#but since i’m fleshing out the first book to make up for the fact that i was only planning on this whole thing being a single book

[megarywrites]

Worked out the chapter titles for part one of book one today. Love that for me.

[sfehvn]

intruder

Part 2 | Part 3

Description: A year has since came and went following Astarion's ascension ritual. He is no longer himself, but then... Where is he? Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1,717 Characters: ascended!Astarion x Tav

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Tears threatened to spill as you gazed upon the man before you. One that you so loved, so craved; one that you have proven loyalty to time and again. Nervous fingers fiddled with the luxurious silk that adorned your body. The material was something you had always eluded before. When your heart was still pumping and breathing was a necessity. You didn’t have much use for those actions anymore, yet you still felt the deep red gown to be constricting.

“My, red really is your color, isn’t it darling?” Astarion’s words encouraged your eyes to wilt towards the floor in submission.

“Yes, love.” They didn’t sound like your own anymore, regardless you still spoke. A gnawing ache permanently etched into your chest as you had come to realize. How long have you been doing this dance with him now? Time was simply a construct of another time for you. One reserved for your long-gone, rosy-cheeked self. Your heart weighed heavier than you could comprehend these days.

Your master’s pale fingers effortlessly land under your chin leading your eyes to his own. His brow furrowed with indignation, you assume at least. “What’s got you down?” He questions, eyes never faltering. You wanted to laugh, though you didn’t; of course. What a ridiculous question it was. You could have prepared a book on the things that are wrong.

The ridiculously lavish gowns you are confined to, for starters. So different from the armor that had once adorned your body when you had first met the fearful spawn. The complete lack of your feelings. The fact that you weren’t allowed to freely-think any longer. Astarion would argue that letting you pick the color of the sheets in the bed-chamber was sufficient enough. You missed the daylight. When light flooded from the doors of the manor, you fantasized of running out. Of making a bed out of the fresh flowers blooming in Baldur’s Gate and basking in the warmth of the rays above. Parts of you longed for it no matter the banishment those same rays would cast on you.

“I’m fine.” You utter instead, a weak smile splaying saddeningly across your face. The lack of attention from Astarion in the past months had taken its toll. Mind convinced he no longer wanted you for love as you had desired. The reason you had given your life to remain in the shadows for its eternity.

“Do not lie to me, darling.” He spoke firmly, a gentle thumb brushing your surely paled cheek. Instinctively your eyes shut and you lean into the touch yearningly. “What is wrong?” It came more as a demand but you were too distracted to comprehend his words. It had been so long since he had shown you the attention he showers you with now. Too long. A soft sigh escapes your lips as his free hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, cold fingertips caressing your cold neck, lingering over the raised flesh of scar tissue.

“I miss the sun.” You spoke hesitantly, your eyes fluttering to meet him once more. He nodded in encouragement, a silent word spoken for you to continue. “I miss being able to come and go as I please.” Your words became more confident. “And I hate this dress.” This elicited an amused chuckle from Astarion.

“What else, pet?” 

“I miss you Astarion. Most days I can’t tell if you’re bored with me or not. I am reduced to shadows while you galavant over Baldur’s Gate. I-”

His eyes hardened, an indication to you that you had spoken too freely. “Galavant.” He sneered in distaste, releasing his hold on your chin and dropping his hand from your shoulder. “You think what I’ve been doing is galavanting? I work, without thanks, might I add. I did this for you. To ensure you can have a comfortable existence. To ensure you would never have to put yourself in harm's way again. So that we could spend eternity together. As we are fated.” The distaste in his words seared you.

This was a mistake you had decided. “Right, I’m sorry.” Quiet and meek, you pondered if he knew exactly how frightened you had become of his ruling hand. He had never hit you, no. He did not need to. You felt like another pawn in his game, and here you had let your guard falter just for him to bare his teeth again. Sleep, eat, fuck. That was the comfortable existence you were to live. If this was fate, she had a cruel and unkind hand played to you.

“The dress is nice on you.” Astarion added flatly. “The least you could do is be grateful and wear it without complaint. That is your duty. You look the part, you act the part. That includes not sulking around the manor and ruining my good day.” He sneered, his previously sweet demeanor gone. “I expect you to help me greet our guests. They will be here soon. You will not embarrass me with your sour mood and you will be a dutiful hostess tonight.” Without another word he leaves the bed chamber.

Stinging tears pooled in your eyes. You often wondered if your Astarion was still in there. The one who speaks charmingly to you when he does, the one who touches you sweetly to allow you the briefest moment of comfort and relief in his presence. Or has he just become an expert at fiddling with your strings, at manipulating you to get exactly what you’re thinking out of you. You suppose that is more likely. Astarion had often said the old him died the day of the ritual, something you had chalked up to a figure of speech until recently. 

The old Astarion really did die that day, and you were stuck with a monster who moved about in his beautiful skin. You know that now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“You were a good girl tonight.” Astarion delights as the two of you prepare to rest. His body bare, while yours is adorned in the finest nightgown the gold in his pockets can buy. You say nothing as you blindly pull each pin out of your hair. Running your fingers through the strands you discover another pin. Your maid had done an intricate updo in preparation for her master’s guests earlier in the evening, and you had only wished there was a way for you to admire her handiwork. Suddenly a pair of strong hands are on your shoulders. “I believe a reward is in order.”

You stiffened. “Something I receive every night can hardly be viewed as a reward.” You mull as you begin brushing through your hair. The grip on your shoulders tighten in contempt and just as quickly, they loosen.

“Tav?” Fear stricken words grace your ears, and you can’t help but turn quickly, his hands dropping to his sides. Astarion was never fearful. Not anymore. Your eyes are wide with confusion, desperation as your eyes shift over Astarion’s face. “Gods, what has he done to you?” Your stomach sinks. For a split second, you think of just how sickly you may look.

“A-Astarion?” You sputter, wide eyed. His eyes held an admiration you hadn’t seen since the ritual had taken place, since the Astarion you loved dearly had fallen prey to his own quest for power.

His knees buckled beneath his weight, head bowing into your lap. “What have I done?” His body shakes as sobs erupt from him, back rising and falling with each heartbreaking sound emanating. Naturally your hands reach for him, hands splayed over the deep scars on his back. Your own tears stream silently down your cheeks, unable to comprehend whatever is going on.

“Astarion… Is it you?” Carefully spoken, afraid of being deceived once more. What if this was some sort of sick test? What if you're banished to your bed chamber for two months again? You can’t do that again… You won't.

His head lifts slowly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “It’s me, my darling. It’s me.” It is spoken brokenly, voice cracking in defeat. “I’m not sure how long I have. I, gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Please don’t leave me again Astarion.” The thought of being punished pushed to the back of your mind. This is him. You both grabbed at each other with sorrowful hands. “What do you mean you don’t know how long you have?” Louder than you expected, desperation oozing from every word. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’ve no choice.” Astarion’s voice is weak. “I’ve been trying to break through since the ritual, love. He…” He trails for a moment, “He’s too strong.” He shakes his head, disgust evident on his tongue. “I’m so sorry, my love.” He begins, stating his apologies over and over again, as if he was stuck in a melancholic daze.

  “Where will you go- where are you?” The tears sting at your eyes again, moving down your face and you don’t bother brushing them away, feverishly lavishing in every second you have left with him. “Are you in pain?” You ask shakily.

“I’m here. I’m not in control.” He shakes his head, eyes distant. “It’s dark. The only pain I feel is being away from you.” Infinitely succumbing to darkness, the very thing Astarion had wanted to avoid. His body has become a vessel for something evil. “I can’t-” The words were painful as he seemed to struggle internally.

There is a brief flash of pain upon his face before that same face of contempt reappears. His eyes are dark and he swiftly stands to his feet. He would not kneel to you. Perhaps it was because he had been bested by the soul that lurks deep in his depths, the embarrassment too great, he simply leaves the bed chamber.

You’re left disoriented. You were momentarily glad that the other Astarion wouldn’t punish you for the indiscretion of indulging the spawn that had fought his way out of the darkness for a juncture, perhaps it would come at a later time.

Your mind was plagued, but at the forefront was your love. Suspended in time, in darkness, alone.

[babybells123]

Regarding the original outline + some thoughts on Jon & Sansa… 

This is a long one. Buckle up.

If there is one thing I have picked up on in the ASOIAF fandom, it’s the knee-jerk negative reaction towards any theory/parallel/connection between Jon and Sansa. This was exacerbated by the show, of course but even now - five years later, there is an insane amount of vitriol that my brain is unable to comprehend. And here’s the rub; the infamous 1993 outline is the irony of it all. 

In a fandom that is a-okay with *certain* incest ships (r.e D@enerys x Jon, D@emon x Rh@enyra, Jon x Aria), as well as blatantly pedophilic ships (Sansa x S@ndor, Sansa x Littlefinger, Sansa x Tyrio*), how is Jon x Sansa the worst of them all? I’m going to pin it down to audience engagement with the show, particularly around the later seasons when Jon + Sansa reunite and people began to ‘ship’ them. So many believe that is how the ship took off, and thus it is mere crack - but there are posts tracking back to 2012/2013 theorising the possibility of Jon x Sansa. Was it spurred by the show? Certainly! But it does not take away from the fact that people were making valid arguments and essays before the general fandom was even comprehending a Jon and Sansa reunion on screen. And people were open to discussing/debating it with general civility (a far cry from today). 

I’m 90% certain people weren’t criticising those who began to believe in Jon x Aria when the outline was leaked…(though there were most definitely shippers before). But we never see the same level of vitriol towards Jon x Aria shippers, which is strange. 

In any case, let’s talk about said outline, some of the key points - and how I believe GRRM made the switch from Jon x Aria to Jon x Sansa. I’ll be drawing from GRRM’s past works, interviews, art, and his personal life - as well as other potential literary influences. I'll be linking metas along the way, but without further ado - let's go.

In October 1993, GRRM wrote a pitch outline for a publishing company. It was three pages long and conveyed alongside the first thirteen chapters of AGOT (170 pages). The three paged letter was leaked on twitter in February 2014, though there were multiple aspects parts blacked out. Keep in mind though, this may not be the *only* outline that exists. There are multiple outlines that have never been publicly released (and will likely remain that way). 

But let’s just focus on the 1993 outline, since we’re privy to the details. The thirteen chapters attached to the outline did *not* yet have a Sansa POV, and that’s because in this outline, she wasn’t listed as a key character.

The key characters were; Bran, Jon, Tyrion, D@enerys, and Aria.  

The first thirteen chapters were; Prologue; Bran I, Catelyn I, D@enerys I, Eddard I, Jon I, Catelyn II, Aria I, Bran II, Tyrion I, Jon II, D@enerys II, Eddard II, Tyrion II. 

I’ve seen people claim that Sansa isn’t an important character since she wasn’t listed as a key character, but they conveniently leave out the fact that a) her chapters were not yet written, b)she was given an entirely different more passive storyline in this outline, c) she dies, d) this was far far before GRRM fleshed out his characters entirely - Sansa took on a life of her own and she became her own solid complex character with an arc in 4 out of 5 of the books; 25 chapters. 

In fact, since the books have been published GRRM has regarded Sansa and the Starks as a main character as well;

Collider: In creating this world, did you start out with one family and then branch off into the rest of the world?

GRRM: Well, the Starks are certainly the centre of the story, when it begins. It all begins at Winterfell, with occasional cuts to Daenerys across the ocean, because there was no way I could get her into Winterfell. But, we bring all the characters together at Winterfell, and they’re all there for a while before they start to go their separate ways ... .But, the Starks are the centre of the book and, to a lesser extent, the Lannisters. They are still the major players. 

Collider: When you went into this, did you intentionally take the children, put them in an adult setting and force them to be in very adult and complex situations?

GRRM: Yeah, the children were always at the heart of this. The Stark children, in particular, were always very central. Bran is the first viewpoint character that we meet, and then we meet Jon and Sansa and Arya and the rest of them. It was always my intention to do that.” 

Collider report.

May 2016 - Balticon. 

(…) George said he was “pissed” that the outline was posted in the office building and that someone took photos and shared them. He said it was a letter for him and the publisher only. He was very firm when telling this and it showed on his face.

He then said that he is not good with writing outlines, making book deadlines, and that often in outlines he was “making shit up”, and “characters changed along the way”.

He went straight from talking about the references in the actual books, to the “differences” in the outline from then to now. He did say that he still knows who sits the iron throne and the end game of the main 5, but also included Sansa, but did not give any details (for obvious reasons).

[question if he is still going with the 1991 ending]

“Yes, I mean, I did partly joke when I said I don’t know where I was going. I know the broad strokes, and I’ve known the broad strokes since 1991. I know who’s going to be on the Iron Throne. I know who’s gonna win some of the battles, I know the major characters, who’s gonna die and how they’re gonna die, and who’s gonna get married and all that. The major characters. 

….

“So a lot of the minor characters I’m still discovering along the way. But the mains-”

[question if he knows Arya’s and Jon’s fates]

“Tyrion, Arya, Jon, Sansa, you know, all of the Stark kids, and the major Lannisters, yeah.”

Balticon report:

“Ah, how innocent I was… little did that guy in the picture imagine that he would be spending most of the next two decades in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros with Tyrion, Daenerys, Arya, Sansa, Jon Snow, Bran, and all the rest.”

GRRM's live journal:

So Sansa has clearly developed into an important character from GRRM’s words, and the key-characters argument can cease, because It’s very tiring to dispel that when the characters and story took on a life of its own. (I mean, Jaime was meant to remain a villain, but he was clearly given somewhat of a redemption arc in the main series).

I paraphrased what was written here for this whole section, so go check out the longer post!

The Aria in the original outline: 

*NOTE: I am blacking out her actual names in case the wrong people find this post. None of this anti her, please keep that in mind.*

Five central characters will make it through all three volumes, [...] The five key players are Tyrion Lannister, D@enerys Targaryen, and three of the children of Winterfell, Aria, Bran, and the bastard Jon Snow. 

Joffrey will not be sympathetic and Ned [what appears to say] will be accused of treason, but before he is taken he will help his wife and his daughter Aria escape back to Winterfell.

Tyrion Lannister, meanwhile, will befriend both Sansa and her sister Aria, while growing more and more disenchanted with his own family.

When Winterfell burns, Catelyn Stark will be forced to flee north with her son Bran and her daughter Aria. Wounded by Lannister riders, they will seek refuge at the Wall, but the men of the Night's Watch give up their families when they take the black, and Jon and Benjen will not be able to help, to Jon's anguish. It will lead to a bitter estrangement between Jon and Bran. 

Aria will be more forgiving ... until she realises, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night's Watch, sworn to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Aria throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon's true parentage is finally revealed in the last book.

Abandoned by the Night's Watch, Catelyn and her children will find their only hope of safety lies even further north, beyond the Wall, where they fall into the hands of Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall, and get a dreadful glimpse of the inhuman others as they attack the wilding encampment. Bran's magic, Aria's sword Needle, and the savagery of their direwolves will help them survive, but their mother Catelyn will die at the hands of the others.

Exiled, Tyrion will change sides, making common cause with the surviving Starks to bring his brother down, and falling helplessly in love with Aria Stark while he's at it. His passion is, alas, unreciprocated, but no less intense for that, and it will lead to a deadly rivalry between Tyrion and Jon Snow

Observations:

Exactly how old is Aria? Is she a warrior princess who cries at songs like her aunt? Does she enjoy/yearn for romance? Is she a stunningly beautiful maiden rivalling that of Cersei? How close were she and Jon? Did they have a good sibling relationship? Or were they distant? Does she look physically different to Jon? Does she have red hair? 

The Sansa of the Original Outline:

‘Each of the contending families will learn it has a member of dubious loyalty in its midst. Sansa Stark, wed to Joffrey Baratheon, will bear him a son, the heir to the throne, and when the crunch comes she will choose her husband and child over her parents and siblings, a choice she will later bitterly rue.’ 

Tyrion Lannister, meanwhile, will befriend both Sansa and her sister Aria, while growing more and more disenchanted with his own family.

Jaime Lannister will follow Joffrey on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, by the simple expedient of killing everyone ahead of him in the line of succession and blaming his brother Tyrion for the murders. 

More observations:

How old is Sansa? Is she 16? 17? She’s conveyed as a less important character in this outline - why? Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? She dies? Jaime kills her? What is her relationship with Aria like? Are/were they close? Or was Sansa initially meant to be a two-tone villain who betrayed her family? Is she overwhelmingly beautiful? Or is she the plainer sister? 

It’s quite clear that both ASOIAF Aria and ASOIAF Sansa are entirely different characters to their outlined counterparts. 

In the outline, Tyrion sacks and burns Winterfell. In ASOIAF, It’s Theon and later Ramsay who does this. In the outline, it’s Bran, Aria, and Catelyn who go beyond the Wall. In ASOIAF, it’s Bran, Meera, and Jojen (and Hodor). There are a couple of other changes made here, but there seems a pattern where certain acts *still* occur in the main series, they’re just given to different characters (which makes sense, as GRRM grows organically with his characters.)

So, when we take into account the fact of ASOIAF Sansa being considered a main/key character, her marriage to Tyrion, and the possibility of her being the first to reunite with Jon - perhaps GRRM did keep a Stark x Snow romance - but gave it to a different sister. 

In the 2016 Balticon report, GRRM stated he wished that ‘some past things didn’t have such strong foreshadowing and that newer things had stronger foreshadowing.’ You can make a case for J0nrya foreshadowing in the first book, but I’d argue that ACOK/ASOS is where the Jon/Sansa clues and foreshadowing is rife. (and there are certainly Jon/Sansa clues in the first book as well.) 

Now to circle back. The Aria of this outline doesn’t have a personality - none of the characters do, really. We don’t know how old she is. Is she a teenager? Is she close in age to Jon? We know she has her needle, so can infer she is a fighter and spirited, but is there a soft romantic side to her? Does she cry at songs like her aunt Lyanna? Does she yearn for love? Is she immensely beautiful? For a narrative like this? It'd be likely if Jon and Tyrion are fighting to the death over her, sort of like gallant knights fighting each other to win the heart of a fair maiden (very romantic and idealistic, mirroring the songs and the stories).

(This is how I am certainly inferring such a scene would have gone).

The ASOIAF Aria we know and love took on a life of her own. She’s described as plain looking (some envision her to be more beautiful than characters like D@ny, Cersei, and Sansa though). - But just quickly on that matter, Aria is indeed compared to Lyanna in looks and spirit, though Lyanna’s beauty was described as wild and implied as non-conventional; different perspectives have different opinions on her. For example, Cersei, Jaime, Devan, the Maester who wrote the WOIAF don’t consider her anything special. Whereas Ned, Robert, and Rhaegar do. So it’s one of those instances where you aren’t exactly sure. In any case, Aria's looks aren't a driving factor in her arc, and I don’t see ASOIAF Tyrion (as creepy as he is) suddenly falling in love with her due to mere attraction because presently, Aria is all knobbly knees and elbows, stick thin, a child, not a maiden, who will still be a pre-teen at the end of the series, if there is no massive time jump.

SHE'S JUST A BABY.

But then, Tyrion did lust after Sansa, so there’s that… however ….

Sansa’s beauty is a driving force in her narrative arc. She is objectified for her beauty. Preyed upon because of her beauty; in many ways it causes her to suffer. It’s largely why LF is grossly infatuated with her - she’s beautiful like Catelyn. Tyrion is attracted to Sansa and wishes to bed her, the H0und intends to rape her during the Blackwater battle, he also comments on her breasts growing, Joffrey sexually humiliates her in court, Ser Dontos has a pervy infatuation with her, Cersei despises Sansa because she is younger, more beautiful etc which she views as a threat.

So, beauty is pertinent to Sansa’s narrative, and it isn’t vain or shallow to say so because it’s a large part as to why she suffers. And her physical beauty is meant to compliment her indulgence in romantic idealism; knights, chivalry, courtly love, beautiful appearances thus equating to good people. It also contributes to perceptions of Sansa; nothing more than a pretty, stupid girl with naive dreams. 

So back to ASOIAF Aria: Her arc largely surrounds nature & nature, mercy, war trauma and survival, friendship, belonging, and family. For the majority of the story, she is a traumatised 10 year old travelling through a war torn country, witness to awful horrors, forced to assume multiple identities, until she goes to Braavos and begins her faceless man arc. But this is obviously not her endgame - she is going to go home eventually, that is quite clear.

