#inherit ruination

[brujahinaskirt]

I will never shut up about how Kingdom Come: Deliverance is the most tenderly written game served to the most loutish horde of jackasses. I think it is possibly one of the greatest pieces of popular fiction made about feudalism in recent history, even if it's not always the most historically accurate.

And that's because the whole damn thing is about the profound, authority-enforced inhumanity that self-propels feudal order... but this time, it's written from the perspective of, for lack of better word, "humanity undermines, and humanity wins."

Love wins, if you want to be cheeky.

This was originally meant to be a reply to @feelinungry's excellent post on the subject, but it outgrew itself and got super bloated, so I'm plopping it in its own post to not be obnoxious...

KINGDOM COME: DELIVERANCE MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW

And the reason all this about humanity and love is so important to the core of the story, to the very backbone of the narrative (even beyond the plot), is that it exists in opposition and to the impairment of the feudal system. Kingdom Come: Deliverance means to teach us, by way of deeply dramatic plots following individuals, how feudalism works and why it worked the way it did. And why and how that system fails.

The vehicle by which the game does this is by showing us, over and over, how the stratification of feudal class is eroded and sometimes outright dissolved (either in general, as with Henry and Hans, or when it matters most, as with Radzig and Henry) by plain and simple love.

Feudalism, like most class-stratified systems, relies upon 1. dehumanization of those beneath one's appointed status; 2. fealty (mock-love) to those above one's status, their title-appointer class; and 3. the maintenance of a deep separation between these artificially bestowed statuses, as enforced by church (as in word of clergy, not word of god) & state (legal rules and law). Those words and laws existed to propel the system by divide-and-maintain (of the workforce populace, placing it firmly below the next class in line, etc.) in the service of unify-and-profit (for the ruling class).

Sigismund & his invading army are wholly separated and adherent to the feudal theory, even if they have flouted codes of warfare & inheritance; they are presented to us as the main dehumanizing force of the story world, a wave of Order that indiscriminately burns opposition flat rather than an individual leading a royal coup, a cyclical destruction that paves the way for the next flavor of rule to continue the feudal system ad infinitum. They're thoroughly separated from the story even when they are burning down a village in front of our eyes and generally move as one, with Markvart occasionally stepping out of that mass of Feudalism and its antihuman nature to give it a face. They're more a force of nature than an individual as far as the narrative goes.

And we are meant to understand that in sharp contrast to the "close" story, the cast we get to know and watch as they attempt to answer this force of nature. And the second we see these characters get close enough to each other, by raw proximity, to poke a pin into the wineskin of feudal order as dictated to them by authority, it bleeds--everywhere. Not in the sense of ruination but in the sense that a tiny wedge of empathy cracks open the dam and leads, yep, to rehumanization--and love, the most human driving force there is.

And that changes everything, for everyone. Not just internally, as with a character's personal development arc (i.e., Hans learning why his duties, which he resented and viewed as an impingement on his freedom when dictated to him by authority, are incredibly important for real people who experience pain) but externally as well (as @feelinungry so elegantly points out in the original post).

Over and over, at every stage of the story, it's the rehumanization of and by these decision-makers (at a family level, at a community level, at a regional level, at a national level) that cracks the feudal cycle, even if in very small ways. Hans really brings this back home in a petri dish in late game, after the siege, when he complains to Henry about the noble's code (letting Istvan go) potentially leading to pain and disaster for the common people Istvan's machinations are likely to harm in the future. He chafes--and we chafe, and so does Radzig, and so does Divish--against feudal stratification because he has learned a general empathy through loving an individual, and that has in turn reshaped the way he sees the world.

And that's exactly why and when feudalism begins to fail, and why it thrashed itself the way it did, from the enforcement of sexual mores (though this wasn't exactly like it is in movies) and gender law to terror upon its own populations.

And it's the crucial understanding I think we begin to forget after being exposed to so much Hollywoodification of history, where the oppression always exists for cruelty's sake alone rather than in active and deliberate service to a political construct.

And I think it's why we've "lost the plot" so horribly when it comes to understanding that people in history were still people, not monolithic one-mind entities (as the feudal system demanded they be). And why we somehow forgot that such people fall in love, in all kinds of love, in a way that has never given a damn about authority. And that this in turn undermines supposedly supreme authority, even divine authority, and will always continue to do so, as long as people are people.

This is what it always comes back to. Always. From Henry's parents and their mysterious bond with Radzig informing the protagonist's journey from "the past"--to Henry & Hans falling into stupidly fierce soulmatehood with each other in the present--from Istvan & Erik's destructive fuck-the-world romantic love on the "enemy" side--to Divish's humbling, humanizing realization that he loves Stephanie in some way, he really does, despite the chasm of age/gender enforced upon them by their adherence to feudal order that doomed their romantic love to failure.

People will always love each other, even when the world orders them not to, even when faced with death and worse. People will always, given proximity and shared experiences, learn to see each other as human again. KCD reminds us of that. It's why the "slow" storyline exists and why it works.

And that is why this game is so fucking fantastic, and why the genpop fandom has utterly failed it.

[valtsv]

i feel like your ocs would have amazing aita posts

oh definitely. in fact here's a sample for you.

Annie: "AITA for constructing a moral framework based on my belief that I am a character in a cosmic horror setting where my knowledge of the horrors makes me a target and thus I must do whatever it takes to survive (NOTE: I have justified the ruination of the lives of hundreds of people thanks to this worldview, but in my defence most of them had the potential to kill me even if they weren't actively trying to do so)"

also "WIBTA if I were to wander the earth leaving a trail of destruction in my wake until someone puts me out of my misery because my boyfriend died"

Lincoln: "AITA for continuing to pursue my passion of making music even though it compels people to kill each other (btw my new album is now available for pre-order!)"

Samara: "AITA for helming a highly dangerous expedition to the Arctic despite my lack of experience in this regard in order to prove to my father that I'm worthy of inheriting his company"

Nicky: "AITA for becoming a tool of the state in the fight to prevent angels and demons from abusing or destroying humanity for extremely personal revenge quest reasons (I do torture people for information as part of my job)"

Eddie: "AITA for placing myself intentionally in high-risk situations to spite my overbearing sister (regardless of your verdict I will be continuing)"

Logan: "AITA for tying my loyalty to whoever I perceive to be the most capable of protecting me from harm at any given time and doing whatever they ask of me unconditionally"

Fen: "AITA for letting people drown if they don't pay me to ferry them across the marshland which I am a physical manifestation of"

The Radio Host: actually i'm not even gonna try to write one for him he's a genocidal dictator who wants to turn the universe into its personal surveillance state

Dante: "AITA for running away from home to play a game that could kill me because I didn't want to talk to my parents about my mental health and also being a nepo baby I guess"

Maja: "WIBTA if I just lay down and gave up while my team are waiting for me to bring back help and rescue"

Pentifer: "AITA for killing innocent people so I can use their corpses as puppets to get close to my assassination targets if I was abused by my creator until I became hateful and cruel and now have no reason to trust that anyone will treat me differently when I'm widely feared and considered an abomination"

Jocelyn: "AITA for being an opportunistic cult leader who eats people and turns them into cocoons for spiders if I was raised to believe I have no choice in the matter"

Ram: "AITA for dying so badly that it was the catalyst of the problems for everyone around me"

Radi: "AITA for being unable to fall in love with the person who loved the person I was before her personality and memories were forcibly erased and I was born from the ashes of her destruction"

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: I

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: Considered the failure of your clan, you are given the chance to prove yourself by an unlikely source.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.5k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: i think my fatal flaw is not making the main love interest show up in the first chapter

A heavy pressure settled on your chest as you stared at the body in front of you. It was a man, probably twice your age but no less handsome for it. Inky black curls stuck to a feverish face, gone pale from pain. He tossed and turned fitfully, his bare torso shining with sweat as you trembled with terror.

“It’s alright,” your father said, placing his hand on your shoulder, “You can do this. Relax a little and remember your training.”

“It’s never worked before,” you said tearfully, “How can you expect it to do so now?”

“His life is in your hands. It will work, because there is no other option,” he said. You set your palms on the fallen sorcerer’s chest, drawing upon your cursed energy. This first part was easy; you were more than proficient with using your family’s inherited technique.

The weak spots that belonged to every human glowed a cheery white — the nape of the neck, the jaw, the heart. The newly created ones were a furious red, pulsating in a steady rhythm. These were the ones you had to treat and regenerate by utilizing your Reverse Cursed Technique.

Though the Dissection part of the technique was simple, its Reversal was anything but. The technique itself was nothing special, nothing of note — it simply pointed out the weak spots of an opponent. Compared to the inherited techniques of most other important clans, it was downright weak. But that was not where your family earned its importance in jujutsu society: you were not fighters nor leaders. You were healers — or at least, you were supposed to be. Something in your genetic bloodline made Reverse Cursed Techniques natural and easy-won.

Your father was quick and efficient, with a ruthlessness to his light touch as he reconstructed muscles and bones, creating something out of nothing and restoring function to long-useless limbs. Your great-grandfather had supposedly healed an entire army in a matter of minutes once, and legends had it that an ancestor of yours from the Heian period had even resurrected his wife from near-death.

The latter tale was a romantic one that your mother often read in a vain attempt to inspire you, even a little. He loved her so much, she recited, over and over, that he was willing to reach into the darkest depths of his soul to save her.

This was the downside of Reversed Cursed Techniques. In order to create positive energy, it was necessary to multiply negativity by negativity. And this was the step you were unable to do — that reaching into your soul, that bleeding yourself dry for the sake of others.

You were not a healer, or at least you had no aptitude for it. You were the family’s greatest disappointment, a girl who wanted to be a warrior but at this rate was destined to be nothing more than a housewife.

The fact that you were the only heir to the L/N name only compounded this disappointment tenfold. How would your prized Reverse Cursed Technique, Composition, be passed down if the line ended with you, the useless child who could not so much as fix a papercut?

You tried. Feeling the man’s pain and knowing you had to fix it, you tried to rip the hurt out of your soul and mold it into something malleable, something workable, something with which you could soothe his injuries, which were nearing the point of irreversible fatality.

“It hurts,” you whimpered. It felt as though there was a blade driving into your heart, and you clenched your fists, gasping for air, “I can’t, father. I can’t do it.”

“Push past the pain,” he said, voice tense, “That’s the only way. You must take it and make it your own; it will vanish soon, once it has been multiplied with the cursed energy of your technique. The more you practice, the quicker you will be, and thus the less you will suffer. Come on, Y/N, you can do it.”

“No,” you said, stubborn tears welling in your eyes as you shook your head frantically, vision swimming and knives scraping at your windpipe, “No, I cannot breathe, I cannot — I cannot — please, father, you have to save him. I am no healer, I can’t — it will kill me!”

Your voice was shrill and hysterical, fractured with fear and desperation. You were not built like the rest of your family; perhaps you took after your gentle mother, who had no cursed technique at all. Perhaps your constitution was not meant for this. Your father gave you one final, measured look, and then he let out a heavy exhale and pushed you to the side. His hands barely glanced the man’s chest, his brow creasing for a mere instant before the sorcerer shot up with a gasp.

“Easy there, Kaito,” your father said, chuckling and pushing him back down, “You’re not quite back to fighting form just yet. You still need to rest up a bit. Also, quit pushing yourself so much! Fighting such a powerful curse is hard for just about anyone, and you’re still a newly minted Grade 1 sorcerer. There’s no sense in risking it all so soon.”

“Ah, you’re right, but you know how I am. I give my all every time I’m on the battlefield. It’s the only way we stand any sort of chance against these damned monsters,” Kaito said.

“We all have our parts to play,” your father said diplomatically, “Or most of us do, at least.”

It was an unspoken dismissal, and you bowed your head before slipping out of the hospital wing. Your family manor was silent, your soft footsteps echoing in the hallways as you padded back to your room in shame.

