#ive also been plotting and scheming

[katabay]

fifteen men on a dead man's chest, it's time for: pirates!

there's an idea here, and the idea is slowly turning into a story, and in march I've got some one shot comics about pirates I want to post! ideally, in march. hopefully in march. there's a lot of stuff to figure out, drawing wise. I spent an amount of time I won't mention researching the history of leg prosthetics & vintage leg prosthetic designs for basilica, and I haven't even figured out tall ships. which is. well. it's pirates, what are pirates without tall ships

[asteria7fics]

It's April and I've posted 2 extras, with that WIP one-shot in the hands of my betas.

I've been cooking!!

I may regret saying this, but I think my New Years Resolution will be to finish and post 10 one-shots, including EWILY Extras.

Really, that’s less than one per month. I think that’s manageable… yeah?

[zelreedsandwrites]

(( I swear this fic would be so good guys i wish u could see the movie in my head about Them TuT ))

[devotedlystrangewizard]

god could you imagine if people focused on the actual golden boy getting like twice as much content as his fellow companions rather than like 2 new lines for one bad guy to make one scene feel more in line with the one other scene with said bad guy

[charliedawn]

A SERVANT’S DUTY Part IV Emperor Geta x Reader

(Also, there is a surprise because I couldn’t write a Gladiator fanfic without writing about my favourite ex-general Acacius who I want to add because he is simply awesome…)

The air in the dungeon was thick with the stench of mildew and damp stone. The walls, cracked and cold, seemed to swallow sound, the only noise being the distant drip of water echoing through the corridor. You walked through the low-lit passage, each step purposeful, as you approached the solitary cell where Macrinus was confined. His name had become little more than a whisper among the palace halls, a faded memory of ambition thwarted, of plans undone. Yet here you were, standing before the door that separated you from the man who had once tried to grasp the reins of power.

The guard unlocked the door, his expression neutral. You stepped inside, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon you. There, sitting on a small cot in the corner of the cell, Macrinus looked more like a shadow of the man he once was. His eyes were sharp, though, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. When he saw you, a slow smile stretched across his lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, leaning back on his cot, arms crossed. "The woman who foiled all my plans. To what do I owe the honor of this visit ?"

You stepped closer, not letting his mockery affect you or distract you from your goal. "I wanted your opinion."

His eyes narrowed, amusement flickering. "My opinion ? You come seeking advice from the man you helped ruin, the one whose schemes you so thoroughly dismantled ?" He chuckled darkly, almost bitter as he shook his head in disbelief. "You know, I thought you were cleverer than that. You disappoint me."

You stood silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. The flickering light of the torch cast a glow on his face, and you saw how he had changed. His once-strong posture now sagged with time, but there was still a sharpness to him, a sense of self-preservation. You didn’t approach him as an enemy. Not anymore.

"You’ve been in this cell for some time," you said, taking a seat across from him, folding your hands. "But I’m not here to gloat, Macrinus. I’m here because you’ve seen the inner workings of power. You’ve schemed and plotted. I want to know what you would do differently now."

He studied you, his eyes flicking up and down your figure, noting the way you carried yourself now—the difference from the woman who had first entered the palace, the one who cleaned floors and tended to the needs of others. The woman before him now was a far cry from that.

Macrinus leaned forward, his smirk widening. "What I would do differently ? You want the thoughts of a man who had the world within his grasp, only to lose it all ? Who’s now rotting in a cell, a mockery of his former self ?"

You hummed.

"You’re not a mockery," you said, meeting his gaze squarely. "You’re a cautionary tale."

He scoffed, but the flicker of respect in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. "Well, there you have it. I suppose, in a way, you’re right. But you can’t escape the truth of it. You came to me for advice, but why would you trust a failure ? The path you’re walking now ? It’s one I tried to walk, and look where it’s gotten me." He gestured around his cell, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You held his gaze. "Because you failed, it doesn’t mean I will. I learned from your mistakes."

Macrinus leaned back, the faintest trace of curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Is that so ? And what, pray tell, have you learned ? That every throne is built on betrayal, that power is always a game of who can outlast who ? You cannot change the rules of the game, girl. You can only play it."

You tilted your head.

"Perhaps," you admitted quietly. "But I have learned that power isn’t always taken with the blade or the coin. Sometimes it is given. And right now, I have been given the trust of an emperor who is learning as well. So, I will ask you again—you who has been where I am right now. What would you do, if you had another chance ?"

He seemed to think about it before he chuckled softly, but there was no malice in it. "Another chance ? With the world watching ? With a senate that will do anything to rip power from you ?" He paused. "What would I do ? I would take it—take everything. Gain the Emperor’s trust once more and bide my time to act. With a softer touch, perhaps. But I would still take it—take everything that I know I deserve and maybe even more."

You stood up and your eyes met briefly. "Thank you," you finally said. "I think I’ve learned enough."

As you turned to leave, Macrinus’s voice followed you. "Just remember one thing, girl," he called out, his tone shifting slightly, the sharp edge of his previous mockery gone. "Power doesn’t come from the people you save—it comes from the people you break."

You paused, then turned back slightly to face him. "And when they rise again ?"

Macrinus was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper as he demonstrated the full extent of power’s cruel truth. "Then you crush them before they have a chance to stand."

Your eyes widened momentarily in shock before you nodded, the weight of his words hanging in the air as you left the cell behind. There was no malice in your heart for Macrinus. He had once sought the throne—he had been consumed by the same hunger for power that you now wrestled with. But unlike him, you would not be consumed. You had learned his lesson, and you would find another way. As you walked away, the flicker of a plan began to take shape—one that was not built on destruction, but on subtlety, trust, and the strength of the people who had been left behind. Macrinus said that power doesn’t come from the people you save ? Well…You guessed you would have to prove him wrong.

…

You found Geta in his chambers, hunched over yet another pile of reports, his brow furrowed in concentration. His exhaustion was palpable, the weight of his duties pressing down on him. It was moments like these when he looked more like the young emperor he was, not the ruler people hoped he would become. Your heart squeezed in your chest. His workload had been momentarily reduced—but to take care of an entire Empire on one’s own was a Herculean task. You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. When he finally looked up, his face softened just slightly at the sight of you. But there was a familiar weariness in his eyes.

"I thought you were going to rest ?" you asked.

His voice was thick with fatigue as he replied. "The Empire doesn’t wait for sleep."

You stepped inside, closing the door gently behind you. "No," you replied, your voice steady, "but it does need something else if it is to last."

He gave a small, tired smile, raising an eyebrow. "Oh really ? And what’s that ?"

You moved closer, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly as you spoke. "Trust."

His brow furrowed. "Trust ?" he echoed, his gaze intense. "That’s a tall order, especially when the Senate refuses to listen, when they still seek power at every turn."

You met his gaze, unflinching. "Yes. Trust. If the Empire is to be built, it must rest upon that foundation. But it cannot be a trust that is only given to those with power or wealth. It must be a trust extended to all people—men and women of every class, every trade, every family."

Geta sat back in his chair, hands steepled in thought. He said nothing, but the quiet tension between you both grew. You continued.

"If the Senate is to represent the people, then it must be open to them. True representation is more than just a collection of noble faces, more than just those who hold power in their hands or gold in their pockets. It’s the voice of every citizen who breathes this Empire’s air, who eats its bread, who bleeds its blood. We cannot afford to let the voices of the common people fall silent any longer."

Geta looked at you, the weariness in his eyes replaced by a flicker of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a growing understanding. "You know the Senate will not accept such a thing," he said softly. "They will see it as a threat, as a way of undermining their power."

You nodded.

"Maybe they will," you admitted with a small sigh. "But power must be earned, not seized. If you wish for the people to trust you as their ruler, as their Emperor, then you must give them a voice. Not just the senators, but the farmers, the soldiers, the merchants, the artisans��everyone. If we are to rebuild this Empire, we need more than just a few nobles making decisions in gilded halls. We need the strength of the people."

You leaned against the desk, your voice growing more resolute. "What is a kingdom if it is built on the backs of the poor and the weak, yet they have no say in how it’s run ? The people are the true heart of the Empire, Emperor Geta. And if you cannot win their trust, if you cannot show them that their voices matter, then everything will crumble."

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes unfocused as he looked at the scattered papers. He seemed to be lost in thought, processing your words, weighing them against the responsibilities and burdens of his crown. Finally, his voice broke the silence. "And how would you suggest we do that ?" His tone was soft, cautious, as though he was afraid of the answer. "How do we open the Senate to the people without tearing the Empire apart ?"

You straightened, meeting his gaze fully. "We start with the towns and the provinces. We invite their voices into the halls of power—not as petitioners, but as true representatives. Let them bring their grievances, their hopes, and their needs. We’ll establish councils that can represent the people—no longer just the wealthy, the influential, but the working, the struggling, the ones who keep the wheels of this Empire turning. We bring them to the table. And we listen."

"Even the ones who still whisper rebellion ?" Geta asked, his voice a quiet challenge.

"Even them," you confirmed, your gaze unwavering. "Because if they are heard, they won’t need to rise in rebellion. If we truly hear the people, we can guide them. It is only in silence, only in neglect, that rebellion breeds. We must show them that their concerns are not beneath us."

Geta leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And what about the Senate ? How do we bring them into this plan ? They will not like being challenged."

You smiled softly, the corner of your lips turning up slightly. "The Senate is built on old traditions, on wealth and power. But traditions can change, and the powerful can fall. The question is not whether they will like it, but whether they will resist what is right. And when they see the Empire flourishing with the voice of its people, they will follow."

He met your gaze, a long silence hanging between you both. Then, with a slow nod, he sighed. "Perhaps…perhaps it is time for change."

You nodded back. "It is. And it must come from the top, not just from the people. But you, Geta—if you are to be Emperor, it will be because you lead not with the crown, but with your ears and your heart. Let the Senate watch as you extend your trust to them. Let them see what true leadership is."

He rose from his chair slowly, the weight of your words settling in his posture. His gaze held yours, a silent promise in his eyes.

"Then I suppose we have work to do," he declared, the first spark of resolve returning to his voice.

You smiled, the glimmer of hope in your heart stronger than before. "Yes. We do."

…

The proposal had been set before the Senate, as bold as it was necessary. Representatives from each level of society—farmers, soldiers, merchants, artisans, and the like—should be allowed not only to petition but also to sit at the table during votes and hearings, to ensure that the voice of the people was truly heard. It was a radical idea, one that had not been entertained in this gilded chamber for generations. Still, you had made your case to Emperor Geta, and now, the proposal was before the Senators.

You stood at the center of the Senate hall, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a physical force. The room was filled with the murmurs of the gathered Senators, each one eyeing you with suspicion, each one sensing the shift in the winds. Their eyes were sharp, their gestures subtle as they traded looks of doubt. Geta had stood by you in this, his hand resting lightly on the back of your chair. Though he was present, his presence was almost invisible to the Senators. It was clear they were looking to you as the architect of this new idea—not their Emperor.

Senator Lucius, one of the more outspoken and wealthy members, stood first, his voice booming in the silence of the chamber. "This is madness," he declared, shaking his head in disbelief. "To allow the common rabble into the sacred halls of the Senate ? To have them sit beside us, where they have no business ? It would be the end of order. The end of our civilization."

A chorus of murmurs followed, with several Senators nodding in agreement, their faces twisted in disapproval.

