#certainly worthy of its own post

[jichanxo]

how different is your creative process between writing and drawing (and in which areas)? do you have a different approach in each artform? if you have an idea, you first think how you'd write it or draw it?

This is definitely going to be long so. Cut.

Just to preface, obviously both writing and drawing are a form of art, but I tend to use the word “art” when I mean illustration or drawing, so that’s what I’m going to do here. And of course a disclaimer that I’m only speaking to my subjective experience.

Tbh I don’t think my approach to both is that different from each other, which is odd, because I’m used to thinking of them as very different processes. Probably because the mediums themselves are so different. But like with my writing, I tend to improvise. Feel it out, see how things go, throw ideas at the wall. I would probably say that I’m more willing to experiment with/scrap my art than my writing. Probably because I’m more confident with my art than my writing, so I find it easier to make judgments like that, or because I’ve made so much that throwing stuff away when it isn’t working is very easy. I get a bit more precious about my writing. I always want to keep it or at least try to adapt it into something less bad, lmao. I’m also just not as confident in my ability to judge what writing is worth keeping or worth permanently deleting. I just haven’t polished that skill for writing as much as I have for art.

With regards to planning my art – I definitely do sometimes, because I consider art my Serious Hobby, which means I do like to have a go at more serious projects as opposed to just improvising all the time (a contrast to my writing where my only “serious project” is senseific, and I fell into that by accident). The things I plan out are the idea/s I want to convey, and what imagery would express that. (like this IW art, and the second one in this umineko post) Or sometimes the imagery gets stuck in my head and I work from that. (yagami’s hair clinging to his neck here)

I actually find that planning too much can be detrimental to my art process. That is to say, not in terms of figuring out ideas/themes, but doing too much drafting. I find it very difficult to do things like clean lineart unless I’m having a Weirdly Good Art Moment, so I just don’t. Hence a lot of my art is very sketchy. I’m just not good at capturing the same looseness with “proper” lineart than with my sketches, so I keep them. Not worth fussing over. This is what works for me.

(even in this, and the first image here, you can see a lot of breaks and incomplete looking lines. not to say necessarily that this is a bad thing of course, but you can see that even in what I consider my “polished” work, I won’t use “proper” linework, but instead a high quality/detailed sketch. I imagine some other artists would have their proper linework stage after these sketches, but i choose to stop here)

this probably reads like I’m talking myself down, but that’s not really what I’m meaning to say – my point is that I don’t figure out details even for my bigger pieces, and that with drawn art I have a better time judging where my time is best spent. I don’t think I have a strong understanding of my writing by comparison, so I can’t decide how to play to my strengths or anything like that, I just have to see how i go.

For writing, either it’s “i’m in the mood for it” or “i’m not in the mood for it”. For art, it’s “today is a good day/bad day”, “today’s a painting day”, “today feels like masking”, “today I just want to sketch”, “today I’m too loose for what I want to work on”, “today I’m too stiff”. You can see the difference in my ability to judge, yeah? So a big difference is to do with just my own (relative) inexperience with writing as opposed to drawing.

I think the other major factor is the differences in the mediums themselves. A fanfic is sequential. There’s a change in time. Illustrations are by nature a single moment in time. Big difference there. Of course, there are comics and animatics and other art that’s both drawn and sequential, but since I don’t do a lot of that, just count that as exceptions for now (and in a way, those are kind of like a combination of writing and illustration, aren’t they?) I find there are some ideas that are conveyed easier or better through writing, and others where the better option is art.

So to answer your last question, often ideas come to me pre-packaged as a “writing idea” or an “art idea”, rather than having to decide that separately. In the case that a sequence is better conveyed with a visual element, that’s when it’s comic time. The gorillashipping comic is a great example of this. The punchline is at its best when it’s not explained in words, and the expression of the final panel does all the heavy lifting. I pitched this idea initially in words (as a joke on discord), but the comic version has more punch.

Comics are also great for when you want to avoid explaining context, and for when you want to force the reader to take a specific pace. Here’s the example I’m thinking of.

The visual space dedicated to the fighting forces you to take time to process, and that time is important for the buildup to the punchline. This wouldn’t work as well if we cut this down to, say, the four panels of the last example. So yeah, timing. And then my other point – context – why are these two fighting? I don’t know. Where are they? I don’t know. It’s not necessary for the joke. The same is true of the gorillashipping joke. How did the relationship between kiryu and kaito happen to make this even remotely possible? I don’t know. But I don’t need to explain it in a joke comic. With writing I find that it feels more necessary to make context clear to the reader so they understand what’s happening, but with illustrations, it’s a lot easier to skip over that. Obviously this isn’t impossible in a written format, but that’s just my personal opinion.

Admittedly I think this second example is doable with just pure writing (replace all the panels with descriptions of the fight that take long enough to simulate the time it takes for the reader to digest the build up, then make the punchline a wham line, yknow), but it varies on a case to case basis. Also I would not want to write fighting. Lmao. I’m not… any good at that. So I guess it is also just in part about playing to strengths.

Anyway, enough comic side tangent. I’ve already started talking about it there, but was going to do a comparison between writing and art as mediums. The main thing, I find, is that they have different strengths. More than strengths/weaknesses though, the mediums themselves convey some things with ambiguity, and other things with detail.

Like I first mentioned, time: it’s easier to convey the passage of time with writing than with illustration. And like I said before with comics – conveying context – because an illustration captures a single moment in time, it’s a lot easier to avoid context entirely, while it’s harder to avoid in writing. I’ve drawn kuwagami cuddles before, and there’s no background, nothing discernable as to the lead up or any other detail. And that’s great! I don’t want to have to invent a plausible reason for them to end up hugging. I can just do it, right? But sometimes it’s the context that makes things significant, so you do want it there. A better job for writing. Writing allows you to be detailed with your context, while illustration leaves it ambiguous. Different strengths. You just pick which best fits the situation.

It’s a similar case for a lot of different factors – they're conveyed differently through both mediums, and depending on your idea, some results are more desirable than others. Rather than explaining, it’s probably better to do a direct comparison. (If it makes any difference to your curiosity, I did the drawing first then the writing. You’ve caught me on a good art day, what a nice sketch…)

I’ll try not to talk too much because I think the comparison and table say enough, but you can see how, despite depicting basically the same thing, these two things feel pretty different from each other. The mediums do different things. The mood of both is similar, but not quite the same. It’s these differences that inform the choice of mediums instinctually. (but again. points at disclaimer. as is true with all “rules” about art, none of these are absolute. you can make an illustration that conveys a strong context. you can write fic that favours describing facial expressions and leaves the intended emotion ambiguous. i’m generalising to make a point here.)

I guess the other thing is that it’s pretty easy to do writing in bed on my phone compared to my art setup, lmao. Convenience and timing also play into it probably.

[zan0tix]

Hi tumblr user Zan0tix, I have to say that I love that you draw Jake as big and hairy AND fem. It's such a rare combination outside of mean-spirited caricatures, every time I see your Jake I get a big smile on my face. :)

Hi tumblr user HermitCyclop ^u^ here is a jake drawing for you 🫶

The transmisogynistic demonisation of these features is so maddening!!! I agree! Im glad that the intent (appreciating these features) of my jake design reaches you c:

GOING TO PUT IT UNDER THE CUT BECAUSE I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY. But jake english gender meta because i think about it Too Much and am taking this as an excuse to infodump abt it. 😁

The alpha kids and their specific defiance of both homestucks gendered narrative AND real life societal expectations are so fun to think about to me!! but since we are talking about jake, his specific defiance of both homestucks models of masculinity and femininity in the context of his queerness is like the reason he is my fav character.

He props himself up that he wants to be the adventure "hero" in the homestuck sense (the hardheaded blue femme fatale) and the western media sense (the hardheaded action man) yet whenever pressed to actually act on what he says he always refuses or obfuscates. Because really what he wants is to just be himself! I really love the alpha kids because they all just want to be Themselves, not be restricted and defined by what is expected of them, (all the characters have this but the alphas particularly really hammer this home for me)

The heavy emphasis on their beta selves, the heteronormative archetypes they embodied and what went wrong in their lives that manifest as fears in their alpha selves... im always thinking about it. How differently society affects queer ppls choices in life and then the fact that they all get a second chance and getting to watch them live out that second chance and realize their queerness and them all caring so much abt eachother and wanting to aspire to be better FOR the ones they love!!!!!! it always tugs at my heart strings to ponder😢😢

IM SO GOOD AT GOING ON TANGENTS MY BAD but basically. The alpha kids explicit queerness and how despite the comic itself protesting, they are all shown to be deserving of love (of all kinds) And as a person who super heavily relates to jake, his experience with his own identity (and dirks unending adoration and love for him and likewise jakes belief and admiration of dirk) serves to me as a reminder that yknow! We are all worthy of love!! Even if we dont think ourselves to be (this is just the message of shrek.) and there is always hope to be found in things improving!!!!

But in a text thats explicitly queer and not shy about letting its queer characters do wrong in realistic ways i think this message is incredibly powerful and certainly one of the best things about the comic in my eyes. And i love embracing that in my art of the characters! Drawing queer (but here specifically trans) characters all getting to be proud of themselves and their appearances makes me feel proud of myself alongside them and I think its wonderful to be able appreciate other trans peoples experiences and looks through it too!!

I specifically in homestuck fandom dont really see anybody but twinks (usually dirk or eridan LMFAO) portrayed to be fem in any manner 😢 when jake is the most explicitly feminine man in the comic. (I think the transmisogyny thats kind of rampant in this fandom means people dont want to consider those outside conventional attractiveness being feminine or transfem identities outside binary transwomen if even that😭😭) I am being the change i wana see in the world 🙏 The amount of transfem fat gay bear jake in the world increases by one every time i post

[ineffable-suffering]

The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie

Otherwise known as (*takes a deep breath*): A completely inflated close-up look at various dialogues and events of Season 2 that prove that the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Meeting Cotillion Ball was supposed to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley

Look, the point's been made before but that's never kept me from making it myself again, still. In fact, even I made it before, at the end of one of my other metas. But I feel like it's absolutely worthy enough to get its own soppy, way-too-long post. And I do love it so very much to write ridiculously long essays on something that could easily be condensed into a short paragraph.

So, here we go! Snuggle up, get cozy, settle in and, most importantly:

(Word count: 3.177 | Reading time: ~13 minutes)

As I already said above, I laid out a similar case in my meta about why Aziraphale is somewhat of an unreliable narrator. I'll try and recycle it here briefly, so I can further make my point.

When Aziraphale arrives back in London from his Edinburgh journey, he seems oddly happy and giddy for the fact that he just had a rather odd and threatening encounter with Shax. I explain in my other meta that this is because he just spent the last hours of his drive reminiscing on the thrilling and romantic magic show adventure of 1941 and also the fact that he just found out that Crowley has been replaced by Shax and no longer works for Hell.

Ergo: We have a hopelessly lovesick Principality at our hands, who's practically swooning over his serpent who saved him, his books and his magic show all those years ago.

Ergo:

✨This✨

Realistically, Aziraphale should probably be a tad worried about the eery encounter with Shax, in which she definitely had the upper hand on him. But well, if you spend many-a hours driving across the serene countryside (Edinburgh is about an 8-hour drive from London), pondering on one of the craziest, sticky-sweet romantic adventures of your not-life life, well ... things tend to turn a little rosy around the edges. Head in the clouds and all that. Light shades of grey!

Alright, onwards: Once the angel, filled to the very brim with fond memories and butterflies, gets out of the Bentley, he's kindly met with a face full of verdant plants and a very in-character-grumpy Crowley.

Fhwack! Way to burst the rosy bubble.

Seriously, the absolute lightning speed with which Crowley storms out to vacate the bookshop the very second Aziraphale arrives makes me giggle every time.

Let's make a first small (who am I kidding) diversion into analysing the following conversation in unnecessary detail ...

... simply because I enjoy quoting dialogue as an accurate reference in my metas. I'll also highlight certain passages I want to comment on in individual colours so I can back up my thoughts with them below. Alright, their little chinwag goes as follows:

Crowley: "They you are! I was worried something might have happened to you." Aziraphale: "No, nothing happened to me. Very uneventful journey indeed. No strange things at all." Crowley: "Good. That's what we wanna hear." Aziraphale: "Um .. everything okay with- ah.." *nods to the bookshop* Crowley: "Oh, yeah, fine. He's singing to himself. I think he must have been asleep. I heard snoring coming from his bedroom–" Crowley, to the Bentley: "Did you miss me? I bet you did." Aziraphale: "... I'm sure it did." Crowley: "So, any more clues from the mystery of the missing archangel?" Aziraphale: "Not exactly. Or, if there are, I haven't yet cracked the case. But I'm certainly hot on the trail of something." Crowley: "I'm sure you are. Oh, by the way, the whole sudden rain and awning thing was a complete washout." Aziraphale: "Sorry?" Crowley: "You know, project making Nina fall in love with Maggie. I failed, it's your go." Aziraphale: "I see. Well then, Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Monthly Meeting, here we come!" Crowley: "You're really hosting the meeting?" Aziraphale: "Absolutely! And I can guarantee you, it will be a night to remember."

At first glance, this has little to do with the plot of this meta but actually, it folds into my point very nicely! However, it's not time for that yet, so we'll just state the facts as they are for now and then bring them back 'round later when we need them. That being said: For the love of Someone, will these two ever manage to simply tell each other the truth of what happened instead of thinking they can protect each other by lying about it all the time? Hrmpf. As a big fan of open communication myself, I'm close to developing a stomach ulcer with the amount of false truths being spewed here. (Then again – and yes, that is another, way larger meta I'm currently cooking up – it plays so very perfectly into the whole Jane-Austen-Pride-and-Prejudice tragic miscommunication theme that this entire Season has, so I understand the point of it.)