Your fate was all but sealed now. This had been your final chance to make something of yourself, to prove that you could at least be a healer and carry on your family’s noble work. But you could not, and so as a woman of the L/N line, there was only one fate left for you — engagement to a man of note, left to be nothing more than a broodmare, the rest of your life spent atrophying away in some gilded-cage-mansion, raising children that you had no choice in bearing.

You wondered who it would be, which man would lay claim to your hand in marriage. It was no stretch to say you were an attractive prospect, though not for your looks. Any children you might have were likely to be able to utilize Reverse Cursed Techniques, strengthening any clan’s power tenfold. And besides, your family was reliably the only group of capable healers in the jujutsu world that were not pledged to any one side. An alliance with the L/N clan had more benefits than risks, so in that sense you were actually quite sought after. Your prospects were open, though it wasn’t like you’d have much of a choice in the matter because of this fact. You’d marry who you were told to and drown in self-pity for the rest of your miserable life either way.

It was something of a game for you at this point, going through the most important clans and seeing which had unmarried descendants. You often ranked them, picking out which you would like to marry the most and least — what else could you pass your time with? Training to fight meant that you ran the risk of getting hurt, and in a society such as the one you were trapped in, a marred girl was of intrinsically less value. You could not heal, either, so you languished in your room and amused yourself with silly, mundane things such as your own personal version of The Bachelorette.

Your favorite never changed: Toge Inumaki, the only son of the Inumaki clan. He was closest in age to you, with soft blond hair and violet eyes that shimmered with eternal mischief. Dark, delicate markings curled around his lips and on his tongue, marking him as a user of Cursed Speech — his family’s inherited technique. To some, such a thing might be a downside, but you found it a plus, really. After all, the less your future husband talked to you, the better.

But you knew your father and uncles would never allow it. He would be a back-up, a safe option, but he was not what they truly wanted. No, they had their sights set higher — on the scions of the Big Three, and one in particular: Noritoshi Kamo.

He was not bad, you concluded. Not too far in age from you like the heirs to the Zenin and Gojo clans were, he was polite and powerful, if not achingly proper. He was always kind to you, giving you his phone number on your first meeting and sending you gifts every now and then. Indeed, as far as candidates went, he was perfectly tolerable. So, if you could not have Inumaki, then you would take Kamo — provided he would take you back.

And he did. The proposal came via messenger one day, and it was altogether far too formal and ridiculous by any sane person’s standards, but it came. A delicate gold ring with a star-bright diamond set onto the band was presented to you in a velvet box and then fitted to your finger, where it rested as an eternal reminder of the man you were now bound to. Parties were thrown and the higher-ups were informed: Y/N L/N was to marry Noritoshi Kamo once he had graduated from school.

For the first time, you sensed you had made your parents proud. And this was enough to make you somewhat compliant in the festivities, paraded about at functions reserved for the upper echelons as the newest jewel added to the Kamo clan’s crown.

The stiff gaudiness and subtle politics made you more than a little uncomfortable, but your soft complaints meant nothing to your parents, who had never cared to listen before and certainly did not now, now that you weren’t their problem but rather the Kamos’ — Noritoshi’s in specific. And Noritoshi himself only gave you a sad smile when you whispered your feelings in his ear — he understood them, shared them even, but what could he do? What could either of you do? You both were stuck, chained to one another and to a sinking ship that was dragging the two of you down with it.

“Aren’t you so thrilled to have such a beautiful woman to call your own?” This was Naoya Zenin, lifting his glass at Noritoshi in congratulations, who smiled tightly, his nimble fingers tapping your thigh thrice in quick succession under the table. It was something of a language you had developed in solidarity with one another. If anything, the parties had at least forced a tenuous friendship between you two.

Three times was an apology. He was going to play the role he was expected to, but he wanted you to know he didn’t mean it. You smiled vacantly and tapped back once discreetly. Acceptance and affirmation. You would not hold it against him.

“Certainly,” he said.

“And she is so docile, too. Careful, you might make me jealous. Would you be opposed to sharing?” Naoya said.

“Unfortunately, I am not open to any such thing at the moment,” Noritoshi said immediately. You tapped twice — gratitude. He tapped once back — it’s nothing.

“Pity,” Naoya said before returning to his conversation with his father.

“Thank you,” you murmured under your breath, leaning closer to Noritoshi under the pretense of fixing his collar. “He gives me the creeps.”

“Me as well. He is somewhat of a raging misogynist; it is rather grating. And he is so much older than us that for him to insinuate such things about you makes me feel nauseous,” Noritoshi said. Your expression softened, and you continued to eat your dinner to hide it. Noritoshi was kind, to be certain; this was more than could be said about most of his equals, so you cherished it.

“I am glad that it is you I am to marry and not someone like him,” you said. In a rare show of affection, you interlaced your fingers with his and squeezed. His brows drew together in surprise before he smiled and squeezed back.

“I am glad to marry you, too,” he said. There was no comparison, no qualifier attached to the end of it. Perhaps it was implied, or perhaps he meant to leave it at that; perhaps he really was just glad to marry you. Well, good for him, then. At least one of you had positive feelings towards the relationship.

“Do you mind if I go out for a little bit? It is hot in here,” you said. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, a small frown playing at his lips.

“Are you feverish?” he said. You shook your head.

“No, I just want to take a walk. I need some fresh air. You know how I feel about these parties; after a while, I need a break,” you said.

“Will you be alright by yourself?” he said.

“I’m not a child,” you reprimanded him, “And I won’t go far. Just out on the balcony.”

“Be careful,” he said anyways. You scowled.

“I am glad to hear of the faith you have in me,” you said dryly, standing and brushing your skirt off.

“Just take my worry as evidence of my fondness and accept it,” he said. You fought off the urge to wave him away, instead nodding once, shortly.

“Thank you,” you said. The words rang hollow, and he sighed in defeat but did not argue further, only watching as you excused yourself from the table and headed towards the balcony.

The moon was full and bright, a soft breeze tickling at your skin as you looked down at the gardens filled to the bursting with flowers. They were beautiful, their colors muted in the silver of the night and their petals curled slightly inwards, as if the blooms were sleeping, too. You were too far for their sweet fragrance to permeate the air around you, but you imagined they probably smelled nice. Closing your eyes and leaning forwards as if that would help you any, you let out a soft breath.

It was nice out here, where there were no expectations nor demands floating in the air. Alone, you could pretend that you had a choice in marrying whoever you wanted, in becoming whatever you wanted. With the stars as your only company, you could finally just be yourself.

You were never meant for a life like this. A call to do something with what you had been given sang through your blood. A call to do something, anything. You wanted to feel adrenaline pumping through your veins and fire in your heart; you wanted to feel energy bursting from your fingertips and strength fortifying your muscles. You wanted to leap; whether you crashed or flew didn’t make much of a difference. The free-fall was what you sought, that moment of suspension in mid-air when time slowed and there was nothing but you and your soul and the feeling of being alive.

“I won’t catch you if you fall, you know,” a masculine voice said from behind you. Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you recognized the person who spoke. He was well renowned throughout the sorcery world, after all, a bona fide celebrity that you had seen here and there at various gatherings.

“Gojo,” you greeted him.

“Hello, Y/N. Oh, do you mind if I am familiar with you?” he said. You shrugged, not turning to face him.

“Not really. You’re my elder, anyways, so I’m hardly about to correct you,” you said. He let out a raucous laugh.

“Don’t give me that! We should be friends. I prefer to get along with my students,” he said.

“I’m not one of your students, though,” you said sourly. You heard the click of his footsteps approaching you, and you readied yourself to react somehow, but he only moved to stand beside you, resting his forearms on the railing of the balcony in a casually graceful movement. His typical white blindfold made of bandages had been replaced with a pair of black sunglasses that allowed you to see the maelstrom of blues swirling in his irises as he regarded you coolly.

“You could be. You have potential,” he said. You snorted.

“Not so. I can’t use my Reverse Cursed Technique at all. It’s not something I’m capable of, actually,” you said. He wrinkled his nose in disdain.

“Maybe, maybe not. I’ve often found that capability is not something we can really define for ourselves. You might find that strength when you need it most…but even then, even without your Reverse Cursed Technique, you are not useless,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said, blinking at the acknowledgement, “That is very kind of you to say.”

“I’ll admit I have ulterior motives,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and grinning as if to offset his words.

“Oh,” you said, though you really should’ve expected such a thing, “That’s fine.”

“Though I wasn’t lying! It’s true that you could be great, but we both know your talents will be wasted in a life such as the one your family desires,” he said.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you said with a bitter laugh.

“I want you to come to Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. You can train under me to fight curses, and if you are able to unlock your Reverse Cursed Technique, then all the better! Shoko can help you hone it, she’s a relative genius with such things,” he said. Your shoulders sagged, and the smile fell from your face as you shifted your attention back to the moon.

“That’s not a choice I can make for myself, and it was unfair of you to ask me in the first place. As if my life has ever been my own,” you said.

“I’m from one of the Big Three clans, too, with far more respect than Noritoshi and your father have combined. They won’t stop me if I command it,” he said.

“What good would forcing the issue do? You’ll just make more enemies. It’s no secret the higher-ups have no love for you; respect, yes, but they are more likely to harm than help you. It would not be wise for you to do something that directs the vitriol of both the Kamo and L/N clans towards you, too,” you said.

“I’m the strongest,” he said, and it was a lazy statement that hung in the air with the weight of a thousand stones. He was the strongest.

“I think I should like to jump after all,” you said finally. “At least there will be one thing I can do for myself.”

“I won’t stop you,” he said.

“Thank you, but we all know they would,” you said, motioning towards the party haphazardly and then shaking you head. “Anyways, maybe I’m not quite at that point just yet. Thank you for your offer, Gojo, sir. I really appreciate it…and I really, really, really wish I could take it.”

He extended a hand to pat you on the head, careful to avoid messing up your elegant hairstyle. You closed your eyes in content; this was the most parental affection you had been shown in some time, or at least without any strings attached. Once, you might’ve thought such a thing sad, but by now it was a firm fact of life that you were resigned to accepting.

“Don’t give up so easily,” he said before waving cheerily, “Enjoy your time outside! The weather’s nice, so don’t rush back too quickly, yeah?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you said, deciding you might never understand him. Attempting it was futile, so you just pushed the odd encounter out of your mind. Dwelling on lost possibilities would only taint the night with melancholy, after all, so what was the sense in it? Never mind that the strongest sorcerer in the world had just offered to train you. Never mind that he thought you had potential. Never mind any of it.

You should’ve known that Gojo was up to something from the smirk he wore as he left you alone. A sudden chittering noise in your ear caused you to jump, and goosebumps abruptly rose on your flesh when you came to the horrific conclusion that you were not alone. Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps as you slowly turned your head and met the eyes of a curse.

This was your first time encountering one, but you knew what it was as if it were an instinct. The body was twisted and malformed in an inhuman way, its sharp teeth bared in a predatory leer as it continued to laugh maniacally, its intentions clear in its stance.

The only thing you could think to do was scream. You screamed until your throat was sore and you heard a pounding at the door — but why were they pounding like that, why were they not coming to save you? You craned your neck as much as you could, keeping the curse in your peripheral vision and then swearing aloud when you fully understood the magnitude of the situation you were in.

It was locked. For some reason, the door was locked, and none of them could open it. You saw the rage and despair on Noritoshi’s face, and some part of you was comforted in a fatalistic way. Here was somebody that would mourn for you; not your bloodline or skills but rather you.

Naoya was the second person you saw, and distaste bubbled in you at his self-satisfied expression. This was the natural order of things to him; you were a pretty toy, but why should he risk himself to defend something so easily replaceable? And, to that end, why did even Noritoshi feel so strongly about this? He had no shortage of suitors, after all. Your death would free him to do whatever he wanted in the future.