Senator Lucius’s voice echoed through the chamber, a call to arms for the status quo. "Do you think we could simply let peasants, merchants, soldiers—those who know nothing of governance—join us in our deliberations ?" He paused, letting his words sink into the room. "It would be chaos. We would lose control, lose all authority. The Empire would fall into anarchy."

You remained calm, standing tall at the center of the chamber, eyes sweeping across the room, meeting the gazes of the Senators who were clearly opposed. The weight of their words fell on you, but you did not flinch. In your mind, the heart of the Empire was with its people, not the narrow circle of elites that sought to control it for their own gain.

"Senator Lucius," you began, your voice steady, cutting through the murmurs. "With all due respect, what you describe is not an Empire—it is a monarchy of convenience, where only a select few benefit from the labor of those beneath them. You fear chaos because it threatens your control. But let me ask you—what do you fear more ? A little disorder, or the collapse of trust between the Senate and the very people who sustain this Empire ?"

The room fell into an uneasy silence, all eyes on you now. Even Geta, standing by your side, shifted his weight slightly as though he was bracing himself for the next wave of opposition. Lucius opened his mouth to retort, but you continued before he could speak, your gaze hardening, unwavering.

"An Empire where only those with power can speak will never endure. You speak of chaos, but it is the lack of representation, the lack of a shared voice, that will breed the true disorder. When the people realize they are nothing more than pawns in the game of a few, they will turn their backs on the Empire. They will stop building, stop working, and stop fighting."

There was a brief pause as the Senators processed your words. Some remained stoic, others fidgeted. Lucius’ face reddened with barely contained anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Are you suggesting that the Senators are the problem here ? That we, who have given our lives to the Empire, should simply bow to the will of those who know nothing of governance ?" he spat, his voice low and dangerous—filled with venom at the challenge.

"Not bow," you replied, your tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "Listen. Listen to the voice of the people, and you will find the strength of the Empire restored. An Empire divided—between the powerful few and the many who serve—will never endure. It is not the citizens who have failed this Empire. It is you, the rulers. You have failed to see that power is not something to hoard, but to share. If we do not learn to govern for all, we will have nothing to govern at all."

You could feel the weight of the Senate’s gaze on you, but you stood your ground. You knew that this fight was bigger than the immediate room, bigger than the backlash you were certain to face. Finally, one of the quieter Senators, a man with silvered hair and piercing green eyes, spoke up. "What you propose is…unorthodox," he said, his voice cool and measured. "But perhaps, just perhaps, it is worth considering. The common folk are the lifeblood of the Empire, after all. Without them, none of us would sit here today."

You recognised him as the voice who had defended you when you had been made Emperor Geta’s advisor. An ally—you assumed.

Lucius however shot him a withering look. "Do not stand alongside such foolishness, Senator Cassius. This will be the end of all that we have worked for."

The murmurs returned, louder this time, swirling through the room. Some seemed to lean toward your argument, while others remained staunchly against it. The division was obvious in the room.

"Senators," you called them, "if we do not change, we are as good as dead. The world is changing. The people are changing. You know of the uprising that almost ended up in chaos outside the palace. The only question is: will we acknowledge it and change with the people, or will we stand in the way and risk watching everything burn ?"

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Senator Lucius stood again, his expression hardening.

"We vote," he declared, his voice dripping with finality. "Those in favor of this…ridiculous proposal, raise your hands."

One by one, a handful of Senators—less than you had hoped for, but still a start—raised their hands in a show of support. But the majority remained silent, unmoving.

Lucius smirked. "The proposal is rejected. We shall continue to govern as we always have. You will find that the people do not need more than we give them."

He sat down with an air of superiority that left your blood boiling in your seat, the room buzzing with murmurs of approval from his supporters. You stood still, fighting the anger that swelled within you. But as you glanced towards Emperor Geta, you saw that his eyes were focused, intent, and determined. His hand rested lightly on the back of your chair, and his chin was tilted upward, a subtle sign of defiance against the overwhelming majority. He would not let this moment pass so easily.

"Senators," Emperor Geta spoke up, his voice steady and strong, "you may have rejected this proposal today, but this is not the end. The Empire is changing, and so too must the way we govern. What has been decided here today is not set in stone."

The Senators fell into an uneasy silence once again. Many of them exchanged wary glances. Lucius sneered, but even he could not deny the Emperor’s presence, the quiet weight of his words.

"We will find another way," Emperor Geta continued, his gaze sweeping across the room. "The Empire will move forward. And so will the voices of its people."

With that, he turned and left the chamber, and you followed, feeling the stirrings of a battle yet to come. Though the Senate had voted against change today, you knew this was only the beginning. The people were waiting. And soon, they would have their say.

…

You returned to the dimly lit cell where Macrinus was kept. The air was damp, thick with the scent of stone and must. The torchlight flickered along the narrow walls, casting long shadows across the cold stone floor. You paused at the door, your hand resting lightly on the iron bars, staring into the darkened corner where he sat. Macrinus looked up as you approached, his eyes narrowing in surprise. His once sharp features now seemed dull, though his sharpness—his mind—was far from dulled by his confinement. His eyes carried the same glint they had when he had first plotted against the twins. But now, that same cunning seemed more resigned, as if waiting for something—waiting for you.

"Back again ?" he told you with a knowing smirk, his voice a low rasp, though there was still a trace of mockery beneath the words. "Come to ask for more advice from the man you foiled all plans for ? I assume you haven’t grown bored of this game yet."

You let out a soft breath and looked him in the eye. "I do not need advice for myself," you explained. "I need it for the Empire."

Macrinus tilted his head, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Isn’t that rich ? You want advice from me on how to guide an Empire you have helped steer into chaos ?"

You took a step closer, not flinching at the bite in his tone. "I do not believe in chaos. I believe in change. And that is what we need. A new structure. A way to balance power, to share it."

Macrinus snorted, leaning back against the stone wall. "So, what is it you seek from me now, then ? I failed. You succeeded. Why come back ? Perhaps you seek to ensure I stay silent in my prison—an easy move to keep the dog leashed, but ultimately futile, wouldn’t you say ?"

You didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, you paced a few steps in the dim light, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. "The Senate ? They are not going to open themselves to the people. They think they know best, but they only know how to protect their own interests. So I need a way to make them listen—to force them into acknowledging the people who built this Empire."

Macrinus’ eyes gleamed in the shadows. "Ah. I see," he said, his voice a bit colder now. "You are playing a different game, aren’t you ? Not the one of noble ideals, but the one where you make your enemies think they are still in control while you pull the strings. You need to make them believe the people are behind them—make them believe that they will lose everything if they do not heed your words."

You stopped pacing and turned back toward him. "And how do I do that ?"

Macrinus chuckled ominously.

"Do not ask for their permission. Show them it is already happening—without them. Use your power to make it clear that the people have already spoken. Let the merchants and the soldiers see that they are no longer dependent on the Senate to have a voice. And then, let them see their own seats—those same seats of power—begin to feel fragile. Let them feel the shift, even if they cannot control it."

You narrowed your eyes, considering his words. "And you think they will just fall into line because of that ?"

Macrinus leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with dangerous intent. "No. They will fight it, of course. But the more they fight, the more they show the people how out of touch they are with the reality of things. Push them hard enough, and they will have no choice but to bend. After all, you’ve already seen the cracks in their armor, haven’t you ? The senators will resist, but even they know—eventually, they must adapt or be swept aside. There’s nothing worse than being out of touch with those who have the power to pull the rug from under you."

You stood still, the weight of his words sinking into your mind like a stone dropped into a still pond. His plan wasn’t clean—it wasn’t neat. But then again, neither was history.

You let out a quiet breath. "I am not trying to sweep anyone aside. I am trying to build something that lasts."

Macrinus chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. "Good luck with that. But you have already taken the first step—you have shown them that you are not afraid to change the rules. You are an anomaly in their carefully crafted design of power. A servant—friends with an emperor. What remains is making them believe it is a change they cannot resist."

You studied him for a moment, the silence thick between you. Finally, you nodded. "Thank you. For the clarity. Even if it comes at the cost of your own plans."

His lips twisted into a smile—more like a sneer, but still sharp. "Plans change. The question is whether you are prepared to see yours through."

As you turned to leave, you hesitated at the door. You could feel his gaze on you, his words hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge.

"You will find, in the end," Macrinus added, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, "that no one ever truly wins in this game. They only survive long enough to play the next round."

You didn’t reply. Instead, you exited the cell, your footsteps echoing down the hall. The weight of Macrinus’ words clung to you, but it was the path you’d chosen. There was no turning back now.

…

The Senate chamber was abuzz with the usual quiet clatter of whispered conversations, the shuffle of sandals against marble, and the rustling of parchment. You had entered the room in your usual way, poised but unassuming, though this time you did not take your usual seat at the table. Instead, you stood at the back, far from the eyes of the Senators who were still absorbed in their endless debates, their voices heavy with rhetoric and well-practiced tones.

Today, you said nothing.

You simply observed.

Geta sat at the head of the chamber, his fingers lightly tapping against the surface of the polished table, the weight of the crown heavier on his head than ever before. He watched the Senators with an unreadable expression, as if waiting for something to break. The grand speech you had prepared, the arguments and fervor of your proposal, were now still within you, resting in the corners of your mind. Today, you weren’t there to push an idea or challenge an opinion. Today, you were there to watch how things unfolded without you.

It didn’t take long before the tensions in the room began to rise, small sparks igniting in the conversation. Senator Lucius was the first to speak, his words sharp enough to cut through the thick air.

"We cannot allow this farce to continue," he said, his hand slamming against the table, eyes scanning the room. "The people—peasants, merchants, soldiers—will not dictate our decisions. We have been appointed to serve the Empire, not cater to the whims of those who have no understanding of governance."

The murmurs from the other Senators were quick to follow, some agreeing with him, others too cautious to speak too loudly. There were always those who resisted change, who fought tooth and nail to preserve the power they had. It was clear that your proposal had struck a nerve.

You studied Geta’s face closely. His jaw tightened, but his eyes remained calm, as if waiting for the moment to unfold. This was a test—his first real test as Emperor. Would he let the Senate have its way, or would he finally show them the strength of his resolve ? The eyes of the Senators shifted, glancing back and forth, trying to read him. It was a game of control. And in the midst of this carefully orchestrated chaos, you stood silently, letting the tension grow.

After a moment, Emperor Geta stood. The room grew silent.

"Senators," he called them and it carried a weight that silenced even the most outspoken among them. "We have all heard the words of Senator Lucius. And I know that many of you share his sentiments. But I must remind you all that an Empire is not built on the strength of a few, but on the trust of many."

You watched his eyes sweep the room, his gaze meeting those of the Senators, one by one. He was not the boy who had stumbled in fear before Macrinus a few weeks ago. He was the Emperor, and for the first time in this room, his presence commanded respect—not because of his title, but because of the quiet strength that radiated from him now.

"The people are not our enemies," he continued, his voice firm but not unkind. "They are our foundation. Without them, we are nothing. And so, I will not stand by while we ignore their needs, their voices, and their rights. If we are to govern, it must be for all—regardless of their class or station."

He looked toward you, and though no words were spoken, there was an understanding between you. The unspoken bond that had been formed in the quiet moments outside the Senate chamber—the trust you had built together. Emperor Geta was not simply speaking for you now. He was speaking for the future, for the change that was already underway. The Senators were silent, unsure how to respond. They had not expected this from him. They had expected more hesitation, more diplomatic avoidance. Instead, Geta was holding his ground.

