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targaryenrealnessdarling · 10 months

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Consequences | Five

Word Count: 6.9k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, DD:DNE, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, kinslayer aemond, graphic depictions of medieval abortions, choking (and not in a kinky way), p in v, facefuckin (oral, m receiving), choking (in a kinky way), fingering

Series Masterlist

A/N: okaaaay let’s go, please for the love of god, read the warnings. Apologies in advance to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for this one ily 😚

Everything had changed.

King Viserys was dead. Aegon thrust on his throne in place of Princess Rhaenyra as his heir. And the maidservants and staff had been locked up for the entirety of it, to quell the spread of rumours. Only when the staff pledged their allegiance to Aegon II as their rightful King before the now Dowager Queen Alicent, were they allowed back to their duties, threatened with death on the basis of treason if they were found to be doing anything they shouldn’t.

It was the most surreal, frightening experience of her young life. To be clutched at Hedi’s side, shaking and trembling, wondering if she’d ever see her siblings again.

She wondered if her brother had succumbed to his illness and if her sister was winding herself to the ground with grief, as she had when their parents had died.

She prayed to the Gods, namely the Mother and the Crone. For equally important things. To keep her loved ones safe, even if it meant that she was put into danger. To the Crone, for guidance. Although she did not know yet what exactly for.

Everything had changed.

Aemond pulled her body up from the bed to rest on her knees, to support her weight on her shaking arms and the motion had his cock brushing rather uncomfortably against her cervix. Her entire body felt hot, a stagnant, heavy feeling filled his chambers, as if it were humid inside. His thrusts were harder than they’d ever been before, making her skin ripple with movement of his rhythm.

A series of hurried and half-pained breaths are all that left her, her cheeks stinging with heat as her tears ran over them.

“What are you crying for, sweet girl” he grunts, delivering a particularly hard thrust, his large hand slapping her buttock and gripping tightly, “I know you like your Prince’s cock, don’t you, you little slut”

Slut.

Whore.

She whimpered, his fingers digging into the meat of her skin roughly, hoping it would be enough of a response for him.

Since his father had died, plunged into a civil war between his family. He’d been unpredictable. He would start the day calm enough, sometimes frighteningly so. But now that the days were becoming shorter with the weather, a looming dark cloud forever over King’s Landing, as if the Gods knew the trouble that was afoot, Aemond temper came with the storms and the rains.

Destructive. Washing away everything living thing in his path.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around her neck, roughly pulled her back up to meet his bare chest. Aemond’s fingers curled so tight around her neck, that for a split second, she thought that he might actually lose control and snap. But he pressed his lips against her ear, his fingertips harshly tearing at her thin and delicate skin, “Fucking answer me”

He adjusts the endless thrust of his cock up into her, now they are controlled, deeper, as if trying to hide further and further inside.

She could feel her air stuck beneath his hand, desperately trying to break free. Felt her head begin to get hot and foggy, vision blurred and her lips move but a barely audible sound is all that came out.

“Yes…” she whispered. Just saying whatever she could to appease him.

She had been afraid of him before. Many times. But now, the way he was now, she feared that he might actually harm her and that the damage might be irreparable.

Aemond laughs against her back, the vibration of it humming uncomfortably in her body.

Still with one hand around her neck but loosening his grip so that she can breathe once again, she almost weeps at the relief. Aemond chuckles darkly and pushes her back against the bed, grinning when he sees the familiar sheen of tears on her cheeks, watching her breasts rise and fall with the intensity of her breathing. He eases his other hand down her body, over her feminine hips, taking the meat of her thigh in his grasp to spread them apart once again, sighing contently at her glistening cunt, ready to take him again.

“You are a terrible liar, sweet girl” he coos down at her, lowering his face so that his hair brushes against her nipples. A flash of fear passes her face, but Aemond seems to revel in it.

He did say once, he would have her fear if nothing else.

He pulls her by her hair to the edge of the bed, where her head briefly hangs over the edge. She whimpers at the tug on her follicles and it sends a prickling pain down her spine. He no longer holds back his grip like he used to. He swats her cheek, again not in the usual soft manner, but as a means to punish her for the outburst.

“Shut up” he commands, standing in front of her.

She looks up at him from where she’s laid as Aemond stands before her, holding his cock proudly by the base, shining with her slick. He prodded his tip against her lips, looking at her wide eyes beneath him. He smelled of sex, of her and his arousal mixed with one another. His hand comes down to her jaw, thumb pressing on her chin to open her mouth and Aemond sighs when he feels her hot, shuddered breath against his cock, twitching with excitement.

He does it slowly, and plunges into her mouth, watching how his cock disappears down her throat, where the skin around her neck bulges where it's nestled. He feels her breathe through her nose and smirks, knowing that she’s doing as he had instructed her the first time, grinning at her endless obedience.

“Good, sweet girl…” he growls, burying himself to the hilt within her warm and wet mouth, the head of his cock rammed down the smoothness of her throat.

Hand still at her jaw for leverage, he cants his hips slowly, grunting heavily at the friction he gets from this angle and the sound it makes. But she herself makes no sound. Not even when his heavy stones sit warm against her face, briefly blocking off her air. Aemond watches as she takes it, her saliva coating his cock just as her slick had.

Continuing to use her mouth for pleasure he runs his hand down her body, cupping his hand at her sex and running his fingers through her folds, collecting her wetness on them.

“Perfect fucking cunt”

He sinks two digits inside of her, his palm delivering friction to her clit at the same time, and he both fucks her mouth and her sex with the same rhythm, taking immense pleasure in the way her body responds.

It’s out of her control. He plucks the pleasure from her without her even thinking about it. She whimpers around his cock, deeper than she ever thought he could be in her mouth. Her neck bobs with his shallow thrusts and his other hand rests against it, pleasuring himself through it.

“Fuck-take it” he moans loudly, nearing his climax with accelerating and shocking speed. He fucks his fingers into her faster, intent on making her shake and writhe beneath him. Aemond increases the intensity of his thrusts with it, outright moaning as her mouth trembles around him.

She whimpers, her insides clenching uncontrollably, painful pleasure taken forcibly from her core, but any sounds she makes are stuck in her chest with the slow, methodical drag of Aemond in her mouth.

Aemond smirks when her body shudders with overstimulation, more sounds muffled in her chest, giving her some reprieve when he pulls his fingers free and her body sags once again against the bed. Not a moment later, Aemond pushes his hips flush against her face, his seed painting the walls of her throat with a shuddered moan. He feels her gag a bit, still with his cock in her mouth, but he enjoys the slight friction it gives him.

He stays seated in her mouth for a moment, his hand running through her hair.

“You are so good to me” he breathes as he comes down from the high.

She felt the warmth slide down her throat, the proof of his twisted, sick attraction to her.

And when Aemond pulled her up, to kiss her on her lips, she wanted to weep. It was too sacred. A kiss. Something that should be done before all the things he had done to her. Something to bind a love, a marriage. A respect for one another.

But he had kissed her so fiercely, to taste himself on her mouth, and she had known then there was no love. No care. No respect.

“You won’t leave me now, will you? Sweet girl…”

There were few things in her life that were consistent up to now.

But her moon's blood had always, always arrived on time.

No matter how many times she willed it to come, stepping into the privy multiple times a day to find her hand completely dry, void of the usual slick of red, it would not come.

Just the other night, Alanna had furrowed her brows and mentioned that she had not borrowed her red petticoat for a while and asked if she was feeling okay.

That was when that hurtling drop of panic erupted in her gut.

She didn’t understand at the time, what Princess Helaena had said. And she thought of how foolish and stupid she’d felt.

Cold Tansy.

The womb quickens.

Tansy tea. In other words.

Moon Tea.

The liquid that so many women used and still used…had to be prepared with a flame before consumption. Had to be brewed fresh.

She felt dizzy.

She hid in the privy, so unbearably torn apart by the revelation that she almost made herself sick. Bile rose in her throat but it never came free, and she wretched, her body tearing her apart from the inside. She felt the pain in her womb, the little dragon inside aching to grow, she had felt their flames lick at her spine.

She tried to muffle her cries with a hand over her mouth, but the hurried sobs inevitably broke free.

Alanna flung the privy door open and upon seeing the crumpled mess of her bedfellow on the floor, promptly shut it again with both of them inside.

"Gods…" Alanna whispered, bringing her into a hug, a friendly hand stroking her back.

If the maidservant hadn't been so upset, she would have laughed. Alanna didn't like to be hugged, or any physical contact at all, even going so far as to lay on the far side of the bed to avoid touching. She found it uncomfortable.

But right now, it was needed. And the maidservant flung her arms around Alanna, tightening her grip on her as if she was the last person in this realm to be on her side and help. Her hands had clamoured at her back, needing this closeness so badly it hurt. Alanna only shushed her and allowed her to sob.

"Please…do not tell Hedi…" she begged, with tears still streaming down her face, voice thick with despair. Alanna pulled her face back and sighed, using her thumbs to wipe her cheeks.

"We have to tell the Quee-"

"No, I-I need…I need this job. I have to-" she stammers through her weeping, struggling to catch her breath, emotions running higher than they would normally, "-my siblings, th-they need me. They will send me away without my wages and no reference, I-”

"Shh, shh, alright I will not tell Hedi or the Queen" Alanna cooed, rocking her shoulders softly.

"Do not tell anyone, please…I-I could not bear it…" she cracks her bleary eyes open, her heart beginning to beat in its normal rhythm again. Her lashes are all stuck together from her tears, cheeks red raw.

"Who is it, the man? You could not marry?..." Alanna asks carefully.

It was a nice thought. But one that would never happen.

She shakes her head, "I cannot say…"

Alanna sighs, obviously quickly running out of ideas.

"I can deliver it. I helped my mother when she had my brothers-"

Everyone would see. Everyone would see you are the Prince’s whore. A child with silver hair.

"My condition will soon start to show…" she says, resigned. Her hands shake against one another, held as if in prayer to the Gods, "Hedi has such sharp eyes…what am I to do…"

Alanna was quiet for a long time, trying to wrack her brain for what to do. She knew she could not have the baby, nor could she tell another living soul in the Keep as it would mean she would no longer have a job, no more funds to send to her family and an even smaller chance of a future.

“Have you any money?” Alanna asks, “there is a woman in Flea Bottom who helps whores when they need it…but…” she says carefully, watching her fellow maidservant’s reaction.

“What are you suggesting?...” she responds with a weak and shaky voice, her grasp on Alanna resting at her arms. Alanna looks visibly pained by the suggestion. Every one of them were devout, pious, to even suggest such a thing as…

“How much is the procedure…” she asked, making Alanna widen her eyes, surprised that she was considering it.

“One gold dragon, but it is dangerous-”

“I cannot afford one gold dragon, ‘tis more than I earn in a year!”

Alanna sighed, “Whoever the man is, go to him. Appeal to his better nature…he cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all”

She really appreciated Alanna’s advice, but there was a twisting pain in her gut at what had been suggested. It was something she had heard of women doing before, in desperate times. It could be dangerous. But this woman had done this procedure plenty of times, on women who survived and lived to keep on working.

There was a chance.

