#let it die in the void coward

[dinitride-art]

Some Thoughts I Have on Queer Stories (Currently)

Okay so with heartstopper and red white and royal blue and good omens we’ve got a lot of gay content right now. And that’s good! That’s lovely! However… (also note that I love and cherish the many aspects of good omens that explore identity and the idea of angels/demons/god and their relationships with gender/concept of it and the many queer characters- and i love that very much and feel very seen in a way that I don’t know if I’ve been able to have in a piece of media before- but my point in this post is going to hinge on aziraphale and Crowley within the story being for the most part what we consider male presenting and perceived for the most part as male presenting. Just to make this clear now. This is not a criticism of any of these media, I’m just pointing something out that I’ve noticed. Now that that’s out of the way- back to the post!)

… the main queer aspects of these media are about queer men (you see why I had to write the good omens disclaimer paragraph). Don’t get me wrong! I love stories about all queer identities and I certainly don’t want less of one story and more of another. I just want to talk about how the current popularity and visible amount of stories about queer men contrasts pretty much every story not about queer men. It’s great that there are so many stories now and especially that these stories (especially good omens and heartstopper- in different ways but no less meaningful) have other queer characters in them and are telling smaller stories about other queer identities within them, but the fact of the matter is that a lot of popular queer stories centre around queer men. That might just be where we are right now but I think that’s all the more reason to think about it.

Media that is about queer men seems to have the ability to build large fandoms and get very popular. It’s not overly hard to find stories about queer men if you check the tumblr trending tab every couple of weeks (or days if we’re thinking about the past few weeks). I heard about Red White and Royal Blue when it was a novel, from a couple different tumblr posts. Even books can get really popular. I also remember going into bookstores and when I was looking for queer stories most of them were about queer men. It was rare to find books about queer women and nearly impossible to find a book that had anything to do with gender in it, and while I haven’t been in a bookstore and sifted through as many books as possible in a while I believe it’s become slightly easier to find stories about queer women and… honestly I have zero hope for any other queer identity when I walk into a bookstore. That’s of course based off of where I live and my own personal bookstore experiences but I honestly don’t have much else to base it on. I honestly think I’ve only read one book that was explicitly about a non-binary character in my life. Are there more books about non-binary people? Yes of course there are but I have not been able to find them easily nor have they been uplifted to the same heights as the stories of queer men have been.

Books I’ve found are far better than film and tv for queer stories. Things like The Locked Tomb series and other stories with sapphic protagonists have come up on my radar but still less than stories about queer men. This is a pattern I’ve been noticing for a while now and it’s a pattern that’s been going on for a while now. At least in my lifetime (which really hasn’t been that long but again, I don’t have anything else to base this off but myself and my measly nineteen years of being alive and about eight years of actively looking for queer stories) this has been the pattern. I’ve read a lot of stories about queer men. They were very important to me. A lot of them were the first place I was able to see queer people and I’ll always love them for giving me a chance to see people like me in them, even if they didn’t have me specifically, those stories were and are endlessly meaningful. Most of the stories I’ve read and shows I’ve watched that are about queer people are about queer men. Those are the stories that people talk about and those are the stories that are popular and loved and respected enough to have more than one season. I don’t know if we’re there yet (or it it matters that we aren’t) but I know that I want more than that. And I think that’s enough for me to think that we should have more than that.

There are a lot of different queer people. There are more stories that can be told than can probably be read in a single lifetime. There’s queer history and there’s also the history of the entire world and the cultural importance of differences in gender and sexuality. A lot of that has been lost and buried and hidden away and destroyed. Everything is very large and very old. What we consider queer has always existed in some form and the current state of the world and different places is only a single point in time. But… we don’t live for thousands of years and we only exist in this point in time. At this point in time media about queer men is held just a bit higher than other media about other queer people. It’s far more complicated than that but that’s what I’ve seen in the simplest way I can explain. It’s not a bad thing that these stories are being written and seen, of course it’s not a bad thing, but it’s the difference between media about queer men and everyone else that seems worth contemplating.

[winterzsurprise]

Playing with fire || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x f!reader

Summary: After risking your life to save one spider, Miguel had enough and decided it was time to discipline you.

Tags: SMUT, NOT BETA READ, face slapping (M&F), brat! reader, spanking, very brief blowjob, gagging, Miguel has a big dick, overstimulation (?), multiple orgasm denial, rough sex, pussy slapping, unprotected sex, pain kink, some aftercare at the end.

Words: 2.8k

idk how Tumblr works as well but user @/octobersoot said something about reader being a brat to Miguel and I had to revamp this one idea lol. I hope this counts as reader being a brat.

Spanish speakers, do correct me with the last one in the translation, thank you in advance :DD

cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || coño - fuck (literally means cunt but google said it can also be used as like 'fuck!' or 'shit!' in English)

"NO DON'T!"

When you ripped yourself from Miguel's hands and jumped down into the black hole to catch the Spider-Man that fell into it, you had two thoughts.

If you die, Miguel would pull you from hell to kill you.

If you lived, Miguel would make sure you'd regret it.

As the void approaches, you latched onto one falling debris and leaped out to get closer to the guy whose wrist’s flicked to release some webs for you to catch on but you ignored it. You’ve seen how using webs to catch someone goes and it didn’t end well, you’re not about to make the same mistakes.

Reaching out to grab the falling Peter's hand, you webbed to the nearest stable item you could before feeling Miguel’s webs wrap around your waist. The momentary fear and adrenaline from saving the spider drained out of your skin almost immediately. Hearing the angry man barking orders above you, you prayed early for your soul.

You're not religious but you'd certainly need a diety's kind soul to take pity on you today once you’re left behind doors with Miguel alone.

"AY COÑO, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! DID YOU GET YOUR HEAD HIT SOMEWHERE??"