But still, the resistance remained.

"Your Highness," Senator Lucius finally spoke up again, his voice tinged with disdain, "you are a young Emperor, and perhaps you do not fully understand the weight of what you propose. The Empire is built on order, on structure. Allowing the common people to sit at the table with us would undermine everything we have worked to preserve."

Emperor Geta’s gaze hardened, but his voice remained calm. "The people are the Empire, Senator Lucius. Without them, your order is meaningless. And I am not just a young Emperor—I am YOUR Emperor. And I decide what needs to be done or changed in order to save MY Empire."

And with that, the room fell into a heavy silence. You could feel the shift—the moment when everything seemed to hang in the balance. Would the Senate bend, or would they fight back with all the strength they had ? Would Geta’s resolve be enough to win the day ? You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You simply watched. The stage had been set, and now it was up to those who would play their parts. Would they resist, or would they recognize the change that was coming ?

In the end, it was no longer about politics—it was about trust. And that was the foundation you had been trying to build since your sudden rise is status. Then…Emperor Geta surprised everyone—including you. "That is why I have decided to add one senator to this assembly…"

Geta looked straight at you.

The room fell into an almost oppressive silence as Emperor Geta’s words hung in the air, their weight settling heavily on the gathered Senators. All eyes turned toward him, but it was you who felt the shift most keenly. You hadn’t expected this—no one had.

Geta’s gaze held steady on you, unwavering, as he continued, "A representative not of the old ways, but of the new."

You felt the eyes of the Senate bore into you. Some were skeptical, others intrigued, but all were watching.

What was this ? What was Emperor Geta doing ?

He turned slightly, the subtle shift of his posture signaling a quiet command to the room. "I believe it is time for a new voice. One that has the strength to advocate for those who have long been ignored. For those who will never sit in these seats unless we make space for them."

It took a moment for the words to register fully. He was choosing you. You, the one who had stood quietly, observed, and planned without ever stepping forward to take the limelight all along the meeting. The one who had worked from the shadows, never seeking glory, but driven by something deeper.

"I am nominating Y/N," Emperor Geta said, the words slipping out without hesitation. "To represent the people. To ensure that the voices of those who have long been silenced will finally be heard. Step forward, Senator."

A gasp rippled through the room. The Senators, once sure of their positions, suddenly felt the ground shift beneath them. Their eyes flickered between you and Geta, as though the Emperor had struck them with an unexpected blow. To see you standing there, not as a mere observer, but as the very embodiment of the change they had fought to avoid—it was almost too much to comprehend. You stood, your heart pounding in your chest, but you did not move. You did not speak. The weight of this unexpected responsibility pressed down on you, but there was no room for hesitation. This was a moment you could not—would not—waste.

"Your Highness," Senator Lucius sneered, "You would put a woman, a commoner, among us ? What will that accomplish except chaos and disorder ?"

You could feel the temperature in the room drop as others murmured in agreement. The resistance was already rising, and they would not take this challenge lying down.

But Geta was unmoved. "It is precisely because we have been living in order without purpose, in governance without the people’s trust, that we must act. I trust Senator Y/N. I believe in her vision for this Empire."

His eyes, steady and unwavering, found yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation in your heart. There was only the resolve that had been building within you, a quiet certainty that now, finally, you could make a difference.

You took a step forward, your voice strong and clear as you addressed the assembly, "If I am to sit at this table, I will do so not as a token, but as a representative. If I am to serve, I will serve the people, not the status quo. If the Senate is to truly represent the Empire, then it must open its doors to all classes of society—not just the few who have always sat comfortably in these seats."

You glanced at Geta, and in that moment, everything seemed to align. The path ahead would not be easy, but you were not alone. He was with you. And together, you would face the resistance, the critics, and those who would seek to stop this change before it even began.

The room grew quiet again, as if holding its breath, waiting for the next move. Would they fight back ? Or would they accept this challenge, this new future ? The answer, you realized, was no longer in the hands of the Senators.

It was in yours.

As your first decision as a Senator, you decided to organise meetings between the different parts of society to vote a representative for each faction of society. The amphitheater carved into the side of the hill buzzed with anticipation. Beneath arched colonnades, representatives of every walk of life had gathered—merchants with ink-stained hands, farmers with dirt under their nails, artisans in smudged robes, physicians, fishermen, midwives. Weeks of deliberations, of gathering names and votes, had led to this moment.

Each class had chosen a representative—a voice to speak on their behalf in the new advisory council tied to the Senate. Geta had approved each appointment with a composed nod, pride glinting beneath his measured expression. The Empire had not seen such a thing in centuries.

But the final delegation arrived with a tremor.

The soldiers, garrisoned across the provinces and even here in the capital, had submitted their choice.

General Marcus Acacius.

A murmur of unrest spread like wildfire the moment the name was read aloud. Emperor Geta visibly stiffened where he stood beside you, a subtle tick in his jaw betraying his surprise—no, not surprise. Disbelief. He looked at you and you could see the rage in his eyes. Acacius had once been among Rome’s finest. A man of iron will, beloved by the legions, a tactician and field general who had carved peace from chaos. But during the turmoil following the deaths of Geta’s predecessors, Acacius had chosen a side—and not Geta’s. He’d rallied troops in the East, threatened to seize power, and was eventually captured before a full civil war could erupt.

The Senate had labeled him a traitor. He had been imprisoned in silence, without public trial. Now, his name was back. Chanted by soldiers who had not forgotten him.

You stepped closer to Geta as he scanned the parchment again, as if the name might change if he looked long enough.

"…They’ve chosen him," he muttered, his hold on the paper wrinkling it as he forced himself not to rip it to shreds…Those military traitors. Remembering his name of all names…He looked at you, the ghost of tension behind his eyes. "They’re forcing my hand."

You shrugged. "They’re asking to be heard. And they know Acacius is one who always cared about his men."

Emperor Geta sighed in defeat. "The soldiers have spoken." His words rolled out carefully, like boulders down a slope. "They have chosen Marcus Acacius as their representative."

Geta turned to you, his voice softer now, meant for your ears alone. "You know what the Senate will say. That I have allowed a traitor to sit in council. That I have surrendered to the army. That I have lost control."

You tilted your head. "Or they’ll say you’re the emperor who listened to those he commands. Who had the strength to sit at a table with those who once stood against him…so that they might never need to again."

He looked at you for a long time. And slowly—very slowly—he nodded.

The order was sent.

Marcus Acacius, the traitor-general, was to become the representative of the soldiers of Rome. The name still echoed through the vaulted chamber.

Marcus Acacius.

A hush had fallen like fog across the gathering. No one spoke. No one dared.

Geta stared at the scroll in his hand as though it might catch fire. His expression didn’t change—no fury, no surprise. But you knew him well enough by now to see the flicker in his eyes. A wound reopened.

Acacius had not merely chosen the wrong side during the succession crisis—he had led the movement to dethrone both twins. Had his plan succeeded, Geta and his brother would have been cast aside, exiled, or worse. Acacius had rallied senators, governors, military cohorts—all under the promise of a ‘new Rome.’ It had failed, barely. And Empeor Geta had not forgotten.

He folded the scroll bearing his official seal with deliberate care and handed it off. Then turned his eyes to you.

"They’ve chosen a man who tried to destroy everything—to destroy me."

You were silent for a breath. "They’ve chosen a man they believe still speaks for them."

He hesitated. "Marcus Acacius will not be freed. His crimes remain. He will not sit among senators. But—" That word held the room still. "But he will be permitted to attend the meetings of this new council. In chains, under guard, behind no veil of power. He will be present. He will be heard."

Gasps rippled. A senator stood, outraged. "Your Majesty, this is a disgrace ! You would bring a traitor into this sacred—!"

"—Into a space meant for the voices of all," Emperor Geta interrupted, cold and precise. "That includes the voices we do not necessarily want to hear."

He looked at you then. And you knew—this wasn’t surrender. This was strategy. Control.

"I have spoken. And Marcus Acacius will therefore by the voice of the sword."

The vote stood. The representatives were confirmed.

The torchlight flickered across the damp stone walls as the guard descended into the depths of the prison. Chains clinked with every step. The door to Marcus Acacius’s cell groaned as it opened.

He looked up from where he sat on the low bench. His armor was long gone, his hair longer now, touched with grey. But his posture—straight-backed, still—held the discipline of a soldier. He didn’t rise. Only studied the guard with the wary calm of someone used to waiting.

"You’re wanted," the guard informed him. "In the upper chambers. You are to attend the council meetings."

Marcus blinked. The stillness of his face cracked just slightly, a furrow forming between his brows.

"…Attend council meetings ?" he repeated—surprised by the sudden offer.

The guard grunted and shrugged. "Not my idea."

Marcus slowly stood, not in defiance but in disbelief. "And who…decided this ?"

There was a pause. Then the guard spoke, almost reluctant: "The Emperor. And…his new senator."

A quiet, thoughtful frown appeared on his face. As if trying to see a pattern he hadn’t considered before. He nodded once, slowly.

"I see," he finally said and looked up. "Then Rome may not be completely lost after all."

…

That night

The chamber was dim, lit only by the pale light of the moon slipping through the high arches. The scent of parchment and ink still lingered in the air from the hours Emperor Geta had spent poring over reports, sealed letters, and Senate disputes. The weight of the day clung to him like smoke—every decision, every defiance, every ripple from the stone he’d cast into still imperial waters.

He sat alone now, shoulders hunched, tunic loosened at the throat, a half-empty goblet of wine forgotten on the table beside him. His crown rested nearby—too heavy for a man who hadn’t yet turned thirty.

The door creaked softly open.

She entered with a quiet grace, her steps muffled by the thick rugs underfoot. The guards had been dismissed before she arrived. No name had been asked for. She wasn’t there to be known. Just to serve.

Geta didn’t look up at first.

"Were you sent ?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "I was invited."

He let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or a sigh. "That makes two of us."

She didn’t speak again. Only came to kneel beside his chair, not touching him yet. Her presence was gentle, patient, nothing like the hungry hands of courtiers or the sharp stares of senators.

After a long silence, he spoke. "Do you know what happens when you give power to the people ?"

She tilted her head. "They remember they’ve always had it ?"

He looked at her finally. The moonlight caught his eyes—tired, but no longer clouded. "You are wiser than most men I have met this week."

She smiled faintly. "I am honoured, Your Majesty."

He didn’t pull her into his lap. Didn’t press his face into her neck. He only let his head drop slightly, shoulders relaxing just enough for her to gently lean against his side, hand resting on his arm.

And in the stillness, he breathed again.

It wasn’t lust he had summoned tonight. It was peace. Or some soft echo of it, from someone who expected nothing from him.

And for the first time in days, Geta allowed himself to close his eyes.

She was warm, skilled, careful in every movement—but it wasn’t her lips that lingered in his thoughts. It was a pair of lips chapped by time and a sharp tongue that could rival the wittiest of strategists.

It was yours.

At first, he tried to push the thought aside. A mistake of memory, he told himself. A side effect of exhaustion, of blurred emotions and a hundred decisions piling atop each other like stones in his chest. But the more she touched him, the clearer you became. Not in lust, but in presence. Your voice. Your frown when you were deep in thought. The determined calm in your eyes when you stood before the Senate like a storm barely held in check.

And then—your smile.