Very uneventful journey indeed, Aziraphale, except for the fact that you were ambushed by a demon who told you she was Crowley's successor, knows about the rumors of the two of you being an item as well as what went down in 1941 (that almost had both of you exposed) and also seems to have figured out where you and your demon boyfriend are hiding Gabriel, all in the span of about a minute. No strange things at all, nooo!

And Crowley's "Oh yeah, fine" is a total lie too. Again, we see him make an absolute run for it before Aziraphale can even enter the bookshop. After all, he just once again witnessed Jim have a Gabriel-flashback, speaking of the Second Coming, while Crowley was alone with him. As fumingly angry he is with the amnesiac archangel – he's also absolutely terrified of what might happen (to him and Aziraphale) should Jim regain his memories. So, no wonder he's quick to vacate the premises after witnessing Jim's rather eery memory flashback (and was, just like Aziraphale, threatened by Shax mere moments later, lol).

But no, nothing out of the ordinary happened to either of them. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-fucking-boo.

Alright, let's get back on track with the actual topic of this meta. Certainly hot on the trail of something, hm? At first glance, it might seem like Aziraphale is talking about the fact that Gabriel was in company of someone whenever he went to the Resurrectionist Pub. (The clue!) However, I don't actually think he is talking about that. Why? Because, and this slipped my mind too at first, he never actually follows any of this information up, does he? Yes, sure, he went to Edinburgh, found the capital-c Clue and then returned to London. But what does he do with it? Nothing. He doesn't keep investigating this hot trail because that's not the important thing he realized during his journey. No, the more important clue Aziraphale found during his trip, is that Crowley no longer works for Hell and that he is also very much irrevocably in love with him and must confess this at the earliest given chance. (The latter part isn't necessarily a new discovery for Aziraphale, but it surely is fuelled by the fact that he just realized Crowley's out of a Hellish job and simply hasn't told him yet.)

This exchange just the perfect indicator for the fact that Aziraphale, at no point during his drive back, was thinking about the Maggie and Nina mission. He has no idea what Crowley is talking about once he mentions it and seems surprised, even, that he would. Even though they just talked about it on the phone when Aziraphale was still at the graveyard. Which is another important piece of evidence because it means that the last status update Aziraphale got of Mission Lovebirds, was that Crowley had sensed an opportunity to make them fall in love – and had then hung up on him. Why is this important? Because it means that until that very point of their conversation, Aziraphale did not know that Crowley's attempt had failed! There would have been just as much of a chance of Crowley's weather miracle actually working out and Maggie and Nina already having skipped into the sunset happily ever after.

So, riddle me this:

Why would Aziraphale spend the entire ride back from Edinburgh plotting "a night to remember" (because clearly, he already had the entire Ball planned out down to a T in his head since he goes into action right away after arriving) if he didn't even know yet that Crowley's attempt had failed?

To be very clear here: We're not talking about Aziraphale driving on the M1 to London, having a silly little idea for putting on some good music, miracle-ing Nina and Maggie to dance to it and watch them confess their love–

No.

He planned an entire actual Cotillion Ball with very particular location design that involves re-arranging the entire bookshop, specifically designed individual outfits for (almost) every single attendee, topped off with a live band, hors-d'œuvre, drinks and an actual choreographed group dance.

During one car ride.

Where's the party planner Aziraphale AU? I'm waiting!

Now, sure, we know that it's still quite important for Aziraphale to convince Heaven of the faux-reason they gave for their accidental ✨25-Lazarii miracle✨. But if we're all honest, this all seems to be a tad much just to make two random humans fall in love, even for that.

Glittery ball gowns and suits? Red and gold wall curtains? A modified language filter? Bloody vol-au-vents?

Talk about over the top ...

Once we start S2E5, Crowley is still surprised at the mere fact that Aziraphale is actually planning to organize the Monthly Meeting – and he doesn't even know yet that it's gonna be the most extravagant ball-boogaloo that the Whickber Street Community has ever seen! Aziraphale wanting to organize the meeting alone, is enough to render Crowley incredulous, because Aziraphale never mingles with the other shopkeepers. He usually actively avoids them and any sort of social encounters as much as he can because he doesn't care about the bloody Christmas lights, alright?

These things seem mundane and uninteresting to him, obviously, since all he really cares about is hoarding his book collection in peace like the little hedonist he is and drawing as little attention as possible to his none-business business.

Oh, right, speaking of books:

Let's take another unnecessarily detailed look at the whole Whickber Street invitation scene:

Aziraphale realizes very quickly that he's not the only one who's quite unenthusiastic about the blessed Chritsmas lights. And despite his very persuasive methods of temptation ...

... he has to take some more drastic measurements. And those are?

That's right: Giving away his books.

I'll repeat it again, slowly: Aziraphale is willingly (!) giving away or lending his books to pretty much complete strangers to, allegedly, make two other humans strangers fall in love.

Seriously, who is that angel and what has he done with our prim, fussy, hedonistic Aziraphale that protects his books with the vice grip of an eagle carrying his precious prey?

Believe in the importance of Mission Lovebirds as much as you will, but we're talking about Mr. A.Z. Fell here who, over the past millennia, has pretty much spent every day actively working out methods to stop people from purchasing as much as a single paperback from his holy shelves.

And yet: the 1965 September Dr. Who Annual? Given away. The first edition of Expert at the Card Table that was S. W. Erdnase's personal copy? Lent away to grubby human hands to fondle around with.

Let's do another coloured dialogue diversion (don't worry, it's not as extensive as the last one):

Crowley: "You just did what I think you did?" Aziraphale: "I'm not prepared to talk about it." Crowley: "You gave away a book." Aziraphale: "I had to! Maggie and Nina are depending on me. They just don't know it yet."

Crowley backs up my point: This is a huge deal. Aziraphale does not sell his books – let alone give them away for free. We're all shocked! Flabbergasted!

And the explanation Crowley and us get just ... doesn't satisfy. Something and someone sure is depending on this Ball and doesn't know it yet. But it's most definitely not Maggie and Nina, folks.

You know for whom Aziraphale would give away his books in the blink of an eye, though?

Mhm, that's right.

This pretty old serpent.

I want to take a minute to show you the reaction again that Aziraphale has upon entering the very same magic shop him and Crowley went to in 1941 to acquire the Bullet Catch:

You ... you need a minute there, angel? You're sure looking a little ... affected.

And I mean, well, no wonder. He reminisced about that very memory four hours last night. To him, this shop is where the most turbulent, ecstatic, adrenaline-fuelled and romantic night of his life began. And it shows.

I've made my point in my other meta series about how Aziraphale is an incredibly nostalgic character. He romanticizes so many things in his memories – especially the parts that feature Crowley. So, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he's once again willing to loosen the tight grip he has on his book collection to get the successor of Will Goldstone's Magic Shop, the shop that started it all for him, to come to his fancy Ball.

As we watch Aziraphale and his little lap dog demon pat around Soho, I'd like to take another second to point out that he goes to seven or more establishments before he even invites Nina.

... and he only does so because she starts talking to them on the street. Almost like he'd forgotten about it. Why not ask her at the very beginning? To establish whether or not he'd have to book-blackmail her too?

"Perfectly ordinary invitation with no hidden agenda of any kind", except that he's using you and Maggie as a pretence to resolve his own clusterfuck of a relationship-miscommunication Jane-Austen-style so that he can then hopefully confess his undying love to his demon not-boyfriend boyfriend.

Marvellous!

You'll forgive me another short diversion but my God, the whole exchange at the Marguerite's restaurant with Crowley literally cat-call-whistling Aziraphale over to him (and Aziraphale checking if he meant someone else first, I–)? I am weak. So, so weak and

However, this is also when we get a snippet of Crowley finally revealing the truth in place of his "Oh, he's fine"-lie earlier and telling Aziraphale that he's actually pretty scared Jim might turn back into Gabriel and smite him altogether. And Aziraphale's response is, in a cosmic sense, (remember the pink paragraph now) so hilarious:

"Have you thought of just talking to him?"

Yeah, have you? Have any of the two of you? Just thought about talking? To each other? About anything?

'pparently not. But hey, it's all good because remember what the ultimate remedy for star-crossed lovers simply misunderstanding each other is?

Bish, bash, bosh, problem solved!

Back at the ballroom bookshop, Aziraphale sends Crowley to invite Maggie in order to, in my opinion, not spoil the Ball-y surprise for him. (Inviting Maggie only now?! Wouldn't she be one of the only two guests who really should attend? Why the short notice? If she's really that important for the Ball you're planning, hm?)

On top of this, we see Nina almost not attending the Ball meeting after her partner broke up with her and Crowley being the one who coincidentally runs into her and ushers her into the bookshop before Shax and her "legion" of demons start creeping up on them. Again, if this hadn't happened by pure coincidence, Nina would have left to go home and this whole Ball would have taken place without her, rendering the apparent sole purpose of making her fall in love with Maggie useless.

Why doesn't Aziraphale care more for both of them to attend and be there? Why is he instead busy fussing over everything looking perfect and wonderful and doesn't even seem to notice that both Nina and Maggie are really late to the meeting?

Well. Well.

The answer's in the title, babes.

Alas, Crowley safely gets Maggie and Nina to join them, Mr. Brown is the only one who doesn't get a miracled outfit (fussy, petty angel, you just don't like him, do you?), Jimbriel stuns with glamour and flirt (and whatever sexually suggestive thing he does with his cheeks) and the Whickber Street Ball is a-go!

Sorry, I just had to chuck this in again because Crowley's face here absolutely kills me every time. He looks so confused, I am hollering.

And the heart eyes Aziraphale is making at Nina and Maggie now that they're actually here?

Oh, bless it, angel.

He's all like "Oh look, it's working! Jane was right! It's all going to be resolved, all the misunderstanding and quarrels! Crowley, where's Crowley–"

Ah yes, there he is.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is an angel who is not listening to a single word being said right now. No, in his head, Aziraphale is already down on one knee, pouring his heart out to Crowley after they just danced the night away.

Oh, yes, right. The dancing.

Parallel much?

But well, as marvellous and beautifully romantic as her stories tend to be, it turns out that Jane Austen isn't always right after all. Because before we know it, the perfect night shatters into many-a tiny pieces (literally).

And once again, fhwack:

... the rosy bubble bursts.

Let's take one more deep breath so I can make my final point:

In S2E2, Aziraphale explains to us very exactly what Jane's Balls (hrhr) used to be about: Solving miscommunication and confessing love to one another.

During his car journey back from Edinburgh, Aziraphale:

doesn't know Crowley's Mission Lovebirds had failed

remembers 1941 and just how badly he's in love with Crowley

and also realizes that they seem to have been wildly miscommunicating for quite some time now. (Crowley didn't even tell him he basically got let go!)

So, what does maddeningly strong love plus a want to resolve all the miscommunication equal? That's right: A night to remember! A Ball to change it all! A dance, a vol-au-vent, a confession. And, ideally, a happy ever after. Because:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man angel in possession of a good fortune Jane Austen collection, must be in want of a wife demon husband.”

The Ball was never for Nina and Maggie. As a byproduct, maybe, yes. But the whole rest of the glimmer and glamour, the careful, romantic planning and set up of it all, the book-bating the other shopkeepers– that was for Crowley and Crowley only.

And oh, if only it were as easy as in the books.

*whispers* I'm sorry, I had to.

***

Your honour, the tinfoil-hat crackpot defence rests. Feel free to share thoughts (and prayers) if you want to!

Au revoir! 💗

[radiance1]

I for the life of me cannot find my og post but I shall take the concept and what I remember from it and make this one. So, snippets from that one au inspired by the Kwami from Miraculous Ladybug.

For context, Danny and Vlad are trapped in a necklace and bracelet (iirc) and are both just miniature versions of themselves, an eastern dragon and phoenix respectively.

===

Vlad, standing on Lex Luthor's desk with his head raised and a haughty look in his eyes: If you, a mere human, wishes to use my power, you will have to prove yourself worthy of the barest dregs of its embers-

Lex Luthor: No.

Lex Luthor taps his bracelet and Vlad gets sucked back in, finally leaving Lex's office blissfully silent.

Meanwhile, in another city:

Danny, currently flying near Tim's head as he takes up a camera: Hey, hey kid. Wanna use my power?

Tim, currently checking over his camera: Would it help me keep up with Batman and Robin more easily?

Danny, blinking as he questions what the hell is a Batman and Robin in this context: Yes...?

Tim: Deal.

Danny, blinking once again as he thought 'Huh, well that was easy'.

===

Lex Luthor, currently in an elevator minding his own business on his way to a shareholder meeting:

Vlad: Luthor.

Lex Luthor: What is it now.

Vlad: We need to go somewhere.

Lex Luthor, raises eyebrow: And that somewhere is?

Vlad: No time to explain but we need to go.

Lex Luthor, questioning how he ended up in this situation: You are aware I have an important shareholder meeting, yes?

Vlad: I know, and I don't care, you can always reschedule those things, but this is more important than that.

Lex Luthor: What could possibly be more important in your eyes?

Vlad, voice barely above a whisper: The Packers.

Lex Luthor:

Lex Luthor: No.

Vlad: You will not deny me this, I have been deprived of them for hundreds of years and I will not be denied the chance to watch them once again.

Lex Luthor: You say hundreds as they haven't been around for a century.

Vlad: Interdimensional time hijinks, not something someone like you would understand but that is besides the point. You will take me to the Packers game currently happening right this instant.

Lex Luthor, fixing his tie: I certainly have no incentive to do so.

Vlad: I will give you a portion of my power if you take me.

Lex Luthor:

Vlad:

Elevator:

Lex Luthor: Truly, a tempting offer-

Elevator: Opens

Lex Luthor, walking through the doors while tapping on his bracelet: -But no.