It was cold, you idly noted; perhaps the goosebumps were not from fear alone. Indeed, the fear had actually vanished into a freezing, clinical calm, and your mind at once slowed and then sharpened.

Gojo believed you had potential; somehow, you had a gut feeling that this was his way of proving it. True to your intuition, he was nowhere to be found. The so-called strongest was not even attempting to save you, the vulnerable girl about to be absorbed by a curse. This was not entirely unforeseen, though, was it? He had said so already — he would not catch you if you fell. This meant, then, that he had the faith you could catch yourself.

“Alright, then. If that’s how it’s to be,” you said, pulling a pin out of your hair and rolling your shoulders. Your elaborate updo did not even budge — far too many other pins and hairspray were at work keeping it up. You silently thanked the maid that had done it before refocusing yourself. You only had one shot at this; though your reserves of cursed energy were actually above-average, channelling it was like working a muscle that had not been used in some time. You doubted you could maintain it for long without fatiguing yourself beyond belief, and at that point, you might as well give up and hand yourself to the curse on a silver platter.

Furrowing your brow, you imbibed the hair pin with as much cursed energy as you could muster — a fairly basic technique that most sorcerers were capable of, even you. Sweat poured down your forehead, but you only wiped it away with a flick of your hand, your concentration too intense to be broken. You would pay for this later, but you would be thankful to do so, for it’d mean you’d lived to tell the tale and face the consequences.

A giddiness replaced the fear as you realized you were about to do it. You were about to fight a curse, and whether you won or lost, your time on this earth would not have ended without impact. The call in your blood hummed lowly, sated for the moment as you finished cursing the pin. Then, turning to the spirit that had, until now, been watching you silently, you tilted your head.

“Dissection,” you said, pronouncing each syllable meticulously. At the same, you held out one palm and tapped the pin against the center, activating the pressure point that allowed your technique to take hold even when you were not in contact with your target.

You were surprised to discover that, unlike humans, the weak spots of curses glowed a malevolent, dark green. Though, this made sense when you afforded it further thought, so you shook off your initial shock rather quickly.

The brightest spot was the weakest — or at least, it worked that way for humans, and you assumed that that principle, at least, transferred over. At any rate, you hoped so, because you were about to stake your life on it.

The solar plexus — if it could even be called that on such an inhumanoid thing — drew your attention first, shining far more than the other pinpricks of light. Taking careful aim and then trusting the rest to fate, you threw the pin.

It stuck true, and the curse stumbled back in surprise before promptly bursting into a million particles. The pin clattered to the ground, and time suddenly returned to its normal pace. What had seemed like minutes upon minutes had in truth barely been a few seconds, and as your heart rate slowed, you came to understand what you had just done.

The door slammed open as you crouched to pick up the hairpin, holding it up to the light and inspecting it carefully.

“Y/N!” Noritoshi’s concern was so heartbreakingly raw that it wrenched you from your daze. He was upon you in an instant, kneeling and holding you tightly to his chest, glaring out at the others as if they would try to attack you, too.

“Noritoshi,” you said, slumping against him, the soothing ylang-ylang of his cologne grounding you to reality, “I just exorcised a curse.”

“I am so sorry,” he said, “I — I should’ve been there to protect you, but I let you down. You could’ve been killed, and I could not so much as open a damned door! I cannot begin to imagine the terror you must’ve felt. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“Noritoshi,” you said once more, only now you were more amazed than anything, “I just exorcised a curse.”

“Yes,” he said, “Yes, you did. You should not have had to…but you did.”

“Boy, did she ever!” This was Gojo, the only one tactless enough to intrude on the private moment, causing you to let out giggle, breaking the tension somewhat.

“She was excellent, indeed,” Noritoshi said, “There is nobody more talented than her in the entire world, I think.”

You thought it ironic that he was saying such things to Gojo of all people, but it was sweet, so you did not bother to correct him.

“I’m inclined to agree! In fact, she’s so talented I want her to train with me,” Gojo said. You felt Noritoshi stiffen around you, and panic seized your throat. He could not say no, he could not, you believed you might die if he did.

“You mean to risk her life daily by throwing her into the world of sorcery headfirst?” he said, tone scathing.

“Yup!” Gojo said.

“Noritoshi,” you said. His attentive eyes were on you in an instant, and then you found yourself unable to speak anymore. Your hand found his bicep, and you tapped once. Acceptance and affirmation. You begged him to understand, and to your surprise, he did.

“Are you certain?” he said hesitantly. This bolstered your resolve, and you nodded, finding the courage to vocalize your thoughts once more.

“I have to. Now that I have done it once, there is no way I can live without ever doing it again. Noritoshi, please,” you said quietly, to avoid being overheard. He studied you for a second before exhaling through his nose in a warm amusement.

“I’ve known from the very start that you’re not one to be tied down. It would be sheer stupidity on anyone’s part to think that they could stop you from doing what you will, but I do not want to ever give you cause to work behind my back. Marriage…it is a partnership. We will be partners, at least, in the future,” he said.

“Partners,” you repeated, not questioning how he had seen through to your true nature so easily. You were not that good at camouflaging your wants — he was only the first to ever pay enough attention to uncover them. “I can accept that. I would like it, even.”

“Very well, then,” he said, “Train with Gojo, if that is what you will.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes widening as you realized this was it, this was liberation, this was the freefall you had craved, “Thank you, Noritoshi, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said brusquely, “Your wants are as much mine as mine are yours. I am not like…well. You know who.”

“I do,” you said, and now you were beaming, “But thank you, anyways.”

“Ready to go?” Gojo said, once again interrupting the moment and offering you his hand, “I already called and ensured a room would be ready for you on the campus! You’ll be transferring in a little after the year has started, but don’t worry, the rest of your classmates are a welcoming bunch, so you’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah,” you said, taking his hand with an air of finality, “I am. Let’s go.”

He pulled you to your feet and dragged you after him, cackling out apologies as the two of you ran through the throngs of partygoers that had gathered to watch the spectacle. You winced at his crass behavior, but when you pushed aside all thoughts of propriety, you realized it was fun to race though the crowds, sticking out your tongue at Naoya when you passed him and snickering at the confusion that flitted over his features.

“You put that curse there! And you locked the door!” you accused him between sharp inhales, your lungs burning from pure exhilaration.

“What are you talking about? I would never endanger a child!” he shot back.

“Maybe not, but that means nothing. I doubt you thought I was in any danger, anyways,” you said.

“You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that. I know someone you’d get along with marvelously! Too bad he’s a year younger than you,” he said. “Want to stop for mochi on the way to the school?”

“Sure?” you said, startled at the change in subject. “Yeah, mochi is good.”

“Alright!” he said, pumping his fist in the air. This was the heir to the illustrious Gojo clan; this was the strongest sorcerer in the world; this was the strangest man you had ever met. He was a person of many dichotomies, and you were stumbling to keep up with them all.

He rambled about random things as a tired man with deep-set frown lines drove the two of you to a place that sold mochi, and then he paid for your food without complaint. However, as you both ate, his demeanor sobered.

“You’ll be one of us from now on,” he said.

“This feels like a cult initiation,” you said nervously, wondering what you had just signed up for.

“It might as well be. You have lived in this society for your entire life, but you have never been in battle, have you? It is entirely different from the healing you have trained for until now,” he said. You understood, then, what he was trying to say in his funny, roundabout way.

“It is easier, I think. Fighting, that is, compared to healing,” you said thoughtfully.

“Is that so?” Gojo said, and there was genuine curiosity in his voice now, “Explain.”

“Healing is like a war,” you said, remembering the pain in your chest and the death that washed over you when you tried to use your Reverse Cursed Technique, “There are storms in suffering, I’ve come to find — great, unshakable seas of pain set into turmoil with the slightest disturbance. It is too delicate a job for me, so I think I shall stick with battles. I would rather witness death than be responsible for it.”

“Responsibility is inescapable,” he said, shoving the last of your food in his mouth. “But you may not be far off in your assessment.”

“I will not know until I’ve done it. What I am certain about is that I would prefer dying to living as I have until now,” you said.

His eyes were wise, belying his true maturity and grief when he spoke next.

“It is not your own dying that you should fear.”

This, too, you understood, so you nodded in assent.

“I know.”

[staghunting]

The actual "staghunter" Orion Black/Harry Potter side of this blog is incredibly niche because I am basically writing and ranting about my own personal headcanon of an AU of an AU of an AU, which means it's basically original fiction at this point. However, I can't in good conscience write an original story when the dynamic is based on characters from the Harry Potter franchise (as someone who clocked AtIas S/ix not knowing the author was a dram!one BNF), so dump and rant here it is.

However, posting a briefer here— the staghunter dynamic punnett square!

my shit handwriting aside, these characters basically are Harry Potter and Orion Black:

as they are in book canon (any info about them gleaned from things outside of that, including official film and stories penned by the terf themselves, will be called extra-canon from here on)

the same canon characters if they were born a girl

(the above both residing on the premise that harry time travels to hogwarts in the 1940s)

itruns!Orion, which is basically the philandering patriarch version of him written by the amazing metalomagnetic in her Sirius/Voldemort story It Runs In the Blood. It is my favorite version of Orion in fics so far since metalo is a very good writer and the character depth is deep as it is heartbreaking

ephesus!Harry which is my version of Harry (in a story I haven't published) where her and Hermione's consciousness are reincarnated/sent back in time in order to stave off or prevent the heat death and total obliteration of magic in the 21st century through committing acts of extreme magical environmental conservation and interspecies liberation from wizards in the 40s. and both of them are considered dangerous terrorists by the ICW

Harry born as a normal Muggle in the 1940s

Orion born as their generation's family Squib

Prescient!Harry, by which she is a pureblood witch born to Fleamont and Euphemia but due to some ~family curse/inheritance~ she remembers all her past lives and possible futures a la Alia Atreides

And then Metamorphmagus!Orion, heir to an ancient and noble wizarding family that FUCKIN HATES non-wizards

I like the idea across some fans that the Potter and Black families are tied in some crazy intergenerational curse somehow, like one is doomed at the hands of the other and the other is also their saviour type of stuff, and it is only when they choose each other that their houses are saved from eternal doom (like sirius&james bffs forever, or charlus & dorea's marriage, or narcissa sparing harry's life)

There's soooo much potential for a romeo + juliet vibe here because the point of R&J is that they are houses both alike in dignity - they are on equal footing, no fucked up power dynamics affecting them badly (although those are fun to explore taken in an extreme way. like yes ex-convict sirius would marry his goddaughter in a heartbeat in order to keep the power-hungry vultures off of marrying either of them and getting a child with either of their genes, family name, fortune, and magical inheritance before harry dies. hell, a marriage would mean he could make harry his heir! winwin! is it a bonus that she looks exactly like her dad- his soulmate and other half- but with her mom's eyes? sure!)

anyway as an explanation. harry in any universe would absolutely ruin orion in any universe— it's the type of ruination that varies.