That fleeting curve of your mouth, never quite for show. The kind you gave only when you truly meant it. Not out of politeness. Not out of duty. No. The one he liked to think he was the sole witness…He sighed.

That smile had ruined him.

Because now, even as the woman before him pressed a kiss to his collarbone, his heart stuttered—for the wrong reason. Her hands seemed so cold, her touch unwanted, her voice the annoying buzz of a fly in the background. His eyes opened. He wasn’t here.

He was there. In the council chamber. In the corridors. At your side.

"Stop," he murmured suddenly.

The woman paused, surprised. "Is something wrong, Emperor Geta ?"

He sat up slowly, pulling his tunic back over his chest, not meeting her gaze. "No. You’ve done nothing wrong."

She tilted her head, sensing something deeper. But she said nothing. Only rose quietly and gave him a small, respectful nod. "If you need anything else—"

"No. You will be paid," he dismissed her before adding. "Thank you."

She seemed taken aback, but left nonetheless and the door shut gently behind her. Alone once more, Geta leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He wasn’t foolish. He knew what this meant. He hadn’t just summoned someone for comfort tonight. He’d summoned someone to erase something else—someone else.

And failed.

Because it was you he longed for. To build with. To trust. To carry this impossible world alongside.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

She must know the impact she had on him. Was it a plan of hers ? To get close to the Emperor and gain his affections ? To make him a pawn in her rise to the stratosphere ? He closed his eyes and chuckled to himself. The worse part was ? He wouldn’t mind. Because he liked the way she played…She was a player unlike any he had ever encountered. She was a player that gave as much as she received.

She thought she was smart—and she truly was.

However, she underestimated his ability to learn from past mistakes. He had been betrayed three times by the people closest to him. He would not be made a fool ever again. He knew her every move, her every step…He knew about her secret visits to Macrinus. He knew exactly what they were talking about. He knew she was learning. But, she was also unpredictable and authentic—a flower in a garden of thorns. Her every word, action and thought were for the benefit of Rome and himself. But he could never truly anticipate what she would do next—it was thrilling. Such dedication…Such pride.

He smirked.

Finally. A friend worthy of an emperor’s love.

[vampsol]

𝑫𝑶𝑬𝑺 𝑰𝑻 𝑭𝑬𝑬𝑳 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑴𝑬 ꨄ a lee heeseung smau series

ᝰ GENRE: social media au, comedy, fluff, slight angst, suggestive/smut in some areas

ᝰ TAGS: friends to lovers, (semi)unrequited love, crushes turn heeseung into mush apparently, miscommunication, plots and schemes in the name of love.

ᝰ INCLUDING: JAKE and JAY of enhypen : CHOI BEOMGYU, CHOI YEONJUN, and CHOI SOOBIN of txt : ERIC SOHN of the boyz : AHN YUJIN and JANG WONYOUNG of ive : CHOU TZUYU of twice.

ᝰ SYNOPSIS: For years, you and your friends have been inseparable, especially you and Heeseung. While you share a close relationship, it catches him off guard when he begins to have suggestive dreams about you. Before he can even begin to question his feelings, he learns that you're getting ready for a date with someone outside your friend group. Will he muster the courage to confess his feelings, or will he let this chance slip away forever?

ᝰ STATUS: ongoing (started on dec 23, 2024)

ᝰ WARNINGS: some parts will be written with the smau and others will not, also going to include smut at some point so do not interract if you are under 18 pls and thank you!

ᝰ TAGLIST: join here! (will be updated by chapter release!)

ꔛ AUTHOR'S NOTE: super inspired by the formatting of @aenify and @jjunieworld and also could not have posted this without the support from all of my mooties mostly @heesuncore @hursheys and @lovetaroandtaemin ily guys sm

ᝰ PROFILES

the couple | the crew

ᝰ CHAPTERS

01. the feeling : 02. ain't my fault : 03. heat waves : 04. lil freak 05. wicked game : 06. nice to meet ya : 07. meet me at the apt : 08. that should be me : 09. it's ok i'm ok : 10. secret secret : 11. traitor 12. kiss cam : 13. out of my league : 14. where are you now? : 15. san francisco : 16. ruin my life : 17: loml : 18. tv shows : 19. beautiful things : 20. your eyes only

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊ — @kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @lapydiaries @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 165 spoilers and thoughts below the cut that im not terribly late on this time yippee!

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what if i went up to you and stared at you like this

HAHAHAHAHAAA I LOVE THIS PANEL SO SO MUCH

ive been sending this on like all my socmeds and to all my mutuals/irls. im tormenting them with it it's just so fucking cute and silly . puppy dog eyes javier. pleading emoji. he's just so fucking silly ALKJDFLSDKF HELL I MADE IT MY DISCORD PFP ITS SO GOOFY I LOVE IT SM HAHAHA CUTE CUTE CUTE

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA

silly panels aside back to the top!

lloyd. stop hurting me oh god he looks so tired and gaunt and,,, lifeless. it HURTS seeing him like this, the life he once had just,,, stripped from him.

LIKE I WANTED TO SEE HIM WITH HIS HAIR DOWN AND MESSY BUT NOT LIKE THIS BRUH WHAT THE HELL SOB SOB SOB

the invitation oh my god. its so silly goofy but also so so personal its cute as hell its stupid looking but in the most affectionate way possible. the people of the estate really REALLY care about him and god idek if lloyd realizes that bc literally just after this, he apologizes to everyone for not being able to things for them anymore

not even able to get back up to get back to the bed GOD I FEEL SICK

but it doesnt matter anymore whether or not lloyd can still protect them, the estate has come to care for him so much , its not his protection they want they just fucking love him and he doesnt realize that i feel so fucking ill. lloyd i need you to open your eyes and look at this beautiful land, this beautiful home you've built with your own two hands. ITS NOT OVER YET PLEASE GOD ITS NOT OVER

and then lloyd without second thought chooses javier to live. because he really thinks hes just an extra getting in the way, a burden, a bug that shouldnt be there. so he thinks its fine if he, as a side character, is the one that dies SOMEONE PUNCH ME.

he looks so fucking SMALL. alone and in the dark IM GONNA EXPLODE INTO TEN BILLION PIECES. who wrote this fuckass program. SWEAR TO GOD IM COMIN DOWN TO FIX IT MYSELF GOD DAMMIT

AND THEN THE SYSTEM TEXTBOX COMING IN IM SO GRATEFUL PLEASE HELP HIM SOB SOB SOB

im super duper heartwarmed to see that whoever is running the blue textbox is on suho's side. it has never been impartial, huh,,, it just wants to see his wish come true. ooogh my heart.

lloyd looks,,, strangely peaceful here. is he like, paused rn? im not really sure what the system box is up to, but hopefully thisll delay anything from happening while javier is concocting his plan,,,

speaking of!

FATE KICKING IN LIKE TEN TIMES WORSE IS SO DAMN SCARY. THE MULTIPLE GIGATITANS OH GODDD im so fucking terrified. javier please hurry!!! he looks rlly cool on draggy here hehe

I THINK JAVIER AND ALICIAS EXCHANGE TOO IS SO FUCKING HILARIOUS. alicia, upon only seeing javier, immediately is suspicious of lloyd scheming something. she thinks the two of them are plotting again, hence the "what are you up to".

the problem is that it's just javier on this plan. there is no lloyd directing him, so javiers reaction is SO silly fun bc i. dont think he thinks of himself as being. scheming?? bc he seems SO confused at alicia's skepticism here HADLFKJSDLFKJ ITS SO FUNNY

I REALLY THINK JAVIER WAS GENUINELY A LITTLE CONFUSED AS TO WHY ALICIA WAS QUESTIONING HIM PLEAAASEEE

i think javier believes he's just going about business as usual. doing what he can to protect his lord, as he does, all the time, the usual. sure that involves getting an angel to ask the queen for the eye of summer, but that's certainly not plotting on the same scale that lloyd does. javier isnt a schemer. he just does whats necessary to protect the one he cares about the most. hence his goofy innocent puppy eyes, because its not like hes "up" to anything. idk how accurate this assessment is, so pls correct me if im wrong, but I LOVE IT A LOT HES JUST SO FUCKING DEDICATED I LOVE U JAVIER MVP!!!!!

and then raphie shows up yay!! EXCEPT HELP WHY DID HE GET SUCKED BACK IMMEDIATELY WHAT THE HELL he was so underprepared. poor guy. getting thrown around like this sob sob

ALICIA ASKING IF THIS IS SMTH JAVIER KNEW ABT OR IF THEY WERE PLANNING SOMETHING AND THEN JAVIER BEING GENUINELY FUCKING SHOCKED HELP MEEEE "maybe its not a prank...?" LMFAOOOOO

i mentioned this in the last ep post but like. again javier wears his heart on his sleeve he's so fucking protagonist its unreal. hell, not even on his sleeve, he has his heart out on his damn palm sob sob

i think he's shocked here bc he didnt expect raphaels call to play out like that, he prolly thought theyd issue it more seriously. the issue with this being so half-hearted is now alicia isnt absolutely certain that this is the will of the heavens, so she's less inclined to follow along. it doesnt help that her board of nobles (seriously why does she keep these bozos around they just keep yapping) are arguing back and forth abt whether or not to listen. this is kind of a little wrench in the smoothness of the plan... everything now hinges on alicia's whim now.

anyway two more panels javier being menacing/blunt as hell and alicia thinking on her throne,,, god they are so fucking. awesome i love them so much

anyway that is ALL! for this week! the episode felt a little bit slow to be honest, but i think that's because the events of this ep are little things that build up to whats next, so i dont mind it at all (especially since the last couple of eps have been super fast lately)! i really really enjoy this buildup and im super excited to see what happens next,,,

see yall next week! lloyd please be okay! or ill cry! like for real!

[ivxliwh]

'well, for starters...nesters alright and out finally, I think TT may still be in the hospital, but I've uh. been hearing some commotion lately so . yeah. not the best person to talk about this to.'

♤ wilhelm

Everything seems silent

There's a small rift in the world, from which falls a note

"Apologies for my disappearance, I have been quite unwell as of late

What have I missed?"

Mod: Aka sorry for suddenly leaving college got my ass

[gritsandbrits]

Hi Grits! I've literally never watched Xiaolin Showdown in my life, but because I'm bored and curious, could you pls explain how Chase was ruined in Chronicles?

Where do I even start?

Okay, anyone who's been on my blog recently have seen me talk shit about Xiaolin Chronicles. Well tonight Im going to talk even more shit! 😁 this time about a character that ive had developed a fictoromantic interest in: Chase young. But this isnt about my selfship, this is about how this pathetic excuse of a reboot wrecked him!

So sit back and crack a cold one as I tear Lizard Breath a new one!

Chase was one of the most complicated characters in the show. He was evil, unashamedly so, but he also had a sense of honor. He was calm and calculating. You never really knew what his next move was. From his first appearance in the s2 episods "Master Monk Guan" you could tell he was going to be a formidable threat in future episodes. And formidable he was, he did NOT step off their necks after that first meeting!

Perhaps his most intriguing aspect of his character is his relationship with omi, a sort of palpatine and anakin dynamic that wasn't as creepy and pedophilic as his relationship with Shadow/Willow/whatever the fuck her name is. He saw potential in Omi and wanted to train him and even after the whole "brainwashing omi to get him on the side of evil" plan didnt go as planned they still kept an amicable relationship.