Meanwhile, in another city:

Danny: Kid, boy, child.

Tim: My name is Tim.

Danny: Right, yea, Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim.

Tim, currently standing on the counter as he looked through the cupboard: Yea?

Danny: I saw an observatory while you were out looking for those Batman and Robin dudes.

Tim, taking out some ingredients and checking to see if they're still good: Go on.

Danny: Take me.

Tim: Sure.

Danny, flying loops in the air: Yes!

Tim: But after I finish cooking.

Danny:

Danny: Can't you just buy something on the way?

Tim: Yea but if I do these will go bad.

Danny: Fair.

===

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hey I realy like your yandere twisted wonderland x kny post(s). Can I ask for the yandere dorm leaders react to (platonic and non-yandere) Tsutako Giyu blocking any of the leaders' romantic advancements toward their tanjirou!reader, because Giyu does not trust the leaders at all? Please and thank you,take care of yourself.

Tomioka Giyuu Blocking Tanjiro Reader| Yandere Twisted Wonderland

While Tsutako would certainly do that if you were her sibling but what would an average woman be able to do for you against a bunch of magical suitors stalkers. Tomioka is the one who’d really be an obstacle. No one seems to like him, let alone notice him half the time but his words are golden to you and the boys are having quite a lot of trouble getting past him. Giyuu himself may think he’s trash but you are most certainly not. You’re walking perfection and if he’s going to use the placeholder position of Hashira he’s using it to protect you: 

Idia Shroud

“Whoa!? When did you get here?!”

“A couple minutes ago.”

“Oh…okay then…”

“...”

“...”

“If you bring that device anywhere near (Y/n) I’m slicing your legs off.”

He first thought Giyuu was like him

A fellow loner who could understand his desire to have you

And he found that Giyuu was a loner

Just not one that was friendly to him

And he’s more than aware of Idia’s influence but that won’t matter when Giyuu’s faster than Ortho when it comes to his blade

“A-a worthy opponent h-has entered the chat!”

Leona Kingscholar

“They won’t have to die fighting that demon king or whatever. Don’t you want that?”

“I want them to be the next water Hashira and if you’re going to get in the way of that I know over 46 pressure points on your body that will temporarily paralyze you.”

He didn’t like him from the start 

He’s expression, his face, all of it infuriates him

Not to mention he really is that much faster than him

Leona’s going to have to try another tactic to get this guy off your back

“Maybe we’re not hearing each other right. How about you put down the sword and then try stopping me?”

Vil Schoenheit

“You seem really intent on getting in my way…is this jealousy?”

“It's not but you remind me of someone horrible.”

“Oh? Is it yourself?”

“Nope it's a horrible woman named Shinobu Kocho.”

He’s no match for him physically 

But his charisma greatly exceeds Giyuu’s 

Something he’s sure to remind the Hashira of with every chance

But since Giyuu doesn’t seem to sway he’s got to be more conniving

Which should be fine for someone with poisons against a sword

“Hope this isn't your first time playing with poisons because it may be your last.”

Azul Ashengrotto 

“You might be interested in knowing the future, right? Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

“You sound like a demon.”

“Oh? Am I a handsome one at least?”

“I kill demons for a living.”

“...oh..”

Azul’s own charm doesn’t save him here and it's killing him

He already has to woo you 

and this guy isn’t budging 

The twins won’t bother him 

And he won’t even look at a contract

This octopus is getting desperate

“You won’t like me when I’m cornered Giyuu.”

Kalim Al Asim 

“What?! Why would you want to leave? I have more of that bread you like!”

“Nice try but we have a job to get to.”

“But how do you plan to do your job when you’re going to get hurt?”

“That shouldn’t matter to a civilian like you!” 

While Giyuu is entranced by the way Kalim seems to like him

He’s sure its a trick 

And he can’t afford to die before giving you his title

“Hey. Don’t leave, we were just having fun!”

Malleus Draconia

“Why would you leave this place? If you are certain you are going to die, why bring my (Y/n) with you?”

“I’m not bringing them anywhere, this is their decision. Don’t you want to honor their avenging of their family?!”

“Not if it means losing them!”

This is a hard one 

Malleus can actually defeat Giyuu 

But his will is strong as well as his effect on you 

So he can’t be too hasty

But a prince forgets and Giyuu’s in trouble

“If you are going to be such a problem for us, I will just skip to a time where you are not alive.”

Riddle Rosehearts

“As the queen’s decree you cannot just run off with my subjects or prospective lovers!”

“And I can’t stand you types.”

“Grr! Off with his head!”

He doesn’t initially have a problem with him

But to see you rely on someone so awkward much taller

It irks him

Even worse he’s warning you about him now

And he can’t have that

“Don’t get in my way unless you want to be beheaded too!"

[enlitment]

The Voltaire-Rousseau Beef aka V v. JJ part III.

for @stars-in-the-night , @headsinsand and other great (and amazingly patient) readers

part 1 ; part 2 ; part 3 ; part 4

7. THE ORPHANAGE (to be read in Eliza Hamilton's voice)

The one thing from his personal life that Rousseau is probably best remembered for is the fact that he gave up all five children he had with his long-term partner, Thérèse, to a Parisian orphanage. One after the other, in what could be called a rapid succession, a simple case of salut and adieu.

The reasons he gave for his behaviour differ from ‘I have fallen with a bad crowd in Paris and this is just what people around me did’ and ‘I basically had no other option anyway’ (not true, he could have married Thérèse and try to make it work. Sure, money was tight, and someone could make a few snarky remarks about the first baby looking surprisingly big for a six-month old or whatever, but these things happened quite regularly. Also, Diderot married his working-class mistress despite his father’s stern disapproval. Just saying) to – now this comes up somewhat later in the Confessions and is significantly darker – ‘I really hated Thérèse’s family and thought it would be better to let my kids be raised by the state than be around them’.

If this was him trying to break a cycle of generational trauma though – perhaps one of the side of his own family as well –  I’d argue there were far better ways of going about it. There’s also potentially one even darker, quasi-psychoanalytical reason for this now infamous choice, but it’s probably best to steer clear of Freud. Nothing good usually comes out of it.

Of course, doing something like this would make anyone seem like a douchebag, but a guy famous for writing a treatise on how to best raise children?* Guy who repeatedly argued that the single purpose of a woman’s life is to be a mother? Now that’s a hypocrisy so deliciously juicy that one simply cannot resist sharing it with the world!

*interestingly enough, he insists in the Confessions that he wanted to reveal this information in his On Education (aka Emile), and that in one of the book's passages, he alluded to this episode in such a way that he ‘basically confessed to it already’. I haven’t found that part yet, and I remain somewhat sceptical about whether this is truly the case.

8. SECOND INTERMEZZO: VOLTAIRE THE AVID HATE-READER

V on Julie, or the New Heloise: „silly, middle-class, dirty-minded and boring“

V on Profession of Faith of a Savoyard Vicar: „I read his On Education. These are reasonings of a stupid nurse in four volumes, of which forty pages directed against Christianity. They are among the most daring that have ever been written, [but] by virtue of inconsistency worthy of this head without a brain and this Diogenes* with no heart, he uttered as much abuse against the philosophers, as against Jesus Christ.“ (letter to Damilaville, 1762)

*calling JJ ‘Diogenes’ was definitely a trend in the 1700s, and what seems like V’s go-to insult for him. Calling him a ‘lackey of Diogenes’ does potentially get a bit kink-shame-y though...

9. A MOUNTAIN AND AN AVALENCHE

The last post featured an earthquake in Portugal, now get ready for a distinctly Swiss natural disaster!

To be perfectly fair to Voltaire, although he was certainly not a person who was above spreading gossip, he did have a good reason to publish what he knew about Rousseau and let all hell break loose, since...

in Rousseau’s Letters Written from the Mountain published in 1763, JJ had exposed Voltaire as the author of the infamous Sermon of the Fifty, an anti-christian work that had the potential to get its author into serious trouble. Voltaire could not and would not let this slide – especially when he had the perfect weapon on his hands. Payback time!

Voltaire therefore went on to publish a short anonymous pamphlet titled Sentiments des Citoyens (aka How Citizens Feel – since JJ proudly called himself ‘citizen of Geneva’ in his works and he championed sentiments over reason – see, it’s all very clever!) in which he exposed details from Rousseau’s personal life. This of course included the most shocking, most hypocritical, and most memorable detail of all: Rousseau, Mr. Family First, Mr. Let’s-raise-precious-children-in-a-way-that-won’t-corrupt-their-natural-godness had dumped all of his offspring into a Parisian orphanage! Not so virtuous now, is it?

Interestingly, Rousseau never put two and two together and realised Voltaire was the real author of the fateful pamphlet. It would be interesting to see how he would react had he known.

That said, much like d’Alembert’s article on Geneva a couple of years earlier, the Sentiments des Citoyens led JJ to pick up a pen once again to do what he did best: to defend the poorest and most oppressed souls against the cruel and unjust world. Which usually just happened to be himself.

And thus, as Roger Pearson, an author of one of Voltaire's many biographies concludes:

“we have Voltaire to thank for (…) being the catalyst of Rousseau’s Confessions” which he calls “one of the world’s great autobiographies”

(no, not like that @chaotic-history. Though now I cannot unsee it every time I read the quote)

->

Tune in next time for the (mis)adventure in Britain which will feature:

another philosopher - David Hume - dragged into the mess

a fake letter from Frederick the Great (that was actually penned by the most messy gossip of a person in the 18th century)

a genuinely funny statue story with an appearance from d'Alembert

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 10

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 6.5k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12 A/N: a lot of yall are gonna be mad at me, but let me cook real quick. Trust 🙏🏾

Past (xi) - You

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

You tighten your coat around you, burrowing into the warmth as you walk. 

To the left of you, dairy cows moo distantly, some grazing the open land while others stay tucked away in their barns. To the right of you, you pass empty victor houses. Once upon a time, District Eleven used to produce an immense number of victors. Certainly not as many as One or Two, but a strong contender right next to Four. It makes sense. Compared to what the citizens here have to face day to day, the arena is a welcome change. And tributes from Eleven develop a skill set that’s meant for survival at a very young age—one step away from being careers in your own right.

Eleven has always been incredibly rebellious. But after the Uprising a few decades back, which the citizens refer to as the First Movement, Eleven lost any good standing with the Capitol. In its place came droves of Peacekeepers and more oppressive rules than there were people. With them came the inability to train children, malnourishment, and conformity. They make sure to teach all about it in school, making sure students know just how far their district fell. Once a powerhouse worthy of rubbing shoulders with the best of them stands one of the most ‘primitive’ and militarized districts in the nation.

The remaining houses are left without any upkeep and are abandoned to fall apart.

As a victor, you're afforded some leniency by the Peacekeepers, but not much. Just enough that they won't find it suspicious that you’re carrying a blanket-covered wicker basket. Regardless, you keep it close to your side, and it knocks into your calf with each step. 

Winter is the worst time in Eleven, though it doesn’t last long. It doesn’t snow often since it’s so far south, but the ice is just as bad—if not worse. Not many people can survive the subzero temperatures, let alone crops. So, though it seems impossible, what little rations they give the people are shortened even further. The only plus is that it isn’t harvest season—there are so many crops to collect that children are pulled out of school for weeks at a time to help.

You remember what it feels like to be hungry. To be forced into the orchards to harvest pears, apricots, and Mandarin oranges—some of the only crops that can weather the cold, small hands stiff and your stomach numb with pain as you endured the freezing winds. You had friends when you were younger, other children that worked alongside you. Very few of them survived through the winter.

They give victors more food and money than they have any right to. So once a month, you pack up food that you, Chaff, and Seeder have gathered and journey to the poorest part of the district. You don’t take it all at once. That’s far too risky. You spread out the trips over several days at different times so the Peacekeepers on the clock don’t notice a pattern.

It’s not an easy walk by any means. You reside in the wealthy part of Eleven, and you use wealthy in the loosest sense of the word. The mayor’s family, doctors, Peacekeepers, landowners, and victors. Your destination is almost on the complete opposite side of the district from the Victor Village. Far away so the rich don’t have to see the harsh reality that the citizens live in.

It’s never been explicitly said that you can’t give out food, but it’s certainly implied. You try not to think about what they’ll do to you if you’re caught.

You wave at the few people you pass and avert your eyes as you walk past the whipping post. There’s only one. The Peacekeepers line up anyone who’s committed an offense and thrash them one by one. Most of the time, the people are innocent. Everyone has to watch. No one can intervene. It’s stationed beside the deck they conduct the hangings on.

People avoid the area if they can.

You pass open farmland and empty cotton fields. The further you walk, the more run down the buildings become. Until the houses aren’t much more than shacks guarded only by the hulking trees surrounding them. You relax. The Peacekeepers don’t patrol here. They’re certainly supposed to, but even they can’t stomach the squalor. 

The kids spot you first—they always do. Little heads pop up from behind trees, shouting your arrival. 

“She’s here!”

You laugh as they surround you, jumping up and down and shooting rapid-fire questions your way. You know that more would greet you if they could, but they likely can’t move. Huddled up in their homes and crippled by hunger or the cold, but probably both. The commotion draws adults toward you. An older woman with graying curly hair and sunspots on dark brown skin steps out of the gaunt-looking crowd. Elm, she's the de facto leader here. 

A man, Maple, smiles and takes the basket from you and walks into one of the buildings in the far back to stash the food away. You pull more wrapped food out of the hidden pockets on the inside of your coat and hand it off.

You have a system in place. You’ve been doing these deliveries for a long time. You trust them to distribute the goods to those who need them the most. Everyone here looks out for each other. Even if the kids aren’t theirs, an adult won’t let them go hungry if they can help it. It truly takes a village. You would know. After all, you used to live here.