There was a chance she could keep the job. In servitude still of Aemond, but with the knowledge that she could just drink Moon Tea, prepared correctly, and never have to do this again.

A future.

One gold dragon was an incredible amount of money for a common maidservant, well over a year’s wages. It was entirely intentional, gold dragons as a currency was something specifically reserved for the upper classes, and if she was to be found with it…it would arouse suspicion.

She had to be careful.

Should she approach Aemond…?

…How would he react to it?

Would he dismiss her? Send her to the streets, her and her bastard? Left on the cobblestones to die.

He cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all.

Appeal to his better nature.

It cannot be.

The words of Princess Helaena were like an incessant bell, echoing around her mind. It was all-encompassing and it took every little bit of strength she had left to not crumble under its weight.

There was only one problem.

Aemond was nowhere to be found.

The Dowager Queen looked out at the skies, darkened and stormy. The rain was loud and oppressive. Thunder and lightning clapping across the sky, sending an intolerable humidity and uncomfortable atmosphere that seemed to sweep about the Keep like a disease. She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves, opting to fiddle with them instead of destroying herself.

Her heart was filled with worry.

Aemond had not returned.

She waited and waited for what felt like an eternity, not knowing if a day had passed or not. The sun had yet to make its appearance, stuck beneath layers and layers of clouds, towering high above King’s Landing. It was impossible to see a thing. Despair hung so low to the ground that it obscured everything.

Alicent’s nervous face met the gaze of Ser Criston, who had knocked and walked past the threshold of her chambers.

“What is it?” she asked nervously, unsure if she wanted the reply.

Ser Criston stood straight, hands at his side, one perpetually on the handle of his sword at his side, “Prince Aemond has returned”

She moved swiftly through the Keep, the skirts of her deep green dress in her fists and rushing to find her second son.

Something was wrong.

Down the long corridor, Alicent came to a halt halfway, her chocolate brown eyes wide at what she saw. Aemond had rounded the corner, absolutely sodden through his clothes, hair wet and tangled, trying with an annoyed air about him to tear his leather overcoat off his person. A maid followed closely behind, picking them up from where he’d thrown them.

His eyes were downcast, a stoic expression on his face, which was still covered in drops of rain. His jaw was forever clenched, his lone eye ablaze with fury but also something deep and worrying inside. Shoulders hung on him, as if he had the weight of the world on them.

“Aemond…” Alicent’s soft voice called to him, hoping to break him from his darkened trance. But he continued on, long legs striding to his one comfortable place. His one haven in the hellhole he had made.

Her son towered over her as he strode by and she knew something horrible had happened. A mother’s gut feeling never wavers, not once. She knew her boys, in her bones. And she knew Aemond had a temper, but rationales that there was always a reason for it.

She held his forearm to attempt to calm him. To bring him back.

Aemond didn’t say a word, huffed and tore his arm away. Not even the soft embrace of his mother could help in what he had done. The sin he had committed. His failure.

He refused to stop, to explain what he’d done. Everyone would know by the morrow and he need not be there for it, he reasoned.

Right now, he wanted the safety of his chambers and the warmth and security of being buried inside her. She offered an indifference, a closeness he could not get anywhere else.

His mother attempted once more to reach out, and without looking at her he roared, as if cornered, “Leave me!”

He dared not to see the broken and disappointed look on her face, as he knew she would have by the morning. He felt like a child all over again. Weak and feeble. He remembered the way he had crawled to his mother’s arms and found solace.

But he was not a boy anymore.

Instead he would find solace the way a man would.

The way a man should.

At least as far as Aemond was concerned.

The little maidservant had jolted noticeably when the chamber doors slammed shut with a force that shook the very stone walls. She held a jug of warm water in her hands, instructed to draw a bath upon Aemond’s arrival, and with the sheer shock of him storming past the threshold had some of it fall onto the stone floor below.

With parted lips in surprise, her eyes met his form, standing before the now locked and closed doors. He was tall and foreboding, like looking at a wild animal, especially with how uncharacteristically unkempt he looked, with that fierce look in his one eye. His body vibrated with an unseen rage, his chest rising and falling quickly like he had been running. He smelled what she thought was dragon, a musky animal-like smell that clung to his riding leathers.

He said nothing.

“Your grace…” she greeted with a quiver to her voice.

She would never see the internal battle in his mind. The pendulum swinging between kinslayer and dutiful Prince.

Kinslayer

Kinslayer.

She saw him clench his fists until his knuckles were white.

“Undress me” he commanded, with a low growl.

She swallowed hard and set the jug aside, brushing her hair that she had unbraided over her shoulder. Daring not to meet his eye, she stepped forward, shaky hands reaching out for his leather doublet, the silver clinking quietly in the chambers. Aemond closed his eye, inhaling deeply when her scent flooded his very being.

So feminine.

Weak.

He was about to drift into the calming waves that her presence offered, floating idly in the depths of her touch when-

“May I speak plainly, your grace…” she asked meekly once she dropped the leather from his shoulders.

She had never asked to speak out of turn. Not once. And Aemond opened his eye again, half lidded and looked down at her, his gaze remaining in its stoic manner. But she didn’t meet it, too afraid to, as she folded his doublet over the armchair.

“Speak then”

Her hands found one another, fiddling nervously with the skin at her palm, her head lowered.

“I…wondered if I might request some-”

“Look at me when you are speaking to me” he interrupted.

His voice drove fear, deep into her core and she felt the dragon in her womb begin to wake from its slumber. He took her chin in his fingers once more and forced her to look up at him. Her wide, glassy eyes finally met his and she could feel her entire form tremble, and thought, he must be able to feel it too.

“I wondered if I might request some funds from you” she finally said, in a quiet, mousy manner.

She had known then. That now wasn’t the time to bring up the subject. But by then it had been too late. His fingers tightened on her chin, to keep her there, to watch him as his brows furrowed in frustration.

“You said you had sufficient funds”

He said in an accusatory way. As if her chance before had vanished.

She inhaled, filling her lungs with the last bit of courage she had.

Her lips quivered, and the words left her mouth too quickly.

“I am with child”

His entire form seemed to go cold, as well as his expression, hooded even further in what she could only assume was anger.

“You are lying” he dared to accuse, with a firm and ever-tightening grip.

You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you sweet girl.

She felt the tears hot in her eyes, entire body shaking. The babe within was hot in her belly at the proximity with their father.

“I am not” she responded with a quiver to her voice, “I…do not have the funds to…have the procedure…to…”

It was difficult for Aemond at this moment to pin down a specific emotion. So much had happened in the course of a mere few days. For him, for the realm. For the lives of every soul in Westeros it felt like.

In the morning, everyone would know what he was. A disappointment. Weak. A failure to his family. He would see the sullen look on his mother’s face, when she found out that her entire bloodline was now thrust into danger, on account of what Aemond had done.

He would lose his place in his mother’s good graces.

Fathering a bastard. A blatant disregard to his duties as a Prince.

Just like Aegon had been.

He could not bear it. To be a kinslayer as well as that.

He wanted control, something that had been slipping ever so carelessly from his grip since Lucerys was crushed by Vhagar’s jaws. He wanted control of his life.

Of her.

And her admission didn’t give him the safety he so craved.

To think of a bastard in her belly. His bastard. The storms returned to Aemond’s one eye at the thought of even seeing her swell with it. It could not happen. It could never happen. To be reminded of his failures.

She gasped loud, breath caught in her lungs, as his hand gripped her throat and squeezed. Previously, in the throes of passion, he had squeezed the sides of her neck, so as not to cut off her air entirely. But this time, his grip around her was so tight that his thumb pressed against her pulse point. Her eyes widened, one hand coming to his to pry his hand off her. But he never relented. Not once.

Ordinarily, a primal part of his brain would adore to see her swell with his child. To see her breasts grow heavy with milk and her stomach taut with his little dragon inside. If she were his wife. If she were highborn, a real lady.

But she had dared to exist in a moment of Aemond’s most tumultuous times.

The realm had played a game. Aemond was a loaded cannon and the game was to see which gunner could fire his rage in the right direction.

And it had been her. Her mere existence as a woman.

She could feel her head become heavy with the lack of air, her hands clamouring desperately at his to let her free, fear climbing its way up her spine, both at the situation and the look in Aemond’s eye. Calm but with a white hot rage inside.

He shook her by her neck, “You are mine” he growled at her face, his grip tightening.

“Until the day you die, you are mine”

She wished she could die.

He would never let her go. He would never let her truly live. She would never have a husband. Have children to raise. No ordinary life.

Gods, take me away, she prayed silently, closing her eyes, as if she felt Aemond might kill her right here and now.

He pushed her away forcefully, wanting to be rid of her presence as if he could by the click of a finger. Could not bear to see her and her supposed betrayal of his servitude to his family.

She crumpled to the floor, gasping and coughing, her hand around her neck from where he had grabbed her tightly. The stone floor hit hard on her body, air flooding her head. Aemond, frustrated and wronged, scrambled for the purse on his side table, unknowing and uncaring of the contents. All he knew was there were sufficient funds there.

He threw it to her crumbled body and watched as she wept on the floor, thinking her pathetic, naive. Weak.

He huffed and began to unlace his breeches, the only thing now on his mind was a bath, to wash away his sins of the days past.

“I expect you to return to your duties tomorrow” he said flatly.

She gasped, choking on her breath as she cried, staring ahead at the purse full of coins.

“Now leave”

Not wanting to look at him any longer, she shakily took the purse and held it to her chest. Somehow regaining the use of her weakened legs as she stood to lunge herself towards the doors. Away from him.

Only when she had regained her breath and strength from the force of her crying, did she look into the bag Aemond had given her.

Four gold dragons and several silver coins.

It was more money than she had ever seen in her life. And would likely ever see all at once. She lost her breath at the sight of it, something foreign curling in her gut.

What she could do with this much money.

She could leave. Leave this job and go somewhere far. Perhaps even across the Narrow Sea. Away from him, from this life of being his whore. Something for him to release his violent temper upon in the hour of the wolf.

She held the purse tight to her chest and decided. Made a decision, for the first time in her young life.

Promised herself that she would have the procedure and flee, far away.

No more of this, she thought to herself, stroking her sore neck and walking with purpose back to her quarters. For the first time, she’d felt anger at herself, for putting up with the torture for so long. Felt overwhelmed by what the past few days had given her as her fate.

It cannot be.

Sleep didn’t find her that night.

A red painted house with the curtains drawn, ask for a woman named ‘Sarria’, is what Alanna had instructed.

She had kept her hair down and wore a dress she would normally wear to prayer, not her maidservant uniform, not wanting to be recognised as staff for the Red Keep.

She clutched the purse close to her chest, the coins jingling softly inside with every step she took. It was like he had given her life. A chance. How unfortunate that it had to come from him.

The air was crisp and it was an overcast day, still so early in the morning that the sun was barely peeking through the narrow alleyways. She had decided to come early, before the market stalls had gone up in Flea Bottom, before the rush of customers would flood the streets. Less chance of being seen entering the home. Perhaps less chance of the Gods knowing what sin she was about to commit.

But the Gods were everywhere. Could not be caged in as men could.

