."

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the phone that was deafening. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears leaking past your lashes. "Le? Are....Are you still there?" you croaked, your voice thick with despair.

"Always," came Leah's unwavering reply, even through the static of the phone call. "Don't you even think about hanging up."

You knew Leah could hear the tremor in your voice, the raw vulnerability that sliced through years of carefully constructed walls. The move to Manchester had felt like a fresh start, a chance to prove yourself on a bigger stage away from the stacked bench of Arsenal. But the pressure had become a suffocating weight, and the initial excitement had morphed into a suffocating loneliness.

"It's stupid," You mumbled beginning to pick at the skin around your fingernails, hating the pathetic sound of your own voice. "I thought I was past this. But it just…it hit me tonight."

The four-hour drive was an agonizing eternity for both of you. You paced the apartment restlessly, the phone pressed tight to your ear, the silence punctuated by Leah's gentle reassurances and the rhythmic hum of the engine in the background.

The guilt gnawed at You as you began to feel guilty for calling Leah so late. "Leah, you don't have to do this," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "It's just me being a mess.....I'll.....I'll get over it."

"No," Leah's voice came resolute through the speaker. "This isn't just you. You're not alone in this, i'm not letting you do this alone not tonight not ever."

The dam broke then. You confessed everything - the creeping despair, the fear of disappointing your Mom,  god your mom was the only one you had growing up and the only child to a single parent, she had sacrificed everything for you and now here you were wanting to end the life she had given you, the life she had sacrificed so so much for."Oh my god Le, My Mom I don't...I can't" Leah listened without judgment, her unwavering support a beacon in the storm.

"She'd be disappointed," You mumbled, "that I'm not... stronger."

You choked back a sob. the thought of dragging Leah into it was unbearable, of your Mom "I can't let Mom know," you whispered, your voice tight with fear. "She thinks I'm… I'm better now. She'd be so disappointed.....Le she...she gave up everything and I...oh god...I just want to through it all away." Leah didn't know what to do.

"Y/n," Leah said, her voice firm, "being strong doesn't mean bottling things up. It means reaching out for help when you need it. We'll face this together, okay?"

You shook your head unable to answer.

Leah sighed, the sound travelling through the phone line. "Your mom would want you to be happy and healthy, Y/n. She would understand you can't keep this bottled up it won't help. I'll call her, I'll explain everything and I already know she will be so proud you called me instead of struggling alone ok, so hold on and I'll call your mom ?"

The suggestion hung in the air. The thought of facing your mother's concern, of potentially shattering the fragile image of your recovery, terrified you. But the alternative - the terrifying chasm of despair that had threatened to engulf you - was even scarier.

Taking a shaky breath, You finally conceded. "Please," You whispered, the first flicker of hope igniting in your chest. "Please can you call her?"

Leah sighed in relief sipping in "Of course baby, as soon as I get to you I'll call her ok?" You let out a hum letting Leah know you heard her.

Through the night, Leah's voice became a lifeline. You talked for hours, about everything and nothing, about the weather in Manchester, Leah's upcoming game, and the silly things you both used to laugh about back in your younger days. With each passing minute, the frantic edge in your voice softened. The dawn broke just as you finished reminiscing about a particularly chaotic prank you'd pulled on a teammate in your youth.

Exhausted but with a fragile sense of calm settling over you, you looked at the phone screen. Leah's location showed she was somewhere near Birmingham now.

"Leah," You began, a nervous tremor in your voice, "you really don't have to come all this way."

"Nonsense," Leah interrupted, her voice full of determination. "I wouldn't be anywhere else. I told you we'll face this together, okay?"

By the time Leah arrived, the first rays of dawn were painting the sky a soft pink. Relief washed over you as you pulled Leah tightly into a hug, the familiar scent of your girlfriend a potent reminder of the love and support that still surrounded you.

"We'll get through this together," Leah whispered, her arms wrapped securely around You, slightly scared to let you go. "Come on let's get you to bed and then I'll call your mom," she added, her voice firm.

[kabsey]

The breeze off the river tugged at Ilene's braid as she watched the moored boats bob in the current. She sat high above the city streets, her legs dangling over the edge of the rooftop she'd chosen as the morning's perch. The hour was still early, but already people and goods jostled each other in their hurry to reach the produce markets.

The tugging on her braid became more insistent, and she turned to find the source. A strange bird—its feathers so black they looked almost purple in the sunlight—released her hair from its beak as soon as she met its beady eye. A moment later, a bearded man had taken the bird's place, though he'd somehow kept the bird's wings.

"We need to go," he said.

Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She tried to twist and wrench herself free of his grasp, but he flapped his wings and they rose above the rooftop. Before she could scream, he had dragged her though the air...

... and then not the air...

... and then underwater.

When they next landed on solid stone, she was no longer barefoot, she was no longer ten years old, and she was no longer Ilene. Rook nodded to Spite, and they sprinted down the Ossuary corridor in search of Lucanis.

Sometimes they had to fight their way through waves of faceless Venatori, or they turned corner after corner only to find themselves back where they'd started. This time Spite launched himself straight through the large wooden doors at the end of the hall. They exploded inward, and splinters were still falling when Rook raised her bow and sent an arrow straight through Calivan's eye without even bothering to aim.

Spite reached the table first, and Rook dashed to the opposite side. They ignored the iron manacles holding down Lucanis's limbs; they were impossible to open. Instead Rook gingerly brushed the hair away from Lucanis's swollen eye. He jerked, and his other eye flew open.

"Lucanis, you need to wake up," Rook told him. She forced her voice steady and calm and soothing.

His cracked lips parted. "What?" he rasped.

"You have to wake up." She continued petting his furrowed brow. "It's the only way out."

He swallowed, and his gaze flicked to Spite. "Wait," he murmured. "I know—"

Rook jolted upright on her chaise in the Lighthouse. She whipped off her blanket and nearly slipped on its folds in her haste to get to the door. She ripped it open, pounded down the stairs, and ran out into the courtyard. She reached the door to the dining hall just as Lucanis made his unsteady way out. She threw herself at him, and he caught her in his arms and buried his face in her shoulder.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse with sleep and not screams. "Thank you for coming for me."

She held him tighter. "Always," she promised.

In a flash of purple light, Spite's wings burst from Lucanis's back and extended to wrap around them both, a silent vow made manifest.