Chase is by no means a saint but he keeps his word and treats his opponents with respect. Even when training Jermaine, he had no hard feelings towards him after he quit because it was simply another part of a larger scheme. While he wasnt as bombastic as jack and wuya, he had a couple of quirks like reading Evil Housekeeping during dinner and his reactions to Jack's antics! He was essentially the Comically Serious of the show.

Then Chronicles had to screw everything up!!

In showdown, he became evil after hannibal bean exploited his desire to be the best by tricking him into drinking the Lao Mang Lone Soup. Chronicles retconned this to be Chase acting like a jealous incel because a mary sue dragon lady dumped him for his never before seen brother Eon. Seriously Eon? Where was Master Monk Guan? He was in Chase's eyes a rival and a big reason why he went bad, not because he got rejected by a girl!

Character designs in Showdown have simple and distinct silhouttes so they'll be easier to remember. Chase resembled a tough yet elegant warrior. The new design loses a lot of its elements making it too complex and boring at the same time

See how strong Showdown silhoutte is compared to Chronic Pain?

His lizard form was a total mess too! He rarely used his form but when he did you KNOW shit was about to hit the fan. He even managed to give Giant!Dojo a hard time! He looked like a dragon because he eats them and a lot of thought was put into making him look as badass as possible.

CHRONIC HEADACHE turned him into an overgrown iguana! He and Lute must be goin' to the same salon because what the hell is that haircut?? 😂

Dont even get me started on his CGI model that bitch is HIDEOUS. Even Beast Wars looks better and that show came out in the 90s! Also why are his spikes green shouldn't they be gold?

His personality also took a nosedive, from a Machiavellian schemer with larger designs to a generic villain who does bad things as the plot demands.

Chase rarely used shen gong wu because he had no need for then, even calling them magical toys. The only time he did use them was if he needed them for a larger goal. Chronic chase is obsessed with collecting them for no reason other than EEEEEVIL!

In Chronic's timeline Chase was always evil from the very beginning instead of having been a genuinely good person whose insecurities were preyed on by a shitstirrer vegetable. Even his voice doesnt do it for me. Usually I love David Kaye, but Chase is supposed to sound like he's in his early 20s because his entire function is around preserving his youth. By making him sound old it completely misses the whole point.

At one point, he interrupts a showdown to wager his good looks, and somehow doesnt lose them. First of all since when the did chase ever give a shit about his looks and number 2, he would never wager something so petty? He lost the showdown and didnt even lose his face? Well I guess you cant lose something you never had in the first place! 😂

Now we get to the really gross part.

SWEEEEET HOME ALABAMAH!

Now the idea of a regular sidekick and evil apprentice sounds good on paper. In the show he gets an ugly Mary Sue called Shadow that he created using his own rib in a hamfisted attempt to shove a parallel with Adam and Eve. But whereas the First Parents of The Bible were explicitly designed to be spouses by a higher power, he created shadow to be little more than a servant (and she had a baby form) which makes their power dynamic completely imbalanced! The scenes where they hit on each other and hiss flirtatiously is so out of place, like dude THAT'S YOUR KID???HELLO??? ARE YOU EVIL OR ALABAMAN?

Shadow lacks none of the entertaining qualities that the other bad girls like wuya and katnappe had. She went to the same barber her husband-father and Lute goes to. The most frustrating part about it is she acts more like the original chase than the actual chase! Ugh! No wonder he acts more goofy in Chronic Pain, she stole his personality!

He also abuses her. Like, she was nothing but loyal to him yet he attacks her for making one snarky comment - the og chase did threatened people but never outwardly attacked them over something so petty - and with all this im mind they come off less as student and mentor and more like a domestic abuser and his victim. The Real chase ain't no saint but he wasnt a creepy old man either! Eeeeeeeeeew!

The worse moment had to be the one episode where he lays an egg and he CRIES OVER it!

Un-freaking-BELIEVABLE!!!

At the end comes the most nonsense revelation - he and omi are related! And its never revisited again. I guess even the wrirers knew the convoluted this twist is since nowhere in showdown suggested chase and omi were family. If they were then they would be distantly related at best.

Can you just imagine making a show that is so boring, so atrocious, and so mind numbingly stupid, the only thing people remember it for is one episode and only because of how BAD it is?

The worst part is I can't recall a single significant thing Chase had done in Chronic Headache. In the original he had awesome moments like his duel with Master guan, the soccer match against the monks for omi's freedom, the three way battle between kimiko-disgused-as-jack hannibal bean, his partnership with wuya, getting between jermaine and omi's friendship, TAKING OKVER THE WORLD. What did he even do in Chronic Headache besides being a bigger dork than Doofenshmirtz and being the type of guy the latter would vaporize?

NOTHING! HE DID JACK SPICER SHIT IN CHRONICLES DESPITE HAVING MORE APPEARANCES THAN IN THE ORIGINAL!!

Hufff...huff....

Alright I think I got most of it out of my system. They say its better to vent now than holding it all in for it to explode later. I dont know why this show went the direction it did with Chase but as far as I am concerned he is not real, he is not a good version of a character and even on his own he is a terrible villain. He's an absolute insult to the chad Heylin Prince of Darkness and a reason why cartoon reboots get the unfortunate reputation they have.

And the sad part is since this is the only major Showdown media this may be the last time I'll ever see Chase in animated form, so until Christy Hui makes more content, we're pretty much stuck with this guy.

Hoo-friggin-yay! -_-

[zodiyack]

Better For Me

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, smoking, plotting

Words: 684

Request: Can you please do one for Tommy Shelby, where the reader is someone that he’s been pining over for as long as he can remember, but she’s never returned his feelings, she wants better for herself and desperately wants to escape Birmingham to have one, once he finds her plan he comes up with a scheme so that she will have no choice but to stay there with him (you can decide what that trap is)

Author’s Note: So I don’t exactly like the thought of her being 100% forced against her will, so I changed it a little bit to where she does indeed have feelings for him but never once said anything because she knew once she got involved with a gangster, her life would never be the same, and she wants better for herself. Hes also a little ooc.

YALL IVE EDITED THIS TWICE BECAUSE FUCKING MOBILE TUMBLR- DECIDED TO PUT MY ENDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BEGINNING.

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist | Cillian Murphy Masterlist

Taglist: @simonsbluee, @stuckysslag, @psychkunox, @marquelapage, @i-love-superhero @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @stydia-4-ever, @jenepleurepasbaby, @peakyxtommy, @babylooneytoonz, @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @darling-i-read-it​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @fandom-puff​

Her bags were stuffed to bursting with her belongings. She frantically packed the last of it in a barely spacious case. A knock at her front door scared her as it broke her from her hurry. She wasn't surprised when she saw the Blinder on her doorstep, only nervous.

"You're packing?" His cold voice inquired.

"Yes." She responded simply. Y/N avoided giving him too much detail. After all, he was who she was running from.

"Why can't you stay?"

She sighed heavily. "We've been over this Thomas. I need something else. I want a better life. I don't want to be in Birmingham forever." It was part of the truth. Really, she couldn't be around the violence, the theft, the gambling, the Peaky Blinders. Tommy.

She winced slightly. "No, I need to do this myself."

"I'll take you places. We can explore the world together, love." He chuckled lightly. "I promise."

Her words seemed to set him off. "Why? Can't I do anything to convince you to stay?"

"No!" She couldn't stop herself before she shrieked out the word. Covering her mouth in shock, she collected herself before speaking again. "I'm leaving, Thomas, and that's that."

"At least tell me why, love." He persisted. His hand reached for Y/N's. He definitely noticed something was wrong when she swiped her hand away. "Is it because of me?"

Yes.

"No, it's not because Of anyone! I just can't be here anymore. Tommy, I want to experience more than this place. I want a better life. We've been over this before, a thousand times." She huffed as she stuffed the rest of the items into her bag. “Please, just leave me to finish this up. I’ll stop by before I leave.” She turned away and waited for him to leave, the door clicking shut behind him.

When Tommy went outside, he spotted a copper doing his usual patrol. He nodded at him, gaining his attention. “I need your assistance.”

“What is it Mr. Shelby?”

He lit a cigarette, looking off into the distance. "Y/N L/N. If she tries to leave, prevent her in whatever way possible. Keep her alive, and inside of Birmingham." Tommy ordered, "by order of the Peaky Blinders. Alright?"

The copper nodded, "Yes Mr. Shelby. I'll make sure to it that everyone knows."

The door of the betting shop slammed shut after being aggressively swung open. Heels clicked angrily against the floor. Tommy didn't even have to lift his head to know who it was.

"You fucking bastard. You told them to keep me here?!" She shouted. Her brows were furrowed and her expression looked full of rage. "You fucking asshole!"

"You wouldn't listen to me." He kept his composure.

"I was leaving because of you!"

The truth shocked him, but he didn't let it show. Instead, Tommy stared at her with a stone facade. "I love you."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I know, Thomas. You've made it clear. You've made it clear for the past five years of our life. But I don't want that. Not for me, I need better."

"Better?" He tsked. "I could give you everything."

"That's the thing, Tommy! You're involved in so much, even being friends with you and your family, I worry for my life. Your morals, they make me wish I didn't feel this way about you. My morals, are what are telling me I can better my life. They are telling me to leave rather than get involved in this kind of life."

"Well, now you can discard those morals. Stay with me. Besides, it's not as though you have much choice." He quirked a brow, referencing the whole reason she was there in the first place.

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned around, clicking back to the door. She stopped in front of it with a pause. "I may love you, Tommy. But even if you make me stay, I will never get involved with you."

"Even if you make me stay..." She turned her head to him. "Not now," she faced the door again, holding onto the handle with a tight grip, "not ever."

[sayafics]

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter IV

This is quite a long chapter (which hopefully makes up for the long wait <3) with lots of fluff and some inappropriate thoughts - I promise so much more Daemon&Alaynha moments in Chapter V, I just wanted to give them something to build a relationship from.

A small change in this is that Viserys doesn't die - at least not yet. Another change is that Rhaenyra also doesn't have a miscarriage yet.

I still plan to stick to the plot-line, but just add in a few extra weeks for some Daemon-Alaynha moments <3 (which I feel so guilty saying but like oops).

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Daemon had bargained plenty that night - the children did not have to stay. Rhaenyra did not have to stay.

But he would.

For Viserys. For his brother.

Of course, such a tale was not far from the truth. His brother was frail - dying, even. The quicker the hours pass, the closer the Reaper drew upon Viserys, awaiting for him to take his last breath.

Daemon had spent years at Rhaenyra's side, he had neglected his duties as a brother and cast Viserys aside. So his words were not all lies and some truth remained.

He would stay in King's Landing until Viserys had recovered or passed. The children could stay at Dragonstone and continue with their lives, and Rhaenyra with them to rear their youngest.

Of course, Rhaenyra was never one to listen and promised to join him after spending a fortnight at Dragonstone and remain by his side until the birth of their child, during which if all went well, their blended family would return to the Keep and claim it as their home once more.

Daemon gritted him teeth at that, frustration swelling within him at the possibility of navigating his countless schemes whilst being interceded by wailing babes and an angered wife.

There was a quiet ache of guilt present, too - knowing how long Rhaenyra had been pining for him because of his deviances as a terrible and power-hungry man all those years ago. For her to finally have all of which she desires, simply for it to be threatened by a kin she did not want - Daemon could sympathise.

But this was not affection he felt, nor lust. Surely it was much simpler. Much easier.

Daemon was curious.