After a moment of deliberation, she knocked on the narrow door, barely wide enough for a man to fit through. The red painted house had their curtains drawn even though it was morning, as Alanna had said, perhaps to hide the sins inside. Like a brothel.

A woman with greying hair had answered, standing in the doorway but not quite showing her entire body, possibly in a manner of guarding. She had bright blue eyes, framed by wrinkles of her years, and she looked impossibly tired from what she had seen over the course of her life. The older woman had looked upon her with curiosity, seeing such a small delicate thing at her doorstep.

“What can I do for you, child?” the woman asks in a soft, gravelly voice.

“I wish to see Sarria” she answered quietly.

The woman’s face fell into a soft frown, a sad one. And her eyes looked her from head to toe, swallowing thickly.

“Come in, child, quickly”

Wracked with anxiety, she stepped across the threshold, greeted by a familiar earthy and minty smell that emanated through the home. It was dark and dank, from years of not seeing the sun. The woman shut the door quickly behind her, placing a bolt across it to lock.

Rather surprisingly, she took her cloak and folded it over an armchair in a friendly gesture, now finally being able to see her young face.

She guided her to the opposite side of the house, where the smell of mint was stronger. The kitchen was somewhat dusty, but well used. She saw two stoves, lit, with a pot of something brewing hot on top, with the stench of something akin to mud.

Moon Tea.

“You have coin, I assume” the woman says, capturing the maidservant's gaze from the pots. The maidservant inhaled sharply, clutching the purse still, fingers gripping it tightly as if it were the last thing in his world. Reluctantly, she nodded and handed the purse to her with shaky hands.

The woman eyed the contents, perturbed.

“Are you a whore?” she asked.

“Excuse me?...” she asked, not quite sure what she meant. The words of the other maidservants clear as water in her mind.

“At the brothels” the woman said, to which the maidservant shook her head quickly.

“No…”

The woman furrowed her brows, “Only whores receive gold dragons, child. Where did you steal this from?”

She swallowed thickly at the accusation, “It was gifted to me, I swear…” she answered meekly.

The woman seemed to consider her answer for a moment, holding the purse in her hand as if weighing it. Humming, she took one gold dragon from it and put it in a pocket inside her apron, reluctantly giving the purse back to the maidservant.

“Tell nobody of this, and if you do, I shall deny ever having seen you. Understood?”

She nodded in return, too scared stiff at the moment to speak.

The older woman led her to a back room, separate from the rest of the home. A room with no windows and a wooden dining table in the middle. She watched as the older woman spoke to another, much younger woman, one who had long dark hair, also wearing an apron.

The younger woman approached her with a solemn look, but a reassuring smile, and took her hand to lead her to sit on the dining table. The table was clearly cut from one large piece of wood and weathered over the years, with a big burn mark in the middle of it.

“This is my daughter, Cassia” the older woman says, “she will assist you, make sure you are comfortable”

Both of them were soft spoken, careful. It was like being inside a Sept, it was so quiet. They tiptoed around her, like she was a terrified animal, fleeing at the littlest sound.

They covered the table lengthways with a blanket and propped some hefty cushions at the top and middle.

“Lay down” they instructed.

She felt the first signs of fluttering fear in her gut when she laid her head against the pillow, her hands fisting her dress in nervousness as she laid flat against the table. The older woman adjusted the other pillow beneath her bottom, raising her hips. The maidservant swallowed and flinched when the woman named Cassia began to stroke her hair, whispering ‘relax’.

But it did nothing to quell the nerves.

“Bend your knees” the older woman said in a soft tone.

Reluctantly, she raised her knees, but unconsciously clenched them together in sheer terror.

“Will there be pain?” the maidservant asked through hurried breaths.

“There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again”

Cassia held one of her hands and she squeezed back tightly, grounding herself to where she lay, memorising the pattern of the beamed roof. Counting from one to ten over and over in her head as a means to calm herself.

This was freedom. After this, she would never go back.

She would leave.

Cassia and her intertwined hands, her pupils shaking as they stared up at the ceiling.

“Will…you tell me what you’re doing?” she asks, without moving her eyes as the woman gently parts her legs and carefully lifts her skirts.

The woman was quiet for a moment, “It is best not to know” is all she answered.

Cassia held a cup of a warm, milky looking liquid to her lips, gesturing for her to finish the cup before the procedure, her other hand stroking her hair.

“What is it…?”

“It will dull some of the pain” Cassia’s kind eyes looked down at her. There was that reassuring smile again.

As she drank the musty liquid, feeling her muscles eventually relax, Cassia gave her a wooden pestle, covered with a rag.

“In case you need to scream”

She took it graciously, holding it near her chest tightly.

The patterned ceiling began to blur, and all she felt was the cold touch of the tool against her insides, travelling impossibly further up inside her. Eyelids heavy and breathing hurried but calm, there was only the uncomfortable feelings of a stranger on her most intimate and forbidden of areas. The milky substance left a film on her tongue, seemingly numb now, as were her limbs from the effect of it.

All the while, she felt the soft caress of Cassia’s hand in her hair, soothing her.

Cassia guided the wooden pestle to her mouth.

Her body tensed when the sharp object was cutting, tearing, something inside her. And she’d bit down harshly, her screaming and crying muffled somewhat by the rags that were tied around it. She could feel the little dragon within her fight back, their flames licking at her insides in desperation. A deep desire to exist.

It is here she realised what Cassia was actually here for. She was not here for comfort, or to make her feel reassured.

She was here to hold her down.

And she did, a solemn look on her face as she refused to look down at the little maidservant in pain.

She nearly made herself sick with the screaming and crying, praying for the pain to stop. And it didn’t stop, not even when the old woman visibly placed the small, slender knife into a steaming bowl of water, the thick waves of steam lingering to the floor and blood slipping off the blade in ribbons. It was a dull, deep ache, in a new place, somewhere chasmic within. It felt like a hole had been torn open, blood pouring from within.

It was all she thought about as she felt a familiar sticky red liquid begin to coat her inner thighs.

A knife, the weapon.

Cassia took the pestle from her mouth and began to prepare the bandages. The little maidservant stared up at the ceiling, praying in a quiet whisper. For forgiveness. From the Mother, for not allowing her babe to be born. To her own mother, for she’d be disappointed in her eldest daughter, for what she’d done to protect herself and allowing herself into this situation. To her sister, for not being there to protect her, knowing all she does now.

Knowing truly what men want.

Carefully, and with a deep, warm thrumming pain in her core, both women sat her up. The maidservant shook excessively, deeply troubled by the experience, and her glassy eyes went everywhere else but their eyes, not wishing to see the judgement in them.

They pressed a red rag against her, as women do with their moon blood, and kept it there while more bandages were wrapped around her legs and hips to keep it there, to stem the ever heavy bleeding.

There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again.

All will be right again.

She didn’t forewarn her about the pain in her heart though.

The two women pulled her skirts down, pressed her cloak to her back and gave her the purse again, and she clutched it tightly. Now that it was done, she would go back, sleep, pack her things and be gone by the next morning.

“Rest now, child. Heat a brick for the pain” the older woman said.

And without looking into her eyes, the maidservant nodded, and pulled the hood over her head, “thank you…”

Should she thank them for such a sin?

Her vision never quite returned to normal the entire journey back to the Keep, and several times she had caught herself from tripping over herself. It felt as if every single pair of eyes that walked through Flea Bottom were trained on her, as if knowing all the dark, sinful things she had done, walking around her in silent judgement that was reserved for women only.

The pain in her core seemed to dull as she walked through the Keep, quickly making for her quarters. Alanna was at the front door before she could open it, having just finished her night shift, with wide eyes, looking about her form, but settling on her pale expression.

“Prince Aemond has requested y-” she starts.

No more.

“Tell him I am not well” she replied flatly, softly pushing past Alanna into her quarters and shedding the layers of her clothes, the call of her bed and the sheets too great to refuse, “I have been ordered to rest”

Alanna swallowed, “I shall take your shift, for today only”. It was clear Alanna has no desire to do it, for he frightened the other maidservants significantly.

If only she knew.

They lock eyes for a moment and Alanna can see the utter exhaustion behind her eyes. She squeezes both her hands, giving her some semblance of comfort and the little maidservant wonders at all if she should tell Alanna about her plans.

To leave this wretched place once and for all.

“Thank you, you are a good and kind friend…” she replied with a shaky voice, giving a sad, reassuring smile to her fellow maidservant. Alanna gave one back and immediately put her apron back on, leaving the little maidservant to herself in the quarters to recuperate.

She placed the heated brick beneath her mattress and shed her clothes down to her chemise, the front slightly tainted with a patch of blood where she had begun to leak through. So she placed some dark blankets against the sheets and placed herself finally in her bed, pulling the linen up to her chest and allowing herself to sink into it.

Hot tears began to pool in her eyes at the thought of what she had done, feeling the evidence of it sliding in warm blood out of her. She thought of her family and how she longed to see them again, hoped that her little brother was alright and recovering.

This was freedom, this choice she had made.

And she thought of where she might go. Somewhere where the sun shines all the time, where the clouds are light and fluffy, where she can feel the sea breeze against her skin.

Somewhere away from him. Where he could not find her. Torture her.

Sighing happily at the thought, she sank further into the mattress, closing her eyes to rest off the uncomfortable ache and drained emotions of the day she had so far.

Sleep, the calling.

She felt her heartbeat softly in her chest, calmed. And her breath, slow and relaxed. Felt the warmth of the brick beneath the mattress soothe her and the soft hand of sleep curling around her body to take her. It felt like floating into nothingness, airy and free.

Her name.

Someone was calling her name, somewhere.

Her eyelashes fluttered at the sound.

“Mother…”

Grief breeds grief.

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t @hopeless-addiction-love @leeleebabe101 @babyblue711 @croatianprincess @what-is-your-wish @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @garnetbutterflysblog @queenmizuki @tempt-ress @ithoughtulikedme @babyblue11 @qyburnsghost @heavenly1927 @madislayyy

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

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hatosaur · 3 months

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i realized that i hadn't said anything here so this is a bit belated but i'm super unhappy with the casting choices of tlou hbo, and just the general direction it's going toward.

in abby's case, it's been well-pointed out at this point her body type is a narrative device, a catalyst for showing just how her dedication and obsession with tracking joel down and killing him. i don't doubt that kaitlyn dever will be working out for this role but i can only imagine she'll end with a sort of lean muscular physique that will hardly illustrate the point of the body type, rather than one that takes fat into consideration. dever is far too small to achieve it, and what's more is, i think it's super unethical to bank on someone working out in order to fit a role. the announcement of the casting came about a month after the trailer for that new kristen stewart movie, the one where she falls for a bodybuilder, came out. there are fully actresses who lift and bodybuilder and have similar body types, and yet their choice leaves us wanting.

dina's case feels a lot more sacrilegious. isabel merced isn't jewish, nor has any of dina's defining features. granted, i'm well-aware that neither cascina caradonna, her face model, nor shannon woodward, her voice actor, are jewish, but i feel like this is what made the casting choice matter all the more. dina's a character whose heritage matters to her character, and there was such a clear chance to have her be portrayed by a jewish actor.

like a lot of people, i think that they chose the more palatable route, considering the massive backlash against both abby's body type and dina's more prominent features, which is both incredibly sad to see but also infuriating. particularly with the issue of neil druckmann's batting for jewish rep under the veil of his allegiance with israel. i obviously can't speak for the feelings of jewish fans but i imagine to pull the rug out from underneath us on a character that he has said is a connection to his jewish like this would be like spit in the face.

the whole thing has just made me disinterested with season 2 of tlou hbo. there are already issues with the games' representation of people of color, and seeing as i could tell there was a small (i cannot stress how miniscule) attempt to "fix it, i'd held out hope prior to this but...no.