You grunted, tugging President Spidey with you. "Just pull us up!"

"I should let go of you for being so stupid!"

"Then fucking do it coward!"

Despite his comments, it took one tug from Miguel to pull you and President Spider-Man to a safe spot on a building they were resting at to watch the consequences of altering canon events. The anger radiating out of his body would be enough to trigger your senses, his glare searing a hole through your skull.

Looking up sheepishly, Miguel’s face was contorted into subdued rage. The absolute fury lashing in his dark red eyes made your heart drop to the soles of your feet.

You're absolutely fucked and you don't know if you regret it or not.

On one hand, he's going to murder you and split your body into pieces to feed the kraken version of Doc Ock. But on the other, he's unfathomably hot when he's glaring through your flesh and soul.

How could he be so alluring while plotting your murder? You have no idea.

"We're going to have a talk." His darkened voice made your spine tingle, you nod and turned to run towards Hobi but the firm hand on your shoulder halts you. "Don't move, I'll break your knees if you do."

President Spider-Man shrunk beside you, more intimidated by the threat directed towards you than you do. 

"Is that a threat, boss?"

"No cariño, it's a promise."

Leaping down to greet the quarantine squad, he left the two of you on the rooftops. President Spidey turned to you, worried to the nines for your soul.

"D-do you need to universe hop? You're free to hide at mine, since it's my fault you're gonna get grinded later."

You laughed, slapping him in the back to which he wheezed at. "Don't worry, he won't bite."

•=•=•=•=•=•

Despite your shit attempt of comforting President Spider-Man, he didn't leave your side, ready to jump in front of you if Miguel happens to snap in the middle of the journey back to HQ. Hobie however, attempted to pry him off of your side with an amused smile.

“Have you realized how fucked you are?”

President Spidey hushed him, to which the man raised an eyebrow at. “Don’t say that.”

When you all entered the office, Miguel halted and you all followed. There’s a buzz in the back of your head and a glance at the nervous wreck beside you tells you that he felt it too.

"Everyone except my wife, leave."

President Spidey almost spoke up, probably to request to stay next to you until Hobie swung his arms around his neck and pulled him out, but not before saluting to you.

"I'll burn the ministry in your honor."

His voice echoed in the dimly lit room until the hatch closed shut, isolating you and your husband from the outside world until further notice. You watch as a yellow holographic lady materializes over his shoulder, Layla whose gaze immediately met yours.

"Layla, make sure no one tries to enter my office until I say so. Go hang out with Spiderbyte in the meantime."

"Don't break the poor girl, she didn't do—"

"I don't want to hear it. Leave." 

Sparing you a pitiful smile, she dispersed into the air. With no hatch to escape to, nor any obstacles to run behind, you were left standing a few footsteps away from the man.

"I thought we had an agreement to keep ourselves safe during missions?"

There was a simmering anger hidden behind his words, tone almost dark and bitten back.

"I was safe, you just need to place a little faith on—"

"The last time I did that, the people I cared about died." 

You wanted to defend yourself, bring up being safer since you're Spider-Man and all that but you knew it wouldn't end well. Seeing the seething anger radiating off of him, that's the best course of action.

Hanging your head down with a sigh. "Alright, I'm sorry."

"Sorry's not gonna cut it this time, cariño. I think I have to drill it into you."

Your brain clicks, realizing what he said and you frown. "Fucking is not gonna help us right now, Miguel!"

"Well I don't see you complaining every time it happens, do I? If I recall, you've begged, cried and screamed my name again and—"

Your hand moved faster than your brain as you slapped the man. You gasped, bringing both hands up to your mouth as you watched him go silent.

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No no no, I see how it is."

You waited for his next move with bated breath, goosebumps prickling your skin. You debated on taking a few steps back but before you could, he surged with his hands grabbing your neck and slamming you on the wall, stealing the breath from your lungs and you gasped.

“You know the words, mi vida?”

You curled your eyebrows at him. Does he mean your safeword?

“F-fucking get your hands off of me, let's talk."

The light slap on your cheeks shocked you, mouth falling ajar at the action. You couldn’t deny the fact that the sting left by his hand has stirred your desires awake, nor can you even dare to mention how breathless—figuratively and literally—he left you. 

Miguel observed your eyes, cautious of any hurt flashing in them before putting more pressure on the side of your throat and you greedily inhaled more air as much as you could. Dark spots crawl from the side of your vision and fear starts to claw at your heart.

Yet the uncomfortable slickness and ache between your thighs says otherwise.

"Your words."

"I'm not using them!"

The grin curling his lips sent shivers down your spine, doom looming over you.

"Good."

Before you could say anything, he released your throat and you fell to the floor, inhaling greedily for air as your vision slowly repairs itself.

"I've been wanting to tame that mouth of yours since earlier."

You coughed, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "R-really? I thought you liked that about me?"

"Oh really? I thought I said I only liked your mouth, not your voice."

Grabbing your jaw, he forced you to look up before pushing two of his fingers through your lips, pressing down on your tongue as his suit disintegrated to reveal his formal clothes. Miguel's hand threads through your hair, caressing the back of your head before tugging. With a wicked grin, he continued.

"Strip."

It was a command, not a request. The low timbre of his voice sends jolts of pleasure down your spine. Following his heeds like a hypnotized woman, you made quick work of your clothes, tossing them to the side and unshackling your web shooters.

Reaching up, you unbuttoned his pants and took care of his fly before shrugging the clothing down his thighs. The tent in his boxers sent shivers down your spine, a promise of pleasure behind its confines.

Pulling it down, his girth revealed itself to you and your tongue grew heavy inside your mouth, a few dribbles of pre-cum on the tip and the prominent veins giving it an illusion of being larger than it already is. Miguel pulled you closer making you kiss the base of his dick.

"What a sinful face you have, cariño. I'm starting to like this more."

