#choosing only one route fucking hurts

[what-do-you-mean-theyre-evil]

WHY GIVE ME THE OPTION OF POURING MY LOVE INTO TWO TALISMANS IF I CAN ONLY HAVE ONE MAN!?!?!

[itwoodbeprefect]

stoic illiterate unwilling assassin deeply in love with unfailingly kind rich sad gay man almost stabs his crush's brother because the brother cares so much and so genuinely for the gay man that he searched assassin's room out of worry and found knives and a mysterious letter before being interrupted by the assassin who then does not want to show him the letter which seems incredibly suspicious, only for a later scene (after the gay man interrupts them and thus stops any escalation from happening) to quietly reveal that the very sus letter in possession of this illiterate assassin is not in fact a sign he's lying about being illiterate.... it's just two pages of him practicing the gay man's name over and over in neatly spaced lines...... a reveal which he was going to STAB a man over because he doesn't know that the gay man's brother knows the man is gay and loves him with his whole heart and would never ever do anything to hurt him........ i will never get over this, how could i ever get over this, everything else ever is going to be downhill from here

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: to blanc, you are the change he needed, and your pressing secret won't change that.

WARNINGS: mentions of mortality, blood. Vampire stuff.

COMMENTS: ok ok so @vivislosingitagain here is my thought process YOU like biting people and sucking their blood so YOU are a vampire. and HEY GUESS WHAT vampires are IMMORTAL kind of. and im pretty sure blanc is really fucking old so i think mortality angst would work great with him BUT WHAT IF HIS PARTNER WAS AS OLD AS HE WAS AND BIT HIM. that's the post.

also im so sorry if blanc is out of character i have seen this man three times in the routes ive played + the prologue oops.

It’s a clear night. The stars are bright in the sky, just as they were hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Blanc doesn’t know if they’ll ever change, but he takes comfort in their consistency. They’re stationary, unmoving, unshifting, just like him. He’s always been in Cradle, long enough to see the shattering of bonds between the armies and the first Alice fall. He’s seen the skirmishes and the blood and the carnage.

And he’s seen you, the one who followed him into the rabbit hole and into Cradle.

He remembers thinking you were cute. He remembers Oliver scolding him for speaking his mind, and he remembers you tearing your eyes away from him, a shy smile on your lips. You’ve always been alluring, in a way he never anticipated, and it makes him wonder if someone from the Land of Reason can really be magical like the people of Cradle.

It’s no use though—he knows the passage of time will take you away. He knows love (what he feels for you, there’s no doubt about it) is a powerful force, but it cannot break the way the sun and moon rise and fall, it cannot stop the stars from dying light years away, it cannot stop your inevitable aging.

He knows this, and yet he can’t let go. He greets you in the morning with a soft pat on your head, leaning over your bed as you stretch and yawn. His gaze softens when you rub your eyes and look over at him, and you’re looking at him like he’s the only thing you ever want to see.

He’s so selfish—he wants so badly for you to only look at him.

For someone so keenly aware of how mortal you are, he knows he's being awfully flippant about it. It’s the folly of man, to be so foolish as to yearn, but there’s always the possibility that fate will take pity on his poor soul and listen to its cries for his love to stay.

And so, the next night, a night that should be no different from any other, he breaks his routine. He keeps you up late, chatting over tea as the full moon rises in the sky, asking you if you want to go home. He watches you as you go quiet, your previously bright smile fading into a thoughtful frown. You’re staring into your tea as if it can give you the answer, and Blanc hopes the tea will give you the same answer he would.

I wish you would stay. I wish you would stay with me. I wish you would think I’m worth it. I wish that if I had to be hurt then you would be the one to hurt me because I’ve never loved anyone like you and I doubt I ever will. I wish you would be the one to thrust this dagger into my heart so fate doesn’t have the chance.

“...I want to stay with you.” you say, and Blanc knows you’re hiding something from him but he can’t bring himself to ask when you already look so worried.

“Are you sure?” he asks, reaching across the table to place a hand on yours.

Your head jerks up and you meet his gaze with parted lips—almost like you want to tell him but are far too scared.

“You can tell me anything.” he stresses, squeezing your hand gently.

“I’m not...” you purse your lips, looking away again as you choose your words carefully, “I’m not having doubts about staying here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Blanc holds back his sigh of relief in favor of another inquisitive glance. Your brow furrows and he knows you feel his stare, your cute canines poking at your lower lip as you gnaw on it pensively.

“I have a secret I don’t think I’m ready to share yet.” you say softly, turning back to him, “I will someday. I just...need time.”

Blanc laughs, a sound that's full of relief and love and sounds like the wind chimes that hang in your no longer temporary bedroom’s window, the ones that have been there since you came and will be there when—if—you leave.

“Darling.” he breathes, staring straight into your eyes with so much love, “I have all the time in the world.”

The full moon sinks beneath the horizon and the sun comes up again. The teacups from the night before have been cleaned and placed back on their shelves, and the cake you two cut slices out of remains in the fridge. There are still traces of you within the house—your skincare is still in the bathroom, your toothbrush is next to his, and your chair still has a cushion of your favorite color. None of those things have been removed because you didn’t leave.

You’re still in your bedroom, sleeping soundly, but this time Blanc is there with you, his arms wrapped around you. His body is tangled with yours, your legs intertwining as the bed sheets knot themselves around your limbs. Your head is resting right over his heart, the part of him that’s pounding away for you. Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and stares down at your sleeping face, the face that shows him all of your thoughts and emotions, the face that belongs to the person who loves him enough to stay.

He wakes you up with a kiss on your forehead, a kiss on the bridge of your nose, a kiss on your left eyelid and a kiss on your right, a kiss on your jaw—

He sighs when you start to stir, propping yourself up on your elbows. The bed sheets fall off your body like water cascading down the side of a cliff, and your bleary eyes have never looked more beautiful. He lays there, admiring you in the morning light as the wind chimes chime, the soft breeze from the cracked open window ruffling through your hair.

You shiver.

“Darling,” Blanc calls, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Good morning.”

You smile when you turn to look at him, and you allow yourself to fall back against the mattress next to him.

“Good morning.” you murmur, your nails tracing the curve of his cheekbone before tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “You look so handsome.”

Ever the charmer, he’s rarely been charmed himself. And so he does the only thing he deems appropriate, and thanks you with a kiss on the back of your hand.

Weeks pass, and Blanc finds himself growing into this new routine. You're a sign of change, that he knows for sure. His own room remains vacant for the most part unless you decide to pull him into his room instead of your own when you’re ready for bed. It makes no difference to him where you go, only that he can follow you like the lovesick fool he is.

Except you’re not leading him to either of your bedrooms tonight.

You’re leading him outside, under the pale moonlight and into the chilly nighttime breeze. He looks up at the full moon and holds your hand a little tighter.

“Thank you for giving me time.” you say, the wind swelling as it passes between the two of you and further into the night, “I’m ready to tell you what I’ve been hiding from you now. It’s...not fair to keep it from you any longer.”

“I understand,” he smiles softly, cupping your cheek, “Go ahead.”

“I’m a vampire.” you say, and it takes his brain a few moments to catch up, “I’ve...found it hard to get blood in Cradle but since meeting with Kyle’s he’s managed to get me blood when I need it. I don’t like drinking from animals or people but it...has to be done for me to stay alive.”

Blanc’s brain is whirring as you spill your guts to him, your mouth moving faster and faster as you explain how despised vampires are in the Land of Reason, how people view them as monsters and how you’re certain you’re cursed.

Cursed. What a funny word to say to him.

“Is that why your canines are so sharp?” he blurts, leaning closer to your face.

You stop talking, bending backward just a bit at his sudden closeness.

“I—I’m sorry, what?” you ask, looking confused.

“Ah, well....I always thought they were cute.” he smiles kindly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“I...” you blink owlishly before shaking your head in disbelief, “Blanc, I just told you I’m a vampire.”

“Indeed you did.”

Your mouth falls open as if looking for the right words to say, and yet you come up with nothing.

“You can feed from me if you wish. I don’t want you to suffer any longer.” he offers like its the most natural thing in the world.

Still, you say nothing.

And then he murmurs your name, as soft as the flower petals brushing against your ankles.

“I don’t want to use you like that. I don’t want you to be a food source for me.” you grit your teeth, staring at the ground like you couldn’t be more ashamed, “I don’t want to be the monster the Land of Reason made me out to be.”

“You’re not. I give myself to you willingly, and I'll do it over and over again.” Blanc murmurs, hands slipping away from you.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt, leaving his collarbone open to the nighttime breeze and your eyes.

“My love.” he opens his arms for you and his shirt slips off his shoulder, leaving his skin vulnerable—

“I give myself to you.”

And he pulls you into his chest, as he whispers words of love telling you that you can bite him, drink from him, take all that you need and that it will be okay because he’d give you everything if you asked for it, and that you changed his life for the better, you brought springtime’s flowers and winter’s shimmering ice and summer’s warm sunlight and autumn’s delicate, beautiful leaves to a life that was so repetitive and boring until you arrived—a life that belonged to the man you see before you but not anymore because its yours and it will always be yours.

Tears prick your eyes as you kiss his skin, worshiping each freckle and small scar you can reach. Your canines poke insistently at his skin and you ignore the urge for one, two, three, four, five seconds before your mouth opens and you bite down, hoping the small gasp that leaves his lips isn’t one of pain. You’re careful not to take too much but it tastes so good and who knew drinking from the one you loved could make you feel so happy and full.

Blanc looks up at the moon as you feed, happiness and adoration blurring his vision as he thinks about you, you who trusted him enough to bite him, to tell him who you were, you who stayed behind for him even though you could have left.

He stares up at the moon and sighs because he’s in love. He’s in love with you.

And after you’re done, after you pull away and lick the puncture marks to soothe them, after you press a dozen more kisses to his skin, Blanc still loves you. His blood is smeared around your mouth but he pulls you in anyway, kissing you with everything he has because you deserve nothing less than that.

And he loves you.

Over and over again, he loves you.

He doesn’t know how long he’ll be aging or how long you will have by his side, but he knows that if you will forever be his constant, he’ll come out okay in the end.

[queers-gambit]

And Let Me Love You Anyway

[ part two of two ]

prompt: you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader only description given: red hair and Daemon's able to lift you

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: what the fuck is this, Cherry? also two parts 'cause author gets carried away!

warnings: show spoilers, cursing, author has small bouts of feministic ideas, author also really likes the "little birds" storyline (let her live!), wonky brain is wonky, i think hurt and comfort, angst, very mild NSFW (female receiving oral), technically alternative timeline 'cause this goofy-ass author has an overactive imagination, #icanmakehimworse, another reader-episode-insert (this warning is for the fucking losers in my inbox).

part one: "Tell Me Every Terrible Thing you ever did, And let me love you anyway," - Edgar Allan Poe

"Alicent, we're late," you sighed with a frown, wiping your sweaty palms nervously as your necklace was latched in place and perfume spritzed on your pulse points. YES - that included your ankles.

"That's the point, sister, we're supposed to be late. It sends a message."

Your eyes rolled, snipping, "The King will not be pleased. I am not his wife, he can get angry at me, you know!"

"He'll manage," she snapped, glancing at Talya. She continued, "He dismissed Father for telling him a truth he would rather ignore. So much so, after years of service, he'd - "

"Yes, yes, the King removed Father as Hand, sent him back home," you nodded with understanding. "But we both know how he feels about his daughter, The Princess! The rumors circulating would cost him his life in the end, we are lucky he was only sent home!"

"Rumors! Rumors, sister, truly!? Tell me, do you think Father lied?"

"I know he didn't."

"Exactly why we're late to tonight's affair," she huffed, fixing her hair in the mirror again. "It's a statement, it's deliberate. We will stand out, prove we are not happy with the turn of events. Why offer Rhaenyra blind respect when she continues to do as she pleases - regardless of consequences."

You paused, sensing her anger brewing and trying to distract, "You know, Ser Lyonel Strong is not a bad replacement for Father."

"This is not about Ser Strong."

"Isn't it? Father's served long and faithfully, but perhaps it is time for a new guidance. Lyonel Strong is a smart man - qualified, even!"

"Yes," she agreed, turning to face you in a shimmering emerald gown. "But this is still an injustice to our family that I fear I cannot overlook any longer. It's been weeks..."

"Yes," you allotted, nodding with a sigh. "All right, yes, you are right, sweet sister. This is all just - it's a lot to take in, to try and digest. And we talk of playing a game with the Throne - I do not think we've the strength to endure alone."

"This is not about Lyonel Strong, sister! It's about Father and the disrespect the Crown continues to offer. Remember that," she advised softly.

You nodded, "I know, sister."

She frowned, "And remember... They aren't our kin. Despite previous displays of kindness, the Targaryens have made it clear that we are not family to them. They are not blood to us, sister; they will protect their own, not us. If we wish to survive, we will need to ally ourselves."

"I understand," you told your younger sister. "I am not arguing, I know what our reality is now - I merely implore to explore the routes that won't label us as traitors."

"I know, we have much to discuss going forward. But none of that for now," she took a long breath, smiling as she looked you up and down, complimenting, "you look stunning. Truly, you might outshine the bride tonight."

"Let's hope it doesn't come down to that, and that The Princess has a mature bone in her body - though I do not hold out hope." You smiled at her, "But enough about me, you look - you look like a Queen, sister-dearest. Gods, you're gorgeous, you look just like Mummy." The two of you shared an emotional, watery smile; embracing tightly as reality settled in your guts: it was you two Hightower Ladies against the whole of the Targaryen clan. "Come," you decided, taking a deep breath, "are we ready to go? Any later and I fear we might not get any cake."

"Oh, you and cake," she smirked, looking you over in a matching emerald, lighter-weight gown that had layers of thin fabrics clinging and dripping from your form. Golden jewelry was clasped around both your necks, wrists, tight around your fingers, and plugged into your ear piercings.

The Queen took your arm and left the dressing chambers you took refuge in, coming to a gasping halt when you were greeted by a well-groomed man in green velvet. "Father," Alicent exclaimed in shock.

"My daughters," he smiled, offering both arms, "I do believe we are now fashionably late. Hmm?"

"Exactly as we intended," you mused, taking his arm. "How is this possible? How are you here?"

"I was invited, if you believe that," Otto answered, the three of you walking slowly. "Though, I suspect your sister had something to do with that?"

"I only told Viserys I'd be deeply offended if you were ignored for this event," Alicent quipped.

"None the less, I am happy to escort my daughters to such a historic event," he spoke diplomatically, aware of the guards and servants milling around. Otto lead the way to the Throne Room - where you could hear King Viserys' echoing speech from the foyer.

None of you spoke, approaching the open doors and pausing to let everyone see the united Hightowers. Alicent wore her dark auburn locks pulled back from her face to cascade in thick ringlets down her back, your own Hightower-red hair left down around your face with the longer locks pinned off your neck. The entire room - the entire court - all wedding attendees and royal procession stared at you three in shock for entering during the King's speech. Your statement was clearly made.