IN ALL HONESTY, i'd already been content to not engage with s2. i was skeptical enough from the get-go when it was announced, but truth be told, too many red flags are cropping up. obviously, there's the zionist stuff that i think, right now especially, literally everyone can do without (though i'm sure neil and craig are rubbing their hands together over how the people NEED a great "both sides are bad, completely and totally biased view of the conflict in palestine" story), but even to like pirate is a no-go for me.

all of this to say, since i've already gotten some people asking, you shouldn't expect me to draw or indulge in any of the content from it.

#talkies #tlou #tlou2 #tlou matters a lot to me but i don't need to be a genius to know that drumming up publicity for it RIGHT NOW is a terrible idea #i get it it's just a show and people are gonna watch no matter what #however i will not be #tlou hbo

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incorrect-mtg · 21 days

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A meeting in Korozda

One does not earn the moniker "Thousand-Eyed" by letting thing slip by. In the ruins and dark alleys of Ravnica's undercity, every bug is another potential set of eyes for her to keep track of those going through Golgari land. Which is why she noticed an anomaly immediately.

A hooded woman exploring the broken down ruins of Korozda wouldn't be a cause for alarm. It had almost become a familiar sight, after it was brought up to the surface. But this was no surface explorer carefully mapping their way: it was a local. One she quickly recognized.

The most noticeable thing, at first, was the lack of any signs of allegiance. In the wake of the invasion, the Swarm had broken down into my factions and each was quick to establish their own symbols to identify their presence. None of which the stranger carried on her. And then Izoni was able to get a look of her face. She looked human, but the height and facial structure were eerily familiar. The kind of details a cheap disguise wouldn't cover, particularly if there were more important things to hide.

So she followed and, at the right time, she struck.

She pushed her target against a wall, a knife on her throat and making sure her sight was blocked before calling on her swarm to follow. A tidal wave of insects and arachnids spread around them, covering the walls and the ground, their chittering and buzzing drowning all sound.

"You have a lot of gall, to return here" she says her knife digging into flesh "Give me a reason I shouldn't just kill you right now and feed you to my pets?"

A moment of silence, followed by a sigh, "I can't. Or at least if our roles were reversed, nothing would convince me."

In the blink of an eye the magical disguise is unmade, revealing distinctively organic scales and head tendrils.

"For what it's worth" Vraska says, eyes looked to the wall in front of her "I did not come here for a fight, Izoni."

"Oh? So what is this? A scouting mission? Doing some groundwork for the next invasion you will bring from beyond the Blind Eternities?" she asks, her pets increasing in loudness with her anger.

Through their eyes, she can see Vraska grimace and close her eyes.

"That wasn't me. As soon as I could, I fought the phyresis."

"How comforting. I'm sure the Simic would be interested in how you did it, even. Now, why are you here?" she insists, even as her mind connects some dots. Vraska had been the best of the Ochran. With access to disguise magic, if she'd wanted to go unnoticed, she'd have done it.

So she… Had let Izoni find her. This was a trap-

"I wanted to talk to you," Vraska replies, bringing her thoughts to a halt "how are the Golgari?"

"You… You came for ME. And that is your question?" she asks incredulously, her anger only growing when the answer is a nod.

"It will take generations for us to recover from all the deaths and compleations. Generations more for us to be a proper guild again" she says, her anger winning out against the knowledge she should not be talking to the gorgon any longer "millenia of knowledge are gone for good, there are literal species of Kraul that you helped eradicate. You want to know how the Golgari are? We are broken. We are a nest you covered in phyrexian oil and set on fire."

As she rants, she see Vraska is deliberately holding back any reaction. It only makes her angrier.

"Thank you," Vraska says once she is done, in a tone Izoni might even call meek "One last question… Do you have any hope? For the Golgari?"

Izoni sneers in response. She almost wants to say no, because that is how she feels sometimes. But she is nothing if not prideful.

"The Golgari are dead" she says "but death's never stopped us, and that isn't about to change now"

"Good" Vraska answers, before taking a deep breath "take care of them, Izoni. Be better than me or Jarad. You won't have to worry about me again."

Then she nods and everything goes wrong.

Izoni feels an attack against her mind only a moment before it breaks through, using her own magic to disperse her swarm. Her thoughts grow cloudy.

"You won't remember we were here" Vraska says, finally able to turn and look her in the eyes "Good luck. Goodbye Izoni… Goodbye Ravnica."

Those are the last words Izoni hear before she falls asleep.

#magic the gathering #short fanfic #vraska #izoni

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yuridovewing · 7 months

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do you know how disappointing it was back in 2016 when the apprentice's quest allegiances list came out and sparkpaw was in there, and it was nice and interesting cause now the tigerstar descendants plotline can have a parallel in a firestar descendants one, and her prefix is really cute (and i particularly loved it cause i'd used it for an oc i felt sooo vindicated) and then you read the book and the authors basically expect you to not like her in favor of her nothingburger brother and feel sooooo sad for him

#oh and then years later you hear ''omg this guy feels pressured by firestars bloodline!!!! not sparkpelt tho lol''#is it just me or does sparkpelt feel crafted to vindicate early 2010s wc rant youtubers #like. she has an opener that would have those people bawl omg shes a mary sueeeee noooooooo #and then the first book has the characters argue with and put her down in the second half and even has her grandma negatively compare her #to her brother #and then later shes given the most generic suffix and then later shes overtly antagonized to again. make her brother look good

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ivorydragoness44 · 1 year

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Darth Maul x Reader: Rescue

Word Count: 1,621

Warnings: Mentions of abduction, canon violence, injuries/wounds, angst, Reader tied up (bound at the wrists), and fluff.

Notes: I feel like I don’t write hurt/comfort enough. Hah, and I may have enjoyed writing Maul going from absolutely feral to a softie too much.

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Abduction was not a part of your plans when you had arrived at the docks in Mandalore that morning. All you wanted to do was oversee the new shipments as they were unloaded from the ships. It had been proceeding well at the time. There even came a moment when you knew you would unleash compliments about the operations to Maul. However, you never got the chance to return to the palace. The group appeared to form out of thin air. Those on the docks did their best to fend them off, but they were out-numbered and caught off-guard. Hours had passed since then. There was no telling where you were aside from the small room you were being held in. The room smelled of a stale light scent. You much rather not figure out the source of it, whether it was still in the room or elsewhere. It was particularly unpleasant. For this, despite your hesitance, you did not breath deeply. This group, your captors, did not skimp out on details. A scratchy fabric bound your wrists together, rather than a cuff or chain of some sort. Likewise, you never caught a glimpse of their faces. Each one wore a helmet for one reason or another. That was the only similarity they had in common. All of their styles of clothing varied, creating no sense of uniformity. From is, you could only assume they were bounty hunters. Bounty hunters held no allegiance. Or so you were told by Maul once. Your body had ceased aching long ago. However, you knew that you would develop bruises eventually, if not already, from knocking around their ship and being tossed to the hard ground. Oddly enough, you would find yourself left alone with only yourself and your thoughts. They knew you were not going anywhere. Wondering about your capture definitely became one of your first questions. Were you a part of a random and spontaneous napping, or was this all well-thought out? You did not recall doing anything wrong or harming someone in any way. If it had been planned, they likely knew that you held a significant importance because you lived in the palace. Beyond that, they held no detail further than that. And for that reason, they would not see their fate until it was too late.

Your eyes became heavy again, exhausted and in dire need of sleep. It would have to wait though. You dared not to let your guard down, whether someone was in the room with you or not. The door opened, and your head snapped back up, wide awake. A group of them ushered in, but just as quickly turned away from you. Weapons drawn, they faced the now shut door in defensive stances. There they stared, waiting in the dense silence. You swallowed dryly in your confusion and fear. What could they be preparing for? In the distance, beyond the outside of the room, came a mixture of muffled yelling. Now it had occurred to you. It could mean only one thing— Another more chilling scream cut off mid-breath. —or someone. Such a sound should not give anyone a sense of hope and impending relief as much as you felt it. But it did. While they were distracted, you huffed quietly, wiggling your body against the wall in an attempt to sit up straighter. The yelling and pistol fire neared. The ones in the room shifted on their feet. In an uncomfortable effort, you pulled and twisted at your bindings. Surely the fabric should give to some extent. As much as it scratched and irritated your skin, you persisted. Your breathing hastened with each second. Glancing between them nearly made you dizzy at the speed of your paranoia. You could not be caught freeing yourself. Not now. Timing was on your side. You hoped. Their priorities had changed. It all appeared to be in your favor. The door only just slid open, its sound breaking the room of its tension. One of their own flew through the small opening, crashing into another. As they clamored on to the floor, a growl coursed to your ears, and your heart leapt. Maul. For the tiniest fraction of a second, your eyes met. The usually clear orbs were clouded with a fiery haze, but sharp enough to pierce through any armor. Launching himself at his closest opponent, it was hardly a challenge. They were in the midst of falling from their wound when he slashed his blade at the next one. All you could do was gawk as he hunted and slaughtered each individual down in his unhinged rage. Maul blocked and deflected what bolts shot toward him with unmatched precision. The light and dark sabers in his grasp painted the space around him. His deadly accuracy created a singed scent permeating through the room.

When the last one fell, you slumped in relief against the wall. Maul surveyed the room with critical eyes. Deactivating his sabers, he clipped them to his belt and rushed over to you. The echo of his cybernetics hitting the floor rang in your ears even as he knelt in front of you. Reaching for your bindings, he ripped it apart effortlessly as if the fabric was entirely fragile and could turn to dust by simply breathing on it. It was discarded away from you in a haphazard pile on the floor. Delicately, Maul took ahold of your hands. As they lied in his palms, he inspected your wrists wordlessly. The skin was more scratched up from your attempted escape endeavors. The determination was definitely there. Visible and clearly irritated. He looked to you then, his eyes impossibly soft. A stark contrast to his earlier menace. He placed a gloved hand to your cheek. “You’re safe now,” he said, voice low and strangely calm for your current surroundings. Everything happened so fast. After hours of waiting, for anything, it all ended within moments. A whimper caught in your throat. Barely audible, but enough to be noticeable by the zabrak in front of you. Mixed with the tears welling around your eyes, your braced state broke. With heavy arms, you reached up tiredly to him. Leaning into you closely, Maul gently nuzzled his face to yours as your arms hung over his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I have failed you,” he said, hand cradling yours to his chest. You shook your head slowly, his nose poking into your cheek. “You didn’t. You’re here,” you whispered, tears now burning your eyes. “And I shall take you out of here and back to Mandalore.”