He guided his length to your mouth, smearing his clear arousal on the plush of your lips making you open up only for his hand to come down harshly against your cheeks once more.

The sharp sting immediately melts into hot arousal pooling down your thighs.

"Do you really think you deserve me, mi cielo? After speaking back to me earlier?"

"I want it, please?"

He scoffed. "'Want' it? Do you think you own me? That's funny."

His webs embraced you and he pulled, making you stumble to the floor with a yelp. Being bound tightly by Miguel who towered over you with sadistic glee and glowering eyes, made you feel small all over.

Yet the sick bastard at the back of your head smiled an ugly grin.

"How about we try it again? Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll give you what you wanted."

He pulled you back to a standing position, his hand immediately locking onto your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his dilated and darkened red pairs that seemed to tempt you to drown yourself in them.

Your eyes fell to the hand pumping himself leisurely and groaned.

"Please? Darling, I want to taste you."

"Do you deserve it?"

"I'm more of an action type of person than a talker."

He said nothing, watching as you fall back to your knees before tapping the head of his cock onto your lips. Once your mouth opened, his hand on your jaw crawled to the back of your head and pushed.

The sudden and wide intrusion down your throat got you gagging yet Miguel only found pleasure from the throb of your muscles constricting around him. 

You remind yourself to breathe through your nose, trying to force yourself through it but your throat complains and you knew you couldn't take it. Slapping his thighs thrice, he pulled away immediately, clicking his tongue while you coughed and gasped for air.

"Bold talk. I knew your mouth wasn't fit for speaking at all. Such a shame it can't do anything at all."

Still focused on the throb in your throat, you weren't able to react fast enough when he pulled you flush to his chest by the web and carried you to the platform where a cushioned chair awaits.

He sat and you ended up on his lap with both his calloused hands grounding you by the shoulder and hips. Miguel's burning eyes roamed the expanse of your chest, one hand rising to trace his gaze with his fingertips and pinching the stiffened peaks of your mounds making you moan from the slightest touch.

"Maybe your pussy could do a better job."

The hand soon crept around your neck with his eyes where it pressed against its sides once more.

It was maddening how you could feel his hardness pressing against your folds yet unable to do much about it. The firm hand on your hips prevents you from grinding down on him. He does reach down to your clit, palming your engorged bead but before you could revel in it, he pulled away.

"Did those slaps get you this wet baby? Didn't know you're such a slut."

Your cheeks lights up and you slapped his cheek lightly for the name he called you, only for Miguel to return it harder.

"You don't get to slap me, slut. The only thing you're for is this pussy."

A wet slap resonated in the room and you cried, thighs closing from the impact on your heat, embarrassment burning your body before shame crawled up your throat as you realized his demeaning behavior seems to only goad you further.

He didn't give you a chance to prepare when he pushed his cockhead into you. Tears brimmed in your eyes as the burn of the stretch stung your veins and stirred your desire further. Every inch inserted tore you apart, the sensation a mixture of heaven and hell, it was delicious as it was painful.

Seeing the struggle in your face, Miguel reached down to roll your clit in slow circles, whispering affirmations into your ears. The moment he sensed your accommodation to his girth did he pull out till his head remained, angling his hips before inserting himself back again to hit the spongy spot on your walls.

You whimpered and moaned in his shoulder as his pace grew with a manic fervor. The pain slowly transitioned into pleasure with the frequency of his thrusts, your nails dug into his shoulder as he pushed himself deeper and deeper into you, narrowly missing your uterus as he pistoned into you.

Mind whirled in ecstasy and lightness brought by his fingers on your throat, you only grabbed onto him for dear life as he quickly dragged you to the edge. 

Feeling the familiar pulse and tightness of your walls around him, Miguel suddenly pulled away and you cried.

"Why did you pull away?"

His hand came down with a loud crack! as it collides with the globes of your ass in quick successions. Your hips twists as you clenched desperately on air. Desire clawed at your throat and you whimpered, body already missing the rush of pleasure he brought with every push.

“Do you think you deserve it, mi vida?”

You nodded and he chuckled darkly. “I don’t think you do.”

Despite his words, Miguel entered you once more, picking up his previous pace. Your previous orgasms arose, walls clamping down onto him, desperate for the release you craved so deeply. There's a wet sound echoing in the room along and you flushed deeper yet far too desperate for euphoria to care. 

His deft fingers found your clit with experienced accuracy and slapped it with every thrust of his hips. 

You shouldn't be enjoying every bit of pain yet here you were, moaning and wriggling your hips for more stimulation like a mad woman.

"My cariño's such a slut taking all of this pain like the whore she is. Bet you liked that spider guy huh? Jumping off like a fool to save a dick, so pathetic."

Miguel pulled away and you cried, the itch of dissatisfaction searing through your body. You clawed at his back as if the pain could threaten him, in response, Miguel swats your rear once more.

"A little slut like you doesn't deserve to cum. After that stupid stunt earlier? Do you think you deserve to come?"

"Yes yes yes."

He slapped you across the face but you could care less, whining.

"Stop being a dick and give it to me, please!"

Clicking his tongue. "Such a desperate slut, I'd slap you for that, but I'm feeling a bit generous."

It was his fingers that attacked you this time, deftly rubbing your clit. Your hips stuttered up to follow his hand.

“Might as well count how many, right?”

Your mind grows lighter as time bleeds against each other. His objections to your orgasms grew frequent as the intervals between your nirvana grew shorter, you have lost count of how many he has denied you and has long stopped doing so, body now laid motionlessly on top of his as you sobbed onto his shoulder from frustration.

Miguel didn't care, in fact, he reveled in your misery every time. 

His hips pistoned faster, tip almost always nudging your spot with every thrust as his lips caught yours in a weakened dance, there was a shift in the air and you knew he had finally relented on dragging it out. 