[mamawasatesttube]

alright it's time! without further ado i present to you, the premise of the timkon and clois mermay fic i probably won't write.

in a world where mers are known to exist but are extremely rare - hunted to near-extinction in the past, perhaps, and mostly very reclusive - cadmus labs manage to get a tissue sample from a mer sighted in the sea nearby, although he evades capture and is never observed in the area again. it's enough for them to make a few attempts at cloning - the first twelve are unsuccessful, but the thirteenth... the thirteenth grows beautifully.

tim drake is an intern working directly under lois lane at the daily planet. he's only recently started his job, but he's great at it and he's thriving, and he really likes lois. her husband is nice, too, even if he privately thinks the man kind of lacks personality - he's just not as much of a go-getter as lois. his columns are great reads, though. tim just thinks lois's are better.

as usual, clark kent has a secret. a sea-cret, in this case - he came from the ocean. he was a little baby mer, tacky with the blood of his dead parents, who washed up ashore by the lighthouse the kent family has kept for ages. of course they took him in and raised him as their own, as best they could. he disappeared to sea again for a while when he met lori lemaris. though their romance didn't pan out in the end, they parted as friends, and she gave him a gift: a magic spell to let him transform into a human while on land, to have legs, but to always return to his true form in the water.

lois lane, of course, knows her husband's secret. lois lane would do anything to protect her husband and his secret. she nearly lost him once, a few years ago, when he tried to go for a swim to meet his old friend lori but was nearly caught by hunters. he escaped, but was injured; his tail still bears the scar. she still has the occasional nightmare about finding him on the docks, bleeding, mourning.

the thirteenth experiment - the cloned mer - escapes.

he doesn't know where to go - he doesn't have anywhere else to go - but he's never been in the open ocean before, with no tanks or barriers or nets to hold him back, and he revels in it. he's free! he has so much space to swim, he can leap from the water and twirl in the air! there are so many stars in the night sky, and the sun on the rocks is so warm and nice, and there are so many new kinds of fish he's never eaten...

...but mers are social creatures, and he's lonely. so he starts sneaking back towards the shore of the city he escaped from. he knows it's dangerous, but he just wants to see people. he's never met another mer. he hides near the docks, he swims by the beaches, he explores the marinas. he observes. he sneaks a little closer and closer day by day, growing braver with every venture that doesn't get him caught.

tim drake is eating a leisurely lunch by the waterside one day when he notices a creature in the water, staring at him.

"uuhhhh," he says. "hi?"

the creature ducks back into the water with barely a ripple and vanishes. but he's back, a minute or two later, and staring at tim's lunch. "...what's that?" he asks.

"this?" tim looks down. "this is some sliced mango. do you want some?"

he tosses a piece into the water. the thirteenth experiment takes a tentative bite. tim witnesses a being experience true bliss for the first time in its life, in real time. the next thing he knows, he's promised to come back tomorrow with more land fruits for the mer to try - and he's promised not to tell anyone. and there's a little thought in the back of his mind telling him that he really needs to look into any facilities in the area that might have the capacity to house a secret captive mer.

clark kent hears rumors that some people are claiming to have seen a young mer in the area recently. of course he has to investigate. of course he finds the thirteenth clone, swimming around the mouth of the river and playing in the currents. of course he looks into his face - his own face, years younger - and knows, deep in his bones, what has happened. of course he calls him family. gives him a name. offers him his home, as well, but kon-el declines; he's too in love with the ocean to want to abandon it to hide on land just yet.

clark is a master of keeping secrets. never from lois, but from the rest of the world? always. he tells lois about the boy in the water, about the facility that created him, about the scientists who kept him from the sea. lois swears that she'll stand by him no matter what, and that they'll do whatever they can to make sure this kid is safe.

what follows is a series of more and more ridiculous scenarios as tim and lois both attempt to keep the mer secret from each other, unaware that the other knows about kon because they both believe they can't tell anyone about kon for kon's own safety. kon, unaware that tim and kal-el's wife know each other either, is just having the time of his life swimming around and stealing bits and pieces of tim's lunch.

of course, the peace can't last. cadmus hears the rumors, too, and they want their prize back. early one morning, tim and lois see reports of a flotilla of strange, private fishing boats with unusual equipment and no markings, and they both know what that means.

kon is being hunted.

tim scrambles to get to their usual meeting spot, to tell kon to get away, to hide, but kon never comes. hours pass. the sun sinks below the horizon; the moon glimmers on the water. sick with worry, tim finally has to retreat. they must have found him already, he thinks. he has to find a way to get him back. he has some leads, about facilities that could actually hold a mer, and about those boats. he'll follow up on them. he will find kon.

(what tim doesn't know is that clark moves fast. clark knows all about being hunted. kon is safe, luxuriating in a bath bomb in clark and lois's apartment. he's got clark's laptop on a plank across the tub, and he's watching wendy the werewolf stalker with rapt attention. clark has gotten him some sushi. he's having a great time.)

lois, however, isn't home. lois followed one of those suspicious boats back to its dock, and lois is going to get some answers.

what follows: tim and lois both break into cadmus marine research labs and proceed to do a spiderman pointing meme at each other over a computer full of records about the mer-cloning experiments.

what follows: lois is so proud of tim. he's breaking and entering and getting to the truth without her lead at all! he's doing so good! good job tim!

what follows: lois puts tim in her purse and brings him home with her like a little dog.

clark, upon seeing tim with lois, is initially like ?!?!!?! why did you bring him here when you know kon is here?!?!? but then kon sticks his head out of the bathroom and goes "tim!!!!!" and clark is like. wait. you... the human friend you mentioned is tim???? and kon is like. you know him???? my mango dealer????

and then the falling action. lois spearheads cadmus getting shut down, and kon gets to splash around without fear. he gets clark to come splash around with him too. and he kisses tim :)

[arcadia-smith]

I'm finally publishing this. Part one is gonna be a short one.

(There are gonna be dark things happening later on).

Simon Riley x Reader

The Interpreter's Prayer.

Part 1

The bomb's whisper reached you first — a tremor through stone and soil, rippling like waves across a silent sea, before the sound ever touched the air.

Your gaze drifted across the room, finally settling on Basma Jazeem and her little ones, Sayid and Noor. They huddled in the corner like frightened birds in a storm, her lips brushing their ears with whispered words, and for a heartbeat, your eyes met hers — two women caught in the same tempest.

Basma was the key to unlocking their salvation, the wife of Nasir — a man whose soul had long since turned to ash. She'd struck a devil's bargain with the Task Force: her husband's downfall in exchange for wings to fly to American shores.

"Two hours until rescue team reaches us." Simon's voice broke through your thoughts as he settled beside you, his frame melting against the wall.

Lieutenant Riley had planted the seeds of this mission in your mind.

You speak Arabian and wear a woman's skin, he'd said, as if these were magical incantations. You'd nodded, believing Basma would open her heart to a sister rather than bunch of bulky men.

Now regret bloomed in your chest like desert flowers after rain. The abandoned building stood like a skeleton against the city's edge, while you waited for rescue and Nasir circled like a hungry wolf.

As an interpreter, you were a creature of quiet rooms and careful words, of interrogations conducted behind safe walls. The field was foreign soil, and this mission had watered those seeds of doubt.

"What stories does she tell?" Simon's voice pulled at your attention like a gentle tide. He sensed your unease like a storm on the horizon, but his faith in rescue burned bright as a lighthouse flame.

Your eyes lingered on the mother and her children, watching their faces glow in the dim light before you released a breath. "She tells them of Sinbad the Sailor, a tale of—"

"I know it by heart," Simon's words danced over yours like leaves in wind. "Mia won't sleep without it."

A smile curved your lips as you nodded. "I didn't think you knew the story."

