#as you can tell the brain rot is destroying me

[sillyfroginatrenchcoat]

Guys is it just me or is Memories by Conan Gray double life/limited life desert duo coded, just like a little bit????

Hear me out on this one I’m kind of imagining Grian visiting Scar during limited life and them having a chat of some kind I’ve read a fic with that sort of premise and they bring up a bunch of stuff from double life and third life???

Also the lyrics “you see it’s hard to find an end to something that you keep beginning, over and over again, I promise that the ending always stays the same, so there’s not good reason to make believe that we could ever exist again” is /so/ life series desert duo coded in my brain they teamed up during third life and then were paired during double life and also there was that moment in last life where Scar almost joined the Southlands but didn’t if I remember correctly cause he didn’t do the aha joke with the telescope BUT MY POINT is that they find each other and are connected with each other somehow in most if not all of the life series and like!!!! Aughhhh it’s so desert duo specifically Scars perspective to me!!!

And also the lyrics “I can’t be your friend, can’t be your lover, can’t be the reason we hold back each other from falling in love, with somebody other than me” Grian literally had a secret soulmate during double life this 100% feels like Scar knowing it’s a bad idea to team up with Grian because of the cactus ring and what happened in third life but also because Grian was going behind his back and had a secret soulmate!!!

And the bridge to this song feels like a narration of some angsty ass limited life meetup where Grian goes to see Scar and tries to make things right but fucks it up cause they’re both kind of idiots but anyways please listen to Memories by Conan Gray and tell me if I’m a little bit right at all or if it’s just really late and I’m too tired to make real thoughts????

[killakalx]

killa ur one of my absolute fav jason writers so i felt the urge to share w u what has been rotting my brain recently. all i can think abt is ak/rh!jason meeting robin!reader for the first time. at first he’s angry, enraged, really, seeing flashes of red and green prancing across rooftops like you don’t have a care in the world. he has half a mind to beat some sense into you, knock that ‘i’m invincible in this suit’ mentality right out of your pretty little head. until he sees you up close, because that kevlar vest can’t hide the swell of your chest, and of course he notices the way your cape flares out to accommodate for the curve of your ass. just imagining the way he’d get obsessed, always cornering you in dark alleys just to rile you up and make you feel guilty that somebody like him has your panties all sticky and your thighs clenching, only to leave you high and dry ‘til the next time he ‘coincidentally’ runs into you during your solo patrols. kicking my feet js putting this into words he’s actually taken over all my thoughts i can’t function 😵‍💫

omg wait ilysm nonnie ☹️❤️ im glad my writing for jason is what you like!!!

ok i’m gonna edit ur take just a lil bit bc if you want me to be so honest rn, the idea of reader as a robin implies to me that reader’s still kinda young. ik that isn’t the fact but i just associate robin with being tiny and thrilled to get your life destroyed by an old man in a bat costume. now if we go about it like reader’s being mentored by b-man and has been for a long time, so it’s obvious to jason that she’s got that lil invincible flair? i’m all for it. cuz i feel like jason has beef with anyone who subjects themself to the same things he did when he was under batman’s wing.

now i’m not gonna say jason’s a stalker but yk. he’s definitely keeping track of you. judging your every move and making sure to be as hypercritical as possible, just to distract him from how badly he wants to ruin you himself. two things immediately came to my mind when i read this and it was brat taming and corruption, but jason as a brat tamer is always in the back of my mind somewhere 🫣 he’s almost looking forward to the moment he gets you to pounce on him with some sneaky shit, waiting for you to pull something just so he can show you how easily he’ll have you right under his thumb. and every time he corners you it’s a little game- he’s wondering if you’re feeling feisty and wanting to give him a hard time or if you’re gonna be all calm and collected and try to outsmart him. he almost finds it pitiful, really, if not entertaining.

then suddenly you’re looking forward to the moment he’s got you really cornered, head to head with him and he’s giving you that death stare even from under the blank helmet. “i know you like this stupid little game,” he’d taunt after getting you in a chokehold all the way up against his chest and pelvis. “aww, he didn’t teach you how to get outta this one yet?” when he definitely has, and you can’t quite figure out what exactly you’re supposed to do when you’re caught off guard by the little tingle between your legs. not to mention how the tight grip around your neck has you gasping… god you’re ashamed of yourself, and he can tell with the look of frustration under that cute cowl. you can’t tell that he’s enjoying this too, and he makes sure of that. just know that he’s eager to hear your half-assed protests and how you “shouldn’t be doing this with him” while he’s… 🤭 mmmm ak!jason todd w a corruption kink save me pls

[overseer-picard]

I have to talk about "I, Borg" for a moment. I get so exasperated by people saying Picard was stupid or weak for not using Hugh to cause genocide. I get it, Hollywood neural rot tells us we should always kill the bad guys but... come on, watch the episode with your brain wrinkles open.

Picard was chomping at the bit to use Hugh to infect the Borg, his staff were the ones telling him to slow down and think about things but he turned a deliberate blind eye to them for most of the episode. It was deeply out of character for him, but his actions were underpinned with a simmering rage that made it all make sense (especially considering he had been assimilated just two years prior).

He lashes out at Guinan, "It's not a person, damn it, it's a Borg!", he tells Geordi to "unattach himself" from the "lab animal", and he even makes Beverly do a double take when she says "You're making it sound like a virus." and he says, his eyes colder than we've ever seen, "And if all goes well, a terminal one."

(Cold Eye Picard ^ very scary, do not approach. He even gives a flicker of a sadistic smile here, which might be the only time in the whole series we see that.)

But my main point is that Picard wanted to go through with the plan more than anyone else on the ship. So much so that the lust for revenge was splitting him open at the seams and making him abandon his core morals. Even Guinan, whose entire world was destroyed by the Borg, tells him he needs to calm down and reconsider.

And that moment towards the end, the climax of the episode, when Picard is tapping into Hugh's recognition of Locutus, trying to do a hail mary to prove that this is still nothing but a mindless drone, and Hugh says "No, I am Hugh". BAM. Picard's entire demeanor shifts as he realizes there's no way he can murder this innocent individual.

And this moment-

-as Picard is saying goodbye to Hugh, you see his smile fall and doubt pull at him. Perhaps he's questioning if he did the right thing, or maybe wondering just how furious Command will be with him, but either way, it's a poignant moment that completes his arc because he was true to his moral center, and that is true to his character.

In my opinion, if Picard had chosen to push through with the plan, to kill Hugh and the possible (there was a chance it wouldn't work) millions of other Borg drones who were just as innocent and capable of rescue and rehabilitation as Hugh (and himself), it would've been a failing of writing and too far removed from Picard's character to be believable.

It's an incredible episode, and Patrick Stewart's performance is astoundingly nuanced, so it drives me a little crazy when people completely miss the entire point. If I wanted an action based thriller about the Good Guys coming up with cool ways of killing evil space zombies, I wouldn't be watching Star Trek.

^ the face of character growth

[batwritings]

Im back again bc my brain is rotting , plspls , i ask of you , ghost fucking his cute gf on their kitchen counter, like imagine reader is making dinner , dressed in a cute skirt and one of his sweaters , reader looks hot ass fuck to simon , especially because they currently have a vibrating dildo inside of themselves, simon had put it there because he wanted to have fun and what was more fun than making his sweet angel suffer ? So reader is cooking with shakey hands and legs , softly whimper and sniffling while tears run down her face , frustrated that she cant do anything because she had to be a good girl , that is until reader us about to come , she doubles over the counter and her whole body is trembling, she's abo- , oh wait , Simon pulled the dildo out , leaving his poor angel edged until later after dinner , he makes her cum as much as she deserves and absolutely destroys her cunt , cumming inside of her and then fucking it back inside of her , so she can take it like a good girl while he praises her :)))) (idk why i make ts so detailed)

See here's the thing about Simon goddamn Riley: you cannot tell me this man isn't touch starved and in need of someone to push boundaries and experiment with and this would be fucking perfect for that. Enjoy!~

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To say you and Ghost were an experimental couple in the bedroom would be quite the understatement. If the storage container full of different toys and various bedroom extras wasn't proof enough, you weren't sure what was. So when this man, this touch starved man came up with the idea of making you cook dinner with a vibrator in your cunt, you weren't too surprised.

Dinner was nearly done for the night, but so were you at this point. Your legs were shaking as the vibrating toy did it's job deep in your soaked hole. Tears were starting to stain your cheeks from overstimulation as your end was keeping you teetering on the edge of absolute pleasure.

It was only when your whimpers got louder, hands unsteady to the point that you had to slam your hand on the counter to support your weight that you felt a presence behind you. "Simon...!" You whine, legs clenching together. "Please...! Cl-ohhh...!"

You cry out in disappointment, nearly a sob as you feel Ghost's hand slip beneath your pretty skirt to pull the toy from your stretched hole. "Not until after dinner darlin'," he rumbles, voice dark with arousal yet mocking at the same time.

Your mind is fuzzy, a blur as he helps you plate the food and settle in your seat, watching you with critical cocoa eyes to make sure you finished it all. You'd need all the energy you could take in before he got his hands on you. The moment your plate was clear, he's on you, pulling your seat back and out of the way as he pins you to the table from behind.

You don't miss the man's bulge pressing right against your eager cunt, whimpering as he frees it to rub along your slick entrance. "So pretty, in my sweater," he growls directly in your ear, breath so hot it makes you shiver. "But so naughty with no panties on for me."

"Pleeease Simon...!" You're practically in tears again, desperate to get back to where you wanted to be. You don't need to ask twice, sobbing out in pleasure as you feel Ghost thrust into you roughly. He fucks you harshly, the table rocking violently as he slams his cock into you over and over.