Even from this distance, you could see how startled Rhaenyra was by your arrival, needing to fight off a smirk of amusement in order to keep your neutral façade.

You and Alicent walked arm-in-arm with your father, the once-Hand, down the stairs and up the aisle of banquet tables full of people, staring forward and giving no emotion away. The people buzzed in quiet gossip. The attending Hightowers of Oldtown, sitting closest to the royal banquet table because of their relation to the current Queen, stood first; everyone else following in a show of respect.

You and Alicent paused to let Otto sit with his relatives at the lower banquet table before joining arm-and-arm together. Over the muttering of the entire room, you whispered almost mutely, "Be kind, remain composed, we'll kill 'em with kindness."

Alicent gave a subtle flex to give indication she understood.

When you looked up at the table you approached under the King's heavy glare, you noticed there was an empty chair between Ser Strong and... Prince Daemon? Was that really him? When did he get here? Why was he back? It's only been a few weeks!

Your shock did not slow you, and as you approached the table reserved for the Royal Family, you saw Daemon smirking at your theatrics. Alicent did not let you part from her side as she greeted Princess Rhaenyra with a sickly-sweet voice, "Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you."

She ignored any other reaction to let go of your arm, kiss her husband's cheek in greeting, stand beside him, in front of her chair, and stare forward with zero other emotion.

"Congratulations, Princess," you whispered, bowing your head. "Your Grace," you acknowledged, doing the same and taking the empty chair between Lord Hand and Rogue Prince only to stoically stare forward in silence. You did as Alicent did, not looking at any other, and just waiting for a pregnant moment that seemingly never ended.

"Please be seated," Viserys finally permitted, everyone sitting at his behest. He cleared his throat, whispering to Lyonel Strong, "Where was I?"

"The joining of the two Houses, Your Grace."

You swallowed when a warm hand laid on your right thigh, Viserys continuing his speech. You glanced at Daemon, seeing his smirk, and instead of throwing his hand off you, you laid your own over his to give a long squeeze. You had wrestled with the idea of his favorite whore, Mysaria, and the idea of whatever he did with Princess Rhaenyra for weeks. Then when you heard word that his wife, Lady Rhea Royce, had met her untimely end, you knew he was involved, yet said nothing. You could only think deeply about what it all meant - and how you fit into the equation that was Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Tell me every terrible thing you ever did...

All you could understand was the overwhelming affection you held for him. His shocked-wide-eyes found yours for a long moment, seeming communicating telepathically - you telling him you wanted him. His hand tightened to keep hold of yours, hidden from the public for the time being.

And let me love you anyway...

You tuned back into the King's speech in time to clap with the others, showing your support of the union you technically helped influence between Targaryen and Velaryon.

However, you caught the way Alicent glared at Rhaenyra, sighing to yourself; having heard through long private dinners what Alicent came to know and why this upset her so much. How strange to learn Ser Criston Cole admitted to Ali that he was coerced into soiling the Princess' purity - not her Uncle Daemon, like rumored. Yet none the less, the girl had sworn on her beloved, dearly departed mother to Alicent that she was still a maiden... A huge, glaring lie - that both you and Ali took personally.

You found all of this terribly interesting, yet did not let the distain show so boldly. After Daemon came to you in confession, you had yet to speak a word outside of public politeness to the Princess; feeling betrayed by what your lover had told you. He had been right: you were Rhaenyra's friend, she wasn't yours. So, you demoted yourself to create distance.

When the drums rumbled and the Princess took to the dance floor with her intended, you spared Daemon a look and muttered, "You do not have to look so annoyed."

"I'm not, sweet one."

"Nor so amused," you tacked on.

Daemon smirked at you, leaning in and pondering, "I am only wondering if you would care for a dance later, my Lady?"

You lied, speaking in a teasing tone, "I'm not one for dancing, my Prince."

"A single dance with me, then. Just one, pretty lady."

"You're pushy," you whispered, nudging him to keep quiet; but the grin on your lips assured him you were completely enraptured by his antics.

He sat back with a smirk, watching his niece and her fiancé dance. The entire courtroom clapped at the end, others flooding to the spaces around them. You glanced over as your sister stood from her seat, meeting your eyes and offering only a soft smile before descending from the table to approach your aunt and uncle from Oldtown - standing with your father on the side of the room. You sighed under your breath, your lover tightening his grip on your thigh.

Daemon made for a great distraction. "Did you hear the news?" He asked softly, reaching for his goblet of wine with his free hand.

"Which news would that be, my Prince?" You asked casually, pretending your heart wasn't hammering in your chest.

"Of my dear wife's passing."

"I did, actually," you fought off your smirk. "I am truly sorry to hear of it, I understand Lady Rhea was truly one of a kind. You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, love," you reminded in a whisper.

"Hmm. Don't be sorry, I'm not," he eased.

"You're not? Your wife died, Daemon..."

"I know," he met your gaze, "I'm not sorry because now it gives me vocation to follow my own desires."

You smirked, "Which desire will you follow first?"

His hand tightened to a bruising grip. He was not able to answer yet because your gaze was caught by movement, Rhea Royce's cousin approaching slowly, evidently a cup or two deep in the wine; making you remove Daemon's hand so you both could sit casually - without touching.

The man gruffly leered at Daemon, "In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes." Your lover spared you an exasperated look as he tacked on, "Even Targaryens."

"Who are you?" Daemon asked dully.

"This is Ser Gerold Royce, my Prince," you told him softly, "of Runestone."

Daemon perked his brow, asking sarcastically, "An excellent show of your knowledge, my sweet lady, but what does that matter to me?"

You didn't answer, Ser Lyoel Strong (who was listening in) didn't answer, because Ser Gerold was approaching the table by climbing the stairs. He growled at Daemon, "I am cousin to your late Lady wife."

"Ah, yes... Terrible thing," Daemon offered. "I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident."

"You know better than anyone, it was no accident."

Through a smirk, Daemon quipped, "Are you confessing some guilt, Ger Gerold?"

"I am making an accusation."

You shared a look with Lyonel to your left, catching sight of the King's turned head - showing he was listening, too. Daemon easily deflected, "Here, in King's Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you." This angered Ser Gerold visibly, the man stepping closer, but obviously restrained himself. Your lover continued, "The truth is I'm glad you've come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance."

"What inheritance?" Ser Gerold demanded.

"Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband, whatever she was due now passes to me. She stood to inherit all of Runestone. Did she not?" Daemon had Ser Gerold pinned by legality, the man looking disturbed by his own realization. So, naturally, Daemon taunted, "After my niece's wedding, I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself. Perhaps I'll see you there, Ser Gerold."

The man sheepishly walked away, his inebriated mind whirling with possibilities. You glared, pinching Daemon's arm so you could scold him when he turned to face you, "That wasn't very kind."

"And?"

"You don't truly care for Runestone," you snapped. "Now that man will fear for his home, fret over the laws, and that's not very nice."

He sighed, "What would you have me do, sweet one?"

"Leave House Royce to grieve and rearrange their succession without your pettiness."

Daemon smirked, "Whatever my Lady wants."

"You're dreadfully annoying tonight, do you know that?" You whined. "I'm going for a dance, and no, this is not an invitation to follow," you warned him - albeit playfully - before standing to excuse yourself.

"Sister," Alicent paused you before you could pass her by. "Are you well?"

"Yes, yes, just felt like dancing, too much energy to just sit. Come join - "

"No, no, I should sit. Eat," she smiled. "Perhaps tonight will be when you meet your match and we can plan another wedding."

"Perhaps," you mused, squeezing her hand. "You all right? What did Father and Uncle say?"

"Later," she whispered. "Go on, go."

You joined the stream of people dancing, instantly grinning when you were welcomed joyfully by different suitors. The band played a lively beat, the crowd cheering in rhythm; you being twirled around men and women with matching grins.

You heard your name being cheered through a small giggle.

"Hi, Princess," you greeted Rhaenyra as you both marched along to the beat. You reminded yourself this was all a game and if you wanted to survive, you'd have to play your part strategically. So, you quipped as you danced with Ser Arryn Blackwell, "Nice party you've got, huh?"

"Oh, you know how we Targaryens do," she teased. "Where've you been lately? I feel as if I've hardly seen you."

"Just busy with chores since Father was replaced as Hand," you answered, spinning under someone's arm.

Nyra didn't comment on that, instead, waiting a few moments before complimenting, "That's a beautiful dress, really goes with your hair!"

"That's what I hoped for," you gasped girlishly, deciding to play nice when she reached for your hands. You felt weak for a moment, but the truth was, you missed your friend... So, you might've giggled a bit when you joined hands, dancing together instead of with anyone else. With kindness, you offered, "You look gorgeous, as well, Princess, I love this dress - "

"Yes, yes, we all look fantastic," Daemon interrupted abruptly, crowding over you, asking quickly, "can I speak to you a moment, my Lady? The Princess won't mind, right, Rhaenyra?"

"Uh, no, I guess..." She eyed the two of you with suspicion as she stayed in-beat with the music.

"Daemon, not now - "

"We need to talk," he pulled you from where you danced, glancing back at the head banquet table as he took your hand, and lead you deeper into the crowd. He turned you to face him, pacing a small circle around you, demanding, "Do you still want to marry me?"

"What? Why are you asking now?"

"Because I just asked your father for permission," he seethed, pausing in front of you, "and he outright refused, saying he's negotiating with the fucking Lannisters. I need to know what you want."

"I was not aware what I wanted mattered to you, the man who views marriage as a political arrangement," you eyed him with a curled lip of annoyance.

"What arrangement could I want? Your sister is Queen, my family is bound to the Hightowers already. My political marriage is recently dissolved, I am free to do as I please, regardless of what others want or say - "

"Then tell me what you want. Tell me plainly what you want from me, Daemon, no more pretty words and veiled truths. Be plain."

"You said I had a year, and look - it's been weeks. Weeks, my love, how much more plain can I be? I'm here, now, free to marry, and I need to know if you still want to marry me. I'll marry you tomorrow - "

"Oh, please! Would you steal me away?" You mocked with a chuckle. "Take me to Dragonstone? Make me your little wife that you'll come to resent, too? Just as you did Rhea?"

He reached out to aggressively hold your cheek and jaw. "I had no choice in my first marriage, I could never come to resent you - you're all I've ever wanted. I'd do anything for you," Daemon snarled over your lips, "including risking your father's wrath. I'd do anything to make sure we end up together, you are my heart - do not forget that."

"Then pull out your sword, cut them all down," you purred, feeling his hand tighten, "and claim me as your own - do not let anyone stop us."

His lips hovered over yours, breathing the same air, and before he could respond or kiss you, a woman screamed shrilly from behind you. Daemon instantly latched onto your body as a crowd formed to your left and right, and when you both looked, you were shocked to see the commotion happening at your feet.

"Love - "

"Daemon," you paused him, shocked as Ser Criston Cole was engaged in a fist fight with some Velaryon knight before Ser Laenor Velaryon, the groom, was tackling him to the side. What an interesting display of protectiveness from Ser Laenor over his knight.

Daemon rushed in your ear, "Do not look - come away with me."

"Wait," you held his hands to your waist, letting him crowd into your back as Cole had punched Laenor to the side and straddled the blonde on the floor once more.

He landed one blow before the knight was brandishing a dagger; but the White Cloak caught his arm and easily snapped it broken, startling the crowd. Beyond your ring of spectators, other men were trading blows and engaged in their own fights; total chaos taking over the whole of the Throne Room. You flinched back into Daemon's embrace when Cole screamed like a wild man in the mountains, repeatedly pounding his fist into the knight's face; literally caving it in, creating a human minced meat pie.

Someone better contact Mrs. Lovett!

"No more," Daemon decided, Cole rearing himself back as Daemon stooped to heave you over his shoulder. He was able to find safe (enough) passage through the people, approaching the royal banquet table. "Hey, hey," he whispered, setting you down and taking your face in his hands, the wailing of Laenor Velaryon seeing his murdered knight echoing in the Throne Room. "You all right? You hurt? Look at me, love, are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm okay," you whispered, swallowing unsurely; reaching up to hold his wrists. "I'm okay."

"Sure? You shouldn't have seen that - "

"It's all right," you assured, stroking his wrists. "I'm okay, Daemon, truly. Just... A little startled, maybe?"

"What's this then?" Harwin Strong smirked, panting lightly from his rescue mission as the Princess was attending her father, the King. "You two hit it off then, yeah? Is it me or are sparks flying?"

"Something like that," you whispered, trying to regulate your breathing after the adrenaline-inducing scrimmage.

"Easy does it, love," Daemon whispered, keeping you close as you didn't let go of his hands; wanting to stay connected. He told Harwin, giving a half-shrug, "They aren't sparks. She's everything to me."

"Perhaps your second wedding will go better than this one," Harwin sighed, hands on his hips.

"In some cultures, deaths at a wedding are considered good luck," you muttered, Daemon snorting lightly in amusement before running his thumbs over your cheekbones in soothing gestures.

"Didn't your wife just pass, Prince Daemon?" Your father demanded publicly with a heavy glare. "You'd offer insult to her memory by remarrying so quickly?"

"I've grieved Lady Rhea plenty, Ser Hightower, it's time to look to the future," Daemon declared, eyes daring your father to challenge him. "The Lady Hightower and I will wed. The sooner, the better, in truth."

And history would never be the same.

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded, whirling around at the news, making all others pause in confusion. "What did you say?"

"That I intend to marry the Lady Hightower."

"Her? Her? Fucking her - who is more prude than woman?!"

Well, that was mildly offensive...

"Rhaenyra - "

"What makes you think you're worthy?" She demanded of you, turning from her father to stalk across the platform. "Worthy of a man like Daemon, of a husband like Daemon? You've done nothing to - to deserve such a title! The title of Princess, of wife!"

You were honestly confused to your core.

"I deserve a man like he - not someone like you!" She continued, shocking the group as the Kingsguard cleared the Room of any lingering stragglers to keep this as private as possible. "You think I didn't see you on my tour? You were fawned over, all wanted to talk with you, but were forced to line up for me! You rejected them all on your own, and now I see why! You wanted to wait until the Lady Rhea passed, which makes me wonder - what part did you play in that?"

"Rhaenyra!" You gasped.

"What? Honestly, it would make sense - the day Daemon's banished, you weren't seen! I wouldn't be shocked if you were seen somewhere lurking in the Vale! You cannot have it all - you've always wanted my life, and now look! You have to have what I have, and now you've taken a liking to my uncle after our scandal! What? He wasn't interesting before? You heard rumors about us and decided you wanted him for yourself? Just because he was mine first? You just want to be me, you always have - you've always reeked of jealousy! This is all you wanted, to steal my family, and - "

"That's enough," Daemon tried. "You are out of turn here, Rhaenyra, do not make this worse."

"Why? Because little Lady Hightower's façade of being a respectable, pure woman is now tarnished?"

"We share one dance, albeit intimate, sit next to each other at a single dinner, shared some conversation, and you now think it's appropriate to call my virtue into question? What of your own, Princess? You just admitted to scandal with Daemon - but I wonder why the service of Moon Tea if your virtue was unimpeachable?" You demanded, feeling defensive on a new level. Even Alicent straightened up at your words.