Daemon is a shrewd man - calculating and manipulative, violent and mean. A rogue prince through and through, where all could see his qualities and hold it to the light with assuredness.

But this girl- this princess. So bright and kind and loving. A mask so thick and well-crafted even Daemon had struggled to see the beast that lurked beneath.

It was the darkness that welled up in those pretty eyes of hers, the spark that ached to turn into a raging fire.

It was curiosity, nothing more.

***

When Rhaenyra and the children had left the following morning, he urged them to return to Dragonstone by sea - it was safer with him absent. A worthy excuse for more time.

Rhaenyra had accepted with a quaint smile, a pretentious act at playing a blushing bride - to which he merely mustered a peck upon the cheek in return.

He could see the confusion in her eyes, could see her wonder why her Daemon was changing so quick.

But the truth was his previous marriages had broken him - kept him confined and chained. He allowed himself to become a tamed dragon, and freely handed his reigns over to Rhaenyra for her to wave proudly in show.

He loved her. Of course he did. He loved the girl who rode upon dragon-back to claim a stolen dragon egg, threats of fire and violence spewing from her lips - but even that girl he did not marry.

And yet, before him stood a swollen bride that was a mere echo of the girl he knew all those years ago. A realisation that had haunted him for far too long.

He thought the children would help - hoped they would ignite the dragon fire within him, would give him purpose and life.

Or perhaps they would ignite the fire that had become smothered within Rhaenyra and an ounce of the girl he knew then would return, and he would settle. He would revere and concede and accept.

Daemon felt weightless. Purposeless. Useless.

Pathetic.

***

Daemon suppressed the smirk itching at his lips as he sauntered his way back to his chambers.

His chambers.

The very ones he'd lounged in so many years ago with his wine and his whores, and not the one he had been made to sleep in the last few days.

The Keep was buzzing with life - Lords and Ladies of the Court watched him with sharp gazes, maids and guards were either hesitant to meet his gaze or watched over him with rousing suspicion.

Daemon could barely suppress his grin as he met their stares head-on with raised brows and dark eyes.

There was one thing he had to remember during his stay at the Keep - with Viserys bound to his bed and milk of the poppy poured down his throat in rivulets, he was without any allies in the Keep.

After Strong had burnt to ashes, Daemon was unsure of who led his Gold Cloaks now and was curious as to whether their loyalties had shifted alongside their leadership.

His mongrels were perhaps wastrels instead, eyes begging and hands postulated for any alms in the shape of golden coins.

Although there should be a few loyalists scattered around the Keep - he may not have been well liked, but he was brash and powerful, something that drew people in.

When Daemon returned to his chambers, he searched through his old belongings with renewed vigour. His muscles almost trembled as he pulled out clothing he hadn't seen in so long - too long has he spent in ornate robes and simple tunics. Too long has he gone without the needed release he found in the wiles of a well-earned fight.

Too long.

He stripped with ease, a sense of relief washing over him as the waning material of the tunics Rhaenyra loved so much fell from his scarred skin and he slipped on his leather armour with ease.

With his sword attached at his side, Daemon left his room feeling more like the depraved and nefarious prince he had been all those years ago.

This time he could not help his grin - big and broad and terrifying to all who glanced his way.

This was the rogue prince - no longer was he an ornament for the Heir to parade, no longer was he a dysfunctional and futile man.

No. He was a dragon.

And it was time he returned to the sky and wreaked havoc upon all those who would dare look down on him.

***

Daemon stood under an archway, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold with amusement.

Upon the training grounds, engaged in a vicious bout of training, was none other than his harrowing nephew and sultry niece.

Aegon watched his brother and sister in amusement, an array of cakes and fruits and wines laid upon a table near him as though he had beckoned them solely for the purpose of watching his siblings fight as a form of entertainment. He seated himself at the edge of the training grounds, unable to control his laughter or his brutal glee.

He would jeer when Aemond aimed too close to Alaynha's delicate face, cackle with glee when she would trip the boy and throw food at the pair when they would become so distracted in passing taunts they forgot to exchange blows instead.

Daemon was impressed by the skill of the girl - out-manouvering her brother with ease. She met blow for blow, with just as much force behind her own hits as him. She doged every cut and met every slash with a brutal one of her own.

Not once did an ounce of blood drip to the ground in failure - she was skilled.

But he could not ignore the possibility Aemond had taken it easy upon her - with the weight of his glares from the previous night, the chances of Aemond willingly hurting his younger sister was close to naught.

Still, Daemon could not help but draw comparisons.

His first wife had been handy with a sword, but he had only ever heard rumours. And those rumours did nothing to gain her his favour, as although she was a fine swordswoman, she was dragonless and, therefore, useless in all the ways a Targaryen would require.

His second wife and third were fierce dragon-riders. Unafraid of the fire of a dragon and the heights they could scale.

But even they could not tell apart the hilt of a sword from the scales of a beast.

But here, before him, stood a challenge and a promise. A swordswoman and a dragon-rider.

Daemon could feel himself stiffen within his breeches at the sight of her panting form, the sweat upon her brow as she dodged every deathly blow and sweeped her brother's feet from beneath him.

As Aemond fell to the ground, she kicked his arm with vicious glee and the sword he held flew from his grasp. She aimed her sword at his throat, her own rising and falling with hurried pants as a gasping laugh escaped her in glee.

Aegon leapt up from his chair, loud claps and a boisterous laugh at his brother's fall.

Daemon had expected Aemond to grow angered at the humiliation - to spit insulting words and perhaps even show her just how placative he had been.

Instead, he smiled - and for once he looked like a young boy again, a shadow of the child who had half his sight stolen from him.

Aemond stood up with a proud smirk when she had relinquished her sword, a conceding nod as he praised her, "a fine swordswoman indeed. I see Cole has taught you well, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)."

"Criston has taught me very well indeed, lēkia (brother). I believe if I continue under his wing, kepa will have no choice but to let me join the Gold Cloaks."

Daemon straightened at the mention of the army he had trained as his own, and his body flushed with a pleasant warmth at the idea of Alaynha - so mischievous and small - killing and maiming vile men under the uniform he designed.

It was almost a sign of ownership.

As though she was his - his violent, little dragon.

Almost.

He entertained the prospect of taking over his Gold Cloaks once more - Viserys would accept in a heartbeat.

And if he did, Daemon would pick Alaynha as his protégée in an instant - perhaps he would give her private lessons on the art of mastering the sword, teach her to command the army in High Valyrian simply because such a sight would flood his body in arousal and have her torture men in his name so he could watch her covered in blood, gazing at him with those pleading eyes, begging for his approval.

Fuck.

But he held himself back from his spiralling thoughts - curiosity. This was simply curiosity, he admonished his traiterous thoughts.

He stood straighter, hand reaching down to adjust his hardened cock.

He cleared his throat before stepping away from his hiding space - although it was quite out in the open, he almost grinned when he saw his nephews stiffen at the sight of his approach.

"Kepus," her voice was light and airy, just as surprised as her brothers to see the man still in the Keep when his wife and children had already sailed away.

"You're still here."

"Ah, I am. Although, dare I say Zaldrītsos (little dragon), you almost seem disappointed."

Alaynha rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "of course not. I simply thought you would have sailed to Dragonstone with your wife and children."

"They must miss you dearly," Aemond drew closer as he spoke, "perhaps it is not too late to join them. I am sure your dragon will carry you fast and far."

"Ah, but why would I leave such great company for that of whom I've endured for years already." Daemon raised his brow in challenge, daring Aemond to suggest he leave his homeland once more.

He watched as Alaynha gazed between the two of them, her eyes then turning towards Aegon as she sighed in exasperation.

"Come, sister." Aegon consoled from his place, lounging upon a chair with a cup of wine filled to the brim, "let us flee before they bore us with their barbs and insults instead."

Alaynha snorted quietly, an amused grin upon her face as she rolled her eyes at her brother's antics - "might I suggest a better alternative?"

The brothers and Daemon stared at her in curiosity, "well, it seems our dear uncle is prepared for a fight. What better way to bond with the kin he refused to acknowledge than by sparring with them? Do you not agree, kepus?"

Daemon recalled the girl's words from yesterday, the spite that tainted her words as she rightly accused him of despising her family for their Hightower blood.

They were half-blooded Targaryens, barely dragons in his eyes.

But such things could not be true if he saw such a raging beast exist within her, as she was just as half-blooded as the rest of them.

Just as half-blooded as Rhaenyra's children.

But her birth, alongside that of her brothers and sister, had not been tainted by lies and an unsanctimonious vow.

"Mayhaps you are too scared, nuncle," it was Aegon who spoke with a broad grin, "my brother was trained by Ser Cole himself. You must remember the man - he told us the tale of how he knocked you off your horse. And your feet."

"Aegon," Alaynha lightly scolded the boy but could not hold back her own amused smile at his words - even Aemond had cracked a smirk.

Alaynha's eyes widened at the sound of a deep and rich laugh. She feared they had angered their uncle with their taunts and tales, but it only took a glance into the violent hues of Daemon Targaryen to see them swallowed whole by challenge and delight.

So long it had been since he had experienced such provocation, such defiance. A call of like to like as his blood sang with the call of a dragon.

Perhaps there was a kinship here, long denied by tainted blood and half-whispered promises.

"If my nephew is up for the challenge, I will not be the one to shy away."

Daemon tilted his head towards Aemond in recognition, hand placed upon the hilt of his sword as he awaited his answer.

Aemond, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed swiftly by turning his back to his uncle and making his way to the centre of the training grounds once more.

Daemon smirked at the show of confidence that rolled off the boy in tumultuous waves, but even he could not help the ounce of admiration echoing in his mind - had this been Jace or even Luke, they would have quaked and trembled at his presence.

And yet, here was his brother's child - a second born son, a turbulent fire. Seething and wrathful.

The irony of such a thing did not beget him.

Daemon made his way towards Aemond, but a hand upon his wrist stopped him in his place. He glanced down to the delicate hand anchoring him, eyes travelling up the soft skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from a harrowing sword fight, to meet the gentle eyes of a girl much too complex and secretive for him to decipher her with ease.

"Do take it easy upon him."

Her words were spoken pleadingly, as though this was not her idea. It seemed she could hear the words ringing in his head, and she sighed quietly as she continued, "although he may not admit it, he admires you. Truly so. You told me you wanted to know me. Well, know I love my brothers, and I cannot see them hurt - even in jest."

Now, here was a thing Daemon could empathise with. Here was a thing Daemon saw in himself.

He loved his brother, wholly and true. He would conquer worlds in his brother's name, and cut himself upon his own sword if Viserys had asked.

He knew the love one had for their brother, and he could see it shining in her eyes.

Still, Daemon was never one to let an opportunity to tease and test pass without falter - "and what will you give me in return for such a favour?"

She raised her brow in surprise, as though she couldn't believe he was asking such a thing in exchange for a measly request. Still she rolled her eyes and conceeded, "anything."

And such words were the truth.

"Do not spill a drop of blood, and you shall have anything you ask of me, Daemon."

Daemon.

Daemon.

Fuck, she had called him Daemon.

A descending warmth filled Daemon's body at the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue - so familiar, so tempting, so erotic.

Call me Daemon. Say it again.

He was tempted to speak aloud and beg for it.

But he could see Aemond's impatient form and Aegon's restless agitation - "anything, you say? It seems we have ourselves a bargain, zaldrītsos."

***

If this was what he believed was taking it easy, Daemon would be sorely disappointed when it came to asking for Alaynha's favour.