Between grunts and groans the blonde is spewing out praise left and right. Some of it is mixed with degradation, but it's all such sweet music in your ears that brings you close and closer to completion. "So close babygirl," he moans, fingers bruising on your hips. "Come for me sweetheart. Show me how good you feel."

You don't need to be told twice, crying out in pleasure as you milk his cock for all it's worth. Ghost isn't far behind you, a long moan indicating his finish as he spills inside you. You whimper and moan as he fills you, loving how full he's made you feel.

Your military husband cages you in, panting hard against your back as you both come down. You can start to feel the excess mess starting to leak out and down your thighs. A dark chuckle makes you shiver and whine a bit.

"Looks like I'm going to have to ruin you all over again sweetheart."

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [4/...]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

"I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die, I think my body's falling in pieces, I think my blood is passing me by."

— Mitski, "Brand New City"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, Buggy is a lonely asshole, "Cross-Hairs"/reader is a lonely asshole too, flashbacks, semi-canon divergence, Reader is strong AF, a mixture of both the Reader's and Buggy's POVs, angst

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual with only 2.2k words... Sorry.

Taglist:@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

You’re like a savage beast when you’re fighting, Buggy admits to himself in awe as he watches you tear through your opponents one by one with substantially more strength than anyone thought your body capable of.

But Buggy's not just anybody. He's always known that your body is of a special sort, an Iron Maiden encompassed by skin, flesh, veins, arteries, and ligaments; capable of bringing ruin to anyone and anything if only you have reason enough. Chains can't hold you, nor can any power on this earth.

He relishes in it.

You have your sword and your pistol both disposable at the belt on your hip, but you seem to have no interest in wielding them for the battle. No, your body is a weapon on its own; a blade cutting through people like grass straws on a narrow field.

It’s during times like these — when he gets to watch your strength from the front rows — that he wonders whether you’ve eaten a Devil Fruit of your own at some point, but that can't be. He’s seen you swim.

You, him, and Shanks had been simply traveling through the town where the Oro Jackson was docked, minding your own business when a group of rival pirates suddenly ambushed you. Thinking they easily could kidnap the apprentices of the famous Gol D. Roger and demand ransom, the shidiots would quickly come to realize that they made a mistake.

A very costly one at that. One they will be sure not to repeat.

Whereas he and Shanks stand partnered together against a few of the rival group, you are holding your own quite well from the other side of the fight. He swears he saw one of the men flying over him at some point, though it might’ve just been a trick of the adrenaline.

Kicking one of the larger pirates straight in the balls with his lower body severed from the rest, he turns his upper body to catch a glimpse of you in case you need help.

What he sees instead is a flash of the sun reflecting in your eyes as you pounce at your prey, casting a yellow line in the air that reminds him of lightning about to strike the ground. Everything around him seems to cease mid-motion save for you. There is no fighting going on, no shouting, no Shanks telling him to take cover from an incoming blow.

All he sees is you, and all he hears is his own voice telling him: "Gods, you’re fucking marvelous."

The last thing he hears is Shanks shouting his name before the world begins to darken around him, and the last thing he sees is lightning making its way toward him, destroying everything in its path to get to him.

He wonders drowsily if it's going to strike him too.

———

The fight that ensues reminds you of the battles you partook in during your years as Captain. The chaos in it all. The carnage. The general inability to think properly as you fight. Of course, your opponents back then lacked Buggy's uncanny ability to split up into multiple parts while still alive, but it doesn't stop you. 

Nothing on this earth can.

Blades are thrown, skin is cut, and by the time you get close enough to reach him, a number of props have scattered to pieces in the midst of your warfare. It seems like an endless battle trying to defeat him, just get him to fucking stay still.

Just as you reach for Buggy's chest with your nails reached out to claw at his vest, his midsection separates and all you're left with is air. Just empty air.

He cackles as he puts himself back a few good feet from where you're standing. "C'mon! Put your back into it! It's like you're not even tryin—!"

In a flash, your face is hairsbreadths away from his, and it feels like everything around him stops. 

At that moment, he realizes that the golden color of the sun has not left your eyes. Only to find that, upon closer inspection, it's not the color of the sun that he's met with.

It's thunder, and it strikes hard.

Before he has the chance to blink, the next thing he knows is the feeling of a boulder being pushed against his stomach. Not a sound leaves his throat save for a guttural groan, and he finds himself on the ground before he knows it with stars adorning the edges of his vision.

Gods, he thinks while in a state of both pain and exhausted satisfaction, your face a blurred canvas in his eyes. You’re so fucking marvelous.

By the time Nami and Zoro debut to join the battle, you have already pinned Buggy to the ground with your legs planted firmly on each side of his hips, and a bruising grip around his neck as you press your forearm down onto it. Not enough to cut his flow of oxygen, but enough so that he doesn't have the capacity to move unless he splits.

His face, the very same face you used to paint when you were younger, looks up at you with nothing short of manic glee. He doesn't even divide himself up to get free this time. It's almost like merely connecting to him, even during an act of violence such as this, is enough to keep him entertained. Happy, you dare think.

You find those sea-blue eyes looking up at you, and before you try and strike the finishing blow, you hesitate. You fuckinghesitate, because when it all comes down to it, you can't find it in yourself to kill him. 

The legendary Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the executioner of a thousand marines and other pirates, can't kill something this time.

You can't kill him. You can't kill those ocean-blue eyes, even when your body yearns to see through with what you promised. You always stick to your promises, but for the first time in forever, you don't. You can't. 

Not him.

Never him.

Meanwhile, Buggy can't help examining you like you're the most fascinating creature he's ever laid his eyes on, because you are. Even after all this time, he's still as drawn to the fire in your eyes that as he was all those years ago. It's a feeling he can never hope to extinguish.

Nor does he want to.

Being the jester that he is, however, he takes the moment to his advantage. This one, vulnerable moment. It's not out of pettiness, but survival. Nothing personal.

He separates his femur and exploits the momentum to knock you off him. He can tell you're surprised as you position yourself on your knees and hands, yet it only takes you a ghost of a moment to recover.

The fire is back in your eyes, a thousand times brighter this time, and the fight continues. 

Now, neither of you holds back, and he becomes first-hand acquainted with just how ruthless truly you can be. When there is nothing keeping you down.

Truth be told, it excites him. Very much so. 

He has the Bounty Hunter and the Tangerine-haired girl hot on his tail, but he hardly provides them a medium of his attention. You're the only thing he can't take his eyes off.

"NAMI! THE CRATES!"

And that's where the entire play gradually comes to an end. Maybe it's what pisses him off the most?

You stalk after his separated body parts like a hunter after a flock of deer, throwing them into the crates as the rest of your companions follow suit. Whereas Nami and Zoro are strategic with their actions, complementing each other, you're acting on pure, unadulterated wrath. 

You do not have Luffy's stretchy capabilities, Zoro's precision, or Nami's diligence. 

What you have is something far, far deadlier.

It's twenty years of pent-up heartache.

Catching pieces of him is much easier than catching all of him.

This is what it's come to, with you and him fighting; with you and him having different goals. It's not the future you envisioned for yourself at all. In fact, it's the exact opposite. If you knew then what you know now, you would've ... 

Once, it was you and him together against the rest of the world. Now, it's you against him, against the rest of the world.

You can feel your eyes threaten to sting as you catch his femur and throw it in an open box that promptly shuts, but like with everything else, you push it down. You push it until all that remains is the vague ache. 

It doesn't matter, you tell yourself. This is what it will stay like. 

In the end, all of his body parts save for his head, hands, and feet are spared from the confinement of the containers, and when he melds them together to a pathetically small version of his usual self, you can't help but address the irony of the situation.

"What have you done to me?!" Buggy cries.

Luffy grins as he caresses his beloved hat, having suffered the most injuries. "Cut you down to size."

Buggy looks as small as you felt that day. Helpless. Pathetic. Reduced to almost nothing.

Still, it's not a moment that brings you any happiness. Not any victory, or satisfaction. You don't even have the urge to gloat. 

All it brings you, as you tower over him from the side, is nothingness. 

You're tempted to kick him, and you almost do. You take a step closer to him, a river of anger rushing through your veins. With nowhere else to go, it circles.

"The One Piece will never be yours!" Buggy yells and flaps his hands, too focused on Luffy to notice you calmly stalking toward him from the dark. "You're just a sad, lonely little boy, wearing another man's hat!" 

It’s Shanks’s hat, you want to scream. Our friend’s hat. Don’t you remember?

Luffy's words don't register with you as you kneel in front of the shortened clown, nor do Nami's questions or Zoro's inquisitive eyes. It all tunes out into the background as you raise your hand slowly to Buggy, and you think about how easy it will be. It will be so easy to end it now. He's weak, he's practically defenseless. There's nothing to stop you now.

Buggy simply stares when he notices you, his mouth slightly parted in what you can only perceive as surprise and ... disbelief? You take one final look at his face, the same face you used to paint long ago, and you briefly wonder how many layers of white, red, and blue separate this one from the touches you applied years ago. 

Is there still some residue left? Any fingerprint? Does anything from you still linger with him, or did he try to scrub your touches off his face the same way he tried to scrub you from his life altogether?

Buggy is completely still as your outstretched fingers close in on him, and he thinks that this is it. Now's the moment when you will make good on your threats, where you'll finally kill him. Truth be told, it's a less-than-satisfactory way to go, but surprisingly enough, it doesn't bother him half as much as he expected it would.