You can argue she had a little crush on Gendry (as a 10 year old would) (and perhaps something may happen with him when she is older, I think GRRM has played with it.) But other than that, romance is not a central part of Aria's arc insofar. For outline Aria it was, but current ASOIAF Aria is on a completely different tangent all together.

(and that poor poor child is suffering immensely while this is all occurring).  Currently, she has no time for/interest in it. She hasn’t been involved in betrothals/marriages, or had men lusting after her (save ‘Mercy’ and people men making brutalising sexual comments towards her). She disguises herself as a boy for a good chunk of the story as it is safer to travel.

No, I’m not trying to reduce any sexual trauma/objectification she suffers, she’s a little girl for heaven’s sake - I’m merely stating that what she is going through is in some ways similar and different to what Sansa is going through. (Who currently is in a in a very Lolita type situation with LF and men sexually intimidating/abusing her has been a key part of her arc - as I said, she suffers significantly due to her beauty. She is something to possess, she isn't real or tangible, she is a beautiful maid with a vast claim to the North.)

Anyway, ASOIAF Aria finds songs and romance ‘stupid.’ 

“Sansa would have shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid.” (Arya VIII ASOS) 

 (but that doesn’t mean she won’t encounter it later in life, it just means that at this point of the story, she isn’t interested/likely won't encounter some epic grand romance that outline Aria was likely destined for. (And she’s 11 for god’s sake!).

‘But Sansa was dreaming of love at that age!’

Sansa has been a romantic idealistic dreamer since she was a little girl. She adored those stories and is the literal embodiment of the mediaeval pre-raphaelite maiden depicted in art. It’s central to her story arc, to her qualities, and how she functions/copes with things around her. “Life is not a song.” Is so fundamental to that.

So to reiterate ASOIAF Aria is a completely different character to outline Aria- for all we know OG Aria was 15 years old, very beautiful to the point of men duelling over her, (just as depicted in art above) likely a romantic heroine, had consistent memory lapses that would cause her to “realise in terror, she had fallen for Jon,” and based off of GRRM’s past works - was probably a redhead. 

“But OG Aria has a sword named needle!”

Indeed, but as I stated, we don’t know anything else about her beyond that. Many have theorised that D@ny and Jon are the epic romance of the series, but it’s clear from this particular outline that GRRM intended for it to be Aria and Jon as the epic major romance of the series. That would mean Aria would have to be a somewhat romantically-inclined character, for this development to appear natural and not forced. Based on her current ASOIAF arc, it doesn’t track for her character to make a sudden 180. Her softness and vulnerable moments come from thinking of her family and home. Insofar, this isn’t equated to yearning for love, romance, children, as Sansa has done from the beginning of the series.

Now, we know GRRM is a self-proclaimed romantic, and ASOIAF Sansa exists very much as a deconstruction of romanticism. 

“He said he is a romantic, in the classical sense. He said the trouble with being a romantic is that from a very early age you keep having your face smashed into the harshness of reality. That things aren’t always fair, bad things happen to good people, etc. he said it’s a realistic world, so romantics are burned quite often. This theme of romantic idealism conflicting with harsh reality is something he finds very dramatic and compelling, and he weaves it into his work.” (2005 interview).

Sansa is arguably, the embodiment of this dismantling. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that love isn’t real, or that it doesn’t deserve to exist in a gritty world such as Westeros. There were many couples who had good, happy marriages, even after war and loss and trauma. For example, apart from the Jon Snow situation, Ned and Catelyn had a remarkably healthy relationship. So it is possible - the takeaway from the series is not that hoping is meaningless, dreams are meaningless, love is meaningless. More so that it is complicated, and it must coexist alongside all the chaos in order to achieve a sort of

equilibrium. A literal ‘Dream of Spring’ a hope for happiness, rather than happiness itself. It tracks with the bittersweet conclusion to the series ; it is a grimdark story, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll be a grimdark ending where everyone good and noble dies and wishes/dreams/innate desires remain unfulfilled. 

In fact, I argue that a lot of them will come true - but at what cost? It’ll be at the cost of loss and grief, of suffering upon suffering, but what’s inherently more powerful, what’s more subversive is having those characters persist and rebuild, regenerate, create a new world where love and chaos undoubtedly exist alongside each other, but just because there is chaos, that does not mean the love is miniscule or cancels out entirely. 

Because if all these characters have the most unsatisfying, awful conclusions known to man, well - what was the point of everything? What was the point of their journeys? This isn’t a nihilistic story, and it won’t have a nihilistic ending like everyone assumes. It’s far more difficult for an author to craft such an ending, balancing things out whilst acknowledging all the loss and still holding out hope for a better future to come. That brighter days will arrive. That winter will end, and spring will be on the horizon.

“We may lose our heads, it’s true. But what if we prevail?” (Davos I ADWD). 

And that right there, sums it up perfectly. 

So you need characters like Sansa, characters like Brienne, D@ny, (you know what let’s just add all the Stark children of the series to the list, because every single character arc is about remaining resilient and prevailing in some way or another). 

But it’s Sansa who exists as the meta character that embodies/indulges in all those romantic ideals that GRRM is intent on exploring - it thus makes perfect sense for it to be her that experiences the romance arc. Many people think she’ll end up with the H0und, or Harry the douchebag, because it’s a part of her growing up, maturing, learning from her negative biases etc etc but she shouldn’t have to be with abusive or douchy men to learn that. She’s already learned and suffered enough. 

“It is my claim they want. No one will ever marry me for love.”

And how utterly heartbreaking that she has resigned to think this, with her arc only mid-way. But importantly, just a few chapters later she enters the garden of undisputed beauty and equates the snow landing on her face with romantic kisses, she dreams of innocence and winterfell, despite lamenting how she doesn’t belong in such a pure world, she steps out into it all the same. And she builds her home in the snow, content and for once - she’s the child she is, the child she is yearning to be.

So Sansa falling in love with Jon makes sense on a characteristic level. It’s something she never would have considered as a sheltered child, not just because he’s her bastard half brother but because he just didn’t exist in her idea of how the world works. He didn’t fit in with her idea of knights, and courtly love and chivalry. He wasn’t a gallant golden prince, he was dark, sulky and brooding. He existed on the parameters of her life, and she was comfortable with that distant association - but she still loved him, and he her. 

Falling in love with Jon would equate to a dismantling of these previous prejudices  she held; he’s utterly unconventional, the opposite of what she has shown attraction to (despite her first ‘love’ being Waymar Royce, who resembles Jon strikingly). The man she never really considered beyond courtesy and some scarce, fond memories - to be the one who restores her faith in men, in love, in dreams. 

“Realising with terror that she has fallen in love with Jon… their passion will continue to torment them.” 

tracks with Sansa’s characterisation particularly, her memory lapses, her clouded judgement, and inability to interpret things correctly (and something as confusing as this would certainly cause her to have some cognitive dissonance going on).

Not to mention caution around well… men. Because who would ever marry her for love? Who would ever take her for true? Love her without expectations and judgement? It’s Jon. Who has been there since the very beginning, who has been a silent unconscious hero, the answer to her prayers, who embodies all those romantic and knightly ideals she has so desperately wanted - despite her being unaware. Who has advocated for her claim - above everyone else.

“No one will ever marry me for love.” And that infamous Jon chapter follows. Jon who is never quite far from Sansa’s suitors. Jon, who has a similar dream of rebuilding Winterfell, of having children named after lost siblings, who wants to woo a girl by giving her a rose and loving beneath the heart tree - the heart of Winterfell. Who would undeniably want to have that beautiful soul-nourishing love he never received as a child, that he believes is perpetually unavailable to him. 

Above all,  they just fit together. It fits with GRRM’s William Faulkner-esque “the human heart in conflict with itself".” And this is a perfectly subversive way of  encapsulating that Jon confusing brotherly love and affection with romance, struggling with the shame of it all - especially post-resurrection, the religious disillusionment that would occur, the notion of Jon being loved by the kind of girl he believed he never had the right to, who his deeply romantic heart is yearned for. (There is a reason GRRM let us know how badly Jon yearns for domesticity, Winterfell love, children, and a wife. He associates his love for Ygritte with her singing, her hair, her smile. He dreams of her tending to him with gentle hands) The simple yet meaningful things that have been denied to him because of his bastardry. And god, what better way to torment these two than by having them fall for each other - realising they fit each other so perfectly, yet tormented by their familial relation. Until, as the outline puts, the parentage is revealed. 

Do I believe they will act on their feelings pre-parentage reveal? No. It’ll likely exist in the subtext, in private thoughts and actions. Angst, guilt. Again, the stuff that GRRM loves - the human heart is in conflict with itself. 

Much like Lord Byron’s ‘The Bride of Abydos.” Where half-siblings fall in love with each other until they realise they are actually cousins. Lord Byron, who was famously in love with his half sister Augusta, who was a stranger to him for a good portion of his life until they properly got to know each other and fell in love. (Who does that sound like?’)

And if you’re wondering how Jon and Sansa could possibly connect to Lord Byron, well there is a ‘Byron the Beautiful’ in Alayne II AFFC, and Alayne I TWOW. GRRM has further instilled characters by the name of “Manfred” which is in reference to Lord Byron’s infamous work of the same name. (I urge you to check out all of Cappy's Byron metas, they are fantastic.

And, Jon has been called a “Brooding, Byronic, romantic heroine whom all the girls love.” GRRM knows what Byronic is inferring - he isn’t daft, he’s a writer - he reads other works and takes influence and sprinkles in so many things. 

A Byronic character involves:

. . romantic melancholy, guilt for secret sin, pride, defiance, restlessness, alienation, revenge, remorse, moodiness, and such noble virtues as honor, altruism, courage, and pure love for a gentle woman. (Poetry Foundation, Lord Byron)

“GRRM: I was always intensely Romantic, even when I was too young to understand what that meant. But Romanticism has its dark side, as any Romantic soon discovers… which is where the melancholy comes in, I suppose. I don’t know if this is a matter of artistic influences so much as it is of temperament. But there’s always been something in the twilight that moves me, and a sunset speaks to me in a way that no sunrise ever has.”

Infinity plus:

And isn’t that exactly what he would be exploring with Jon and Sansa? It isn’t a conventional romance by any means. It could never exist normally until Jon’s parentage is revealed. And that is the tormented nature of it, that is the “bittersweetness” of it - it is rooted in realism, yes - and that to me, is Sansa receiving her true love, countering that no one would ever marry her for love. The gods will grant it to her, - but it’s wrapped up in this darker, morally ambiguous thing that is confusing for her, even though Jon would be her dream come true - he isn’t this neat little courtly golden package, but he embodies all those ideals more than any man she’s actually met. 

It’s subversive to what both the characters and the readers expect, and it’s just a brilliant plot twist that screams unpredictability whilst fitting together like a perfect puzzle. It creates internal conflict and evokes those themes that GRRM loves to explore. By giving the ‘heroes’ of the series a motif such as incest is extremely bold; because it challenges the reader greatly. Some people don’t want Jon to end up with Sansa because it contradicts the image that they have of him in his head - the heroic male who will save the world with his heroic counterpart and together they shall rule the seven kingdoms. To embrace his father’s family, claim a dragon, fulfil the prophecy, be the third head of the dragon, reject his stark-ness. Very predictable. Done to death a thousand times over, and yet - it is what the general audience wants/expects. It’s what the dudebros who call him the ‘GOAT’ want, it’s what the Targ stans want, it’s what the show watchers wanted - but what does Jon want? 

“Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved.” (Jon II ASOS). 

“I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

"He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.” (Jon XII ASOS). 

“Red eyes, Jon realised, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.”

He had his answer then." (Jon XII ASOS)

“He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered.” (Jon VI ASOS)

“Ygritte answered for him. "His name is Jon Snow. He is Eddard Stark's blood, of Winterfell." (Jon VIII ACOK)

"Then you must do what needs be done," Qhorin Halfhand said. "You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night's Watch." (Jon VI ASOS). 

“You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said . . . but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman's hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.” (Jon XII ASOS) 

“He sat on the bench and buried his head in his hands. Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father's heir.” (Jon XII ASOS).

“If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.” (Jon V ASOS). 

“If he must perish, let it be with a sword in his hand, fighting his father's killers. He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.” (Jon IX AGOT).

Look, at the end of the day - we don't know how the story will go, but based off of Jon’s character arc? His thoughts? His actions? His relationships with his siblings? The fact that he has warged into a magical beast directly associated with Starks? The North? The Old Gods? The weir wood trees? I think that instead of GRRM having Jon go down the conventional disadvantaged male hero finding out he is a secret prince and thus becoming King and a proper Targ, GRRM will subvert expectations (much to audience displeasure) and do the opposite.

Learning of his true identity will just cause more angst and a major identity crisis. The one thing Jon finds real and solid, that no one can take from him - is that he is Ned Stark’s son. He raised him. Perhaps they don’t share a direct blood link. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that he was raised by him, loved by him. So instead of choosing his father’s family; embracing the secret prince persona and fighting for the throne - he’ll choose his mother’s family. And I think that is beautifully conclusive.

But back to Jon and Sansa. GRRM is given the opportunity to explore the sort of impact this incest motif has on fundamentally good people. And I think this is what he originally intended to do with Jon and Aria.

Yes, we have Jaime and Cersei, but this is real sibling incest and rife with toxic narcissism, possession etc. We have the T@rgaryens, which are messy beyond belief and practice it due to blood purity. 

But Jon and Sansa clearly differ from the rest, and that is because they exist partly as foils as to what we previously have seen. Similar to Jonnel x Sansa. By intentionally refraining from the development of a properly-close sibling relationship, making Jon and Sansa fundamental opposites visually, and associating them with entirely different cultures (yet writing their core personas as the same, their dreams compatible, their thought process and idealism similar).

GRRM manages to pave the way into such a romance that comes as a shock to the characters, the narrative, and readers themselves. Because no one, absolutely no one would see it coming, and the people who have been privy to the theory - immediately dismiss it - and become quite angry when it is brought up. Like I said earlier, a knee-jerk reaction. 

To quote this brilliant meta right here:

‘Whether Jon and Sansa fall in love is up to the author and his intended exploration of literary/mythic themes that his predecessors have deployed. He is not writing from (or for) the moral values of show watchers and book readers, or their anecdotal hopes for how things “should be.” He’s writing a narrative that breaks away from conventional storytelling and what we expect from such characters.’

…

‘ I don’t believe the author is giving up completely on the romantic dream. He has made Sansa more cautious, converted her dreams into mere prayers, and has forced her to examine her assumptions, but he’s not turning her into the H0und, who is too pessimistic and fatalistic as a suitor. Sandor’s assertion that all knights are killers makes fantasy so small, it’s eliminated. I think he is setting Sansa on a path where her dreams do die, and her life becomes about as romantic as that smokestack in Cleveland - until they start to come alive again when she travels North to the Wall.’

'That cold, hard reality is still present in the fact that they are brother and sister, but once Jon’s parentage is revealed, this will change. Like an inverted Cinderella (clock striking 12), the reality will become fantasy again. But it’s still inladen with this bitter reality of their relations. So taking this into account, I believe Jon and Sansa could happen because there is no other couple in the series with which GRRM can explore his fascination with fantasy becoming “smaller,” but not completely shrinking altogether. There are no two better characters who represent these ideas, who have the same quietly domestic desires - who do not (at the moment) actively lust for power and cause it to blind them.'

So in essence, Jon and Sansa exist as the subversion of romance. In a twisted, loving sort of way that is morally conflicting to the characters and audiences (for a time). That has existed between the lines, subtly and implicitly. That the audience gives absolutely no thought, because why would they? And if they do, they are abhorred by it - but I’d argue this is the entire point. But not for the reasons you think, not because of the incest - or J0nerys would disgust them.

From the moment he started the series, GRRM has employed incest as a major motif that impacts both the narrative and the characters - the causes the war, that contributes to T@rgaryen values, legacy etc, that propels aspects of narcissism and vitriol for characters like Cersei. It’s really really interesting stuff, as uncomfortable as it is - there are no other works that explore it so messily and beautifully with such nuance. 

I believe people seriously underestimate GRRM’s use of omission and subtext. Seriously, just because something is not explicitly stated, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Unfortunately fans have such a surface level reading of the text, that they are unable to peel back the layers and get to its core. They don’t consider literary influences, or art, or the Romantic movement or anything. They claim they want a complex story that is subversive, yet they cheer for the three-headed dragon theory and all the most predictable plot points that have been absolutely done to death. But then they turn up their noses at anything that goes against the grain, or insinuates otherwise.  

R + L = J is a great example of existence within the subtext, yet nobody denies that it is there. No one is called crazy or delusional for it. Ned never thinks of Jon’s true parentage despite harbouring that secret for years, because it is buried deep in his subconscious.

And much to the audience’s surprise (and dismay I'm sure) that is how Jon and Sansa will manifest. This is the human heart in conflict with Jon and Sansa, but not just them - the readers as well. It’s pointing to us, asking us how we’ll possibly handle it. We’re meant to feel this conflict of emotions - anguish and torment and yet hope for something ineffable - just like the characters.

To be able to evoke that as a writer is one of the most impressive feats I can think of - and for the majority of it to exist at this point, in a subconscious limbo?  How utterly complex and painful and raw and intelligent but oh so very brilliant. Perhaps one of the most compelling things to come out of this entire series, if only the general audience was open to such discussions. But alas, we must contend with the community we have, and hope for a dream of spring to come upon us. 

[https-kreideprinz]

I wish that I knew, what makes you think I'm so special !

Frank Zhang x GN! Reader

. . . Now playing: Love Like You by Steven Universe (feat. Rebecca Sugar)! . .

A/N: *cough cough* erm frank Zhang x reader where he is being a lil bit insecure about like his size and tummy but reader comforts him bc he's perfect and everything that they ever wanted. (Please there is like no frank fics I'm dying)

Notes: girly pop is STARVING. i gotchu its Frank time!! I've said this a million times but it's been four years since I've read this silly books so there will be things I will need tto fix. Please leave a comment if you notice something wrong, I'll fix it.

CW: Self depricating thoughts. Mentions of insecurites. Reader discretion is advised.

ׂׂૢ Frank Zhang

Frank stood at the mirror, a frown on his lips as he stared at what he saw in the reflection. He pinched his sides and let out a frustrated sigh, why couldn’t he look like Jason? Or Percy – or heck even Leo? With proper bodies, worthy of being considered a demigod child.

No wonder they were all so powerful.

And so respected.

And here he was.

A son of Mars nonetheless, which in it of itself, was nothing to scoff at, but has any son of Mars ever looked this… pathetic? Pitiful? What was another synonym for downright disgusting?

Frank chewed his lip and sighed. He would never be good enough. Not to lead the Roman Legions. Not good enough for the Gods. Not good enough for Mars.

Not good enough for himself.

Frank would never be good enough for himself.

And it was - he pinched the flesh at his arms – all – he clawed at the fat from his thighs – his ugly – tears welled in his eyes as he grabbed and pulled at himself – his stupid- fucking- body’s fault.

It was all his body’s fault.

He hated himself.

Frank hated the way he looked.

He hated it. He hated it. He hated-

“Frank?” Your voice came out in a tired whisper as you slid out of bed, the morning sun – courtesy of Apollo bathed your body in a soft gold – made you look stunning as usual. Frank rubbed his arms, ignoring the way his skin was now red and irritated from all the pinching and scratching. Your soft steps padded as you walked down to meet your boyfriend in front of the mirror. “What’s wrong…” You whispered, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a soft embrace. When you buried your face against his soft chest the tears that had welled in his eyes began to stream down his cheeks.

Frank choked out a sob, pulling you closer as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “How do you not… find me gross?” He managed to get out in between gulps of air, and he pulled away to look you in the eyes, which turned out to be a mistake, since the moment he saw nothing but pure unadulterated love in your eyes, he merely broke down once more.

You carefully rubbed his back, stepping back and leading him back to bed. “Hey… hey… its ok… talk to me… What’s wrong?” You asked, keeping your voice soft and warm. Trying to get him to open up to you about his struggles. Frank sniffed, wiping his eyes and looked up at you. “You… promise not to be angry at me?” He whispered and you simply shook your head. “I promise not to be angry at you Frank. In fact, it would make me really happy if you told me what was bothering you in the first place.” You urged him slightly, running a hand through his fluffy hair.