However, Daemon rushed to add, "With all due respect, Princess, I don't want you, and you can't claim me as your own when you never had me. You might be angry, but it is no use to take it out on my intended, she is of rare stock and breed - she will not be questioned. Nor will my intentions with her."

Rhaenyra snarled, "Yeah? You don't want me? Well, you wanted me enough to try and fuck me at that whorehouse!"

There were gasps and murmurs all around, but Rhaenyra was glaring at you and Daemon, still standing together. His arms actually dropped to hold your waist, keeping you close as he snarled at his niece, "But I didn't. If memory serves right, I walked away!"

"You wanted me!" Rhaenyra raged. "You always were and always will be mine - regardless of the whores you bed in the meantime! And I want you, I am not yet married - "

"Yet I will not be who marries you, I am betrothed to another," Daemon reminded with a venomous tone. "There's nothing you offer that I want, Rhaenyra."

"I am not some inexperienced little girl anymore, I'm a woman grown, and I could do more for you than she ever could!"

"Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared.

Everyone knew she had gone too far and there was no coming back from any this. After a beat, Alicent stepped in as if questioning for the first time, "And yet, sister, you said the Princess was served Moon Tea? If Prince Daemon did not touch the Princess, does this mean she still," she scoffed as if the idea were absurd, "sullied her maidenhood? Before marriage?"

It should be noted that Ser Criston Cole was already gone from the hall at this time. In fact, he lingered just outside a side door, listening, in case his name came up. When Alicent spoke, he straightened up and started the slow trek to the Godswood.

"Ser Lyonel? Do I misunderstand?" Alicent pulled the Hand into the fray.

"Well, that's what that would sound like, Your Grace," he agreed begrudgingly. "Moon Tea is beneficial to prevent unwanted consequences outside of marriage."

"From what I understand, she was served by Grand Maester Mellos himself," you told Ali, minds strung together by a common thread. "The castle likes to gossip, you can learn a lot if you just listen."

"This is..." Viserys seethed, "Unacceptable."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," you instantly apologized.

"No, no," he deflected, hand held up, "you have a duty to the Realm to flesh out any deception. And this," he directed his glare at his daughter, "is a grand deception that cannot be undone, unknown, covered-up, anymore, Rhaenyra!"

There was a meltdown. Everyone began yelling.

Viserys was enraged. Rhaenyra was desperately trying to plead with her father. Lord Corlys was demanding to know what the hell was about to happen with the impending marriage to "the future Queen". Ser Strong was trying to keep the people from each other's throats.

His sons stood to the side and just let them all fight.

Daemon kept you out of the line of fire, away from the action; sighing as you deflated into his chest. Over it all, Viserys' voice was angriest, and you heard, "You are no daughter of mine! The position you have put me in tonight - I cannot undo this, Rhaenyra! I should have never disinherited Daemon for you, breaking centuries of tradition because I wanted to see your mother in you! You have spat in my face around every bend, but this? This is unforgivable, we will not recover from this and I will no longer endure your insolence!"

"Father, please, let me - "

"No," he snarled, "I have had it with your disresepct the past several years, this is beyond any scale." You blinked up at Daemon, his lips curving down as his hands tightened around your form. And then, Viserys said the words, "I made a mistake naming you my heir. You may marry Ser Laenor, if you so choose to, but after that, you will reside on Driftmark with your husband - you will no longer inherit the Iron Throne after me."

"Father!"

"No," he snapped, "you've exhausted my patience, Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared. "And while Daemon might be unpredictable, the woman he wants to marry is not - and from where I am standing, she will make a far better Queen than you!"

It was quiet as everyone forgot their own selfish woes as father disinherited daughter.

"Your Grace," your father tried to step in, "with respect, why not place your son, Aegon, in line after you?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods, Otto," Rhaenyra raged, rounding on your father, "give up this campaign, you get all you want and more! Your daughter is Queen now and your other daughter will be Queen after that, aren't you listening? Your grandchildren will still inherit the Throne!"

"That's it," Viserys breathed, needing to hold onto the banquet table for balance as all eyes turned to him again. "It's time to do what I should've done all along. Rhaenyra," he shook his head, "I can no longer have you as my heir, this type of behavior cannot stand. I will give you permission to marry Ser Laenor, and if he chooses not to, I will allow you to reside on Dragonstone until a match is made. Until then," his eyes shifted to where you and Daemon stood, "I name my brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, as my Heir to the Iron Throne."

"You would not name your son?" Alicent asked in mild disbelief.

"No," Viserys told her, "no, I would see my brother as my heir. Should Aegon prove to live up to his namesake, we can talk about succession again, but I know my brother is capable... And though he might be overly wanting, he will learn patience, because I know the love of a good woman can change a man for the better."

You smiled, feeling emotional for a moment, but Daemon asked for you both, "Brother, do you mean to give your blessing?"

"Of course," he nodded once, "why waste a good wedding tourney? We shall announce on the morrow our new intentions - to crown Daemon as heir and marry him to the Lady Hightower. This matter," he panted, glaring at everyone, "is resolved, I will not hear more. Make the preparations!"

It happened in slow motion. Rhaenyra's rage flared to a temperamental height previously unknown; lunging to seize her father's Valyrian Steel, prophesy-engraved dagger, turn, and charge straight for you as the remaining audience shouted in panic. You felt Daemon try to push you behind him, but instead, your own temper flared and you stepped up to meet Rhaenyra; catching both her arms to hold her at bay.

Daemon was at your flank if you needed him, otherwise, he kept the Kingsguard away from you two - knowing this needed to happen now. Or else something worse would happen later...

"For fuck's sake, Princess! What is this? Jealousy? Huh?" You asked through your tears, struggling to hold your old friend's weight away from you. "What is this jealousy, Nyrie, hmm?"

"Don't call me that," she grit. You just sighed, pushing her back a little but not enough to overpower her; the girl's anger making her stronger than you would've previously guessed. "You've gone too far," she seethed through tears.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the Kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please! Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!"

"You think you finally get my life, huh?" She snarled. "You won't ever be accepted - not as Queen - not as part of this family! You've wanted this all along! Haven't you!?" She struggled against you, hands sweating. "You've always wanted my life, that's why you stuck around! Your mother died - so you tried to take a place in my family, make them yours - and now, look! You're nearly there! Pouncing on my uncle the moment he's widowed!" She snarled, bearing her teeth.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are, Nyrie," you whispered with a broad smirk.

"You aren't fit to play this part! To have my life! You'll never be accepted as their Princess!"

"I wager I'll do a better job than you ever could," you hissed. "There's not much to live up to, you don't leave a lot of room to fill."

She screamed when Ser Harwin's arms seized around her waist, but the momentum of him pulling her back and Rhaenyra's thrashing cause the Valyrian Steel dagger to slice your forearm. You yelped and reared back amongst the startled gasps and panicked murmurs from the crowd, Daemon catching you. The dagger clattered to the floor as Harwin backed up several paces to keep the belligerent girl at bay. You whimpered quietly at the sting, a pool of blood forming to the side you held your arm at.

"Fuck's sake," Daemon growled, "lemme see, lemme see, my love, c'mere," he winced, looking around before using his own belt to yank free and tourniquet around your lower elbow. "You're bleeding a good bit," he whispered, "you'll need stitches, sweet one."

You pouted at him, wincing again in pain when he tightened the belt.

Around you, the Kingsguard was ordered to escort Rhaenyra to her chambers, and the moment she was marched out of sight, Daemon was warning his brother that she knew about her secret passage door and parts of the tunnels.

Go stand watch," a personal guard was ordered by the King. "Someone go - go find Ser Cole - I want him posted in the Princess' passage, he's trusted to us."

Alicent slunk off to do exactly that, and she'd tell you later that Cole was found only moments from taking his own life. He was overjoyed to hear the King had requested him personally to stand guard for such a sensitive situation.

In the meantime, Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, thought it best their son not marry Rhaenyra; now that she had been disowned, she was less appealing. Viserys was free to offer her again later if Laenor was not married in that time and if she showed true change, but after tonight, nobody thought that possible.

Daemon tried helping your wound, your father approaching as he laid a clean cloth over the cut. Your lover tisked, "It's deeper than I thought. We should get this looked at."

"A moment," Otto prevented.

"If it would please you, this is not an injury I'd like to wait to attend to," Daemon sighed, nodding at your bloodied forearm that he held.

"I only meant to say, you have my blessing to marry, my Prince," Otto nodded at him. "Seeing the kindness you show my daughter, I feel... Content knowing she will be loved and cared for."

"Thank you," Daemon nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Father, but we really must be going, this doesn't feel very nice," you rushed to explain, watching him nod and eye your injury with worry.

"This way," He even instructed, a few handmaids rushing forward to help herd you away.

"Doing all right, love?" Daemon muttered as you walked.

"Bit shocked," you admitted.

"I'd say," he mused.

"It burns," you pouted at him.

"We'll get everything tended to, you'll feel better soon," he soothed.

You peaked up at his worried brow, pouted lips, darting eyes; whispering, "You're heir, again, Daemon."

"So it would seem," he deadpanned. "Can we not talk about it now?" He requested quietly, "I only wish to see to this wound of yours."

You nodded, and once in Mellos' chamber, you were left alone with your father - since Daemon was not yet your husband. Otto was silent as your forearm was stitched carefully; the bleeding staunched, herbs stuffed in the wound to prevent pain and promote healing. As you let Mellos wrap you in gauze, you glanced at your father.

"So... Your blessing, is it?"

"He's different with you already," he nodded stiffly. "And after his nieces' display tonight, I can think of no better future Queen."

"I do not wish to talk about future station, Father, but instead, that... That Daemon makes me happy and I am relieved you have given us your blessing. It would've felt very wrong to marry without my father in attendance."

Otto wasn't affectionate in the least bit, but he showed his love by doing his best to understand situations before passing judgement. It created a sense of trust and security between father and daughter. So, he asked earnestly, "And you will overlook what he did with Princess Rhaenyra?"

"He told me of it all the morning after it happened, I've had time to think, and I've had time away from him. I know what I want, Father, and while Viserys has changed history - again - tonight by naming Daemon heir, I know he is the man I want for the rest of my life."

"I see," he nodded. "Then... By all means, I will see this union happen."

"Thank you," you whispered, the Maester tying the gauze. "Thank you, Grand Maester," you spoke calmly.

"Of course, uh, um, Princess."

"I don't think I'll get used to hearing that," you whined, standing off his table. "Will you talk to Daemon for me, Father? I think you need to clear the air... I will not say the King will instill you as Hand again, but if I am to marry the Prince, I will need there to be peace between our families."

He nodded, opening the door for you, "It will be arranged, my daughter..."

As Otto took his leave, Daemon, pacing the hall, approached you. He took hold of your waist, asking, "Are you all right?" You let him hold your injured wrist in a soft grip, viewing the wrappings.

"Yes, Your Grace," you teased, watching his pale face flush.

"Don't start with that."

"Mellos just called me Princess."

"You are," he grinned. "And we will be married in less than a week's time."

"I can hardly wait," you whispered, letting his lips find yours in a searing show of rare public affection.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[spitdrunken]

Cannibal Town Mob Characters & Reader, Rosie & Reader (not x Reader since there is no explicitly romantic content, though it could be read as such.) Notes: (consensual!) cannibalism, amputation, noncon mention (unrelated to reader), death mentions, AKA Reader is kept for meat by Cannibal Town and gets protected in return.

Please don’t read this to upset/trigger yourself, this is essentially a cannibalism kink fic, though it doesn’t contain any sexual content or graphic violence. You have been warned.

There are two main ways to make quick cash in the Pride Ring.

One of these is to sell your soul for money. It certainly is not unheard of for some deals to be struck, especially not for those particularly desperate or down on their luck, but most would not want permanent servitude in exchange for money alone. A soul is a hefty price to pay indeed, no matter what is offered in return.

The second, and far more popular method, is to sell one’s body. Usually, this refers to sex work. There are a dime a dozen demons offering to suck you off or fuck you silly for, frankly, self-abasing prices. But this work is far without its own risks. If you don’t rely on your instincts, you could easily get butchered by a trick. Even if you can, quite literally, pull yourself back together afterward, that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. Not to mention, if you get too popular, you could easily get swooped up and ‘forcefully employed’ by someone like Valentino.

There are some who, because of the risks of the former, choose to take another route. It is not much better of an option, really. But if one wants quick money without working, how can they expect to have a game rigged in their favour?

The last, and least used way, to ‘get rich quick’ in the Pride Ring, is to sell your body parts to Cannibal Town. The rarer and more special type of demon you are, the more money it’ll fetch you, of course. The citizens of Cannibal Town might just as easily gang up on someone and tear them apart for coming too close, but there are those who simply want to cook up a nice meal for their husband at home, or the like. The meat for this is provided through such means.

The reason why such a thing is not far more popular is because, despite being unable to die and one’s limbs regrowing without a shred of doubt, is that it is excruciatingly painful to go through. Cannibals, as a rule, prefer their meat to be as untarnished as possible. Anything such as sedatives, drugs, or sleeping pills, is certain to ruin the flavour, in one way or another. According to them, at least. No matter one’s desperation, to get willingly dismembered or disemboweled is a bridge that only a scarce few are willing to cross.

You are not among those people. Though you hadn’t stayed in Cannibal Town for the money, either.

Rather, it was the protection from all kinds of demons running around the streets of Pride, the unpredictable and unforgivable nature of life there. You’re a rather humanoid-looking demon, at least from a distance, and aided you in your popularity within Cannibal Town. Sinners with such appearances as yours are rare, after all. That was the sole reason you weren’t torn apart on the spot when getting close to the town in what citizens would have described as ‘improper attire’. No, one of them had recognised your worth for what it was, and brought you over to Rosie.

She was utterly delighted to see a cutie such as yourself, and seeing the haggard and twitchy state of your being, immediately offers you an agreement. The entire protection and care of the colony, in return for a… Hm, a regular consumption of your body, is that how she shall put it? Rosie talks of the subject with an airy tone and a genuine smile on her face, the entire attitude of hers entirely surprising to you.

To put it frankly, she was the nicest demon you have met in Hell so far— And the most honest about her intention of hurting you, too. The sharpness of her teeth isn’t something that passed you by, nor the way she keeps looking you up and down. If it weren’t for her beliefs in decorum, you have the feeling she would be salivating.