Although, she did have to say - her brother held his own quite well against the battle-worn soldier they knew Daemon to be. She swore upon the Seven she even heard the boy allow a careless laugh to escape his lips as he lost himself in the flurry of lunges and blows they exchanged.

Alaynha couldn't help the soft smile that stretched upon her lips as she watched the pair. Still, she was on edge - whether it was from distrust, enjoyment, or fervent kinship, their fight grew more brutal.

Less and less were there moments of deflecting and blocking and feinting. Every stab and every slash was made to leave a mark.

And still, in place of tension and worry upon the training grounds, there was a growing fever of gratification bubbling in the air - as though this was the challenge they had been waiting for all this time, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion to relieve themselves of anger and worry and misery.

This is what they had been missing.

And the realisation only made them fight harder.

"Do try and beat him, little brother," called out Aegon from the sidelines. He stood now, leaning against the back of the chair as he spoke out words of encouragement disguised as mocking jeers.

Alaynha sat upon the chair, reaching back to slap Aegon lightly upon the shoulder. He only huffed in her ear instead, "what? I am being encouraging."

"You are being a nuisance."

"Ah," he grinned blearily, "when am I ever not."

She snorted, "when you a too drunk to raise your head and bat your eyes rōva lēkia (big brother)."

"Oh, but a day in the shoes of a forgotten Prince would have you do the same byka rūklon (little flower)."

She smiled sadly, leaning back so her head rested against his arms - "at least you have your wine," she jested.

"And my whores."

His voice lowered an octave, whispering so dramatically in her ears that she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her in a bubbling concession.

Her laugh was bright and loud and echoed across the grounds. So captivating Daemon felt his heart almost stutter to a pause as he raised his sword, ready to meet a vicious blow from his newphew.

His head turned, as though his body had a mind of its own and his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts and ideas and wishes and curiosity.

Just a glimpse.

Just a second.

Instead, he felt his face burn as his sword missed Aemond's by inches, and his hardened slash met Daemon's cheek with vigour.

Daemon hissed, head twisting to the side as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled at the corner of his mouth as a surprised laugh escaped him.

"Aemond!" Alaynha spoke out in admonishment, even Aegon had held his breath for a second.

Daemon tutted, "my mistake, I believe. One should never let their gaze stray from their opponent."

Aemond stared at the man with a gaze so similar to the young boy who had his sight taken from him, almost hesitant to breathe in his presence now.

"Do not tell me you give up now?" Daemon grinned at the boy, eyes simmering with the fire of a dragon, heart beating as adrenaline pumped through him and excitement singed his veins, "come on, nephew. I thought you were better than this."

His words caused a spark to glimmer in Aemond's eyes before a roaring fire was set alight, he raised his sword for another hit, which Daemon met with a fierce one of his own.

Where Aemond parried Daemon's every strike with rigid eloquence, Daemon would meet his with vicious victory - steel clashing against each other as neither was willing to submit.

Alaynha sat straight upon her chair, spine stiffened as her fingers twisted in the material of her own leathers. Aegon's hand came to rest at her shoulder, squeezing in comfort as they watched the two battle out years of anguish and anger upon one another.

Daemon continued thrusting his sword forward, Aemond dancing around him and evading every lunge and throwing back fierce blows as his own sword sliced through the air.

It only took a single second- a breath.

Their swords clashed against one another, and all kindness and civility washed away in face of pure rage and animosity.

Daemon was still Rhaenyra's husband. He still hated the Hightowers. He would rather see Otto and Alicent dead than near the King.

Aemond was a Hightower bastard. A second son only by Otto's manipulations and ploys. He would rather see Rhaenyra dead and sit upon the throne himself.

Teeth gritted and growls escaped their lips as they waited for the other to yield - but neither dared.

A glint of light caught Daemon's attention, and he watched over Aemond's shoulder as Alaynha drew closer in distress.

It seemed Aemond could also hear her approaching footsteps, and the sound caused his eyes to flash and simmer with recognition before the anger, which rolled off of him in flames, settled to a kindling fire as he nodded in ascent.

Almost a show of acknowledgement, a performance of respect.

Daemon smirked, his own head nodding as he reluctantly relieved his sword of the force placed upon it.

They each stood back, shoulders rolling and necks twisting as they came to a stalemate.

Aemond had gotten a blow, had hurt Daemon, and made him bleed. But Daemon had promised to take it easy upon the boy, so truly by what means did the boy succeed.

"You idiots. The lot of you," Alaynha scolded as she reached their side, "what if you had hurt each other? More than you already have."

She glanced between them worried, her eyes falling upon the gash across Daemon's cheek that had crusted and dried but still twinged with pain when his lips stretched into a placating grin - "last I recall, this had been your suggestion."

"Mm, he is right, sister. You cannot fault us for adhering to your orders."

Alaynha's lips parted in disbelief at Aemond's words as she turned to his in faux betrayal, "are you taking his side over mine?"

Aemond smirked at the pout upon her lips, "try as I might, I fear no one holds my loyalties more than you, jorrāelagon mandia."

She hummed, eyeing him in exaggerated suspicion before a grin broke out on her face, "good."

Aegon drew closer upon Aemond's seeing side, clapping his brother on the shoulder and shaking him for good measure, "I believe the Hightowers have won this battle. Do not fret, nuncle. I am sure you will win something, some day."

"Aegon!" She could drag her hands down in exasperation, wondering why her brothers were so desperate to test and mock their uncle until he had enough and unleashed his wrath.

Before she could correct Aegon any further, Daemon drew closer and it did not go unnoticed by anyone how Aegon seemed to shrink behind Aemond, as the younger brother inched in front of the older.

Despite being the younger, one thing was certain - Aemond did not see an heir in Rhaenyra but in his brother and in himself. He may never get the crown, but Aegon could - and Aemond would do all he could to protect the Heir. To protect his brother.

Daemon simply tutted at the action, reaching over Aemond's shoulder to ruffle the shorter boy's hair as he squawked with indignation.

"Do not fault the boy, Zaldrītsos. He only defends his brother's honour - it is what Viserys would have done for me."

Aegon's face heated up at the words, flushing warm as he almost preened under his nuncle's praise, like a child. Perhaps he had already drank too much wine - yes, that must be why.

He escaped his nuncle's petting at the sound of Alaynha's quiet laugh and Aemond's shaking shoulders. He blew a huff of breath so the strands of hair that fell over his face would leave his vision free.

"I am not. I'm just mocking you."

"Ah, of course." Daemon consoled with a teasing grin, words much too enunciated to be well and true, "do forgive me, my Prince."

Aegon rolled his eyes, easily catching on to Daemon's own mocking tone and mumbled under his breath as he stepped away.

Aemond stepped back to follow him, "come sister, we promised mother we would dine with her for supper."

Alaynha hesitated for a moment, a soft frown upon her lips as she gazed at her uncle with gentle eyes. She bit her lip in contemplation, and Daemon found he could not tear his gaze away.

"I shall see you there, I fear Daemon's wound may need some tending."

There it was again, his name - so tantalising, the sound, as it dripped from her tongue.

"Then let the maester deal with him," Aemond spoke in annoyance.

"The maester has much more urgent dealings. It is a simple wound, I shall treat him and join you."

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to protest that if it truly was such a simple wound, Daemon should be able to treat it well himself. But his sister looked at him pleadingly, and he simply pursed his lips and nodded in ascent.

As he turned away, Alaynha hesitated for a second longer before stepping forward and calling out to him - "please let muña know Daemon will be joining us."

She watched Aemond's shoulders stiffen at the order, but knew her brother would never argue with her over such a small and measly thing. He once again nodded his head, waiting for Aegon to swipe his jug of wine before they made their way to their mother's chambers.

Alaynha turned in the opposite direction, only passing a glance over her shoulder to meet Daemon's intense gaze - "come."

***

Daemon sat upon the Princess' bed, his body rigid and tense as he watched her move and gather items scattered across the room.

Whilst Daemon remained in his leathers, she had changed into something much more akin to that of a princess.

Daemon had almost prayed to the Seven to stop his aching thoughts and traiterous body, the temptation to walk behind the dressing screen and see her bare body tremble beneath his gaze.

He had held off long enough, growing hard and stiff beneath his breeches as the dressing screen was almost transparent and gave way to the very shape of the girl hidden behind mounds of fabric.

The gown she wore now was simple, but the material itself was still expensive - a soft satin, perhaps even silk.

As she drew towards him, Daemon couldn't help but part his legs open, ready for her to slot herself between them. She cleared her throat quietly as she stepped in the gap he had made, placing her gathered items next to him upon the bed.

He looked up at her, unable to stop himself from admiring the soft planes of her face, her sharp jaw, her full cheeks, the blush that stained her lips, the eyes that almost gleamed in the light of a setting sun.

When Alaynha peered down to meet his gaze, a damp cloth held in her hand, her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, eyes welling with infatuation.

Curiosity, he corrected.

She blinked vigorously, eyelashes fluttering furiously as her hand almost trembled when she took a hold of his face. Her skin felt soft against his flesh, dragging from his hollowed cheeks to rest upon his angled jaw and tilt his fierce gaze away from her own that was growing timid and shy.

The one holding the damp cloth dipped the fabric in a small bowl of warm water, reaching up to brush softly against his gash. Daemon held back a wince, but she could feel the way his jaw flexed in her grasp as he clenched his teeth in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered into the quiet between them.

"You should be." Daemon had meant to mumble the words quietly, but she had heard them all the same.

She frowned at the silent accusation, "excuse me? I do not need to help you. I could always call the maester if you prefer."

Daemon sighed, eyes closing as he realised he had spoken his words much too loud, "I only meant, I would not have gotten this injury was it not for you."

Her head twisted in confusion, stopping her ministrations of cleaning Daemon's gash so she could tap him lightly upon the cheek to gain his attention.

His eyes opened immediately, meeting her questioning gaze as he let out a breath in a huff of amusement, "if it wasn't for that pretty laugh of yours, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten distracted enough to allow my tempered nephew to land a blow."

Her face flushed deeply at his words, eyes rolling as a scoff spilt past her lips, "all I hear are some silly excuses, kepus."

"If it were up to me, I would lock you in my chambers and leave you there, needy and willing, so you never laugh alongside another man again."

He couldn't help the jealousy that tainted his words, couldn't help but tease and test her boundaries once more.

Her hands trembled in truth now as she picked up a small bowl of ointment, dotting it over the gash with a soft touch.

"You speak out of turn, uncle," but her voice still shook under his burning gaze.

"And you do not speak enough. Perhaps you worry of all the others who have been in my chambers, locked away just as I wish you were."

"Perhaps you grow too confident in your own charms and wiles," she sniped as she rubbed the ointment in with care.

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes never left hers. Even as she collected her balms and ointments, holding them close to her chest, he watched her.

And when she was ready to step away, he held her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught in her throat and he simply waited.

Alaynha knew what he waited for, knew what he sought.

She also knew she could not give him such a thing, not when he was wed to her sister - not when he already had a child on the way.

"I am not one of your whores."

"I would never wish you to be."

His voice was earnest, stubborn.

Curiosity, he justified.

She sighed, her hand resting upon his injured cheek and gently rubbing circles upon his skin as his eyes closed as the sensation, her voice was almost a whisper, "my mother must be waiting for us."

And with that she stepped away, and Daemon's hands fell into his lap.