(and the fact that orion has no canonical traits except for "rich, magical blood supremacist father" is a perfect little sandbox for anything)

anyway, explanations for each square under the cut!

canon Harry:

W/ canon orion - friends to lovers. harry is in different emotional states for each book so it would depend when he'd teleport but even if you picked the angriest, most done version of him to drop off in the universe it would work. I love tomarry- platonic, romantic, antagonistic and fucked up in any universe- and putting the honeybadger version of Harry with one horcrux head boy tom riddle is sooooo nice it would be entertaining for all involved. especially when you go into canon that voldemort and walburga would be head boy by the time orion would be in 5th year. Personally would love to see Tom fume that Harry made friends with Orion & other Slytherins effortlessly by being his angry, vicious self while he had to be polite and lose his cockney accent and be this composed guy who would never get the respect of the real purebloods even after his Slytherin heritage was revealed

with girl orion- friends to lovers. orion would have loads more baggage being the heir-that-could-never-be since she was born a girl, and she would totally rebel in a beatrice horseman (née sugarman) way. except that harry would do right by her and actually respect her so not as tragic as that

ItRuns!Orion for me is a straight, straight dude who longs for affection. Harry is kind in canon, but they don't have a shared history- why the fuck would he give affection to an asshole like him. now would orion have a sexuality crisis over the hot new transfer who doesn't give a shit about his name and treats him like everyone else? yes. would harry ever answer or indulge that question? no. not pre-sixth year harry anyway. however, harry who is still grieving for his recently dead godfather would totally fuck the guy who looks like him. repeatedly and with aftercare. orion is ruined either way. it would be the most intense, soul-shattering, life-changing emotional and sexual relationship of orion black's life and he will never bring it up or share it to anyone ever.

squib orion would resent canon harry so much. but oh, stranger things have risen from such a large pool of emotion

metamorphmagus orion, specifically one actively hiding his creatureness from his family, would definitely be harry's ride or die. canon harry has a weird relationship with his celebrity and last name because both are the reasons for his being an outcast. he would be in the best place to teach orion to deal with and possibly learn to love that part of himself

I'll explain the other ones in a different post since I have work and school to get to but yeah! Fun!

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb:

The Prince and the Dressmaker goes to Austenland in this historically inspired, joyfully queer, stunningly romantic graphic novel mash-up of Jane Austen novels—where two friends discover their feelings for each other and find a space in their world for their love and identity.

George has major problems: They’ve just inherited the failing family estate, and the feelings for their best friend, Eleanor, have become more complicated than ever. Not to mention, if anyone found out they were secretly dressing in men’s clothes, George is sure it would be ruination for the family name.

Eleanor has always wanted to do everything "right," including falling in love—but she’s never met a boy she was interested in. She’d much rather spend time with her best friend, George, and beloved cousin Charlotte. However, when a new suitor comes to town, she finds her closest friendships threatened, forcing her to rethink what "right" means and confront feelings she never knew she had.

Perfect for fans of Alice Oseman and Ngozi Ukazu, I Shall Never Fall in Love shines a light on what it means to be true to yourself and rewrites the rules for what makes a happily ever after.

Review:

A queer take on Jane Austen stories all mixed together?? Oh heck yes. This was an absolute delight to read as a fan of queer romances and Jane Austen! The story follows George: born as a "daughter" but identifying as not, and they've inherited their father's manor and estate... and are realizing their own sexuality and attraction for their best friend Eleanor. Eleanor has always wanted to do everything "right" and yet she's never found the right boy she's interested in, however she is very interested in her best friend George. From dealing with balls, societal expectations, suitors, and estates, romance will bloom and love will find a way! The story mixes a bit of Pride and Prejudice with Emma, and it's just so cute and sweet and I loved the queer take on it. It's a must read for sure.

Release Date: Oct 8,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and HarperCollins Children's Books | HarperAlley for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[mermaidsirennikita]

recs (he or contemp) where the hero just assumes the worst about the heroine? Kind of like those trashy harlequins where dude thinks heroines the absolute worst the biggest brat in the universe but he ends up being so wonderfully wrong?

I mean, the big obvious one off the top of my head is It Happened One Autumn by Lisa Kleypas. Westcliff never likes Lillian. Like, even when you read Secrets of a Summer Night, he thinks this girl is TRASH. Mostly because he wants to dive into that trash like a raccoon.

When the Duke Loved Me by Lydia Lloyd has a great setup there. The hero and heroine had this great makeout when they were both in disguise at this party years before, but it's interrupted by his friends who are like "NOOOOO STOOOOOP" because she's actually from this family that is mortal enemies with his family, particularly because her aunt and his dad hooked up years ago and caused SCANDAL AND RUINATION. So the hero, who is hideously attracted to her, thinks she's similar and is just out to get him. Her opinion of him is... not much higher.

A Secret Love by Stephanie Laurens has an interesting variation on this. The hero and heroine really dislike each other, and he has just no real rationale for it because they grew up together (the actual rationale: she got hot as they grew up and he sublimated this development into hatred). However, because of his Special Skills of Financial Investigation (all Cynster dudes have Special Skills, just go with it) the heroine puts on a veil, pretends to be a widow, and enlists him to help her. And he lOOOOVES her as a widow.

In Which Matilda Halifax Learns the Value of Restraint by Alexandra Vasti has the hero think the heroine is painted HUSSY because she drew dirty pictures of him... but he's also into it and just can't admit it. In Which Winnie Halifax is Utterly Ruined also has the hero develop an initially bad impression of her. Mostly because she's pretending to be his wife.

The Duke Gets Desperate by Diana Quincy has a hero who haaaates the American heroine because she's basically inherited his castle and is like "you are art historian and dumb with money, we are going to offer paid tours of this castle to financially justify its existence" and he's like *SCANDALIZED GASP*. It's very funny.

The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe, of course, has Lockwood absolutely despise Nellie after their initial oceanic makeout. Mostly because, in his defense, she's constantly coming in to ruin his attempts at securing a sugar mama. The "you'll NEVER MARRY MY FRIEND"/"well guess what??? that just ensures I'll marry her EVEN HARDER" exchange lives rent-free in my brain.

Never Seduce a Duke by Vivienne Lorret features a hero who thinks the heroine stole his magical Arthurian cookbook, leading to him pursuing her across Europe for JUSTICE!!! (not only for justice)

Once More, My Darling Rogue by Lorraine Heath is a retelling of the Kurt Russell/Goldie Hawn classic overboard, in which the hero hates the bratty, bitchy heroine so much (with good reason lol) when he rescues her from a river and realizes she has amnesia, he literally just tells her she's his housekeeper as revenge. I mean, it's supposed to be a BIT and it goes on much longer than he expected. But he DOES make her wash his back, and that DID make me laugh a lot. TW: discussions of childhood sexual abuse.

Wicked in His Arms by Stacy Reid has a cold, uptight earl (?) who hates the heroine on sight because he thinks she's, again, a hussy. He's such a dick to her. This is also the one, however, where he deflowers her impetuously in a closet and then chases her when she runs like, crying into the hallway, and then they run into his mom and everyone is like "well. this situation is extremely obvious" so bOOM MARRIED.

After Dark with The Duke by Julie Anne Long has the older, dignified, war hero duke hate the younger, seemingly-flighty opera singer heroine because she's a scandalous woman who recently came off of two men fighting a duel over here. It's not classy!!!! Then he's mean to her and the owners of the boarding house where they're staying force him to teach her Italian in apology. And. He realizes things.

Married by Morning by Lisa Kleypas, of course, is building off the frankly irrational mutual hatred Leo Hathaway and Catherine Marks have had for each other ever since she entered the scene in Seduce Me at Sunrise. Tbh, the preceding books are good and worth reading (especially Seduce, one of my favorite Kleypases) but it's also just so fun to read Leo being like "I hate Marks so much, she's such a killjoy, I shall sketch her wearing nothing simply because".

Sweetest Scoundrel by Elizabeth Hoyts (a top Maiden Lane for me) has Asa and Eve just kind of hate each other because she's soooo proper, and he's soooo note, and it's actually really lovely to see him realize why she is the way he is, and melt because he's so empathetic, actually, and A DEEPLY GOOD MAN. ASA MAKEPEACE. UGH. I just love that both Makepeace heroes are God Tier.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath, of course, has Jack Dodger be like "Olivia is so cold and so uptight and has such a giant stick up her ass" and over time he realizes she's actually a delightfully zany freak.

The Worst Guy by Kate Canterbary, of course, stars surgeons who really just severely dislike each other in a very childish way that I somehow found incredibly hilarious. He thinks she's the WORST, and he's honestly wrong about a lot of things... then they're forced to go through work counseling, basically, which leads to them casually taking their anger out on each other through hookups.

You, Again by Kate Goldbeck. It's a retelling of When Harry Met Sally, basically--and to be fair, the hero has his reasons lol. Because the heroine is hooking up with the girl he's trying to date seriously in the beginning. BUT IN HER DEFENSE!!! The relationship wasn't serious at that point. Anyway, over the years of course they become friends... with sizzling tension the whole time.

Pride and Protest by Nikki Payne is a Pride and Prejudice retelling wherein this billionaire meets a woman protesting against his company, and he initially thinks she's basically a poser, but gradually he realizes she's the real deal... and naturally becomes obsessed.

Managed by Kristen Callihan has the hero just hate the heroine... somewhat understandable reasons, tbh. But there's more to her than what meets the eye! He's this very strait-laced manager of a rock band, and he hires her to be the photographer/social media manager.. But he also has insomnia and can't sleep WITHOUT HER IN THE BED LOL.

Eyes on Me by Sara Cate has the hero dislike the heroine because she's his annoying stepsister! That's all. But then she turns out to be into camming, and oops he ends up watching, and it kinds spirals from there.

American Royalty by Tracey Livesay features a stuffy British prince assigned to the task of putting on this big charity concert... Which leads to him pulling in this popular American rapper. There's a lot of clashing because she's confident and doesn't take any shit from him, and of course he's doing some attraction sublimation. It also has a direct sequel, The Duchess Effect, which is similarly so good!

Act Your Age, Eve Brown by Talia Hibbert features leads who are both on the spectrum, which is great. She's trying to become more independent, so she ends up working at this B&B he runs. But she also like, lowkey hits him with her car. And is kind of wild and off the wall. And he can't stand her. YET...

[skeletorsims]

My ROS for Alicel

Want to prefice this by saying that I did not create nearly anything on this list. It is heavily adapted from Vllygrl's Medieval ROS here, as well as JadeElliot's available here, and some from here by eien_herrison. I wanted to put it here for reference and if someone else wanted some ideas on how to adapt this for a more Victorian/western setting! I am using this from Y1 W4 (Winter) on.

1. Financial

Win small inheritance from dear departed relative 

Add to funds: (d100 x 10)

Win medium inheritance from dear departed relative 

Add to funds: (d100 x 100)

Win large inheritance from dear departed relative.  

Add to funds: (d100 x 1000)

For he’s a Jolly Goode Fellowe – Add to funds: every household gives you $100.

Cattle Rustlers invade your holdings – roll 1d6 for your each of livestock. If even delete the livestock, it has been stolen.

Barn repairs – deduct from funds (d100 x 10).  Place cart in inventory until paid.  

2. Family

Share the love – adopt a child.

Blood is thicker than water – distant impoverished relative moves in.  Make a new Sim in CAS and move in to household.  Make new Sim a relative using Sim Blender.  New relative must work caring for the family, family farm or family business, but may not take an outside job or in any way contribute to the family income.

Are Ye Daft? Wedding – Pick a Sim in the household who is not married already and have he or she invite over the Sim they know with highest LT relationship, and marry on the spot.  Reroll if no single Sims in the household.  Use Sim Blender and ACR to enact scenario.

Broken Betrothal – an engaged Sim in the household gets dumped by the fiancé. 

Run away–Sim abandons family permanently. if this is rolled for a teen then they must run-away. 

Meet Someone New – pick someone the Sim has not yet met or make a new Sim in CAS. Begin an affair. 

3. Family  2

Indecent Proposal– oldest unmarried Sim is offered position of mistress by highest LT relationship Sim they knows – they loses 100 Aspiration Points if they accepts and must immediately leave their household in shame.  They gains 100 asp points if they refuse and the offering Sim must pay $100 to their family as apology.  If they accepts, they moves into a house provided by the offering Sim and must allow them exclusive rights to visit and woohoo anytime they chose, thereby losing their social standing and becoming “beyond the pale”, i.e. no longer socially acceptable. -Accepts (Roll an even number) -Refuses (Roll and odd number)

Mid-life Crisis– Oldest sim in the household offers position of affair to the Sim they knows with the highest Lt Relationship who is not living in his household.  They gains 100 Aspiration Points if they accept, or loses 100 Aspiration Points if they refuses.  If they accepts, they must buy, furnish and pay the bills on a house which the sim moves into and where they can visit and woohoo with them anytime he chooses as long as they is discreet (i.e. if they are later seen by their fiancé or wife in public (a community lot) with their mistress they must say good-bye and deed their the house). -Accepts (Roll an even number) -Refuses (Roll an odd number)

Ruination – an unmarried female Sim who is impregnated out of wedlock.  Once the first “bump” appears, she is discovered and must immediately marry either the father or another male Sim she knows with the highest LT relationship and move in with her new husband, or she must move to the convent.