She can sense your obvious nerves, and pulls back a little. You don’t have to offer your soul, if that’s what you’re worried about, dear. Just look at it as… A mutually beneficial relationship! You won’t have to worry about a thing for the rest of eternity anymore, and we will get another regular food source! Rest assured, you’ll be able to get plenty of rest in between. You shift from one feet to the other, both nervous from the mere discussion of the situation of being eaten, and the general idea of having an Overlord sitting in front of you, being so nice to you. You swallow. Will it… Hurt? You ask. Because, really, if it doesn’t, you might seriously start considering this. It is an insane thought even to yourself, but life in Hell hasn’t been easy for you, one who wasn’t gifted with physical strength nor some kind of strange power. You’re merely a run-of-the-mill Sinner, and for demons such as yourself, you have to resort to doing some strange things in order to survive. Rosie’s smile softens. Oh, dear, is that what you’re so worried about? She flicks her wrist as if waving away all of your worries. I’m sure you have seen my people out and about, tearing up some poor, unfortunate fellow, haven’t you? Is that the image you have of us? You nod, immediately and rapidly, feeling your eyes widening. Rosie laughs a little at the strength of your response, and leans forward, elbows leaned on the table in between the two of you. The tea in her cup moves a little, nearly sloshing over the rim. Well, let me tell you a little secret. I won't lie, and say that doesn't happen often, because it does. But it won't be your fate, dear. In fact... That’s not what you’ll be treated like at all! She leans back, hands folded in front of her on the table. No, I can promise you that, as long as I’m here, it’ll be as comfortable and painless as possible! You’ll get treated like royalty, I promise. Now, the specifics of such a procedure are not the type of thing appropriate over teatime, my dear, but I will tell you that you will be all blacked out sooner than you can count to ten!

You know that you can never truly die down here, still, the idea of being hurt is still terrifying to you. It would place in an immense amount of trust in the hands of the other party, to allow yourself to be torn apart, and have the belief that you simply won’t be tortured into infinity. And yet… You know that, out there, you would simply return to a life on the streets, knowing that every demon you look at wrong might as well bash your skull in. Would it be… That bad to try? You’d heard stories before, but never met anyone, who’d gone through with something like this. So, rather than immediately denying, you ask for more details. The protection of the colony means exactly what it sounds like. Within the confines of Cannibal Colony, everyone looks out for each other like a family, and, then, that would include you. If you were to venture outside of the colony, you could always have to get someone accompanying you. But I don’t believe you would want to go out much once you get settled in. Rosie tells you. Plus, this protection is to a point. You seem to be a sweetheart, dear, so I don’t think I need to say this, but no angering Overlords, or anything like that! That’s all on you, if it happens. Care, on the other hand, meant that you would get all of your needs provided for. Things like food, clothes, and shelter would all be taken care of for you, rather than a possible disaster waiting to happen. (Oh, I know my people can seem a little rough… Well, ravenous, around the edges. But they really are sweethearts at their core, you know!) You make a choice that could either ruin the rest of eternity for you, or make it a whole lot more pleasant. …Could I try it out, just once?

The first time going through it all, you were incredibly nervous and antsy. Even despite the beautiful room, the well-fitting clothes, and the regular meals provided to you, you were afraid that they would simply jump at you and tear you apart at any moment. And, sure, some of the inhabitants do look at you like a slab of meat walking around, especially during first meetings. You even got your arms pinched once or twice, but it never went any further than that. It had always seemed to you that the people of Cannibal Town were an uncontrollable force, driven by pure bloodlust more often than not but, it seemed, they were perfectly capable of restraining themselves when the situation called for it.

You come to know some of the other demons in similar situations to you, and there are not a lot of them. Either they look entirely ‘familiar’, whereas you look nearly identical to a human person, there is a female demon who looks as close to a sheep as they get, there are also a few who are downright strange— So unlike any other demon you’ve ever seen before, that you may understand why they would be interested in how one might taste. They’re all good-natured (it seems that Rosie isn’t all too fond of allowing troublemakers inside her little community), and happy to have someone new alongside themselves.

You quickly learn that most of the meat found here is either from unfortunate victims wandering in, or from people selling parts of their body for some quick money. You, on the other hand, would be considered a more ‘premium’ product, taken good care of and preserved carefully. One might think that this would create a kind of divide between you and the rest of the citizens, but it hardly does. There’s no lingering fear of death hanging over you, after all, even if parts of your body are consumed, even if all of you were consumed, it wouldn’t actually be going anywhere.

You find something in Cannibal Town that you haven’t found anywhere else in Hell: a sense of community. The men and women alike welcome you with open arms, always happy to welcome a new face open to their ways. Because you’re such a prized inhabitant, you never have to do any actual work, any of your attempts at doing so waved away.

But you’ll be taught how to dance and sing, which are favourite past times of the vast majority of citizens, dragged along from one celebration to the next. You’ll be taken to tea parties and asked to go on dinners, always greeted by everyone with a smile (Well… With a few exceptions) and, generally, treated well. You haven’t been this well-rested and fed since… Well, ever, down here, really, and you find yourself appreciating the choice you’ve made.

All the while, however, the idea of being eaten looms over you. And, eventually, you are awoken one day, and told that it’s time. It’s Rosie herself who comes to take and bring you to your appointment, as cordial and nice as ever.

Demons tend to get a little flighty, when it’s their first time. She tells you. I’ll be there to look after you, and make sure everything goes alright. You know what that translates to, really. She’s here to ensure you don’t take off running after all their hospitality, her hand clutched around your wrist, gently pulling you along. As long as she’s here, you know that you can’t escape.

Despite the reassurance from the other demons staying there (unlike the ones being paid in cash to offer their limbs) the process is nearly painless, you can’t stop the trembling in your legs. You are being dragged to your execution, or so to speak. Rosie rubs little circles on your skin with her thumb, but of course, it’s not enough to kill your nerves.

You’re made to undress behind a screen, and when you emerge, arms and hands covering your sensitive areas, shivering and covered in goosebumps, Rosie cooes at you. Oh, you poor thing. I promise, it’ll get better after the first time! Your eyes flit about the room. There’s a large table in the middle, seemingly made of steel, free of any suspicious stains. It’s wide enough to easily fit two of you on it, and Rosie pats it for you to sit on. She’s not the only demon in the room, another one standing in front of the doors, and another one in front of a curtain-covered window.

After a moment’s hesitation, you sit down, seeing no other way out of here. Rosie places her hand on your shoulder, and pushes you down until you’re in a lying position. Without a hint of hesitation, and her smile never wavering, she takes your arms, and places them next to your body, telling you that it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, dear, no need to be ashamed! And of course you still are. You feel exposed, in multiple senses of the word, not even physically, but also in the amount of trust it takes for you to lie here, unrestrained, and allow yourself to be taken apart— Knowing you’ll emerge once again, one day, but still. It’s almost… An intimate act, despite the clinical feel of the room.

Rosie places a hand on your cheek. With the other hand, she reaches for a pocket hiding amongst the seams of her dress, and takes out a knife. It’s long and sharp, the light catching on the blade just right, and making it gleam.

Now, I will tell you how this is going to go. Keep your eyes on me. She tells you, voice still as light and airy, as if you were merely talking about the weather. That really was one of her talents, you believed. She could sound completely harmless, regardless of the reality of the situation. Of the weapon in her hand.

I’m going to use this to pierce your heart. It will hurt for a moment, I cannot deny that, it’s simply the reality of the situation, my dear, but it will only be for a moment. After that, it’ll be like going to sleep, and once you wake up, all of this will be over, okay? You will be going into recovery, and all of us will be here to guide you every step of the way.

She shows you the tip of her blade, running it up the side of her finger. You’re frozen, every primal instinct left inside you screaming at you to run, but all of the colliding feelings of shame and fear and the knowledge of the futility of your struggle and the inevitability of it all leave you unable to move.

You have been so focused on Rosie’s words and explanation, to the blade pressed so close right above your racing heart, and absentmindedly, you wonder, why it’s not moving, your heart’s hammering against your ribcage, so why isn’t it creaking, why isn’t it bursting through?, that you haven’t noticed the other demon coming up behind you, the window in the corner now left unguarded. There is a sharp pain at the back of your neck, there is the sensation of your eyes rolling into the back of your head, and then there is nothing.

Rosie’s blade never even penetrated your skin.

You wake up in your own room, your assigned caretaker smiling wider as soon as you wake up. They are ready with an apology and an explanation, telling you that the kind of distraction used on you is procedure for the first time. It’s easier when you’re focused on something else, and don’t think anything’s going to happen yet; there’s less chance for you to struggle, and possibly hurt yourself. How are you feeling?

You are feeling… Better than you expected. Sore all over, exhausted, and your throat is parched. When you ask for water in a raspy sort of voice, a little cup is immediately pressed to your lips, and you can drink to your heart’s content. You’re scared to look down at your own body at first, nervous to see how much is taken from you. But you can feel the parts of you that are missing. A constant burning and itching travels through your shoulder and right thigh, the feeling of your limbs regenerating themselves. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not painful, either. The wounds are bandaged neatly, and they’ve already stopped bleeding. It takes a couple more days of bed rest, before you’re out and about again, rolling yourself around in a wheelchair specifically for this purpose.

And then, you are greeted with something you hadn’t been expecting. One of the Cannibal Town girls who helped teach you the kinds of dances you’d only recognized from old movies, approaches you with an even wider smile than usual. She presses a quick kiss to both of your cheeks, before saying that it’s so lovely to see you again! Oh, she really has to tell you, though she’s sure you’ve heard it before, but you are absolutely delicious— Did you know that? She giggles a little, taking out her fan and waving it a little, hiding her expression. It’s the best compliment you can get around here! Really, they’ll have to start a waiting list, with how many people are wanting to get even a little taste of you…!

It’s a strange compliment to receive, definitely, but it’s also… Oddly flattering? You can’t really do anything about tasting a certain way, but it’s still nice to be on the receiving end of such positive attention. Because she’s hardly the last to approach you with similar sentiments that day. Apparently, word has traveled fast, or little bits and pieces of your limbs have been shared amongst a large group of citizens, because almost everyone has something nice to say.

There are the ones who simply compliment you on your taste. Besides that, there are some who, in a way that seems to be closer to flirting than anything else, tell you that they wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of you raw any time. A few people share their ideas for recipes using your meat, while also making suggestions for types of diets you should consume, in order to steer your flavor into a certain direction. It’s a, honestly, overwhelming amount of attention, and you don’t know how to handle all of it.

Even Rosie invites you to teatime afterwards, not immediately getting into the heart of the topic. First, while offering you a cup of tea and a cookie, she asks you whether or not they got the right arm— We wanted to make it a bit easier on you by not taking your dominant hand! And then talks a bit about how the weather has been, and any large shifts around town that took place in the couple of days that you were down for the count.

Still, after a bit, she shows you the enthusiasm characteristic of her and her people, telling you of how she had one of your fingers for a snack, earlier, and oh, it was simply delightful! What’s your secret? She says, laughing hard enough for you to know that it’s a joke.

Please, she says, Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help your recovery along, dear! I knew you had potential the moment I saw you, and I’m glad to be proven right! She hums in thought. Next time, and, oh, it’ll be a while yet, don’t you worry, we’ll be taken all of your limbs. There will be someone assigned to take care of you as you regenerate, to feed and look after you. Dear, usually there’s a bit of a slower buildup, but demand is soaring as it is…!Something shifts in her gaze as she leans her chin on one of her hands, pupil-less eyes undoubtedly focused and yours. …And I wouldn’t mind getting a bit more of a taste, either.

It is a reminder that Rosie is still one of her people, and an Overlord for good reason. (There was also no room for argument, in regards to her taking more of your limbs.) It should scare you, perhaps, but these demons have treated you better than anyone else. Though there’s some lingering fear at the idea of a next time, you still smile at her in return. I hope everyone enjoys me next time, too.

[lenaellsi]

i've mentioned this before and it's a Hot Take maybe but. i don't think it's fair at all to characterize crowley's "you and me, what do you say?" speech from s2 as being equivalent to "fuck the earth run away with me to the stars right now" a la season 1

i guess i can see why it might come off that way, with gabriel and beelzebub having just left and crowley drawing the comparison to them, but a lot of people have sort of extrapolated from that this dichotomy where suddenly aziraphale is the one who cares about saving the world and crowley only cares about himself and aziraphale. and while i think crowley certainly prioritizes their mutual safety and is more likely to get spooked when faced with threats from heaven (i wonder why) crowley also loves earth?? he talks about it all the time.

the last time there was an apocalypse, crowley was the one who proposed saving the world, and he had to talk aziraphale into it. and like...he was planning breakfast at the ritz, wasn't he? he didn't want to leave. obviously "you can't leave this bookshop" meant "you can't leave me," but it also LITTLE bit meant the bookshop, and earth.

the circumstances of s1 were very different than the end of s2. crowley only wanted to run in s1 when 1) the end was about 4 hours away, 2) from his POV he and aziraphale had no idea where the antichrist was, so they wouldn't be able to stop anything even if they did stay to die with the humans, 3) aziraphale was about to Talk To Heaven the same way crowley tried to before the Fall, 4) demons were actively pursuing him for purposes of torture and annihilation. and in the end, he STILL stayed.

idk. if we're going to give aziraphale the benefit of the doubt for the Many Things he said in that convo, then i think we can afford to give crowley the benefit of the doubt that "we need to get away from them" and "go off together" might mean something more along the lines of "please don't go back to heaven, stay with me, it can be the two of us against them all." THAT was what crowley's emotional arc this season was leading to, with the flashbacks and his big revelation in ep 5, the same way aziraphale's was leading to leaving. every single one of the flashbacks had crowley choosing to help someone else at great personal risk--why would that lead to the conclusion that he actually wants to leave without trying to help? (of course, he did want to abandon gabriel. but I don't think that was even a little bit irrational after aziraphale's failed execution. walking away from the heavenly host who has done nothing but hurt both of them is not the same as walking away from earth. it's still a problem--ignoring heaven and hell will not, ultimately, fix anything--but again, it's not the same as abandoning humanity on a whim.)

TL;DR I don't think it's a fair reading to say that crowley's proposed solution to The Heaven And Hell Problem is "fuck humanity, let's give up." i think he was proposing working together against heaven and hell with the option of an exit strategy if everything went wrong, which is what he ALWAYS tries to do. (see: arrangement + holy water.) his need for an escape route and his tendency to prepare for the worst is something that is definitely hindering him in, for example, his relationship with aziraphale, but it also makes sense. because, you know. the last time he tried doing anything about heaven he got his wings lit on fire. so.