You always did marvel at the way he managed to keep his hair so soft.

Frank took a deep breath and began, slowly telling you about how he had always struggled with the way he looked. From his body to the way he went unclaimed for a long time, to the expectations his family laid upon him, it was like no matter what he did, no-one would ever like him for him. And after he let out a shuddered sigh and wiped his eyes, he buried his face in the blanket sheets. “Why do you like me…? I mean… Why do you like me in the first place? I’m not strong like Percy or Jason… Piper’s pretty… Leo’s funny… and I’m…”

“None of those things.”

“All of those things.”

Frank froze. Did you really think so? He was all of those things?

You card your hand through his hand once more. “To me... you’re perfect.” You whispered, making Frank flush. “Tell me… show me… please…” His voice came out in a small strain.

“Show me how much you love me."

Taglist: @thementallyunwellapollochild, @apollos-coolest-child, @too-queer-for-school, @chaotic-child-of-apollo, @vintage-wanderers

© Written By https-Kreideprinz. Do not copy, steal or translate without permission.

[ithebookhoarder]

Calling Out (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Description: You're always there for Matt when he needs you, but tonight he's keen to remind you that he's there for you too.

A/N: Set during S2 Ep 10 after the attack on Reyes - I couldn't resist.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, mentions of death, gun violence references, injury references

Masterlist

Sleep was impossible. 

No matter how hard you tried, you’d been tossing and turning since the moment you’d got home. It didn’t matter what you did, you couldn’t seem to turn it off - to quieten the worsening anxiety inside of you. 

You’d seen the news. You hadn’t meant to be watching but it had been on in the corner of the office, as it always was, silently playing in the background. 

The rolling banner on the screen was what caught your attention first, followed by the collective murmurs of disbelief from colleagues surrounding you: DA dead in courthouse shooting. 

Your stomach had dropped instantly. 

Matt. 

Even now, in your apartment, the all-consuming terror roared inside of you, drowning out anything other than the voices in your head. The fear and adrenaline were pounding in your veins, no matter how many times you told yourself that Matt was ok. He was alright. 

He’d answered the phone the moment you’d called, voice frantic as you begged to know what had happened - that he was alive and unharmed. You’d even spoken to Karen and Foggy to corroborate that fact.

That had been enough for then, enough to calm yourself and allow you to go back to work safe in the knowledge Matt was coming home to you. That he’d eventually walk through your door tonight after finishing patrol, after he’d washed away the grime and the dirt from a night in the city. It was routine - your routine… yet he still hadn’t come. 

Where was he? Why hadn’t he come yet? Was he hurt? 

It was hard to shut the thoughts down, especially as you kept replaying today over and over again in your mind. 

What if... Those two words taunted you. 

What if Matt had been sat closer to Reyes? What if he hadn’t heard the gun cock? What if the bullets had been just an inch closer and killed him and everyone else in that office? 

Sure, Foggy had been hit but at least he would recover. Matt had been just quick enough to change what should have been fatal to a flesh wound. But that was Matt all over… He had always danced with danger and death, but right now it felt like he’d never come closer to it. 

You choked back a sob and grabbed your phone.

“Hello?”

Of course he picked up on the first ring. 

"Hey, Matt," you choked, doing your best to keep your voice calm and steady. It was no use though, he knew you too well - and that was without his ‘super-senses’.  He could probably hear the way you were biting your lip and fighting tears through the phone. 

As if reading your mind, Matt’s voice became filled with concern. You could even picture his brow creasing, as it often did when he was upset. Normally you were the one to make it better, kissing his forehead until the lines simply melted away. But tonight, it was the other way around.  

"Y/N? Honey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," you answered quickly. "I just… I needed to hear your voice. I know it's late, and you probably only just got back from patrol, and I’m so sorry, but I was wondering if you were still coming over or not-"

"Hey, hey. It's ok, don't apologise," Matt soothed. "I was late getting back in and wasn’t sure if you would be asleep by now, else I’d have called to tell you. Why? What’s wrong?"

"I told you, it’s nothing. I just wanted to... to make sure you were okay-"

It would have probably been more believable if your voice hadn’t decided to crack at that exact moment. As it was, your hands began to tremble, making it hard to keep a grip on your phone. 

Thankfully, Matt could read you like a book. 

"Y/N, listen to me very carefully… I’m okay," he soothed, letting the words sink in. "Sweetheart, I’m okay. I promise."

"I know, Matt, but ... When I saw what had happened on the news, I couldn’t breathe. It’s one thing to know you’re out at night, doing what you do, but that’s different. That’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and not… this was close, Matty. This was you, in broad daylight and I can’t lose you. It was close, too close." 

The words fell from your lips without you even realising. It was as if he had removed the cork from a bottle, all the pent up emotions and fears simply spilling over in a steady stream. 

You didn’t know how to make it stop. 

"Y/N… do you want me to come over?" 

You immediately froze at the question. The answer was on your tongue but a sudden rush of guilt hit you before you could give in.

He was probably exhausted and given what he’d been through, asking him to come all the way over to your apartment just so you could squash your own fears was selfish. 

"No, don’t worry about it, Matt. You just got in and you need to sleep. You've been through a lot today and I - I’m being stupid. Don't worry, please."

"But-"

"I’ll just see you at the coffee stand, before work, ok?" you rushed, wiping a stray tear away as it finally broke free. “Love you, Matty. Goodnight."

You hung up before he could say another word. 

Hearing his voice had been helpful, you couldn’t lie, but it was no substitute for seeing him in person. To be able to hold him, to breathe in the scent that was so distinctly him. 

Taking a deep breath, you lay back against your pillows, staring aimlessly at the ceiling fan as it span in circles over and over and over… 

Until there was a knock at the door. 

You paused. 

Peeling back the sheets, you stumbled to the door, somehow knowing who it was long before you stared through the peephole. 

“Matt?” 

You couldn’t quite believe your eyes as you took him in, in the flesh, on your doorstep, at 5 in the morning. Hell, his hair was still sticking up at odd angles, and he had his favourite pair of grey sweatpants on, like he’d got out of bed and run the entire way here. 

The sight was enough to make your heart ache all over again. 

“What are you doing here?”

Matt’s lips tugged into that familiar smirk that you loved so much. “Isn’t it obvious? I wanted to see you."

Just like that, the tears began to flow. You couldn’t help it as you collapsed into his arms, letting him haul you close as relief washed over you. 

“I’m here,” he purred. “I’m here...”

[whatyadrawin]

The Fruit After the Flesh 18+ -Chapter 9-

Minors DNI!

Masterlist

Approximately 4,872 words

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt (Headcanon) x AFAB reader

This chapters Warnings:  Sexual language, foul language, scary moment. This is Slasher smut, be mindful of that and use your discretion.

A/n: This chapter took me so long to complete! I had to read over it and edit like four times. I took 48 hrs to make all the art pieces starting from 3pm march first until 6am march second, took a nap, started back up to finish the art at 2:30pm and finalized EVERYTHING for upload at 6am March 3rd. I'm tired bro, I got so carried away with the art I really should have cut it down to just 3 images but artists always suffer for their passion, it's our curse. Let me know if you want to be in the tag list. I update chapter progress on the masterlist whenever something changes.

Please enjoy this chapter! I worked very hard on it so reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated very much.

Tag List: @fan-goddess , @artxasa

Chapter 9 

               The days at the Hewitt house went by slow as molasses, within these dragging days a construction crew had arrived and began repairing your home. They worked quickly and made a lot of headway which is unusual for contractors, the team seemed eager to leave for some unspoken reason. The foreman said that in one month, you would get your home back; you were excited to have your life get back on track despite enjoying your time at the Hewitt house. You made sure to water and trim the fruit trees so that they didn’t overgrow or die, since Dover was still missing, all the responsibility was left up to you. There was so much work to do but you were happy to be able to contribute your time to the property. In the passing days you didn’t see much of Tommy, he seemed preoccupied and was frequently away from the farm which only made the days last longer for you.

Half past 4pm, the day was really wearing on you and the sun was getting low in the sky so you decided to leave the orchard and head back to the Hewitt house to rest. On your walk back, you think about Tommy’s room and what it must look like, when you saw the door under that menacing red light it was simultaneously both frightening and intriguing.

The basement was such a dark and quiet place, so spacious and empty; You remembered that room with hooks that Tommy swiftly prevented you from exploring, your curiosity grew when he spun you around and slammed the door shut. This family has a mysterious history to you, the mention of them allegedly eating people weighed heavy on your mind -can I really get past the fact that they might have been cannibals? – it felt easier to gaslight yourself into thinking everything was fine, so you ran it out of your head.

When you arrived at the house, you make your way through the parlor and see Luda Mae sitting on the couch in the living room. She was reading a romance novel with a muscular, golden-haired man on the cover, it was reminiscent of the classics you had seen in your grandmothers closet as a kid. She sees you and places the book down to the side hurriedly as if she was ashamed of what she was reading,

“I-uh-ahem” She stuttered,

You smile politely “Reading anything good?”

She laughs, “Yeah, this one’s real saucy too. Thought I might get lost in it for a while.”

You felt bad for interrupting her, “Well don’t let me stop you, I’m just heading over to my room for some rest before dinner.”

she replies, “Oh, shoot that reminds me, best get dinner started now.” Luda Mae gets up with a groan and starts walking towards the kitchen.

“Time really does fly by when you find a good book.” She laughs as she passes.

You go to your room and get yourself changed and freshened up before dinner, you didn’t want to be around everyone while having the sweat of farmwork still lingering. You put on a comfortable pair of black tights and a white tank top which matched the white walking shoes you slipped on your feet.

When dinner was ready, you left your room to meet with the Hewitts at the dining table. The scent of roast chicken and baked corn wafted into the room, you were starving from having worked all day. Charlie was already sitting at the table when you arrived, he looked at you and said,

“Didja see the progress on the house?”

You take a seat, “Yeah, it’s coming along really fast, I’m surprised.”

He laughs “Don’t be, that crew probably knows this area ain’t so safe for ‘em. They’re smart, gonna get their paycheck and fuck off.”

You furl your eyebrows, “Why isn’t it safe for them?”

“Ah- Uh...” Charlie stopped himself when he caught a glare from Luda Mae from the kitchen,

“Well, what if they were to get hurt hm? Ain’t no hospital nearby or nothin’” he looked pleased with his answer.

You reply, “That’s a good point I guess.”

You know there is something more to what he said, but you didn’t want to push him. Luda Mae brought in the food, placing it all on the table followed by a big jug of ice-water, she groaned as she sat down; Tommy however, was missing tonight and you were worried,

You ask, “Where is Tommy? Is he not eating?”

Charlie laughs “That boy not eat? Maybe when hell freezes over after pigs fly n’ the fat lady sings.”

A devilish grin forms on his face before he turns to Luda Mae and says,

“Hey Luda, get the ball rollin’ n’ start singin’, then when the pigs grow wings Satan’s ass’ll turn to ice and the boy won’t be eatin’ us outta house n’ home no more.”

Luda Mae just rolls her eyes, she turns to you and says,

“Don’t worry hun, Charlie brought somethin’ to him so he don’t starve out there.”

You push for more info, “He’s been so busy lately; I feel like I never get to see him anymore. Where is he anyway?”

Charlie grabs a chicken leg and bites into it, he starts speaking with his mouth full,

“He’d shred us in half if we toldja. He’s been workin’ real hard though, wants to show you what all he’s been doin’ tonight”

Charlie swallows his food and continues, “He’s got a big ole’ hard on for you girlie, you better not be trailin’ him along fer nothin’, or he might lose it.”

Luda Mae whips her dishcloth at Charlie, who just smiles and winks at you. Luda Mae looks at you and says,

“Hope you get used to this foul-mouthed pig here, I might die from having to apologize on his behalf all darn day.”

She shakes her head at him and follows, “Thomas wants to meet up with you after you’re done eatin’. He wants to show you what he’s been workin’ on.”

Charlie pipes in, “Yeah, I bet he wants to show you somethin’. Probably whip out the fuckin’ anaconda he’s hidin’ down there. For an ugly motherfucker he sure was blessed. God is a real shit heel for that one.”

You squint your eyes at him, and he continues,

“He used to bathe outside when he was a youngin’ but once he grew up a bit the bulls started feelin’ emasculated.” Charlie starts laughing hysterically.

Luda Mae hides her face in her hands, she yells out,

“Why’r you talkin’ bout my boy’s privates like that!? You tryin’ to make us all upset?”

Charlie is now red in the face from laughing, he gets a sick pleasure in making people uncomfortable, but if anything, it just made you unbearably curious. You caught a glimpse of his erection when you watched Tommy run from you at the pond, it was greatly obscured but from what you could see, it was huge; You were able to feel the size and firmness of it in the laundry room, which factualized Charlies words.

He looked over at you, his eyes were watery from laughing so hard, he says,

“I’m sorry honey buns, but you need to be warned before you let him stick that goddamn two by four in ya.” He continues to laugh while he shovels corn into his mouth. You were still not used to his outlandish way of conversation and it made you blush.

The rest of dinner was mostly just Luda Mae trying to keep the subject matter light and Charlie giggling to himself. Once you cleared the table and packed away the leftovers, Luda Mae guides you to the door and says,

“Go wait for him by the silo, he’ll take you to his surprise. I hope you like it dear.”

The sun was now deep on the horizon which was losing its rosy hue, twinkling planets were already visible and the moon was following the dark part of the sky. You see Thomas leaning against the silo, he had one hand in his pocket and the other was fiddling with some wheat from the field to check the progress of the crop. He was wearing a very loosely fit tank top that looked old and worn, his pants were a pale blue jean with dirt and other stains scattered all over, he was still wearing his working boots which means he must have completed this surprise only today.

He looks up from what he was doing, when he sees you, he stood up straight, dropping the wheat to the ground. You could tell he was smiling, his deep blue eyes squishing upward gave it away, this made you smile wide as you felt knots form in your stomach. You felt like you hadn’t seen him in forever, time away really does make the heart grow fonder, it was agony not being able to spend time with him. He extended his hand to you and when you placed your hand in his and realized how small you really were compared to him, you felt like you could only hold onto two of his fingers while he could easily cover more than just your hand with his.

He looked at you and carefully pulled you toward the forest,

“Where are we going? It’s dark in there, sort of scary, isn’t it?” You were hesitant to be going into a dark forest as the sun was rapidly losing its light, he looked at you and tilted his head to the side,

“I’m here” he said calmly.

His voice was so deep and reassuring. You rarely ever hear him speak, so it felt like you won the lottery whenever he did utter out anything. He was walking slowly, he made sure to accommodate the vast difference in gait you both had by staying behind you, he guided you by gently moving you in the right direction with his hand on your shoulder. Even though you were nervous about the darkness of the forest, you felt safe with Tommy close to you. He was so large and unbelievably strong that there was no way harm could come to you.

Suddenly, Tommy stopped and turned you around to face him, he took your hands and covered your eyes with them, you couldn’t help but smile. He put his hand on the middle of your back to guide you further in, you trusted that he would ensure you don’t trip and fall. The ground went from dirt and crunching leaves, to soft grass, then a hard flat surface. Each step you took made a hollow wooden noise as if you were at a harbor. Tommy stopped you and moved your hands from your eyes. You looked around and gasped, you were on a dock that sat on top of the pond.

The moon was already shining a bright light on the water making it look like glass, the stars that now shone in the night sky were reflecting off the surface and turned the pond into what looked like a portal into space. The gentle croaking of frogs created a peaceful ambience, and as you walked further onto the dock you saw some wooden chairs to relax on, one was much larger than the other.

“Did you make all this?” your voice was exasperated with awe.

Tommy nodded again and pointed at you,

You smiled “You made this for me?”

He nodded again and went to sit on the largest chair, he tapped his hand on the other chair to get you to sit with him. You sat down and the deep seat forced you to recline which was relaxing.

“I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me. Thank you, Tommy, you’re such a thoughtful man.”

Tommy looked at you and nodded slowly, he made an approving ‘hmph’ noise, he felt good about pleasing you. The heat tonight was thick, it made your skin sticky with sweat, and you could see a slick shine on Tommy’s arms and chest. You get up from the chair to put your hand in the water, testing its temperature, small fish reveal themselves as they flash in the moonlight. You stand up and remove your shoes, Tommy stands up nervously and you giggle,

“Don’t worry, I won’t take off my shirt or underwear. It’s too hot to just sit down when we have the most immaculate natural pool right under our feet.”

You slowly take off your tights and fold them neatly on top of your shoes, the black thong you had underneath did nothing to conceal your feminine shape; Tommy turns away from you, staring off into the sky in an attempt to avoid gawking at you. It was amusing to you since he already saw most of your body the first time you were in the pond. You slowly lower yourself into the cool water of the pond, its cooling temperature feels like heaven.

Tommy heard you get in and slowly turns around to see you on your back, floating gently with the moon’s reflection circling your body, you looked like a goddess. You saw that he was just standing there watching you, you swim up to the dock and put your arms on the edge, you say,

“You know, you don’t have to just watch me.”

Seeing him act so shy was strange, a polar opposite of the last time you were both in the laundry room where he made no qualms of pushing himself up against your clothed pussy with his dick begging for entry. You watched as he took off his clothes, throwing them sloppily next to your neatly folded pile. You were annoyed that he was wearing black boxers which concealed the shape and size of his package too well, but being able to see his body almost completely unclothed was still enough to have you biting your lip in excitement.

Tommy had very long legs which were complemented by his thick thighs, his butt was muscular from having to haul his hefty body weight all over the farm. His torso was exactly as you pictured it, he had heavy muscle underneath a layer of fat that softened any sharp edges and did nothing but add mass to his already impressive size. His pecs were large and heaved with every breath he took, a smattering of soft hair covered the base of his chest and ran down his abdomen leading towards his groin, getting less sparse the lower it went.

Seeing him so exposed was odd, most people would look vulnerable, but he only looked more intimidating and fearsome especially since his arm muscles were well defined despite his soft torso. His size was not a mirage from thick clothes or padded jackets like most men you encountered, he really was authentically a behemoth of a man.

He lowered himself into the pond and let out a sigh of relaxation when he submerged his torso under the surface. You smile, and swim over to him,

“You deserve to relax after working so hard. I hope we could make this a frequent thing, something we could do together.”

You waited for a response, he looked at you and then up to the sky, he let out a positive ‘hm’ and nodded. You felt like you were in a dream, nothing you experienced was ever this beautiful, and no man was ever as generous as Tommy, you wanted to live in this moment forever. Tommy stands up in the water, he turns to you and grabs your hand to pull you to another part of the pond,

“C’mere” he says.

He pushes past some thick reeds and you end up in a tiny alcove where the water comes up to your chin and tall grasses circle you both which made the area very intimate. Tommy sees you struggling to keep your head out of water, he bends over you and grabs the smallest area on your waist under your ribs with both hands and he lifts you out of the water effortlessly. You let out a short-excited scream as he pulls you up and holds you close to his body. You’re barely able to straddle him, your chest was now just under his chin, your tank top clung to your breasts exposing your now hardened nipples. You placed both arms over his shoulders to prevent yourself from smothering his face with your bosom. He was so strong that you were able to sit comfortably on just the one arm, he looks out towards the grass and says,

“Watch”

Tommy used his free hand to splash water across the grass around you and it erupted with whirring, a horde of fireflies sprung out from their hiding places and lit up the night. You were stunned,

“I’ve never seen fireflies before, this is… this is magical.”

Tommy laughs and slowly turns to let you take in the full effect of the display before you, the glow of the fireflies created a warm soft light that was bright enough to let you see his eyes clearly, you couldn’t help but stare. He looked up at you, his eyes half lidded and glossy, he drank in every inch of the enchanting sight before him. When he looked into your eyes it was like projecting his soul into your mind, you could feel his emotions and you felt a deep comfort from it, like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.

You reach up and move his hair away from his face, he took your hand and held it to his cheek as he pressed his face into your touch, his eyes closing and letting out a deep breath. You smile at him and decide to be brave; you begin to slowly remove his mask but he abruptly stops your action with his hand, you could see his expression was full of worry, you say,

“If I keep my eyes closed will you let me take off your mask? I promise not to open them.”