Maybe it's because, after all this time, it's still you until the end? You and him, like it was always meant to be.

He closes his eyes with a sigh and finds that the edge of his lip tilts a little up. "Go for it," he says, awaiting the moment when your calloused fingers grip him. He can anticipate your nails clawing at his scalp, tearing the skin of his cranium, digging until there is nothing left to tear at.

Devil Fruit or not, you're the only one he'll let end him like this.

Except, you don't.

All he feels are your fingertips gently grazing the sides of his cheek, so uncharacteristically soft against his thin stubbles that he could've mistaken it for air brushing his face.

The same hands he knows capable of such great feats of violence and brutality, the same ones who had just fought against him with enough strength to match a beast, are touching him like he's made of glass. 

He snaps his eyes open, and when he meets your gaze, he's surprised to find them ... empty. Hollow. 

The sun is gone, and so is the thunder. Now, there are only clouds in his view.

"Goodbye, Buggy." Your voice is so tranquil that he strains to hear it, and before he gets to, you stand up again and turn your back to him. "He's all yours, Luffy."

No, no! He tries to walk up to you, but his shortened sature won't let him. Don't look away, not yet! Look at me! If only to keep your fucking promise! Just fucking pleas—Please just look at me again!

"GUM-GUM—!"

"No, no, no!" Buggy, for the first time in his life, begs as the kid stretches his arms backward. Not like this. Not yet. He tries to search for you, only to discover that you've already left the circus tent. "Wait, wait, wait! Just wait!"

"— BAZOOKA!"

[skywerse]

AVA FERIN MIGHT STILL BE ALIVE

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS IN GENERAL

HEAR ME OUT, READ BELOW THE CUT AND TELL ME IF IT'S SOMETHING OR IF I'M SIMPLY LOOSING MY SHIT OVER NOTHING... BECAUSE IT MAKES SENSE TO ME—

Fey Ferin wants R.A.F.T to seize control over the world, and there's nothing that can stand in her way, not even her own family.

There might have been a time when Jayson Ferin was a good man. Based on what May says about him and glimpses we get from Jay's early memories (I recall one with the pin), it appears he once was. Perhaps Jayson desired change for the navy too, but that would be such a pain for Fey to deal with. So, she seems to have brainwashed him for months, possibly years by now (ep 79, Gilly detects corruption in him mixed with good energy), molding him into the perfect soldier who doesn't question orders and neglects his family for the sake of helping his mother to carry out this great fucking world domination plan.

Fey likely harbors resentment towards Drey for not being obedient like his brother, opting for a pirate's life over being loyal to his family and their ideals. Yet, Fey can't bring herself to kill him, so she puts him in a top security prison to let him rot instead.

Ava was the ideal soldier—strong, brave, and revered by all. However, for Fey, Ava's kindness, compassion, and desire for change is simply another pain to deal with. But of course, she would not kill her own family. And she couldn't let her just vanish either.

Perhaps Fey suspected that Ava had a soft spot for pirates, given her upbringing in Eagle's Den and being raised by such a softhearted daughter-in-law. But perhaps, on one occasion, someone witnessed Ava together with a pirate, and somehow that information reached Fey. And after learning that her granddaughter, her esteemed captain, had feelings for a pirate from the crew of the last remaining pirate lord she aimed to get rid of, Fey simply couldn't let this opportunity slip by.

Maybe Ava cooperated willingly, fought like hell, or simply was faced with a deal she couldn't refuse. R.A.F.T. wouldn't just eliminate their top captain, such a vital asset for the upcoming war. Instead, they created a doppelgänger, and chucked the real Ava into some top-notch secret confinement. Letting the dopple to become their pawn. A perfect martyred hero to be killed by those bad bad pirates. A perfect excuse to wage a war over.

But the doppelgängers aren't perfect. So when Lizzie tells Ava about a pirate who is like a father to her, Ava doesn't remember. And when Lizzie begs her not to fight, Ava doesn't listen because she doesn't remember the numerous times they sneaked out together to simply talk like normal people do. And when there's an order to shoot, Ava doesn't move away, as she remembers she was only created to destroy and to be destroyed.

Would Jayson know? Probably not. His hatered toward the pirates responsible for his daughter's death would likely fuel his brainwashed self even more. Very convenient for the long run.

Fey might permit her youngest granddaughter to infiltrate the pirates, banking on her own hatered over her sister's death to maybe one day make her an even better soldier than Ava ever was.

But maybe Fey was wrong.

And she knows it when she receives news of her son's escape from prison, and when her other son suddenly takes leave, or perhaps when a navy base on the Black Sea is breached.

So, when her promising soldier begins to rebel, it might be time to reveal the secret that she's been keping. Maybe it will help her granddaughter decide which side to choose in the end.

me rn:

But idk, that's just my speculation. If it turns out to be a load of bullshit you can point and laugh, but at this point it makes so much sense in that smooth brain of mine as I'm writing this at 7am after getting no sleep whatsoever.

ALSO, just something fun to think over:

In the rolled for 114, Grizz mentioned that the doppel/brainwashing machine had buttons with dates on them. And if pressed, it would display the people who had previously used it. I can't help but wonder if my theory about Ava is true if she might have showed up there. Or maybe it could have shown Jayson getting his fucking brain blasted. BUT WELP, someone rolled like shit (pointsatgillionpointsatgillion) and we'll never know now—

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Good Cop, Bad Cop feat. John Wick

Basically Soft!JW and Mean!JW brain rot - can’t get this shit outta my head or my drafts. Do not read this. I had to take a damn shower after I wrote it. NSFW / Eplicit Content / hitting & name-calling & dubcon

Of course, he’s soft John, who holds opens doors, pulls out chairs, gives away his coat

Little kisses all over your face til’ his jaw is sore just to make you breathless and giggly

Sickeningly sweet and charming, magnetizing in his kindness 

Master of tickle fights 

Deep laughter that rumbles through his entire body

Languid, big tongue never in a hurry

Of course, he takes mental note of your erogenous zones and sensitive spots

Makes sure you come first 

John Wick sucks toes. If you’re ticklish, oh well, he’s putting your foot in his mouth and holding you down or tying you up. Also gives fantastic foot massages with hands and tongue. 

Patient, frustrated John, big plump tip leaking and twitching, giving your fluttering cunt time to stretch and settle around it

Holding your hips down into the mattress and suckling your bloated pussy until the blue light of dawn - until he drinks you dry - don’t worry, though, he’s got the bottle of unscented, water based lube right there and plenty of saliva to keep you slippery - “we don’t want you to chafe, baby,” he coos, worrying a sloppy kiss to your overworked clit

He’s self-aware enough to recognize that his smooth voice is an effective weapon, especially when he’s talking you through taking his cock. Man of few words doesn’t mean he can’t use them the exact right way

“That’s my girl.” “Yeah, that feel good?” “Right there?” “Look at you.” “Gorgeous,” thrust, “irresistible,” thrust, “so fuckin’ sexy.”

Don’t get me started on the Russian dirty talk. Do you know what he’s saying? Absolutely not. Is it still more effective than English? Absolutely yes.

But, realistically, there’s also bully John, who always gets what he wants one way or another

Doesn’t matter how tough you think you are, this man is made of tall, corded muscle. 

Huge, mean, committed and determined, stalking toward you and letting you know, without words, that you’re fucked

Doesn’t matter how soft he tries to be, there’s still that rough undertone that always gets the best of him

You know he’s such a sweetie, but he gets so jealous sometimes. It’s to the point where he doesn’t let you touch yourself or use vibrators unless he’s controlling the scene

The charade of your innocence is over when, one night, you’re drunk, straddling his lap and kissing his collar and you can tell he’s trying not to fuck you stupid

“John,” you say, “you know I’m a big girl. You can do what you want.”

“It’s gonna hurt,” he replies, smoothing over your flushed cheekbone

“Good,” you tell him, “hurt me.”

You’ll live to regret it

He feels a little guilty that that’s all the more coaxing he needs to keep you stuffed full of his dick and crying from overstimulation as often as he can

“We’re lucky you’re on birth control,” he grits out, the wet slap of his balls against your ass as he destroys your cervix 

More filthy, awful shit from his mouth as he manhandles you into a position where he can bite your flesh and whisper in your ear and bottom out in the sanctuary of your cunt

“Cockdrunk slut, huh?” - “It would be easier if this stubborn pussy would ever loosen up a little bit. Shame.” 

He keeps you fat and red and sore and full of cum, always 

You stopped begging him for reprieve - eventually

Heavy handed John, bruising your ass a little too much, hitting you hard enough to make your teeth knock together. 

One day, he’s gonna keep you locked up in a big house, collar around your neck, always wearing too-tight clothes and overly feminine fetish outfits that would make a stripper blush 

Run, hide, fight 

There’s no getting away from the Boogeyman

Plus, he likes the chase

[gaymurdersalad]

Jack! You should try talking it out with Dave. Tell him how you feel, how from your perspective how tiring and agonising this whole situation is.

Dave cares about you a lot. I'm sure he'll understand you.

> Fuck you! Quit giving me those puppy dog eyes! It’s not gonna work this time, no, you’re not gonna ruin my life and waltz back in like we’re still friends. I only liked you when I hated myself. Get it through that fucking lobotomized skull, you purple leech.

> … Do you even realize what you’re sayin’ to me, Sportsy?

> I know exactly what I’m saying! You deaf too, you bastard?

> I didn’t ask for your help! Y’know, Sportsy, I coulda been perfectly fine rotting in that alleyway! You didn’t HAVE to drag me back to your home just to fuckin’ chew me out you goddamn hypocrite! What the fuck is wrong with you?!