[ranticore]

wanted to very quickly make up an interesting & engaging culture for the lil kobold guys so that it hurts more when they all die. here's my ramble about that.

they are not reptiles but like many reptiles they develop into male or female based on ambient temperature during embryonic development, but they also evolved into endothermic livebearers. so with the parent at regular body temp it's a fifty-fifty sex-at-birth split, but in conditions of colder-than-average daughters are produced, and hotter-than-average gives you sons. other sex traits are temperature linked so it can also be possible to trans your sex if you go through a temperature shock in either direction (hypo/hyperthermia) but that's pretty rare because you'd be more likely to die. other traits are temperature-linked including skintone saturation, hair coverage, etc and can change over time throughout an individual's life.

all of these are evolutionary traits to allow them to survive seasons without a dragon in the cave providing warmth; the lairs are usually high up in cold mountainous regions. a dragon's lair then has zonations of temperature from hottest (dragon) to coldest and kobolds are able to exploit the widest range possible. when there is no dragon, there's almost no warmth (as campfires and the like are lethal in tunnel systems), and in extreme circumstances colonies can become all-female and propagate by parthenogenisis until a dragon settles the lair again and provides warmth. naturally their little colonies are matriarchal, and the matriarch has to commune with the dragon in an area that is extremely hot (because of the dragon). this causes her to only bear sons. it means that there also has to be a mother of matriarchs whose job it is to produce a matriarch, which she does by staying in the cold parts of the cave, to give birth to daughters. the daughters can be next in line for matriarch if they can survive the dragon (i.e.. if it chooses not to kill em) and thereafter have to stay in the hot zone.

anyway this results in a kind of alternation of generations and two complimentary ruling bloodlines who, while related, can never meet past birth - if a matriarch has a daughter it's an indication that she was not as close with the dragon as her duties demand (she is supposed to interpret the dragon's moods and provide predictions of future prosperity based on them). and if a mother of matriarchs has a son it means she was also not being dutiful enough (but i mean. ice baths all day everyday aren't fun either so this scenario is more common than the reverse). once a mother of matriarchs has a son then she's out of a job due to old superstitions that sons, being smaller at birth and easier to produce, will permanently taint a uterus by showing it the easy way out, and thereafter it will always pick that route. that's only superstition tho. the matriarch & mother of matriarchs both have a group of consort malewives. these usually have a mix of cold and hot phase traits and tend to bounce between temperature zones so they don't become too inclined in any direction.

the colony does not have only two reproductive members ofc, these are only ruling bloodlines. most individuals are not born from a matriarch or mother of matriarchs, and when the lair is occupied by a dragon there should be an even bimodal distribution of sex traits. a child is named based on imagery from both parents' dreams during the baby's first sleep (there is no day or night. baby is left out unattended by the dragon while it sleeps and the dragon 'decides' if it's worthy to live or not. dragon doesn't give a fuck and is barely aware of all this btw). if it survives it gets two names, one from each parent. then later in life those two names are used by the matriarch (if upperclass/Important) or the division leader (if lowerclass; hunters, scavengers, etc) to pair up one individual with another who has a complimentary name. the four names should go well together and paint a nice word-picture. the two individuals then become partners in a kind of culturally-enshrined buddy system and do their tasks together. it's very dangerous in the warrens and tunnels after all and it's best to go in pairs.

for example holly's full name is Holly Burn (due to being the very unlucky son of a mother of matriarchs, who had to retire; he 'burned' her) and his partner's name is Red Leaf. the names when spoken together make a little four-word poem which is optimally good in their culture

so that's what i got since last night but i have more Ideas. anyway all that's going on including some intense interpersonal drama between himself and red leaf when the knights come

[bwaybwaycwaycway]

Quick rant about Authority in Disco Elysium

I'm writing this because I had someone rightly call me out at work for second-guessing myself for not trusting in an answer I gave. Specifically, I was asked to identify a type of fire extinguisher from a distance, and even though I was correct, I wanted to check my answer by going up and reading the label. It reminded me about internal confidence in yourself and the things you say.

Authority is an underrated skill in Disco Elysium.

I get why people dislike it. Whenever Authority gets a failure, it has extremely violent, sociopathic responses to the situation at hand, like telling you to hurt people or, in a very famous scene, put a loaded pistol in your mouth. This kind of behavior upsets Kim, who serves as the moral compass for most players, so you stop taking risky Authority checks and don't bother wearing clothing that boosts the skill. You eventually think of Authority as a skill used by people who want to go the Fascist Cop route.

And then you get to the Tribunal. At the end, only one skill will save Kim. Authority. It isn't even you giving him a real order, it's mostly asserting that there is danger and that Kim must respond to it, and ignore your broken half-dead body. It seems like a weird choice that Esprit de Corps isn't doing this, as it's the cop-related skill, or Suggestion, as it is the skill best used to convince others.

No, only Authority will snap Kim out of his panic and make sure he survives the fight without serious injury. And that's because Authority is a skill that, when it succeeds a check, is about personal confidence in your ability as a police officer, and a human being living their life in Revachol.

Authority sure does get you into bad situations, and if you choose to go down the path of the Honour Cop, suggests thumb-fucking yourself to display said honour. But when it succeeds, Authority is barely there, just reminding you that you've got this. You know what to do, you've known all along. You're confident in your actions and accept responsibility for them when Authority is taking lead.

People don't trust cops with low Authority. Sorry Cops, as Kim says, are actively harmful to the reputation of the RCM. Apologizing and second-guessing yourself makes people lose faith in the government you represent and in your ability to solve the case or help them live their lives. A lot of negative modifiers are due to you appearing weak or lacking confidence when you first meet people, as they don't think of you as a trustworthy cop who can fix things.

Finally, the confrontation with Kim over asking him to share a secret about his past, involving the Eyebrow Off, shows that Authority is something that isn't abusive when used right. Kim uses his Authority to convince you to drop the question when you fail, but if you succeed, he share a little fact about his childhood that's of no consequence except it's slightly embarrassing to him. You learn on a failure though that Kim's Authority is immense, and it shows through his confidence in himself and his job as a cop.

Authority is about showing other people, sometimes even falsely presenting, confidence in yourself and what you're doing. When it fails, it pushes you to assert this confidence again, especially in the face of someone trying to assert their Authority over you. It wants you to be a good cop, but has such a narrow way of thinking that it can get you or other people killed multiple times.

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Fourteen — Jackson Rippner + CNC, roleplay

Pairing -> dom!jackson rippner x sub!reader

Warnings -> DARK!!!!, don't read if you're not comfortable, smut (minors dni), p in v sex, marriage, stalking

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

A/N: Sorry I didn't get this out on time, I was too tired to write it yesterday.

Disclaimer: Red Eye characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

You cried out, fingers wrapping around the fence bars as the stranger plunged his cock into your pussy, his thrusts mad and wild like a dog. Just a few moments ago you had been watering the flowers in your backyard, when a man snuck up behind you, placed his hand over your mouth, lifted your dress, and started fucking you like you were a doll ready to be used.

You tried to struggle out of his grasp, but it was far too tight for any movement to make much of a difference. You could still hear the man’s panting in your ear, and you could still feel his body push up against yours. Tears started to pour out of your eyes as the reality of the situation dawned on you — you were being raped. Someone was raping you.

“Please,” you whimpered, voice muffled, attempting to raise your voice (and failing) above the sound of the skin slaps. “P-please, stop.���

“Why?” the man grunted. “This feels so nice. I know you like it, too.” His fingers swept through your folds. “Why else would you be wet?”

It’s not my fault, you wanted to say. It’s not my fault . . . But no words came out of your mouth. Instead you let yourself lay at the mercy of this man, this man you didn’t even know.

As pain and pleasure shot through your body like rolling waves on the sea, you tried to scream, but of course, barely anything could be heard. The man chuckled, and then spat in your ear. “No one can hear you. But if you are going to put that mouth to use, it better be with my name in it. Jackson,” he said. “I want you to moan ‘Jackson’.”

“J-Jackson, please.”

“There ya go.” You couldn’t see his face but you could tell he was smiling. “Now you’re getting it. If I remove my hand, you won’t scream, will you?”

You didn’t say anything. He sighed.

“So you will. It’s okay, you’ll learn to get used to this. Next time,” he continued in between huffs. “I’ll choose your bed, or maybe that alleyway you walk through between third and sixth. That’s a good a spot.”

You narrowed your eyes in confusion. How did he know . . . ?

But there was no time to think about it. The man called Jackson came inside you, filing you up with his seed. He pulled out, and his white juices dripped down your leg. You both just stood there for a moment, before he turned you around and planted a soft kiss on your lips. 

“Was this good?” Jackson asked, tracing the line where your ring was supposed to be. “I didn’t hurt you much, did I?”

You chuckled, waving off your sweet husband’s concerns. “I liked it. I didn’t know you could be so forceful.”

You rested your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, his warmth coating your body.

“Yeah, well, in the heat of the moment, I guess.”

“Hey, how did you know about the alleyway?” you asked. “The one I walk to the coffee shop through?”

Jackson smiled. “I thought I should make it more realistic. Play the part of the stalker, you know?”

You nodded, but the thought was still in your head, even as you walked back into the house to clean up. You and him had only just discussed your CNC fantasies, maybe just two days ago, and since then, you hadn’t taken that shortcut between third and sixth street. Sure, it was a regular route you used, but not in the recent days. How long had he been planning this?

You shook the idea that Jackson was actually a stalker away, but maybe, just maybe, Jackson wasn’t as innocent as you had assumed, and that this was only the first taste of his truth. 

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

[hoedamn-eron]

listen okay

been thinking about Oscar's characters and what they're like as dads

Spoke very briefly with @writefightandflightclub about this, months ago (can't even find the post it was that long ago - I'll link it later if I do - FOUND IT)

Poe Dameron is a girl dad

Santiago Garcia is a girl dad (see here)

Steven Grant is a girl dad

And Marc Spector and Jake Lockley

(Jake especially)

But Nathan Bateman

Nathan Bateman oozes boy dad

Because, right:

Nathan created Ava and has the mindset that girls are scary

(And Luna pointed out that he'd be wary after that having a girl after 'the incident' and I agree)

Seems like the kind of guy to say 'first time, guaranteed' after sex, when you both agree to start trying

(he was right, it was)

(you still don't know how he did it)

Anyways, you both have a boy

He needed to find out at your anomaly scan because he hasn't been able to control one single thing during this pregnancy and he hates it

So he voted he found out the gender

Makes you put on classical music for "the foetus" (Nathan's words) because he seems like that type of guy

Not that he doubts the kid'll be a genius, but it can't hurt

When your son is here, Nathan would be a mess

It was one thing knowing you were pregnant, seeing the bump and ultrasounds and all

But now there's an actual kid

A kid that is fully reliant on him

Nathan probably wouldn't sleep for weeks

Just sit and works and watches the kid, make sure he's breathing

He'd mellow out eventually, when you'd told him he needed sleep and can't keep doing this to himself

You took over the night shift after that, mostly

He isn't the kind of dad to rough house

But one that you'll catch talking out coding issues to an infant who just stares at Nathan, just because of the sound of his voice

Your son would look nothing like you, and take everything after Nathan (he's super smug about it too - not only can he make literal lifelike robots, but he has 'superior genes' too)

Would want to call the boy something unique like Silas, or Atlas, something along those lines

You had veto'd them very quickly

But Silas grew on you, so I can imagine you agreed to a unique name

Once your son was old enough, he'd definitely teach him how to box

Since Nathan's sleep schedule is fucked (he's working on it), he's always up first with the kid

You'll always find them on the decking at the punching bag

Nathan was always guiding him, praising him when your son eventually punched the bag

You and Nathan both regularly went out on hikes (he enjoyed them more than you did) even before the kid

When the kid was born, it was easy to carry him around in a carrier on your chests

But when he got older and learned to walk, he never wanted to be carried

And the hikes took longer

So now Nathan's planned out new family friendly routes for you all, where you'll all be out for an hour, tops, and not far from the house

Nathan really hates mess, so will probably follow the kid around once he starts walking, just picking up after him

If he's stressed or hungover (he's working on that too) he would probably yell at you to sort it out

He'd apologise later after you chewed him out, even offering to do bath time and get the kid ready for bed

"I'll read him a story or some shit"

(It's probably Stephen Hawking)

He'd arrange someone to decorate the kids bedroom to look like space or something

You had a field day looking around the IKEA website and choosing what you wanted for your son's dream bedroom, but Nathan had just rolled his eyes and got the more expensive, designer, equivalent and it was delivered within a week

You'd told him off for doing it, but he just shrugged at you wordlessly as he set up the bedroom for your son

This is long enough, I'm gonna stop here, but now I want to write a full series of dad!Nathan 😭😭😭

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑳 𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑰'𝑴 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫

pairing: tommy miller x fem!reader

genre: smut, soft enemies to lovers, minors dni

word count: 3.4k

summary: when you met him the first time him and his brother was your captor, months later he becomes yours, and quickly after that he become a resident of Jackson. You've already forgiven him for his past, but he's not happy with how eager you are to excuse what he's done.

warnings: tommy having a hero complex, tommy lashing out, piv sex, time skips, oral (giving & receiving)

a/n: the format I've written this in is inspired by @littlemisspascal 's getting lost is being found joel fic, which I highly recommend by the way it was amazing, one of my favorite things ever 💜

i.

The world went to shit, well joke on the world, your life was already shit long before outbreak day. 

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Nothing just seemed to work out for you. But then all hell broke loose and suddenly it felt like you were off the hook, that you could be someone else, someone you always wanted to be. Someone that you knew you were. Before all this, you were just hurt, felt broken, but still smiled and went about your day. You tried to be good. Tried to be nice. For the most part, you like to think that you succeeded. 

You became a guide. Somewhat similar to Charon, if you spared yourself the thought but instead of guiding the dead to Hades, you guided the living away from it. Things went smooth for the most part, you helped people where they needed to go, killed infected, shot down those who shot first. It was the oddest type of freedom that you felt. 

But life had other plans, and life loved to point its middle finger right into your face. 

It’s a dad and his two kids this time, you were helping them get to the nearest QZ. You cut the fence, helped them through, you knew hunters were lurking nearby, people who survived on killing and stealing—vultures. 

You feel a tight grip on your neck and you’re being violently pulled back. The kids look back at you with horror lingering in their eyes, the dad eager to pull them away. With a deep breath, you manage to force out a smile. 

“Go!” you shout. “You’re almost there!” 

And they run, they run as fast as they can. 

“Fuck!” you hear one of them say, a deep souther drawl heavy in your ear. “Shit, they got away. They had good weapons on them too.” 

“At least we got the one,” the man that holds you answers. “Let’s go back, see what this one has.” 

“Let me the fuck go!” you struggle, attempting to elbow him in the stomach. “You fucking assholes. They were fucking kids.” 

Finally one comes into view, he’s broad—broad enough to stun you into silence. The fear of death lurks around your heart, sucking you into a black pit of realizing that this might be it. He has a glare that could kill, a hooked nose, and, most importantly, a gun. This man, you notice, this man would kill you in a heartbeat. He gives you one last once-over before tilting his head to the other holding you down. 

“Knock her out, Tommy.” 

ii. 

It’s late. Far too late for anyone to be awake. The embers of the crackling fire had died down, only specks of golden orange shimmering between the ash. You’ve learned the names of your captors; Tommy and Joel. Brothers, you assumed, they didn’t really have to spell it out for it to be obvious. 

You’re not sure why you’re still alive. You remember Joel muttering something about using you as bait, or to learn more about the routes that you seemed to know. Tommy had agreed. 

In another life, another time, you would’ve deemed the men attractive. Especially Tommy. He had a boyish charm to him, longer hair compared to his brother (those poor dark locks had definitely seen better days), and mussed unkempt facial hair indicating that they’d been at this for a long time. You understand, to a degree, why someone might choose this to survive. Some people just didn’t know what else to do. Some people simply enjoyed it; the power, the freedom, the giddiness of not having a system to say no. 