Tommy looks off to the side thinking, he wasn’t scared of anything except losing you and he was worried that if you saw his full face, it would disturb you. He wondered what you were going to do, but the fear was stopping him from finding out. You see him deep in thought and speak again,

“Look” you close your eyes tightly, “I can’t see a thing, I promise I won’t peek.”

Tommy trusted you, and despite the anxiety running through his system, he removed his mask and let it hang down on one ear. He took your hand and guided it up to the left side of his face, which had no significant damage compared to the other side. You feel his stubble and softly move your hand down to his lips, they were smooth and parted slightly. You smile when your fingers reached his mouth, despite not being able to see his face, from what you were able to feel, you knew he was handsome. You slowly lower your head down and pause, hovering your lips over his and testing to see what he would allow. He didn’t resist.

You pressed your lips onto his and immediately felt a jolt of hormonal chemicals race through you like an electric shock, he let out a muffled sound of surprise. He pressed back and slowly lowered your body so he could kiss you on a more equal level. You extended the kiss by opening your mouth slightly, parting his lips only to press in on them again passionately, Tommy reciprocated the motion and was now breathing heavily through his nose, you could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest as he groaned with arousal, it was so deep that it vibrated into your chest further exciting you.

You could feel some strange deformation on one side of his face, your lips didn’t quite connect with his fully on his right side. You stayed closer to his left side since it felt a little bit more intact, you wished you could see how unique his face was. Imagining the damage done to him at such a young age was upsetting, it only emboldened your feelings for him.

The kiss was long and passionate, you both couldn’t get enough of each other, it felt like a sin to stop. Every time you pulled back from his lips, he leaned into you to catch them again parting and closing your mouths to enhance the connection you both so desperately craved. You could smell the air from his nose washing over you, it was strangely intoxicating almost like it was fresh mountain air which aroused you further. His free arm was now trailing up your spine until his hand found a resting place on the back of your neck.

You wanted more of him; your emotions were getting so intense that you moaned each time the pressure of the kiss increased. You placed your left hand on his shoulder, and your right on his collarbone. You ran your fingers over the thick muscle tensing on his neck, his carotid artery was pulsating with his heart beat, you continued feeling upwards and reached his jawline where his thick stubble prickled your fingertips. His features were so far above a stereotypically masculine ideal, it made you feel a cautious excitement, as if you encountered the final product of evolutionary success aimed to create a monster of man.

You finally pull away, making sure to keep your eyes closed. You are breathing heavily, letting out a soft moan as you lean your head back to get more air. Tommy covers his face back with the mask and gazes at you still drunk off the kiss and feeling lighter than air. The fireflies have now dispersed to the point where it was very dim around you both. He carries you back to the shallow area of the pond so you could stand up.

You smile, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Tommy nods and smiles under his mask. You wade in the water around him as he sits in the water so his torso is once again submerged, his head leaned back and eyes closed. You look around at the leftover fireflies lazily floating over top the glassy pond surface, the water gently laps at your hips.

 A feeling of unease creeps into your body and raises the hairs on the back of your neck, you stop moving and a sudden wave of anxiety rushed over you. In this moment you freeze and quiet your breathing, you felt an instinct to try to listen to the world around you very carefully but you couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. The feeling of something being…off was now overwhelming and setting you on edge. You quietly move closer to Tommy to create a sort of protective border from the surroundings and hold onto his arm, he opens his eyes and looks at you with concern.

“Somethings wrong” you say in a hushed tone.

Tommy immediately got up from his sitting position and stood alert, he closed his arms around you and searched with his eyes to see what spooked you;

He breathed out slowly and moved you back towards the dock. You were confused and frightened, a tense gut feeling was like an ancient ancestral alarm which you knew should never be ignored. He helped you up on the dock and followed behind after you walked toward your clothes. You quickly put on your tights and shoes and as Tommy got his clothes on you looked around, trying to find the source for this sudden dread. You slowly panned across the forest, until you see it.

In the distance, and shrouded in the shadows of night, a silhouette of a person stood still. It was too dark to make out any features and just as you saw them, they disappeared into the bush as if they were nothing but a hallucination. You get closer to Tommy who just finished pulling his shirt down over his body, you press your back into him to feel a sense of security. Tommy looks at you and bends his upper body over you as he looks around,

“Where” he says firmly,

You point to where the shadow was and whisper, “There was someone there, watching us.”

He didn’t need to see what you saw in order to know that the energy outside had shifted, all he wanted to do was get you to safety. He lifted you up into his arms and held you tightly, he took one look around to ensure the exit was safe and bolted; His movements were agile and fast, it almost felt supernatural. The trees whip past and you quickly lose sight of the pond, his footsteps reverberating thuds as he moves through the woods with expert agility.  Your eyes are wide with fear as you watch the forest behind you darken the further away you get; How Tommy was able to see things in the dark was a mystery to you.

Finally, you are out of the wooded area and coming up to where the silo was, the feeling of dread dissipates and Tommy slows his pace down, he wasn’t even huffing and puffing like most people would be doing after running so fast with a grown adult in their arms.

You hug him tightly, “Thank you for carrying me.”

You give him a kiss on his neck and continue to tighten your grip. Tommy brings you into the house and shuts the door behind you both, he gently lowers you to the floor, you keep hugging him as you stand on your tip toes. He felt very protective of you and was mad that someone scared you so much. His rage was building the more he thought about someone being on his property watching the two of you. He wondered how they would have been able to evade the multiple traps he set up around the pond perimeter.

Tommy grabs your shoulders and pushes you back slowly, he lifts your chin to have you look up at him. He sees the worried look on your face and it fuels his rage of the intruder,

“Go sleep, I gotta do somethin’.”

His voice was rich in baritone, you could hear anger in his words. You didn’t want him to leave, but before you could tell him to stay, he was out the door. You made your way to the washroom to shower off the pond water and get ready for sleep, Luda Mae and Charlie were already asleep upstairs, unaware of the situation. You were disturbed by what you saw, but as long as Tommy was out there, you felt safe in the house. You went to bed that night worried, who was that shadow and what will happen if Tommy catches them? The morning couldn’t come soon enough.

Next chapter-

[rollinouttahere-writes]

I wanted to write out the character dynamics between Lucky and the Straw Hats because I have fallen deep into the Little Lucky AU. At first it was just gonna be a series of one shots with little to no plot for funsies but now I’ve gone and fleshed it out into its own fully developed AU and I feel compelled to share my thoughts on it.

Since I have this happening right after Arlong Park, I realized that at most, they’ve known her for like a week and some change with Sanji only knowing her for a couple of days. I think that this would make adjusting to her becoming a child much easier because ultimately, none of them really knew her. Hell, with her amnesia Lucky barely knew herself. 

It would take about a week for everyone to accept that this is how it is now. The devil fruit user tried to warn them that the effects were permanent (meaning that she’s not going to suddenly switch back, not that she’s permanently 4 she is still going to age normally), but they thought this person was bluffing in order to get mercy or something. As time passes and Lucky is showing no signs of turning back, everyone begins to feel some regret about punting the user into the sea, but now it’s too late.

In Lucky Break, she doesn’t come clean about the truth of where she came from until after Enel is defeated in Skypeia, but in this AU she would tell them the truth during the Alabasta arc. After Drum Island when Nami is recovered because she felt bad for keeping it a secret when Nami was sick.

Luffy’s relationship with Lucky has by far been my favorite to develop, I find it super interesting. Despite not knowing the adult Lucky for very long, Luffy’s emotional intelligence being sky high helped him to understand her better than she probably even understood herself. There was something off about her, and he knew it within their first conversation. The way she had a tendency to shrink in on herself and physically close herself off, and the fact that her smile never once reaches her eyes told him a lot. He doesn’t know where she came from or what it’s like, but he can’t imagine it’s all that great if this is how she acts. He still wants to go there, but now it’s because he needs to throw hands with whoever made her that way. After she’s turned into a child, he immediately notices that she now has that spark that was missing from her eyes before, and he’s bound and determined to fan that spark into a flame so that he doesn’t see that same look when she becomes an adult again.

Having a small child on board does ever so slightly mature him. At first he’s like “Oh there’s a little kid here now? Fun!” but then it evolves into “Hang on I’m responsible for her”. He realizes that this little kid is going to depend on him for everything. Sure, he has his other crewmates to help, but as captain he feels the weight on his shoulder more.

After the Enel situation happens he becomes more noticeably mature and goes out of his way to hover around her more and make her happy. He’s more prone to involving himself in the actual childcare aspects of her life instead of just being ‘the fun best friend’ to her. He sits in on her appointments with Chopper and helps as much as Chopper will allow, both because he wants to help and also as a way for him to see what she had to go through in the moment that he wasn’t there to protect her. He also tries to give advice, mostly about following her dreams and understanding how valuable the freedom to do so is. He’s still her best friend at the end of the day, but there is an air of seriousness to it now.

Lucky idolizes Luffy intensely, he is her Shanks pretty much. Between him being her best friend and saving her, she wants to be just like him when she grows up. He’s the best person ever in her book and she will fight anyone who tries to trash talk him (much to the horror of everyone else who is rushing to stop her).

Zoro naively thought he would be escaping Lucky fussing over him now that she’s a little kid, but he was very wrong. She’s still trailing behind and yelling at him to sit down so she can “make it better”, but now she’s just got a box of colorful kid band-aids instead of actual bandages. Zoro is covered in a rainbow of band-aids at any given moment and he can’t even take them off because she’ll put more on there while scolding him. 

There’s a post where I talk about their interactions a little bit here. With the part about sword fighting, he is very serious about it, but if you look closely you can see small smiles here and there as she makes more progress. He is very proud. He wishes Kuina could have met her, he thinks she would have liked Lucky. Tries to shield her from the idea that she will only be able to go so far because of being a woman, he doesn’t want that stupid mentality weighing her down.

If someone asks him what his relationship to her is, he would state that he’s her teacher. If you asked Lucky, she would say he’s her big brother. Zoro feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest but keeps a straight face and says “that’s fine too”. Lucky looks up to him too, but she also lowkey likes to bully him in true sibling fashion. Like telling him to put his boobs away, running off with his sake, pulling pranks on him when he’s trying to nap, that kind of stuff.

Right after Arlong Park, Nami was feeling very attached to Lucky (tbh she’s the first to start showing yandere tendencies in Lucky Break), so she was honestly a little disappointed at first when they realized Lucky wasn’t turning back into an adult. She would never admit this out loud, but she did feel that way. She snaps out of it pretty quick though and declares herself ‘big sister Nami’. She gets very into it, and likes being the big sister for a change.

As far as she’s concerned, she’s the only responsible adult on board (until Robin comes in). As such, she’s constantly trying to keep Lucky attached to her hip because she’s worried that the others are going to hurt her by doing something stupid. This doesn’t work all that well because there are other people on the ship that are more fun and goofy than she is, so Nami spends most of her day running after Lucky. Lucky is the only person that she doesn’t have a tab for. She’s a little kid, and as adults, it’s everyone’s job on board to take care of her and that includes buying her stuff like clothes/toys/etc. Nami does teach her the value of money and how to be responsible with it for when she’s old enough to have some money of her own, but Lucky isn’t indebted to her or anything.

Lucky finds it a little odd at first when some woman she barely knows insists that she’s her big sister, but she goes with it. Nami can be a little bit of a stick in the mud, but Lucky knows that she can go to her when she needs help. Since they sleep in the same room (sometimes at least, there are lots of sleepovers in the guys’ room), Nami is usually the person she goes to when she has a nightmare.

Usopp is great with kids, and that includes Lucky. He found adult Lucky a little intimidating (for reasons we will get to soon enough), so he honestly gets along with child Lucky more. He loves having a gullible little kid around that he can tell his tall tales to, given that she’s too young to be able to immediately call bullshit. However, he doesn’t anticipate how many questions she’s going to ask about the story. He wasn’t ready for the constant flow of why’s, how come’s, and what’s that’s that get thrown his way. On the bright side, his improvisational skills skyrocket from this.

His job in regards to Lucky is to grab her in a dangerous situation and run away as fast as he can, a role he chose for himself. He does fall victim to being roasted by a tot over this because she will call him a big baby for screaming and crying (lessens post Enel). As a sniper, he is supposed to be further from the battle than others, so he typically is the best choice for her to be with. Like Zoro, he wants to teach her how to use his own weapon of choice and even makes her a tiny slingshot. This backfires because now she’s terrorizing him and Zoro with it (and also takes cracks at marines sometimes).

Usopp is her friend. He doesn’t have the title of best friend or big brother which hurts a bit, but he learns to cope. Lucky does spend a lot of time with him since she thinks he’s funny and fun to play with. He only helped her prank Zoro once because she immediately played innocent and threw him under the bus. That being said, only she can bully him, Franky better sleep with one eye open for beating him up!

Sanji is her dad now, and no one can rob him of that, he will kill for this title. He held off for a week tops after she was turned to make sure that she wasn’t just going to go back to normal, but after that he took a page out of Zeff’s book and adopted her. He wants to go back to the Baratie long enough to let Zeff know he’s a grandpa, but for now will have to wait. He’s always trying to get her to call him “papa” to varying levels of success. She doesn’t cooperate at first because she really doesn’t know him, but she’ll warm up eventually and start calling him that. Though she does sometimes switch back to using Sanji just to mess with him.

Lucky is his entire world basically. You thought he was obsessed with women? That pales in comparison to his devotion to his little princess! His wallet has more pictures of her in it than it has actual money. What money isn’t spent on getting food gets spent on her. If she looks at something for too long, she’s getting it. Nami gets on him frequently about spoiling her too much, even though he says there’s no such thing. Ironically, he has better luck with women now because he’s more toned down around them and it’s just cute to see a doting dad, but he is completely oblivious to it. He genuinely believes that the women are only approaching him because they think Lucky is cute and doesn’t even pick up on them flirting with him because he’s too busy showing off the pictures in his wallet. Nami thinks this is hysterical and won’t point it out.

He wants to cook with her so much, he’s always trying to involve her in the kitchen (with age appropriate things of course). There are limits to what she can safely do, but he’s happy just to have her in the kitchen as a taste tester if that’s all she can do. She doesn’t need to become a chef or anything, but he wants her to know the basics at the very least. If she wants to have a tea party, he’ll get her to help make the little treats to go with it and show her how to perfectly steep the tea. No imaginary tea parties on his watch. The one thing he’s strict on is her eating habits, she needs to stay healthy and that’s not up for debate. If she just genuinely doesn’t like something, that’s understandable, but she can’t just feed Luffy under the table to get dessert faster.

Lucky’s actual father was very emotionally and physically distant, so it takes very little time for her to latch onto Sanji as her new dad. When she does, she basically becomes a daddy’s girl overnight. Sanji gets pulled into playtime whenever he isn’t in the kitchen, whether it be including him in the tea parties, “styling” his hair with dozens of colorful barrettes, or simply making him get in on the games she was playing with the others. With how god awful his childhood was, it’s honestly a little healing for him. He’s happy that he can give someone else the childhood he didn’t get to have. 

Chopper doesn’t get to be the baby of the crew anymore. Lucky would probably be the first to be able to really get close to him on Drum Island, because even Chopper isn’t going to be scared of a four year old. Wary, but not scared. However, after seeing that she isn’t afraid of him and is genuinely trying to befriend him, he comes around. It’s shocking to him to learn that she’s part of a pirate crew, but also inspiring. If someone so young can do it, he can too! They’re fast friends and become thick as thieves. 

Lucky thinks all of his doctor stuff is super interesting and likes to watch when he’s making medicine. She asks lots of questions and also gives out compliments easily. Chopper even shows her how to do some very basic first aid since that’s a good thing to know in emergencies. He also goes over what plants are poisonous and to not eat anything she doesn’t know for a fact is safe. Besides the medical stuff, Lucky enjoys hanging out with him lots because she thinks he’s around her age (and does not believe him when he insists that he’s 15). 

Lucky keeps referring to him as her little brother and it’s driving him insane. No amount of “I told you I’m 15!” will stop her. She thinks he’s lying because they’re both the same height give or take so obviously that means they must be the same age. He can’t even grow into a bigger form because she’ll just say that it doesn’t count since it’s not permanent. Like Luffy, being responsible for the safety of a child does make Chopper slightly more mature. Don’t get me wrong, he will still run away if Lucky is already safe, but if she isn’t then he will square up. Maybe if she sees him protect her, she’ll start calling him big brother! She doesn’t.

Robin feels so conflicted when they first meet. It’s one thing to be taking on grown adults that knew what they were getting into by taking on Baroque Works, it’s another to see a small child being dragged into by association. She intentionally leaves Lucky out of reports to Crocodile. She keeps hoping that Lucky will be dropped off somewhere else and be off the radar, and feels sicker and sicker as they keep getting closer to Alabasta. She’s just a little kid and doesn’t deserve to be dragged into something like this.

After joining the Straw Hats, she finds herself drawn to Lucky, and even uses her name. She does some mental gymnastics to justify this by telling herself that technically it’s a nickname so she’s in the clear. She’s totally not getting attached, she tells herself as she tucks Lucky into bed and reads her a bedtime story. It doesn’t help that Lucky follows her around like a duckling because she finds her very mysterious and cool. Having Lucky think that her devil fruit and all her knowledge is awesome really warms her heart.

It takes a while for her to be called it (post Enies Lobby), but she becomes the mom of the group. Unlike with Sanji, Lucky came to call her this entirely on her own. Robin needs a minute after she gets called that for the first time. That being said, she fills the role well. She’s got that calm and caring vibe to her, while also being a total mama bear. If anyone looks at Lucky the wrong way, she’s eliminating the threat on the spot. Her baby is not about to be punished for existing with what the government deems to be “bad people”. She’s harsh towards anyone she sees as a threat, but especially with marines/government agents. 

Franky is definitely surprised to see a little kid with the Straw Hats, but it also earns some respect from him. He appreciates seeing pirates that don’t just abandon their children, thank you very much. Franky has an energy to him that kids love, and Lucky isn’t immune to it. Granted, at first she just wants to fight him and he can expect to be pelted with pebbles from her slingshot until she’s forgiven him for the Usopp incident. He doesn’t take this personally. In fact, he encourages it. Hell yeah kid! You stick up for your friends! Show me who’s boss! His attitude makes it very hard for her to stay mad for long, especially with Usopp telling her that it’s okay they already made up.

His goofball personality and eccentric behavior make him a lot of fun to be around. On top of that, Lucky likes to sometimes watch him work. He’s very quick to engage her in it, too. He’ll explain what he’s doing and why in great detail, and is happy to answer any questions she has. He’ll even let her hold a flashlight for him even though he has his own built in. Very supportive if she wants to learn more from him, but won’t push it either.

After Lucky comes around on him, she calls him uncle Franky. He’s just got those fun uncle vibes to her. He truly loves the title and is proud of it. He gets a bit cocky and asks if he’s her favorite uncle only to get humbled by her saying no with zero hesitation. Sorry, Franky, you’re no competition for uncle Ace. Despite the devastating blow to his ego, he is a very fun uncle and is insanely protective. 

[poisonf0rest]

𝐖𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

In an attempt to uncover the truth, I must posit the questions of which are in dire need of answering to even begin to understand what exactly has befallen Yharnam:

What is the source of the Ashen Blood? What is the source of the Beastly Scourge? How, if, are these two illnesses of the body and mind related? Why, if blood ministration is the cure, has the Healing Church not acted sooner and treated all the Yharnamites?

Unless, they do not have a cure. 

Unless, they are the origin of the curse. 

Unless, this was simply the inevitable progression of mankind, and we were always doomed to revert back to the beasts we once thought ourselves so far above. An arrogance paralleled only to that of the Gods. 

And look where it got them… 

A week had passed until you finally summoned the Hunter, having exhausted all your other options. Any meager samples of beast blood or swatches of flesh you managed to forage from rotting carcasses on Yharnam’s deserted streets have long since been used up, and between inconclusive findings and a sheer lack of understanding of what was truly happening to these transforming humans, you’ve found yourself at yet another a dead end. 

You needed to begin from scratch, and that meant you needed knowledge. Forbidden knowledge, preferably.  