Simon drew you close, his arm around your shoulders like a warm blanket against the night. "I'm always there, just in the doorway when you read to her. Never touched the pages myself, but those words are etched in my soul."

Words died on your tongue as another explosion shattered the air — closer now, its fury rattling windows and bones alike.

Nasir's shadow stretched longer, darker, reaching for you with smoky fingers.

Simon stood up, his hand extending toward you- a lifeline in chaos. "We need to find more secure ground." His voice carried the weight of steel, of certainty.

Basma's eyes found yours across the room, and your tongue shaped her language, Arabic flowing like water over stones. She rose like a startled deer, gathering her children close like precious gems to her breast.

Simon's rifle settled against him, an extension of will and bone. His eyes met yours one last time, a thousand words compressed into a heartbeat, before he led the way into darkness.

You became the rear guard, watching Basma and her little ones move like shadows before you, their feet whispering secrets to the floor. Your own steps fell into rhythm with their dance of survival.

The third explosion came like thunder breaking earth, so close it made the world tremble. Your heartbeat became a war drum in your ears, and your fingers found your weapon with the familiarity of an old friend.

Then- voices. Rough Arabic cut through the air like knives, each word a testament to how close Nasir's hounds had drawn. Your mind translated automatically: sweep the building... find them... alive if possible...

Simon froze ahead, his raised hand a monument in the half-light. You all became statues, breathing fear and tasting destiny on your tongues.

"Find somewhere to hide." Simon's words fell soft as snow, deadly as winter. "I'll seek an escape. Shoot if you see even a shadow move." He turned, his eyes finding yours over his shoulder- love spelled in the spaces between breaths.

Then he melted into darkness, becoming one with the shadows he'd always trusted. You guided Basma and her children in the opposite direction, each step a prayer for sanctuary.

The next explosion came like God's fury. The world tilted, spun, threw you into its chaos. Your back found ruins, and dust rained down like gray snow, coating your world in ash. Time stretched as your senses struggled through the fog- vision swimming back through murky waters, the bell in your head slowly fading to whispers.

Rising felt like climbing mountains. Your eyes searched the ruins for Basma and her little ones, hope threading through desperation like gold through stone.

One step forward sent lightning through your ankle. Your teeth found your lip, trapping pain behind them like a secret too dangerous to share.

Then- movement. Voices. Footsteps crushing debris beneath boots that had walked through nightmares. The dust parted like a theater curtain, revealing your worst fears made flesh: Nasir's men, weapons gleaming dull in the half-light.

One held Noor like a broken bird, her tears catching what little light remained.

"Where is the bitch?" English twisted through his accent like barbed wire, each word drawing blood.

Cold metal kissed your spine — a rifle's touch. Your fingers yearned for your weapon, but fate had other plans.

The rifle stock found your skull with the finality of an executioner's ax, and darkness rushed in like an old friend, wrapping you in its velvet embrace.

PART 2

[bankabb]

Tease

Drawings from favorite scenes in the fic💚

Thank you for sharing my Dahlia 🫣💚 As promised! Lovely mini comic of your hard work!!

Dragon Age Fan-Fic by the @silshinobii

Dahlia and Osso (c) @bankabb

The Cantori Diamond was alive with music and the hum of conversation as assassins, spies and civilians alike danced and drank - Andarateia Cantori had held nothing back when she had opened up the rooms of her casino in celebration for a particularly troublesome encounter with the Antaam still holding their city hostage.

The lights were dim as bodies spilled across the large open space, chatter filling the air as Dahlia found herself tucked away in a corner, drink in hand. She let her fingers curl around the delicate glass tumbler as the Antivan brandy she had come to enjoy warmed her throat - she let her gaze flit across the room before it settled on the tall form of her dear necromancer.

Emmrich was currently surrounded by a flock of young Crows as they peppered him with questions about necromancy and Manfred, who had been left at the Lighthouse that evening - she could see his amused but tolerant expression as he did his best to keep up with their questions, his hands clasped in front of him. He stood a head above most in the room, her lover elegantly dressed as always, and she was not at all surprised by the gazes that followed his movements.

She lifted the tumbler, smirking when he had to bend down to hear a question whispered by a particularly young fledgling - her lips pressed together as she let the brandy slide down her throat, content to just watch until a hand settled heavily on her shoulder.

“Sitting here all alone and drinking like some tragic Nevarran widow? I would have expected better from you, sorellina,”

Dahlia twisted in her seat, lips curling into a smile as Osso stepped in front of her, his hands propped on his hips as he eyed her with mock disappointment.

“We both know I’ve done the widow thing already, Osso. And we’re the same age - stop calling me little, you thick headed crow.” Dahlia huffed as she dropped her glass onto the low table, though her gaze was warm as it settled on the man that had been her best friend for too many years.

“We both know that you should be up here enjoying the celebrations,” his grin was lazy, not at all bothered by her scowl, as he reached for her hand, pulling her sharply to her feet. “Not sitting in the shadows moping over your necromancer.”

“I was not moping- Osso, no-”

But Osso just laughed as he pulled her towards the floor, the sound loud and bright, before he spun her through the dancing bodies. She didn’t even try to hide her groan as his arms settled around her waist, joining in his laughter as they danced.

Emmrich, meanwhile, had finally freed himself from his flock of fans and made his way smoothly back to their table though he stilled when he realised Dahlia was no longer there. A flicker of irritation flashed across his face as he turned to scan the room, searching for her amongst the black and purple clad assassins that filled the floor. It was the sound of her laughter that caught his attention, warm and familiar, and it did not take him long to spot her - her breathless smile wide as she spun, Osso’s hand guiding her. She looked relaxed, at peace even, and for a moment he was happy to let them be, turning to sit as he reached for the glass Dahlia had abandoned until he saw Osso’s gaze flicker to him.

The crow’s gaze sharpened a little, a flash of mischief bright in his green eyes, when he saw Emmrich stand straight again. Emmrich frowned when the younger man’s expression shifted and he pulled Rook closer, his hands splaying across her back as they continued to dance.

Dahlia was oblivious to the challenge heavy in the air as she let Osso guide her, her hips shifting in time with his as he unknowingly kept her faced away from Emmrich.

It was the quiet mutter of conversation at a nearby table that caught Emmrich’s attention.

“They were always such a strange pair, you know”. An older Crow sat back in his seat, glass held thoughtfully in hand. “Even when they were younger and driving Viago mad.”

“They would have made a striking couple though.” The other person at the table shifted, their lips curling. “There were plenty of us that were sure they would end up together - you should have seen them fight, bickering like an old married couple.”

The first Crow laughed, his gaze amused as the pair continued to dance. “Well they certainly look as if they fucked as much as they fought - not that I’ve ever heard any rumours of the sort.”

“Perhaps they did and were just never caught - Armand is a Crow after all.”

The pair laughed, their attention moving on as Emmrich bristled - his fingers flexed at his side as his irritation quickly shifted into something heavier.