The Shacktowns mainly exist because there are too many people in the district, having reached overpopulation decades ago. Living here is preferable to having to pay for food, clothing, and a house that’s seen its fair share of price gouging. From what you’ve seen, the clothing in the Shacks is somehow worse than what Districts Ten or Twelve get to wear. It’s all ill-suited for the temperamental cold. So, in exchange for working in the fields and forests under horrible conditions, the people get free housing and food. Clearly, both benefits are incredibly lacking.

It’s all the illusion of choice, anyway. Only three percent of the population works outside of the fields, that’s including the Peacekeepers. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who doesn’t work on a farm, a grove, an orchard, or a plantation.

Elm pulls you into a hug once your hands are free, and you lean into her warm embrace. She’s been as old as the dirt on the ground for as long as you’ve known her, but it feels like she’s rapidly declined every time you see her. She’s well and truly sick, and she has been for a long time now. No one knows what it is or what effects it’ll have on her. Medicine isn’t readily available here. And you don’t think something that simple can help her anyway. Sadly, she isn’t the only one. You just hope this information doesn’t get out.

If anyone orbiting the elite circles found out just how many people were sick here, they wouldn’t send them to the Capitol to get help. They’d see it as a waste of resources. They’d let them suffer and die or have them put down if they’re feeling benevolent. Again, Eleven is heavily populated. The lives here have very little value outside their abilities to work. If they can’t do that, what purpose do they serve? 

What use is a horse with a broken leg?

She pulls away, hands on your shoulders as she looks you over. “You look good, healthy.”

“I can’t say the same for you.” You raise a brow at her hunched frame. She’s a tall woman with the endurance of a mule. She’s a decade younger than Mags, but she doesn’t look it. But, as you’ve learned after touring the districts, manual labor ages people. 

“And you,” you lean back as she wags her finger in your face, “inherited that mouth from your daddy. It’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

"You’re getting worse.” You note, ignoring her attempt at diversion. The kids disperse, running back to the forest they were playing in. You know they won’t go far enough to reach the thirty-foot-tall fence, but you still worry. The gate is guarded to the teeth with trigger-happy Peacekeepers who won’t hesitate to shoot on sight.

“'M fine, honey. Don’t worry about me.” She waves off your concern, and you frown, stuffing your hands into your pocket when a breeze comes through.

“My offer still stands, Elm. There’s plenty of room in the house. Me and Mama would love to have you.” She practically raised your dad, and she even made the broom your parents jumped over at their wedding. Hell, when you were born, she was the first person to hold you after your parents. She’s family, and it kills you to leave her out here.

She shakes her head, and you know this argument is going to end the way it always does. “You know that’s not fair. They need me out here.” She pats your cheek and finishes with no room for argument. She’s stubborn, so going in circles about this will get you nowhere. You shift your jaw, agitated.

“And while we’re talkin', I think you should skip next month’s delivery,” your jaw drops. “Let me explain before you start assumin'. You know we appreciate everythin' you do for us, but you need to lay low for a while. You’re pushin' your luck comin' out here as often as you do, and if you get caught, you won’t be any help to anyone.” She makes a convincing argument and effectively cuts off your protest before you even start. 

You sigh. Seeder and your mom have been telling you the same thing.

“Please? Do it for an old woman’s peace of mind.” She pleads, squeezing your shoulders.

“We can’t afford to just stop coming out here entirely, but I guess it doesn’t always have to be me.” Chaff had offered to start delivering in your place, or to at least switch off who makes the trip each month.

You’re barely able to make ends meet for the people here, and this is only one Shacktown of hundreds.

“Just...start lookin' out for yourself more, alright?” She asks, and you agree with a scowl. You refuse to call it a pout, though Finnick definitely would.

You don’t stay for long. You need to get back before it starts getting dark out.

On your way back, you stop by the bakery like you always do. It’s a good halfway point between your two destinations—you’ll have something to show for your trip as well as an alibi, just in case you get stopped. 

You order two loaves of seeded rolls, another loaf of sourdough, and a blueberry muffin for your mom. Sage, the worker behind the counter, wraps the baked goods and pauses. “It’s dangerous. What you’re doin'.” He murmurs under his breath, so quiet that you wouldn’t have been able to hear him if you two weren’t the only ones here. He hands you your stuff, waving off the tip you attempt to give him. “But it’s good. I don’t think I’d be brave enough to take that kind of chance.” 

“It’s brave enough that you offer me food to give to them.” You say and mean it. What you do is only a secret to the people who aren't supposed to know. It's not just you, Seeder, and Chaff who contribute. Sometimes, people give you food and clothes to donate—among other things. Sage has spent many nights making extra bread and pastries just so there’ll be enough left over for you to deliver to the Shacktown.

Most jobs in Panem are passed down through families, such as Caesar Flickerman, who took his profession from his father, Julius Flickerman. And Julius inherited it from his father before him, all the way back to Lucky Flickerman. 

Old Mr. and Mrs. Pitsone never had any kids of their own, so the mayor allowed them to adopt one of the many orphans running around the fields to train in the art of baking. They picked Sage. 

He’s a meek boy despite his height, skittish and paranoid, but very kind. With light hair and even lighter skin that’s rare to see in Eleven, it’s no wonder he stood out amongst the other kids. He and his parents live above the bakery in a small home, though luxurious by Eleven’s standards. 

You used to be sweet on each other when you were much, much younger. A kiss on the cheek here and there as you worked side by side. Nothing special, but the most childish you were allowed to be. You were so envious when they took him out of the fields; you all were. He wasn’t one of you anymore, he got to work on the inside. Nobody wanted to be around him, so he was ostracized. You, angry and young, wished it was you. But now, you only wished it had happened sooner. You wished you had kept in touch.

He rings you up, and you gather it all in your basket before he stops you. 

“Oh! Wait here for a second.” He goes through a door behind him that you know leads to storage. You lean forward and hide a handful of coins on the little shelf under the front counter where you’re sure he won’t find them until it’s time to close. You hear rummaging and boxes moving before he comes out with a wrapped parcel tied with string. “I saved a few chocolate croissants for you. We usually run out of those in the mornin', but I know you like them.” He gives you a closed-mouth smile. Small, but real.

You try to picture a world where the two of you ended up together, running the bakery until you’re old and gray—maybe if you hadn’t been reaped. But you can’t imagine a universe where you aren’t in love with Finnick Odair. 

“Thank you, Sage.” The bell above the door jingles as you walk out.

“Be careful!” He calls from behind you.

Walking back is always hard, having to leave them all behind to suffer while you’re allowed to go back to your stupidly big house. With its giant pillars and long, stretching brick walkway framed by old willow trees that curve into each other and make an arched tunnel. And it’s in the middle of this tunnel that you see Peacekeepers guarding either side of your front door.

Your heart stops and then starts again at a runner’s pace.

Did they…find out? You were so careful, how did they—

One of them spots you lingering a few feet away and waves you closer. You walk forward, closing the distance. And then you take hesitant steps up the old stairs, tensing up in preparation for rough hands dragging you to the whipping posts. Instead, one just opens the front door for you. That’s worse. That means your punishment is on the inside. You’d rather take your chances with the whips. 

They shut the door behind you but don’t follow you. You place the basket of goods on a nearby hallway table and walk into the living room to see your mom sitting on the couch by herself, flanked by three guards, safe.

“There you are, baby.” She tries to smile at you, a play at normality, but it creaks and shakes like a house in a tornado. “We have a very special guest. He’s waitin' for you in your study.” She nods to the double doors further down the hall with even more Peacekeepers. You know who’s on the other side before the doors even open, and you really would have picked the whipping post over this.

Coriolanus Snow sits in your office—inside your home, almost seven hours from the Capitol. Snow traveling that distance? That's nothing to scoff at. 

He sits with his back to you and turns when the doors shut behind you. You feel like you’re a guest in your own home.

Seeing him sitting behind your big mahogany desk is akin to seeing a fox in a chicken coop. It’s dangerous. Foreboding. It has you looking for blood-soaked feathers. Nothing good can come from it. And for him to be so comfortable in the spot where you write your letters to Finnick makes your skin crawl. It’s wrong. He shouldn’t be here, in the one place that's truly yours.

“President Snow.” You say in greeting. You wrack your brain for any mentions of him coming to visit you and come up empty. Maybe there was a letter you missed, but you doubt it.  

It’s dusk. The setting sun shines through the windows behind him, bathing him in golden lighting that would have made anyone else look angelic. 

“You’re back,” he props his elbows up on your desk, steepling his fingers together. “Your mother said you were off to the bakery. You were gone for an awfully long time. Is it far?” Nothing on Snow’s face gives away his true intentions. If he knows about your little escapade, he’s doing a very good job of hiding it.

“Yes. It’s almost a day's walk,” You reply truthfully. When he does nothing more than hum in return, you’re quick to fill the silence. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s no fault of your own, my dear. I’m sure if you knew I was coming, you’d have postponed your little trip, yes?” You nod like a bobblehead, and he leans back, most likely confident that he has your full attention. Again, you can’t tell if he knows about the donations. If he does, he clearly doesn’t care enough to mention it. Surely, he didn’t come all this way just to sleep with you. But what else could he be here for?  

“Your mother was a fantastic host in your absence.” He lifts his teacup in mock cheers to you and you clasp your hands together behind your back, nails digging into thin skin.

“I’ll… I'll be sure to pass along the message.” You smile, pressing your nails deeper into your skin. Had they been any sharper, you would’ve drawn blood. It’s quiet as you silently observe each other. The only sound in the room is the tick of the grandfather clock and a few birds outside the window, happily ignorant of the cyclone forming inside.

He finally breaks and speaks, though break probably isn’t the right word for it. Rather, he allows you to breathe by saying something, “Do you know why I’m here?”

Under the weight of his unrelenting stare, you eventually shake your head no and it feels like admitting defeat. Like you’re not smart enough to catch on to his train of thought and you both know it.

“Of course you don’t.” He tsks, and you lower your gaze, ears growing warm. He stands and takes poised, measured steps to where your feet are rooted to the floor. He towers over you, literally and figuratively. 

“I am here,” he circles you like a vulture, “to remind you of your standing. Hear me when I say this, as there will be no room for misconceptions. You are incredibly privileged.”

You think you do a very good job of refraining from gawking at him like he’s grown a second head, even though that’s definitely the reaction he deserves. What privilege could he possibly be talking about? You, who grew up in the poorest part of the most oppressed district. You, who’s been whored out for the safety of the people you love since you were sixteen. You, who’s lucky to see the man you love more than once a month. 

You’re privileged?

"Now, I've allowed you a certain amount of freedom that not many are rewarded. Namely, your relationship with Mr. Odair," he nods to your desk where your letters from Finnick are hidden. Perhaps not as hidden as you thought. "I’m sure you know communication between the districts is forbidden. You get away with it because I allow it. Because you are obedient, because you don't ask questions when given a task, because you have a value that many like to indulge in." Snow rubs his gloved thumb against your bottom lip. You know better than to flinch away. 

"But you are not irreplaceable." He drops his hand and turns towards the room. Your lungs are cool with the breath you’re finally able to take. You should be used to his presence, and you usually are, but only when you can prepare yourself. He’s completely blindsided you. 

You nod clumsily. “I know.” Really, you do. You knew Snow knew about you and Finnick, but not to what extent. You also wondered how long it would take until the both of you got pushback. You just weren’t expecting it to happen like this.

He toys with the few picture frames you have set up on your shelf. He glances over the picture of your parents on their wedding day and a framed photo you took of Finnick in the Capitol, beaming a big grin at the person behind the camera—you. Instead, he goes for the magazine you have propped up. The first cover you and Finnick were on together. Life in the Spotlight as Told by Panem's Hottest Victors.

“Do you? It appears to me you believe yourself invincible. I assure you, you are not.” He turns to you, magazine in hand, and taps Finnick’s face on the cover. You bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. “And neither are the people you care about.”

Your throat is dry, tongue fitting uncomfortably in your mouth. You swallow and it goes down rough.

“I don’t think that at all, President Snow. I apologize if my actions came across that way. If there’s anything I can do to remedy that…?” You trail off rather pathetically.

He chuckles and cracks the first smile you’ve seen since he’s been here, and it’s almost worse than his scowl. "Always so eager to please. This is not a reprimand, just a reminder. You toe the line, but as long as you do not cross it, we shouldn’t have any issues." The heels of his sensible shoes click against the wooden floor as he comes to stand before you again. "So long as you keep up your streak of good behavior, you’ll be permitted to carry on the way you have.”

“Yes, sir. I…I understand.”  

He hums and goes to walk past but stops. "I know you do, good girl that you are."

Your fingers twitch.

"Ah, I almost forgot," he pulls an envelope from a pocket on his waistcoat. You know who it's from by the color alone, the color of sand. "You have mail." He smiles again, sharp and cruel in its kindness. It's still sealed, held between his middle and pointer finger, but you're certain he knows what the letter says already. You take it hesitantly along with the magazine.

He walks out without any farewell. The doors shut behind you. You hear shuffling and steps, but you only untense once you hear the front door open and shut. You wait there for what has to be at least thirty minutes before you even think about opening the letter.

My Star,

At the time that I’m writing this letter, it’s been two months since I’ve last seen you. I think this is the longest we’ve been apart in the past seven years. Only two months and it’s felt like a century. It’s been agonizing. It makes me wonder how I was able to survive without you for sixteen years.

I got the picture you sent me. I worry I’ll wear it thin with how often I touch it. In the absence of having you near me, I trace the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the slant of your eyes. I carry you everywhere I go.

My hands should be in yours, fingers laced together. Instead, I use them to write to you now.