Tucking your satchel under your coat, you snuck out when the bell tower rang ten and two, slipping past the sentinels of the Church as you darted up the streets of Yharnam, waiting behind the gates of the Cathedral. The Church had only recently imposed a curfew for all citizens outside of Hunters, and yet the empty streets and distant howls of beasts reminded you of the nightmare your city is descending into. Now look at what you’ve been reduced to, sneaking around your own home. It’s pathetic. Infuriating. 

Crouched behind a ruined pillar, you eye the deserted plaza before you, following the cobblestone path leading up to the Healing Church’s grand gated entrance. Up, up, up as they ascend stairs until they breach those twin iron doors that loom over the city with their carvings of fallen angels and old gods. Little more than five years ago and you never would have never believed you’d one day voluntarily walk through those doors again. And yet here you are. 

Perhaps once you’d have begged God to forgive you for the trespass you’re about to commit, but it seems you and the rest of the Yharnam fell from Her grace long ago. 

“Glad to see my parting words of ‘stay away from the Church’ were dutifully followed.”

A yelp of surprise escapes you as you whirl around, falling gracelessly onto your ass as you curse, rubbing your injured tailbone. The Hunter crosses his arms, towering above you, only those suffocating red eyes visible from behind his black mask and hat. It makes your skin burn. 

“A simple, how are you, I’ve been well thank you, would have sufficed.” You grumble, standing whilst brushing mud and bramble from your clothes. “But I suppose you Hunters are never one for subtly, are you?”

“I am subtle.”

“You are dense, my dear Hunter. There is a difference.”

You can almost make out a frown from behind that mask of his. Regardless, you carry on. “The night grows no younger. I hope you came prepared, for your very first task is getting us inside the Cathedral without being spotted.” 

“And I’m to assume this is something you couldn’t accomplish by simply walking in and asking?”

“Not unless you want them to burn me for witchcraft. Imagine the look on the Vicar and the priests' faces if a woman- Saints fucking forbid- were to barge in and ask to read ancient books of medicine and history.” A scoff.  ”The fact I’m literate at all would probably cause a nun to faint.”

Diluc hums in vague amusement. “If not that then your foul tongue ought to do the trick.”

“Bastard.”

“Doctor.”

Not to mention, if anyone managed to recognize you, you’d be burnt at the stake. 

You shake away the thought, pushing past the Hunter as you point to the top of the cathedral, up at the marble spires and bell tower that disappear into the fog. Even the darkness fails to hide the imposing shadow it casts over the city.  “Up Hunter, take me up there.” 

You hardly finish your demand before Diluc grabs you, hoisting your body across his shoulder as though you were little more than a sack of wheat, scaling the iron gates and hauling the two of you up the side of the cathedral with one arm. 

It all happens so fast that you can only cling to him for dear life, screwing your eyes shut as your jaw hangs open in a silent scream. Gods, you were practically flying.  “You imbécile! Tête de nœud!” Ten thousand more curses race out from you, and yet they are lost to the howl of the wind. 

The higher the two of you climb, the louder the wails, drowning out the all-too-frequent heaves and strained grunts coming from the Hunter beneath you. Your hands clench harder into his coat as you desperately try to clear your mind. Happy thoughts. Damn it all, happy thoughts. 

“You may retract your talons from my back now.” 

Forcing an eye open, you find that the two of you made it to the top of the cathedral, standing upon a platform amid a triad of spires. 

You choke out a laugh, “Ah, many thanks, dear Hunter.” Patting his bicep, he lets you down hesitantly. Refusing to acknowledge just how far from the ground you are, you force your gaze upwards and cling to the stones framing one of the many glass windows at your back. Saints, did the clouds look closer or are you going insane? 

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to look around for some sort of ladder or balcony.  “Now, if I mapped it out correctly, there should be a set of entrances scattered around the main belfry…” 

As though on cue, the bells begin to toll, a hollow, haunted sound that reverberates in your skulls as you both turn to see the main tower with the trio of bells. Their slow song continues, tolling nine times, a number once thought to ward off evil and to call for listeners to pray for the departing souls. 

But for whom the bell tolls, you never knew. Maybe it was for the city itself. 

“There,” you point. True to your word, nestled on the West wall of the belfry was a door, a ladder leading up to it on the cluster of spires right next to the one the two of you were currently perched on. 

The only remaining problem was the narrow rooftop connecting your tower to the main bell tower. And the several hundred feet between you and the ground should you choose to slip. 

The Hunter’s footsteps are silent as always, but you feel his warmth before you see him, radiating against your back as his hand grabs yours. A horrible moment for introspection, you know, but you can’t help but gawk at how far he towers over you, figure nearly blocking out the light of the moon with those arms the size of your head. A man bred and raised on destruction. 

“Are you paying attention?”

You jolt up, nodding. Diluc scoffs, grip tightening around your wrist as he drags the two of you toward the roof’s edge. “Then follow my lead, and do try not to fall. You’re not quite as light as you look.” 

There’s no time for a snarky comeback, as the Hunter drops down onto the roof scaffolding, tugging you along with him. The wind beats at your side as you place one trembling foot in front of another, desperately trying to match his pace without being blown right off the ledge. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Step by step, the two of you inch closer and closer to the main belfry, and once the ladder is within grasp, Diluc’s hand moves to grip your waist, hauling you towards him and perching you atop the ladder’s bottom rung. Climbing up, you heave as you pull yourself onto the tower platform, greeted with the sight of the oak door. Your way in. 

Rattling the doorknob, you push and pull against it, but the hinge doesn’t so much as budge. “Locked.” 

From the looks of it, surely the wood was rotten and soft, nothing a good kick couldn’t get through. You step back. Inhaling sharply, you thrust your boot into the door, only for your leg to recoil with a pained hiss, the wood letting out a low groan as though laughing at the attempt.  

Watching you curse out the poor door, Diluc smiles in faint amusement before nudging you aside. Then, he repeats the action, this time causing it to splinter on impact, his leg flying through the door frame as you flinch to avoid the fragments.

“After you, Doctor.”

Brute.

Reaching over, you lean into the yawning crevice, finding the hollow space to be something of an attic, littered with broken fragments of statues long forgotten and paintings woven in cobwebs. Oh, and at least two dozen crucifixes strewed about the room.

Further in, you cross a pile of folded black and white robes, that accursed Cosmic Eye Watcher Badge sitting on top, staring right back at you. A shiver seizes you by the ribs and you wrench your gaze away. 

Ducking beneath spiderwebs, you finally catch the iron gleam of what seems to be a trapdoor tucked away in the far corner. A looming shadow over you is the only indicator that the Hunter has followed, his footsteps near silent as he leans over you, pulling on the latch as the trapdoor heaves open, exposing the darkness below. 

Diluc goes first, lowering himself down before dropping into the gaping abyss. A second passes, then another, and only then do you finally hear the thud of his landing. Saints, the fall must be more than a dozen meters. 

Your heart lurches in your throat, and you’re in the midst of calculating your chances of making it out with both your kneecaps still intact when the Hunter’s voice calls up to you from the darkness. 

“Jump, I’ll be sure to catch you.” 

A curt laugh. “I’m hardly doubting your prowess, Hunter, but I’d imagine it would be quite difficult to catch something you can’t see.”

“Vileblood, remember. I see you perfectly.” You swallow. “Jump.”

Despite every morsel of rationale left in your body, you listen. Who knows, perhaps if you doubted him again he’d simply scale the wall and drag you down with him this time. Maybe the Vilebloods could fly? Turn into a bat? Note to test that theory later. 

Regardless, you brace yourself, dangling your legs through the trapdoor and forcing out another exhale. Your hands are shaking. 

Jump. 

Pushing off the floor, a cold gust of air beats against your limbs as you flail against nothing. Moments of horrid silence rush past you, jaw clamped shut as the abyss swallows you with each impossible second you fall further and further and further still. 

You swear a hellish eternity passes before you’re swiped from midair, crashing against something before a set of arms wrap around your torso, pulling you tight as you both land on solid ground. The force of the landing ricochets through your skull, and your head snaps back, teeth catching your unsuspecting tongue between them. A yelp, one hand un-fisting from the Hunter’s coat to cover your mouth. 

“Well done, I half expected you to come down cursing.”

A glare is all you settle for since your tongue is still throbbing. 

With a swat at his shoulder, Diluc promptly sets you down. He’s uncharacteristically gentle with it, first lowering your legs and bracing you against his chest as you recall how to properly use your joints, waiting for you to regain some semblance of balance before releasing you completely.

With your wits recollected and eyesight adjusted to the darkness, you take in the balcony layout, spotting the faint glow of melting candles and chandeliers on floors beneath you. Stone railings, rows and rows of stained glass windows, and a spiral set of stairs. 

You glance at the Hunter, but he seems to already have gotten the message, nodding as he takes the lead, beginning your descent into the Healing Church, and soon the catacombs below. 

Even whispering here would be foolish, for the arched stone ceilings of the cathedral carry every bit of sound up as though it were prayer, echoing as it goes. If only you could walk as quietly as the Hunter, his stealth allowing him to venture yards in front of you as he scours every corner and hallway the two of you creep through. The church was eerily empty, only the distant hymn of the choir and the screaming of beasts in the village reverberating through every hall as though in song. 

You know what the Hunters are. People from far and wide come to Yharnam for the miracle blood ministration, the promise of being cured of any ailment enough to persuade them into signing their very right to death away– cursed for eternity to Hunt. To die again and again until they turned into the very beasts they hunted. 

Your Vileblood Hunter, you wonder how long he’s been cursed to this undying death? 

Perhaps it’s your innate curiosity, perhaps it's your innate fear. Either way, something beyond your comprehension keeps luring you back to him, and perhaps that in and of itself should have been the first warning sign.

But you were blind to it, and only in the end would your true eyes open. 

By then, only ashes will remain.

The two of you descend five floors- if you’ve been keeping count correctly- turning into yet another hallway when the heavy thud of armored footsteps begin approaching. The shadow of a knight emerges just beyond the next corner. You freeze.

Frantic, you scan the desolate church halls, catching the Hunter’s wrist before shoving the two of you into a crevice behind a sculpture of a Saint. The stubborn fool resists for a moment, but you hiss some curses under your breath, shoving his all-too-large figure behind the statue as you crawl between the marble and his body, panting from effort and sheer terror. 

You’ve seen what the Church does to the sinners— they rot, nailed to crosses for days. You can’t imagine what they’d do to a traitor. 

You slap a hand over your mouth, bracing against Diluc’s taller form before covering his mouth as well, watching as the glow from the lantern gets brighter. Your heart screams against your ears as you watch the guard walk right past. 

Gods old and new be blessed, he fails to notice the two of you pressed against the marble and continues down the hall. 

But, you must admit, getting out would prove much harder than getting in, as you’ve thoroughly lodged yourselves between the wall and the numerous corners of the statue, nearly immobile as you relinquish your grip over Diluc’s mouth, still entirely pressed up against him. 

Every breath seizing your chest forces the two of you closer, an undistinguishable tangle of limbs blocking you as you try and escape, only to stumble over the Hunter’s boot, flailing as you lurch forward. This time it’s Diluc’s hand that grabs your face, stopping you mere inches from bashing into the side of the statue, a sound that would have undoubtedly been enough to alert the guard. And give you a concussion. 

Pulling you back against his chest, the Hunter’s breath fans your neck for a heartbeat, only for him to promptly lift you onto the arm of the sculpture, allowing you to climb over the marble and down the other side.

He’s warm. So unnaturally warm you still feel his breath against your skin, you still feel his touch through the rough leather of his gloves, lingering even though he has already begun walking down the next flight of stairs. You shiver.

“I didn’t plan on being so far in your debt, Hunter.”

The man doesn’t respond, silent as he descends. Then a pause. “There is no debt between us, Doctor. We made a vow.”

“Vow?” 

Running to catch up, you hum in consideration, remembering your first fateful encounter at the clinic. “Then I suppose you’d want more of my blood after this?” He flinches, and you scoff. “Oh please, I have plenty to go around. If that is all it takes for me to keep such a valuable assistant to myself then I’d say I’m getting the good end of the deal.” 

The Hunter refuses to acknowledge your quip with a response and continues down the stairs. You follow with a huff.

Ultimately, the library was easy to find, for a grand set of stairs lined with half-melted candles and the statues of the Saints led the two of you up to a set of heavy copper doors, each carved with the original scribe and inventor of language herself, Saint Enoch. 

Placing your hands upon the doors, you lean in, nearly kissing the copper with your lips as you whisper a hymn, ancient latin coaxing the lock open as it clicks and turns with your voice. If the Hunter hears you, he says nothing. 

With the last verse the doors unlock, and you push into the Healing Church’s Grand Library.

The room was a spiraling chamber, rising for what appeared to be an eternity as shelves of books ascended every wall of the spire. Silver fixtures glow in the candlelight, illuminating the murals that adorn every pillar scattered across the library, strewn about like a stone forest. 

Walking deeper, you pass under staircases and ladders both, eyes trailing across the marbled floor, stone cracked with gold and silver as it too gleams in the low light. Etched in the cracks spanned the map of the entire kingdom, from Yharnam, to Paris, to Liyue and beyond. What a powerful feeling, to have the city’s knowledge at your fingertips and the world itself beneath your feet. 

The further you venture, the stranger the contents of the library get: shelves turning from stacks of books to exhibits, lined with jarred specimens of every beast and bone, tarnished armor of knights long-forgotten, and even collections of skulls from things both of this world and not. 

Skimming your hand along a shelf, you thumb at the endless row of books, pulling one out before tucking it under your arm, adding to your already growing stack. 

Without looking back, you call out to the Hunter, “If you notice books on medicine, blood, or the Beastly Scourge do bring them to me. I’ll begin on the left and you can take the right, that way we can cover more ground. Although, truthfully we’ll likely need several nights to look through it all.” 

You pull out another book, and another, equally impressed and disgusted at the sheer amount of literature and knowledge preserved in these halls, just rotting away.  “It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Silence. 

Snapping the book in your hands shut, you crane your neck backward. “Do you hear me, Hunter?” 

More silence. 

Stepping out of your current row, you easily spot the flame-colored hue of his hair in the far corner of the library, standing before an enormous glass case. A display, filled with the skulls of Vilebloods.

“Yes, rather charming to know the Healing Church’s infatuation with my kind goes back for so many generations.” He scoffs, shrugging his claymore higher onto his shoulders before lumbering off. 

And yet your gaze lingers, taking in the carnage so proudly set on display before you. Saints, some of those skulls looked like they couldn’t have been more than four years of age when they died. 

Killed— you remind yourself— the Cainhurst Vileblood lineage was executed at the command of the Church a little over a century ago.

It was taught to be a righteous campaign, a tale of valor and victory told every Sunday morning before lessons on the sword and the alphabet. The Crusade was a holy cleansing to rid the world of the blasphemy that was the creation of the Vileblood— daemon, devil, Vampyr. Born from a sinner’s betrayal and the revered Old Blood, it was an accepted truth that the Vilebloods threatened the purity of the Healing Church and their mission to cleanse Yharnam. 

You still remember the vows word for word, each letter tasting of copper and fire against your tongue: “Those who kill in the name of god shall have their sins absolved and thus immune to the scourge of beasts. Seek the Old Blood.”

And yet, that’s the funny thing about truth, it depends entirely on the power of the man who wields it. And fear is always at its most powerful when disguised as devotion.

Time seemed to slip by as you drowned yourself in readings, undisturbed until the bell tower rang for zero and three. Dawn was approaching, and the church would awaken soon. 

Stretching, you stand from the oak chair with a low groan. The Hunter sat on the far end of the long table, nearly hidden from view behind your ever-accumulating stack of books. 

Waltzing closer, you peer over his shoulder. "Find anything?"

"Quite a bit of nonsense," Diluc drones, closing the book he'd been skimming. You noticed how fast he flipped through it, processing the information as the pages fluttered by at an inhumane pace. "You say this library holds the knowledge you need for your experiments, and yet all I’ve read so far are fairytales about glorified martyrs and gods."

Unfortunately, you're inclined to agree. 

Originally you hypothesized that perhaps the personal journals of past Maesters and Vicars would guide you towards uncovering some of the knowledge the Healing Church has been hiding, but instead all you got were fanatic moondrunk rantings and all-too-personal facts about old men. 

You sigh. “Perhaps the true reason this collection is forbidden in the first place is out of the profound embarrassment that someone was stupid enough to collect it in the first place.”

Diluc offers something of a laugh then, the sound low and rough.  "Lovely reading, I’m sure."

"Oui, well, lovely as it might be, it’s useless." Another sigh and you thumb through the finished stack of books.  "The only piece that might lead us somewhere is the mention of someone named Laurence. This particular journal goes on and on about the Archbishop, but it does mention a sort of deviation that this Laurence initiated, causing a sort of split long before the formation of the Healing Church itself.”

The Hunter’s eyes narrow, and he walks towards you, glancing at the page. “Laurence. The First Vicar.”

“You knew him?”

Diluc stiffens. “I knew of him. Anyone whose history wasn’t falsified by the Healing Church knows of the Hellfire Beast. But if it’s the knowledge of the First Vicar you’re searching for then chances are you need to locate Byrgenwerth College. All of what you call sacred in Yharnam traces back to those dregs of society.” 

“Byrgenwerth has been sealed off for a century.”

If the Hunter notices how quickly you cut him off, he doesn’t comment on it. “Forgive me, I didn’t particularly take you as one to follow the Church’s boundaries. After all, you are the one who dragged us here.” 

“Yes, well…” 

You don’t have an argument. You just know you’d rather claw your own eyes out than step one foot back into those accused halls. 

Plucking the journal from the Hunter’s grasp, you stuff it into your satchel alongside two other books that mention Lawrence The First Vicar and the Beastly Scourge. The two of you work in silence to place the books back onto the shelves, and when you’re certain the Vampyr isn’t looking, you manage to pack a few books on the Cainhurst Vilebloods into your bag too. 

The Hunter is very much still an enigma to you, and if you’re to work with him and find the cure to Yharnam’s plague, then you’d want to make sure you knew everything you could about his kind. Especially if anything were to go wrong. 

You’re still in the midst of re-stacking some books in ancient Greek in the left wing of the library when the Hunter’s voice interrupts your subconscious murmuring. 

“I don’t believe I’ve gotten your name yet.”

You jump, spewing curses as he— yet again— makes it a habit to appear behind you out of thin air. 

“I hadn't realized you needed it,” you say, lifting onto your toes as you struggle to reach a high shelf. The Hunter takes the book from your gasp and slots it back into place, figure now looming over your own as hands grip the wooden shelf above your head. Intimidation, you realize. And it’s working. 

“It’s only polite to address a lady by their namesake.” You scoff, but he continues. ”So then you have no intention of learning my name either?”

“I’ve grown to rather like calling you my dear Hunter. Unless you’d prefer a new nickname? Something more extravagant? Mon petit monstre? Mon chéri?”

His grip tightens, and you hear the wood splinter. “I never quite understood how a Doctor such as yourself came to know French, either.”

“Oh, all the better to sing hymns with, I assure you. The Church enforces French, Latin, and even Greek if you’re unlucky enough.” 

This finally stops him entirely. You can feel the heat of his blood-red gaze bearing into you before he speaks. “You were raised by the Church?”

You’re quiet, unnaturally still under his stare. Flipping through a book, you wave a hand, eyes glued to the pages as you respond half-heartedly. “Partially. My guardians were, ah, somewhat of a devout group.” 

This would never work— a partnership truly doomed from the start. Like a sick sort of epilogue only found at the beginning of a Greek or Shakespeare tragedy to herald in an inevitable demise. And yet, you were quickly growing addicted to this waltz composed of lies and half-truths, stuck dancing to a tune that could only be sung for self-indulgence and sin. 

“Diluc.” 

You look up, voice escaping you. “What?”

“Diluc Ragnvindr, of the Noble Cainhurst.”

The two of you simply stare for a heartbeat, then a heartbeat more. Finally, you say your name, each syllable heavy and rotted like a corpse unearthed. Hesitantly, you add, “of the Choir.” 

And for the first time, you see the Hunter smile. Your name suits you. 

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

Within the next week, you finally show Diluc to your lab, mainly because you required his supernatural strength and coordination to carry in your new stack of stolen books from the Healing Church’s library. 