"Come for me, darling. I want it all, give it to me."

The pleasure that bursted in your veins wasn't like the others from before. The ecstasy woke every nerve ending in your body alight, limbs growing weightless from the shock of pleasure from your orgasm as electric shocks reverberated from your core and to the tip of your fingers.

Your thighs convulsed violently and you screamed, arousal squirting to drench his stomach. Miguel's arms curled around you protectively as you shivered, whispering hushed affirmations in your ears while the impact of a long-denied orgasm shattered you.

"You did so well for me, mi vida. I’m here, no more of that."

Miguel soaked in your every moans and sobs as he murmured something you couldn't catch, mind far too foggy to process.

You didn't even realize that he didn't came, focused solely on comforting you through your high.

His racing heartbeat matched the pace of the throb in your head, you could hear your breathing echo in your ears yet in the state of exhaustion, you found it calming, melodic even. Miguel’s fingers that gave and tore your pleasure away now caressed the back of your head, gently as if you’ll break apart.

You could make out his chapped lips pressing kisses onto your temple as exhaustion won over your body, eyes falling shut with the melodic rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

[doverstar]

THERE WAS NO OTHER ENDING FOR ROSE and ya know what, I like to think the doctor thinks so too

I think he does too! I’m gonna talk about it, are you ready for me to talk about it? Are you ready for an essay-

I think the Doctor would agree that the ending Rose got—the one with Tentoo on Pete’s World—was the best possible fate for her. I’ll explain why, because I feel like it. First I’ll break down Rose’s most popular alternative-endings. Let’s start with Rose-stays-with-him-until-she-dies. That’s the one Rose decided on long before Canary Wharf. She planned on staying with the Time Lord until she physically couldn’t anymore. Forever.

First of all, that would be painful for the Doctor. He already said it. Watching Rose get shot, drowned, stabbed, sucked into a black hole, sacrificed for a remote planet’s civilization, poisoned, pulled into a void, atomized, eaten, possessed, run over, diseased, or ripped apart would be traumatic and terrible for the Doctor.

Watching Rose grow old and tired and then die would also be incredibly painful. He might try to prolong her life in alien ways, even in medical ways, but then she’s subjected to an unnatural, un-human existence until death claims her. Making a naturally-decaying body stick around and eke out another year, another hour, another century while he watches, exactly the same as ever. Yikes. Not fun for either of them. No thank you. He was against that ending with good reason.

Now, this ending where Rose stays with him until she dies? It is no less an emotional commitment to make than the one every married couple on Earth, every affectionate relationship on Earth, makes. Friends, family, spouses. You will lose them. You have to decide to love them knowing that.

The Doctor does love Rose, but he can’t tell her or admit it aloud because to do that would be facing a reality he’s not willing to face: he loves something he will inevitably lose. The old coward will not do it.

I believe that if Rose wanted to stay with him until she died, knowing she has a shorter lifespan but committing to holding his hand until she could not hold it anymore because he needs that and she can give it to him, and she knows he loves her back—100% yes girl, go for it. That is good and right and fine and she should be allowed to make that commitment. That’s love. That’s literal marriage vows. That’s unconditional, unwavering, and Rose is the first companion in 60 years of TARDIS passengers to love him like that. And he knows it. And it’s scary. But. Even in marriage, that is a commitment that has to be agreed upon by both parties. And the Doctor did not agree. The Doctor, selfish old man, is too afraid. He doesn’t want to watch Rose die, and he tried to explain that to her without confessing anything, and she heard him and tried to explain to him that she decided he would always have her if she had anything to say about it, not for her sake, but for his. (“Who’s gonna hold his hand now?” “I made my choice a long time ago and I’m never gonna leave you.” “Forever.”)

Now. That’s the first option for an alternate ending for Rose. She stays with him as a mortal and he has to watch her die, and they either dance around expressing their love in an unspoken, inexplicit way until he loses her and it’s agony, or they jump in with both feet and enjoy the time they have left, however many days Rose has before death, with the knowledge and understanding that he will outlive her, which is agony but with kissing. Still not 100% happy because one of them is, well, in agony. With a significantly long life stretched out ahead of him to spend as a widower. And it would fundamentally change the nature of a 60-year-old television show, but that’s another Ask for another time. Next is the Immortal!Rose AU, or the Bad Wolf AU. Personally, I don’t care for this AU (though I get the appeal and I do sometimes wish it could be that way). I used to think it was a good idea, and sometimes it's still sweet and I can see it, but the older I got, the more I disagreed with it. Because really, it doesn’t work. The AU’s idea—or its most popular explanation—is that Rose, by absorbing the Time Vortex and looking into the heart of the TARDIS in The Parting of the Ways, retained one slice of her godlike powers: she became immortal. Even after the Doctor kissed her and took the Vortex away to save her. The most-used version of this is that neither Rose nor the Doctor are aware that Rose was left with immortality until Tentoo ages and she doesn’t, or her family ages and she doesn’t.