I hope I can see you soon. Dreaming of you can only tide me over for so long. 

-With all the love in the world and beyond,

Finnick O.

You lean back and slide down the door. You groan, knocking your head against the wood. You never thought Snow would go as far as to threaten Finnick’s life. Especially with all the popularity he’s cultivated. It doesn’t make any sense.

You lift the letter to your face, tracing his signature. You glance at the magazine. You were both so young here, couldn’t have been more than sixteen and seventeen. Your youth is encapsulated forever on a teen gossip magazine.

You rest your forehead against him, the glossy cover cool on your skin. Your body is still trying to disperse the rush of adrenaline Snow brought with him.

“You and me.” You sigh. You’re going to need all the strength you can get. For him though, it’s all worth it.

Past (xi) - Finnick

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Ocean water burns his eyes as he swims to shore, his muscles strain and burn as he pushes against the current. The hot sand sticks to his wet feet as he walks up the beach and he waves to a few surfers who call out to him. It’s getting colder, and everyone wants to get in the water while they still can.

Finnick has always believed that good things come to those who wait. He prides himself on being a pretty patient man, but—and there’s always a but—patience is as good as dust when it comes to you.

It’s been four months, going on five, since he’s last seen you.

He’s been seeing you less and less over the last two years, and at this point, he’d be lucky to catch a whiff of your perfume. He doesn’t get it. It’s not like he’s lost any standing in the Capitol, and based on your letters, you’re still in high demand. 

Besides, it’s not like either of you can request to come to the Capitol at the same time.

He drags himself up the stairs to the Victor Village, wood creaking under his weight. When he gets to the top, he turns left instead of right—actually heading back to his beach house for once instead of Mags’s. After taking a shower, he plans on going into town with Annie. She hadn’t asked him to and she’s been doing pretty well, becoming more lucid. Yet, there’s no telling what’ll trigger her—whether it be some kind of commotion that sounds too much like a canon or someone’s outfit that too closely resembles what she wore in the arena. He’d rather be safe than sorry.

Plus, he’s expecting a very important letter any day now.

When he finally gets to the sand road in front of the village, he hears the horn of a ship in the distance. He glances behind him and spots the biggest fishing boat in the district. The Cod Be Ever in Your Favor. He scoffs. That thing’s been around longer than he has, and it’s a rite of passage for everyone to go out to sea on her at least once. 

His father was a deckhand and he adored the job like it was his lover. He was rarely ever home—something Finnick was very grateful for. He never inherited that passion for the high seas and he had to learn the hard way that he’s much more adept in the water than above it. He’s crossing his fingers that the old relic capsizes one day. He’s not hoping anyone gets hurt or anything, but he will be celebrating the day that hunk of junk gets turned into scrap metal.

“On your right!” Finnick jumps to the left as a man on a bike zips past him.

Cars aren't driven down here. It’s too close to the ocean, and the cars manufactured in Six aren’t built to handle the terrain. But they’re substituted by the electrical bikes fashioned specifically for the coastal towns of Four.

Palm trees sway in the stiff wind before a line of three-story buildings. He has no immediate neighbors; the beach houses on either side of his lay empty and desolate. Tributes from Four aren’t that rare compared to lower districts—the latest victor being Annie. But, with being a wealthier district, comes access to more substances. Morphling overdoses are the leading cause of death for victors in districts one through six. Followed closely by alcohol poisoning and, well, the Capitol itself. Just in the past five years, the population dropped from seven to three.

He remembers them. 

Emilia Killroy was found washed up and bloated on the shore. Rían Hugh was struck by a car further into the city after stumbling into the street. He was so drunk he wouldn’t have felt it. 

Lottie MacHale and her son, Lukas. Lukas left the games mentally and physically disfigured. His game was a disaster that led to the untimely death of the previous Gamemaker and the implementation of Seneca Crane. A winter tundra that froze two-thirds of the tributes. The frostbite took the entirety of Lukas’s left leg and all the fingers on his right hand. He was found by his mother with a needle in his arm sans a pulse. Truly, it was a wonder he lasted as long as he did. 

It didn't take long for Lottie to follow him. Drowned in her vomit after drowning in her liquor, but everyone always said she died of a broken heart. 

He remembers them all. 

He slams the door shut behind him, eager to take a shower. His swim trunks are laden with water, getting dragged down his hips from the weight. Saltwater drips between his wet feet on the hardwood floor and weighs down his hair. He slicks it back so he can see where he’s going as he walks past the living room. 

He pauses, taking a few steps back to see…President Snow sitting on his couch? Finnick leans to the side to glance down the hallway, and—yep, Peacekeepers are milling around his back door. He bets as soon as he came in a few sprang out from wherever they were hiding to guard the front door behind him.

“President Snow. This is a surprise.” And far from a pleasant one. Finnick smiles, mask slipping into place, but Snow has unbalanced him. “What’s this all about?” It can’t be anything good. He can’t say he’s ever heard of Snow making a house call.

“I apologize for barging in on you like this, Mr. Odair, but this is an urgent matter.” He crosses his ankle over his knee, and Finnick hedges into the room. Cautiously, feeling like a wary animal walking into a trap.

Briefly, he’s reminded of something you told him. You had mentioned off-handedly that you’ve eaten frogs in Eleven. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how you’d get the frog into the hot water while it was alive and you said you have to trick it. You put the frog in the water while it’s still cool, and then slowly raise the heat without it noticing. Eventually, the water is boiling and the frog is trapped. 

“And what matter is that?”

Snow stares at him thoughtfully for a moment, and in Finnick’s experience, that’s never good. He hums before speaking, and Finnick imagines steam rising around him as Snow cranks the heat up. “Are you aware of what purpose keeping the districts isolated from each other serves?”

“No, Sir, I don’t.” He lies, but he’s sure Snow will give him his own twisted, convoluted reason. Finnick is well aware that Snow enforces this rule because it keeps the citizens ignorant. Ensuring they only really know about their district means there can be no real unionizing. 

“Panem as a nation runs on a very delicate balance of hope. Too little, and the people become despondent. Too much and the people begin to think—the people begin to rebel. For the citizens to see two victors from drastically different districts have such an intimate relationship complicates things.”

“...You think we’ll spark a rebellion? Just by being together?”

Snow releases a raspy breath that might have been a laugh once upon a time and the water is getting hotter. “I think it will lead to people envisioning a future where such things are allowed. I know you will cause a rebellion. You see,” he sighs, “the civilians are as subdued as they will ever be. But this will have them questioning their circumstances. It will take them out of the ‘us vs. them’ mentality they have against each other. It will make them wonder just how much they have in common and that leads to them seeing each other as people. It doesn’t help that you are both such influential figures. They will rebel, from One to Twelve, and they will all share the same fate as Thirteen.” 

“Is this…because she’s from Eleven?” He knows, thanks to you, that the people of Eleven are particularly defiant in the face of the Capitol’s oppressive ruling and always have been. Understandably so, considering no one feels it more severely than they do. He holds back a scoff. To think he thought Four was rebellious. At most, Four has the privilege of throwing temper tantrums, knowing they’ll face no real repercussions. Eleven, on the other hand, riots knowing they’ll be punished grievously.

Snow, again, takes a moment to watch him. “Her being from that particular district does make a rebellion far more likely, yes.” He pulls a forest-green envelope from a pocket inside his blazer. The exact letter he’s been waiting for. He doesn’t acknowledge it, so neither does Finnick.

“Of course, you can continue as you have, and I’ll take it upon myself to handle it. However, I doubt you’ll like the solution I have come up with. She's one of my most popular female victors. And I can admit, I have grown rather fond of her." Snow chuckles, and Finnick feels sick. He looks down at the envelope clutched in Snow's hand and pictures your arm in its place. He doesn't want to think about what happened behind closed doors to make Snow grow so fond of you. "It would be hard to replace her," Snow nods along to himself, "but not impossible." The room is quiet for a moment before Finnick asks, "What are you saying?" After working so closely with Snow for so long, you learn his language of non-speaking. You hear the silent threats in between the carefully crafted rebuttals. You feel the weight of his deliberate silence. So, Finnick knows exactly what Snow's saying. Snow knows this, too, which is why he says, "Don't act daft, Mr. Odair. It doesn't suit you." He's twenty-two years old—a grown man—but suddenly, he’s fourteen again—sitting in that chair, backed against a wall as Snow forces him to sign his soul away. He’s still that scared kid. He’s never outgrown him because he never got the chance to grow up—not if Snow had any say in the matter.

“As I said, this can only end in pain. It’s up to you to decide who will end up bloody. The lives of thousands over the life of one. Surely, you understand that.” He doesn’t. Finnick doesn’t understand it at all. It doesn’t matter what the other option is, he’s picking you every time without fail. He can’t imagine doing otherwise. He doesn’t want to.

“Unless you can think of something else, I don’t see any other way for us to proceed past this.” Snow moves his hand in a sweeping motion, the closest thing to a shrug that he’ll do. Finnick doesn’t understand why he came to him. He clearly favors you, so why threaten your life?

“Why me? Why are you making me choose? Wh-why,” he looks down to the floor, to the space between his feet, “Why not her?” If there was a choice on who would survive between you and him, he wants it to be you. Is that selfish? To wish you were the one given the choice instead of him. It feels unimaginable to live in a world without you, so is that cruel to expect you to do the same? 

To love is to be human. To be human is to be flawed. And there’s no one more flawed than Finnick Odair.

“You’ve been around longer.” He raises his eyebrows in another almost shrug as if it’s all so simple. “It only seems fair.”

Fair.

Fair.

When did he start caring about what’s fair? He didn’t even think that word was in Snow’s vocabulary, and, honestly, it still might not be because he isn’t using it right. There is nothing fair about this situation.

Snow uncrosses his legs and leans forward, a glint in his ghastly eyes. He looks worse every time Finnick sees him, and he wishes he could get any satisfaction from it, but he just feels as sick as Snow looks.

“It doesn’t,” Finnick shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to come to that. I’ll…I’ll handle it. I–I’ll end it.” The words are out of his mouth before he can even comprehend them, mouth moving faster than his brain, and by the time it catches up, it’s too late to snatch the words out of the air. They float between them, and they are terrifying.

Snow nods at the idea and…and...

It’s over. It’s all over. It was over as soon as Finnick sat down across from him, maybe even before that. 

“See that you do. I trust you’ll take care of this issue without my stepping in.” As Snow stands, he holds the envelope up to his nose and takes a long, obnoxious sniff. "Hmm, it even smells like her." His nauseating smile turns Finnick’s stomach. “Spritz of perfume? A nice touch.” His steps are unhurried, and he takes his time approaching Finnick’s tense form.

“And Finnick?” He pulls away before Finnick can take it from him, playing with him even now. “Go easy on the poor girl. I imagine she’ll be quite torn up over this.”

The water is boiling.

The water is boiling, and it’s too late to get out.

Finnick says nothing, but Snow isn’t expecting him to. He hands him the letter and walks to the door without a backward glance.

Two Peacekeepers follow him out, the door shutting behind them softly, and that nags at him. How dare they ruin his life and leave like—like this was just a social call? As if this isn’t crumbling his foundations, the same foundations that support the home he’s built with you.

Snow handed him a box of matches and told him to burn that home to the ground.

He looks at the envelope, wet with his fingerprints, and Finnick…

Finnick rushes to the bathroom to vomit.

-

A/N: why'd y'all let me cook 😕😕😕 come yell at me in my inbox!!! damn y'all were Peeta and Katniss b4 Peeta and Katniss 🤭🤭 and sage is such a peeta variant, all these Peeta variants falling in love with you uh, an actual lil author's note moment: when watching Catching Fire, I noticed the people in District Eleven dress like black people did in the 1950s and 60s while incorporating elements from the Antebellum South. Since most of the people that live there are black and indigenous and Eleven is the most oppressed district, it makes sense. It’s interesting what the clothing the people in different districts wear says about the culture there and what kind of culture Suzanne Collins based that district on. The Shacktowns are the District Eleven equivalent to the Seam in District Twelve, but even Katniss was surprised by how badly the people lived. She basically said it made twelve look like a paradise in comparison. When I mention the rich elites in Eleven, imagine them being around the same financial standing as Katniss was before she was reaped. So…not much.

[ms-scarletwings]

Aberrant Fish

!! Hi there, if you are reading this, know that this post is currently going through a sort of overhaul and revisit as of September. With the release of the Iron Rig DLC, and me finally getting around to finishing it, several updates to the hyperlinks below are in the works to fix some outdated numbering and account for the MANY additional aberrations that the latest expansion has added to existing regions.

The first hint many an angler will get of the dark, insidious secrets these waters hold,

and yet, they are the first thing to be accepted as only another flavor of mundane.

The game text calls them grotesque. The fishmonger calls them corrupted. You get to call them a bonus. Rather than fear and revile them, tradesmen will pay a shiny extra penny to add them into their stock. They are gestured to and spoken of, but never truly elaborated on by the townsfolk. They have probably been here long before most of them, and so will be here long after they are gone. They were certainly here before you. Maybe you don’t need their answers, and yet if you are like me, you still witlessly question and keep dredging for more.

Like many things pulled from those cursed depths, they whisper flecks of madness from an impossible voice. What messages do they carry, and what forces do they play vessel to? Are they the lingering embers from a long-extinguished calamity, or are they harbingers of the next one to come?

I believe we have already seen signs of fire with our own eyes- impossible, great beasts that prowl the four (now five) coasts, the dying cult, gibbering fog…. That damned book. These tortured creatures are but another form of the same smoke.

To the question of where they came from, if your fisherman pokes around enough and braves the darkness, he may have already found a response in one of the many obelisks scattered around the map. Specifically, I refer to this.