In that moment, Daemon truly did send a prayer to the Seven and begged them to bless him with morals and strength for even he knew his curiosity was giving way to darker desires he would soon be unable to ignore.

An infatuation grew within him. A simmering and burning and aching infatuation- obsession.

If you guys made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the long read! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story by liking, reblogging, and commenting!! I promise to try and update this series more regularly <3

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[handweavers]

i never talk about it bc it's embarrassing but also bc everything about it is just "you had to be there" but i've been roleplaying with one of my best friends since we were 15 and we come up with these intricate worlds and plots and schemes and political machinations and character arcs and rp them all over text (each text written first person pov with internal monologues and everything) and have done so for literally over a decade now and i have so many oc's from this and some are like. from YEARS long rp's and they're like old friends to me at this point and im always thinking about them but i legit just don't talk about it w anyone other than her bc the whole thing feels so internal and private in a way that's hard to articulate and the characters ive played are so important to me i can't risk telling anyone else about them bc my feelings couldn't handle it if someone was mean about it or didn't "get" it lol. anyway

[kirbyofthestars]

OK SO. ive been a susie lover since i got into kirby bc her story fascinates me and all that and i remember a specific noticeable phenomenon in the kirby fandom which happened i dont even remember how long ago where for a bit she was either HEAVILY villainized and portrayed as this evil scheming monster (while haltmann was entirely shoved to the side) or just got the classic #girlboss treatment and. With the recent resurgence of people pointing out that Maybe Theres A Reason That Happens To Women, there's also been a wave of people violently overcorrecting so they dont have to recognize their own misogyny. My point is, I think this giant wave of apologists who believe she did no wrong & that she wasnt blatantly a colonizer (which white people have a tendency to be terrified of because its one of the many crimes they arent be the victim of) is those same people who are trying so hard to be #progressive because they cannot accept that they can be wrong sometimes. Sorry if this is convoluted but thats what i think might be partially causing it

EXACTLY EXACTLY EXACTLYYYYY. i absolutely adore susie she’s one of my favourite characters in anything ever but the overcorrecting of “actually the game isn’t about racism at all“ and just flat out ignoring the plot and themes of the game and her whole character arc and development is just like. Man I don’t think you guys actually like her

[prof-peach]

Bit ooc but I have a question. How you do go about planing out your PLA comic? Like how do you actually turn your ideas/ storyline into comic form? Is it chapter to chapter or do you have the whole idea already planned out? Trying to find my own way in comic making so I’m just wondering if you could give any advice. Feel free to ignore if you don’t feel comfortable answering

So, at first this was al i could think to send.

because its incredibly accurate to my process.

Jokes aside, a lot of how i work is back and forth chaos, fighting with ideas until im happy with them. I will start with a list (usually not written down because im unhinged and keep a ot of it in my brain) and organise it in a way that makes sense to the situation, in this case workign with a game with an established plot...not that its a very strong one.

with a set of ideas, and a game to work around i will ramble and rant to a few choice people who i bounce well off, and also stare into space for hours on end building the ideas. This process can be days, it can be years. For context, i have some notes from 2019 about things i wanted to include that are still relevant. I have been scheming how to break and rebuild this OC for ages. Theres no correct time frame, so long as you simply do the work.

Once i have a fairly loose plan, i start to solidify the benning and the end. What is required to make a character compelling, what makes them believable, what makes them human in a way that we recognise. this isnt always a positive thing, people like to call characters who do bad things problematic, but its human nature to make mistakes and be damaged or difficult, the process of the story is not always rainbows and sunshine. For me, this hits even harder, as im trying to tell a story from the perspective of someone fundamentally broken, so showing those breaks and cracks has to be done wisely.

This is the point where i make notes about things that need to change from the start to the end. And ill say one thing, this story in particular, I have not solidly planned the middle. I am allowing space for me to come up with new ideas at points. Being locked into a dead set of ideas can be quite limiting, and as creators we consume and process things constantly to generate new stories. Id be a fool to make a plan and stick to it. everything i do is vague guidelines.

However, I know exactly how the story ends in Hisui, and where it goes to from there. And i think me personally knowing the end goal makes it easier to plot steps towards that, and some of those steps are anything but progressive.

If nothing else, the end was the only thing i saw clearly, and it has only become more complex and loaded and emotional as the rest of this has fallen into place. If you can see the goal, you can work out how to get there with time.

Regarding the chapters, i tend to draft plan up like 3-4 of them at a time, and then go in order to sketch out one after the other, so i have plenty of time to change things while i adjust. its constantly a process of seeing what you make, seeing issues, and scrapping whole parts just to redraw something better or new, unique even. I dont think a single page ive posted has resembled the very VERY first draft thumbnail ive made, and thats just how i do. Every panel, how big they are, the angle you hand the viewer, the way you light things, the expressions, this all dictates SO SO much.

Taking time over it is kind of the job, and let me stress, this is normally a job done by a team, especially the highly popular comics. one inks, one colours, one shades, one handles text, one edits, theres so many people behind it, so dont be bothered by the pace at which things are made if youre working alone like i am. One person means longer production times, if you can, spread the workload out, but its not required. Its why i always say it doesnt matter how long it takes to make, so long as youre still making.

I think its also worth noting, comics are consumed quickly, the bakcgournds and small details can be lost in the ace of the storytelling, pick and choosing your battles is wise, save your time on panels where you want the reader to shift along quicker, keep that pace high, and add in more detail and depth to panels you want to champion or get the viewers to hang around on more. its ok to let go of a "perfect" image in favour of getting content out, if youre being driven nuts by it. Again, time be damned, be happy with it. And if you can let go of petty details, id suggest doing it when possible, so long as it doesnt effect the storytelling.

I mean what else can i even say. This work is a passion project, I love it, more than i can even put into words, and i think you kind of have to, to make comics without monetary motivation. sure you can get lucky and find ways to make it big, but for most of us, its the love of the story. So maybe try not to be your biggest hater, its easy to slip into the behaviour, so try be gentle on yourself and the process. I should take that advice myself haha! but i really do mean it. This is HARD work, so be kind to yourself over it.

anyway, with a rough idea, a bunch of sketches, and time, they get inked and fussed over, i make a billion changes to layout and story, and eventually posting can happen but not after fighting with the monster that is creating. Idk what else i can say. This is not work for the feint of heart, but anyone can learn to do it.

Good luck, comic artists can always use it!

[bebackthen]

for a while now i have been greatly inspired by object shows and their community, passion projects from all ends of the spectrum telling stories about characters in a new and fun way! gameshows and competitions and murder mystery! and after months of ruminating i've finally gathered the courage to start my own passion project:

JUMP: a leap of faith is an object show i will be making alongside my friends @thorninyourside05, @zanethepa1n, @momoinkies and @ultraalittlebitofeverything. it will be handling topics of growth, healing, and general real world issues. including moving on from bad situations and learning to heal and grow from trauma.

im making a post to hopefully attract people who would like to help!! i personally can animate and do character designs/backgrounds, and will be voice acting, but id love people who could also help me and my friends in the grand scheme of things! voice actors, artists, animators, even people who just wanna submit ideas! anyone who wants to join the team will have the chance to add their own oc(s) to the story/background, but of course since this is a passion project, it will not be paid with cash (although, id be willing to do art for anyone on the team!) which is why i want people who are also passionate about this sort of thing and want the chance to try their hand at a show!

we are currently working on cast and plot-line right now, among other behind the scenes things!

if you join you can audition for a multitude of roles!! voice acting, background artist, storyboard artist, animator, writer, script writer, character designer, and more ! if you are interested click the link ive attached !!

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 168 spoilers and thoughts that IM NOT LATE WITH FOR ONCE! KIND OF! YAY! and more below the cut

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OKAY. OKAY CAN WE TALK ABOUT THESE TWO PANELS WITH LLOYD AND JAVIER REALLY REALLY QUICK. i would save this for the end of the post since its closer to the end but im super impatient okay what else can i say. LOOK AT THE WAY JAVIER IS LOOKING AT HIM

HE IS LOOKING AT HIM SO DAMN FONDLY. WHAT THE FUCK. THERE IS WARMTH IN THAT GAZE I SWEAR TO GOD IM NOT CRAZY. "you're such a terrible person" AND HES LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THAT. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. crazy. CRAZY.

the adaptor knew what they were doing . i swear it . like "yeah thats MY evil boyf. he's back to being evil and lively and his perfect bastard self." I SWEAR IT I SWEAR IM NOT CRAZY

this is proof of llovier. im so serious dont even joke lads

back to the top!

not much to say here lloyds expression is just so real sobs yeah . yeah,,, older gens having goofy ass back and forths over things that really arent the main issue here is universal

like i dont quite remember what season theyre in now but its past winter by this point and based on the two panels showing the time of day they had to have been arguing about this for AT LEAST FOUR HOURS 😭 LIKE WHAT THE FUCK (idk how accurate that estimate is im notoriously bad at time but still. a long fucking time) these BUFFOONS

also lloyd being dramatic as hell is so fucking silly HAHAHAHAHHAA

AND THEN THE LORDS FUCKING STARING AT HIM WHEN HE BRINGS UP THAT HE HAS AN IDEA. HELPPP all eyes on lloyd now !!! what brilliant idea do u have next thats absolutely totally not secured through lowkey social engineering!

so so SO happy w how confident he looks here heehee :3 whats with the pose tho lol is that a reference? maybe?

anyway they plan to make a train thru the pantara mountains? vantara? pan,,, idk what the correct translation is ive seen vantara and pantara

also lloyd just knowing exactly how to talk to those old ass political lords and understanding how to string them along idk what it is but i really really like that, it makes sense to me personally

i figure that thats probably something suho just Had to pay attention to back in korea, idk how korean politics works exactly but i imagine the principle of "person in charge can make or break a lot of things" still stands

so like it'd make sense that he pays attention to whoevers in charge of the finance stuff, which political figures care about money, and where that money goes, bc if they fuck with the funds for education thatll directly screw him over. idk if korea has financial aid but whatever equivalent that is that allows suho to get scholarships n stuff so he can stay afloat, if someone comes into power that will negatively affect his odds of getting that funding, he'll need to know and prepare! though maybe this is reaching a little too deep it might not be That Serious lmfao

again i really like how many of these confident / plotting expressions have been showing up IM SOO SO SO HAPPYYYY my schemer my little scheming guy he's BACK HES BACK

the two of them also look really really nice here in these two panels for some reason. i think im going crazy. i dont know why i like these panels its just. !??!?!?!?!??! like javiers hair is completely messy but idk i just ?!?!?!?!? im completely aro so its not like an attraction or anything but idk!?!??!?!?!

finally our first look at the overworld demons!!! these two kiddos seem super cute i really hope they dont . misunderstand or anything and that lloyd and javier can have some fun and heartwarming moments with them,,,, more sillies and soft fluff please!!!!! thats all i ask!!!!

okay that's all! not much to say this episode is just really really cozy to me. ok well as cozy as "lloyd frontera making evil expressions" can get LMFAO it feels like build up into the next section and im really excited to see what he's gonna do with this train idea and with the overworld demons...!!!!!

there was a notice at the end of the ep that the artist is taking a small break for their health so no ep next week, but there'll be one the week after i believe. we must be patient!!! rest well artist!!!!

that's it ill see yall in. two weeks? ill probably have some other yap post for the hiatus week idk, it depends on how my schoolwork goes. see yall then!!!!