Reunion- invite entire extended family to your lot for a party

The Buccaneers- 4 sims move to the settlement to find spouses. they must be married by the end of the season 

Relationship Strain- Pick 1d6 fights with the sim you have the highest LT score with 

4. Disease/Illness

Broken Limb – Sim must stay at home with free will off for 2 days, use Boblishman’s cast mesh.

Pneumonia – use Sim Blender to infect Sim, and then Sim is isolated in bedroom with free will off for 2 days.

Dysentery (flu) – use Sim Blender to infect Sim, and then Sim is isolated in bedroom with free will off for 2 days.

Food Poisoning– use Sim Blender to infect Sim, and then Sim is isolated in bedroom with free will off for 2 days.

Livestock Illness- 1d6/2 of your livestock fall ill. roll 1d6 (evens/odds) to see if they survive 

Lethargy– god everything is just so much. your sim can't seem to get out of bed. 

5. Disaster

Fire – place (d12) intense fires on lot.  Use Carrigon’s Intense Fire Hack and Sir Ignitus Blowtorch’s Buyable Fire.  Whoosh! Big flames!

Flood – place at least 10 sinks in locked room and break them.  Do not allow them to be fixed for 24 hours.  All rugs and furniture that touch the floor must be replaced.  Sell sinks back after flooding is done. Use Boolprop (shift-click on the object) to break it.

Terrible Tempest – house is demolished.  Sim must call taxi and move out with all household members immediately.  In neighborhood view use the lots bin bulldozer tool to demolish the lot.  Then either put down an EMPTY lot in the same place and move the household in to rebuild, or move Sims into another house if they can afford it.  May save (d6) items in inventory.  Add to funds (d100) x 100 as a Crown Charity Grant for rebuilding.

Horse Accident – Sim loses their horse and spends (d4) days nursing his/her injury isolated in bedroom with free will off.

RATS! – place 1d20 sun & moon vermins on lot

Crop Failure – early frost wipes out entire vegetable or fruit crop.

Wrongly Jailed – (d4) for # of days spent in jail.  Put Sim in your local jail.

Called Away – 1d6 male sims move to the sim bin for 1d12 days to handle business in Town. Continue your normal rotations; sadly your families will have to do without your breadwinner’s wages until peace is restored.  Roll to see if each Sim will or will not return: -Dead (Roll 1 or 4 on a 6-sided die) -An elder (Roll 2 or 5 on a 6-sided die) -with a Child from another mother (Roll 3 or 6 on a 6-sided die.)

6. Death Use Sim Blender, and roll (d12) to determine cause of death:

Childbirth

Poisoned

Cart accident

Old age

Flies

Drowning

Starvation

Disease

Fire

Fright

Poisonous mushrooms (cow plant)

Foul Play

7. Miscellaneous

Crime Does Pay – Sim must spend all his or her free time (when not tending to needs or at work) counterfeiting coins for (d6) days.  If caught, Sim must go to jail for (d4) days.

Caught Red-Handed (Roll an even number)

Elude Detection (Roll an odd number)

Master Herbalist Diploma – Sim must attain Gold Gardening Badge, Physiology and Lifelong Happiness.  Receive (d100) x 10 Aspiration Points and $1000 Award from Crown Treasury.

Creature of the night: Somehow your sim has become infected with vampirism. Not allowed to cure for two rotations. 

Running with the pack: Somehow your sim has become infected with Lycanthropy. Not allowed to cure for two rotations

Charmed- You have developed strange powers unknown to you. Roll even/odds for good witch/bad witch. 

Inner Peace – Sim must move to Convent or Monastery for (d6) days and spend 6 consecutive hours in prayer (meditation) each day. If none are available the sim must start a church. Sim receives (d100) x 10 Aspiration Points.  Roll to determine if Sim: -Stays in convent or monastery and takes orders (Roll an even number) -Returns home (Roll an odd number)

8. Miscellaneous

Midlife Crisis – Change your aspiration

WEIRD WEST – get your sim abducted 

Creature of the night: Somehow your sim has become infected with vampirism. Not allowed to cure for two rotations. 

Running with the pack: Somehow your sim has become infected with Lycanthropy. Not allowed to cure for two rotations

Charmed- You have developed strange powers unknown to you. Roll even/odds for good witch/bad witch. 

Inner Peace – Your Sim must found a church, move onto the lot, and choose the career 

[sofarsofastmp3]

we are so incredibly back to literacy.

the footman and i by valerie bowman (the footmen’s club #1) 

the premise of this series got me so good. the first 3 books are all about three nobleman who go undercover as servants at the same house party, all for different reasons. the earl of kendall came into his title after his older brother's untimely death and he wants to find a wife who actually wants him for himself, not his new title. he has baggage from being left for a baron while he was still a "second son." it's a really fun book! it ends kind of abruptly, but i enjoyed it- especially considering books 3 and 4 had my main interest anyways. (book 4 is a prequel about how the friend who agrees to host this house party met his wife. i have not read it)

scoundrel of my heart by lorraine heath (once upon a dukedom #1)

i didn't really care, to be quite honest with you. kathryn wants to marry a titled man so she can conditionally inherit a family cottage in the country. second son griffin stanwick is bitter that he cannot have her, but enables her to be courted by a duke shortly before his father is convicted of treason. he and his siblings go away for a bit, and kathryn is still being courted by this duke when he comes back changed by his circumstances. this all sounds great!!! and yet! i found myself totally apathetic. i'm intrigued by the other stanwick brother, who appears to have a much more interesting thing going on in book 3, but griff is just kind of boring to me. same with kathryn. fun idea, bland execution.

the duchess hunt by lorraine heath (once upon a dukedom #2)

BANGER! if you've been paying any attention (first, i love you), you may have noticed i've been feeling kind of bleh about a solid chunk of the historicals i've read for the last couple months. i think evernight and soulbound were the last ones to really make me Feel Something and that was in MAY. but now, this gorgeous thing. the duke of kingsland had women apply to be his duchess because he, of course, does not believe in love. after his first choice marries another man (hey kathryn), he entrusts his secretary with the task of choosing a new duchess. his secretary who he spends most of his time with, who he trusts above all else, who he insists take breakfast with him each morning. do you see where this is going. penelope, the aforementioned secretary, has been in love with the duke basically since she met him but above all else she does! her! job! i love these two so so so much. i spent so much of this book smiling like a FOOL. there are some complicated topics handled, particularly with penelope's past, but i think they're tackled fairly well and with care on heath's part.

duke looks like a groomsman by valerie bowman (the footmen’s club #2)

i liked this more than i thought i would, and that's the gist of my feeling on it. this is a second chance romance; both rhys and julianna think the other person jilted them, so there's a kind of irritating miscommunication element at play. i'm not anti miscommunication in a romance (it's real! it happens all the time! it's conflict!), but bowman has so much dialogue of them accusing each other of being the selfish one that it starts to feel insane how long it takes anyone to start asking questions.

the valet who loved me by valerie bowman (the footmen’s club #3) 

the end of this book made me so mad after i finished it i had to go downstairs and get a glass of water. it was by far my most anticipated book in the series, and the first 70% is so fucking good, i was LIVID. i still kind of recommend it, because it’s really fun and maybe the end won’t piss someone else off the way it did me. it just happened to do something i'd recently been complaining about, and after such a good setup the ruination of my payoff felt monstrous. i basically gave up on the series, and that's saying a LOT because book 4 is called save a horse, ride a viscount, which is the kind of silliness i crave in a histrom.

foster by claire keegan

oh i love a little book that packs a punch! in foster, a young girl is sent to live with distant relatives while her mother is pregnant with another child. it takes maybe two hours tops to read, but it pulls you in so tightly that when you're done it feels like you've been with this story for much longer. i immediately put more claire keegan on hold at the library and i'm really looking forward to reading more of her.

blue nights: a memoir by joan didion

didion's choice to reckon with her daughter's childhood and death alongside her own aging and mortality is so interesting. i can't fathom what it must be like to lose your husband and your daughter within 18 months of each other, and while as a book i prefer the year of magical thinking, i also really appreciated the explorations here. it's a bit messy, but i don't see a world where it isn't. i always recommend didion, and i'm endlessly working through her backlist.

the library of shadows by rachel moore

this is not something i'd typically read! it's a ya paranormal romance between a girl and a ghost (okay, it is definitely in theory something i would read. love a ghost.), but my sister and i are trying to read at least one book by every author attending a romance book festival. there's a spreadsheet and everything (and the spreadsheet is split into two pages to separate adult and ya authors! we mean business!). this is moore's debut and you can feel it. it's a little half baked in both the paranormal mystery and the romance. definitely a compelling premise and fun characters, though, and i enjoyed my time with it. i have her second book downloaded and i may circle back to it if i get to every author in the spreadsheet and feel ambitious enough to go back around for seconds.

homesick for another world by otessa moshfegh

first, otessa moshfegh has an incredibly bizarre hang-up with fat people. it's impossible not to notice it here. i also agreed with a friend of mine's take that some of these stories, unchanged in the hands of men, would not be nearly as well received. they aren't bad on the whole, but so many of them feel incomplete. i do like how unafraid moshfegh is of being gross and unkind, and the latter half of the collection is much better than the first. short stories can be so hit or miss, even from my very favorite writers, but the worst of this is so middling in a way i found boring? i'd rather she make a huge swing and miss than meander around average the way she does in here.

cleopatra and frankenstein by coco mellors

i keep going back and forth on this. i really liked mellors' writing, and i enjoyed most of this book, but there's something about it that pulls me back from totally raving. cleo and frank meet at a holiday party, and they're married by the next summer. the book follows the next year and some change of their relationship and some of the people in their orbit. cleo's best friend, frank's sister. i think the resolution of cleo's arc in particular still kind of rankles me. i won't go into detail, because i do think it's a book worth reading (and i'm planning on reading mellors' newest, blue sisters), but i was unsatisfied by how a good chunk of the conclusion to this novel plays out.

crazy salad and scribble scribble: some things about women and notes on media by nora ephron

so this is two essay collections from the 70s. because it’s nora ephron, so many of them are so sharp and funny (and frankly still applicable today). however. because it was the 70s, it is incredibly dated in a lot of its feminism. particularly, the last essay in crazy salad is just ephron absolutely ripping a trans woman a new one for having a “girlish” idea of womanhood. it’s not a pleasant reading experience.

boy on ice: the life and death of derek boogaard by john branch  

oh man. oh man. literally just thinking about this for too long still makes me a little misty eyed. it’s such a hard read; i finished it on a plane and just about sobbed my brains out next to some strangers. but i think it’s an important book. there are so many details i keep thinking about. how derek boogaard's dad thought his son's hands were what he had to worry about long term. how many prescriptions were written, seemingly without a thought. how young he was for some of the most brutal fights described in this book. i don't think it's immoral to appreciate the occasional hockey scrap, but i do think it's important to be confronted with this kind of visceral reckoning, the same that's found in major misconduct by jeremy allingham or any of the books that delve into other toxic aspects of the sport and its culture. especially as, nearing ten years on, bettman's stance on cte has stayed the same: outdated and willfully ignorant.

okay thanks for sticking around love you bye

[chronicrabbit]

Chocolate button eyes.