This would suggest the aberrants themselves are what leaked in through the cracks that the largest of all monsters wants to rend apart? Not entirely, but in part. For the researcher at the Stellar Basin came to her own conclusion I want to factor in.

Her words give credence to the possibility that it is actually those greater beasts themselves at the heart of the corruption. I think she was half onto something, because what if these twisted forms, both large and small, were blooms along the same set of festering roots?

The more dark stones you disturb in the frenzy of your own madness, the more you learn about the age before your arrival, about the islands, and especially about their current guardians. The Mindsuckers- carrion puppet masters given a home, the Basin creature- a spore that miraculously survived its dive to the abyss, and the Serpent- lifeless stone made animate and malicious, all had their creation remembered in great detail by the obelisks. Some hints point that their emergence was rather recent, relative to even more powerful beings, such as the leviathan.

Maybe there are even more unseen horrors far below, blessedly out of our reach, for now. My view is that the malformed beasts are the aimless children of such unfathomable things waiting beyond the veil. With them came its influence, and its corruption, and from them it continues to spread to all life surrounding. The smaller rifts were always a transformative disease upon the harbor’s fish, but with the rise of the new monsters, the sickness runs farther and less avoidably than ever. Whether these aberrant spawn are a gift to the worthy, or another deceptive evil that leads to madness remains left to be seen.

I will be giving a spotlight to each of these fascinating specimens at the back of Dredge’s encyclopedia, including those found in the expansions, for further comment and appreciation. Updating the list below as we go along!

[#79-84] [#104-109]

[#85-90] [#110-115]

[#91-96] [#116-122]

[#97-102] [#123-129]

[#103-108] [#130-135]

[#109-114] [update still WIP]

[#115-120] [update still WIP]

[#121-126] [update still WIP]

[#127-132] [update still WIP]

[#133-138] [update still WIP]

[#139-144] [update still WIP]

[#145-150] [update still WIP]

[#151-156] [update still WIP]

[#157-162] [update still WIP]

[#163-168] [update still WIP]

[#169-174] [update still WIP]

[Bonus I. Night Angler]

[Bonus II. Serpent]

[Bonus III. Basin Creature]

[Bonus IV. Mindsuckers]

[Bonus V. Unseeing Mother]

[Bonus VI. “Narwhal”]

[dreamlandcreations]

Promises, promises

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Summary: When you were children he made you a promise but after all the years and everything that happened since, you didn't think he would still want to go through with it...

based on this post of @lavuchiha

Warnings: no reader description (I think) so might be read as a Strong/Velaryon/Targaryen/Cole reader although the rumours of her brother's parentage did not spare her so she is often referred to as a Strong bastard too, canon typical stuff, bit more angsty than I intended and way too long for a one shot, soooo... sorry for the ending?

Aemond often thought of the promise he made you, sometimes with yearning, sometimes with resentment but the closer your nameday got, the more trouble he had chasing away that memory. The news of your visit to the Keep was certainly no help in trying to ignore his feelings.

On the day of your arrival, it seemed he practically lived in that moment that was engraved in his heart and soul to this very day. For the umpteenth time, his body moved on its own as his mind was far away from the training yard where you and your brothers would find him later. His promise haunting him in unrelenting repetition.

"If you do not find a love match until then, I will take you as my bride."

The prospect of being married off for a political alliance scared you beyond reason, even at that age. No matter that your mother promised you would have time to find a good match, you knew eventually you would have to take a husband whether you liked the idea or not.

Aemond, being the good friend you could always count on, made an oath that he will not let you face that fate, to be given to a stranger who would not care for you. And when you giggled and asked how he planned to do that, he blurted out that he would marry you instead.

Your answering frown broke his foolishly infatuated heart but your question of what if he would already love someone else by then soothed the hurt as you showed care for his happiness, possibly at the expense of your own.

That thought, the thought that you cared, kept him sane through the pain of losing his eye and the following years of misery. He was determined to prove himself to be worthy as your king, although he would never admit it, not even to himself but that is what kept him going through the pain and the gossip and the mockery he was subjected to for all these years.

And now he feels like all his efforts paid off as he catches your brother's stunned and frightened expression while training but nothing could prepare him for the subtle wonder he sees from you as you are unable to look away from him, even as your brother's drag you away. The words repeat in his mind with a renewed fury.

"I will take you as my bride."

Aemond feels conflicted at the gathering in the throne room. On one hand, he couldn't deny if he tried that he immensely enjoys as Vaemond berates your mother and shames your brothers, on the other hand, he is ready to kill the man for implying the same accusation to you. In the end, he didn't have to, Daemon took care of it much to his delight and it seems to yours as well.

The dinner is awkward but he doesn't care, he can only focus on you, barely able to tear his gaze away as he deals with Aegon's foolishness and tries to keep an eye on your brothers as well. The second-born prince is thoroughly entertained though. With your flustered expression whenever your gazes lock and with the obvious fear his intimidating behaviour is causing to his nephews.

His good mood is gone as soon as the little bastard who took his eye starts to laugh at his expense. Aemond hesitates before the last word, his eye finding yours once more and you would swear you could see a hint of regret or dare say apology flicker over him for a second.

Doesn't matter though, his revenge is short-lived because as soon as your brothers would react you stand and raise your cup to him.

"I'd like to thank you for your kind words, uncle. Although I must say I feel a little left out, might even be offended if I didn't know better that your praises apply to me as well." You smirk in a way that tells him he managed to hurt you with his words after all but before he could say anything you continue. "In the spirit of that, I'd like to return the favour on the behalf of my siblings and I."

You hear your mother hiss your name in warning but out of the corner of your eye you can tell Daemon is delighted and that gives you the strength to go on.

"I raise my cup to my uncles, the finest examples of Westerosi nobility." You finish the simple praise and take a sip of your wine while you still smirk at him, this time in victory and with a hint of condescension.

Although you can tell at least half of the table doesn't understand the insult, not even the Hand, who was more often referred to as cunt by the Rogue Prince than by his name or title. Oh, but the person you aimed it at definitely gets it. Denying the proud prince his Valyrian heredity is perhaps a bigger insult than anything you could come up with about his childhood or his injury. Which, to be honest, was a sore subject to you too, so you couldn't even go there if you wanted to.

The dinner goes on, and you watch as Aemond tries to breathe through his anger while you bask in your triumph and the silent affection of Daemon's approval. But your smug smile hinders as his own lips start to mirror yours.

You are speechless when he stalks over you and even more so when he asks you for a dance. You are too stunned to do anything but accept.

"Breathe." He whispers into your ear as he leans down while he pulls you closer.

You didn't even realise you were holding your breath until then. The almost frightened look you give him as he guides you to the tune makes him smile even more but he says nothing else as long as you dance.

With the song ending, there's still a bit of a murmuring conversation going on at the table but Aemond's voice cuts through it easily, gaining the attention of your extended family.

"It is your nameday in a week. Tell me, Princess, have you found a love match yet, as you wished? Are you betrothed to any lord?"

He knows you are not, although he wouldn't admit that out loud either, that he was willing to endure the mockery of the court ladies if he could keep up with the gossip about your engagement, or lack of it fortunately.

To your surprise, it's the still entertained Rogue Prince who answers on your behalf with laughter in his voice as he says "No."

If you would be less shocked, you would spare him a glare but an almost forgotten memory comes back to torment you at that moment.

"If you do not find a love match until then, I will take you as my bride."

Aemond just humms at your widening eyes and lets you hanging for a long moment.

"In that case, I have a promise to keep, my Princess." He is equally entertained as his uncle as you are still frozen in place, gaping at Aemond in disbelief. The palpable dread of most of the people at the table only adds to his good mood as he seals your fate. "I will make you my wife."

He doesn't seem concerned as all hell breaks loose. His mother and grandfather objecting loudly, Aegon and Daemon sharing Aemond's odd cheerfulness at the chaos while your soon-to-be good sisters are trying to hold back your brothers. You can't tell how your mother or Heleana is reacting in the midst of all the noise and eventual fight.

It takes punching your apparent betrothed to snap you out of the paralysed state but Aemond's pleased, smug and nonchalant reaction to the hit makes you pause again for a second so when you react, Jace is already down, Luke is held by Aegon and Rhaena is trying to restrain Baela before your brothers are being held back by the guards.

"Enough!" you yell as loud as you can and it makes everyone stop and turn back to you. Before you have a chance to say anything else, your brothers try to attack again but this time Daemon finally steps up, commanding them to stop before turning to Aemond with a positively amused but still challenging demeanour.

You roll your eyes at them and turn to search for your mother to make sure she is okay. Rheanyra steps closer to you taking your hands in hers, a thousand questions in her eyes as she tries to provide some calmness. When a silent agreement is made to talk later, you shift your attention back to the two princes.

The staring match just ends as you face them again. with another humm from Aemond before, for the first time, he acknowledges the presence of his half-sister. The grin he greets her with cannot be described as anything other than evil as he digs your grave even further.

"I see no reason to prolong this any longer. The wedding will be held in a fortnight."

With that, he exits the room without sparing you a glance and you are left to direct your frustration at a still-amused Daemon.

You hit him in the arm and he feigns hurt mockingly before pulling you into a hug, promising it will be alright.

[miquella-everywhere]

Discussing Lore with @lordmarble 😂 This is obviously unhinged but there are some points here in this conversation that I would like to expand upon, be warned tho, this post is super long with a ton of pictures and mostly filled with speculation lol

So yeah, Messmer is potentially Godfreys son, and more importantly Marikas first born. Obviously this is all speculation but it still has some validity to it considering the evidence.

The impaled Giants at the top of Flame Peak had always been a source of confusion to me, but now with Messmers existence made apparent, and his moniker being "The Impaler", if he truly were Marikas first born then his role in the War of the Giants would make sense.

At the Mountaintops of the Giants we find the First Church of Marika, and this church was most likely constructed during the War and was the beginning of Marikas conquest and reign, and possibly where she wed Godfrey. Now crudeness asside, usually back in the day after a wedding you would consummate the marriage to attempt to produce heirs, so it would have been likely that Messmer was born during the war and had a strong part in ending it too:

Godfrey would lead the charge causing absolute devastation, and Messmer, the product of the union between the newest God in the Lands Between and this fierce warrior turned even fiercer Lord, would truly be a child of strength and a sight to behold on the battle field.

As for why Messmers hair would be red, I will turn your attention to the speculated Giants curse and how it (potentially) was that curse that made Radagon despise his own hair. Well the exact specifics of the curses origins are unknown, but what if the Giants/Fell God cursed Marika when she was pregnant with Messmer?

Hmm, your Era of Gold certainly is off to a great start with your red-headed baby Marika.

Queen Marika, gets pregnant:

The Giants and the Fell God: QUICK CURSE HER ENTIRE LINEAGE NONE OF THEM CAN BE FREE

😂 Jokes aside, the fact that this is possible intrigues me because not only does it flip the truth of Elden Rings history on its head, but because the red hair trait didn't begin with Radagon, it began with Messmer.

And now in the trailer we see this statue right behind Messmer of a woman holding a baby:

The woman is without a doubt Marika, as proven by the arm bands and the braid. And a statue like this seems to me like the type of statue that would have been commissioned to commemorate the birth of Queen Marikas, Gods, first born child.

But seeing how we don't see this statue anywhere in the Lands Between, and how Messmer is essentially a walking symbol of blasphemy against the Erdtree, it would make sense if this statue, along with Messmer, were tossed into the Land of Shadow to be forgotten along with the rest of the things and cultures that the Golden Order shuns. Which is exactly what this Land is as confirmed in an interview with Miyazaki.

Messmer also being brothers with Godwyn really gives Godwyn the much needed characterization and backstory that he is severely lacking, and Messmer being associated with Ancient Dragon Communion would make perfect sense if he was a cofounder to the Ancient Dragon Cult alongside Godwyn. As well as the angst that follows from the potential falling out and banishment that happens.

Like I said in the above dialogue at some point Messmer became this utterly blasphemous figure to the point that he was completely erased from history. What he did at this point, is unknown, but my money is on the theory that the Erdtree has been burnt once before. And committing such a massive Cardinal Sin is clearly worthy of being scrubbed from history all together.

If all of this did happen back in Godfreys era then it would make sense why the snake was seen as a traitor as far back as the gladiatoral days 🤔

So many things going on here with Miquella

I am fairly certain that Miquella is still alive, his soul and spirit may have left his body but his heart is definitely still beating. If you know about my Miquella blood theory, then you know that I theorized that the Arteria Leaf is connected to Miquella and the fact that the leaf has a faint pulse is quite telling.

And then there's this little blurb of mine👇:

"Also there may be a high ass chance that as st. trina, miquella might be able to have prophetic dreams seeing as he entrusted torrent to melina, and the spirit bell to ranni, to both give to you when you arrive to the lands between

miquella KNOWS about the tarnished and has likely favored us for a very long time."

It would not surprise me in the SLIGHTEST BIT if Miquella did indeed have prophetic dreams lol

So clearly Miquella knows about us and is willing to go so far to give us both Torrent and the Spirit Calling Bell(and 3 wolves) by proxy via Melina and Ranni. Miquella obviously has a lot riding on us I would say, and whatever he seeks to accomplish in the Land of Shadow relies entirely upon us...

Also if Miquella does have prophetic dreams could he or did he foresee Mohg kidnapping him???? Or is there a limit to what he can and cannot see in his dreams 🤔 But this post is already long enough, so I'm gonna end it here and leave it for another speculation for another time!

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Some dialogue from the original MDZS which was cut from the current version:

When Jiang Cheng had lost his golden core. Wei Wuxian had given up his own to him. When Lan Wangji heard this did he feel as if he would give anything up out of gratitude? Wei Wuxian immediately bluted out, "Nonsense! Nonsense! That’s outrageous ! I'm not that sacrificial*! It’s nothing like that!” - from this post, but I've found and verified this passage in the original version myself – see below.