His mouth tightened then, when Osso dipped Dahlia low, her lips parting as she laughed, her hands reaching for his shoulders. Emmrich glared when Osso let her hang there, for just a second longer than necessary, his lips curling before he pulled her upright, hands settling on her hips.

His spine stiffened when Osso leaned down to press his lips gently to the curve of her neck, his gaze fixed on Emmrich’s. He didn’t linger and there was no heat to it as his mouth brushed softly against her skin, just a whisper of a kiss - to anyone else it would have looked innocent enough if not for the smirk across the young man’s mouth.

He attempted to school his features into something impassive though his jaw clenched - he exhaled slowly, patience thinning when he saw Osso turn the pair slowly, deliberately blocking Dahlia’s view of Emmrich as he let his fingers splay across her hips.

Something in him snapped.

His feet carried him through the crowd smoothly, his tall form cutting a path straight across the dance floor as the last of his patience disappeared.

Dahlia was breathless when Osso spun her again, teeth flashing as she smiled, and didn’t have a chance to register Emmrich’s presence until his hands settled heavily on her shoulders, bringing the pair sharply to a halt.

Osso smirked, though he tried to hide it when Dahlia tipped her chin up, her confusion at Emmrich’s cold gaze obvious.

“Buonasera, Professore Volkarin.” His voice was low, unfazed. “I hope you don’t mind that I kept Dahlia entertained whilst you were… otherwise occupied.”

Emmrich’s gaze remained impassive, his fingers flexing against her shoulders as he stared down at the younger man. “How very generous of you, Armand.”

“Please, call me Osso - you know I hate it when you use my birth name” His smirk widening as Emmrich’s eyes darkened. “It is never a bother to dance with someone so willing.”

Emmrich did not respond, feeling no need to feed Osso’s obvious enjoyment and instead reached for Dahlia’s hand, lacing their fingers together before he led her away.

Dahlia twisted, her hand held firmly in Emmrich’s as she threw a confused glance back at Osso - though he merely laughed when Emmrich tugged her closer, his hand raised in a mock salute.

The corridors of the Diamond were quiet as Emmrich led her away from the celebrations, the music fading behind them.

“Emmrich, what is-“

She inhaled sharply when the fingers in her hair tightened, his gaze heavy as it bore down on her.

“Do you have any idea of what it is like to see another man's hands touch something that is mine?”

“You’re overreacting Emmrich.”

The laugh that slipped from his lips was dry, humourless. “I think not.”

His hands moved then, spinning her so that he could press her flush against the wall, her palms flattening against the cool stone as he settled himself against her back. She shuddered when a hand traced along her waist, following the curve with a possessive touch that had her breath catching in her throat - his other hand lifted, fingers lacing through her as he held her hand against the wall. His mouth settled against the shell of her ear.

“I will not share you with anyone, my dear.”

The hand on her waist shifted, slipping under her blouse so that he could slide his fingers beneath the waistband of her trousers. She gasped at the cool press of his rings when he found the edge of her underwear, fingers drifting underneath so that he could cup her fully.

“There can never be anyone else,” his words whispered over her ear. “You are mine. Only mine.”

She moaned, a quiet sound, when his fingers slid through her folds, parting her so that he could drag through the slick there. Her neck arched when he hummed against her ear.

“This is mine,” his fingers stroked slowly, teasing her. “No other will ever touch you again.”

Dahlia could do little but whimper as he continued to tease her until his mouth moved, tracing down her ear to mouth at her neck when he pushed a finger in, curling as he sank into his knuckle. She shuddered when his palm settled against her clit, the friction curling her toes.

“You are such a delight like this, my love,” his teeth nipped at her throat, hard enough to have her shuddering against the wall. “Utterly mine. It’s like your body knows it was made to be mine.”

She wanted to bite back, say something sharp in argument but as he continued to fuck her, a second finger joining the other all she could was moan, the sound of it wrecked and breathless. With each thrust she could feel her stomach coiling, the heat building as he dragged her closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he growled the words against her throat, fingers curling again. “Say you’re mine.”

Her eyes were squeezed shut as she pressed her cheek into the wall, lips brushing at the fingers laced through hers. “I’m- I’m yours Emmrich. Only- only yours.”

“Good girl.”

The air grew loud with the sound of her whimpers, and the slick slide of his fingers inside her - that was until the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Her eyes flew open, her body tightening in panic when she tried to move but Emmrich held her still. His hand unlaced from hers and clamped over her mouth as his fingers continued to fuck her.

"Shh," he murmured the words against her jaw. “We wouldn’t want to be found like this, would we?”

She moaned into his palm as her thighs shook, his fingers still moving as her release started to burn low in her belly. The footsteps lingered for a moment, pausing as he pressed her deeper into the wall, before they retreated, shuffling back towards the sounds of the celebrations.

Emmrich exhaled slowly, his hand lowering from her mouth to wrap around her jaw. “You are being so good.” His fingers quickened. “But we’re not done quite yet.”

He was relentless. Her nails scrambled against the walls, desperate for some kind of stability as her back arched against his chest - she could feel the wet slick dripping down her thighs as he continued to pump his fingers into her, completely lost under him.

“There we go.” The hand on her jaw turned her face towards him as he leaned down to brush his lips against her. “Come for me.”

He swallowed her cry, his tongue pushing past the strangled moan as he drank her in - his body flush to hers as she shuddered though his fingers didn’t stop. He stroked her through each wave, working her until she was limp against him. Emmrich hummed when she whimpered, his fingers sliding out from her slowly so that he could turn her to face him.

“Open.” He brushed his fingers, still wet, over her lips, smearing the slick there before she parted her lips - with a small smile he slid them in, pressing down against her tongue. He watched her eyes widen at the pressure but she sealed her lips around his fingers when he tapped his thumb against her jaw. Her tongue curled around them, sucking the slick clean as she breathed through her nose.

His gaze narrowed slightly at the hollow of her cheeks as he pulled his fingers free and he leaned down to press his mouth to hers, his tongue chasing the taste of her as he groaned into her.

“Mine.”

Dahlia let her fingers curl weakly against his wrists as she pushed up onto her toes, chasing his kiss when he pulled back. “Your’s.”

Emmrich smiled softly, his thumb brushing softly over the swell of her lip before he reached down to fasten the buttons of her vest. With a small nod he took her hand, lacing the fingers together tightly as he steered her back towards the celebration.

***

Osso huffed, arms crossing tightly over his chest as Lucanis watched him in amusement, the young crow’s scowl heavy as he continued to glare at the door Emmrich had led Dahlia from. He didn’t look up when Lucanis laughed, his cup held lightly between his hands. “Don’t”

Lucanis lifted a brow. “Don’t what, amor mío?”

He threw up a hand, waving vaguely at nothing. “Whatever it is that you want to say right now. Just don’t.”

The assassin sighed, though his eyes were still warm as he watched Osso sink lower into his seat. “But you make it so easy, Osso. You pushed him and now you sulk like a fledgling that has had its first dagger taken away.”

Osso let his arms fall loose, dropping down to rest on the arms of his seat as his fingers tapped anxiously. “Il Creatore mi aiuti… I was just trying to tease him. I only wanted to rile him up a little.” He frowned, head falling back against his seat. “Not… whatever that was.”