From what you understand, these two just had no idea what else to do. Too far off to reach a QZ, or they simply don’t trust FEDRA, whatever it is they seem to have made a life for themselves neither of them looked happy to be in. 

Your eyes fall to where Joel is sleeping, Tommy’s on watch, which makes you somewhat hopeful, you don’t have the strength to piss off Joel—Tommy you can take a chance with, he seemed softer. Softer like a rose, pricking you if you’re too lax and not careful enough. 

You’ve been captured before, and due to that, it doesn’t take long for you to free yourself from the hard ropes they tied you in. You hold your breath as you move away from the camp, careful not to step on any branches or rubble. You see Tommy ahead, he’s looking at you, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. You expect him to shoot, to chase after you. 

He continues to stare as you disappear into the night. 

ii.

You see a lot of dead bodies by the riverbed. Some infected, some not. You think about turning around, walking back to where you came from but before you can make a decision you’re surrounded. Your hands rise instantly, not wanting to cause trouble. Multiple rifles are pointed directly at you, and you notice a cute black dog but you have an inkling you won’t be feeling the same in a couple of minutes. 

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” you say, the cold seeping through your jacket. “Just lost. I’m not infected.” 

“Naive for you to think we’ll believe you,” one of the horsemen answers. “You mind if we test that out?”

You didn’t mind, but even if you did, you doubt you have any say in the matter. The dog comes forward, ears pressed against his skull, and you instinctively reach out your hand. You can’t really feel the wetness of his nose, but you can imagine it as he presses into your gloved palm. A moment later he starts wagging his tail. 

A horse, along with its rider, steps up and everyone looks nervously at the equestrian. You straighten yourself and notice that even the dog pulls away, the energy she has demands respect, and oozes power. You swallow, looking up at her with both amusement and fear. 

"You can come with us," she says, and without hesitation, one of the men helps you up onto the horse they're riding. Your hands fumble nervously as you grab onto the horse's shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

You’re not dead yet so you must be doing something right. 

iv. 

You trudge through the biting snow, your skin prickles with cold and the relentless flakes melt as soon as they touch your skin. You shudder. The cold is almost unbearable, but everyone has to pull their weight, no exceptions. Narrowing your eyes,, you spot a lone figure struggling in the snow. The way he moves is sluggish and ungainly, like a snail inching its way along a path.

With a sharp whistle, you signal to your companions to follow. They circle around the body with hesitation; it’s a man, a man that is somewhat familiar to you. The stranger groans and turns to his back, chest heaving heavily, you notice the tremble of his lips, the redness of his nose. You even notice the build-up of snow in his hair.

You know him. You have no idea how he ended up all the way here, but you know him. Getting off the horse, you shake your head. You don't know him, not really. You only know his name and what he represents.

Ian approaches, his eyes questioning as he asks, "What should we do? Should we leave him?"

“I know him,” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice due to the irony. “Let’s take him in. I’ll talk to Maria.” 

His eyes flutter open, a brief expression of confusion appearing on his features. You can’t help but lean over a bit, hands placed on your hips. 

“You’re not dead yet. Don’t worry.” 

But as soon as the words leave your lips, Tommy loses consciousness.

v. 

He’s alone at the bar. He’s always alone. 

Initially, Maria was reluctant to let Tommy stay, but for some reason, you vouched for him. You deeply believe that everyone deserves a second chance. A slightly foolish, maybe even childish, thought on your part but you can’t help it. In his eyes you only see parts of a broken man, his belief in the world shattered and gone with the wind. 

Tommy struggles with socializing. He says hi and good morning but that’s pretty much all anyone can get out of him. You’re the only one who knows he has a brother, what he’s done. He’s especially annoyed when you’re around, which you think is a little bit unfair but you digress. He does what he’s told and handy with most things—which is lucky for you, you would hear a handful if he couldn’t do anything. 

You want to talk to him, you have ever since you first saw him again. Hoping that this time it’ll be different, you sit near him not next to him. There are two empty seats between you two. 

“Hi,” you greet him, he doesn’t look at you. In fact, he doesn’t acknowledge you at all. “How are you?” 

No answer. 

“You’re not having any issues right? You know, heating, water pressure, all that jazz.” 

You’re not surprised at the least when he gets up and leave, not a word uttered. He pushes past the crowd and disappears through the door, into the cold. Unlike other times, this is the first instance where anger simmers hot in your gut. You’ve been nothing but patient. But not tonight. He’s going to talk to you whether he likes it or not. 

With anger in your steps, you storm out. Luckily, he’s not far. You find him staring up at the undecorated Christmas tree. Normally, you would find it a somber sight, but you’re too frustrated to think about how good he looks with snow falling around him. 

“Tommy!” you yell out, and he flinches, head snapping to you with wide eyes. “What the hell is your deal?” 

“My deal?” he answers, voice eerily smooth and calm. “I should be fuckin’ asking you that.” 

You’re standing an inch from him, the cold biting into your skin. “My deal? I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Wouldn’t wanna play that card but may I remind you that you’re fucking alive because of me? You could at least not be an asshole.” 

“Sure you wanna go that route sweetheart? Because I could easily say the same thing for you.” 

That night—the night that you escaped, so he did see you. All this time you convinced yourself that it was your eyes playing tricks in the dark. You shake your head, wanting to dislodge the moment from your mind. 

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” you hiss. “Why are you avoiding me? I just want to talk.” 

“Just leave me the fuck alone. You shouldn’t want to talk to me— someone like you… It ain’t normal. I should’ve died that night. I didn’t ask you to fuckin’ save me.” 

You’re taken aback by the silent rage but refuse to show him the effect he has. The only indication that his words had any kind of result is when you take a step back, allowing him some semblance of space. 

“You’re right, you didn’t,” you say softly, slowly. His gaze bores into you. “But I did. And you’re here. I didn’t save you that night to just make a point of who’s the better person. As you said, you allowed me to go that night—thank you by the way—but what are you going to do, just not talk to me? Ignore me? I don’t think that’s fair for either of us.”

You stand frozen as Tommy takes a step closer, his breath hot against your skin. 

"What do you want from me?" he growls, his voice low and threatening.

You try to take a step back but he follows, closing the gap between you. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the frigid air around you. His lips curl into a slight sneer, and you can't help but feel a slight twinge of fear.

"You're always so nice, aren't you?" he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But what do you really want? You want me to be your little pet? Fixing me up like some broken toy. Well, newsflash, sweetheart, I'm not broken. I'm just fine the way I am."

"That’s not—" you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That wasn’t my intention at all. The world is shit, I just didn’t want to add to it."

Tommy scoffs, his eyes glinting with anger. "But you did by keeping me alive. I did horrible things, things you can’t even imagine. So don't pretend like you understand me, because you don't."

“I know the shit you did Tommy. I was almost one of your victims, remember?”

His eyes drop to the ground, the fire in his eyes finally fading. He takes a quick step back, shoulder slumped, he shakes his head. 

“I remember. There ain’t a day I don’t remember the shit I’ve done—we’ve done with my brother.” 

Tommy gives you one last look before walking away, “I don’t need your pity.” 

Half an hour later, you’re still standing there under the snow, completely alone. 

vi.

It’s a dance almost. You find different ways for Tommy to communicate with you. You unlock his anger, his disappointment, his need to be good—the hero, if you will. But to be fair, you can’t take all the credit. It was mostly due to him, you got too close, and he got too frustrated. It was a brief moment of lips touching, then it quickly turned into a desperate ask for submission. You were eager to give, he hated that. Hated that you could when he couldn’t. 

You know that there’s a high chance of other things lingering below the surface, things that he probably hadn’t dared to address himself. 

In the privacy of your bedroom, you’re on your knees for him. Sucking on the tip of his cock eagerly as he stands upright, his hands are firsts that are stuck to his sides. This isn’t the first time, it isn’t the last. By the way salty precum coats your tongue, you know he’s enjoying himself. He has to be, if he wasn’t this wouldn’t be happening. 

You figure that he enjoys fighting against it until he breaks. When he surrenders himself to it, to the pleasure, to the primal need to take, he pins you down and fucks you with everything he has. All his frustration seeps into you, each stroke deeper than the next. You enjoy that he’s rough, you enjoy feeling the lingering sting on your skin long after he leaves. 

Looking up, you swallow him further down. He’s not overly thick but long, the dark curls at the base trimmed but still looking untouched. Tommy thrusts forward, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. Your nostrils flare as your lungs convulse with the need to cough, he notices but doesn’t pull back. Instead, you feel two hands cradling the back of your neck, pulling you further down his length, making you take him whole. 

Your eyes go wide and squeeze shut right after. You feel him throbbing in your throat and you swallow, again and again, which prompts him to drag his cock out slightly only to bury himself back into your throat. Your jaw aches, spit dripping down the corners of your lips as you flatten your tongue over the underside of his cock. A faint growl echoes from the back of his throat, you swallow again, he fucks your mouth as he would your wet cunt. Tears flood your lashline, you can barely breathe. Your throat tightens around him. 

“Fuck, don’t close your eyes,” he grunts, the dark curls at the base tickling your nose. “Look at me. Look at me like you always do.” 

The Look, is something that you still don’t quite understand. He says it often, telling you to look at him the way that you do, but you emphasize nothing special when you do end up looking at him. It’s just your normal gaze. He only asks for it when he’s inside you. 

You slowly open your eyes, your lashes wet and stuck together. His thumb smooths over the patch of skin right under your eye, his chest stutters, muscles growing taut under your gaze. 

Ironically, he closes his eyes and lifts his head as if staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t utter another word after that, your lips raw from the way he thrust forward. You feel the twitch of his cock, thick ropes sliding down your throat. You never tire of the taste of him. Not sweet, not bitter. You enjoy the brief moment he forgets where he is, that soft noise escaping his lips, the juvenile way his thighs shake—those are the things that make you ache for the taste of him. You’re an addict. 

But so is he. 

vii.

Your palms press into the smooth surface of the bar counter. Tommy lurks behind you, cock pressing inside, fingers making dents into your warm skin. It’s late into the night, you’re not sure of the exact time but you know it’s late. His one hand slips between your legs, he feels how wet you are, how needy you get for him. He presses a finger to your clit, the pads of the digits moving in deft circles. 

A sharp moan parts your lips, back arching as he pounds into you, the sound of skin against skin loud, yet not enough to pierce the sound of the snowstorm outside. A dose of pleasure buzzes through your veins, electricity crackling across your skin as you feel his length press deep inside. His fingers grasp your throat, pulling you up until his lips tickle your ear. He heaves, his warm breath fanning your skin. 

“Tell me I’m a good person,” he chokes out. “Please.” 

“You’re good,” you answer slightly out of breath. You touch his neck, the position slightly straining but worth it when he holds you tighter. “Such a good man—and I mean that.” 

Your eyes widen with shock when he slides his tongue into your mouth. Tommy doesn’t kiss you often, if at all, but it lights a fire under your stomach. It burns you from the inside out, the smoke of it making your mind spin. Your eyes flutter close and you take a deep breath, he grinds his hips, your insides pulsing around him. 

“I don’t care even if you’re lyin’—” 

He releases you and you stumble forward, hands finding purchase on the bar counter once more. But you can’t hold your position for long, not with the way he’s hammering into you, reducing you into a babbling mess. Your hands slide, your upper body completely falling over. Tommy doesn’t pause, he doesn’t even slow down. He presses you further into the surface.

“Because I know that you are.” 

Tommy suddenly pulls out, a sharp gasp rips from your throat, your cunt clenching around nothing. Before you can protest, however, he turns you over and pushes you. He kneels between your legs, lips finding the tender folds of your pussy. 

Your head falls back when he licks into you eagerly, tasting himself and your arousal. His groans vibrate against you, your thighs threaten to close, the meat of them pressing into both sides of his face. 

His lips press against your clit, suckling and teasing it in a way that drives you wild. His tongue moves in circles as he pushes two fingers, curling them and applying pressure. Without a second thought, you fingers thread his hair, tugging him closer. Arousal pools between your legs.

Your breathing becomes labored and your body starts to shake. Your eyes roll back as your entire body shakes. Your hips buck against him as he continues to bring you over the edge, your cries of pleasure echoing off the walls of the bar. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you collapse against the bar counter, your body still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. You can feel your skin tingling, your heart pounding and your head spinning. Tommy stands, a hint of pride lingering in his dark eyes. You continue to breathe and watch as he fists himself, the tip of his cock a shade darker when he comes thick ropes over your stomach. You hiss at the heat, the feeling of having a part of him staining you. 

Tommy pulls up his pants, and you notice as you get dressed, he’s avoiding your gaze. You’re too satisfied to care. He licks his lips, which you found was a nervous habit he has and offers you his arm. You hadn’t expected it, but indulge in the gesture by taking it. 

“Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.” 

[carpenoctem-if]

Carpe Noctem - Intro Post

DEMO - tba

You are a nobody. A supposedly ordinary human in a world full of powerful beings. Your life is all in all pretty average if not bordering on mind-numbing, like watching paint dry... That is until you were kidnapped and tossed into one especially small carriage to be delivered somewhere only the ancients knew of.

From now on nothing will ever be the same and you need to adapt to the ever-changing outside world as fast as possible. All the while trying to decipher your past and with that your part in an every-growing political conflict that borders to develop into an all out war the world has yet to see.

General content warnings: Bigotry & prejudice, horror elements, interspecies awkwardness, explicit language, depictions of violence, injuries, blood and death, explicit sexual content (if selected), flashbacks of a dark past to unveil, sprinkled with some homophobia here and there & general an unfair treatment of people with disabilities.

FEATURES

-> customizable MC (name, pronouns, appearance, identity)

-> semi-set personality due to evolve (MCs reclusive upbringing forces you to start as someone that's not entirely comfortable with other people and as such you'll be able to choose coping mechanisms your MC will use to compensate such a deficit)

-> 5 characters to romance (3 in book 1, not sure if the other two will follow, they'll probably be fully romanceable in book 2)

-> POVs of the ROs included

-> an open-minded author that is inclined to change some NPCs to fully fledged ROs depending on the general opinion/wishes of readers

-> an emotional roller coaster, all in all nothing for ppl that want a light-hearted theme

-> later on you'll be able to choose part of your race (vampyres, merpeople, demons, shapeshifters, phoenixes -and many more) & with that you can determine and further develop your special skillset. Your heritage will reward you with quite different flavour texts for every possible race there is, so yes. It will matter greatly what you chose. And each of the available races will have disadvantages that could prove quite...fatal in certain situations.

romanceable characters:

the master [Alois|Alice|Alix] (m|f|n) 24 winters

An aloof demeanor at the first glance, A has a cold, strangely shrouded gaze. They're reclusive as fuck, so there isn't much the general population knows about them. Oh. And A is your esteemed master -as if any of you actually want this dynamic... A seems to hate you and your position even more, especially the hidden context it supplies to everyone they meet...

A has almond-shaped silver eyes that always seem distant and unfocused. They have defined cheek bones with mostly soft facial features and quite long, silver hair that is often tied to a simple ponytail. A wears fine dark clothing without other prominent features to despict their wealth.