As he finishes organizing the journals as you instructed, you place a pot over a small fire to begin brewing some tea, allowing Diluc to wander around the lab as he takes in the bustling room. 

It smelled of dried herbs, sulfur, and something stronger, something bolder that smelled of yearning, every inhale like stepping into the sunlight when the day is still on the cusp of winter and spring, a promise of new beginnings while remembering the pain of the winter. It races down Diluc’s spine and makes his gums prick with every inhale— it’s the same scent that clings to you. 

“What is all of this?” Diluc asks, not daring to touch any of the bubbling concoctions or the variety of steaming tubes or vials. He even holds his breath, careful not to inhale too deeply. 

It looked more like a little forest than anything else, an ecosystem of chemicals and blood and life and death itself encased in glass and steel and fire and mystery. Science.

Innovation, you called it. 

“It’s the best this rotting city has to offer,” you say, sweeping aside a pile of books to make space among the clutter for yet another journal. Flipping through pages, you read off sections in Greek, Latin, French, and English, flickering past diagrams of limbs, hearts, and humans. “The greatest minds in Europe think the answers to our universe lie in dead gods or dying gods, helpless in the face of disease or disaster. But long ago mankind could understand the root of infections like the Scourge, execute surgeries to restore eyesight, and perform miracles that now could only be described as alchemy or witchcraft. All of these inventions lost to time and ignorance.” 

“Will it bring you the answers?”

You freeze, looking at your life’s work.

 “I don’t know.” 

The kettle hisses, breaking the silence with its scream. 

Diluc moves first, lifting the pot off the fire and pouring it over two cups, one a dainty teacup, plastered with chipped paint and the other a misshapen mug with a crack down its side, watching the water swirl and brown with the tea leaves. 

Holding out both cups, he gives a curt nod. “Very well. If you believe the answer to the scourge lies in my blood, take what you desire.”

He looks so serious, standing there, that you can't help the wry smile cracking across your lips. “You ought to be more wary of your words,” you purr, “my dear Hunter.”

Taking the mug from his grip, you let your hands lace around his, tugging him towards you as he turns as stiff as the claymore still strapped to his back. “What I need and what I desire may well be two very different things.” 

Despite your best attempts, your eyes fall to his lips. 

They often do. Much too often recently. 

You never really noticed before, mainly because his Hunter attire covers the majority of his face, but the man before you is so unfairly pretty. His untamed mane curls around all the hard angles of his face, like flames licking at a marble statue, the same blood-red hue of his hair burning in his eyes. As he leans in closer, you catch flickers of gold in them as well. Even with the Vampyr healing abilities, Diluc's skin is littered with scars your eyes could send an eternity tracing, one cutting across his permanently creased brows, another at his lips, and a crook in his nose where you're certain he's broken it more than a dozen times. It never occurred to you how badly you wished to touch him.

Vampyr beauty is different from mortal beauty. It is arresting, frightening. A visage that demands a sort of painful devotion, the perfect face to lure mortals willingly into their embrace and weep for more. Diluc is no exception. 

Even with the mars across his skin, he looks like a being worthy of praying to. 

A shaky inhale and you jolt up, only to find Diluc in a similar paradox. Transfixed, it is almost as if he doesn’t realize the intensity he’s lost himself in, the furrow between his brows and the slight frown of his pursed lips almost cute if it wasn’t for the burning sensation it seized you with. 

He leans forward, hesitating. Slowly, as though any movement would startle him, you take the cups from his grasp, placing them down without ever letting his fingers unlace from yours. He might slip from your grasp if you do. But he doesn’t, not this time. 

It shouldn’t mean much, really, the brush of rough knuckles and the slow slide of your fingers as they find their home between his, and yet you swear there is something cathartic in the way they fit together; a touch that served no purpose but to connect in a world so hellbent on destruction. 

One hand leaves his, lifting to cup his face as you thumb along his cheekbone, your fingertips burning as they catch on every ridge and scar. Diluc leans into your touch, body pressing into yours as the two of you stumble backward. The back of your knees buckle against a table just as he seizes you by the small of your back, pulling you against him before you can completely topple over. Diluc’s other hand rests against the table, caging you against him as your fingers remain intertwined. 

You’re burning. His flame-kissed gaze refuses to leave yours, and you’re burning at the edges with every second you lie under it. 

“Diluc,” you say. You don’t know why. He shudders. 

“Diluc,” you shift, leaning closer as your neck cranes up, lips brushing the bottom of his chin, the faint stubble there rough and tasting like smoke. He cranes his neck in response, granting you further access as your lips eagerly follow the pale expanse of skin. Entranced, you press harder, and with the gentle scrape of your teeth, he makes a low noise deep in his throat, like an animal in pain. You dare say his name again. 

“Diluc—”

The door to the lab swings open. 

The laughter of the two twins tumbles into the room as they burst through the doorway, only to be cut short when they notice the two of you stunned in the far corner of the room. 

“Timmy! Eileen! What have I told you both about running around the clinic?” 

Diluc practically launches himself away from you, vanishing as he reappears on the opposite side of the room, but not before Alison charges in after the children, eyes wide as she already connected the dots the younger two were still processing.  “Saints, I am so—” In a blink she slaps her hands over the eyes of the twins, dragging them out of the lab while stuttering over a thousand apologies, shutting the door behind her with a slam. 

You love your children, you really do. But Saints, did you want to strangle them right now. 

Looking around the lab, your fears are proven correct as you fail to find Diluc, the Hunter has already vanished into the night as he so often does. A sigh and you stand, a noticeable chill now infecting the lab as it bubbles on in silence. 

You should chide him for always running away. You would, if only it wouldn’t make you an even bigger hypocrite. 

And so you accept the cold, lingering in the silence.

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

Neither of you really notices when Diluc begins visiting regularly, making a habit of swinging in through the clinic’s window, covered in Beast blood. It has become something of a routine: you snapping at him for tracking in filth, him completely disregarding your words, a moment of bickering mostly on your end before he drops a sample of his recent hunt on your table as a peace offering. 

Recently, however, the Hunter has been bringing an assortment of other items as well. From an entire deer or a bundle of rabbits, to newly forged bullets for your rifle, to toys for some of the younger children. 

Speaking of which, it’s unfair how quickly the children warmed up to Diluc. They practically worship the Hunter. 

Like tonight, you’re busy preparing supper with Edwin and half-hearted help from Alison when you hear the tell-tale knock reverberate from the attic above the clinic. 

Setting down the kitchen knife, you wipe the chicken guts coating your hands on your apron, about to open the door accessing the stairs when a mini mob beats you to it. Overlapping shrieks and calls from the four youngest children echo down the hall as they jump to greet the Hunter currently ducking through the doorframe, then promptly tackled by the swarm. 

“How many did you kill tonight?”

“Take me on a Hunt! I’ll be the best Hunter you’ve ever seen, I’ve been working on my swing, look!” The red-head boy lunges with a stick, about to smack his brother on the head when he dodges. Another swing quickly leads to a fight, the two tussling before Diluc until the Hunter pries them apart by the collars, procuring two wooden figures from his coat. 

Lucian, the redhead, gasps, “You remembered!”

“Of course I did. How could I forget the request of my favorite warriors?” The boys smile up at Diluc, half-toothed and ecstatic, before they run off to play with the wooden soldiers.

The Hunter lets out a low sigh of exhaustion at the mere show of their energy, but he should have known better than to let his guard down so soon. He had only just begun to rise when the twins made their attack, tugging against his coat lapels and at his elbow, laughing all the while. 

“Let us see your claymore again, please, please, pretty please!”

A smile cracks your lips as you watch the scene unfold. “The almighty Hunter, felled by a swarm of children. What ever would the Church think?”

“I think,” Diluc grunts, falling to one knee as the twins leap onto his back, cheering. “They ought to enlist these ones as Hunters. Far more terrifying than I am.” 

A hum, “I’m inclined to agree.”

Yes, he’s becoming a regular part of all of your lives, and the thought of that scares you more than you’d like to admit. 

[probablyintensemuses]

INCOMING: A DESPERATE COLLEGE STUDENTS OATHBOUND PREDICTIONS!!!!

CC @mageofspace__ on IG

TRACY!! I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES IN THE MIDDLE OF WALMART! THE WHOLE GANG!! I’m so happy to see Valec, Alice, Will, & Mariah in the flesh like wtf! But while we are here, I want to talk about some of my Oathbound predictions…because I can. ❤️⚔️💙

P.S. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ LB OR BM I SUGGEST YOU DO NOT CONTINUE! Spoilers ahead!

• Okay first, I truly believe that Bree has had her squire and kingsmage all along, Nick and Sel. I mean just with the relationships between those three, there is no way it goes any other way.

also, Alice will wake from her coma and have somehow inherited powers from Will as she was LITERALLY breathing his aether signature in. Like I’m not 100% sure how that would work, but we’ve seen it in media before, take Monica Rambeau and Wanda’s hex for an example! Maybe that interaction with magic will awaken Alice's own unique magic too, or maybe it's closely related to Bree again how the Mesmer did too in LB.

Regardless, when she awakens I think bby girl will be given an even more important role in the finale of this series. Maybe like being Will's squire...

• it’s going to come out that not only is shadow daddy, IYKYK not spoiling for potential new readers who have no sense of self-preservation and are reading this anyways, is not only Sel's father but VALECHEZ’s! Like not only would that be pure comedy considering how they were at each other's NECKS in BM, but it makes sense as to why Sel was succumbing to his demonia so fast, faster than others, maybe because a little more demon than others…

•I think this new magic system that Tracy is cooking up is going to tap into Natasia and Faye’s relationship a bit more and even Sel and Bree’s.

I also think it’s going to be the solution to not only Sel’s demonia, but Bree’s bloodmark, and even abatement and all these fucking legendborn oaths. I mean think about the word OATH, practically meaning something one HAS to abide by. Vera took an oath of sorts with the blood mark “one daughter at a time for all time.” The legend born and their oath of service and all this, as I call it, greedy magic which shortens their life spans, the Merlins too! What if, just what if, Faye and Natasia found a way to combine both their forms of magic (root + aether + blood craft) and created something entirely new? Something so potent and powerful, defying these “oaths” or what you could call them, curses, to cure all these things…and what if since Bree is from Faye’s lineage, sel from Natasia, what if they can do it together too.

• I think we will learn more about the Morgaine. More on Nick….hmm. A lot of LB fans keep calling him boring, but with his mom's disappearance, and the fact that Tracy is too good of an author to simply leave his arc hanging, I don't trust it. Maybe he will even go rogue, I'm not too sure ATP, but don't sleep on Nick!

• Lastly for my final predictions…more like a pipe dream. I really, for the life of me, need Bree to pull a Wanda from episodes 8-9 of WandaVision with Shadow Daddy.

We know Bree is smart and clever, this ain’t new! So, I need her to take what she has learned from shadow daddy, and then pull a clean uno reverse, and get out of there! EXPEDITIOUSLY!

Then from there, I need her to find Sel and Nastia (preferably in some cute cabin in the woods, and Natasia needs to be a MILF) this revelation of Bree's survival prompts Natasia to discuss the above ^^^ She and Bree get to work! Sel is now cured and they can get these oaths removed!!! Once these oaths are removed, the REGENTS ARE TOAST, TOR TOO! Then we get to work on Camlann in book 4! Cuz that’s how tf Tracy does it! Period!!

THESE ARE JUST MY PREDICTIONS, NONE OF THESE ARE CANON!! All I have to say is I'm fucking so excited about this book and even though it's still two years out I'm trusting Tracy's expertise to bring us something DE-LI-CIOUS! Also is it too much to ask that if this is adapted for television to have it animated, we know how much Tracy loves and takes influence from anime... it's only fair, and I feel can make for a more accurate and dynamic visual medium.

That's all for now. PEACE.

[flash-the-readies]

Calling my younger self out for all the embarrassing things they thought/did when I first started getting into Pink Floyd (I just think I was endearing albeit annoying)

Initially confused them with LED Zeppelin because for some reason my brain put them on a similar tier

Went to watch the Pulse tour DVD … promptly realised it was post-Waters, cried, shut it off immediately, and haven’t seen it since (I actually own a DVD and a VHS tape of the film…both of which were gifts actually)

Saw that Live at Pompeii gif of Roger blowing the smoke rings and just stared at it for a long while promptly falling in love

Didn’t know the Wall was a double album and just assumed the second disc was demos so I never listened to it and would only listen to half the album. Eventually I decided to play the second disc and realised how stupid I was (In the Flesh confused me)

Had an entire wall in my room dedicated to The Wall (I painted out the brick design and had these posters)

Didn’t really care much for the WYWH album (and now it’s my favourite Pink Floyd album..)

FUCKING GAVE AWAY THE IN THE PINK NICK SEDGWICK BOOK BECAUSE I WAS GOING THROUGH SOME SHIT AND ROGER WAS MAKING ME FEEL GUILTY AND HORRIBLE

Would listen to the Wall at least once a day for months on end especially while sitting alone at lunch

Used the fact that my mum desperately wanted me to make friends to go to a Roger Waters concert with this boy who had a crush on me and then promptly started trying to convert me to Catholicism once he found out I’m atheist, bisexual, and non-binary. Roger Played the Gunner’s Dream for the encore so no regrets there

Had a long and unhealthy obsession with The Final Cut and would play my LP of it at least once a day

Read something about Roger calling the rest of the band “the muffins” and promptly dubbed David “greasy muffin”…and got the rest of my online friends to join in

Wrote endless HCs with a friend about Watershend (Roger Waters x Pete Townshend)… I stand by this one. Sorry

Did a 10 minute presentation on the Wall for a history class when I was…14

Called in sick to school even though my teachers knew I was going to watch Roger Waters in concert

Found a copy of Rick Wright’s Wet Dream on vinyl at a market… had no cash in the moment … asked my friend if they could give me cash and then I’d pay them back later… my friend agreed thinking it was for food (I wasn’t trying to deceive them I promise I just didn’t communicate what that money was for as clearly as I thought I did… but I did pay them back plus a bit extra!) I did get my record tho

Went to Battersea Station…. DIDN’T REALISE IT WAS A FUCKING SHOPPING MALL ON THE INSIDE BECAUSE I FAILED TO DO MY RESEARCH AND DIDN’T EVEN ATTEMPT TO GO INSIDE BECAUSE I AM AWKWARD AS HELL… so instead I opted to awkwardly stand around the outside and check out the nearby shops (this is recent ;-;)

I used to draw and would just fill my notebook up with drawing of Pink Floyd (mostly just Roger…)

I am just now remembering how much of my fanart was nose-centric

You know that common trans experience of “trying desperately to live as your assigned gender one last time so you overcompensate before you come out”… well that overlapped with my “ukulele and Syd Barrett let’s dress psychedelic” phase

Have bought way too many pieces of clothing because they remind me of something Roger wore once (I think I’ll make this into it’s own post perhaps)

That’s all I can remember for now. Just feeling nostalgic. I could make a second part of all the most recent cringe shit I’ve done. I’m not laughing at myself I’m laughing with myself. Honestly my younger self was iconic, gotta love her

[xbomboi]

YOU 🤝 ME

SCREENWRITING

Could you possibly elaborate more on your EQ movies?? I'm really interested in this Cove Sunset... 👀

oh yeah actually i would love to talk more about that! so basically i wrote two movies intended to be the penultimate and the final installment in the Equestria Girls series since that’s definitely never going to get an official ending. i wanted to tie up loose ends…

i made a poster for the second one of the two that i made a few years back right here. but anyway…

the first of the two is called “Royal Nightmare.” the premise is as follows: it’s now spring of the girls’ senior year, and rarity has made the decision to run for queen of the spring fling after being robbed by sunset she tried to run for princess years ago. but when rarity gets possessed by dark magic, sunset has to confront her repressed baggage from the past if she wants to save her friend before it’s too late.

basically, this one deals a lot with sunset’s past with rarity. the film has a mix of the events taking place in the present day as well as flashbacks to the past, being the girls’ freshman year. it covers stuff like sunset arriving for the first time, her meeting flash, how she rose to power, and what she did to rarity (i changed it up just a tad because the junior novelization is a Weird book). it also has a lot of focus on rarijack as well.

the other one, intended as a finale movie, is titled “Forever Friendship.” after finally graduating from canterlot high, the girls are about to move onto the next stages in each of their lives. however, sunset still has unfinished business in regards to herself. together, the girls set out on one last adventure to uncover the truth behind sunset’s family and the sunset from their world. but could this be end?

this one is basically, like, giving sunset closure. in it i explore sunset’s origin and the truth about the Other sunset shimmer. it has an entire conflict that revolves around a discussion of the moral dilemma that comes with having magic in the human world. at heart it’s about sunset finding her purpose once and for all. i can’t say much else without spoiling it.

royal nightmare is complete in THEORY but needs a lot of, like, extra fleshing out and possibly the addition of a few more scenes. also, forever friendship is now missing a song or two because i removed one scene entirely and instead repurposed the song for royal nightmare. also ALSO, they’re a bit old now and i approached them differently than i did when writing for ever after high. i wasn’t totally thinking about completely matching the tone and more about cinematics. it’s not that i bumped the ratings up, but i let dialogue be lengthy and… idk, nuanced? i guess? more so in forever friendship than royal nightmare, at least. and there’s probably an occasional typo in them both.

i would share them, but the thing that makes me hesitant is the fact that for the songs, i made an unlisted youtube playlist of myself singing them each just for people who read them to have reference when the scenes pop up. it wasn’t so embarrassing when it was just being shared between myself and my friends, but the audio is kinda bad and there’s no music it’s just me singing. i didn’t even have the same range as i wanted for some of the songs or the characters so i sound wonky in it. and i can’t redo it now because i’m older and my voice has dropped so that’s a no-go.

idk, maybe i could give in with enough convincing.