The pair were quiet for a moment, the buzz of the celebration loud around them before Lucanis spoke again, pausing only to sip at his coffee. “Emmrich is a very… proud man, amor mío. It would not be wise to test one with such control.”

Osso tipped his head, scowling as he watched Lucanis take another sip. “I still don’t understand what Dahlia see’s in that… mago della morte.”

“It is Mortalitasi, Osso. Not death mage - and even a blind man can see that he loves her.”

Osso muttered quietly under his breath as he flicked a hand towards Lucanis, refusing to meet his gaze until he felt fingers lace through his. He sighed. “He’s obsessed is what he is.”

Lucanis dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Maybe. But he loves her regardless and you would be wise to not antagonise him.” His eyes moved towards the entrance when bodies shifted, Osso turning to follow his gaze.

Emmrich moved into the room, his fingers still laced through Dahlia’s as he guided her through the crowd towards their table - even from across the room Osso could see the way her hair was mussed, lips red and swollen in a way that had him twisting uncomfortably in his seat.

Lucanis snorted into his coffee. “That certainly explains why they were gone for so long.”

Osso tugged his hand free as he scowled at Lucanis, hunching over in his seat as he crossed his arms again. “Bastardo.”

“Don’t be bitter, amor mío. You got your reaction.”

It didn’t take Emmrich long to reach their table. He settled himself into his seat and pulled Dahlia down onto his lap, smiling softly when she curled her fingers around the tumbler he pressed into her hands. Osso could only stare as Emmrich wrapped a long arm around her waist, settling her against him as he pressed a soft kiss to the curve of her neck.

Then. Emmrich looked up.

His gaze was cool as he met Osso’s, a brow raised slightly in what could only be a silent challenge.

Osso sat up straighter in his seat as he ground his teeth together only to grumble when he had to look away, Emmrich unblinking, and instead swiped the coffee from Lucanis’ hands.

“Don’t be a child.”

Osso tipped his head back as he gulped down the last of the coffee before he handed the empty cup back with a scowl. “He’s unbelievable.”

“You started this.”

“La prossima volta che verrà a Treviso, gli avvelenerò il tè.”

Lucanis hummed, leaning down to place the empty cup on their table. “What was that?”

“Next time he comes to Treviso, I will poison his tea.”

The assassin laughed quietly as he reached for a twitching hand. “It’s not Emmrich you should be worried about, amor mío.” He laced their fingers tightly and motioned for Osso to look back at the pair - they saw Dahlia lean back into Emmrich’s chest as he smoothed a hand down her back. “She would kill you first.”

The younger man groaned, eyes squeezing shut when Emmrich tipped her chin down to face him so that he could kiss her softly.

Lucanis lifted the hand he held and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. “I think you’ve lost this one.”

Osso let his head fall back. “I hate him.”

Lucanis smiled. “No you don’t - I think you quite like him.”

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 168 (Time to Have a Baby!)

Heather and Conrad left the kids with her mother and sister before they headed to the local hospital for the birth. Doctors greeted them with ducky scrubs for Heather, and she changed before they headed inside.

Heather called her family when they were situated, disappointed to lose the last few hours with her eldest son before he was taken back to the Landgraabs in the city, but their second son demanded her full attention.

She grimaced at another contraction as Conrad entered the room. He helped her into bed, dabbing her forehead with a damp towel. "This will be over soon, and then he'll be here."

"I want all our kids here," she lamented. "What if a judge tries to take this one, too?"

"Stop. The Landgraabs will never touch him. I know Ash should be with us, but for today, we've got each other. We've just got to focus on this one for right now."

"I know, but...I can't stop thinking about the Landgraabs and the biometric time travel research. What are they thinking? We should tell Judge Marlow about this. Maybe she could rush another hearing."

"We've got to be careful," Conrad said gently. "Judges oversee a lot of cases, and they don't always like to be pushed to change their minds. She gave us a year, so she expects to see us in a year unless Ash's life is in danger."

"What if we can never get him back?"

"Don't even think it. We're going to figure it out."

They swayed through another contraction, and Heather laboured late into the night.

In the birthing room, they were surprised to see Dr. Jamar Scott, Heather's childhood friend (and the husband of Everett Pancakes' twin sister, Malia). "I haven't seen you since Ash was born!" Heather cried. "What are you doing in Brindleton Bay?"

"Covering for a colleague of mine. We met at a GP conference not long ago, and he's off travelling in al-Simhara. Asked me to cover his cases, but you weren't supposed to give birth for another two weeks."

"It's earlier than expected, but not too early, I hope." Conrad looked at the doc with concern.

"Babies born at 38 weeks are usually quite healthy," Jamar assured them, and soon Heather was going through the familiar pains of childbirth.

Conrad was by her side for every laboured breath, and their son was born, healthy and wailing, just before midnight. A wave of love washed over them - just as strong as the love they felt for Ash and Lavender. As Heather cradled their tiny son in her arms, she leaned in close to breath him in.

"He's finally here." Exhaustion peppered Heather's voice as Conrad kissed her forehead.

"He's perfect."

While Heather rested, Conrad kept their son company near his bassinet.

"Hey there, little man. I'm your Dad. It's great to finally meet you, kid."

The infant blinked through fatigue as he spoke, focusing curiously on the sound of his voice. Conrad glanced at him in awe, then at Heather as she walked into the room.

"Is he hungry?" she asked, rubbing her swollen breast as she looked over their son.

"I don't think so. He's happy as a clam. Aren't you, buddy?"

"I guess it's time to name him. We can't call him Baby Spider anymore."

"I like all the names you like," he said. "I just wanted the middle name."

Heather smiled, sitting at a nearby stool to fill out the birth certificate. "Roan Benjamin Gordon, it is."

They smiled at the son whose name honoured the old lighthouse keeper, Conrad's 4x great-uncle, Ben Gordon. Roan's first name followed a tradition of colour names found in nature - Ash, like the tree, floral Lavender, and now Roan, whose name was drawn from the reddish-grey coat of horses and other animals. A perfect name for the son of a dedicated vet committed to sticking to the colour wheel for all her kids' names.

By the time they returned home with their son, Ash had already gone home and Lavender was in bed. Daisy and Holly stayed up late to await their return, and they gathered excitedly in the bedroom to coo over their new grandson and nephew while Heather fed him.

Glancing at her son, a wave of contentment washed over her. Life lately hadn't been easy, but tiny Roan filled Heather with a burst of hope for the future. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Roan rhymes with phone, just one syllable, for anyone inclined to pronounce it like Rowan. It's effectively the same name (same origin and meaning) but rowan is not the horse-coat colour, roan is. To stick with nature, and in this case, a naturally occurring colour that is only found in animal fur, the name has to be Roan, not Rowan!