Content warnings for A's route: denial of feelings aka one of the slowest burns imaginable, domestic violence, implied/referenced rape/non-con, anxiety attacks, self-harm, angst & hurt/comfort

the protector [Leto] (m|f|n) too many to count

Leto is a raven-like creature most would describe as monstrous-looking. They are rarely seen and the few moments they are, death is certain. For many commoners it's enough to see one of Leto's black feathers to warrant a swift escape.

Their past eludes them and you have to wonder - why does some antics of them seem kinda...familiar?

Content warnings for Leto's route: survivor-guilt, body dysphoria, angst, captivity & enslavement, torture, ptsd

the assassin [Zane|Zoey] (m|f) 28 winters

Z is everything their mother wanted them to be. Her own personal weapon. One she is now inclined to use for her vendetta against you.

They have dark brown hair with intelligent hazel green eyes that seem to observe their surroundings constantly. Z was raised with stories about you, stories you know nothing about. How can it be that they seem to know more of you and your family than you yourself?

Should it worry you that they sound extremely resolute in stating their sole purpose is to rid the world of your existance?

Content warnings for Z's route: enemies to frenemies to lovers, eating disorder, alcohol-addiction, a tendency of morbid jealousy, past emotional abuse & manipulation

??? [redacted]

??? [also redacted]

more info tba

Small note of the author:

Everything is slow burn in this - even the character customization, cause I want to add those moments seamlessly into the story.

I tend to take my time. You can expect me to heavily focus on the characters and their feelings, with a slight disregard to describing the environment and such. I work with minimalistic efforts to still give a sense of what I imagine everything to be but with the intention to leave fine details to the reader's own imagination.

I'll try to be considerate of everyone's preferences, especially in the more kinky parts of the story. There'll be versions for more assertive characters as well as more passive one's. Though I should add that the ROs all have their own set of bias that they prefer. However there will be growth throughout the story, including that.

The gravity of your choices will intensify throughout book 1, especially as you get to know the Circle and the Court and every other political hive of intrigue.

And yes. You can die. The ROs can die. Almost everyone will be able to at some point, I guess. Though I don't like the idea of writing a total distopia, don't expect me to change my mind regarding that one that easily.

More infos will be added over time. I'll post lore snippets of my sketchbook soon, like the worldmap, the general outlines of the Circle & the Court, the different races and such.

Asks are welcomed.

[lakesbian]

okay rachel posting time. i am going to have opinions on her

The scentless man waits for something, then speaks again, “Are you okay?” “Fuckin’ peachy.”  Brutus knows Master only says fuck word like that when she’s mad. “I have a hard time believing that, to be honest.  You were in pretty rough shape when I found you with Über and Leet’s henchmen, and those guys from the ABB.” “I’m fine now,” Master tells him.  She sounds angry.  Brutus steps forward, ready to growl to add own voice to hers, but Master tugs on leash just a little and Brutus stays quiet. “When I found you, one of them had you tied to the ceiling by your wrists and was using you as a punching bag.” Master breaks eye contact.  Brutus knows this is a sign that Master sees the scentless man as her alpha.  When she speaks, she still sounds angry, “I fucked up.  I was bored, restless, figured I’d walk Angelica and see if I could meet you guys where the money was.  Someone recognized me and tailed me.  I was stupid, I took my licks for it.  I’m fine now, we have the money, all is well.” The scentless man sighs.  Sounds a little angry as he says, “It’s not… no, nevermind.  No use getting into it.  But what if someone recognizes you while you’re walking him?” “I’ll fight back sooner, harder.  Or are you going to tell me I can’t walk my dogs anymore?”  All of a sudden, Master is tense.  Brutus can see it in her legs, hear it in her voice, feel it in her grip on the leash. “I wouldn’t do that,” the scentless man replies, his voice quiet, slightly strained “And you wouldn’t listen even if I did.  Just… be careful.” “I can go?” “Go.  Enjoy your walk, both of you.”

it's like...rachel's entire childhood was spent in an environment where any "concern" or attention from her authority figures was invariably going to be extremely ableist and confusing and scary for her. so much of how autistic children learn to approach interactions w/ ppl with social power over them is predicated on adults treating them like they're doing something atrociously wrong when they can't guess what that thing is, and no one ever explains. even "concern" for the child tends to result in "polite" attempts to force them into a specific socially acceptable mold, regardless of the cost to their mental wellbeing. i'm sure rachel has had uncountable experiences where she was made to feel like her distress or pain was her fault + worthy of punishment: because she was stupid, because she was retarded, because she couldn't act right, because she's a bad kid.

so, you know. of course she reacts to aggression and wariness with brian--her team leader--approaching her like this. he's asking if she's okay because he cares, but that doesn't change how often she gets treated like a bad dog on a leash. how is she supposed to know this is different from the times he gets mad at her for "doing something wrong," where she can't understand what the "wrong" thing is? how is she supposed to know this is different from all the hundreds of times that's happened to her before she even met him? he doesn't care about the money, here, but she has to cover her bases in bringing up that it's intact, because experience has taught her that people care more about how her behavior inconvenienced them than about how she's doing. it even sounds like he's about to say "it's not about the money" before he realizes that it's fruitless to go that route with rachel.

by "you were being used as a punching bag," he means "you were really being hurt badly, are you sure you're okay? i'm trying to check in on and help you," but all rachel hears is a reiteration of how she fucked up. he means "what if someone recognizes you while you're walking him?" as an inquiry into her safety. (he's incredibly protective of the undersiders during the bakuda fight, and afterwards he chooses to check on alec over detaining bakuda, so i'm sure the idea that rachel was kidnapped & hurt and he couldn't do anything about it rattled him, and he wants to ensure it can't happen again.) but rachel hears it as a subtle threat of punishment.

it's just Sooo. Soo Very. to see how her team is never quite able to figure out how to convey their care for her in a way that doesn't feel like a trap. rachie :(

[ghanjrho]

A:TLA; how it should have ended.

Recently, I've been on a deep dive into the A:tLA fandom, specifically the Zutara sphere. And that means I've found a lot of long-form meta on the show, it's ending, LoK, script final drafts, you name it. That's all gone in the brain blender, and here's what came out the other side.

Sozin's Comet honestly doesn't change that much; only two real differences.

The magic rock is gone. Instead, we get a flashback to Guru Pathik, and Aang realizes that he has to let go of his attachment to Katara.

The Maiko/Kataang victory laps in the last 5 minutes are gone. Mai and Zuko get a scene where they wish each other well, but acknowledge that they're over. Katara and Aang have a nice moment where they choose friendship. There's love there, but it's Philia, not Eros.

@burst-of-iridescent has a delightful essay series on Zutara, and the part that sticks in my head is that in the run-up to the finale, Aang and Katara are at their least unified. To wit:

In "The Southern Raiders" Aang is preachy, condescending, and more than a little hypocritical about Katara's plan to take vengeance for her mother. The episode ends with Katara explicitly rejecting Aang's belief that Yon Rha was forgiven.

In "The Ember Island Players" Aang is distraught at the idea that EIP!Katara's statements, namely that Aang is like her brother and she's attracted to Zuko, are true. When he questions Real!Katara about this, he responds to her statement that she's confused about her feelings by kissing her. The kiss is not returned. Again, no resolution is had.

Finally, in "Sozin's Comet Part 1" Katara is part of the chorus condemning Aang for refusing to even consider killing Ozai, no matter how many people are at stake. He runs off from the group, and from there disappears into the Spirit World to get Lion-Turtled. Yet again, no resolution, and the two don't reunite until the tea shop.

Now speaking of the Lion Turtles, I'm actually not opposed to them. Yes, they come out of nowhere to deliver an 11th Hour Superpower that handily spares Aang from having to actually make a choice he disagrees with, but at the end of the day it is a kid's show. Nickelodeon was never going to approve a script where Aang killed Ozai. Throw in a little bit of foreshadowing, and I'm good. It's worth noting here that the story of Avatar Wan was supposed to be covered in A:tLA, which would handily cover that requirement.

Now, for the post-canon. We'll start with Fire.

Zuko is NOT left alone in the Fire Nation. Similarly, Iroh does NOT fuck off back to Ba Sing Se.

Toph and Suki stick around. Suki in her canon role as commander of Zuko's Kyoshi Warrior bodyguard, while Toph and Mai use Toph's lie-detection and Mai's insider knowledge to purge threats to the new peace.

Toph eventually goes back to the Earth Kingdom to start a metalbending academy, but first she needs to make sure that her Sparky lives to be the grumpy old man he was born to be.

While Iroh is correct that for political and diplomatic reasons Zuko needs to be Fire Lord, he also bows to the reality that Zuko is plain and simply not ready to be the Fire Lord.

Zuko went from 4th in line to 1st in line basically overnight, and the 5-ish years he spent as Crown Prince were clearly not spent preparing him to succeed Ozai.

So a teenager with a fairly surface-level understanding of "how to monarch" has to self-Reconstruction the Fire Nation, while paying reparations, without having been militarily conquered.

This is how idealists get assassinated. New Plan!

Zuko is crowned Fire Lord. Iroh is his Prince Regent. It's very clear to all involved that Zuko is the one charting the course forward for the Fire Nation, while Iroh is there to convert intent to action, while teaching Zuko how it's done.

It doesn't hurt that Iroh is one of the Fire Nation's most successful military commanders, so the civil war route is a lot riskier for anyone to attempt.

Next, Sokka

Sokka honestly has a pretty good arc in the post-canon. Nothing I really feel the need to correct.

Eventually, Suki is able to hand off her duties in the Fire Nation to someone else and goes home to Kyoshi Island

It’s still home, but it isn’t the same. Or rather, she isn’t the same.

She never leaves the island behind, but it’s usually a stop on the journey from Wolf Cove to Republic City.

Then, Aang

Aang divides his time between Avatar duties and Last Airbender duties.

Avatar duties involve a lot of sitting in on meetings and reminding people that the ultimate goal is peace.

Last Airbender duties involve a lot of teaching Air Acolytes everything he remembers from his childhood. He gets lucky here, though.

The Airbender Genocide wasn't complete. More than a few Air Nomads escaped the Genocide, and hid themselves away. Some in small villages built in remote mountain valleys, others blended into Earth Kingdom settlements.

Plenty of quarter- or eighth-Air Nomad kids running around with airbending potential they never had the knowledge to develop. Think very early Book 1 Katara here.

The result is that a resurgent Air Nation is being formed, with a culture woven from the threads that survived through relics, the refugees, and Aang himself.

Airbenders are still rare, and it's over a decade before another airbender earns their mastery, but it's not his son and his grandkids when Korra comes around.

Finally, Katara

Katara spends a lot of time traveling. She spends time in the South Pole, helping to rebuild and learning Southern Style Waterbending from the released waterbenders. She also travels the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom, doing what she can to solve problems.

There are a lot of problems to solve.

Her travels in the Fire Nation are particularly fruitful; word of the Last Agni Kai has spread, so she is known to be the one that the Fire Lord sacrificed himself for, and who healed his wound.

She and Zuko stay in contact, allowing themselves to have a slow-burn courtship.

After a couple of years she moves to Caldera City and starts getting down to seriously courting Zuko, preparing herself for Fire Ladydom.

The year before Iroh is set to retire as Regent, she and Zuko start thinking about the wedding.

There are a lot of potential traditions to uphold, even just between the Southern Water Tribe and the Fire Nation

This goes double for the daughter of the head chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe, and the Fire Lord himself.

They decide to have fun with it and do everything.

Aang presides over a private ceremony, family/close friends only, that is really just a mutual declaration of love and friendship.

Then come the Southern Water traditions. It's the full gamut, with ice-dodging, sacred hunts and more. In the end, Zuko is an honorary member of the Southern Water Tribe, and he and Katara are wed (again).

There's a diplomatic tour through the Earth Kingdom, stopping at Kyoshi, Gaoling, Omashu, Ba Sing Se, the Foggy Swamp the former Fire Colonies, and ending at the Northern Water Tribe. The language used artfully slides over whether the couple is newly married or about to be married, but overall it works well for the Fire Nation's reputation abroad.

The final act is in the Fire Nation. A full Royal Wedding, a grand affair of state, held at high noon on the day of the summer solstice. When all is said and done, Zuko and Katara now rule alone as Fire Lord and Fire Lady.

Alright, I have more, but I'm tired. Tune in next time for the Fire Nation (extended) Royal Family! featuring Steambabies (Found here)

[purecommemasolitude]

Okay so re: Darry as the captain in a sound of music AU. This is just one possible route that I thought up last night and typed out while I couldn’t sleep

It’s the type of AU where we steal beats and plot points from TSOM and transfer them into the outsiders, because not being rich is very important to why Darry is the way he is (also for reasons I outline below I made Two-Bit Maria and that man is never even going to think about becoming a religious career man)

And also I don’t actually know when he and Two-Bit would end up together because with some of the changes I made I couldn't make it work within the main plot, so it would have to be in an event bit taken from TSOM. So it’s not in the bullet points

anyway I'll put the bullet points I typed up in an hour at midnight yesterday below the cut because it’s long but I will admit. this one kind of got away from me

- okay so Darry is the captain. Obv

- High school & football take the place of the navy

- Racked my brain for a bit and I think Two-Bit is Maria?? Like I said I don’t really go in for outsiders ships anyway so I cross-referenced usual Darry LIs and general characters and he was the only one who was age-appropriate and also could have a Maria vibe (is able to find the light in life, willing to poke at a cold figure until it shows emotion, gets along with the brothers in canon)

- Soda & Pony are aged down because otherwise this wouldn’t make any sense — Soda is 14 going on 15 and Pony’s 12

- (Steve and Johnny are also aged down to match their respective buddies so the boys can still have friends I think. I haven’t decided what to do with Dally yet in this AU — I would put him as Max with a personality transplant but I don’t know if I can see Dally being chill with Darry’s attempt to. Play into respectability politics essentially)

- Darry’s infinitely more stressed supporting two more needy kids on his meagre income alone. Soda does odd jobs but nothing full time

- This manifests in him being colder / less outwardly affectionate than in the book to Soda as well as Pony

- Furthermore he’s desperately trying to ensure their futures, which means he disapproves of them being too outwardly greaser, both for separation reasons and for respectability reasons down the line

- However being 12 and 14 means they’re less able to control their emotions and understand Darry. So the guy from the state comes down and sees them and says you need to spend more time with these kids man. They’re not loved

- Shit.