Scooping you up into his arms, Maul straightened to his full height. As he turned with you toward the door, you could see the aftermath of his rage more closely. A light steam still lifted from the durasteel and other armor of your captors’ fatal injuries. It was ghastly. Thankfully, he walked you out of the room and into a long hall. The ease for your eyes, however, was short lived. No matter where you looked, you glimpsed a wreckage of unmoving bodies littering the floors. Resting your head on his shoulder, you wanted to focus less on the carnage, and more on your rescuer. With a single hand, you placed your palm on his exposed chest. Feeling his warmth and hearts beat was a familiarity you needed after all of the previous events. Your senses became enveloped by him and only him. The fabric of his tunic brushing your cheek, the singular sound of his cybernetic feet making contact with the floor. Simply being with him again gave you comfort. You were safe. You were loved. “Rest now,” Maul spoke soothingly. “We’ll be home soon.” Your eyes grew heavy again. When the sounds of the outside struck your ears, your interest peaked, if only a little. “Lord Maul—” A mauldalorian. “Prepare the ship. We go back to Mandalore immediately.” And with his words, your eyes drifted closed.

Eyes opening with a slow flutter of eyelashes, initial confusion swept over you. There was no clue visible to you as to how much time had passed since you were carried over to the ship. As long as you were safe, you did not really care. Letting out a wide yawn, you felt your body’s arrangement. Your entire form was curled up snugly into Maul’s embrace. Resting between his arms and legs, it was no wonder you had not moved. Peeking up at him, you gave a soft smile. “You’re still here?” Maul’s head was surrounded by pillows. It made the intricate headboard of the bed non-existent to your eye-line. You could only imagine how many were supporting his back. “Of course. And I don’t plan on leaving you any time soon.” His tone was calm but direct. And after what you had been through, you were certain neither of you were going to leave the other’s side for the next few days. Or longer. One of his hands began caressing up and down your arm fondly. A simple comfort that even he needed deeply. You were with him. Alive and safe under his protection. “I was scared,” you muttered into his chest. A chest that stilled in his breathing, becoming solid in his momentarily tense state. “They can’t harm you. Never again. I’ve guaranteed it. For now,” Maul’s voice grew unbelievably silky, “you can continue to rest. I will remain here for as long as you need me.” You hummed contently, your fingers curling around a fold in his tunic. “Then, I guess you’re not going anywhere.” He chuckled. A pleasant sound to finally hear. “As you wish,” he smiled, kissing your forehead with the utmost tender touch.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading! I hoped you enjoyed.

Also, a huge thank you for this commission. I really did enjoy putting this concept all together.

For those of you who may be interested, yes I do take writing commissions. You can check it out here if you’d like.

#darth maul x reader #darth maul fanfiction #darth maul x you #darth maul x y/n #no use of y/n #star wars #darth maul #star wars fanfiction #darth maul insert reader #writting commission #star wars x reader #darth maul fluff #darth maul angst

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djemsostylist · 2 months

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Garviel Loken (The End and the Death, Part 3e)

“I was there the day Horus slew the Emperor.” The opening lines of the Horus Heresy. The very first words I had ever read. The beginning of a story that would take over 70 novels to tell. And how the Siege, how the Heresy should have ended. “I was there the day Horus slew the Emperor.” The words that he will tell the future generations of Space Marines to come.

And yet, he won’t. Despite all that he has been through, all that he has seen, and fought for, and lost, and done…he won’t because he’s dead because at the 59th second of the 11th hour…Erebus stabs him in the back and he dies alone surrounded by those who betrayed him.

It’s…strange. It feels weird, and wrong, and out of sync, like Abnett got to the end and hit the panic button. A get out of jail free card to avoid writing something that might have more meaning. If you will allow me to indulge myself in perhaps a bit of light fantasy…

Garviel Loken was a Luna Wolf. Captain of the Tenth Company, his entire life—all that he could remember, was being a Luna Wolf. He was good, great even, competent, controlled, effective, but he was also never in the top echelons of the Wolves. Even he admits it, early on—he had no idea he was being watched so closely by the leadership. When Garvi joins the Mournival, it is the first time he becomes close to Horus, and to his brothers. Tarik he has known, but Lil’ Horus and Ezekyle are virtual strangers, and in the course of his time with them—he doesn’t exactly get close. Garviel loved Horus, but Horus was never his father. And the betrayal, the fall, happens so swiftly that Garvi barely gets a chance to know Horus the man before he becomes Horus, Avatar of Chaos.

I would argue then, that what Garvi mourns is not his father. He mourns the Luna Wolves. He mourns what they were, what their legion meant to the galaxy, the brotherhood he thought he had, what they might have been. The Luna Wolves were always a thin veneer over a patch job, but that doesn’t mean what he felt for them wasn’t real. It doesn’t mean they couldn’t have been more. Garvi never again grows close to the men he works with, and you can hardly blame him. Istvvaan left it marks.

But Garvi also, long ago, came to terms with the loss of the Luna Wolves. Though Garvi is Cthonian, his first allegiance is the Emperor he served through his service with the Luna Wolves. He long ago made peace with the loss of his father, his brothers, his legion. He can preserve the memory of what they were, what they could have been. But he cannot go back.

Bringing Garvi in to make Horus pause was a good idea. It was a gamble, but it was a good one. Horus always thought more highly of Garvi than Garvi did of him—and Horus is the type of person to want the praise and affection of those he deems better than himself. So that is not a bad idea. To have Garvi stand witness at the end, to be there to protect the Emperor while he fights his son—it works.

Garvi’s death being the birth of Samus also makes sense. The cyclical nature of time, the inevitability of Chaos—there’s a sort of poetry and ritual that I think works, particularly when coupled with Garvi’s actions in the last book. But his death, there on the deck of the ship, alone, mourning a father he never really loved—it doesn’t work. Should he have stayed with Horus’ body? Maybe, though I think the reasoning given is flawed. He either stays because, in the end, nothing matters (The Emperor is lost, the Imperium in rags) or because he was a Luna Wolf, and he wants to honor that with the man who made them, for however short a time that was. But to stay for Horus, to honor him, as father, as leader, as worth witnessing into the afterlife—it just doesn’t match with anything we’ve seen previously.

And dying to Erebus. Erebus of all people, stabbed in the back and left to drop like so much chaf—its unconscionable. Again, I know this is the grim darkness of the future, but I feel like there should have been some light.

In my head, our story ends with Garvi, old and grey and speaking to recruits in his chapter (perhaps founded, however quietly, in the name of the Luna Wolves that were). “I was there the day Horus slew the Emperor” because he was, he was there, he bore witness to the End but it was not his Death, not even the Death of the Empire, but a rebirth, a continuation, however different it seems. And when Garvi, old and grey, finds his final peace on a field of battle, defending the defenseless, Samus is born. Because Samus is always born from his death, but his death need not be a betrayal.

It’s fanficy perhaps, overly indulgent maybe, but given the sheer loss and pain and suffering of so many, I feel as though I may be given one final allowance for my fancy. Garviel Loken lives.

#warhammer 30k #the horus heresy #garviel loken #horus lupercal #the luna wolves #djem reads warhammer

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'...23. Sherlock – Series 2, “The Reichenbach Fall” (2012)

The triumphant conclusion (which, as it turned out, wasn’t really a conclusion) to Steven Moffat’s initial Sherlock run was a tour de force in TV suspense, pitting Benedict Cumberbatch’s eponymous super-detective against his greatest frenemy, genius villain Moriarty (Andrew Scott). All anyone could talk about for the next two years — until the third season finally arrived in 2014 — was that devilish cliffhanger when, right at the end of “The Reichenbach Fall”, Sherlock and Moriarty meet for the final time atop St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.

Moriarty offers his nemesis-slash-wannabe-boyfriend a choice: dive from the roof to his death, or allow his closest friends and loved ones – among them, Una Stubbs’ Mrs Hudson, Rupert Graves’ Lestrade and Martin Freeman’s Dr Watson — to be murdered instead. He then pulled his cruellest trick of all, putting a bullet into the roof of his mouth, forcing Sherlock’s hand. The result, Sherlock apparently falling to his death, fuelled rampant fan speculation for months. Until he turned up spick and span in the next season, that is...

20. Broadchurch – Series 1, “Episode 8” (2013)

Murder mysteries are a game of cat and mouse for both the characters on screen and the audience at home, as both try to beat each other to nail down the killer. Bad ones make it too easy, good ones pull the wool over our eyes and great ones change the rules entirely. After seven hours of Broadchurch hunting down the possible killer of 11-year-old Danny Latimer, we knew we’d leave hour eight with an answer, expecting a final-minute reveal born from some intense action sequence that would mask the tragedy in adrenaline.

Instead, halfway through the episode, the killer, Joe, our lead detective Ellie Miller’s (Olivia Colman) husband, gives himself up, sick of being consumed by guilt and shame. It knocked the classic whodunnit structure on its head, changing the focus from the murderer to the fallout of his crimes. There’s Danny’s parents’ grief, which is finally felt in all its horrendous weight now that there are no longer question marks over the case, the town’s reckoning with the aftershock of such a harrowing crime, and Ellie’s life imploding before her eyes. Even though many viewers had worked out that Joe was the murderer, the real shock came from the horror of what it meant to be right...

16. Fleabag – Series 2, “Episode 4” (2019)

Throughout its two seasons, Fleabag became a beacon of rare relatability. It was a show about a woman actively not trying her best, self-sabotaging to bury emotion and hoping that none of it ever found its way to the surface. In its fourth episode of season two, it finally did. The episode is a bait and switch of sorts, as Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s titular Fleabag takes rejection from her hot priest crush (Andrew Scott) as a challenge, aiming to get him to relent on his spiritual allegiances and give into some good, old-fashioned carnal sin. For so long, it seems as if it’s not working, despite the pair dancing around the kind of sexual tension that feels like lightning in a bottle. But then she finds herself alone with him in the church late at night. He has had a few drinks. What starts as Fleabag in control ends with her walls breaking, the vulnerability she feels with the first person she’s connected with since the death of her best friend Boo corroding the armour that’s kept her feelings of guilt and shame and sadness locked away. He commands her to “kneel” and, well… you know the rest...

11. Fleabag – Series 2, “Episode 6” (2019)

Bringing back Fleabag didn’t seem like a good idea. Its beautifully constructed first season felt like the classic case of a one-and-done, particularly because of its gut-punch ending (the reveal that Fleabag had slept with her best friend Boo’s boyfriend shortly before she had died by suicide). And we’ve seen worse shows tarnish their legacies with ill-thought-out second runs. But, as evidenced by its dominance on this list, Fleabag series two went on to eclipse that first outing by every metric. This finale is a devastating conclusion to Waller-Bridge’s tragic romcom, with Andrew Scott’s sexy priest ultimately choosing God over love. Before that, we get to enjoy her father’s wedding to her ridiculous stepmother (Olivia Colman), her sister Claire (Sian Clifford) finding love with her Finnish namesake and a deeply moving and funny sermon from the hot priest (“Love is awful. It’s awful”). And, boy, that ending. The grim, bus-stop bench, the CGI fox, the priest’s devastating reply to her “I fucking love you”: “It’ll pass.” I defy you to see a fox at night on the streets of London and not think of it. But somewhere in here there’s a glimmer of hope, a sense that we’re leaving Fleabag better off than we found her...