> It was a moment of weakness. Never in my right mind would I ever let you back in here!

> Sportsy, I know that ain’t really what you think, so can you stop bein’ so goddamn difficult and just tell me what the hell is pissin’ you off today?

> Today? Today?! You’ve been making my life fucking miserable since the moment I met you! You saw I was struggling, you noticed that I hated the company, and instead of leaving me well enough alone, you took advantage of me and made me do your fucking dirty work! I was prepared to do good, I was prepared to save whatever kid was stupid enough to let your cryptid ass lure them into the backroom, but god, when offered with the opportunity to burn it all down, I took it! I couldn’t have met a worse person, someone who fed into that fucking hate and malice and made me worse!

> You’re— You’re blaming me? Sportsy, You’re grown! You are a grown man, you made your own goddamn decision! How are you being so childish right now?! Stop tryin’ to escape the parts you don’t like about yourself, just deal with ‘em like every other adult!

> Deal with it?

> I killed children! Little kids!

> And that’s somehow my fault?

> If you’d have never been there, I never would have done it.

> But you did, you stupid motherfucker, you did! So grow up!

> If you weren’t so fucking obsessed with the legacy of a man that doesn’t even love you, I would never be here! I’d still be living my shitty existence with my shitty family in a shitty house that I couldn’t afford in a shitty world with a shitty job! Your bullfuckery cost me a life, it costed dozens of kids their futures, it destroyed families! Telling me to grow up?? You can only do whatever the fuck your daddy tells you to do!

> Do you know what the hell this means to me? Do you even understand why I’m doin’ this at all? It’s ‘cause I trust him, Sportsy, I trust him with my life ‘cause he’s saved it over and over again! You don’t know what’s happened to me, you don’t know what the hell I’ve seen, what Henry’s dragged me out of! You’ll never fuckin’ understand what he means to me!

> You’re right. I don’t know. Although what I do know, as any other sane, rational person would, is that whatever he’s done for you, it does not justify snuffing out the lives of little kids as some twisted form of gratitude.

> You’re bein’ really unfair!

> Unfair?? I didn’t realize murder was unfair! Okay, you should have every right to take someone else’s life! It’s only fair! It’s only right ‘cause it’s Henry!

> You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you ain’t never had a dad, you don’t know what the fuck I’d lose if I didn’t satisfy him!

> …

> Yeah, turns out I ain’t brain dead, you soulless bastard. I remember everything you’ve ever told me. Everything you spilled outta those rotten guts in Vegas. You wanna know why, you sick fuck? ‘Cause I liked you. I liked how you treated me, like a person. Lookin’ at me wit’ them doe eyes, so fuckin’ receptive and so goddamn… affectionate.

> Look, Sportsy, I know you whether you want me to or not. I know you don’t hate me, I know you never did. I don’t hate you neither. It’s not a question of if you’re ashamed of what you’ve done or whether it’s my fault or not— you like me. You are so fuckin’ violated to know that I can see through you. Sometimes that’s what I like about you, but right now it’s pissin’ me off. Lay down the goddamn charades and tell me what you want without usin’ any of that goddamn language you were dishin’ out earlier.

> Stop living for Henry.

> …

> Stop making it impossible for me to like you.

> … I can be close with Henry and still be your friend, Sportsy—

> No, you can’t! My entire reason for existence is to right Henry’s wrongs! My best friend cannot be his fucking protégé! Dave, you don’t understand what this is doing to me! I want you more than I want to do good in the world! Do you realize how sincerely fucked up that is?!

> … You’re not the only one who feels this way, Sportsy. This is puttin’ me in a uncomfortable position too. You’re askin’ me for a lot.

> I didn’t realize not murdering anyone required serious introspection.

> Gah, it’s not just about the murder, get over it! That’s all you ever wanna fuckin’ talk about! The very fuckin’ notion that I should lay all my loyalties down for the likes of you is downright insulting— the one who abandoned me after givin’ me a taste of humanity! Yer a joke and a conman and I cannot fuckin’ stand you!

> Yet I care about what you think of me, which is the wildest part of it all! I want you to like me again, but as you’ve so clearly forced down my throat, you won’t do it again unless I betray my own father! Unless I submit to YOUR goddamn ideology! Is it just that you’re usin’ me? Do you just want another pair of hands just like I asked for yours all those years ago? Trynna worm your way into a heartless vessel, are ya? All I got left is my brain, Sportsy, and you and that pink fuck are rippin’ it apart at the seams! Gah!

> You ain’t blameless yourself, anyhow! What, you had one good trip on ether and decided you were a saint? You’ve killed same as me, don’t you dare try and look down on me like you’re any better! So easily persuaded to kill, so easily persuaded to spare— can you ever make up your goddamn mind, or are you just gonna let people boss you around your entire afterlife? Yer like a fuckin’ sheep, like goddamn livestock for people that wanna use you! Turns out we ain’t so different after all, huh?!

> GOD, YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING PLAGUE!

> I WISH I NEVER TOLD YOU TO SKIP WORK! I WISH I MAIMED YOU IN THAT SPRINGLOCK SUIT, I WISH EVERY RIGGED PIECE IN THAT FUCKIN’ THING WRANG THE LIFE OUTTA YOU OUT FOR GOOD! GOD, I WISH YOU WERE FUCKIN’ DEAD!

> … You… You wish you what…?

> …!

[unfortunately-obsessed]

My Love Will Never Die

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader. Tags: emotional hurt/comfort, burnout, established relationship. Title based off a Hozier's song. Ao3 link.

Summary:

« You've done me wrong for a long, long time. But after all you've done, I never changed my mind. »

Behind you, you wonder if the chauffer it is still there, standing. You know he is, the manners making him wait until you enter the house to only then pull the car to the garage. Watching you frozen in place, bag lazily held in a hand, umbrella in another. Hair disheveled, clothes unruly. You wonder if you look pathetic on his eyes, just as much as you feel currently.

The truth is: you are utterly destroyed.

Not only mentally. Your muscles ache, pain spiking up on your lower back worse than any damage a sharpened knife could cause. Feet so thoroughly hurt by heels they're numb, if not for the casual sharp sting.

It is Gotham. The sky is grey, the city sucks up you out of life each passing moment.

Rain splatters against your umbrella. You stand just before the front door of Wayne Manor, mindlessly fidgeting with the wedding ring sitting pretty on your finger.

One year. You've been married with Bruce Wayne for one year already? Doesn't feel like it.

Time flew before your eyes, the start of it all just below your eyelids. Every first so toothachingly sweet, burned into your brain. Press nails against skin until it sharpens.

Behind you, you wonder if the chauffer it is still there, standing. You know he is, the manners making him wait until you enter the house to only then pull the car to the garage. Watching you frozen in place, bag lazily held in a hand, umbrella in another. Hair disheveled, clothes unruly.

You wonder if you look pathetic on his eyes, just as much as you feel currently.

Not worthy of the surname Wayne, to be called “lady of the house”.

Time is a cruel kind of lesson.

"Ms. Wayne." Alfred's voice, invariably courteous, calls. You almost wince at the door opening. He stands before you, maybe a little unnerved by your state, but if it's displeasure or worry on his face, you can't tell.

He masks terrifically well. You're always alarmed by this.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

At that, you do wince.

"Yes, Alfred." Your brain haven't even processed his presence yet when you walk past him. He takes your coat and bag. "Just got lost in thoughts for a moment."

"Pondering the mysteries of our universe at the front step?" Ah, you do love the edge of sass in his voice. You meet his eyes, a shy-like (unlike you) smile cursing your face. "Shall I fetch for tea? Supper will be served in one hour's time."

Some months ago, you might have looked forward for it. If Bruce couldn't welcome you after work, he at least would make sure to eat dinner with you.

Deep in your stomach, rot. You swallow dry.

"No, thanks," you say, taking a deep breath. Desperately– desperately talking through the knot in your throat. "I just want to hit the showers and sleep," you say, all sincerity.

You smile politely. He doesn't pushes you.

It is easy to backslide. To make oneself likeable, less volatile, more agreeable. Until you can earn love and care.

(Oh. It's getting bad again.)

"And Bruce?" You ask halfway through up the stairs, despite yourself. My love for you is bigger than words. I search for you everywhere.

The silence that hangs would be enough of an answer. Alfred is merciful, though. "Still working, ma'am."

Isn't it painful? Loving someone just from outside their life?

Wayne Manor is a haunted house. Constantly burning, touching the skies with horrible black smoke. Sculpted coffered ceilings, furniture of expensive dark wood. Bristol, yet you can see the city and all its skyscrapers by the right window.

Wayne Manor, aka Bruce Wayne's first grave.

Every corner, a memory.

"Of course," you mutter to yourself, emotion pooling in the eyes.

Love is about the failure of language, so you fall silent and disappear into the halls.

~*~*~

The sheets are clean like you know they would be.

Heels are the first to go. You kick them off, grumbling in satisfaction. Earrings next, then lipstick messily scrubbed off in any sheet of paper.

Hairpin and belt lost to the ground. Bra? Disappeared.

Yet, despite being absolutely exhausted, you stop just before the bed. Ice at the nape of your neck like a garrote, a promise. Knot in your throat to hang on.

King-sized, silk sheets, cloud soft. Each breath is a stutter of a muscle, the blood running in your veins a statement that you are, in fact, alive.

Isn't it such a lousy fear? The fear to sleep and have yet another nightmare. Oh, to be worn out mind and body and still unable to touch a bed.

The sheets are clean, white-pure. Sours you mouth.