The reason why I don’t think the Doctor would ultimately want this ending for Rose? The Doctor himself would not recommend immortality. He knows it’s ultimately a devastating existence. He himself has a ridiculously-long lifespan. Time Lords are supposed to only have a certain number of regenerations, but each regeneration, if left to age naturally, lives a long freaking time. (With the new Timeless Child nonsense, who knows, apparently the Doctor exclusively is immortal? I pretend I do not see it.) And then if they should die of old age, they regenerate and another chapter of life begins. So the Doctor knows what it’s like to essentially be immortal. And he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like watching his friends die around him. He doesn’t like knowing he will outlive the people and places he cares about. He hates it. “Immortality is everybody else dying.” “In the end you just get tired. Tired of the struggle. Tired of losing everyone that matters to you, tired of watching everything turn to dust.” That last line, the Lazarus speech, sounds familiar because it’s something similar, interestingly, to what Rose said when she was the Bad Wolf. “Everything comes to dust.” Immortality is not a blessing. Immortality is absolutely a curse, and the show treats it like a curse. It’s not just never dying. Immortality is being alone and being unnatural. It’s bad. It’s not a good thing. If you were a 100% perfect person with a 100% perfect memory, it might be doable, but it’s not an easy existence. It sounds awful actually. We saw it with Ashildr (terrible idea). She’s miserable. She never really stops being miserable. Think about this: the Doctor is (kind of) immortal. He never stays in one place for too long, and he is careful to bring along far more mortal traveling companions wherever he goes. The Doctor once told Amy that he brought her with him because he can’t “see it” anymore (meaning the universe and its value), but he brings Amy and others with him because they can see it. “And when you see it, I see it.” What is everyone always telling him? Don’t travel alone. Not because he’s lonely—even though he totally is. It’s because when he is alone, the Doctor becomes a hazard, not a help. He starts to feel like he can do whatever he wants. I mean, think about it. He starts to feel like his judgement is infallible, because he’s basically a god, isn’t he? But no one should have that much power. It takes a lot to kill him, he’s a genius, and he has a time-and-space machine. What can’t he do? After a long, long, long time of living and being alone, essentially in an echo chamber with himself, the Doctor would lose empathy and compassion and humility just like anyone else. Because he’s not perfect. But he brings friends along to remind him he can stop now. To remind him we don’t walk away. To remind him that the universe has life in it that is worth saving, and that there is such a thing as right and wrong, and that he is not God, and that there is no such thing as little people. 900 years of time and space and he’s never met anybody who wasn’t important before. He needs his friends to hold him to the mark.

So—the Doctor knows that being immortal basically means that in the end you’ll see everything come to dust. If you’re not careful, you won’t be you anymore. And nothing and no one else will be themselves to you, either. You will lose the people/places you care about, and you will be alone, and you will stop caring. And then not only will you be wretched, you’ll be dangerous. Someone who doesn’t care is dangerous. It’s Ted Bundy. It’s evil. But it’s okay, I hear you saying. If they had each other, he would always have someone to hold him to the mark! Well - yes and then no - Think about Rose. Rose Tyler is a young human woman with so much empathy and sympathy. She is “so human”, in the Doctor’s own words. She is imperfect, and selfish, and petty, and easily angry and easily jealous. She is also impossibly compassionate, even towards the most ruthless murderous species. She’s kind and generous and brave and has a strong sense of justice. She’s often very selfless and very loving. Especially toward the Doctor. She values doing the right thing. A lot of those traits are found in the Doctor’s other friends (he chooses them with great care). But Rose is different. The Doctor is in love with Rose. And Rose is a lot of ‘firsts’ for Doctor Who. She’s the first companion to inspire change in a Dalek. She’s the first companion to tell him she’s in love with him. (Jo loved him, Sarah Jane loved him, Grace loved him, yes I know there were others.) She’s the first companion to be a real, proper onscreen equal to the Doctor, and not in a She’s Basically the Doctor But A Girl way, like Clara Oswald tried to be. She is not his assistant, his carer, his associate, his sidekick, his adoptive daughter, adoptive little sister, biological granddaughter, or his partner. Not to be Emily Bronte, but these two characters have the same heart. Like recognized like and fell in love. Perfect complementation. That is also another Ask for another time –

RTD said that Rose “humans [the Doctor] and he Time Lords her”. He brings out the courage and confidence in her that makes her so exceptional as a human, things that turn her into a hero, things she already had in her that the Doctor pulled forward. In turn, she brings out the compassion and humility in him that makes him a hero instead of a villain, things he always had in him that she pulled forward, adding humanity which would otherwise be easy for him to cast off.

But she can’t human him if she isn’t human anymore.

The things that make Rose an exceptional mortal would no longer be exceptional if she were immortal. The good traits would be a duty to retain, and the bad traits would be a poison to keep at bay. Because Rose is on a different level when it comes to her relationship with the Doctor, she could, for a time, help hold him to the mark. They would be exactly as we saw them in the show—passing by, helping out, saving the day, loving one another, making one another better. And then after eons go by, they would be each other’s echo chamber. Rose is the Doctor’s equal? Given eternity to stagnate in, what was once a strength would quickly become a weakness. Rose is not perfect and the Doctor is not perfect. Rose would not always be able to “see it” anymore either, even with the Doctor there. Same goes for him. They might be together forever, but Rose would be watching her mother, father, brother, friends, and family all age and die. She would hate that. But it would be okay because she has the Doctor, right? I agree with that. They have one another. So they’re never alone. That’s good. But Rose would not be a Time Lord. She’d be an immortal human. Ashildr 2.0, finite memory in an infinite body. She’d become detached, unable to appreciate the universe, and she’d stop investing in mortal relationships because they all end eventually. All she’d have would be the Doctor—and that’s wonderful, but after a while it would stop being a special thing that they have one another. Don’t look at me like that; it would. Okay, no – no - even if the Bad Wolf powers allowed Rose to have an infinite memory to go with her infinite body, fine, let’s say they did, she and the Doctor would still end up with “a backyard” as Eleven called it.

And eventually they would both think that the two of them, together, have the best judgement in the universe and should be treated as gods, and they will stop caring (except about each other, which doesn’t sound good for all the little people who are not part of that relationship, can you say unhealthy?). Or else they will become enemies, the way the Master and the Doctor became enemies. Or they won’t be able to travel with one another indefinitely, the way Ashildr, the Rani, River, Clara, and Romana can’t travel with the Doctor indefinitely. Because it would become toxic for everyone. And they would be back to being miserable, wouldn’t they?