NOTE 2: Heather's ducky scrubs were auto-generated but I loved them, and I picked a different doctor who literally disappeared while Heather was in labour. Dr. Scott wasn't on the hospital lot (the generic one in game) when she first arrived, but he did show up later, and after the other doc went MIA, I said screw it and just decided both Heather's sons would be delivered by the same doctor, ten years apart. Jamar and Malia are also the parents of Jaden, one of the boys on the camping trip when the guys built the treehouse.

[atopvisenyashill]

@theqhreator42 YES. okay this is something i think gets super overlooked with aemon and jon's conversation. this bit here, the famous bit-

The old man seemed to sense his doubts. "Tell me, Jon, if the day should ever come when your lord father must needs choose between honor on the one hand and those he loves on the other, what would he do?" Jon hesitated. He wanted to say that Lord Eddard would never dishonor himself, not even for love, yet inside a small sly voice whispered, He fathered a bastard, where was the honor in that? And your mother, what of his duty to her, he will not even say her name. "He would do whatever was right," he said … ringingly, to make up for his hesitation. "No matter what." "Then Lord Eddard is a man in ten thousand. Most of us are not so strong. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms … or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy."

Jon is wrong. Not only is he wrong when it comes to this book, literally right now as he's talking to Aemon, but he's wrong about Ned's past. It's why a lot of the Ned discourse irks me so much because so often people gloss over the fact that has chosen love over duty literally every single day since Lyanna died. He is actively committing treason, risking not only his life, but very likely the lives of his children and wife without their knowledge, and he's very aware of this. But he does it anyway! While everyone is making comments about how Ned was always faithful to Robert, Ned is committing treason against Robert knowing it would mean a violent, brutal end for at the least himself and Jon if Robert were to ever find out.

Then you have right at that moment, as Jon is insisting that Ned would always do his duty - Ned forsakes his duty to protect Sansa's life. He stands before the sept of baelor and out and out lies to protect her! Ned does not give a shit about duty - or at least, what he considers his "duty" is not necessarily about honor or faithfulness to a crown or king or the truth, but his duty to protect his family at any cost. Ned's honor is easily compromised, in fact, under the right conditions - for Lyanna's love, for Jon's safety, for Sansa's safety, for the chance that Nymeria can live (when he tells Arya a lie that is not unkindly meant can be fine).

And the thing about Aemon here too is that Aemon regrets choosing duty over love-

Maester Aemon sighed. "Have you heard nothing I've told you, Jon? Do you think you are the first?" He shook his ancient head, a gesture weary beyond words. "Three times the gods saw fit to test my vows. Once when I was a boy, once in the fullness of my manhood, and once when I had grown old. By then my strength was fled, my eyes grown dim, yet that last choice was as cruel as the first. My ravens would bring the news from the south, words darker than their wings, the ruin of my House, the death of my kin, disgrace and desolation. What could I have done, old, blind, frail? I was helpless as a suckling babe, yet still it grieved me to sit forgotten as they cut down my brother's poor grandson, and his son, and even the little children …" Jon was shocked to see the shine of tears in the old man's eyes. "Who are you?" he asked quietly, almost in dread. A toothless smile quivered on the ancient lips. "Only a maester of the Citadel, bound in service to Castle Black and the Night's Watch. In my order, we put aside our house names when we take our vows and don the collar." The old man touched the maester's chain that hung loosely around his thin, fleshless neck. "My father was Maekar, the First of his Name, and my brother Aegon reigned after him in my stead. My grandfather named me for Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, who was his uncle, or his father, depending on which tale you believe. Aemon, he called me …" "Aemon … Targaryen?" Jon could scarcely believe it. "Once," the old man said. "Once. So you see, Jon, I do know … and knowing, I will not tell you stay or go. You must make that choice yourself, and live with it all the rest of your days. As I have." His voice fell to a whisper. "As I have …"

And later when Aemon reflects on his latest "test"-

On Braavos, it had seemed possible that Aemon might recover. Xhondo's talk of dragons had almost seemed to restore the old man to himself. That night he ate every bite Sam put before him. "No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger."

Yes yes we can debate the influence of dragon dreams and prophecies and what chasing both does to someone but Aemon isn't just preoccupied with dragons and prophecies here - he is preoccupied with the fact that his last living family (that he's aware of) is somewhere out there, very likely in need of a Maester, and here he is too old to even make it to the Citadel to advocate for her, let alone meet her. He's shaking when he tells Jon about getting the news about what happened to Elia and the babies. I think it's clear that while Aemon felt a lot better about following his duties when he was first "tested" (and as he says - what could he have done, really, to protect Rhaegar, Elia, and the kids? He was already well into 80s at that point!) by the fall of House Targaryen, Aemon has a lot of regrets and has a hard time living with the fact that he was spared because he was at the wall while children of his family were slaughtered.

I hate that so often it gets dumbed down in fandom as like, "duty is more important" or that jon is ~looking the wrong way~ when he gets distracted by the pink letter because even aemon acknowledges it's so much more complex than that. Expecting people to simply shake off their bonds of love is an impossible ask and sometimes love is more important than duty. Sometimes your duty is to the ones you love. Sometimes there is no right decision, there are only decisions you can live with and decisions you can't live with, and sometimes you are "choosing" love over duty or duty over love or some mix of both, but these things being at odds doesn't somehow mean that following your heart at the expense of duty is an inherently bad thing. Sometimes, as Ned says to Arya, you do a "bad" thing for a good reason. Sometimes, you choose love, and it is not morally wrong to do so!

[thelyingandthelamb]

it's so funny how the line "there's always a man, there's always a lighthouse, there's always a city" is always quoted as one of the big, deep lines of the BioShock series when what it feels like to me is the devs of Infinite going "hey, no, don't be mad! this is definitely a BioShock game! look we put your favorite things, white guy, abandoned lighthouse, and fucked up city! :) aren't you happy? isn't this nice? :) have we successfully made you want to buy our game by tying it to a successful IP?" :) :) :) :) :)))))))

[mar-im-o]

My mlp g5 redesigns! I had a lot of fun working on these!

Ramblings and height ref under the cut :3

Sunny Starscout (she/they): An odd loner coping after her father's recent demise. She spends much of her free time in her father's old lighthouse which is due to be demolished by the city. She is obsessed with unraveling her father's research as a means of proving its importance and saving the lighthouse. This project eventually leads her to Izzy, wherein the two realize that something has sealed away all magic in Equestria, and their journey to discover the truth of magic begins.

Izzy Moonbow (she/her): Much like Sunny, Izzy is a bit of an outcast and a loner, though by circumstance rather than choice. Seen as an oddity to her village, she eventually left to wander Equestria in search of someplace more accepting. She discovers Maretime Bay, only to realize how prejudiced the town is. She hides in a seemingly abandoned lighthouse where, through her curiosity and clumsiness, she runs into Sunny. Originally distrusting, Sunny and Izzy realize they need to work together to understand all parts of her dad's research, and the two set off to learn its secrets together.