Edith Levy had the biggest, most beautiful chocolate button eyes. More beautiful than the wildest imagination could conjure up.

Deep dark brown with a glow of gold in the center, like the sweetest honey or the most precious gemstone.

They lit up with the brightness and warmth of the very sun; nourishing, healing, and so very very beautiful.

Every single time he looked into them, time seemed to slow to a crawl, noise seemed to fade to a buzz, vision seemed to tunnel to one singular focus, and it was just… them.

Wayne and Edith.

He remembered when he’d first seen them.

November 30th, 1961.

He’d been stationed at Fort Knox at the time, just a few miles outside of Vine Grove, Kentucky, and the higher ups on post decided it was high time to break up the nerves and the gloom facing inevitable deployment to the front lines with a little levity; a party for the boys and the locals.

Wayne had seen her across the room, chatting animatedly with a 2nd Lieutenant and looking positively radiant in her pink woolen dress, and time had stopped.

With a few nudges from the other boys in the 82nd, he made his way over to her and extended his hand with a respectful bow; his momma had raised him right, after all.

When they’d stepped under the twinkling lights threaded over the dance floor like a canopy of stars, when he’d looked into those hypnotic eyes for the very first time, when she’d stepped in real close and laid her head of dark umber curls against his shoulder, he’d known then and there that it would be the two of them forever.

Wayne and Edith.

But it wasn’t them. It was Edith and Frank.

It was inevitable from the moment they met, at that very same party that very same night.

Edith and Frank.

It was the two of them, hand in hand at the end of the aisle in the local chapel back home, Frank looking handsome in their Pop’s old suit, Edith looking radiant in her momma’s dress.

Wayne stood shoulder to shoulder with Frank, a silent pillar of brotherly support as he watched from across the way as those chocolate button eyes swelled with emotion during their vows, tears clinging to long dark eyelashes like morning dewdrops in a field of clover.

It was the two of them stepping over the threshold of their new little house just at the border of Hawkins, dancing around their empty living room with their entire lives ahead of them.

It was the two of them…

And that was alright.

Everything was alright, so long as she was happy.

But even so, Wayne took every opportunity given to stare into those eyes when he could.

He couldn’t have them all to himself, but he could do that.

He’d stared into them while she raved on and on about her new favorite song, or whatever book she was reading at the time.

He’d stared into them while she complained about Frank’s less than savory habits; the ones he’d inherited from their old man.

He’d stared into them while she agonized over the single silver hair she’d found buried in her dark curly tresses, as if that one silver hair would be the ruination of her beauty, which was, by all accounts, impossible.

He’d stared into them while she asked for his help with bail money, her lovely cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame as she told him how Frank had been caught during a job hijacking a car in Loch Nora.

He’d stared into them when she told him she and Frank were expecting.

And he couldn’t lie to himself and pretend it didn’t hurt just a little, to see his draft-dodging car thief kid brother get everything he’d ever wanted for himself.

He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t wish it were him slow dancing with her in that cluttered little kitchen of that nice little house with an overgrown yard of wildflowers, that perfect little curly haired red-faced baby cradled between them as they swayed to whatever song she was fixated on that week.

But wishing wouldn’t change a thing, and Wayne Munson couldn’t, wouldn’t, act on a mere fantasy.

He would just take every opportunity given to stare into those chocolate button eyes until he could no longer.

But that day came sooner, much much sooner, than he could’ve ever imagined.

December 20th, 1975

See, they don’t keep the eyes open when the body’s in the casket. They prefer to close them, to pretend they’re simply sleeping.

They claimed it was better that way.

Wayne hated it more than anything.

Her death already felt like losing the very centre of his universe, but not being able to see those eyes one last time…

Liquid sunshine in a world of darkness.

It was like losing her all over again.

He went back home to his little trailer in Forest Hills, setting the program from the funeral face down on the kitchen counter, he sunk down into his worn green armchair, and he sobbed harder than he’d ever sobbed in his life.

The centre of his universe, his joy, his warmth, his sunshine, his Edith, was gone.

December 20th, 1976

It was another cold December night the next time he’d seen those eyes again; freezing, really, with fresh powdery snow up to a grown man’s shins and dangerously thick ice coating every available surface.

He was home for once, quite luckily too as a gentle knock sounded on his front door.

His eyes flickered over toward the nearby clock, eyebrow quirking in suspicion at the late hour.

Too late for a casual visit from a neighbour.

Too damn cold for anything else.

The knock sounded once again, a little louder this time.

A little more urgent.

He set aside his tumbler of whiskey, pushing the thick pink woolen blanket off of his lap and grunting as he picked himself up out of his armchair.

He twisted the deadbolt and pulled the door open with a heavy sigh, mouth open with prepared words of greeting when he saw them:

Chocolate button eyes.

The biggest, most beautiful chocolate button eyes. More beautiful than the wildest imagination could conjure up.

Her eyes.

“Uncle Wayne?”

The small wavering voice brought him back to the present; back from that fateful party on post long since past.

His little nephew, Edith’s boy, was standing there shivering on his front porch with snow up past his knees, tear tracks staining his ruddy cheeks, and snot bubbling at his bright red nose.

He didn’t have much with him but the snow-damp clothes on his back and a duffle bag clenched in his tiny shaking fist.

But he had her eyes,

her hair,

her name.

Edith.

“Eddie?”

The boy balled the sleeve of his oversized sweater up in his fist, using it to wipe at his nose as he sniffled.

That’s when Wayne spotted the dark bruise staining his left cheek, the scattered scrapes and scratches littering his face and neck, the choppy and uneven chunks taken from his thick crown of dark curls, curls that’d previously brushed the tops of his little shoulders, but now barely came past his ears.

“Jesus H. Christ, boy,” Wayne breathed, taking a staggering step toward the quivering child, dropping down on one knee- heedless of the snow soaking into his pants- and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?”

Eddie’s dangerously blue lips wobbled as fresh tears poured from those eyes.

Wayne didn’t even have to think before he pulled the boy to his chest, lifting him up in his arms and bringing him in.

Bringing him home.

He’d found out about Frank a few days later.

A few cops, led by Officer Hopper, had come to his door with the news.

Frankie had gone off the deep end.

He hadn’t been the same since Edith.

He’d fallen hard and fast into their old man’s bad habits, habits Edith had tried to curb.

Habits that’d ultimately killed her.

Driven by the grief of his wife’s suicide and the disappearance of his only son, he’d hopped in his truck, grabbed his shotgun, and hit up a convenience store, shooting the sixteen year old boy behind the counter in a moment of panic.

He’d been sentenced to life in prison with no hope for bail.

“As you’re the closest living relative, the kid is now in your custody,” Hopper had explained over the cup of coffee Wayne had offered to him.

Wayne had nodded, glancing over to the spot where Eddie sat on the kitchen counter, head freshly shaved, little legs swinging, and arms flying as he chatted animatedly with the other two Officers about the fantasy game he’d been shown by his class’s Teacher’s Assistant.

Those chocolate button eyes met him, along with a positively radiant smile.

It was her smile.

He’d lost his dream once, but a new one had found him.

From then on, it was the two of them…

And that was alright.

Everything was alright, so long as he was happy.

It was the two of them, struggling through Middle School math homework together. Wayne swore the curriculum got harder and harder for every new generation.

It was the two of them, visiting a record shop in Indy so Eddie could pick out two tapes of his very own; Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir and Queen’s A Night at the Opera.

Two of Edith’s favourites.

It was the two of them, huddled together on the old comfy couch, talking through the hurtful words his classmates had thrown his way, Eddie listening with tear filled eyes as Wayne told him that it was ok to be different; that he was perfect the way he was.

Wayne took every opportunity given to stare into those eyes when he could.

He’d stared into them while Eddie told him about the kind girl who’d cheered for his band at the talent show.

He’d stared into them while Eddie explained in depth the storyline of his newest DnD campaign for the little club he’d decided to start with his friends.

He’d stared into them while Eddie complained about a boy a grade below him with an all-too familiar last name; the new King of Hawkins High, just like his father had been back in Wayne’s day.

He’d stared into them while Eddie sniffled and sobbed, clutching onto the queer skin mag Wayne had found buried in his hamper on laundry day with a look of pure terror and pain.

And Wayne couldn’t lie to him and tell him it was fine.

It wasn’t fine.

Being gay in Hawkins, Indiana was tantamount to a social if not actual death sentence.

His boy was already a pariah; a loud-mouth drug dealing non-conformist with a passionate love of loud music and fantasy.

He already had a target painted on his back, so Wayne couldn’t lie to him and pretend it was fine…

But he could look into those eyes, his Edith’s eyes, and promise him that they were ok.

That he’d never love him any less for something so inconsequential.

Eddie had smiled then, tears streaming down his cheeks and snot bubbling from his nose.

He’d laid his head of dark umber curls against Wayne’s shoulder, just like his momma, and he’d thanked him.

“You’re my boy, Eddie,” he’d said simply in return.

He’d never been one for words, but he knew Eddie had understood.

Knew that he knew that you’re my boy meant:

“You’re the centre of my universe, my joy, my warmth, my sunshine, my boy.”

March 27th, 1986

There was no casket this time.

No body had been found.

He clutched the chain of the guitar pick necklace- his boys necklace- in his shaking hand as he stared down at the makeshift headstone that simply read:

Edward D. Munson

May 15, 1966 - March 27, 1986

“We’re a laugh without a tear,

The hope without the fear.

We are coming home.”

He fell to his knees, heedless of the mud staining his pants as he crumpled in on himself and sobbed, harder than he’d ever sobbed in his entire life.

He’d once again lost his sunshine, and the world had never been more dark.

………

July 1st, 1986

Three months had passed.

Three months and five days since the worst day of Wayne Munson’s life.

A knock on the door stirred him from tentative sleep, his neck pinging warningly as he sat up in his worn green armchair, one of the few things he’d managed to salvage from the wreckage of his trailer.

Another knock followed the first, this one a little louder.

A little more urgent.

Wayne’s heart skipped a beat.

He pushed the moth-eaten pink woolen blanket off of his lap, picking himself up from the chair to approach the door of the apartment the Suits had stuck him in.

With bated breath, he pulled open the door, mouth open on a greeting that died on his tongue when he saw them:

Chocolate button eyes.

His boy's eyes.

Edith’s eyes.

“Eddie?”

It was him, standing before him on crutches with bandages covering nearly every visible patch of skin beneath the yellow sweatshirt and blue jeans he wore.

It was his boy, looking thinner and paler and somehow older, but alive.

Wayne’s hand shook as he reached out, certain he would meet nothing but air, but warm hands, just as unsteady as his, wrapped around his own, squeezing solidly.

Alive.

He was alive.

“Jesus H. Christ, boy. What happened to you?” he’d asked, voice wavering with the tears that threatened to spill.

That’s when Chief Hopper had come into view, along with the kid that’d approached Wayne at the relief centre, an older girl with sandy blonde hair, and, strangely enough, the Harrington boy.

“It’s a long story,” Hopper stated.

“We’re gonna do our best to tell you what we can when we can, but for now we’ll let you two catch up.”

Wayne didn’t even have to think before he pulled his boy to his chest, careful of his injuries as he held him in his arms.

Eddie laid that head of umber curls on his shoulder and his universe was suddenly bright again.

His sunshine was back, and he’d be damned if it was taken from him again.

January 12th, 1987

It was a cold January evening, nine months and sixteen days after the worst day of Wayne Munson’s life.

Six months and eleven days after the best day of his life.

He’d just gotten home, let off a few hours early from his shift at the plant.

Time was he wouldn’t have taken the opportunity, prioritizing the need for a full paycheck over anything, but after the events of Spring Break of 1986, he’d learned to take the opportunities given to him to spend some time with his boy.

He’d just opened the door, his prepared greeting dying on his tongue at the sight before him:

His boy was on the couch.