(And – again -  let me finish beating this tiny horse here: if you think Rose Tyler would heal fairly quickly - say, ten centuries in - and warm up to the reality that she has outlived other humans because she is really no longer human, we aren’t thinking of the same Rose Tyler.)

The Doctor would not wish the curse of the Time Lords on anybody, especially not the woman he loves. He would not agree that immortality is the happiest ending for Rose, or even for himself and Rose. There’s a very real chance that immortality would ruin Rose. He wouldn’t do that to her. He loves her.

And here we go, here’s my freaking point - The Doctor loves Rose. So he would give her what she wants, even if it means sacrificing what he wants. Putting her needs before his own. That’s love. She knows that; she was trying to do that for him the whole time!

But what does Rose want? Adventure in the great wide somewhere? No. Rose wants love. Rose wants the assurance of real, true love. Rose wants to love and be loved. And when she finds that, she is darn good at it, and she will do her best to keep it. AND THAT IS ANOTHER ASK FOR ANOTHER TIME, HOOOO BOY DON’T POKE ME- The Doctor cannot give Rose what she wants using himself, or even the thing that will make him happy too, for a time—because to outlive her would be absolutely terrible, and they both know it, and because he will not put her through the curse of immortality. (She doesn’t want to live forever anyway.)

But he can give her what she wants in the form of Tentoo. Are you kidding me? A 100% exact copy of the Doctor? The same face, same mannerisms, same hair? All the memories of loving her and longing for her in his head? And he only has one heart? He’ll grow old at the same time as Rose does? Plus, hi, he actually was born in mini wartime and needs the very influence Rose provided for his ninth self? Come on. What else was he going to do? Of course the Doctor and Tentoo gave her this chance. When Rose asks him “What was the last thing you said to me?” The Doctor could have said “I love you”. He was going to say it. It is canon that he was going to say that he loved her if the connection hadn’t been severed the first time. And for him to say it then, they both knew, would have been all Rose needed to hear. She would have gone with him and Donna and died. Or gone with him and Donna and become immortal somehow, hey I hear there are these random Mire repair kits kicking around out there in the universe, they make people immortal, funny we never saw them before now, I hate you Moffat- But he didn’t say it. He said “I said ‘Rose Tyler’.” And she gives him one more chance to say it. “How was that sentence gonna end?” “Does it need saying?” Well, no, it doesn’t. We’re not asking you to confirm it. She’s not asking you to confirm it. It never needed saying. You both knew it was love. We knew it was love. A hundred times over, it was love on display.

But she is asking him to make a choice—and he chooses to let her go because he loves her.

It’s not a question of love. They give each other a chance, both of them. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Rose had no choice. She asked both of those Doctors to tell her they loved her, and she chose the one that said it out loud, after learning her options. She learned one of them would grow old and was offering to spend forever with her if she wanted. She learned that one of them was genuinely choosing not to say he loved her on purpose.  She made an informed decision. (Yes, she ran after the TARDIS when it left. Wouldn’t you?) The Doctor would agree that Tentoo is the best ending for Rose. Tentoo would agree (because he is the Doctor, and bonus, he gets to have Rose Tyler). Because this, this ending where she gets Tentoo, which is our fancy term for differentiating between two versions of exactly the same man, don’t go there with me-

This ending where she gets Tentoo is genuinely what she always wanted. She didn’t want to live forever. She didn’t want a boring life, but she didn’t desperately want adventure over all else. She wanted love. That’s an adventure anyway. Love. And she loved the Doctor. And she got to have the Doctor, and not lose him, or watch him lose her. And the Doctor, our full Time Lord Doctor, had the assurance of knowing that he did the best he could do for the woman he loved.

(Plus, because yes please, in an official deleted scene which has been confirmed to be intended as canon, Tentoo and Rose have a chunk of TARDIS coral and are growing their own, so they get to see the universe too, so you can’t even complain that all is not as it should be in that sense.) It is sad, because the full Time Lord has to carry on without her (that’s how the story always goes for him, and it should be because without loving and losing, an immortal alien will not have the periodic wake-up call he needs to remember that there is value in people and in relationships and in caring), and it’s sad because Rose won’t see him again, and it’s sad because we won’t really see Rose again. But for her, it is the best ending. It is the kindest, fairest ending. And I think the Doctor would agree.

[femoso-seben]

Blind Love

Medusa Soap x Hero Ghost

Don’t hate me for OOC! I tried my best…

————

Off the coasts of Sparta, in a small island once the shrine to Athena, broken and litter with the horrifically grandiose tender status of blissful hubris of mortal woes, was the lair of the only mortal Gorgon. For those Greek heroes who fall onto this island they would think this is a old shrine to Hecate, statues made from Daedalus’ own hands, details etched with perfect precision.

The marbles were well warn down to it’s white base hollow flat color only seen in the crevasse of the folds of marbles. A lone figure lives there abandoned by the gods, by all the gods, by the very goddess he worshipped, left to rot on a lifeless hideous island. The beach were rocky and new, filled with old rotting ships bobbed up and down some lossly drifting around the island, the locals call it The Fool’s Grave.

Sun-kissed and specialed with iridescent scales, and built like Achilles himself walked a lone figure, in robes of blue and gold, did he walk, past the Forrest of stone he made. Those statues of men were his only comfort for normality, if only they weren’t staring in fear, fear of him. He was cursed for a life of loneliness and isolation, waiting for a Heracles to slice his head off. He was curse to stay on the island, for no boats will move pass the shore, as even Poseidon does not wish to offend Athena.

A low rumble, scrapping of rocks and he knew their was another hubris hero coming for him. He turns around to find, a tall almost Harclean man standing there, impressive and broad, cover in dark leather armor, dark almost black cape, with a spartina helmet plums of black horse hair. A spartan is here to kill him. As this giant of a man, maybe a child of a god, maybe a son of Zeus was here to kill him.