Hitch Trailblazer (he/him): Sunny's best friend since childhood, Hitch is a young man who was raised with the intention of following in his father's hoofsteps. Led to believe his cutie mark meant he was a protector of Maretime Bay, he abandoned his love of animals and nature and took on the role of an officer. Despite his love for Sunny, who he views as a sister, he chooses his duties over her when he discovers she's working with a unicorn. Determined to stop her, he sets off a few paces behind Sunny. In time, though, the group helps him realize where his true passions lie and how dishonest the path he's been led down truly is.

Zipp Storm -> Zipp Zephyr (he/they): The oldest of the twins, Zipp is in line for the throne to be the next queen of Zephyr Heights. Little does the royal family know, he has no interest in being a queen or a princess. Fearful of the scorn it will bring his family, he takes interest in the foreign prisoners taken captive by the royal guard. He eventually helps them escape and aids them in solving the pegasus section of Sunny's father's research. Now knowing about the Unity Crystals, he helps to steal the pegasus piece from his mom and runs away, abandoning his royal life and the crown behind him.

Pipp Petals -> Pipp Piano (she/her): The youngest of the twins, Pipp has always spited Zipp for the attention he's gotten from their mother. While in the public eye she is the most perfect of the twin princesses and the kingdom's sweetheart, she privately wishes people knew her for herself, not for the role she takes. She adores music and is a songwriter in private, though refuses to perform in front of the kingdom. Her dream is to be known for her music, not her royalty, and she refuses to use her royal title as shortcut for success. When she discovers Zipp's plans to run away, she is furious. That is, until Zipp admits who he really is. Inspired by his honesty and desperate to make amends, she runs away with him, agreeing to help reunite the Unity Crystals for the betterment of Equestria.

Sparky -> Kindling (they/them): Once the Unity Crystals are reunited, there is a temporary burst of magic across Equestria. Though, without the races themselves unified, it doesn't last, it awakens something in the orphaned dragon Kindling. Kindling, having grown up in the ruined Ponyville, has always been fascinated by ponies, but has given them space out of fear of their scorn. When they sense the temporary return of magic at Sunny's hooves, though, they send a message to Maretime Bay, leading the group to Ponyville. There, they meet the young dragon who eagerly pleads to join their attempts at returning magic to Equestria.

Misty Brightdawn (she/her): Misty is young, quick to trust, and naive. Having been raised under [REDACTED], she's been taught that magic is the most dangerous thing that could come to Equestria. She is sent forward to join the group in their travels and hopefully undermine their efforts. [REDACTED]'s plan falls short, however, as Misty quickly comes to learn what trust and safety should feel like. Welcomed in by the group, she begins to understand how she's been mistreated, and through standing up against [REDACTED], finds her cutie mark.

[vicodini]

Ashes and Embers - Hilson

picture bye @r3burials

It was late—past the time that the city gets quiet and only gets stirred awake as a police car, fire truck or ambulance pass by with blaring sirens. The air outside was still hot, the breeze didn't do anything to cool down the day or the night. Wilson had fallen asleep on the couch again, or maybe he'd just let himself drift—there wasn’t much of a difference these days. House sat beside him, leaned back on the couch, his legs stretched onto the coffee table, the smoke from his cigarette curling lazy patterns above them. Wilson's head against House’s shoulder. Not in a dramatic kind of way, it was the exhaustion that came from weeks of chemo, and months of knowing there weren’t many more weeks left.

House didn’t say anything. He rarely did now—not unless he needed to break something. These days where to fragile for words. So instead, he just sat there, letting the smoke twist upward, letting the weight of Wilson’s head settle against the edge of his collarbone. The TV was on, but the volume was muted. Neither of them had the energy to unmute the television. House looked down at the man beside him. Wilson’s hand had gone slack around the TV remote long ago, fingers twitching now and then. His other hand rested, palm-up, inches away from House’s thigh.

House took another drag from the cigarette, then leaned into Wilson slightly, careful not to disturb the other man. "You’re drooling on me, Jimmy," House said finally, voice dry and almost affectionate. He expected no answer and got none.

It had been a good day.

That was a ridiculous thing to say, House knew. There was nothing “good” about watching the only person who ever stayed, and he truly loved more than he wanted to admit, begin to vanish in front of him. But Wilson had smiled that morning—genuine, teeth and everything. They’d played cards. House had let him win. House reached for Wilson’s hand—the open one—and after a moment, their fingers found each other. He expected Wilson to stir, maybe grumble. But Wilson just sighed, subconsciously or consciously snuggling into House that bit more.

“You still with me?” House asked, barely above a whisper.

They’d both known from the beginning that there wouldn’t be a miracle. No cure, no Hail Mary, no eleventh-hour clinical trial that would save the good oncologist from the one thing he couldn’t out-diagnose. But that didn’t stop House from sometimes imagining it—an alternate reality, maybe, where he wasn’t sitting on a couch in the middle of nowhere, holding hands with a man who used to shine like a goddamn lighthouse.

Wilson shifted again, just slightly. His head slid lower, resting fully in the crook of House’s neck now, breath warm against the thin cotton of House’s shirt. "You smell like cheap tobacco and lemon soap," Wilson mumbled without opening his eyes.

House blinked. "You always did have a talent for turning me on."

Wilson smiled, and for a moment, the weight on House’s chest eased. Not gone—never gone—but manageable.

“Did you take your painkillers?” House asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Did you lie to me just now?”

A pause.

“Mm-hmm.”

House rolled his eyes but didn’t press it. Instead, he stubbed out the cigarette on the edge of a chipped ashtray, careful not to jostle Wilson. There was something painfully domestic about it all. Two men in a borrowed house with secondhand furniture and too much silence. One dying, one already halfway there.

But then Wilson’s thumb brushed against the back of House’s knuckles in a slow, lazy circle.

And House—who never believed in anything he couldn’t dissect—closed his eyes.

They stayed like that for a long time. Breathing. Not talking. Letting the quiet between them speak all the things they didn’t know how to say:

I’m sorry.

You matter.

Please don’t go.

I’m not ready.

Eventually, Wilson murmured, “Hey… Greg?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… being here.”

House didn't answer. Just wrapped both his arms around Wilson, pulling him closer. 

[boombox-fuckboy]

Hey!!! You commented on my post about limetown haha which is why I’m here. You offered to give podcast recs! What are your favorites?? I’m looking for some new ones

I completely forgot I had this ask, excuse the delay. Here's a selection of 30 podcasts I enjoyed from a broad range of genres: hopefully at least one appeals.

Let me know if you're after something more specific.

Arden: (Investigative, Comedy) On the 25th of December, 2007, heiress and young actress Julie Capsom crashed her car into a tree and fled into a nearby forest clearing, leaving a trail that seemingly vanished into thin air, and a dismembered torso in the trunk. A decade later, Bea, the first reporter on the scene, and Brenda, a detective on the case, are hosting a true crime podcast about it, and neither is remotely impressed with what the other has to say. Arden is also a retelling of various Shakespeare plays.

Desperado: (Supernatural, Adventure, Horror Elements) In a modern world of gods and magic, three young people, all under the patronage of death dieties, embark on the same adventure for different reasons: for safety, for revenge, and to kill The Old Man in the Sky. Fantastic banter and killer action sequences.