9. Doctor Who – Series 3, “Blink” (2007)

Every episode of Doctor Who leans on existential wonder, conjuring concepts of the far reaches of time and space as the Time Lord navigates existence. “Blink” is a fascinating non-linear episode that introduces arguably the most terrifying monster yet – The Weeping Angels, lightning-fast creatures that can send someone through time with a single touch.

The perspective is switched from the usual Doctor and companion to place you in the shoes of Sally Sparrow, a normal girl roped into the world of the Doctor. She is tasked with deciphering the Doctor’s cryptic messages as he warns of the Weeping Angels. However, they turn into stone statues if they are laid eyes upon by a living creature – hence the iconic phrase “Don’t Blink”.

This anxiety-inducing episode prompts you to think at every moment what would I do? Every little action could prove to have deadly and unchangeable consequences. The prospect of being whisked away into another time is an unbearable thought. It is one of the best episodes of the show as it exemplifies everything wonderful about Doctor Who; evoking horror, mystifying time and space, as well as drawing upon emotion as the results of these life-changing stakes steadily come to fruition...

3. Fleabag – Series 2, “Episode 1” (2019)

“This is a love story,” says Fleabag (Phoebe Waller-Bridge) from the floor of a restaurant bathroom, dabbing at her bloody nose. So begins the opening episode of Fleabag’s triumphant second season, which turns a family dinner into a tense negotiation, punctuated with cigarette breaks for gasps of air and set to the operatic thrum of classical music.

Arguably the great achievement of the episode is managing a seamless recap of the previous season, reintroducing all of the faultlines within the family while adding a new face to the table in the Priest (Andrew Scott). The tension ratchets up as an annoying waitress hovers in the wings, Fleabag resists the temptation to bite over and over again, and her sister Claire (Sian Clifford) looks as though a vein in her temple might blow like a pipeline from the effort of holding her emotions in. Andrew Scott’s performance throughout the season is astonishing, but the charm he brings to his introduction is irresistible. Among a table of family members who don’t get her, here, finally, is an equal to tempt Fleabag into opening her heart fully. You can see it in her face as she shrugs him off during one of those cigarette breaks, and he says, in that sing-song voice: “Well, fuck you then.”...'

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artsy-hobbitses · 11 months

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Hi! I would like to ask how Strongarm ( Pre-War) gained Sideswipe trust/ When Sideswipe decided that despite her being a cop Strongarm is worthy his trust what ultimately led to him helping to save her life

Because her Gotta Do Right instinct is more overpowering than her allegiance to the thin blue line, and it’s something that happens often enough that she’s made enemies on the force who don’t like that she’s a Legacy Prick Pick who’s messing up their quotas (She and OP can brofist on this one) and won’t back them up when they have to explain their fuckups in court.

There is no arrest without a warrant, ALL infractions are recorded—even that of fellow officers—and if you turn off your camera, she has hers on. She comes equipped with de-escalation training, PRIORITISES it and has no compunctions about stepping in if fellow cops step outta line.

Part of it IS because she’s a Legacy Pick—to an extent, she WAS Teflon when it came to this sort of thing, the higher ups coveted her after all, she didn’t come to them. Complaints would be filed over how difficult she was to work with, but for a while, like Prowl, she was still seen as more an asset than she was a liability, so she wielded that privilege to the best of her ability.

Sideswipe saw it on the streets when she forced the shutdown of a ‘bait truck’ operation in an impoverished neighborhood and made calls to NGOs and aid centers instead of arrests when dealing with desperation-driven shoplifting.

He saw it when she was off-duty because when she wasn’t in uniform, she was doing an Olivia Benson and checking in on victims of the cases she helped handle.

He saw it in lockup personally a couple of times when her colleagues wanted to hold him beyond the remand period for whatever minor infractions they would bring him in for (vandalism, public disturbance, misdemeanor obstruction) and would try to bait him into violence so they could tag him with the felony of assaulting a police officer. He’s a hothead, not an idiot, but more surprising to him is that SHE knows exactly what they were trying to do, calls them up for it and makes sure he’s released on the dot at the end of his remand period.

So it really wasn’t hard to trust her.

Basically, she’s a straight arrow, an honest cop (by which I mean she’s a buff Judy Hopps) who genuinely cares, which has Sideswipe bemused and mildly concerned (Him? Give a shit? Dream on, Shortstack, but you best keep an eye out yaknow—the real dark stuff ain’t in front of your ranks, it’s behind ‘em).

Because good cops don’t last out here.

At some point, she’s investigating Sideswipe’s claims that the murders of several prominent union activists in Hell’s Kitchen have gone under the radar, and she decided to pick it up despite her colleagues telling her that it’s just gang-related activity—you know how they are, you know what that place is like.

She gives Sideswipe a burner cell so they can keep in contact over the case and trade info, after which she discovers:

The entire thing is part of a particularly bloody union-busting effort funded by a local pro-Functionist politician and carried out by cops on his payroll.

There is paperwork filed on Sideswipe, approving the detainment and use of ‘behavioral conditioning’ via Mnemosurgery on him (similar to what had been planned for a young!Jazz) after the local three-strike law was amended to also include public disturbance-type misdemeanors.

She immediately passes the intel and warning to Sideswipe and heads out to what she believes is a sting operation on a drug cartel. Which it IS, except the plan was for her to be ‘a hero killed in the line of duty’ and oops literally no one told her until she’s trying to remember how to breath and can feel some of her insides on her outside somewhere down the back of her waist.

No one has a chance to monologue though! All she needs to hear is “couldn’t let you warn him” and she’s firing off salvos in a fight for her life. Takes down one dirty cop, the others scatter to wait for backup, and she escapes out the back.

She doesn’t make it far though. Crumpled in a filthy alley somewhere, she makes the call to Sideswipe and does something she’s never done in her life; ask for help.

Because she doesn’t know who else to call (she can’t call her family and put them at risk, she can’t call her colleagues because she clearly can’t trust a lot of them, can’t go to a local GH because there will be a BOLO out for her—you’re all she has right now).

And Sideswipe drops everything and answers.

Because good cops don’t last out here, he fuckin’ told you, but like hell he’ll let you die out on the streets. Shut up, don’t tell him all the things you wanted tell your old man that you never said before this—you tell your old man that in person, because whatever it takes, he’s making sure you get out of this alive.

#Inbox #Save for later

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shewholovestoread · 5 months

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My Journey To You - Thoughts and Impressions Part 2 of 2 - The Characters

Part 1 HERE

The format of the post will be as follows:

1) Yun Wei Shan

2) Gong Zi Yu

3) Their Relationship

4) Shangguan Qian

5) Gong Shang Jue

6) Their relationship

Spoilers below, beware all who enter.

Yun Wei Shan:

On paper, Yun Wei Shan seems like a perfectly fine character, she's empathetic, kind in an unkind world and willing to go to extremes (even putting her life on the line) to protect those she loves and cares about. The problem is just that though, in a book, we would have access to her thoughts and her perspective which would make for interesting reading. But when viewed visually, it's not as compelling. Visually, you have a character who seems to have the range of 2 expressions and there's no sense of internal conflict. Take her 'allegiance' to Wufeng for instance. From the very beginning, we the audience, can tell that she's not truly aligned with them or their ideology. She doesn't agree with their methods and if not for her foster sister, Yun Que she would have quit long ago. Not even the poison that Wufeng uses to keep all their assassins in check, would stop her.

What I will commend her characters for is her innate kindness. She is kind in a world that should have snuffed that light out a long time ago and yet, it persisted. This was in no small part due to her bond with Yun Que. She wasn't simply a dorm-mate, a fellow assassin. She was a sister in every sense of the word. She had someone to care for and protect. Even her mentor, Han Ya Si, is not like the cold and unfeeling mentors we meet later. You can tell that he genuinely cares about those under him. For all intents and purposes, he raised these women since they were children and unlike the others, he doesn't view them as tools to be used and then discarded when no longer useful.

When she goes to the Gong Family as a prospective bride, we also know that Yun Que is dead, her one tangible tie to Wufeng is gone. She's now thrust into this family that Wufeng claims is their arch-nemesis but throughout the show, we never find out what her actual mission is, what is she after? Why was she sent? She's clearly not supposed to kill anyone. Evade discovery but then what? We never find out. But because she's not particularly loyal to Wufeng, there's never any sense of conflicting desire inside her. So in that sense, she becomes a very one-note-character.

In terms of character growth, there is very little. Throughout the series, her one desire for freedom which, in a sense she does achieve (if you ignore the last 5 minutes of the show) All her life, she's been told what to do and that love is a weakness. At the end, she chooses to stay with Gong Zi Yu and embraces her love for him and those around her.

Gong Zi Yu:

Gong Zi Yu is perhaps the weakest link among the four main leads. If Yun Wei Shan's growth seemed negligible, Zi Yu's felt unearned.

I understand what the writer and director were going for, they set him up as a contrast to the other clan warriors who are cold and calculative, he was warm and kind. He starts off the series as someone who doesn't much care for the Gong family traditions, preferring instead the company of courtesans, he likes poetry and music. However, with the sudden death of his father and brother, he's thrust back into the family and worse into the role of Sword Wielder (SW), the leader of the Gongs. To officially become the SW, he must pass 3 tests and this is where things become a little strange. He passes them with ease and it feels unearned because while others who trained their whole lives took considerably longer to pass those tests, he came in with essentially no training and aced.

Now, you can be special but the fact that you are "special" must be made noticeable in text, like foreshadow it, or leave subtle clues that hint at it. The show does none of this and instead just asks the audience to believe it. That is not how you write a compelling character.

He's also probably the least mature character in the show (and I'll get to big reveal in a bit) but his blatant disregard for the Gong family protocols more than once, illustrate his cavalier attitude. Another way of looking at this is that he breaks tradition because he wants to create a better world for the generations to follow but all of that gets negated at the end.

The big reveal at the end, where we realise that everything that happened since Yun Wei Shan's reveal as a Wufeng assassin, was his grand plan does not make sense one bit. It comes completely left of field with little to no set-up at all. There was no foreshadowing, no little seeds left by the writer/director, little things that the audience could notice upon rewatching the show. In their effort to be ‘unexpected’, they sacrificed coherent story-telling.

Even his relationship with Yun Wei Shan is boring. I get that it was meant to be sweet but sweet will only take you so far especially in a show where the tone is anything but that. I know we're meant to swoon because of how steadfast he is when it comes to her but there are times when it seems straight up stupid. She is an assassin who has infiltrated his family and her mission could possibly be to kill him or someone close to him. Unlike the audience, he doesn't know that she is kind and even if he sees it, how can he know that it's not a facade? This also makes it seem like their relationship has no stakes, like what could she possibly do to make him doubt her or vice-versa.