He was No coward for every statue was a signs to the gods, a sign that he still live that all their heroes all their oracles and quest meant nothing to his hate and vengeance. He knew all these heroes that come were sent by the gods to die. These heroes full of pride and glory will all turn to fearful stone. The low hisses of his snakes were the only sound besides the dull beat of his heart in his chest. The man looms closer, foot steps sinking into the sandy soil.

He let out a familiar sign and his gaze rised, his cool almost white eyes meet, a void. Darkness except for the intense gaze of the Spartan.

He waited. And waited. But nothing arises.

The hero was inches away, a head taller, head bent staring down at him. It was almost embarrassing.

“You… You can stare at me?” The gorgon asks.

The hero drew his sword.

‘So this is how it ends?’ That was the only thought in Johnny’s head as the sword cleave through his neck. The world went sideways, but the gaze of that hero never blinked, never waiver. Maybe… If only.

—————

Inspired by @astheriiiart

@imakepapertrees @sparklingsprinkles @secretlyasalmon427

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| In A Week ||

frank castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: sad, angsty, reader is um... dead, Frank is not dealing well, implied sort-of suicide attempt/lack of care.

I recommend reading the short fic Seeya first if you want to amp up the sadness! 😜

It's been a while since he's been here, usually it was almost everyday without fail but lately…

When he places his hand on the earth it feels warm, but only from the waning afternoon sun. The sky is that heavy, stormy yellow-grey colour now, and as he tilts his head up and closes his eyes he can feel the pressure change in the muggy air. 

You loved storms. Told him countless times there was magic in them but damn, he'd swear the magic was all you as you had dragged him out on the balcony and kissed him stupid in the pouring rain. 

And then, not long after, God had said no. There would be no more dancing in the storms, no dinners out, no weekend adventures, no more sleepy mornings wrapped up in each other. No more anything for you, for his girl. 

Whatever purpose this God had in mind for you, it was done, but he wasn't yet done with Frank.

take me you motherfucking coward, take me.

He wishes so hard that it was the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears instead of the fading of your final breath. He tries picturing the brightness of your eyes and the warmth of your smile, but all he can see is the jolting of your  vulnerable body as the bullets ripped through and took you from him.

I'm so sorry, baby. Should've done better by you. It should've been me.

He's not asking for forgiveness as he whispers those words into the soft wind. If you could reach across the void he'd eagerly listen for your punishment, he'd beg you to tell him exactly how to suffer, because he'd do it a million times over and it still wouldn't be enough. It can't ever be enough.

One minute you were there, smiling, laughing, screaming, loving him, and then you just… weren't. 

It's okay, I'll see you…

He didn't understand, despite the myriad of lives he's taken he couldn't get his head around how this had happened. How he'd let it. It wasn't supposed to happen to you, you were meant to be different, separate to all of that, untouchable.

He hunches over, his fingers digging hard into the wet soil like you'd just reach up through it and he could bring you back. Or that you'd pull him under with you.

But you don't. His throat closes up, his body shakes but his sobs are muted by the thunder, and tears are lost in the rain.

He presses his fingers first to his lips, then to the letters of your name carved in the headstone.

Seeya.

He leans up against it as comfortably as he can with the way he's bleeding out. 

It's over. It won't be that long until he's with you again.

Things are just starting to get murky and go dark when he feels his body being lifted up.

Stop fighting me Frank, I'm trying to help

no… 

A weak murmur at first, then louder as he regains consciousness.

"NO! Leave me here, let me be with her! Let me be with her!" Even in his weakened state he's roaring, furious desperation cracking his voice as he's pulled further away from you.

"You know I can't do that."

So then, this was his punishment, to be dragged back into a living hell by the devil. To suffer a life without you in it.

"I'm gonna… kill you," Frank rasps, "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Red."

The devil wasn't for listening, hoisting him over his shoulders and staggering up the hill. "Yeah okay, but later. Gotta get you to a hospital first."

"Just let me fuckin' go Red, let me die. I'm done."

~

The incessant steady beep of the heart monitor was mocking him. The holes in him now stitched and taped up, proof of life soaking through the stark white dressings.

"Hey." Red says from the corner of the room.

Frank winces. Goddamn fucking self-righteous prick was always interfering. Taking his choice from him. He wanted to wring his neck but the fight in him was quickly draining away as he remembered just why they were here.

"I- I can't, can't do this without her." Frank's voice was quiet and hoarse as it broke. He didn't give a fuck if Red could smell his fucking tears or whatever, he was just full on crying rivers now. It was one thing at least that had been getting easier.

Matt comes closer to the side of the bed.

"She'd want you to live for her, you know that Frank. You're strong, you can survive."

Frank scoffs and shakes his head before wiping tears away. "Sh-she was it for me, made me strong… an' I don't know… she was everything."

Matt's hand is gentle on his shoulder.

"And that's why you have to keep on going, for her. Ask me how I know."

Frank didn't need to, he knew what Red had gone through, brought to a low place he almost hadn't come back from. 

Matt sighs, remembering. "It's not easy. It takes time, but you're not alone, and you've got help if you need it."

Frank's in a daze, doesn't know if it's the blood loss or what but he just keeps on shaking his head. "I dunno Red, I dunno."

I'm lost. I'm so lost.

"It's alright, we'll figure it out."

Frank feels gutted out, vacant. Memories of you like they happened yesterday reel through his mind and sting the backs of his eyes like someone has jammed fucking razorblades in there.

Sure, whatever you say Red. 

"Yeah, yeah."