[viola-ophelia]

in defense of thranduil

hello! so you know how i occasionally do “in defense of” meta posts about unpopular characters ( X X X ) ? well, i’ve been thinking for a while about doing one for thranduil, but i wasn’t quite sure how to go about it since tbh, i don’t think anyone could call thranduil unpopular. his ao3 tag is very well-populated, and, ahem, a good portion of it is smut lol. he even has a ton of “x reader” stuff about him on tumblr, which to me is usually the hallmark of a popular character. but i’ve felt the urge to defend him anyway, and i think it’s because... well. i do think a character can be both popular and misunderstood, and for all the thranduil enthusiasm i’ve seen, i’ve seen just as much thranduil hate and criticism, so clearly something about him has people at odds. specifically, a lot of people seem to think he’s a bad dad, and/or that the peter jackson movies totally butchered his character, which is really interesting to me because i actually believe neither. so i’m going to try to illustrate why! i’ll be primarily discussing movie-verse thranduil in this post, with a few references to the books as a secondary source. so without further ado, here is why i think thranduil is A Good Dad Actually, and the movies are not a “butchering” of but a compelling darker/grittier spin on a character who - since he exists in tolkien’s written works only in a book for children and in the margins of a sprawling and very bloody history - only really works if you reconcile those two things. 

under a cut because as always, this is LONG!

let’s first talk about what seems to be people’s main grievance with movie-verse thranduil: the fact that he’s “turned into this greedy character whose only motive is getting back those gems” when that’s not what he’s like in the book. while it’s definitely true that there are a few key differences between book thranduil and movie thranduil, i actually don’t think that the two versions are so incongruous with each other. the areas where they differ, i think, flesh out movie thranduil into a character who compels beyond his simplified, kid-friendly presentation in the hobbit book and who makes sense within the larger historical context of his world. it’s true that the elvenking in the hobbit isn’t explicitly interested in material gain. he mainly seems to get involved in the battle of the five armies to help out bard, since mirkwood is allied with laketown. and there’s also no mention in the book of the elvenking having lost his wife, even though that’s a key part of his backstory in the hobbit movies. in the movies, those gems that he’s so interested in getting back from the dwarves are actually a necklace that belonged to his wife before she died. he’s still motivated by wanting to help laketown - which is why he shows up before the battle with wagons of food and supplies for the starving people - but he’s also motivated by grief - something deeply personal that none of the other characters (except gandalf, because gandalf knows everything lol) are even aware of, and this, i feel, gives depth to his character. 

the thing is, thranduil seems greedy because none of the other characters know of, and thus inherently cannot understand, his real reason for pursuing the gems. and it’s true - at face value, it doesn’t make sense why he’d seemingly put his people at risk for a random necklace. a pretty harsh reading of thranduil’s motives could even align him with thorin’s dragon-sickness. but remember how the battle of the five armies started? thranduil and bard pulled up with their forces thinking it was gonna be all of them against twelve dwarves and a hobbit lol. they probably thought there’d be no casualties and it’d be over in twenty minutes! they had no way of knowing how many other forces were going to get involved. and when thranduil does see the first elves laying dead on the ground, he tries to draw out. he never wanted to spend his people’s lives like that. he realizes he had been blinded by his grief for his wife and had acted selfishly - and personally, i like this a lot better than the book’s sort of handwave-y explanation for why the elvenking is even bothering to involve himself and his kingdom in the (petty, by his standards) affairs of dwarves and men. because... movie thranduil is not just Like That for no reason. he has a whole history, going wayyy beyond his wife’s death even, that makes him the way he is - and that is what is so satisfying about his portrayal in the movies, because it actually attempts to acknowledge that deeper context. 

we have to remember that thranduil, at least in comparison to pretty much every other character in the hobbit, is old as hell. he reminds us of this multiple times in the movies: “a hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. i can wait.” for a character who presumably shouldn’t need to worry or think about death, he’s unusually fixated on his own immortality in the movies, a trait that is missing from the books. and while i do get why some readers are charmed by the idea of an elf who doesn’t seem to perceive himself very differently than the men and dwarves he’s surrounded by, i’m a lot more drawn in by the idea of an elf who just can’t forget about how different he is. because if you actually think about where thranduil fits into the bigger history of middle-earth, it’s sort of hard to turn the page back from this darker, more scarred side to him - because yeah, he might live forever if he avoids conflict, but he also knows death in a way that someone like bilbo baggins would not even be able to conceptualize. thranduil was born in doriath in the first age, making him old enough to likely have been involved in not one but two kinslayings against his people. we know nothing about his mother, making it likelier than not that she was lost in one of them when he was still a child. his father, oropher, the original elvenking of the greenwood, was killed in the battle of dagorlad in the second age - the “last stand” of elves against sauron. thranduil, fighting alongside him and the silvan elves, had to watch his father die and then be crowned as the new king right then and there. (also, oropher died in the very first charge of the battle, which then continued on for months. imagine how hard it’d have been to stave off that creeping hopelessness.) and finally, thranduil’s wife was killed in battle at some point not long after their son was born. thranduil’s dragon fire scar on his face is an invention of the movies, and it’s unclear when exactly it happened - at the same battle where he lost his wife? some time earlier? but anyways. i’ve been going on and on about his life for a reason, and that reason is Thranduil Has Seen A Lot Of Shit. it’s easy to look at him in the movies and critique him - why is he so cold? why is he an isolationist ruler when in the books he’s more welcoming (after initially chucking the dwarves in jail, lol)? but the hobbit isn’t really thranduil’s story, so exposing all of this context in the movies wouldn’t have made much sense, would it. and i actually like that there are some gaps, because that’s what makes him so interesting. no one knows his history, and why should they? when it comes down to it, thranduil is just a side character in someone else’s adventure. 

the last thing that i really want to address is thranduil’s relationship with legolas, his son - partly to refute the idea that he’s a bad dad, but also partly to talk about how despite all the griping that i’ve seen about how stupid it was to “randomly” insert legolas into the hobbit movies, it actually made so much sense for both of their characters. obviously, while it’s confirmed elsewhere that thranduil/the elvenking is legolas’s dad, legolas is not actually in the hobbit book. but this, i think, is more so to do with the fact that tolkien wrote the lord of the rings (and invented legolas’s character) after he wrote the hobbit, and less so to do with the idea that legolas is inherently “irrelevant” to the story of the hobbit. because if legolas is irrelevant to the hobbit, then is he irrelevant to thranduil? i really don’t think so, because even though tolkien gave us no clues as to what their relationship might’ve been like, even the fact that they’re father and son is really important. for thranduil, the fact that he has a son adds dimension not just to who he is in the movies - and yes, we see a fraught side of his dynamic with legolas as he has to reconcile with legolas growing up and wanting a freedom that thranduil with his too-deep understanding of the world’s dangers doesn’t want to give - but also to the concept of his character. thranduil has lost so many people he loved in horrible ways that now legolas is all he has left, and consequentially there’s so much talk about him as an oppressive parent, so paranoid of losing him that he keeps him imprisoned inside the always-closed kingdom gates. but at the end of the hobbit movies, thranduil also gives legolas his blessing to go on the quest to destroy the one ring. when it comes down to it, he is willing to let legolas do what's best for him, even knowing that this could be how he loses him. i know thranduil isn’t a perfect parent, that’s pretty obvious lol. but i don’t see how people watch these movies and their takeaway isn’t that he’s at least trying his best and that he does genuinely love his son. also, look at legolas! legolas is clearly proud of his identity as a wood elf. and he’s happy, he’s caring, he’s adventurous, he’s even pretty wise despite being one of the youngest elves. i don’t exactly see a traumatized victim of horrible parenting in him (and believe me, there is no shortage of victims of terrible parenting in the silmarillion/elsewhere in tolkien’s works) - i see a strong and well-adjusted young adult who wouldn’t hesitate to threaten anyone who spoke ill of his father’s kingdom with his bow lol. 

anyway, if you’ve made it this far through my rambling, i hope you can understand at least part of what i’m trying to say lol. it’s hard, because i have so many things i’m kind of trying to say all at once, but: tl;dr i actually think the hobbit movies did thranduil’s character right, not wrong, and that they do the opposite of proving that he’s a bad dad. :3

[lunanoc]

this is probably definitely an unpopular and potentially controversial opinion, but i saw a take recently on npss and the female characters of dmbj that to be fair pops up often that i feel it’s a pretty prevalent one, so i just. decided to give my two cents on it that once again no one asked for

more under the cut because this got a little long

just to be clear, this a topic that has quite a bit of nuance and multiple layers to it, and perception entirely depends on both personal interpretation and your medium of choice. i’m also not saying that npss is some pioneer in terms of writing female characters because he’s not. but i also feel that saying he’s a blatant misogynist and that he can’t write female characters properly at all is a gross exaggeration and doing the ladies of dmbj a disservice

i’m also going to be talking about the books specifically here, since the books and the dramas/movies treat female characters differently not only because of plotline reasons, but because of the differences in the nature of their narratives. the dramas have quite a bit more of the accusations people tend to like throwing at dmbj like reducing female characters to flat, one-dimensional archetypes or fridging the dramas do have su nan though, but contrary to what a large part of the fandom seems to push forward, the dramas don’t and can’t represent dmbj in its entirety, and if you’re going to try and do that, you can’t leave out the books and vice-versa, but seeing how different both versions of the story can get at times i just tend to separate them entirely

as it stands, the only female characters who die in the books zhang haixing not counting because we technically don’t know what happens to her are a ning and yuncai, and i guess you can add huo xiangu to that, but she's part of the lao jiumen and chen pi ah si dies similarly so not sure that counts here really. and while you can argue for a ning at least that her death for narrative purposes was fridging, npss also used panzi’s death later on for similar narrative purposes, so at least in that respect he doesn’t discriminate

don’t get me wrong, the books aren’t perfect either, and you do get misogynistic comments from the male characters from time to time that make me squint, which is why i’m not trying to pretend dmbj is peak feminism, but they’re also not egregious or frequent enough comments, and in my opinion the main difference with the dramas is that the male gaze in the books is at least somewhat more justified, because where the dramas are necessarily presented from a third person pov, the books are wu xie’s first person pov for the most part. dmbj is essentially written as and treated as wu xie’s memoirs, and so everything and everyone is seen and filtered through the lense of his perception. and wu xie is a man, so that comes with its own set of ramifications. and even then ironically, wu xie is far from the only or the worst culprit when it comes to casual misogyny. pangzi has his fair share of takes, as do a number of other characters

but for all that the female characters are sometimes placed into archetype boxes by virtue of not only the narrative being from wu xie’s pov, but also the fact that the tomb robbing business is shown to be a male dominated one, and also just because npss himself is a man, that doesn’t mean those female characters aren’t complex and fleshed out characters in their own right to the same extent as their male counterparts of similar narrative relevance

i’m thinking of huo xiuxiu for example, who’s arguably the most prominent and recurring female character in dmbj, who from the get-go is very quickly made out to be not a pretty girl (or rather not just a pretty girl) but quick-witted the likes of which wu xie resonates with as a kindred spirit and draws a number of parallels with himself because he finds they share similar ways of thinking and problem solving. she’s capable, skilled, and sees herself as an equal to the iron triangle and the men around her, and yet none of this detracts from either her femininity or her vulnerability as the youngest lao jiumen member, and later as the one left behind to pick up the broken pieces of her own family. she’s a leader in her own right, and she gains support from xiao hua and wu xie in the years leading up to sand sea just as much as she lends them her support in later canon. all of this without ever being presented as a potential love interest and reduced to only that wu xie’s lack of interest in women in a practical sense as romantic/sexual partners is a topic for another post but it’s also a thing that contributes to not relegating most of the female characters to just that too

i’m not about to say npss is being particularly progressive, but it’s also interesting and nice to note that even in recent canon, just like the iron triangle and xiao hua, huo xiuxiu is well into her 30s and unmarried without it ever either being mentioned really or being an issue, which considering the cultural significance of marriage in china, even more so seeing as xiuxiu is the heiress and head to a powerful family, it’s worth noting she’s not treated any differently from the male characters who make the same equally culturally problematic choices. she’s too busy going with the iron triangle, xiao hua, and hei xiazi down into dangerous tombs (which is why she’s often featured in official merch as a main cast member alongside the iron triangle and heihua)

i’m not going to get into the nitty-gritty about every single female character otherwise this would get way too long but i could, but even someone like liang wan, who is absolutely portrayed as vain and sometimes unrealistically obsessed with her appearance and chasing after men, i personally find still has more depth given to her in the book in some respects, because as zhang rishan isn’t in sand sea the book, she has no romance plotline, and so not only does she get pov chapters, she gets pov chapters that flesh out her involvement with wu xie’s plan and the wangs by extension, and her goals, though never followed through on because npss didn’t tie up that loose end, i find are far more driven by something deeply personal. zhang haixing in tibetan sea flower is arrogant and condescending, manipulative as much as she is competent, and while pangzi especially responds to her behavior with borderline misogynistic provocations, it’s very clear that her character isn’t so much the fruit of putting her in the femme fatale archetype box as it is a consequence of her being a zhang. because both zhang haike and zhang hailou (aka ‘little brother zhang’) who are both men, are very much also like this. special mention also to the girls from the side novel a thousand faces because yes npss wrote a book that’s entirely about two women who may or may not be girlfriends

i could also talk about chen wenjin whose entire story runs very much parallel to wu sanxing’s and they both end up with similar endgame situations and are both tragic characters but this post is already long enough. there are more minor female characters who get their share of both “screentime” and development on par with their male counterparts, and for the sake of argument, some of these female characters have as much presence and/or depth given to them as a character like liu sang, who while being a fandom darling, is also very much a minor character. so what i’m saying is that while yes most of the characters in dmbj are men, and the main cast even more so (excluding xiuxiu), at equal level of importance, there’s about as much depth to a character like liu sang as there is to a character like liang wan, or a ning, and so at some point it begs the question of how much of the fandom’s perception of depth in minor female characters is colored by personal preferences rather than objective fact. are there female characters who are basically reduced to being a romantic interest and serve no real purpose other than to be the source of a man’s pain? yes looking at yuncai whose death is both sudden (while it does have some minor foreshadowing) and happens so far towards the end of the book that it almost seems pointless, and in the end only serves as the catalyst for pangzi’s own suffering and justifies his almost ten-year on-and-off retreat to banai

because again, npss isn’t out here making dmbj a feminist manifesto, and there’s room for criticism and pointing out a number of things if you wanted to. but he also doesn’t write bad female characters. they’re as much people as the men are for better or worse, and saying npss can’t write women properly is doing them a disservice. not to mention the fact the dmbj never leans into romance and that actually almost every single ‘canon’ romance is doomed in some capacity means women are rarely relegated to solely being potential love interests, which in a narrative dominated by the male gaze is actually nice?

[azure-firecracker]

ATLA Live Action Stream of Consciousness (Episode 7, Part 1).

Did Ozai try to try Zuko in the original? Did I just forget that? EDITING PHOEBE: It was Zhao but yes that did happen I just have a shit memory.

Does Zhao have enough pull for that?

They definitely didn’t know that he was the Blue Spirit (in the OG)

Nice moment between Zuko and the lieutenant though.

Yeah this is new but I like it. Makes Zhao scarier (editing me: No it’s not)

Aang: Zuko seemed so… Me: Sad.

Okay Northern water tribe is like the only thing that looked significantly better animated. The CGI detail usually looks good but here it drains some of the color (especially the purple)

Arnook…lowkey can’t act.

Why did they do that to Yue’s hair lmao? I have a specific reference I’m thinking of that I’ll link here. (There’s multiple photos in this article. It’s the one with the big hair).

Zhao is a better liar than I remember. But like if he’s this competent now will that diminish Azula’s effect if they get a book 2? Part of why she worked so well was that Zhao was not the best villain.

On the “below average” stuff with Azula: I think it works for this iteration of the character but it’s not in keeping with the original. I wish they’d kept it closer to the original since it’s important to show different kinds of abuse, and I think OG Ozai would only say those things to Azula behind closed doors, but I think it works in isolation.

LIZZY YU IS ACTING HER ASS OFF.

“That I’m the one” who what? Interesting writing choice there. They feel the need to overexplain everything else but they can’t finish this line.

Sokka’s humor is coming through.

Aaw this is a cute Aang and Katara moment.

I liked Pakku as a straight up sexist asshole in the original but I’m not sure that that would have translated so well so I’m glad they gave him some half decent moments.

IS YUE DOING MAGIC?

Aaw Yue’s getting some more cute moments that’s sweet. I love original Yue but I like her candid, grounded moments here. She feels more fleshed out. She and Sokka are cute too.

I like Sokka’s arc but give Katara some of that characterization.

Wait was Yue the fox spirit? Why did they make that choice? How does it serve the narrative?

Hahn doesn’t suck now! Not sure how I feel about that since Yue’s tragedy was not about who she was marrying in the first place, rather about the fact that she had to get married.

“My friends helped me” Aang tbf it was mostly you.

I like that we’re getting some more exploration into healing.

Are they finally gonna let Katara be angry? PLEASE do!

My dad asked why Sokka is wearing so much lipstick.

OH Yue broke off her engagement that’s NEW. Where are they gonna go with this?

Kuruk development that’s cool!

Gordon who tf wrote your dialogue in this scene (and how many times have I written that question in some form or another?)

Why are we into LOK spirit world stuff? This remake can’t handle the material it has.

Can we have one character without an angsty backstory please?

They need to stop harping in this “the hero needs to do everything alone” idea it’s overdone.

They should have given Yue white eyebrows.

This is new and I don’t mind it (with Yue)-confirms my theory that she was supposed to be the avatar.

See Sokka does have a good heart but you can’t make that the center of his character it’s also the center of everyone else’s character. Why does the whole main trio seem the same?

I hate this Aang/Kuruk scene it’s so generic.

More on the way (Y’all KNOW I have thoughts on part 2).

[inkyquince]

DAY 03: Apocalypse Maiden (Jordan/ Rosemary's Baby)

The start of the End

content warning. I'm going to be real, this turned into River x PC x Jordan x Ivory Wraith lmao, pregnancy kink kinda, implied afab reader, noncon/dubcon, ritual sex, drugging, angsty? Monster sex, gaslighting, poor reader. mention of child death and murder.

You were excited for tonight. River had been oh so busy for the last couple of weeks, but now it was finally going to happen. 

You knew how he felt, marrying someone so much younger than he was, even going to his Temple leader to ask and pray on it, but you two together just felt right. It seems his temple agreed, having pointed you two to a bigger apartment in the town. River found this the highest honour, telling you over dinner with Winter that Jordan himself lived there. Winter had caught your eye and flicked an eyebrow up, making you hide a smile. You two were all too aware of River’s constant awe of his temple leader, making sure to hide his sincere devotion behind acts of service and his gruff attitude. You were going to miss Winter, an unexpected friend you made since the two men lived somewhat close together and got along best out of all of their colleagues. As you waited for River to finally return home for your evening in, you cast your mind back towards your chats with the elder gentleman, being a constant source for stories and intrigue. 

Sadly, your last evening with Winter as your neighbour had turned slightly sour as the older man began to share tales of the building’s history with you.

“It’s unfortunate.” River muttered curtly, uncomfortable with any negative comments said about his leader’s house. “But a long time ago.” 

“Not that long, y’know.” Winter neatly sliced up his meat, enjoying the fact his friend’s younger spouse was hanging onto his stories, your plate utterly forgotten. “Young ladies were found piled up in the basement with the most bizarre marks drawn and scratched on their bare flesh. Even a child was found wrapped up in newspaper in the elevator, smothered to death.” 

“Winter-” River’s hand found your thigh, giving it a squeeze. 

“In the end several priests from the temple were arrested but unable to be charged with anything.” 

“I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.” You curled your fingers into River’s tight grip, feeling him loosen up slightly. 

“Not what the public thought, dear.” Winter’s eyes twinkled at you, despite his lips being set in a straight line, ambivalent. “One priest returned to the building and was promptly beaten to death by the mob-” 

“Winter,” River finally slammed his cutlery down. “You’re going to spook them, and Jordan has been beyond kind to us.” 

Winter hadn’t apologised, just leaned back in his chair with his wine, a small smile on his face. Maybe River was right. You had been slow to warm to Jordan despite his calm demeanour, his charitable nature. Your husband tried so hard to have you warm to him, even spending that night after the dinner murmuring that Jordan was very fond of you, and he wouldn’t have extended the offer of the apartment if he didn’t. River wasn’t wrong, knowing from the gossip around the temple after mass that Jordan was less warm to non-believers married into a practitioner’s family, but you were one he seemed always happy to greet, holding your hands gently in his whenever he saw you and greeted you with kisses to your cheeks. 

The door unlocking made you jump, too lost in your thoughts to hear River’s key in the door. 

You hopped up and ran from your shared bedroom, down the hall and directly into his arms, delighting in his soft “oof” from the impact, and wrapping yourself in his comforting smell, of old books and aftershave. River just took a moment before smiling and dropping a kiss to your head, exhaling gently against you. 

“Baby making night.” You smiled against his jumper and River coughed in surprise before breaking off into a chuckle. 

“Not even a hello first?” 

“Hi, love. We’re making a baby tonight.” You rested your chin on his chest as shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips. 

You clung to your husband as he shut the door behind him firmly, letting the hallway slip into darkness, the candles you lit in the living room softly lighting the doorway, as if calling you two to your destination. 

As River showered, you set the table, humming to yourself. He emerged, brown hair, flecked with grey at the temples still damp and just took you aside to press a kiss to your lips, sighing softly. However, despite the shower and the soft touches, he still seemed a bit tense, probably from the work day. 

The dinner was wonderful, if you said so yourself, his foot gently resting between yours as he told you about his day, and you shifted excitedly in your seat. Just as you shared one last glass of wine, the doorbell went. 

River, startled, shot a slightly worried look at you before heading to the door. You kept an ear out for your interested neighbour, maybe wanting to spend the evening with you two again. Holding your breath as to hear better, you heard Jordan’s soft words and your husband’s happy responses. 

“Tell him to leave.” You whispered, holding the stem of your wine glass too tight. “Not tonight. Just not tonight.” 

River reappeared a few moments later, Jordan-less but bearing two cups of some sort of dessert. 

“And you thought we would be without anything sweet.” River’s eyes crinkled as he set one down in front of you, smiling slightly too tensely. 

“He didn’t want to come in, did he?” You asked, taking in the sweet treat in front of you. 

“No, he just wanted to pass on something he’s been working on for a fancy dinner he’s going to have.” River didn’t meet your eyes, already spooning some of the creme into his mouth, pleasantly surprised by the taste. 

You dug in as well, the sweet mousse practically melting on your tongue. It was absolutely lovely except… 

“There’s an aftertaste.” You mused, patting the spoon against your bottom lip. 