Messy and childish fear. To see the future, where he dies by your feet using the damned cowl. Feats unnamed, life unhonoured.

Death smiles to Batman.

(Ah, Bruce. I would break my own fingers for you. Tear the tongue out of my mouth.

But there are limits.)

You can't even remember half those nightmares. Hands shaking, clattered flesh, de-boned corpses–

You don't want to ruin the sheets. You don't want to ruin your life.

~*~*~

It might be 5am.

He nuzzles against your neck, breath hot and exhausted, chest to your back. Skin painted with purple and red, scar-tissue mapping constellations, saying eat.

Eat you do. Bite one step removed, soft-mouthed kissing blue veins and rough hands. Until you lips become raw and numb.

His weight sinks the mattress, acting like a gravitational pull. Bruce's body, which furnaces can't compare, protectively embraces you.

He's so warm. It's 5am and you both are lying together, legs intertwined, his face buried on your shoulder. You listen to his breathing, slow and controlled, in the comforting quiet of unrealized-hours.

I wish the past had been kinder on you. How the world is cruel and how you refuse to be.

Soft sunlight hums through the damasked curtains, birds start to sing. You are wide awake, and he is too.

You'd seen him die down in your mind, every night. He lives your nightmares, putting on the suit. You're not bound to him by fate, not a soulmate, with no divine intervention; hallowed by gums aching and reverence– that is to say: the door is open, you can walk away.

Because one day, he won't come back.

You know it. He knows it. He has the arrangements prepared for the occasion.

And nowadays, he can't afford to leave the cave if not for going downtown.

The life of a hero is very unthankful.

"Do you hate me?" he asks you, voice rough to be an knife's edge. It's been long enough since you last felt him this close, low in your ear.

Bruce assures you through touch. Calloused thumb rubbing your wrist. Affections ebbs in his palms, love even. A work in progress.

In all your inner turmoil, you can see yourself getting quite tired of it all. The late nights crawling up walls, knowing he won't come back until morning– the stitching of wounds, his blood in the Persian rugs– but to imagine oneself as his enemy? As in, hating him?

"No," you murmur in a steady heartbeat. A detour cross your mind, of eustress: he gets tired too. And, then you say for good measure, "Never."

People don't really think how tiring tragic the life of a hero is. But there's this exhilarating moment where all that exists is Bruce's breath in your skin.

"Do you love me?" he asks because he can't take any chances. Oh, you can bet a kid that grew up traumatized will need reassurance. Constant, gentle reassurance.

White stripes of scars in his knuckles and forearms below your fingertips, drawing into your memory again and again.

The truth is: you are utterly destroyed.

Not only physically. But he tugs with your heartstrings everyday, bruised like he'd been squeezing it. The more it lingers more you realize you've been packing up emotions for weeks, now.

"What a silly thing to ask," you say. Not an answer. Neither are breathing for a second, there. You teeth clatter like a damn trying to bust.

Ah! There's a lot of messed up stuff happening all the time. You coil in yourself, perhaps considering. Bruce's touch shudders.

And there is something to realize. You'd rather die drowning for love than in thirst of it. Repeat to yourself, to him, I will never leave you. In healthiness and sickness–

"On purpose. Always–"

Love, who is brutal, who is stored in the viscera–

"–I love you."

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

[siblingskissing]

Ronance headcanons?

Ronance Headcanons

I have had the BIGGEST brain rot about these two, you guys don't even know, so please excuse my rambling session in this post. As always- feel free to share your headcanons, opinions, thoughts ideas, just be kind <3

-Robin is the biggest simp to ever exist. Nancy mentions liking a color? Guess who's suddenly adding it all over their wardrobe! A favourite food? She's already learned how to cook it. Allergic to something? Robin will destroy it with her bare hands and make it go extinct to protect her girl.

-Likewise, Nancy would and will kill for Robin (come on Robin tell her to kill for you she wants to)

-Their favourite dates include them sitting in one of their rooms, a movie or music playing as they discuss conspiracy theories or whatever story Nancy is working on

"There's been a ton of missing items from farms in the areas. Animals, tools, bales of hay-"

"could it be aliens?"

"Alie- Robin it's not aliens!"

"What? Interdimensional monsters are real but aliens aren't?"

-Many people assume Nancy would get annoyed by Robins carefree joke centered attitude but actually she calms down whenever Robin tries making jokes.

-She doesn't like when people don't take things seriously, but she knows Robin is taking it serious, but using humour to make sure they don't spiral with the problem

-their relationship definitely started off rocky but with some time, understanding and surprisingly really deep conversations they learn to appreciate the little things about one another.

-Robin loves Nancy's drive and her leadership skills. She makes sure that everyone takes her seriously and if the kids complain about Nancy being a hard ass she brings them back to listen.

"Nancy's not our boss!"

"No, but she's the one keeping you dipshits safe- she knows what she's doing so listen up and quit complaining"

-They kids listen to Robin more and so when she follows Nancy with no complaints, the kids unconsciously follow suit.

-When Nancy gets stressed/aggravated Robin will be there to lend her a shoulder. They're very much leader/Right Hand man coded to me.

-Nancy doesn't know much about queer culture so when she does eventually come out Robin is happy to talk to her about it and share what she knows.

"So we use Blue violets because Sappho used to describe women wearing garlands of them,"

"Sappho?"

"... Do you have a spar 3 hours so I can explain Sappho and Greek poetry to you?"

-They take all kinds of cute little Polaroids that they keep at Robins place

(examples of said Polaroids)

-Robins family is more supportive so often Nancy goes over there to spend the night

-when college comes up in discussions Robin mentions that she enjoyed investigating with Nancy, the research was fun when they didn't have death looming over them.

"Yeah, learning Russian to break the code was awesome- the torture kind of ruined it though-"

"The WHAT?"

-Nancy asks Robin 1000X if Robin is sure she wants to go to the same college/same field and Robin promises her that she isn't only going because of her.

"I'd follow you anywhere, but this is also for me- if I have to do one more customer service job I might kill someone."

-They love movie nights, curled up under a blanket watching whatever film they can find. Robin always finds the oddest ones and sometimes some really deep indie films. Nancy also enjoys the foreign films she can find and let's her choose.

-on nights Nancy chooses- she likes care free fun films. Nothing too heavy because she likes the simplicity

-Theyre a gross matching couple- but in a new fun way.

-Mat hing colors in their respective styles, using each other's clothes and making it go with their personal choices, matching patterns/designs.

-They also shared shoes sometimes

-On the 90s Nancy gets a more "Rachel from friends" style like this

-Robin eats it up like no one is watching and often has to hold back from just kissing her 24/7

(also I badly wanna do a look book of the characters so Please someone ask for that because I love fashion)

I definitely probably have more but here you are!!

[indigo-greer-collins]

you guys ever can’t tell if you kin a character or need them more? damien’s been rotting my brain recently.

(excuse my projecting for a little) he’s aware of so much of the injustice in the magical world; and he’s passionate about it. but everyone keeps mistaking his passion for justice as anger. the world, the environment he’s in frightens him. the injustice he’s witnessed time and time again, towards the people he cares about the most is exhausting and frustrating. he burns with the desire to help all the people this magical society keeps pushing aside.

but all people will ever see is that he’s “angry”.

but that’s not all it is! he wants change. he wants to believe in something, he wants to believe in people, he wants to have some trust in the systems he’s under but because he wants it so badly he’s “aggressive”. he’s “hostile”. he’s “grumpy”. they even say he has a “bad attitude”.

nobody wants to work with him because he keeps getting “angry”.

so now he’s growing more and more isolated. he looks to his left and to his right and no one seems to care as much as he does. everyone at the top just sees him as some kind of number or statistic. his fellow numbers think he’s insane for caring so much.

but why does everyone care so little?? people are hurt?? people are being silenced, people are ignored, lives are being destroyed — at the worst of it people are dying. and no one is doing anything about it! is he really insane for wanting life to be easier for everyone when it literally has no reason to be this difficult??

is that not enough reason to be upset? doesn’t he have a right to be angry??

you know what fine. he can’t control how people feel right? nothing’s gained from sitting around and feeling sorry for yourself so he picks himself up and charges towards the society he aims for. he keeps his record spotless, he achieves everything he needs to, he breaks himself in half so that his friends, family, future generations will be a step closer to something easier. he can honour those before him who got him this far and pass the baton to those who come next.

then one watery fucking twink. with no aspirations. with his pessimistic, apathetic, nihilism, fucks up his pristine plans.

he can feel everything he put into this, crash and burn in his hands (at the hands of a water elemental no less). how could he have been so careless?? how did he let this slip?? he held everything together so well before and this guy ruined it without a second thought.

he didn’t care. he was willing to let everything go to ruin. he left everybody for themselves - he didn’t believe in any sort of community or empowerment, hell he probably had some hatred to all those people damien was trying so hard to fucking help. pretentious douchebag — kody thought he was better than everybody else.

so yes. he’s angry.

he hates the stereotypes. he hates the relentless teasing. he hates the whispers and the side eyes when the fire elemental shows even an ounce of irritation.

but he was finally giving in. he was finally falling right into the hands of what he wanted to avoid. to the injustice he frowned upon.

you happy now? yes, he is fucking angry. why the hell aren’t you?

(and scene)

(p.s i don’t know what possessed me to write all this out but fuck it, i had fun)

(p.p.s HIS PASSION IS SO SEXY I CANT TELL IF I WANT HIM OR WE’D BURST INTO FIREWORKS CUZ WE’RE SO SIMILAR)

[lwh-writing]

I've been rewatching the Hunger Games movies with some friends, and I have many, many thoughts. I seriously need to reread these books because it's been years and Suzanne Collins is a literary genius, but I digress.