I know you could be thinking, "but this is a healthy relationship." Okay but how is it healthy? It would have been if they explicitly trusted each other and communicated (like a Dream of Splendor, now that was a healthy relationship) but Zi Yu and Yun Wei Shan don't do that either, at least she's not always honest. If we're meant to believe that they do indeed communicate, then we need to see it, you can't plug it in as an extension of a previous scene and call it a day.

One of the best ways of making a compelling couple is the push and pull of the relationship and this ship had all of the ingredients; The Assassin and The Target, both suspicious of each other but inexplicably drawn together, so much sexual tension and angst. Instead, all we got was bland love at first sight and then sticking through it.

Shangguan Qian:

Shangguan Qian is the other assassin sent by the Wufeng (why send only one when you can send two and double your chances of success) and her character is infinitely more delicious than Yun Wei Shan's.

Shangguan Qian is very hard to pin down and stays so till pretty much the end of the series. Her motives are complex and you can never tell just whose side she's on. I also love the way she gradually warms up to the Gong brothers. I think that Wufeng feeds it's assassins a lot of lies about the family and her being with them, i think starts to dispel some of the myths.

She is also set-up as a foil to Yun Wei Shan. Where Wei Shan is kind and straighforward, Shangguan Qian is cold and unpredictable. Her demeanour makes sense when you look at her relationship with her mentor, Han Ya Qi, who in contrast to Han Ya Si, does seem to view his pupils as expendable. He recognises, correctly, that the only person Shangguan Qian cares about her is herself and that's because of the world she was raised in, caught in a perpetual dance between survival and death, there was little time for luxuries like love.

But even here, the show and Shangguan Qian surprise us. At the end, we learn that Han Ya Qi did take steps to protect Shangguan Qian and when he is at death's doorstep, alone, she does come back for him and tries to save him. The Shangguan Qian we met at the beginning of the series, would have left him there to die without a backward glance. Her time with the Gongs and especially with Yun Wei Shan and Lady Wuji, gave her glimpse of what life could be like, it's subtle but it's there. Every time Wei Shan helps her without asking for anything in return, there's always a beat where you can tell that Shangguan Qian is wondering what her motives could be. She never trusts the other women fully, they are after all Wufeng assassins but I do believe, by the end of the series, her opinion of them is kinder at the very least.

I also loved how unapologetic Shangguan Qian is. She's not sitting there wringing her hands, fussing over things she has to do. To her knowledge, if she fails her mission, she dies. Her mentor doesn't seem to care beyond training her, she has no one to fall back on. She has a job to do and she's gonna do it to the best of her abilities.

I must also talk about the actress, Lu Yu Xiao, and her performance. Her character is someone who is always on alert, always plotting her next move, carefully observing those around her for weaknesses she can exploit. She goes from seductive to hurt to unaffected in a beat and conveys it all through her eyes and the minutest of facial expressions. Her performance is so understated and it's a pleasure to watch.

Gong Shang Jue:

Gong Shang Jue is the resident emo dude and he is easily one of the best characters in the show. He makes no bones about his opinion of Zi Yu and for the most part, his criticisms are on point. He is an also incredibly traumatised character, having lost his mother and younger brother during the previous Wufeng attack. His zeal, therefore, to find and root out any and all Wufeng assassins who could have infiltrated the family makes sense, he's already lost the people closest to him, he doesn't want to lose any more. He is so single-minded that he doesn't even spare his own prospective bride when he suspects her of being from Wufeng.

Unlike Zi Yu, Shang Jue realises why the Gongs put in the protocols that they did. At the beginning of the show, he is painted in a more antagonistic light (this is to land the big reveal at the end) but you can see that Shang Jue doesn't really care about power. His quest for position of SW, is more about keeping his family safe and he believes that he is the best candidate for that job.

His cold exterior only ever cracks when he's with his other brother Gong Yuan Zhi (he's the resident psychopath) With Yuan Zhi, you can see what Shang Jue could have been like, if not for the events of the past.

The relationship between Shang Jue and Shangguan Qian is a treat to watch. There was so much sexual tension between them, so much suppressed yearning, I loved it. Theirs was such a cat and mouse game with each constantly trying to outwit the other.

Is it a healthy relationship? Not really, he literally interrogates her and threatens to torture her even more if she doesn't talk. But he's not someone who is demonstrative of his emotions and feelings, like I don't think he knows how to open up. But with Shangguan Qian, his cold heart begins to thaw and you can see that in their interactions.

Every time, Shangguan Qian initiates physical intimacy or tries to, you can see the confusion on his face and the inner conflict. On the one hand, he doesn't fully trust her and is suspicious of her motives, but on the other, there is a part of him that genuinely likes and yearns for it. There are instances where he wants to reach out to her or touch her but always holds himself back.

Shangguan Qian is also only ever honest with Shang Jue, she tells him the truth and I think a lot of their later interactions (at least on her part) are largely genuine.

They are also unnervingly similar to each other, both owe their allegiance to something larger than themselves and are shaped by their trauma (Shangguan Qian with the loss of her entire family and Shang Jue with the death of his mother and brother) They are drawn to each other despite everything because they see that they are the only people who are capable of understanding exactly what the other is going through.

What differentiates them however, is that while Shang Jue is driven by loyalty, Shangguan Qian is driven by vengeance and therein lies their greatest obstacle, the one thing that neither is willing to compromise. They are so beautifully written and executed that, even knowing that it could never work out, they still make the audience root for them.

And yet, by the end of the show, they are both fundamentally different people. Shang Jue chooses to let her go when he finds out she's pregnant and instead of going back to Wufeng, Shangguan Qian chooses to stay in a small isolated house with azaleas planted around the house. She chooses to peace and safety for her unborn child over her thirst for revenge.

If there is to be a season 2, a Shangguan Qian and Shang Jue reunion is inevitable and I for one, would love to see how that unfolds...

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bookworm-center · 1 year

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Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender: Chapter III- Our Shared Past

Previous part below:

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender

Y/n L/n: Our Shared Past

Kaz is being annoying once again, forbidding me from joining him and Jesper to deliver the documents to Rollins. I wandered around the Barrel for a little while, growing bored rather quickly. I went back to the Club faster than I wanted but there was nothing to do while out.

The sound of my glass clinking down on the bar echoes in the near quiet of the Club. The pigeons have dwindled to five patrons. Being alone makes me think of Jesper and Kaz. I hoped they were alright. For some reason, I remembered the night we'd met, the night Kaz recruited me to the Dregs nearly three years ago.

~*~*~*~*~

It had been a particularly rough day. I had been paid to assassinate a mercher, which ended unsuccessfully. My client was furious and had shot at me in the shoulder. I just needed to feel the burn of alcohol down my throat so I made my way to the nearest Club.

Kaz had found me then, chugging shots of whiskey and chatting with the bartender. I recognized him almost immediately. After all, what crook or thief in Ketterdam hadn't heard of Dirtyhands? Everyone knew of Kaz Brekker, the infamous Bastard of the Barrel. Jesper was with him, pearly guns at the holsters, tall lanky frame hoovering behind Kaz.

"Y/n L/n." I looked up when Kaz said my name. It wasn't something I'd given out to people. "Also known as the Bloodbender."

"What business?"

"I want to recruit you to the Dregs." Kaz said.

I couldn't help but laugh. "The Dregs? I don't belong to any gang. Convince me why I should join you."

"Why shouldn't you?" Jesper asked.

"Look, if I joined you, I'd be the talk of the town."

"Disgraced and disowned?" Jesper added. I nodded. He didn't need to know I'd already been disowned by my family and disgraced by the Second Army.

"Is this really how you want to spend your days?" Kaz made a pointed look down to the glass of whiskey I was nursing in my hands. "Whiskey and misery? Always cheated out of your money?"

"Well what can you offer me in return for my service?"

"Kruge. Freedom to go where you please. Revenge. I'd promise you safety but that would be a kind lie." Kaz said, tapping his finger on the crow head of his cane.

I took a minute to decide, although I'd made up my mind when Kaz had first come up to me. Kaz Brekker had only ever wanted the best of the best, everyone knew that. So of course I'd join him. Especially if I meant I could get revenge on Pekka Rollins and perhaps the Second Army as well.

~*~*~*~*~

Three years later, I've still not quite got my revenge, but there are now many things that keep me with the Dregs and the Crows. The quiet moments I shared with Inej as we dashed across the rooftops. The times I had to pull Jesper away from the tables and we played card games alone in my room. Eating waffles and sharing secrets with Nina, telling tales about our time in Ravka. Exploding anything and everything when I was bored with Wylan. And most of all, Kaz.

Kaz was my closest friend, though neither of us would admit it. We spent so much time simply sitting in Kaz's office, me reading some random book and Kaz studying maps and plans for new jobs. We bickered and teased each other, but deep down I knew that I cared for him and would burn the world down if he was killed. He wasn't the same, of course, Dirtyhands never gets too attached to people, at the cost of hurting his heart- if he had one. Still, he kept me here with his Crows, my allegiance to him more than Per Haskell.

I knew that I belonged here in Ketterdam more than Ravka. Ravka was the country of Saints, Kerch the land of sinners. Ketterdam was home to the worst of the worst, the broken, bruised, and battered calling the city their own. Kaz was like me in the sense that we both belong here. We are both bastards in different senses, me by my lineage, Kaz by his actions. We are king and queen in a way, rulers of the world that is so devastatingly cruel, you have to become a monster to survive.

#grishaverse #bookworm center #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #my work #fanfic #dirtyhands and the bloodbender

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kanansdume · 1 year

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I've only watched Andor 1x11 once, so one part I feel like I didn't get: is Mothma's daughter, idk, really into her parents culture or something? All I understood was she and some friends were chanting stuff, but that was it. At the end of the scene both my husband and I were like, "...Wait what? What did we just miss??"

Oh gosh, I'm not sure how well I'm going to be able to answer this question, so I'll just give you my best interpretation of what's happening with Leida in that scene.

So we know that there are some old traditional cultural values and practices on Chandrila, probably particularly for upper class families. One of the biggest ones appears to be marrying kids to each other young (at least as young as 15, but the proposals would obviously start earlier than that).

Leida appears to be a part of a group of Chandrilan children that live on Coruscant as part of the upper class there and is being taught a lot of these very old traditional cultural values and practices. It's hard to tell if that chant was something religious or something more akin to, say, the Pledge of Allegiance that all American kids are forced to say every day at school that's more about loyalty to your country/planet than it is a religion.

Vel's first reaction to it is to ask about the marriage thing and if Mon's been taking proposals for Leida, so that's clearly the biggest aspect of it, but definitely isn't the only part of it.

I think what I got from it for the most part was that this came from LEIDA, not from Perrin, and certainly not from Mon. We know that Leida feels estranged and distanced from Mon, like Mon values her job over her family and this is something that bothers Leida and is causing a rift in their relationship. She seems closer to Perrin, but it makes sense to me that Leida might seek out a connection to her homeworld and its culture to create a community around herself that isn't being provided by Mon. She feels abandoned by Mon, so perhaps the idea of getting a new family by marrying early feels really appealing to Leida.