“Hm?” 

“Chalky. It’s strange.” 

River sighed, shutting his eyes momentarily before looking at you, disappointment etched into your face. 

“He made it specially, love. I know you… Don’t…” He trailed off with a small frown and you winced, knowing his despair that you couldn’t warm up to the man he respected. 

You sighed through your nose, but took more bites, not blind to River’s relief. Even as he stood up to get more wine, you struggled to finish the dessert, and instead quickly scraped the rest out into your napkin. Your husband kissed your neck sweetly as he came back to the table, sighing in happiness. 

You wish you could match his demeanour. Even as you washed up the dishes with River drying the plates, you began to feel dizzy. You didn’t know you were swaying on your feet until he cupped your elbow, murmuring that you shouldn’t have drunk wine on an empty stomach before the meal. 

You had to put all of your weight on him just to keep upright. You couldn’t even hear him, his gentle voice fading in and out by the time you two got to the bed. You could only hear your mournful voice, asking for him to give you a baby. His fingers shook as they unbuttoned your clothes. Hot tears dripped onto your collarbone and you didn’t know if it was you, mourning the lost evening to be intimate, or him… Murmuring for you not to worry, you’ll have a baby. One last whiskered kiss to your throat and you faded out completely. 

You dreamed you were back in school. Leighton was frowning at a broken window and was glaring at you and Darryl. 

“They’re perfect for this.” His mouth moved out of sync with his words, green eyes burning into you. “Don’t worry, my friend.” 

Suddenly you weren’t in the maths classroom anymore, and in Leighton’s office. Darryl was kneeling in front of you, tugging off the rest of your clothes, Leighton smoking in the dark room. 

“I’m sorry, Mister Leighton.” You mumbled, teary eyed as your body felt heavier and heavier, sinking to the floor, Darryl sinking down with you. “I didn’t mean to get everyone in trouble.” 

The headmaster’s office faded out and the hallway of your apartment faded in, your naked body being carried down by multiple hands. You could taste chalk on your tongue. 

You blinked slowly and the hallway was gone. Now you were in your bed at the orphanage, Bailey standing over you with blood on his knuckles and a broken nose. 

“What happened to the caretaker, Bailey?” You asked, feverish from a rat bite you got in the attic of the orphanage. 

“Down below.” His lips didn’t move, but his words echoed around your room. “That’s where we worship.” 

“Is he going to be okay?” 

Bailey blinked slowly at you, inching closer despite the way your body shivered with the dropping temperature. Blood dripped from his face and hands now, spattering onto your bare body, running in strange lines across your naked flesh. 

“He wasn’t that bad, Bailey.” You murmured and Bailey’s lips parted in a wide, unnatural smile. 

“He chose you, sweetheart. Be grateful.” 

Your old room fizzled out of existence, and you were in a strange, echoing chamber, surrounded by a crowd of people, faceless in the dark, with only a few candles flickering in the corners of the room. 

“Their eyes are open.” A familiar voice whispered, panicked. 

“If they ate their fill, they won’t remember anything.” Jordan’s voice cut through all the strange whispers. You blinked and turned your head, focusing on his beautiful blond hair, his naked pale body, strangely illuminated to you. Ghostly. 

“Jordan-” 

“Hush now, my friend.” Jordan’s voice was strangely strained, eyes fixed on your face. 

The room faded out and you were in the temple. You never spent much time here, too dusty for you, judged by eyes you couldn’t see. You blinked around before lowering your head in prayer, unsure what to even think about as the walls began to close in on you. 

Just as you began to feel the holy chant touch your tongue, a hand began to run over the back of your thighs, hungry. Claws pressed against your naked skin, roughly leaving red, swollen lines in its wake. You shook, unable to speak as a tongue curled around your ankle and began to lick up your sweating skin, inhuman and cold. 

Your knees shook and suddenly you were falling backwards, falling what seemed to be an eternity, dragged down down, through the dark murky waters of the lake you spent your summers at. Your sore back, fresh with more claw marks, hit rock, pain shooting up your spine as the jagged surface melted into cool, soft sheets. Claws dug into your knees, pushing them up to your chest as the tongue laved over your thighs, teeth clamping down on your soft skin, shaking their head as they sucked marks into your flesh. 

The dark blue water of the lake shimmered in and out, replacing the white of the echoing chamber to and fro. You struggled to breath, the feeling of water pressing down on you too much. 

You knew how to swim. 

You weakly lunged your hand up and the lake gasped, shaking and pushing away from you. You began to pull yourself up through the water as whatever that monster was began to scratch at you harder. 

“It’s hurting them-” The familiar voice shook, almost muted in the suffocating water. 

Jordan tsk-ed. 

You thought you could see him slowly descend on you, reaching out to pull you up, naked and shining in the dark water. His fingers intertwined with yours. You smiled at him. He smiled back. His smile shone bright as he pulled you back down into the water, his grip on your cold hands unbearably strong. Your wrists slammed against the cool sheets and you began to sob, too distressed to realise you could breathe under the water. 

“Now, now, my dearest.” Jordan murmured, his naked chest at your back, his lips pressed against your ear. “Endure for me.” 

In front of you, Jordan was hunched over your body, blond hair dripping wet and covering his face, sticking to his body as his inhuman tongue finally took notice of your hole, already puffy and sore from being prepared, but not by this monster. 

“Don’t, please, Jordan. That’s for my husband.” You sobbed, your hiccups bubbling up in the water. 

The naked chest at your back stilled before rumbling in a surprised chuckle. 

“I’m not doing anything, sweet thing.” Jordan whispered. 

You felt the Jordan at your back hold you tighter, something stiff and hard digging against your skin, as the Jordan in front of you groaned, tongue pressing in, deeper and deeper inside of you. The longer you stared, the more you realised, the voice behind you was right. That wasn’t Jordan.  

His blond hair withered into silver, his fair skin draining into a sickly white, fingers thinning into strange skeletal claws. Finally, the wet hair sticking to its angular face shifted and its blood red eyes were finally revealed, staring at your face as its fanged maw mouthed at your sensitive hole, its swollen blue tongue pushing deeper and deeper inside of you, growing in length.  

“No.” You whispered, horrified. “No… No… NO!” 

You tried to kick your legs, Jordan freezing up and hissing for you to stop, but the strange ivory being just stared at you, its claws wrenching from your thighs to your shins, holding them down itself. 

“God, no!” You continued to scream, the water snaking into your mouth to silence you, numbing your tongue with its frigidness. “This is no dream! Please, god no!” 

The tongue flicked inside you, touching you in a place never before reached, the numbness spreading as it decided where exactly to plant its seed. 

Its claws let go of your legs and grasped your hips instead, a strange rattle of pleasure sounding from his emaciated ribcage. With unforeseen strength, it hauled you onto your side, hissing as it struggled to pull your weakened body into position, Jordan freezing up for the first time, unsure how to help his God. 

Finally, the holy man gripped your upper arms and hauled you onto him, so you two were chest to chest. The wraith chittered and hauled your hips up, your knees shaking as they tried to hold your weight. 

“Jordan-” 

“Hush.” The priest hissed, voice strangely harsh, panicked and heated as his cock jutted against your pubic bone, dribbling pre-cum. 

The wraith’s own cock laved over your scratched thighs, more of a tentacle than anything remotely human. It clumsily dragged over your hole, struggling to wriggle its way in as its owner panted over you, drool hitting your back. Finally, with one last chitter, it roughly thrust its hips forward, the thick tentacle plunging into you and already curling against your stretched walls. 

“No.” You whimpered and Jordan placed a shaking hand on the back of your head, hushing you gently. 

“You’re chosen.” He whispered even as you tried to shut your eyes tight, wishing to return to the hazy dreams of the orphanage and the school, all of the moments that refused to leave your memory. 

The shadows around where you lay, what your brain had mistaken as shadows in the water began to chant softly, words alien to you as the wraith crawled over you, its entire weight at your back and its cock writhing unnaturally, expanding inside of you to a monstrous size. You could feel the tip against your lower stomach, pressing against the skin. Seems like Jordan could feel it too, a vibrant red blush painted his entire face as the wraith’s cock pressed against his, the bulge in your lower stomach throbbing from its sheer size. 

Your hysterical sobs were punctured by the odd whine or moan, feeling as if your hole was ruined beyond words. Evidently, it all became too much for Jordan, who stiffened up underneath you, his cock being pressed against by your warm naked flesh, but also the tip of the wraith’s cock dragging over it. With a shaky whisper, cum began to pool against the plane of his stomach, dripping down his sides. His cum felt like it was scorching against your frozen body, even your fingers pruning up as if you were truly under the dark waters of the lake. It began to feel tacky as the wraith thrusted into you, your entire body shaking and moving against Jordan’s, your stomach’s stained with cum as they rubbed against each other. 

It became too much, the hot of his cum and cock against your skin, the numbness spreading all over your body from the wraith’s touch. 

You passed out, growing limp, the wraith giving a shrill chitter as Jordan swore softly. A familiar hand, not belonging to either, touched your cheek, and with a whisper of “Love?”, you finally faded back into sleep. 

As you fall into sleep, Winter appears next to you, holding his books and looking worried. 

“I heard a rat bit you in the attic.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come and see you. I feel funny.” You whispered, tears running down your face. 

“Rest now, but you should see to it. It’s a blood moon, and you don’t want to be in bed, sick, for it.” 

Winter shimmered and disappeared and you descended into a suffocating sleep, nothing but black and a throbbing in your abdomen. 

River wasn’t in bed with you when you awoke, sore and stiff. Your bed creaked as you sat up, moving slowly and he must have heard, rushing in with a panic in his eyes before trying to hide it with a smile. As he tried to explain away the scratches and the cum seeping from your hole, you could only stare at him. River wasn’t a man that did that. 

You could still taste chalk. 

Yes, you were pregnant. 

Yes, you were happy at the news, holding River’s sweating hand as you were told. 

Yes, nothing brought you happiness like the thought of this child growing in you. 

But River never slept next to you anymore. Made the excuses that he was working late and ushered you to bed before he returned to his desk. You swore you could hear him sob in the next room as you lay, soft pillow against your cheek and his shirt tucked against your face so you could enjoy his scent as you drifted off again. 

Jordan never frightened you when you came home, pale and sweating from the strange pain in your abdomen. He took one look at you and expressed worry, worry that didn’t reach his twinkling eyes. 

Maybe you were the reason River couldn’t bring himself to come to bed anymore. Your face had sunken in and you were strangely frail as you stared at your naked form in the mirror. There was a lump growing in your belly, but nothing else. Pregnancy brought colour to cheeks and softness to their hips, but you were the opposite. Hell, Winter, who despite his position as a teacher did not really have a nurturing bone in his body, stared in shock at your state, wrinkled hand pressed against your sweating face. 

Harper only laughed and patted your hand. 

“Very common. The pain is your abdomen bones expanding and you shall lose weight before you add it on later on.” 

The pain stopped but only after a screaming match with River, demanding to change doctors, to move away, to run away, just the two of you, and not have Jordan and his followers descend upon your flat nearly everyday, to not have Harper smirk at you so cruelly. 

As you began to sink to the floor, sobbing, the pain finally stopped. You pressed River’s hand to your stomach as you finally felt a kick and your husband laughed shakily and ripped his hand away as if burnt. 

Jordan went with you instead of River to the check ups. River said Leighton piled more work on him and needed to be at the school more. Jordan ignored your insistence that you could go yourself, and held your hand as Harper chatted away. The priest didn’t even object when the doctor asked him if there were any hereditary illnesses on his side of the family that could affect the baby. 

A healthy glow returned to your face. You dropped by the school to ask Leighton yourself if River could have some time off for the month of your baby’s estimated birth. The headmaster’s eyes were trained on your chest and stomach, hunger glittering as he knitted his fingers together, smug. Told you that River only works half the week now, as to be with you.

You left, tears welling up and Jordan bumped into you on the street. Took you to get a dessert. The priest smiled as you blubbered and cried about River. 

The week of the birth was… Off. River was hardly in the house, but Jordan was. Winter had been taken ill into hospital shortly after a visit where he quietly asked if you remembered the stories he told you about the apartment and River burst in, wild haired and shaken. Asked his colleague if he could escort him to the museum opening. 

You were never so alone despite always being accompanied. 

The birth was terrible. Harper never made house calls but he was there in seconds after you hunched over in pain, after angrily demanding Jordan to tell you what was going on and the priest tried to shush you. 

Suddenly everyone was there. Jordan, Harper, River, the neighbours, the temple members. All watching and reaching out to touch you as Harper plunged a sedative into your arm, swearing softly. 

You woke up, pain free. You and River had decided that the nursery would be just across from your shared room, so you would always be able to see the cradle. Except there was no cradle. No toys in their boxes, ready to be taken out for the birth. No baby changing station, no mobile, no soft yellow curtains. 

It died. Harper’s tone was flat. You could have more kids, but this birth was complicated. You screamed at him, until your throat was sore and River climbed onto the bed for the first time in months, just to hold you and push his face into your neck. 

You didn’t want to be awake. You slept mostly. Except, you awoke sharply when you heard a baby’s cry echo throughout the hallway outside. 

“New family in the building.” River murmured as he began to clear up the breakfast tray he made for you, Jordan leaning against the doorway, eyes trained on you. 

“Do they have a baby?” 

River froze up slightly before smiling slightly. 

“I heard it.” You murmured quietly and sat back in your bed. 

You don’t know why you awoke suddenly during the day a week later. You spent most of the daytime sleeping, only awakened by River to eat and take some medication. You called out for your husband to no answer. So you stood, as if called. You slowly shuffled to the closet that River used to stock your shared winter clothes in the summer and pushed apart the thick coats. Standing still, you could hear faint laughter and clinking glasses… And a baby’s mournful cry. Those bastards, those lying bastards. 

You roughly shoved at the wall and it swung open… Into Jordan’s hallway. 

Nausea built as you shuffled in, refusing to think about anything but your baby. 

You were in such a trance, you didn’t realise you had walked into a party, the raised, happy voices trailing into a stunned, then joyful hum as your eyes found the cradle you were missing. A follower stared at you before backing away from the crib as you got closer, unaware you had taken a knife from your kitchen, ready to fight to get your child back. 

You smiled as you finally stood by the cradle and leaned in… 

You dropped the knife in horror, the blade lodging into the wooden floorboards. Suddenly a boy you faintly recognised, Sydney, was by your side, tugging the knife out of the boards with a huff, rubbing at the mark with his finger before scuttling off, as Jordan replaced him. 

“What did you do to it… “You whispered, eyes trained on what… What you knew in your gut was your child… But it couldn't be. “You monsters… What did you do to him?!” 

Jordan just smiled. 

“Aren’t you pleased? He has his father’s eyes too. He is a gorgeous boy..” He leaned in to trail a finger against your cheek, voice soft. 

“River’s eyes are blue.” You sobbed, hiding your face behind your eyes and shaking. “River’s eyes are BLUE!” 

“The Wraith is his father, not River!” A follower shouted in glee, blind to the horror making you sink to your knees. 

River appeared at your elbow and pulled you to your feet, dragging you away from the crib to seat you into a comfy chair. He couldn’t meet your eyes, just stare at his feet. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, hoarse, before disappearing into the crowd again. 

“Oh god… Oh god.” You whispered over and over again, even as Sydney trotted by and pushed a cup of tea into your hands. 

“Stop with the “oh god”’s already.” A different follower snapped at you, growing irritated with your wails. 

Strangely, Harper sharply elbowed him. 

“Show respect.” He hissed. 

You tuned out the happy chatter of the Wraith Worshippers, weakly sniffling, yet your eyes never left the crib. In fact, your heart squeezed as its cries started up again, the first follower to spot you enter the party, was back at the cradle’s side, rocking it with a strange frenzy, and your child fussed in discontentment. Slowly setting the tea cup down, you stood, slowly taking one step after another, being called by your only child.

The follower, perched by the cradle, glared as you slowly crept closer, eyes fixed on the dark cradle rocking, still too fast.

“Get away!” She suddenly snapped, when you were just a few steps away from the mewling beast. “You’re too close!” 

“You’re rocking him too hard.” You whispered, as if in a trance.   

“What?” Her hand pushing the cradle didn’t slow, in fact it sped up if anything else. “Look, you’re too close!” 

Others began to take notice of the fuss, River still not moving closer, biting his nails. Another camera flashed but the happy chatter eased into a soft hum as Jordan finally rose from where he was seated and stepped closer, cool hands gliding against your forearm. 

“Jordan, tell them! They’re too close!” The follower snapped. 

“Come now.” Jordan murmured, stroking along your shaking arm. “They know best. After all, they birthed him.” 

The follower’s face contorted in spite and they let go of the cradle, storming into the corner. Jordan murmured gently to you, but you were deaf to his coos, already closing the distance between you and your child. You could still feel the pain in your abdomen, ebb and flow, only to dissipate from your body, disappearing like the rest of the world when you finally rested your hand on the cradle’s edge. Rocking gently, his cries trailed off, his eyes fixed upon you with more intelligence than a child should have. You sat by, resting your chin on your arm, perched on the edge, with your other hand slowly trailing over his cheek. 

You didn’t see River duck his head and leave the room, nor the photographer snap another picture. You couldn’t even pay attention as Jordan stood beside you, as if a proud father as your child quietened down and you remained at his side, humming softly, as its blood red eyes slowly shut, drifting into sleep. 

EVENT MAIN POST

[arengnera]

The Flesh Dress

All of the fabric for this was reclaimed from curtains, scraps, tights, discarded tule from a local highschool prom that I snatched up like a horrible little vulture. The boning in the bodice was done with huge zip-ties but I’m not convinced getting real sewable boning wouldn’t have been worth it. The channels on the reinforcement were a bit of a bitch. The swords I also forged myself, but this ain’t about them. A lot of (mostly fake) blood, sweat and tears went into this one and I’m super pleased with the results. Huge shout out to @spoonbendersanonymous​ who was kind enough to lend me the fake blood, their anatomical text book, and had me sit down to watch Bride of Reanimator for inspiration.

Process photos and bonus photoshoot pictures below the cut!

Original sketches! A lot of me trying to figure out how to make boning look like bones while maintaining a classic shape. I said edwardian on the sketch but it honestly might be Victorian I'm really not sure. This was a combined art project for one of my classes, the idea was using old fashioned mourning traditions and clothes in a modern and campy way, to complain about how much capitalism erodes our time to mourn. At least that’s what I told the professor, It’s really about making a weird and off putting dress first and foremost.

Tape pattern and paper pattern! This was my first time doing this so don't take thus as any sort of guide.

It worked though, as shown by the world’s worst corset fitting - the pink thing on my arm was where I was planning on putting the upper sleeve, I was trying to see if my poof was good since my sleeves were a lot thinner and a lot longer than what would have been optimal for the amount of poof I wanted, I had to do some work around with the fabric I had

Now I’m just bragging about getting eyelets to look clean and good for once in my life. If I was going to do anything different about this though, I would ad more eases in the back, because I need to contort horribly to get out of the bodice, I fit it too well

This bad boy was really the crux of the whole project. The entire thing was a pun so I could applique an anatomically accurate heart on a sheer sleeve.

This was was it’s intermediary stage, where I was suddenly very much out of time for the first deadline and had to put off adding all of the gore I wanted to, so the simple applique heart had to do. The skirt itself was way less poofy than I would have liked, and didn’t quite give the silhouette I wanted. I ended up going with the train because the under skirt isn’t actually connected in the back. Thus is the nature of working with weird panels of curtains you’ve already cut into for a few other projects. God bless the thrift store curtain section.

The guts were made by sewing together sheer tights, and filling them with polyfill. Here they are, before they were stippled with liquid flesh colored latex and soaked in fabric paint - and after where you can see all that extra TEXTURE

I was able to use it for another project though, and I was very happy with the beading work here, although I did end up losing my biggest strand at some point.

Here’s my makeup test! I played around with doing some blood red lips but decided the blueish corpse look was better. Fun fact! I drove home wearing a sweatshirt that says “I heart corpse desecration” on it through the snow storm, and pulled over to offer some guy a hand with his car, forgetting I still looked like this. He turned me down.

The face of someone who can definitely be trusted for road side assistance. - Also I was posing as the two of swords tarot illustration for the final gallery exhibit.