Anyway, there's a quote in Catching Fire where President Snow says "If head game maker Seneca Crane had any brains at all, he would've blown you to bits then and there." This is in reference to Katniss and Peeta almost eating the poison berries and getting out of the arena as co-Victors rather than them turning on each other, thus giving the rebels hope that they can stick it to the Capitol. It is Snow's belief that killing one and/or both of them would have solved the problem before it BECAME a problem.

But the thing is.... it really wouldn't have. If anything, it would have made the rebel problem worse.

Let's say Crane killed both Peeta and Katniss. For the first time in decades, the Hunger Games would have had no Victor. There would be no victory tour, no new kid to pimp out to the Capitol's highest bidders, and no new distraction until the next games roll around. And on top of that, it would have shown the entire world how little the Capitol actually cares about them. The game makers changed the rules halfway through to allow for two Victors, and then they took that away at the last second because two Victors emerging from the arena would have destroyed the very foundation of the Hunger Games. If Crane had truly shot down Katniss and Peeta, the fallout of the 74th Hunger Games would have been a wake-up call to both the Districts and the Capitol that Haymitch was 100% correct in saying that there are no winners of the Hunger Games, only survivors. The bright-eyed Capitols would have been forced to face the reality that the games were fundamentally unfair, and the Districts would have been shown that if even the Victors, the people guaranteed wealth and luxury weren't safe, that if their small beacons of hope could still be killed off without those in power batting an eye... then why even bother playing to the Capitol's tune in the first place? And the Rebels? They've got two new martyrs for their cause, and a newly discontent populous ready to fight for them.

Now, alternatively, let's say Crane did nothing. Let's say he let Katniss and Peeta eat the berries and they both die in the arena by suicide. Well, that won't be as drastic as Crane shooting them down, but the results are still mostly the same. The 74th Hunger Games still has no Victor. There's no one left to play distraction and convince the people of Panem not to look behind the curtain and catch a whiff of its political rot. And it's still the two-Victor rule change and the immediate retraction of such that doomed their favorite star-crossed lovers. It's still a wake-up call to the Capitols and the Districts that the Hunger Games are unfair, and that those in charge are willing to change the rules at their discretion no matter how it affects the general public. The people are still pissed, and the rebels still have their two martyrs.

Well, okay, what if Crane only killed ONE of them. Let's say Crane sees what's happening and decides to shoot only Peeta or only Katniss, it doesn't matter which. The 74th Hunger Games has a clear Victor, but that doesn't help a thing. Once again, it's still the rule change and retraction that got one half of Panem's OTP killed. It's still a clear signal to the people that those pulling the strings don't care. There's still discontent in the Capitol and the Districts because the Capitols lament their failed romance, and the Districts just saw an almost-should-have-been Victor get shot down on live TV. Not to mention it shows that the games are rigged beyond belief when the game makers, quite literally, chose the Victor. The Rebellion still gets a martyr. And on top of that, they get a mouthpiece stirring up shit.

You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that if Peeta or Katniss walked out of that arena without the other, the one that survived would have taken that lying down, consequences be damned. You cannot tell me that Peeta "If it wasn't for the baby" Mellark wouldn't have been playing the press and the political scene like a fiddle and knocking down Snow's regime like a line of dominos. You cannot tell me that Katniss "Girl on Fire" Everdeen wouldn't have been itching to take a quiver of arrows and massacre all occupants of the Presidential Palace. A Peeta without Katniss or a Katniss without Peeta would have Snow's worst political nightmare, and if he killed them after the fact, then the riots in the streets would have only gotten worse.

Seneca Crane's fatal mistake wasn't letting Katniss and Peeta live; it was allowing the two Victor rule change to happen. The SECOND that happened, the foundation of the games-- the image of the sole Victor shining above the rest --was shattered. Nothing could have fixed that, not even the hasty second rule change later on. There was absolutely no situation where Snow and company walked away the winners. Absolutely none. And Crane choosing to let Katniss and Peeta live was honestly the best choice in a string of horrible choices that could have been made. And the fact that Snow doesn't see that highlights exactly how out of touch he is with the human element that drives people to do the things they do.

Note: edited to fix "Capital" into "Capitol"

[trickstarbrave]

Once again ppl are wrong abt princess mononoke and now I am being accused of “making shit up to make it political” are you fucking stupid???? I’m making shit up about princess mononoke by hayao miyazaki the guy who has a political science degree and despised his father for making tools of war in wwii??? The guy who makes a lot of movies abt the horrors of war, anti-imperialism, and saving the environment or else it will destroy humanity???

I’m lying about the movie abt an oppressed indigenous man whose people are in hiding bc the imperial family has tried to wipe them out for centuries? Who goes on a quest to stop a foreign conflict bc he’s a dead man walking and doesn’t want anyone else to suffer the way he did? Where the ppl fighting are spirits and gods of the forest trying to protect their home from destructive human expansion in the form of mining, and a woman who wanted to build a town so she could save brothel girls, the destitute, and lepers? How hate literally rots you from the inside out and violence begets more violence regardless of how justified you might think bc both sides are being manipulated by a man trying to help the emperor become immortal so he can get rich? And in the end it’s also about rebirth and even if both sides can’t forgive each other they must learn to move on and coexist in the same place? I’m making that movie political????

“Heh, this is based on 1400’s era Japan and back then the emperor had no power!!! Therefore it can’t be a critique on Japan’s imperialism—“ yeah 1400’s Japan also didn’t fucking have giant talking wolf gods or boar gods or tree spirits you can all SEE. Not to mention no shogun exists in the movie, don’t you think there would have been mad political beef if everyone knew the emperor wanted to become immortal, might actually succeed bc this is a fantasy land, and promised a vast array of wealth to anyone who could help him be immortal? The emperor himself is signing papers and giving orders to take iron town bc he also wants that fucking iron to explain his military power so TELL ME AGAIN THE EMPEROR HAS NO FUCKING POWER?!?! And also were the modern day audience this was written for and we have the context of Japan’s imperialism. Hayao Miyazaki was aware of it. We’re aware of it. Get a fucking clue or do you have brain damage from crashing your stupid little clown car ???? I’m hope you are struck by lightning you make me sick

[rapha-reads]

Okay, I have to put this out because it's rotting my brain. It's not original and I'm sure it's been remarked upon a thousand times, but:

"I am The Vampire Lestat. I'm immortal. More or less. The light of the sun, the sustained heat of an intense fire --these things might destroy me. But then again, they might not. I'm six feet tall, which was fairly impressive in the 1780s when I was a young mortal man. It's not bad now. I have thick blond hair, not quite shoulder length, and rather curly, which appears white under fluorescent light. My eyes are gray, but they absorb the colors blue or violet easily from surfaces around them. And I have a fairly short narrow nose, and a mouth that is well shaped but just a little too big for my face. It can look very mean, or extremely generous, my mouth. It always looks sensual. But emotions and attitudes are always reflected in my entire expression. I have a continuously animated face."

— Anne Rice, The Vampire Lestat, 1985

VERSUS

"Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there."

— XXXbloodyrists666XXX, My Immortal, 2006

You canNOT tell me the similarity is accidental, Tara definitely knew what she was doing, it would be way too big of a coincidence.

[sempsimps]

Gregory violet song scenarios

so this is a bunch of random scenarios and head canons i have of this emo boy and i even made a playlist for it becuse im so prepared for this also i do edit the lyrics a tad to fit the time its set in and vibe of the shorts so like if that bothers you sorry i guess (also i wanted to experiment with the tumbler coloured text i think it looks so cool) but this is mostly x reader so sorry if that's not what you want im just brain rotting at this point i cant do this lmao also i would like to say i unfortunately dont have the manga so i actually dont know whats going to happen sorry

starting with the honourable runner ups i think these songs fit but i couldn't think of what to write for them

Necromancing dancing - bear ghost (pun intended) "when im necromancing, everyone's dancing, no one can stop me i dare you to try! the dead are infused with sentential grove"

i don't wanna fall in love - she wants revenge

ramblings of a lunatic - bears in trees "would anybody listen to this the ramblings of a lunatic"

everything is temporary - cavetown "sticks and stones they say that we dont have bones inside our brains"

mamas boy - Dominic fike "m-a-m-a-b-o-y mamas boy mamas boy"

im not a cynic - Alec Benjamin "i swear im not a cynic im just being realistic"

cats - the living tombstone "meow meow meow meow memeow"

they/them - atlas, jhfly

house of wolves - my chemical romance

plucked - destroy boys "take a bird from the sky and you wonder why she wants to fly"

nobody - mitski

underachiever - NOAHFINNCE "nothing beats the life of an underachiever"

the adults are talking - the strocks "dont go there you never return and i know you think of me when you think of her"

(lowkey heathers the musical JD looking ass)

WARNING ANGST IS HERE

your stupid face - Kaden macay (oh no + verse 2)