- Two-Bit, meanwhile, is living an unluckier life than the book

- After his father left his mother was only able to choose one kid to be able to support, and because he was older and more self sufficient, Two-Bit had to go

- He grows up bouncing around from orphanage to foster home to foster home to orphanage etc, erasing his family out of his mind because it hurts too much and Two-Bit Mathews does not like to dwell on things that hurt him

- Upon turning 18, he’s out of the system and despite his nature is forced to get a job to survive

- He does odd jobs around and scrounges enough money to pay for a shitty shitty motel

- Meets Marcia through these jobs, and they strike up a friendship

- However most of these odd jobs are a lot of labour and very unstable so he’s looking for better & easier work

- He starts thinking and he thinks of his own childhood. If there had been someone else around to watch him, maybe his mother wouldn’t have had to give him away

- And then he has one too many encounters with the bugs in his motel and decides fuck it. I’m putting an ad in the paper

- Darry’s reading the news as he does one night when he sees what may very well be God’s gift to the Curtis family

- There’s someone willing to work for — well, he can’t afford that, just like he can’t afford any of the other prices he’s seen on nannies and babysitters and watchers — but he’s also willing to work for pretty much nothing if he gets lodging

- Soda & Pony are still bunking together for nightmare reasons, and Darry’s sleeping in his own room, so he sits Soda down and asks him if he’s okay with someone else using his old room

- If he’s not, Darry will have to move into their parents’ room, but thank God he is

- So Darry contacts Two-Bit who is surprised that he’s a man and not a single mom but agrees readily

- Darry’s wary of Two-Bit’s manner but monetarily he’s desperate

- Two-Bit meanwhile takes one look at the Curtis house and is like damn no one ever has any fun within these walls. I’ve gotta change that

- Instead of making new clothes for them, Two-Bit teaches them how to grease their hair

- (Darry was away working on a house a little out of the city — it’s a placing he’d normally have had to decline because of the kids, but because of Two-Bit he’s able to accept and get a slightly higher pay)

- Darry is of course furious but Two-Bit argues back, saying that kids need self-expression and haven’t you noticed how happy they are about their hair, and besides, you know damn well grease is more than just what you put in your hair, Curtis. You think Socs can’t take one look at those boys and see exactly what they came from? Exactly what they are? You’re out of your mind.

- We probably tie Maria’s impassioned “please, love all of them” speech to here — then again it’s been a while so maybe somewhere else is better we’ll have to see

- Two-Bit especially throws accusations at him about how Ponyboy thinks his brother doesn’t even love him, and if he’s not going to prove he cares about them then maybe they all would be better off without each other

- He thinks Darry might punch him for that but instead he staggers back like he’s been hit

- Darry remembers what this whole thing was for and resolves to be better

- In showing more of his love for his brothers he also shows more of his personality to Two-Bit, who wasn’t expecting to like this guy as much as he does

- He looks at how hard he fights to keep his family together when his own fell apart for very similar reasons and his heart hurts

- Also Sandy is Rolf (Ralf?? Whatever Liesl’s nazi boytoy’s name is)

- Except we are cutting the nazis because there is no not-grossly insensitive way to do the nazis

- We might have to cut the music theme too? Which is a SHAME, but none of Darry’s hobbies work. So we may just make him dig out his dad’s old guitar or we’ll just ignore that because the music theme, as far as characters go, isn’t as important in this AU. Or maybe music = the greaser lifestyle

- Anyway, life continues and it’s as good as can be, bla bla, somehow Dally is there, without realizing Two-Bit and Darry are catching feelings for each other

- One day, Ponyboy and Soda make some innocent remark about Two-Bit being in love with their brother, and he bluescreens

- Because. Oh shit. He’s in love with their brother.

- And the class difference & pre-existing engagement as reasons they can’t be together in the original is replaced with good old fashioned homophobia in this one, and Two-Bit denies and gets the hell out of there before anyone, let alone Darry notices

- He uses his meagre savings to return to the shitty motel, until finally he talks with Marcia and she’s like what the heck. Why did you leave a dream job to go back to the crummiest motel imaginable

- He dodges and denies but one of the things that drew him to her in the first place is that she’s sharp

- Marcia figures it out, or at least something very close to the truth, and while she’s too aware of 60s homophobia to actually urge him back, she does half-convince him through sneaky means like calling him a scaredy-cat who can’t even tell a few lies until the situation passes

- He goes back to the motel and thinks hard about the situation and remembers how much happier the kids were with someone to keep them company when they were done running around before Darry got home

- He thinks about how Darry was able to get better pay with him there and how much that helped give the family breathing space

- He thinks about how it really didn’t even feel like a job, which is a big draw to someone as disinclined to work as Two-Bit

- And he also thinks about how truly shitty the motel is. And decides to go back

- It’s for the good of the family, he convinces himself, telling himself he does not miss them at all

- He returns, no one says anything about him being in love with anyone, because the boys have learned that when they point it out their new brother leaves, and they’re not about to risk that again

- Darry & Two-Bit have a reunion with a lot of unspoken feelings and they do NOT get together because neither of them are willing to risk outing themselves for the sake of a one in a million chance

- Instead they do a lot of prolonged longing eye contact and are too busy looking at each other to notice Soda and Ponyboy sharing confirming glanced themselves

- So things continue kind of like they were before but with more pining, and also Austria is replaced by the Curtis house, which they’re in danger of losing

- Both Darry and Two-Bit are terrified the boys are going to end up following their respective paths, and they end up having a lot of talks about their futures that turn into co-parenting discussions that turn into heart-to-hearts about themselves

- Darry learns that Two-Bit never found his family again, and does some digging and asks some old school friends and lo and behold, they’re still in town, and here’s their address.

- Two-Bit, who has managed to convince himself that he made up being in love with Darry, sees this man who has every right to drop all three of the people in the house like a hot potato and chase the dreams he’s determined and ambitious and intelligent enough to get, pouring every ounce of his being into care for others, who takes hard times and instead of drinking them away or giving up pushes himself past the edge and comes out swinging, and realizes that he is still in love with Darry. And maybe he will never not be in love with Darry.

- Unfortunate!

- He came back determined to never run away again, and he’s sticking by that, even though it’s never been harder to live under the same roof as Darry and not Do something about his feelings

- (Also, at some point Soda gets jumped, and together with Two-Bit he fights them off. When they all talk about it later at some point in the Curtis home, someone makes an offhand comment about how Two-Bit is basically family and then he really resolves to not leave unless Darry chases him out with a broom)

- Maria and Liesl’s Sixteen Going On Seventeen Reprise is replaced with Two-Bit and Soda having a talk about Sandy, during which Two-Bit talks about being in love like he’s experienced it, which of course he has, but Darry overhears and it puts a lot of stupid hope into his heart because to his knowledge Two-Bit’s never gone steady with someone, and some of his descriptions sound awful familiar…..

- But he crushes those thoughts because he’s learned by now that Darry Curtis does not get lucky breaks

- And if he does confess and it goes wrong, which it will, it could mean his brothers getting taken away

- But he watches Two-Bit joke around with his brothers and sees someone who takes everything life throws at him and inexplicably grins back at it, who is just as intelligent as Darry is but in a way that takes its time to make itself understood, and who cares about his brothers as much as he does, and it’s stupid and hopeless, but he wants. Heaven help him, he wants so badly

- Meanwhile, he’s gotten a job offer. It’s a good job offer too, it means they could maybe afford to spend extra money on new clothes or nicer groceries

- And it’s an office job, someone who heard of him through the bookkeeping he does as his second job for his roofing company, which means fewer hours and more time with the people he cares about

- There’s a recreational football league in the area he’s never had time to join, or Two-Bit’s suggested coaching a younger team too, so he can return to workouts he likes rather than workouts that make his body ache like a man of 40 instead of 20

- It’s pretty much perfect. But it’s halfway across the city and it means they’d have to move out of their parents’ home

- (Yes this is Switzerland. It’s a lot harder to replicate without pre-WW2 Europe)

- He’s conflicted, Two-Bit thinks he should go for it but is also convinced he’s going to be left behind in the move

- Soda & Pony don’t want to leave but they do want Darry to work less so they’re also conflicted

- Two-Bit is listing out reasons for the move and one of them is that they’d be able to cut his cost since Darry’d be home more

- Darry looks at him and carefully says, “you wouldn’t be coming with us?”

- Two-Bit, with a raised eyebrow masking his heart starting to hope, says “well, do you want me there?”

- Darry is too stressed and tired and conflicted to mince his words when he replies, “of course.” like it’s a given, like they’re maybe something more than what they pretend

- But he still doesn’t want to move, until one day they have no choice: if they don’t get out of there, they’re going to lose the house. It’s just not in suitable shape for growing boys, says the state. They don’t have enough money to pay for renovations but Darry is going to rebuild the entire thing himself if he has to, damn it all, until Two-Bit asks him to talk and convinces him to move on

- “Your parents live on in your brothers more than in this house. Your parents live on in you more than in this house. You want to keep their memory alive? Start by doing what they would want you to do, and let yourself have an easy break for once.”

- And so they pack up and Darry takes the offer, but before they leave, Two-Bit visits his family

- It goes… well. Sort of. After seeing Darry run himself into the ground he’s forgiven his mother, and his sister is open to the idea of having a brother

- Their lives were better off than they would’ve been if he’d stayed but his was not and that hurts

- But he remembers the three people who now view him as their own like he was always there, and somehow the pain eases, and when his mother makes him promise to visit again, he actually means it when he agrees

- They gather to say one last good bye to the Curtis home, and despite facing the most unknowns since any of them can remember, they’re together, and that’s enough

The end <3 this is just one possible route that I thought of, I truly have no idea if this is cooking or if the kitchen is burning down

[monebula-art]

Yknow I’m gonna rant about something rq. Maybe a bad take but just 👀👀👀 hear me out.

EDIT: this is legit just a saucy rant it’s not meant to cast blame on anyone and I love both Astarion’s because I find the character progressions and options for both Spawn and Ascended to be equally juicy with their own things to unpack. Every player has the freedom to choose and experience the adventures however they want to. These are legit just. My ramblings in amidst some hate brakes on Ascended that I wanted to shout into the void about. It’s not a dissertation. If anything this is just a ‘What if after the End’ kind of scenario that’s been tumbling around in my head. That’s it.

People give Ascended Astarion a bad rap, but like lemme cook for a smidge. If you stick with him. If you support and love him, sure he’s a little power hungry and arrogant and the power of being the Ascended gets to his head a little.

But like, he mentions going traveling. Seeing the world with you. Maybe for decades, for CENTURIES even. Just the two of you seeing all the world has to offer. He’s spent two hundred years+ STUCK in Baldur’s Gate. His love is no bougie noble who must travel in a carriage. And in fact I’d think a Tav or Durge would insist against it. They would travel like they used to. Like people do. (And famous words that tamed the most notorious of vampires was ‘Travel like people do, you might like it~’)

I think that time would eventually change Astarion back to who he was on track to being before he Ascended. Aka ‘Spawn Astarion’. Seeing the world from a ground perspective. Not above it, alongside it. Having a Tav/Durge who is grounded.

Once his little power trip has run its course, I think he’d mellow out. It might take a decade or two. But he’s got LITERAL ETERNITY to address his hurt. And with a loyal and loving Tav/Durge by his side, being his support and his compass how could he stay lost for long? Like think about it.

Who says yall can’t rule a new nation of Vampires? Who’s to say a world where Vampires can become a diplomatic SOCIETY that can coexist beside other mortals? A world where blood isn’t stolen or taken, but given freely by willing offerers. Where spawn are created to serve by their choice and not stolen out of the night with ultimatums to be slaves??? Where a bite from a vampire doesn’t mean a life of servitude or a death sentence??? Yknow??? Kinda like y’all’s romance first started????

Imagine a Tav who is so passionate about changing THEIR nation, that they build a dream where tormented slave spawns like Astarion and wretched monsters like Cazador don’t EVER HAVE TO EXIST.

And at the top they get to rule it all together. The king and queen of a new nation, a new age of vampires out of the shadows. Where they are beloved and revered and ok maybe a little bit feared, yknow? Rulership is hard.

Tell me in a few decades Astarion wouldn’t be all over that shit. With a dedicated partner, they could guide that ambition of his into something TRULY AMAZING. Like how is no one seeing the POTENTIAL? They swear he’s trash, like he wasn’t totally hanging on you before. Like he doesn’t revere you like the sun as his consort. His treasure??? His love, who he sees and desires eternity with? He’s not just keeping you around for shits n giggles. Like he doesn’t have compassion for people that just because he makes a fucked up choice(one that lowkey you helped him make so if you wanna be like ‘Oh but the 7000 lives!’ Like you made that decision with him. I mean. It was a shitty decision and if you fail the roll you fail the role that isn’t on you. I can get that thinking the Ascendant route is the best course and getting more than you bargained for. And I’ll concede, he’s INSUFFERABLY arrogant. But that’s just one choice in a long line of, really ONLY having fucked up choices to begin with???….. every body has done some irredeemable shit. Not saying you can’t condemn Astarion for that, plenty of the characters already do. But like… you don’t have to??? The lesson was keep living and live better. It’s the only way to make up for the misery and suffering.

He opened up to you once. Permitted your probing, even when it pissed him off. He learned to love you because of that. The power got to his head a little and he’s using that as a substitute coping mechanism for shit he still hasn’t dealt with. It’s fresh. It’s a very open wound he’s trying not to show.

It’ll pass sooner or later. And he’ll have to start healing. That’s why he has YOU. That’s why you stay.

Both Ascended and Spawn say they are with you, if you choose to go down the dark road and embrace your destiny as Durge. Both of them are with you no matter how bloody or deplorable or immoral it gets. Spawn isn’t just suddenly this sweet innocent with a peerless moral compass just because he decided not to ascend. Their dialogue is exactly the same. He’s still THERE and he’s still with his darling.

Miss me with that Ascended is irredeemable but Spawn did nothing wrong. They’re both equally happy to stab someone just for funsies. One hopped on the healing track sooner, that’s it. Abandoning Ascended Astarion right after his ascension just cuz you don’t like how he got a little intense about it is like GUARANTEEING he becomes a bitter and sadistic tyrant. Comparing him to Cazador so soon after he just ended that chapter but has yet to actually DEAL with the chapter mentally or emotionally is an interesting choice, but like… idk a lil wild from my perspective I guess.

You handled him with honesty, trust and patience all up until now, but suddenly he gets a little spooky and you back out? Seems to me like someone is just scared of his power now that he ain’t weaker than you anymore and needs to be protected hm??? Now he can actually fuck you up if he wanted and instead of embracing that with him some of yall wanna be like ‘Oh well now you’re the monster you always hated’.

Grow uuuuup. Make him worse? Make him better??

It has to get worse BEFORE it gets better. That’s how improvement works. It’s everyone’s personal choice to stick with him or bail. I don’t think either choice is a wrong one is all I’m saying. If you’re all in for him, and his mess, and sticking with him for the evil, or even to see if in some aftersotry imagining that time and wisdom eventually mellows him out a bit then cool~ I think that’s possible tbh?

If you think he’s too ‘abusive’ for you to stick with then feel free to end things. It doesn’t make him any less insufferable.

All I’m saying as someone who’s legit been in a few abusive relationships in the past— using possessive language and being manipulative and desperate for control is not a character trait that just appeared out of nowhere after Astarion Ascended. And some folks can just not like the path he took and wanna back out without outcrying a whole essay about why he’s now terrible and abusive and nobody should ever enjoy the Ascendant route. Is all I’m saying.