(It was the whole dialogue exchange that was cut, likely due to it laying out LWJ's motivations form pushing WWX away too explicitly, not just this line. Add that to characters acting pretty much the same in this version, and MXTX never mentioning characterisation as something she was refining in the edits, we can be relatively certain this cut is not due to a change in characterisation)

Now, why is this important? MDZS (in its current form) doesn't state character traits outright – it's written better than that – but this is the closest thing to direct, verbal confirmation we'll get that WWX isn't a self-sacrificial idiot! You could always argue that since it's WWX speaking, he's being an 'unreliable narrator', but his remarks are proven right multiple times in the text. He doesn't seek out situations where he has to sacrifice something, it's certainly not his preferred route when dealing with a situation (he finds ways where no sacrifice is necessary, it's a side effect rather than a primary motivation, and as seen in the linked scene with Su She, if something isn't working, he won't go down with the ship trying to save someone. Even the motivations of the Golden Core transfer are a lot more than they seem at first glance – firstly, there's the Jiang debt ('He remembered every single thing he promised Jiang FengMian and Madam Yu—to help and take care of Jiang Cheng'), and this exchange with Wen Ning adds useful motivation context as well:

"If his core was ruined, he’d manage to live on, but Sect Leader Jiang was a different case. He was too driven. He laid too much emphasis on such a subject. Cultivation was his life. If Sect Leader Jiang could only be an ordinary person, unable to go anywhere in life, his entire life would be over." - EXR, Chapter 89

(And that's not just a conjecture! We along with WWX, are shown it in JC's reactions throughout Poisons 5 – he's not drinking or eating anything, thinking that dying and living would be the same thing and there's no point in living anymore.)

So from the evidence we’re shown, I’m pretty confident in saying that this is supposed to be taken truthfully.

Original Chinese:

江澄没了金丹, 魏无羡就把金丹剖了送给江澄, 蓝忘机见了, 会不会隐约觉得自己为了感恩什么都肯付出? 魏无羡立即道, 胡袄! 胡袄! 岂有比理! 我可没那么伟大! 跟那完全没关系! - MDZS original version, taken from here – you can find all of it there!

—

*From what I can find, the actual wording here, 伟大, means 'great'/'grand'/'worthy of the greatest admiration' rather than directly 'sacrificial'. However, judging from the context – that this is in retaliation to the view that he'd easily give up and sacrifice anything for some purpose (here, for gratitude) – it's safe to assume this is what it means.

[venus-haze]

Rip This Place Apart (Driller Killer x Reader)

Summary: He’s gonna rock your world, baby!

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request. I wrote this while I was dealing with a bout of insomnia, ironically. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Descriptions of blood and gore. Sexually explicit content. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

A man kept appearing in your dreams, and he wouldn’t go away. Leather-clad and oozing obnoxious amounts of sex appeal, he was the opposite of a problem, until your dreams started feeling a little too real. Maybe it was your subconscious’ way of telling you to get laid, but every time you had some kind of interest in a man, he clouded your mind until you either made a fool of yourself or retreated.

That night was going to be different, though. You and your friend Marcie had spotted a flyer for a funky looking local band called Shriek and the Spyders, a group of self-professed psychobilly hooligans who were known for their wild shows and over-the-top onstage antics. A bartender who’d overheard you and Marcie discussing the show the day before advised, “Wear something you won’t mind getting stained.” Your interest piqued, and you figured a skimpy black top and similarly black skirt would do.

The Crypt was a hole-in-the-wall joint that certainly lived up to its name. You could hardly see inside, save for a few red overhead lights, because of course they were red. The light fog that swathed the room was either from an effects machine or so many people chain smoking. When you approached the bar, you scanned the cocktail menu, all named after and inspired by classic monsters. You ordered a Frankenstein-themed drink, wondering if it were possible for a place to be too campy.

“C’mon, let’s try to get closer to the stage before they go on,” Marcie said once you both got your drinks.

About fifteen minutes later, the band strutted onstage, an abundance of leather and pompadours. Almost like—no, you weren’t supposed to be thinking about him. Not bothering with introductions, Shriek and the Spyders went right into an upbeat song that made the raucous crowd go wild. They didn’t let up, sweat dripping down Shriek’s face as he ran back and forth across the stage, microphone in hand.

In the middle of their third song, a spray of fake blood rained over the crowd, leading to cheers and screams nearly drowning out the music. Some of the effects looked a little too realistic for your comfort. The bass player’s “eye” popped out at one point, and the lead guitarist’s face seemed to literally melt during a solo a few songs later. 

You and Marcie had been dancing along to the whole set, your drinks long since discarded, half spilled on each other as other concert-goers bumped into you. It was the most fun you’d had in a long time, but you couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that settled in your gut no matter how much you tried to focus on the show.

In the middle of another song, Shriek broke into a howl as a giant drill emerged through his chest, spraying the crowd with blood again. Except, this time you weren’t so sure it was fake. No one else seemed to care. The carnage only electrified the people around you as they roared and cheered when Shriek collapsed near the microphone stand, his guts hanging off the stage. The floor beneath you shook at the crowd’s riotous stomping and jumping at the scene they’d just witnessed. When you looked up at the stage, you were horrified to see him. Gore hung from the end of his drill-tipped guitar, splattering the crowd as he revved it, keeping eye contact with you and grinning slyly at your disbelief. 

He leaned into the mic, the corners of his lips curling into a cat-like grin as he announced with a swoon-worthy croon, “This is dedicated to the one I love.”

Then he pointed right at you.

The energy in the room shifted to a tangible malignancy, or maybe it was your own panic as you tried to push and shove your way out of the crowd. Instead, you only found yourself being forced closer to the stage, his romance-laced innuendos and skillful guitar strumming overwhelmed your senses and made your skin crawl. It felt like the whole crowd was in on his scheme to get you.

With each song you were shoved closer, and closer, until for the first time since he manifested in your dreams, you were able to reach out and touch him.

Was he even real?

You were dizzy by the time the show ended, hardly able to protest when you were manhandled and told something about wanting to be seen backstage.

“I want details!” Marcie shouted, oblivious to your plight as the rent-a-cop shuffled you away from her. 

Backstage was a stretch. More like a narrow hallway with a utility closet and a small, graffiti-covered room that had been requisitioned by the bands. The door to the makeshift dressing room slammed behind you when you stumbled inside. He was waiting there for you, sitting on a grungy looking red velvet couch, his leather-clad legs spread wide open. His jacket was discarded in the corner of the room, revealing the sheen of sweat and blood that coated his body.

Your eyes drifted to his drill, large and intimidating, with a red tip that looked angry against its large shaft. You could’ve sworn you saw it twitch a bit, and recoiled at the thought of it penetrating you. 

With a click of his tongue, he drew your attention back to him. Raising his hand, he beckoned you over to him with a curl of his index and middle fingers. You felt a jolt rush through your core at the motion. Almost involuntarily, you approached until the points of your kitten heels touched the tips of his steel-toed boots.

“How’d you like the show, baby?” he asked.

“It was…a lot.”

“It was all for you.”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, blatantly ogling the bulge straining against his tight pants.

He grinned, thrusting up toward your face. “Could use a little help, sugar,” he crooned, eyes dangerous as he palmed his crotch. “Don’t be cruel to a heart that’s true.”

You let out a shaky breath in response, and proceeded to sit on his lap. He threw his head back, groaning at the sensation of your weight on him. Tangling your fingers in his slicked black hair, you pressed yourself closer to him, kissing his neck as you rolled your hips against his. You nipped at his throat when you felt his cock twitch against your pussy.

“Goddamn, baby,” he moaned. “Gimme more of that.”

Rolling your hips again, you let out a soft whimper at the friction from his pants on your clit. It was as if a switch flipped inside you, desperation flooding your senses as you chased your pleasure, grinding against him, almost embarrassed at the sounds your wet pussy was making as it rubbed against his hard cock. 

Your breathing shallowed, muscles ached as you rutted against him, feeling yourself getting closer to orgasm. For a moment, it felt like he was only there for you to use, to get off with like some living, leather-wrapped sex toy. Maybe he was. You weren’t thinking clearly enough to question it.

“Wanna go all the way with you, baby,” he forced out. “Wanna make you mine.”

You moaned at that. “Yours.”

You swiftly shifted so you could pull off your panties, tossing them aside on the couch. He undid his pants, his leaking cock springing free from its leather confines. Your pussy involuntarily clenched at the size of him, and your eyes frantically met his smug face. 

He reached between you, his fingers stroking your sensitive pussy. “Cat got your tongue?”

You kissed him again, more teeth and tongue than before as you lifted your hips, slowly lowering yourself onto his cock and whimpering into his mouth at how it stretched you mercilessly. You caught his bottom lip in your teeth, biting down a little too hard and drawing blood, but he took it in stride, licking it from his lips.

He sung your praises, his hands firmly on your hips as he guided you, your pussy taking all of him. His five o’clock shadow scratched at your sensitive skin as he pressed kisses to your neck and shoulders. 

“Fuck!” you cried out as you bounced on his dick, your cervix pounded by his length. Your vision blurred with tears, thighs burning as you kept riding him. So close. “I—I’m gonna—“

“That’s it, sugar. Come for me.”

Your orgasm rolled through you, rocking your hips against his as you held onto his shoulders to steady yourself. Your pussy pulsed around his cock, and you could feel his hot cum fill you as your body milked his seed from him. He was vocal when he came, your name practically echoing throughout the room in a perverse melody.

Riding out your orgasm, you shuddered against him, feeling his soft, spent cock still buried inside you. 

“That was…are you real?” you asked breathlessly.

“In dreams you’re mine, all the time,” he answered cryptically, kissing you with a disarming tenderness.

[fuck-i-like-too-much-stuff]

I dont know if anyone is ready for this but these are my "Problems in We Are" post:

Disclaimer: if you have been on my blog or know me at all, you know that i love this series with my whole heart. But that being said, im nothing if not fair, and in all fairness, this series had its flaws. Less than most, but still there, these flaws do need to be addressed. My love for the series does not decrease, nor does it for the actors, characters, plots and settings.

QToey: Stagnancy that was Very Fixable.

I don't think many would disagree with me on the fact that Q and Toey's relationship became stagnant after the confession. Their moments could only be seen as Cute and their dynamic was definitely not explored any more. Another thing everyone would agree on is that we would have loved to see the ase/demisexual representation in these two characters. Had this been done, just one conversation around it, the whole plot and mood could have been shifted to a much more positive and progressive impact. Yeah the whole conversation would be a "difficult" one but Satang and Winny could have handled it.

The Lack of Focus on ChainPun

Look, I get it. There's a heirarchy of importance and ChainPun were definitely on a lower rung than the rest. I also am not against them getting together in the last minute of the last episode. But there were definitely times where there could have been a flashback scene for them, like all the others got. The only reason their relationship didnt become a background/2D narrative was because of Marc and Poon being brilliant actors. Had their efforts to make Chain and Pun important not made through the screen, there would be very little cheer for them and certainly no impact.

The First Few Episodes

Till the 5th episode, the direction and cinematography of this show was choppy as fuck. There were stills of absolutely irrelevant objects, sceneries or characters (in the moment) that could've been fixed with just a little bit of finesse in editing. It was fixed in the episodes that aired 5th and onwards, but it did almost make me drop the series (i get slightly OCD about these things)

Yet Another Almost Useless Female Character

Look me in the eyes and tell me that my girl Fai didnt deserve more. In the first couple of episodes she is shown to be integral to the group, a core member and close friend. And then poof she goes, only to appear when it is convenient to the plot. Yes we did have Aunt Pui as a prominent female character, but her role was that of a Guardian that is there in ever series, while the same series disposes every other female in it. Fai could have been given a role in the group, including the trips and outtings, and i shall die on that hill if i must.

Lastly, and surprisingly, the Way they handled Phum's parents

Till the last episode, i was big on Peem only encouraging reconciliation as he hoped for Phum to receive the love that he had himself received from his own parents. And yes, that does remain. But they could have gone without making Phum accept his father, or his father being this sweet guy who is "trying". Phum's dad is not sweet, he is not trying, he is not worthy of Phum or Fang's forgiveness. Though it was only implied and signifies just healing, i wish that the family dinner could've just meant Phum, Fang, Peem, Tan and maybe their brother, with if any, his partner, and a small intro of Peem to Phum's mom. But we shall work with what we have Ao3 and Fix Its.

With that, I end my saga and shall return to random thoughts as and when I have them and maybe a new chapter every now and then to the relic of a fic i have that no one reads lmao.

Thank you for reading and please do add on/leave your opinionss

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Can we hear your thoughts on the Chinese Miracle Box? Not the kwami or the Miraculous themselves, but the actual box and how it both functions as a magical jewelry safe/home for the dormant kwami as well as how it affects the story.

Sure! I'm actually completely on board with the general concept of the miracle box. Because the miraculous are not always in use, it makes perfect sense to have a place where they're stored while dormant. It also makes perfect sense to have a guardian who watches over the miraculous while they're not in use and who calls them into use when the time is right. While I prefer to let the Kwamis choose their holders, a human doing the initial vetting makes a lot of sense since the Kwamis have to stay hidden and can't do direct interactions pre-choosing.

I'd only nix the miracle box if you were also nixing the miraculous and having the powers come directly from the Kwamis instead. You could also nix the miracle box and have each miraculous stored in its own place of power that only the worthy can access because that's a lovely classic setup, but it would not fit canon in the slightest, so I wouldn't do that for all of the miraculous. There is a solid argument for a mix of the miracle box and other miraculous in places of power, but let's not get into that here.