Gregory in third person pov - the realisation he liked you

he was zoning out at the swan gazebo and drawing some sketches with his charcoal pencil. The first bit of the facial anatomy was done, and he used French bread to remove the lines. to make the face he slowly did the eyes and made them defined and full of life, the nose features, and soon enough he had nearly finished carefully doing each strand of hair falling perfectly around the face he wasn't even thinking about who it was but when he stopped to finally look at it realised who it was. 'Oh no,' looking at it more, he tilts his head back, closing his eyes shut to not let the sun make him dizzy. 'noooo' now he was roughly pressing the charcoal to the paper. 'i just really like you face' drawing the smile you always wore around him. 'Ugh, you don't have to look so happy..' he kept drawing, now to try and get it just right. remembering all the times you expressed it. 'im not really into the love that you flaunt in some bright font' smirking to himself 'but if that's what you want ill make it snappy.- wait what' he looked around noticing no one was looking at him he sighed 'i just feel so out of place' he finished your face. 'but not when you near me' moving on to the shoulders. 'when your gone, I'm like a plant with no root' he made quick work of the shape and made the clothes 'or a ball that's on mute' he smiled looking at his work 'don't you dare call me cute, you should fear me' a hand on Gregory's shoulder makes him jump, it was bluewer telling him he needs to sort out a purple house conflict, and to bring cheslock to sort out a fight. sighing and carefully putting his sketch away, a small smile on his soft features. 'Now i like your stupid face'.

soundproof - destroy boys (verse 1 before chorus)

panic attack from social anxiety (if uncomfortable then skip it) - he got amongst the dancing and hated it

it was after the big cricket game that he had to be there for appearances, empty streets are just as soundproof as studios and big crowds. and there were people dancing already. It was making him dizzy, just looking. 'keep me away from here' but when he somehow ends up in the middle of the hall he starts to panic 'how'd i appear on this stage' he was amongst all the dancers getting in the way of some getting bumped into. 'im taking up too much space.' his head was spinning from all the movement, and he felt eyes on him. 'Look away, please don't look this way.' Feeling a hand on his arm leading him out of the hall, too dizzy and unfocused to see they walked outdoors, the fresh air bringing him back down to earth. not sure who it was, but he thanked whoever it was as he started to calm down, taking deep breaths. 'i don't ever want to hear myself ever again'

disco! in the panic room - bug hunter (chorus 2)

in your pov third person - dancing again i dont know im losing the plot as i write. sorry to the amab readers this one this feminine

i was in disguise at the school, as ceils older brother, as I saw him as one. and missed being in a dress. so after the cricket game was announced, and shown it was underway, i went behind the door to get into a dress. i was hiding one underneath my cloak, i let the dress fall from the purple robe it set nicely, and i just simply wrapped the fabric around my waist, like a bow. and headed out to find Gregory, he was still upset about the fire, and wanted to leave as fast as he could. and i understood, but i wanted to dance with him just a little. He was just out of view of everyone trying to leave, and i pulled him into a room with a bright smile. "hiya, would you like to dance in the panic room violet?" He simply smiled. "I made a promise so sure." he held my hands, and i started to slowly waltzes in a random backroom. away from the crowed and prying eyes and i could see that every few movement he was getting more and more pale, as we turned slightly in the dance "Now I feel nauseous, As if I drank a cup of stuff you clean your countertops with" i giggle a little as we stop. he lets go of my hands, to hold his head, he feels dizzy but i come prepared knowing about this, with some water in a canteen. "you probably did But Lysol won't solve this, so have some water." i handed his the medium sized flask, to which he hesitantly took a sip with shaky hands. "im out of options, arnt i?" he softly smiled after a few moments, and i was satisfied to get a little dance. making sure he was okay. but i felt bad. "you can head back now i understand this was a lot, sorry" he sighed "oh its okay and thank you, It's past my bedtime and I'm honestly exhausted" i smile as he hands back my water flask. "But if you want me, I'll be here." Gregory and i walked out of the room and said out good nights before he went wherever, and i returned to the ballroom to see Elizabeth and everyone.

fire on fire - sam smith (chorus 1 like half of it)

Gregory pov - looking at you from outside the purple house fire (and i realise that the song is more about love but i want the angst so deal with it)

i stood there, my eyes filled in fear, as the boarding house burned. i couldn't move, I don't say a word stuck in place, you grab my hand i should be used to it, But still, you take my breath and steal the things I know. just like the fire that i couldn't look away from, a soft hand leading my face away to look at you. There you go, saving me from out of the cold, but i couldn't do anything. but blankly stare at you. tired and scared features, eyes slowly morphing to cry. Fire on fire would normally kill us, and this was on the inside. i was breaking down as i saw how distraught everyone was. I couldn't keep it in much longer. but then the other prefects showed up, and i didn't have time for it, so i pulled my hood up to hold it in, letting go of your hand to do something.

Love me not - eimi (verse 3?)

the part that's always on TikTok but it is a good song- anyway this is at the dating stage and you try to get help from your friends idfk

Sitting on the grass, in front of the bench in the middle of a courtyard, talking with Ciel, soma, and your best friend, the latter two interested in how the relationship was going with Gregory. so far all you could describe it as was confusing, when they asked how. you stood up and started pacing in front of them finger to your chin like how a detective dose it but moving to act out and get you point across better. "Does he really love me? Does he think I'm too much." My pacing stops as i shook my head and returned to walk around. "Am I hanging by a string? Am I pushing my luck?" I looked at the two with confusion, hands out, doing some gesture. they were still intrigued, and i just wanted an answer. "He says I'm his beloved. He says I'm enough. but every time I kick and scream, he tells me to shush!" waving your arms up and down in frustration, and at this, the friends pay more attention. shock on soma's face, making an o shape. "He told you to what!" My best friend joining in, equally surprised. "he told you to, huh!" Ciel bored of our shit huffed out a sigh before speaking. "I think you shouldn't really worry. and you're blowing this up," and I hastily replied, almost yelling. "But I'm falling in love! Does he wanna break up!?" I gripped the hood of my purple house uniform, pulling it over my face, which was red in embarrassment, and I felt some paper in there. taking it off my head a small envelope fell out of my hood, it had a clear purple wax seal with the house cress. 'That wasn't there before'

absence - Rio Romeo chorus + verse 3

Gregory in third person this is angsty, and sad. description of dying

he was thinking about what was going to happen all the experiments, but he unwillingly took part in. he couldn't shake it a feeling of impending doom. he knew the things he did, and that didn't warrant him to be sorry for himself, but he couldn't eat or sleep, even drinking something seemed impossible. then his thoughts came back to his friends. He couldn't stop thinking about how they would react, to him dying. 'If i just vanished, do you think you'd manage' laying in his bed contemplating how you would miss him. 'Or would you disappear right besides me?' A tear came into his eye. As he continued to think of you, how would you react to what he's done, more and more tears came out, little by little. 'Do you think you're ready? When i went unsteady,' his tears ran down his checks, smearing the eyeliner. 'lover, please prepare for my absence.' he stifled his cries with the ball of his palm, keeping it in. lipstick smearing on his hand as he bit down harder, more tears rolling down, landing on his pillows staining them. 'absence makes the heart grow stronger', wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. 'pray my baby will not squander everything to gain by my leaving' taking his hands away from his face, to look at them they shook, as he starred at them blurry vision from crying, the bite mark on his right one blending red. 'and if i return the favour.' thinking to all the sweet parts you shared together. 'pray my baby always saviour, every moment we were both present' sitting up to hunch over head in his hands quietly sobbing, the walls were thick and he knew it but it hurt to cry louder.

oh boy that took some effort i was going to so many more but i just cant but i do kinda love what i did i think it matches his character well I hope it matches at least and again here is a link to my playlist i hope it works if not i have the same name on Spotify but non the less i hope my writing doesn't suck :) (feeling like the Q.A from welcome home "I want it out open open open" lmao MAYBE IM A LITTLE DELULU RN WHO KNOWS) ALSO ive never written angst before so i hope that was good idfk

https://spotify.link/tg5qbp9ZgJb

[dulcewrites]

Seek and Destroy

Summary: Alicent swears she is not naturally a cruel person. Any semblances of cunning or coldness has been taught, slowly and surely. A gift bestowed to her from the age of ten and five. Something she was weened onto like a babe that suckles for milk from its mother. She has learned at the feet at the best - or maybe the worst. King’s Landing has fallen to Rhaenyra. Her children are scattered around the realm. Lives have been lost already. Alicent’s heart has finally callused. Nothing left but a shell and the venom that seeps out of it.

A/N: This is just something I have been working on. It is not finished obvi. I don’t know if I will expand on it. If I do I will probably post it to ao3

Her father’s blood had splattered into her mouth when she cried out. At first, Alicent did not want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her body shake in worry. Bones rattling together under neath sheathed of silk. Green silks. Or let them take glee in seeing fear in her eyes. She wanted to stand tall as the execution begun. Her father being first to go was for a reason.

Even in his doom, Otto Hightower managed to make his presence looming.

Alicent wanted not to shed a single tear. But then she felt ten and eight again. Just a girl with two children, and burden pressed firmly on her chest to the point where it was hard to breathe. He was unruly and fickle but without him, she would be alone… again.

Her brain settled between ‘This is all his fault. His debt comes due, as it should’ and ‘Daddy, please look me. Tell me you love me, that I made you proud despite of how it ends for us’.

But all her father told her was to look away. As if to shield her from a terror that had already came. A terror he brought. The horror was on their doorstep now. She was rutted in each night against her wishes; she bore four children - ones she could not save. They bore her grandchildren that she loved in a way she was not able to love her own children. Maybe if she could not help her own, she could do better with the littlest ones.

Jaehaerys. Oh, my poor Jaehaerys.

Everyone is gone. If not in person, in spirit.

Gwayne is gone. Her brother dragged into this mess. When he had arrived in King’s Landing, she has almost missed him amongst the other Oldtown knights. Her heart had sunk lower that she thought it could at the thought of not even recognizing her own kin. His face was one that was no longer burned in her brain.

Helaena’s mind and heart has been rotted from the inside out. On a good day, Alicent can force her to eat and drink. She bathes her daughter as if she still a babe. There is no light in Helaena’s eyes.