Well, not really on the couch, rather on the Harrington boy’s lap. They were tangled together in a passionate kiss, Steve’s hands on Eddie’s waist, Eddie’s arms around Steve’s shoulders.

Wayne was about to clear his throat to the oblivious young lovers to announce his presence when the two of them pulled apart with breathless little giggles, leaning their foreheads together as if they couldn’t stand to be apart for longer than a second.

“God, you have the most beautiful eyes,” he heard the Harrington boy whisper, his hands fisting in the material of Eddie’s shirt as he stared into his eyes.

“Yeah?” Eddie prompted, tilting his head to the side, his glowing smile audible in his words.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, his hands trailing up from Eddie’s waist up to his face, gently cupping his jaw with an air of reverence.

“Like two chocolate buttons.”

Wayne froze as Eddie let out a surprised little chuckle, his shoulders shaking and his hair bouncing.

“That’s weird. That’s exactly what my mom used to say,” Eddie replied, his fingers burying themselves in the hair at the back of Steve’s head.

They kissed once, twice, three times, soft gentle kisses that revealed comfort and familiarity.

This obviously wasn’t a new arrangement to either of them.

Wayne wondered briefly for how long it’d been going on.

“Stevie,” Eddie whispered against the other boy's lips, hands struggling to pull him even closer as if they weren’t exceptionally close to melding into one already.

“I love you.”

Wayne’s heart clenched.

I love you’s had always come so easily from Eddie.

Once he’d found someone he cared for, he was all in.

He’d always been that way.

Wayne had never known another person so full of love and ready to give it; no one besides Edith.

Someone like that, so full of love and life, could so easily be taken for granted or taken advantage of.

But, as he watched the two boys, so wrapped up in each other and the tender moment they’d built together they didn’t even notice someone standing there witnessing it from the open doorway, he realised it was so much more than another I love you.

It was a loud and definite:

“You’re the centre of my universe, my joy, my warmth, my sunshine. Mine.”

Steve took a moment to brush the hair away from Eddie’s face, tucking it behind his ear with a delicate touch.

“I love you, too.”

And Wayne heard the same thing in those words that he’d heard in his nephew’s.

And he realised, in that moment, that his boy, his sunshine, had become someone else’s.

And that was more than alright.

Everything was alright, so long as they were happy.

………

[wttcsms]

an old royal!au fic concept i had for oikawa (that i am currently working on in bits + pieces; first outline has it being roughly 25 chapters). it’s strangers to reluctant allies to lovers to enemies back to reluctant allies to lovers (relationship status: it’s complicated). morally grey characters all across the board, backstabbing, political intrigue, royal court politics, murder, slow burn…. 🤭🤭

the notorious playboy crown prince turned young king tooru oikawa is nothing but a speck of a dust to you. insignificant at best, a minor annoyance at worst. as the oldest child of one of the most renowned duke families (one of the few noble families that have the strong favor of the royal family from your kingdom), you've been raised to believe that you are the best of the best. and it's true: you really are. you're intelligent, strategic, cunning, and even well trained with weapons. you can play the part of a noble lady or the true heir to your family's dukedom. but that's all it really is: playing pretend. because the truth is, you hate having to play the role of a graceful lady in society. it's tiring and boring and a necessary duty. but you also stand no chance of inheriting your father's dukedom. you might be the child he favors and dotes on and spoils, but at the end of the day, you are a woman & women are not meant to be rulers. so, despite the fact that you would make a great leader, you know that you will not be the one to take over. your incompetent, lesser brother will be the one and both you and your father know that your brother will be the ruination of your family. as if you don't have enough things to worry about, your mother is forcing you to finally officially jump into the dating pool. you're old enough but you don't want to be too old. time is running out for you to find a husband and start a family, and while you don't have any negative feelings towards such a concept, the fact remains that being a wife puts you in a powerless position. you're ambitious, a positive way of saying that you're power hungry. you know your qualities exceeds that of many men and yet, your best bet is to be stuck forever ruling by the side of someone else, never able to stand alone.

anyway, there's a hunting competition that your kingdom is hosting and many foreign royalty and nobility are in attendance as well and women are allowed to participate, but only for small prey. however, a mistake is made and you are given a faulty map, leading you to a secluded part of the forest, one that you weren't even aware was open to the hunters (spoiler: it's not meant to be a part of this event!! it's a set up!!). anyway, a lion enters the forest before you can escape, and now you've got to fight for your life, and right when you think you're about to die, oikawa comes riding in and kills the beast right in front of you. you two have a snarky conversation, some banter ensues, and oh, btw, y'all are surrounded by assassins. who theyre here for is pretty obvious though: the newly crowned king, of course.

the two of you have to defend each other and y'all are chased out of the forest and instead end up killing half of the assassins and managing to run away from the others still remaining. lots of arguments between the two of y'all, and of course, oikawa lends you his jacket when it's at night, even though you vehemently deny being cold despite your shivering body giving you away.

the two of you make it back to the next day but then oikawa collapses in front of everyone, and you're immediately put on trial for the attempted murder of a foreign king. when telling your story, you realize how ridiculous the truth sounds, so you tell a teensy tiny lie to get out of it.

"we were secretly meeting."

when questioned as to why a duchess from this kingdom is secretly meeting another kingdom's king, you cheekily ask everyone in the court what could be the possible reasons why a young unmarried woman and a young unmarried man would want to see each other and what business they would like to discuss in private. when the judge tells you that he wants you to stop with the cheeky comments & forcing them to insinuate, you finally 'admit' and say "king oikawa and i are lovers. that's why we were alone." it's an alibi, one that can only be confirmed by oikawa and oikawa alone.

for days, you wait in anxiety for him to wake up. you have been thrown into jail for the time being since your feeble story is hardly enough to clear your name. you've had no contact with oikawa and all you've done when you were together was insult him or ignored him. when a guard stops in front of your cell with a grim expression on his face, you're certain that this is the end of your life. you prepare for the execution order, but what you're not prepared for is the guard unlocking the door and kneeling down to you, giving you a sincere apology on the behalf of the royal family.

after all, king oikawa was threatening war when he heard that his beloved fiancée was behind bars.

hehehehhe so fake marriage and reluctant allies to lovers!!! lots of banter and slowburn, ofc!!! but the light mood of this premise turns dark p fast. let's just say, you've got your own ulterior motives, he's got his own motives too, there's a lot of trust between the two of you but will it be enough? along with that, lots of betrayals, backstabbing, family drama, and political intrigue!! yeehaw!!

[monstersdownthepath]

God-focused ask this time, but would you say that Iomedae's followers tend to be more zealous than other deities? The thought struck me after I reread this. Between her young age compared to other gods, naturally drawing the more fervent types towards her faith as a Goddess of Paladins and Crusaders, and inheriting Aroden's followers and a large Church to go with it made me wonder if in some ways the Church may have outgrown the Goddess in some ways. Especially if that Church feels like it has something to prove because of their Goddess's relative youth and the large shoes she's had to fill.

"do Iomedae's followers tend to be more zealous than other deities?" yes. by an enormous margin. You can't really be the Goddess of Justice And Also Basically All Paladins In General without attracting some really, really devoted weirdos. Like, fanatically devoted. I don't think it's entirely her fault, but it's a consequence of being the goddess of Rulership and Valor, both of which can go pear-shaped if they get to someone's head. The lad in the post you linked could very earnestly believe what he's writing is correct, though Iomedae herself is probably rubbing her temples in annoyance as he's either misinterpreted a harmless dream, or misinterpreted a message she's sent to him. There's also the whole Inheritor bit, like you mentioned; getting a good chunk of Aroden's former followers or their descendants (who lean to Lawful Neutral, not Good) can't have done much good for the clergy's mindset as a whole.

I wouldn't say that the church has outgrown the goddess, no. It's been less than a hundred years since the great merging of the two faiths, the opening of the Worldwound (and thus the start of the Crusades and the beginnings of the Iomedaeans' worst, most tyrannical behaviors), the formation of the Godclaw (which as a rule is made up of weirdos with an unhealthily inflexible idea of Law), and the ruination and remaking of Cheliax, who believed Aroden would lead them into a new age. If anything, the church has to grow back into its goddess, who's just as flustered by everything happening so much all the time as the rest of them.

[malachixdubois]

⟨ ricky whittle. cisgender man. he/him. 43. ⟩ We just saw malachi dubois entering the high gate cemetery. I heard through the grapevine that their loyalties lie with [ the jolly rogers ] and that they also go by crosshair* . Be careful, they work for them as a assassin and can sometimes be morose, apathetic, or even resentful but I’ve also heard some people say that they were detail oriented, self-controlled, and quite resilient.

details (military, war, death tw)

Ariana Dubois was seventeen when she fell pregnant. Perhaps this wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been anyone was else, but as the only daughter of an upper class family, there were appearances to upkeep. Ariana never did confess the name of her son’s father but when he was born, it was clear that his father was not someone the Dubois parents would approve of.

Malachi Dubois was a quiet child. He suffered from a stutter in his early childhood, further proof of his flawed status. His grandparents hated him for what he represented – the ruination of all of the plans they’d had for their only daughter – but Ariana loved her son with all of her heart.

Growing up, Malachi hated everything about his life. California was lovely but his life itself was stuffy. He was the only biracial child at his school, a fact that the older boys used to torment him daily. Coming home was no better. His grandparents enrolled him in pointless activities just to get him out of the house… They never truly recovered from the scandal that was his birth, and never ceased to make him know just how much he’d ruined their lives.

When he was 15, Malachi was caught with a group of boys from the other side of town. They were everything his family was not – lower class, rough around the edges, and accepting of him – and he loved them. It was his idea to vandalize the private school he attended. It wasn’t supposed to be anything too serious, just a bit of graffiti. When they were caught, Malachi got off with a stern warning due to his grandparent’s influence. His friends did not fair as well.

In his early 20s, Malachi’s mother died. Having no other family to speak of, Malachi enlisted in the army. It was something he’d mulled over for years, but after his mother’s death, he realized that there was nothing tying him to his previous life anymore. He hadn’t made anything of himself and so far, all he’d managed to do was cast a shadow over his grandparents’ legacy.

While serving overseas, the Humvee that Malachi was in was hit by an IED. He was shipped home shortly after, a shell of a man. The wounds healed, but the scars ran deeper than the physical. He couldn’t sleep. He had so much anger in him that he couldn’t even recognize himself anymore.

He thought that a change of setting would help. He'd inherited his grandparents wealth and holdings and moving to London seemed like a good idea for feeling connected, but even there, thousands of miles away from the memories that dogged him, Malachi couldn't escape the grief and the abject guilt of having survived.

He attempted to convince himself that he could still be normal, whatever that looked like, which meant dating, attending events, and all the other things he hated. At one such event, he met Ophelia. The two fell fast into love, but the relationship burned out as quickly as it had started. Within a year, they were divorced.

With nothing else tethering him to "normalcy," Malachi decided to put his very particular set of skills to work for him. He began to pick up contracts for the Jolly Rogers and slowly worked his way up the ranks of their assassins.

He attempts to convince himself that he can still access normal, that being an assassin is something he does, not who he is, and that he is taking out people who deserve death. Guilt is still his most constant companion.

Connections:

Another American, I know, but honestly, he's been in London for almost two decades and has worked for the JRs for over a decade, so all the things: friends, enemies, coworkers, flings, etc etc.