While I love the miracle box and wouldn't get rid of it, there are certainly some flaws with canon's execution of the concept. The biggest one is that it's very weird to have dozens of them spread all over the world. Were they made by the same person/group and then spread out? If not, then how did all of these different people/groups learn to make miracle boxes? Do they all work the same way? What happens if someone tries to make a box based on a Force that's in another box? Do you just magically attract whatever Kwami is closest? There are just so many questions raised by the multi-box reveal and those questions aren't just about the boxes. They're about the way that the boxes should be effecting world!

If there are dozens of miraculous spread across the globe, then why aren't miraculous a well known thing in this world? And why didn't Fu seek out help from another guardian group post-Feast? You can also reverse that and ask why other guardians failed to track down Fu? They have magic staves that let you find miracle boxes, this isn't an impossible task!

We're told that the canon box was just one of several boxes held by Fu's group, so I'm guessing that this was the main group? The master order? The one that all of the other guardian groups would notice going missing? Of course, that's assuming that they all know about each other, but I feel like they almost have to given the fact that the Ladybug has previously been seen in both Europe and Egypt, implying that the Tibetan group has done a lot of globe trotting in the past. It would make a lot of sense if the other orders call on the main order when help is needed otherwise how does the Tibetan group keep getting involved?

We also have to ask what the differences are between the different orders and why all of them seem to be inactive? After all, we don't hear of any other miraculous holders save for the ones introduced in the two specials and both of those specials were about giving these new heroes a miraculous. They didn't already have one. The only heroes that were active before the start of canon were the American heroes and they're all non-miraculous superheroes, which raises even more questions like why is America superhero central while China, France, and England are left hero-less? (Just naming those because I think that those are the only other countries that we've seen discussed or visited in canon.)

Dialing this back to the canon box, I like the idea that the Kwamis are awake in a pocked dimension while they're not in use. That's so much nicer than making them sleep, though it does make their season-four naivety feel incredibly forced. (It was already forced based on their age and having previous wielders, but it's even worse if they're hanging out in a pocket dimension and messing with human things. They should not come across as oblivious children!)

Similarly, I love the idea of the memory wipe that we saw at the end of season three, but it makes no sense for that to be the standard way that the box is passed on. It should be an emergency protocol. In fact, I initially assumed that it was! I was stunned when season four revealed that Marinette could only pass the box on by giving up her memories. That makes no sense and raises so many questions like, if Fu was never a "true" guardian, then how did the box get tied to him? And why does it even matter who the designated grand guardian is if anyone can open the box as we see in episodes like Optigami and Ephemeral?

As far as I can tell, being the grand guardian is a pretty worthless role. The only special powers it gives are remote access to the canon box (which we'll get to in a minute) and that whole magically reshaping the box to suit you thing which I still don't fully understand because that's not what happened when Fu got the box! It's appearance doesn't change between the present and his memories. We even have Su-Han claiming that the shape of the box proves your worth as a guardian in Furious Fu while also claiming that Fu wasn't a true guardian and just what?

Marinette: Hey! That's not fair! Why didn't I get a staff? Su-Han: Precisely because you are not a true guardian! This is all a misunderstanding, and the incorrect shape of the box proves it.

This exchange from Lies also makes no sense to me:

Marinette:(notices button on the top of box, pushes it, causing all the kwamis to be freed. She falls over) I thought they couldn't get out? Tikki: Now that you're the Guardian, the box has become just like you! Full of surprises! That's amazing!

Why does Marinette having the box add this feature? This sounds more like something that Adrien would get. And what special features did Fu have? I have so many questions...

In my opinion, the memory thing should just be a standard option for anything related to the miraculous. Any chosen should be able to send their miraculous back to the box at the price of their miraculous-specific memories and anyone holding the box should be able to send it to someone at the price of their miraculous-specific memories. There should be no such thing as a grand guardian who is magically designated.

Similarly, the miracle box should have one shape and never change. I really miss the old design. I thought it was elegant. Now we have the weird egg thing which, once again, makes no sense because why would Marinette's be ladybug themed when Fu's wasn't turtle themed? This is extra true because the new bright red egg look makes it damn near impossible to hide the thing! Anyone would look at the egg box and go "wtf is that?" Meanwhile Fu's box could have sat on a shelf and no one would have questioned it because it blended into the scenery.

I said that we'd talk about Marinette having remote access so let's end on that topic. I think that Marinette being able to access the miracle box via her yo-yo is a neat function of being the designated grand guardian, but since I have mixed feelings about that being a thing, I'm not sure if I'd keep that function around. This is extra true because Su-Han gives us this extremely confusing line in Furious Fu:

Su-Han: Let me remind you about some of the Perfect Precepts that you have broken... Precept 133: A guardian cannot, under any circumstances, wear a Miraculous.

If that's true, then why is the remote access feature even a thing? It's something that you'd only add if you wanted guardians to also be wielders. Even then, a guardian could just open their box, put the miraculous inside of their weapon, and simulate the remote access feature that way so, once again, how is this a feature worth losing your memory over?

And why can't guardians wield? The only major risk that I can think of comes from the stupid remote access thing. That could easily lead to trouble as canon already proved at the end of season four. Outside of that, you could argue that a gaurdian's secret knowledge is at risk if they're captured, but miraculous holders would also have some of that knowledge so it seems a bit excessive to ban guardians from wielding, though I do see a solid argument for them being limited to more supporting roles that minimize their risk of capture.

If remote access has to be a thing, then I definitely would make it less of a security risk by removing the canon "feature" that allows anyone to use the remote access so long as they have the guardian's weapon. That made no sense! It should be something that only the guardian can do, especially since we see that Marinette's yo-yo also acts as storage. How can any rando open it to the right pocket dimension when she presumably has two of them? Or maybe she doesn't? Does her stuff go into the Kwamis' pocket dimension now? Where did it go beforehand? How does any of this work? One again, my questions are endless!

Even if you make the remote access feature more secure, it still creates a scenario where the guardian is arguably too high risk to be on the battlefield unless the situation is dire. With the remote access feature, the villains don't have to find the box's hiding place and the other heroes have no way to truly protect it outside of removing all of the miraculous. But then, since anyone can open the miracle box, is that really such a big deal? I honestly don't know. The stakes and rules around these things are nonsense.

Either way, the remote access feature is simply not a feature that makes sense if you're trying to design a logical magic system. It only makes sense if you're trying to find a way to make it easier for your main character to hand out miraculous without always having to go back to her house or if you're trying to come up with a way to make your main character lose all the miraculous without her identity being outed, which is my best guess as to why the feature was suddenly a thing in season four.

[ahamkara-apologist]

Oh thank god now that Echoes is finally out I can talk about the Faith-Keeper loretab

First off: I'm not really sure who it is exactly, but we've got a Hidden agent listening in on a discussion between Eido and the Spider about Eramis. If I had to guess, this agent is likely Ikora, since Misraaks asked her to look after Eido at the end of the Lost in the Light quest post-FS campaign, but we don't really get any clarification here. In my heart its Ikora, though.

First off: I LOVE the callback to Eido's shitty datapad security from Season of Plunder. Remember when she was recording her audio logs and Eramis just dropped in unexpectedly to talk to her behind Misraaks's back? Looks like she hasn't fixed her security breach well enough to prevent others from doing the same. Which is deeply funny to me- babygirl, your father is a Splicer. His whole entire job is being a top tier hacker!! You need better security than that!!!

Eido babyyyy, I'm not sure why you think you can blackmail a crime lord, but I admire your efforts! I'm not really sure what Spider is doing here, maybe moving closer to her? Either way I love how his whole 'fake caring' shtick got immediately dropped to the side as soon as Eido laughed at him. You're not winning any uncle points here, Spider. The note about Eramis having been given up by everyone around her, however? This is both a good and a bad sign. Good because it means that the forces of Darkness that got her into this whole mess no longer give a fuck about her and aren't there to push her into poor decisions again, bad because Eramis is historically notorious for making terrible decisions when there's nobody around to influence her anyways. Given the fact that she was outright suicidal the last time we checked in on her and that means that we have a limited time frame to get Eido to soften her up before she starts putting her neck on the line again (which has me very nervously side-eyeing Revenant; I don't believe that she would want to join with Fikrul given her prior experiences with the Scorn, but it can also go either way if she's pushed. Eido could convince her to give her assistance to prevent him from spreading Dark Ether...or Fikrul could sway her to look away from what he's doing by promising to bring back Riis with the power of the Echo)

Not gonna lie, my first reaction when I read the 'staccato clicking' noises coming from Eido was 'DID SHE JUST PULL A FUCKING GUN ON HIM??', followed by wondering if she was threatening him in some way- then a friend pointed out she was likely crying, which made me go back to reread and realize that the wheezing noises were coming from her, not Spider (in my defense, he's a wheezy boi). So, yeah, she's crying. Poor sweet girl, I've been there before. I know that Misraaks set Spider on her to try to set her straight (which is deeply funny to me- he must be desperately worried for him to have Spider handle her, of all people), but, well...it's the Spider. He's a crime boss. 'Gentle' isn't in his nature

This does give me great hope for an Eramis redemption arc in the future, though. Compared to everyone else we've faced recently, Eramis hasn't even come close to the level of awful that the Witness has done, and she's outright helped us in several instances. There's no reason why we can't try to form an alliance with her- the main thing stopping us is because Eramis herself doesn't think that she's worthy of redemption. If we can barter with Savathun- whose desires are ultimately selfish even if they were momentarily aligned with our own- then we can certainly assist Eramis, especially if it means getting the remaining Houseless Eliksni off our back and in a safe, guardian-free refuge of their own (WITHOUT being tricked into being pawns of the Witness)

Also- absolutely love Eido's little speech here. Her insistence on clinging to optimism is probably what made Eramis see Eido as the guiding light for the future of the Eliksni people, and in a way, it's perfect to fit the Traveler's motif of forgiveness in the Light. Makes me wonder if the theory that Eido is the Kell of Kells may be hinted at here, since it's Eido alone of all other Eliksni who refuses to give up on a person's ability to change for the better. Even Misraaks can't do that, despite creating House Light and its open-door forgiveness policy.

I TOO WOULD LIKE GREATER CULTURAL CONTEXT ON ELIKSNI NON-VERBAL COMMUNICATION. I wonder who EKS-443 is- I would love to harass them for more information on what certain Eliksni vocalizations mean. I'm so starved for more worldbuilding on their biology and cultures, I'm hoping this is a sneak peak into what we might be getting in Revenant.

But also. Uh-oh bestie. The Vanguard should probably keep their claws out of this if they want diplomacy to succeed, because Eramis is not going to be happy if we stick our soft little monkey paws into Eliksni business again. We're going to have to back Eido up but let her do most of the talking/persuading, or shit can go south really fucking quickly- just like trying to pspsps a wary old ally cat into the safety of a home after years of extensive abuse. Waiting with bated breath to see how this turns out!

[melrosing]

I just find so much of the whole Lyanna Rhaegar thing so interesting. And its something I've explored more in my fanfics (that I've not really posted). But it's really weird to me that so many people's take away was that they were starcrossed lovers when... Rhaegar was like 23 (idk, an adult), married with a kid and Lyanna was a 15 yo. regardless of many factors, Rhaegar was still in the wrong in kidnapping her (no matter how willing of a victim she was). I totally buy that they thought their love story was that of starcrossed lovers.

also I love Ned having a complicated relationship with Brandon. I'm a sucker for Ned/Cat, and it's always strange to think that had things gone right she would've married Brandon. Like, it must be weird to look at the family you love and know you wouldn't have any of it if your brother (and to some extent sister) hadn't died.

Anyways, love the ending of season 1! I've found the whole thing super fun!

Yeah, I talked a bit about how I see Rhaegar and Lyanna here - like I'm sure they felt like star-crossed lovers, and GRRM the Shakespeare fanatic has certainly incorporated a handful of Romeo & Juliet tropes into their story. But they're also a lot more complicated than that. I can't disregard Lyanna's age, I can't disregard Rhaegar's obsession with prophecy and how that may have played a part in his pursuit of Lyanna (and his pursuit of a child from her body), and I can't disregard how he treats Elia and their children.

And people do minimise the affront to Elia which is really irritating to me, like as you can see per my sparknotes thing I don't believe that Elia ever came to love Rhaegar - I think at best she may have thought in the early days she was lucky to have such a worthy match, but that there's otherwise no suggestion they were close or even had any especial rapport. So, fine - it was a political match and not a love match - so if either of them privately committed adultery, that would be one thing.

But humiliating Elia in front of virtually all of Westeros by making a show of disregarding her, when she is either pregnant with his child or has just given birth to his child... and then later leaving her and their two young children in the charge of a teenager and a pyromaniac??? like sorry no i'm just not having it babes. it's not on

And yeah I definitely like the idea of Brandon and Ned having a kind of spiky relationship! I think Ned loved his brother but I can imagine there were things he disliked about him. And that Brandon could be quite callous towards Ned, treating him a bit like a doormat, condescending to him etc, and not even realising he's doing it because Ned's feelings hardly register with him.

It would kind of make Ned's close friendship with Robert more interesting, because I think Brandon was probably a lot like Robert - but here's a version of his brother who has time for him and jokes with him and confides in him etc etc. So it was easier to look past Robert's foibles and failings.

But then obviously Ned would feel a lot of guilt for having resented his brother once Brandon is gone (and Brandon dies proving how much he truly values his family), and for having inherited everything he was meant to have. It makes me think again of Jon as like a twisted outlet of penance for Ned. like he would always have cared for and protected Jon for Lyanna, yet part of him thinks he deserves Catelyn's resentment and the judgement of society that comes with Jon, but for own private guilt.

anyway thanks so much for reading they're really fun to write! working on plotting out the next bunch tonight....