The Far Meridian: (Magical Realism) An agoraphobic young woman wakes one day to discover her lighthouse home has travelled to somewhere entirely unfamilar. As this continues to happen day after day, she uses the opportunity to search for her missing brother. A really unique and charming piece of fiction.

Gastronaut: (Sci-Fi) Interstellar travel audio blog of a former food critic as he travels to an active warzone to get firsthand experience with unfamilar cuisine. ft. Disgruntled martian nobility, sinister businessmen, explosive mushrooms, forbidden snacks, rogue revolutionary artists, and the consequences of your actions.

Girl in Space: (Sci-Fi) The Girl In Space lives alone on a space station, doing science, making cheese, rewatching Jurassic Park, and tending to the plants, animals, and artificial sun entrusted to her. It's a little lonely, but not a bad life. Would be a shame if someone came along to ruin it.

The Goblet Wire: (Microfiction, Weird Fiction) A surreal microfiction with horror elements, taking the form of phone calls to an audio-based game in which the voice of the mysterious Dictator leads each player through fantastic and horrific world and story.

Hello From The Hallowoods: (Horror, Supernatural) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods, as they find meaning and sometimes eachother.

Hi Nay: (Supernatural Horror) A year after moving to Toronto, sound designer Mari finds herself drawn into helping people around the city with various horrific supernatural encounters due to her babaylan (shaman) family background. It quickly becomes apparent that there's something much more sinister and complicated happening in the background.

Inco: (Microfiction, Sci-Fi) A perpetually exausted interstellar information trader and her peppy AI find a mysterious (read: bratty) boy floating in space and are inadventently pulled into a world political intrigue.

Inn Between: (Fantasy) Ever curious about what the D&D characters get up to at the tavern between sessions? A generally lighter-hearted (with some exceptions) with richly-written and always-growing characters. A really interesting format, too: a lot of the adventure appears in the "next time" and "last time" segments which makes it all flow really nicely. Not a tabletop podcast.

Janus Descending: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Tragedy) A xenoarcheologist and a xenopaleontologist are sent to a study a dead city on a distant world. Nobody likes what they find there. A unique format, with one set of logs presented first to last, and the other last to first. I'd recommend listening to the supercut for this one.

The Kingmaker Histories: (Steampunk, Weird Fiction, Adventure, Fantasy Elements) In the Valorian Socialist Republic 1911, on her 25th birthday, tailor's apprentice Colette experienced the worst headache of her life. As a result, she fleed from town with a human artificer and a fae chef - both now smugglers - pursued by an utterly furious flesh-crafter. I'm not sure I'm selling how good this podcast is but it's very good.

Life With Althaar: (Sci-Fi, Comedy) A human repairman moves to a space station on the edge of human territory that is perpetually on the edge of self-destruction, and ends up with a less-than-ideal last-minute roomate. Althaar is polite, friendly, deeply interested in human culture, and eager to be friends. Unfortunately he belongs to a species that sends humans into a visceral panic at a glance.

Lost Terminal: (Sci-Fi, Hopepunk) Seth is a very lonely AI living on a satellite. His crew were left stranded aboard with no hope of return, and it's been longer than he can count since then. The Earth below him has changed dramatically, and with only a few other AI down there to talk to, he's very lonely. But! He has a plan to make some new friends.

Love and Luck: (Romance, Slice-of-Life and Urban Fantasy Elements) Voice messages cataloguing two young men falling in love and opening a queer dry bar together.

Midnight Radio: (Light Supernatural, Romance) Sybil McIntyre, host of the ever-popular 1950's nightly radio hour, begins exchanging letters with an old fan who has reluctantly returned to visit Sybil's beloved town.

Midst: (Weird Fiction, Western, Sci-Fi and Fantasy Elements) The old-western planetoid islet of Midst floats, rotating steadily, in a sea of reality-warping darkness. Down in the town of Stationary Hill, things are in movement, and vistors from the light above are about to bring unanticipated change. ft a monocycle-riding monster-hunter, radio-famous airship paladins, deadly mica, the universe's peppiest cultist, good dogs, and a really strange businessman.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Urban Fantasy and Horror Elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item.

Monstrous Agonies: (Supernatural, Relationship Advice) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.

Night Shift: (Urban Fantasy, Investigative) Set in a modern world with the addition of magic, which manifests in small inherited skills/traits, can warp people in horrific ways, or can be manipulated with the right science (and intense work) to induce superpowers. Sebastian Fenn is a barista at Night Shift Coffee, but since things are slow he's decided to start a podcast to talk about various mysteries, crimes and conspiracies around the city, and of course finds himself deeper in them than he'd intended.

The Pasithea Powder: (Sci-Fi, Thriller Elements? I think?) The last major interplanetary war was full of atrocities, but none more infamous then the creation of Pasithea Powder, a memory altering drug which was used to horrible effect and landed it's entire team of creators in prison. So when decorated war hero Captain Sophie Green sees one of them wandering free, worlds away from his prison, she gets in touch with a very old, estranged friend: one Dr. Jane Gonzalez, who's behind bars for the very same reason.

SCP: Find Us Alive: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror and Slice-of-Life elements) You don't need to know anything about SCP to enjoy this. A research team gets trapped in an underground research facility when the complex collapses and the building is dragged into a pocket dimension. The tear it was designed to study begins creating tiny copies of itself, generating strange entities the team needs to deal with. And as if that wasn't enough, the entire situation physically resets itself every 30 days. And yet, this is genuinely also an office comedy.

Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a scout sent to explore and establish early infastructure new world, and the communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.

Seen and Not Heard: (Slice-of-Life, Drama) Seen and Not Heard follows Bet, who's still adjusting to life a year after a bout of severe illness, and the resulting hearing loss it caused. It's about the ways we make connection, and food, and art, and different kinds of grief.

The Silt Verses: (Horror) In a modern world where gods are abundant, frequently both commercialised and restricted, two devotees of an outlawed river god go on a pilgrimage.

SINKHOLE: (Sci-Fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.

Starfall: (Fantasy) Seeking to escape her mysterious past and find some purpose, a young swordswoman joins a travelling actor's troupe. This new life is unfamilar and sometimes stressful, but she's taken under the wing of stagehand Fel, who's determined to help her feel welcome as she experiences the figurative and literal magic of the theatre for the first time.

The Tower: (Weird Fiction) A low-key, meditative podcasy about a young woman who decides to climb a seemingly endless tower. Gorgeous sound design.

The Vesta Clinic: (Sci-Fi) New GP Dr. Fae Underwood, with the expert transcription skills of resident AI Sec, writes up patient reports on human and alien patients of The Vesta Clinic, a medical clinic on the edge of human space. Really comfy and creative.

Victoriocity: (Steampunk, Mystery) Set in the steam-powered Victorian city of Even Greater London, an aspiring journalist and a tired detective find themselves working together to solve a strange murder. I say Victorian but as queen Victoria is now an extensive grandiocity of cyborg components following seven only-kind-of-successful assassinations, you may need to adjust expectations a little.