[egipci]

selcouth - unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful

Hymn

Your soul, which is like all human souls, which was once unknown to me, which is the same inside you and your brother, which is the essence of your humanity, which is most beloved by Our Father, which is the reason for all creation, which is good in Our Father’s eyes, which is made for Our Father’s joy, which is made for love agapic and erotic, which is made for sensory pleasures, which is made for leisure, which is made for the observance of Our Father’s glory, which is made for meditation on the lily of the valley, which is more precious than all the sparrows, which is made for awe in the Grand Canyon, which is made for the exploration of the mountains and the seas and the polar caps, which is made for the exploration of celestial infinities, which passes through from nothingness to infancy to wisdom, which commemorates your ancestors with song and monuments and tales, which knows death though it is made for resurrection, which wades through the darkness of Our Father’s hiddenness with hope, which is made for the acquiescence to Our Father’s will, which is made for remembrance, which is made for repentance, which kills for righteousness, which dies for righteousness, which is your inheritance from your father and your mother, which was your father’s charge alone, which daily threatens to take on the shape of your father’s soul, which has soothed and protected itself when no other would, which soothes and protects itself when no other will, which nightly experiences the death of sleep and dreams of the exhumation of your father’s bones though you have burned them and scattered them with your own hands and wept, which persists even through death of mother and death of father and death of all but your brother, which makes room inside your body for the holding and comforting of another, which is veiled always though it is made to be known by another, which comforted and nourished your father’s soul in the long years of his madness during which it faced repeatedly certain extinguishment, which is capable of forgiveness seventy times seven which is four hundred and ninety times which is to say forgiveness without limitation, which beyond brotherhood knows friendship, which beyond brotherhood knows a father’s embrace, which remembers your father’s embrace, which longs endlessly for your father’s embrace, which in the eleventh hour spoke to your father’s soul imploringly and delivered both his and itself, which is more dear to your father than his own, which is bought and bartered and bargained for, which is destined from birth for ruination through unendurable torment, which is fated to give way, which knows hunger beyond famine, which calls out to darkness, which yearns for choice, which fears and longs for death, which saved your brother’s soul which is half your soul, which called to me from the Lake, which is particular among all human souls, which is of no worth to you, which I love.

[my-romance-library]

'The Rules of Scoundrels' series - Sarah MacLean

A Rogue by Any Other Name #1

A decade ago, the Marquess of Bourne was cast from society with nothing but his title. Now a partner in London’s most exclusive gaming hell, the cold, ruthless Bourne will do whatever it takes to regain his inheritance—including marrying perfect, proper Lady Penelope Marbury.

A broken engagement and years of disappointing courtships have left Penelope with little interest in a quiet, comfortable marriage, and a longing for something more. How lucky that her new husband has access to such unexplored pleasures.

Bourne may be a prince of London’s underworld, but he vows to keep Penelope untouched by its wickedness—a challenge indeed as the lady discovers her own desires, and her willingness to wager anything for them... even her heart.

/Marriage of convenience, friends to lovers

“I’m going to corrupt you,” he promised her skin, one hand sliding down the swell of her stomach, feeling the way the muscles there tensed and quivered at his touch. “I’m going to turn you from light to dark, from good to bad. I’m going to ruin you.” She didn’t care. She was his. He owned her in this moment, with this touch. “And do you know how it will feel?”

She sighed the word this time. “Splendid.”

//

One Good Earl Deserves a Lover #2

The bespectacled, brilliant fourth daughter of the Marquess of Needham and Dolby cares more for books than balls, flora than fashion and science than the season. Nearly engaged to Lord Castleton, Pippa wants to explore the scandalous parts of London she's never seen before marriage. And she knows just who to ask: the tall, charming, quick-witted bookkeeper of The Fallen Angel, London's most notorious and coveted gaming hell, known only as Cross.

Like any good scientist, Pippa's done her research and Cross's reputation makes him perfect for her scheme. She wants science without emotion—the experience of ruination without the repercussions of ruination. And who better to provide her with the experience than this legendary man?

But when this odd, unexpected female propositions Cross, it's more than tempting... and it will take everything he has to resist following his instincts—and giving the lady precisely what she wants.

/neuro-divergent FMC

Looking up at his wild grey eyes, she whispered, “My whole life . . . two and two has made four.”

He nodded, utterly focused on her, and she loved him all over again for paying attention . . . for understanding her.

“But now . . . it’s all gone wrong.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make four anymore. It makes you.”

[villanevehaus]

tagged by @thenelse to list 8 shows to get to know me better. thank u mutual Then Else it's always lovely to be tagged by u <3 these aren't in any particular order but here we go

1.sharp objects is the seminal haus tv show, the book even moreso. gillian flynn writes female characters and protagonists in a way that is just gritty and gross and as whole characters who make mistakes and have grudges and shitty opinions. as a bitch who used to self harm, used to have substance abuse issues, and used to have a horrendous relationship with returning to my childhood home, i had never seen all of those issues wrapped into one traumatized character before, let alone a woman! the show is shot in a way that deliberately highlights the messy and seemingly nonsensible ways that trauma influences people and all of it is just!!! she just like me fr!!!

2. bojack horseman (stick with me here) is important to me in ways that i really cant articulate in an ask so i will just list things that come to mind about it: cycles of familial abuse and inherited trauma, the clutch that addiction can and does have on people (he just like me fr), complex grief, the way that mental illness and mental anguish do not make sense, people-pleasing as a means of self-destruction, acts that cannot be forgiven being committed by your loved ones and navigating that going forward, committing the unforgivable yourself and needing to find a way to move forward, the consequences of your own actions, grudges, self-preservation, asexuality, being in your 20s and 30s and 40s and 50s and 60s, change as an individual, stagnation as an individual, and the way that watching bojack horseman is impossible to pitch because how do you pitch a show about an alcoholic cartoon horse and his friends princess carolyn, mister peanutbutter, lernernerner dicarpricorn, and bobo the zebra as something that addresses all those previous things i just listed.

3. madmen is so sleek and stylish and well made that every time i think about it too much i end up watching the whole thing again. the way that they capture sunlight and daylight through high-rise buildings also makes me a little insane ngl. the music and the camera movements and the pacing and the costumes are just so consistent! it's perfect background noise and it's perfect deliberate watching. i think for me this falls under the personal because my mum loved it but passed away before the finale so every time i finish it i think about what she might have thought about it.

4. wentworth has some of the most consistent character writing that i have ever come across. i haven't finished it for homosexual reasons (only watched s1-s5) but there are character actions from the pilot that come into play late s5. there are so many instances of a character making a choice that you loathe and can't believe they're making not because they wouldn't, but because that's exactly what they would do in said instance. also, women! fat women trans women ugly women women of colour indigenous women grieving women angry women vicious women soft women alcoholic women gay women bisexual women abused women abusive women elderly women young young young women screaming women vengeful women broken women healing women determined women violent women. the relationships between all sorts of women! mentor and mentee, mother and child, inmate and guard, boss and employee, new girlfriend and old girlfriend, loyalty to the point of ruination, stalking, coercion, use, resentment, rivalry!!! it makes me crazy

5. killing eve s1&2 were so so so special. s3 and s4 had their moments and i will not say more than that but characters like eve and villanelle hadn't been seen before and i doubt will be seen in the future. i also have +500k words of fic written about them so i feel like im contractually obligated to mention it

6. the good place ohhh the good place !!! the good place said how can we fault people who want to be good but were born into circumstances where they cannot be!!! there is always good to be found in trying to help others!!! what matters is if people are trying to be better than they were the previous day!!! how can we hold it against people who are not given kindness and love and support!!! the fact that life ends is what makes living it so beautiful!!! i am going to start crying

7. futurama was there for me in a lot of ways when i didn't have much else that was as stable as that 9:30pm timeslot. there is a lot of negative things/criticisms that i could and often do say about it but there are a few very special moments from a few very special episodes that mean enough to me that i still hold it dearly: the opera. the story that follows fry's brother naming his son after fry and how that son went on to be the first man on mars. when leela has the bee sting and wakes up from her coma and sees that fry has been waiting for her. when fry is given the opportunity to go into his sleeping mother's dream (from a time when she was alive- there's time travel, kind of, it's a whole thing. at this point she's long dead) and says "i have so much to tell you" before just looking at her and pulling her into a bruising hug. as someone who frequently has dreams in which i am able to speak to my deceased mum, that will never fail to make me cry.

8. arrested development sucks so bad but goddamnit if it isn't also the wildest and most absurd shit to exist. i reblogged a post the other day that was about it's impact on culture and it's true!!! "it's one banana Michael, what could it cost? ten dollars?", "dead dove: do not eat", "well, i don't want to blame it on 9/11, but that certainly didn't help", "good for her", "i don't understand the question and i won't respond to it", "oh mercy me, i forgot that were in the colonies!" ALL being from the same show?? insane. the humour of arrested development is absolutely coloured by the time it was made in but holy shit all of it is so sharp and hysterical. also the fact that sometimes if you're trying to explain a joke to someone who hasn't watched it you have to go on an insane tangent that is 100% just the events of the show that happened but it sounds completely nonsensical is [chefs kiss]

tagging @herbeloveve @lesbian-hannibal (ur url has made me realize i forgot nbc hannibal but im already here so NBC hannibal is an honourable 9th choice) @killinganya @killbillieve @horrid-queer @agaywithcoffee @annnnperkins and anyone else who wants to!!

[ofwishfulthinking]

if you’re hearing DEMONS by IMAGINE DRAGONS playing, you have to know MALACHI DUBOIS (HE/HIM; CISGENDER MAN) is near by! the 43 year old has been in denver for, like, FIFTEEN YEARS. they’re known to be quite WITHDRAWN, but being COMPASSIONATE seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble RICKY WHITTLE. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those THE CLOYING TASTE OF GUILT ON THE BACK OF YOUR THROAT, THE FEELING OF TRYING TO CATCH YOUR BREATH AFTER EXERCISING, and BACKWARDS BASEBALL CAPS vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the WASHINGTON PARK long enough!

details (military, war, death tw)

Ariana Dubois was seventeen when she fell pregnant. Perhaps this wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been anyone was else, but as the only daughter of an upper class family, there were appearances to upkeep. Ariana never did confess the name of her son’s father but when he was born, it was clear that his father was not someone the Dubois parents would approve of.

Malachi Dubois was a quiet child. He suffered from a stutter in his early childhood, further proof of his flawed status. His grandparents hated him for what he represented – the ruination of all of the plans they’d had for their only daughter – but Ariana loved her son with all of her heart.

Growing up, Malachi hated everything about his life. He was the only biracial child at his school, a fact that the older boys used to torment him daily. Coming home was no better. His grandparents enrolled him in pointless activities just to get him out of the house… They never truly recovered from the scandal that was his birth, and never ceased to make him know just how much he’d ruined their lives.

When he was 15, Malachi was caught with a group of boys from the other side of town. They were everything his family was not – lower class, rough around the edges, and accepting of him – and he loved them. It was his idea to vandalize the private school he attended. It wasn’t supposed to be anything too serious, just a bit of graffiti. When they were caught, Malachi got off with a stern warning due to his grandparent’s influence. His friends did not fair as well.

Shortly after his 18th birthday, Malachi's mother died. Having no other family to speak of, Malachi enlisted in the army. It was something he’d mulled over for years, but after his mother’s death, he realized that there was nothing tying him to his previous life anymore. He hadn’t made anything of himself and so far, all he’d managed to do was cast a shadow over his grandparents’ legacy.

While serving overseas, the Humvee that Malachi was in was hit by an IED. He was shipped home shortly after, a shell of a man. The wounds healed, but the scars ran deeper than the physical. He couldn’t sleep. He had so much anger in him that he couldn’t even recognize himself anymore.

It was then that Malachi moved to Colorado. In the time that he'd been away, both of his grandparents had passed and Malachi had inherited their wealth, but was determined not to use it.

It's been nearly two decades since he's lived in Colorado. The state has been kind to him. His PTSD is well-managed, he currently owns his own gym where he works as a personal trainer, and he's the proud dad of a German Shepherd named Athena.

potential connections:

friends

romantic things (f/m/nb)

fellow dog owners

vegas spouse (WC on main)

half siblings (WC on main)

employees