Alicent’s mouth feels as if a pile of sand has been dumped in her mouth if she thinks too long about how cold she was when Aemond left for the Riverlands. He gave her a kiss a cheek and muttered a pitiful sorry.

It was all he had said since coming back from Storm’s End. Different variations of the same thing. He never begged for forgiveness from the Gods but from her.

Sorry, mother. I’m so sorry mother.

If she could crush skulls with her bare hands, Alicent would. Not off strength, she’s always been a slip of a woman. But off the hatred that seemed into her bones.

She was prepared to die. She thinks she has been from the moment Viserys said he would marry her. From the moment the maester congratulated her on being pregnant with Aegon. Death had been a thing she even welcomed at times. When the lonliness felt too deep, when she could not stomach being called to Viserys chambers at night, when she had to look at her children for too long. She eyed Criston’s sword one too many times to admit. So, when Daemon leers over her with that cruel, ugly smile of his, she straightens her back and sniffs away her tears. He, of course, got the honors to kill her father; a task Alicent is sure he has wanted to do for decades.

It was Daemon who pushed her hair to the side with such gentleness it made her a bit sick. The coolness of Dark Sister pressed softly against her neck.

Alicent says a quick prayer to the Mother for her children. She knows it is to no veil; they were doomed the moment they came out of her. Mayhaps, this is her punishment for bearing them.

She does not sob over herself. Her lot in life has been well accepted. But Alicent wants to claw at her own face, peel back her own flesh so she is frayed out, when she thinks of her kids.

Let the Mother keep them safe as they do what is only imaginable in their wildest nightmares. May the horrors committed not leave them too soiled.

“Wait,” Rhaenyra’s voice calls out in the Grand Hall. It echoes so loud that Alicent flinches, the blade swiping gently against her neck. She still shivers from head to toe.

Daemon huffs, before removing the blade cautiously.

Alicent peers up at the stairs that lead to the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra gestures softly to her husband to come up the stairs. Daemon does not fully sheathe Dark Sister but complies anyway. A piece of Alicent’s hair obstructs her view, but through it, her eyes stay trained on Rhaenyra. Or whoever the person wearing the crown is.

The woman looks like the Rhaenyra. The same long silvery blonde hair styled elaborately on top of her head with the rest hanging in a braid. Her long riding dress is a deep black with red stitching and a red dragon collar. Red and purple dragons snaking their way up her sleeves. The woman has Rhaenyra’s eyes and nose, but Alicent has never felt more confused about who stands at the feet of the Iron Throne. The woman’s mouth pinches the way a young Rhaenyra’s would when she was distressed.

Rhaenyra’s look makes Alicent think of the stories of warrior queen Visenya. Rhaenyra would often laud the might and cunning of her ancestor during their girlhood. After the pain, humiliation, and anger post Aemond losing his eye, Alicent had chucked softly to herself at the thought her son riding the Conqueror Queen’s beloved dragon. Because of course it would be one of her kids to claim the old bitch.

But despite the styling callback, a warrior Rhaenyra is not.

And based on the look of disgust settling on Daemon’s face, he thinks the same of his wife.

He will never see you as an equal, she wants to call out. It does not matter how many crowns you put on your head, how many dragons you claim - you always just be his little niece… a silly woman. The means to his end.

Their conversation reaches a cacophony and Alicent desperately wants to know what it being said. Is Rhaenyra asking him to make it as gruesome as possible? Maybe they will drag her body out in front of the castle for all the small folk to see. A warning for what can happen if they defy their queen. Alicent already knows the heads of those that helped Aegon and his kids escape will be next once they catch them.

Rhaenyra reaches out to grab Daemon’s arm, but he is already down the stairs muttering expletives out his mouth. Alicent hears the word whore, and scoffs internally. She fights back a sad smile that almost forces itself on her face. Not the first time she has heard that, and surely will not be the last. Poor Daemon has never been clever with his insults. They are as simple as he is. She is the nasty deceitful, whore that seduced Viserys and ruined everything. Used her wily, womanly magic, her cunt, to lure the King of the Fucking Seven Kingdoms into submission. She always noticed how Daemon always acted like she stole Viserys from him.

The same way the maidens whose virtue Daemon stole must be whores too. The same way Queen Aemma must have been inadequate since she did not give Viserys what he wanted. Something must have been wrong with Rhea and Laena too. Maybe even Daemon’s own daughters are not enough. Surely, something is wrong with Rhaenyra. Something that makes Daemon’s stomach curdle. Such is the way with men like him.

Viserys will be remembered as a peaceful king, and a gentle man. A king who was so averse to conflict that he raped Alicent for children he then neglected once they came. He was so kind he made sure his first wife died in a pool of blood with nothing but screams of agony and pleas of mercy dying in her lips.

She wonders if Rhaenyra knows that charming story. Would she still have felt safe under the patronage of Viserys if she knew such? Imagine the horror that Alicent felt when she overheard maesters whispering of such when she was pregnant with Aegon.

Alicent is sure Daemon will die being known as a ‘true’ and ‘honest’ warrior. Apparently, there are those that think there is some sort of honor in being upfront about ones rotting heart. As if his cavalier attitude negates the atrocities on his hands. The world has taught Alicent that type of ruthlessness is only tolerated at the hands of a man.

And Alicent, in all her attempts to do right, to keep her head above water, to appease and break herself down into a small enough package that all can accept her, will be known as a whore. A seducer, a scheming bitch that stole the agency of a grown man. She will die being blamed and accused.

It only seemed right she supposed.

Viserys the Peaceful. Daemon the Honest. Alicent… the Whore.

Her confusion mounts when Daemon does not come back to her to finish the job. Instead, he continues walking, right past and leaving the hall in a fit of anger and rage. Alicent knees have begun to ache from being crouched. Rhaenyra clears her throat, and Alicent eyes slowly go back to her. Dark bags rimmed Rhaenyra’s eyes, only drawing more attention to the extremely dark limbal ring that surrounded deep amethyst. When Alicent heard about Lucerys’ death, it had shaken her to her core. Frankly more for Aemond’s sake than for Rhaenyra’s or the boy’s. The thought of peace still naively in her mind. Alicent always seemed to the last one to arrive at the right conclusions. A fatal flaw of hers unfortunately.

You were already ill-fated, you foolish boy! Why make yourself accursed as well!

But when Alicent heard of Jacaerys’ death, she knew what was to come. There are few things a parent loves more than their first born.

…. Alicent had never known what the smell of burning flesh was like till Aegon.

“I have decided to spare your life,” the few people that stood in the hall, her council, begin to whisper to each other. Rhaenyra shifts uncomfortably at the eyes on her. “For the sake of my father, who loved you once.”

Alicent blinks once, then twice, then three times. She is almost a bit disappointed. Rhaenyra has taken so much and now she has taken death off the table too.

And is that what they are calling what Viserys did to her? Love? Rhaenyra could not possibly believe that. Not now after everything. After the way Rhaenyra would so seamlessly twist the knife when she had the chance, when she was backed in a corner. Rhaenyra knew there was no love there. Not for Alicent and definitely not for her children.

The words crawl up her throat before she can stop them. She must know. “And what of my girl? What of Queen Helaena?”

The queen part slips out truly on accident, a panicked slip of the tongue, but Rhaenyra’s mouth curls a bit in a sneer.

If her Helaena is to die at the hands of one of Rhaenyra’s butchers, to meet the same evil fate Jaehaerys did, then Alicent might beg for the sword. Or a rope and one of the high ceilings of the Red Keep.

Something cold and numb flashes behind Rhaenyra’s already hallow eyes. As if she is just now remembering that she had a sister that still occupied the castle.

“The princess will be spared as well.”

Rhaenyra waves a ringed hand at the guard to have Alicent taken away. Before she can even register was has happened, she is dragged away by the arms.

“Let her be bound in a manner fitting of her new station,” Rhaenyra sits in the Irone Throne elegantly as Alicent goes.

Alicent’s frantic eyes look at her father’s limp body one last time. His blood spilled on the ground. His head separated from the rest of him. It is the first and only time Alicent has ever seen her father so… small.

If Otto was alive now, and they were alone, he would tell her that he was right. He said as much after Jaehaerys was killed. Right before Aegon snatched the hand pin off his grandsire’s jacket and screamed at him that all that cunning had gone to waste by Otto being a ‘bastard that was too thick in the head for his own good’. Otto would say they should have had mercenaries go to Dragonstone and do the deed while they had the chance. He would still be alive. As would Gwayne and Jaehaerys. Helaena would not be in a fugue state beyond repair. Alicent’s boys would be home, and well. Daeron could have come back to King’s Landing for a coronation that was not rushed nor interrupted. Aemond would not have blood on his ledger.

Aegon would be king with no one in his path.

You know it. You're no fool and yet you choose not to see it. The time is coming, Alicent. Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.

She stumbles all the way back to the Holdfast with thoughts swirling in her head.

Alicent did not prepare Aegon, the way she should have. But she was not prepared for such things; so how did anyone expect her to know better. How can a child help a child. How does the blind lead the blind. She may not have done what she needed for Aegon, not in that moment. But she refuses to cleave now. Mercy is not a luxury she has been granted for some time.

Have you ever imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

No, of course not. Alicent can be naive, but never stupid. Never foolish or too hot on herself. Her veins have turned ice cold. She does not have her children the way she would want to. Alicent has never had a dragon to threaten others with. The army at her disposal is elsewhere fighting a futile battle. Not even Criston is here.

She just has herself, and right now that has to be enough. It must be enough.