But Leida likely is at least somewhat aware that Mon doesn't LIKE the practice, or at least that Mon has some critiques about it and probably wasn't planning on teaching Leida these practices and beliefs. And so some of her frustration with Mon could also be stemming from a learned disdain of Mon's seeming abandonment of their heritage the same way Mon has seemingly abandoned her daughter.

I think ultimately it's less important to know what exactly the chant is and what it's about than to recognize what the scene is telling us about Leida, Mon, and the relationship between the two that will be irrevocably changed by whatever choice Mon ultimately makes regarding marrying Leida off to Davo's son. That Mon's horror at the concept when presented to her by Davo stems from the fear that already exists at knowing Leida's going down this path all on her own ANYWAY and there's very little Mon can do to protect her from it.

I hope this helped a little!

#andor #andor show #andor series #sw andor #star wars andor #leida mothma #mon mothma #andor spoilers

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murfpersonalblog · 9 months

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LDPDL, Incarceration, and Oscar Wilde's De Profundis

I was writing this up as a tangent in another post, thinking about IRL gay men at the turn of the 20th century as another source of Gothic literature Anne Rice was inspired by when she wrote the VC, and most importantly, how IRL Victorian-Edwardian era homophobia might have affected AMC!Louis as he struggled with his own sexuality/vampirism. Particularly, a point I made awhile ago about homosexuals & the mentally ill being locked up in sanatoriums. It just got way too long and off topic, so I've decided to post this bit first.

@wordforworldisforest noted that for all the reading Louis does in Eps2-7, we NEVER see him reading in Ep1 while he's still human. Iolanta's the first time we see Louis enjoy stories (plays/opera/books), but after he marries Lestat, Louis' reading whole libraries about heterosexual & homoerotic love & marriage. So I'm wondering what bb!Louis might've read during his human lifetime, too, and why he was keeping it such a secret from everyone--what/why was he hiding? And I started thinking about Oscar Wilde.

Closeted: Oscar, Louis & Vampirism

Oscar Wilde was the MOST (in)famous gay man during the late 1880-90s while Louis was growing up. If Louis was born 1877 (as per his gravestone in Ep5), he would've been 13 when The Picture of Dorian Gray was published, and 18-20 when Oscar was arrested for sodomy from 1895-97. De Profundis is the letter Oscar wrote to his male lover (Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas) while he was in jail, which was published posthumously in 1905. Ain't no way Louis didn't read it, or at least hear about it. 👀

Like, Dorian Gray's a known homoerotic book that was brought in as evidence during Oscar Wilde's sodomy trials. But Louis was 13 when it came out--MAYBE it flew under the radar for him, fine. But Louis's super stylish--he followed fashion trends (even in Dubai he's STILL casket sharp). And Oscar Wilde was a fashion icon/maverick in his heyday; an international sensation. But there was ALL KINDS of sexist/homophobic crap printed about Oscar cuz of the way he looked & dressed & styled his hair & carried himself in public (newspapers, Punch magazine, etc), before his love affairs with men were even made common knowledge.

Oscar was a well-connected rich white man, and even HE caught flack from homophobes/xenophobes on both sides of the Pond for his effeminate behavior, and critiques against British and American aesthetics. While anti-Irish sentiments PALE in comparison to ACTUAL anti-black racism--(the Irish enslaved & lynched black folk same as any white racist colonizer, just look at Scarlet O'Hara--I've mentioned this before about racist Finn O'Shea, who burned the Azalea down in 1917)--Oscar being Irish definitely didn't help his reputation in British-American circles, as seen in anti-Irish caricatures from Victorian magazines like Punch.

Oscar, a world famous white man, served only TWO years of jailtime and it nearly KILLED him--so just IMAGINE what a gay black former pimp in Jim Crow South would've gone through.

Vampirism's linked to xenophobia, as seen in my Brides of Lestat Dracula post (and speaking of Dracula....). But xenophobia against a white man's different from racism against a black man. Homophobic cops threatening Lestat's one thing--if he was on his own he'd've hypnotized the cops, ate a few of them, and skipped town long ago. He felt ZERO affinity or allegiance to the human world, populated merely by "the meat." Lestat embraced his alien status--Frenchness & vampirism, delighting in unsettling people & flouting social mores & gender norms. Since Louis insisted that they live as regular mortals, Lestat was "caught up in human affairs, too." But the ONLY one in any real danger of suffering the consequences of societal pariahism was LOUIS himself.

(De Profundis, Wilde)

Louis enjoyed a high degree of protection living with Lestat--the magical Frenchman who gave Louis the impetus to live more or less "out" in an open-secret gay relationship. But before meeting Lestat, Louis would've had ZERO security. Louis would've been around 18 when the scandal broke & Oscar was arrested, 22 when De Profundis was partially published, and 23 when Oscar died. His downfall likely would've been a frightening reminder for teen-20s Louis to stay in the closet; validating the need to keep up his image & the lies; but also contributing to his alcoholism, avoiding going to Confession, and ultimately his resistance to Lestat.

Loustat: Gilded Cages & Hubris/Pride before the Fall

So, I wonder how much Louis (AR/AMC) was pulling from Oscar Wilde in his own interview. Louis' access to Gothic/Victorian literature likely contributed to his excuses for Lestat's obvious vampirism (on top of NOLA's overall occult subculture); and Louis' own affinity for things that went bump in the night ("days were for sleeping off the previous night's damage," etc). But Oscar's lifestyle leading to his ruination & depression might've struck a chord with Louis too, considering his own fears/struggles with his sexuality.

“[Louis] is so good at grieving! He wears woe as others wear velvet; sorrow flatters him like the light of candles; tears become him like jewels.” (TotBT).

Louis' life was dictated by fear--of being oppressed/disrespected, shamed, outed & ousted--publicly shunned. But vampirism proved to be the very embodiment of ostracism & imprisonment; with his Maker/"Massa" Lestat as the ultimate oppressor in their townhouse--the gilded cage/trap he built specifically for Louis. It's no coincidence that the Great Depression coincided with Loustat going "underground" to lay low after Claudia's murder sprees brought the cops to their door, and her running away from home led to Louis to stop taking care of the house or himself. (Accidia is the deadly sin Sloth.) Louis spent 14 years doing nothing but reading in the townhouse--7 while Claudia was gone, and 7ish while Lestat was gone. De Profundis was reprinted in 1912, and catholic!Bosie started openly repudiating Wilde & other homosexuals by 1918. So Louis definitely would have had time to read all of Oscar Wilde's works from 1923-37 (Claudia leaving & Lestat coming back).

Oscar painted a grim picture of what prison was like on the inside, and what public humiliation was like on the outside. For a prideful man like Louis, shame & humiliation was his worst nightmare--Icarus "flying too close to the sun," as the Alderman put it. (Louis was in his 60s the first (& last) time he openly kissed Lestat at the Mardi Gras ball--the night he was gonna leave America for good anyway.)

So I'm certain Oscar Wilde's scandal would've negatively colored Louis' developing outlook on his own homosexuality. And if Louis was (re)reading Wilde after Loustat's separation/divorce, it must have resonated, perhaps even moreso, as history repeated itself.

Lestat & Louis have been compared to Oscar & Bosie before. Their stories aren't perfect 1:1s ofc, but it's the overall Mess that most resembles Loustat. Oscar was an older, worldly, far better educated man; Bosie was a spoiled but broke little lordling whose hedonistic lifestyle of male prostitutes was bankrolled by Oscar. Bosie's homophobic father was determined to see Wilde ruined, and had him arrested for sodomy. Oscar was sentenced to 2 years of hard prison labor. Jailtime made Oscar reevaluate his life, his impending death, and his relationship with Bosie--"the love that dare not speak its name." Oscar was HELLA critical of Bosie in De Profundis, and after being released from jail they split up; Oscar fleeing to Paris where he soon died. Bosie converted to Roman Catholicism, and after Oscar's complete letters were published in 1912 he publicly repudiated Wilde, renouncing homosexuality and marrying an heiress, only to die penniless anyway. Ohhhhh, Louis would've eaten that news up, I know he did.

Just look at how Oscar talks to Bosie in his letter, and tell me it doesn't sound like Louis' talking/complaining about Lestat:

Plenty of scholars have pointed out Oscar's hypocritical criticism of Bosie, as he reams Bosie for filth for half the letter, then talks about not being bitter towards him & finding Jesus & forgiveness for the second half. Likewise, I've said before that Book!IWTV reads like a hit piece, Louis skulldragging Lestat while downplaying Louis' own culpability in his downfall. However, AMC!Louis takes more accountability than book!Louis, focusing on the ways HE in particular failed Claudia (and himself), rather than blaming so much of it all on Lestat. Louis' more forgiving of Lestat than Daniel/the show leans--perhaps cuz Claudia's older; able to act against Lestat the way Louis couldn't bring himself to, even for her.

But naturally, AMC!Louis has more on his plate than book!Louis ever did, as the racial/societal challenges of their time also played a much more significant part in Lestat's relationships with Louis and Claudia souring. Louis' far more ambitious, but doomed, so his fall from grace hits that much harder, as he blames himself more for the things he could and couldn't control.

Loumand: Wardens, Austerity & Suffering

My final point concerns Louis' time in Dubai with Armand. Here, the notion of imprisonment takes on a far more disturbing flavor, because Louis is mentally ill/traumatized. He's completely surrendered to Armand; who isn't pampering/spoiling him like a prince(ss), so much as nursing/babying him like a mental patient in a padded cell.

Loumand's cold & hollow penthouse is the polar opposite of Loustat's lush & vibrant townhouse. They're living like monks. Ofc that tracks with Catholic austerity (see this awesome post about Louis & Anchorites); but I also suspect Louis might've consulted New Age Buddhism as a form of therapy/meditation too--cuz what's with the tangzhuang outfit? 🤨

It's the most out-of-place piece in Louis' Dubai wardrobe of highwaisted slacks & tops. And for a show that's so dang particular about clothes & colors & cuts etc, this HAS to mean something. And considering Louis' penchant for monastic self-denial, I think De Profundis has interesting parallels with Catholicism and Buddhism.

Like, Louis has access to all the modern marvels of science, and as much blood as he can get--"AB- fresh from the Farm," Damek, Dr. Fareed, blood banks, exotic animals, etc. Yet he's also eating human food, even though it tastes like chalk/paste, just to humble/deny/punish himself. (It's as hypocritical as it is sincere, crazy enough.)

It's all sus, cuz we know Armand's a master hypnotist with the Mind Gift & Spell Gift. Louis' interview seems less like the confessions of a suicidal/grieving man, or the unburdening of an incarcerated/rehabilitated man's guilty conscience. Instead, Louis seems like he's speaking from the Sunken Place; like he's one trigger away from a complete and utter meltdown.

Which makes it veeeeery interesting that Louis keeps pushing/suffering through the interview, despite his pain; while Armand seems to be VERY against the entire endeavor--the one who keeps trying to get them to stop talking about the past at all.... 👀

So yeah, this was all swirling around, keeping me from getting any effing sleep. I hate this show.

#louis de pointe du lac #louis de pointe du black #oscar wilde #lgbtqia+#lgbt #religion #iwtv tvc metas

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