[strixcattus]

THE NARRATOR: You're on a path in the woods— VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: And what was that for? You just decided to take the coward's way out, did you? VOICE OF THE PARANOID: She was about to kill us! I did the only thing we could to have a chance of getting out of here alive. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Except you didn't. You killed us. THE NARRATOR: Excuse me— VOICE OF THE PARANOID: Oh, yes, we're on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. We're here to slay her. THE NARRATOR: Well, since clearly you've already been here, surely you must know how dangerous she is. So if you'll just head to that cabin— VOICE OF THE PARANOID: Oh, we know exactly how dangerous she is. How dangerous she is to us if we make the mistake of heading to that cabin again. We're staying right here—no, better idea, we're leaving. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: You'd love that, wouldn't you? Huddling over here like a coward when we could have had a proper fight. As far as I'm concerned, you're the dangerous one. THE NARRATOR: Look, I'm not sure exactly what happened last time, but as long as you do what I say, the Princess will not be a threat to you. VOICE OF THE HERO: I'm a bit more inclined to agree with the nervous one. We stabbed her in the heart and she didn't even die. What more can we do? THE NARRATOR: Stabbed her in the—? That can't be right. You must have missed. VOICE OF THE HERO: We didn't. VOICE OF THE PARANOID: We stabbed her directly in the heart. You said we did. And she still got up not even a minute later and came back to kill us. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: And that's a good thing! We could have had a proper fight if you hadn't killed us! VOICE OF THE PARANOID: What do you think a "proper fight" is? Because she would have killed us in a heartbeat even if I didn't do anything. Let's just get out of here before something worse happens. VOICE OF THE HERO: Yeah, it's already starting to get a bit weird here, isn't it? Look at the woods. If you can even really call these 'woods' anymore. THE NARRATOR: If the path is starting to look different, that's just one more reason to go back to the cabin and slay the Princess. I don't know what you think happened last time, but you were clearly very mistaken. VOICE OF THE HERO: Mistaken? If we were mistaken last time, you must have been too. You were the one who told us we'd killed her. VOICE OF THE PARANOID: And if you were mistaken last time, then how can we trust you now? VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: As far as I'm concerned, you're all untrustworthy. We could be fighting her right now, but instead you had to let us die. THE NARRATOR: It seems as though these three are all feeding some very dangerous ideas into your head. You'd better put them out of your mind and focus on the task at hand.

Or,

THE NARRATOR: You're on a path in the woods— VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: And what was that for? You just decided to give up, did you? VOICE OF THE COLD: She was dead. What else were we supposed to do? VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: I'm talking about before. We're not going to hole ourselves up and wait for her to bleed out again. We're going to fight. THE NARRATOR: Excuse me— VOICE OF THE COLD: Oh, yes, you have something you want to say, don't you? THE NARRATOR: Exactly. Thank you. You're on a path— VOICE OF THE COLD: In the woods. THE NARRATOR: What? VOICE OF THE COLD: We're on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. We've already slain her. THE NARRATOR: Well, if you've already slain her, what on earth are you doing back here? VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: We killed ourselves so we could have another go. That's what we're doing back here. VOICE OF THE HERO: I'm not quite sure I'd put it like that, but yeah. We killed her, and you trapped us in some sort of... void. THE NARRATOR: Some sort of... void? That doesn't sound like something I'd do. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Don't play dumb. We know all about your idea of a "reward." VOICE OF THE COLD: Do you have any idea how boring it was in there? THE NARRATOR: It shouldn't matter how boring or not boring it was! You saved the world, and then you—you—you ruined it! VOICE OF THE COLD: If you didn't want us to 'ruin' it, you should have tried giving us a more interesting reward. THE NARRATOR: Look, since you've clearly already been here, you must know how dangerous the Princess is. You need to slay her again. VOICE OF THE HERO: ...Are you going to put us in a void again if we do? THE NARRATOR: All right, tell you what. I won't. In fact, if you do slay the Princess again, I'll give you the most interesting reward I can think of. VOICE OF THE COLD: And what might that be? THE NARRATOR: I haven't thought of it yet. I'll figure it out while you're slaying the Princess. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: So we're all in agreement that we aren't going to listen to him, yeah? VOICE OF THE HERO: Yeah, we are. Though for what it's worth, I think we should try to make this our last go-around. Things are getting weird enough here already. Just look at the woods. If you can even really call these 'woods' anymore. THE NARRATOR: If the path is starting to look different, that's just one more reason to go back to the cabin and slay the Princess. You've still got a chance to do this right. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Yeah. Do this right and fight her. VOICE OF THE COLD: Or free her. Anything except slaying her again. VOICE OF THE HERO: It's up to you, really. Though if you're taking suggestions, I think I'd rather not fight her again. THE NARRATOR: It seems as though these three are all feeding some very dangerous ideas into your head. You'd better put them out of your mind and focus on the task at hand.

Or,

THE NARRATOR: You're on a path in the woods— VOICE OF THE COLD: Well, wasn't that interesting. VOICE OF THE HERO: That's one way to put it. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Yeah, the right way. Come on, let's get back to the cabin. This time we're going to win. THE NARRATOR: Oh, good. I'm glad you're taking this seriously. Now, you— VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: We're on a path in the woods and at the end of that path is a cabin with a Princess in the basement, yeah, yeah. The important thing is, we're going to fight her. THE NARRATOR: I would have said slay, but yes. I'm glad you all seem to understand the gravity of the situation, even though you've clearly taken longer than I would have liked to achieve it. I suppose it doesn't matter as long as you overcome her in the end. VOICE OF THE HERO: Yeah, we understand the gravity of the situation just fine. If anything, you're the one who's not getting it. THE NARRATOR: What's not to get? She's just a Princess. You'll do fine. VOICE OF THE COLD: Oh, she's more than just a Princess. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Yeah, so much more. VOICE OF THE HERO: I don't get why you two seem so excited. We couldn't even lay a hand on her last time, and then her corpse stood up and killed us! THE NARRATOR: I'm sorry, her what? VOICE OF THE COLD: Oh, right. You're completely oblivious to everything. We've already slain her. THE NARRATOR: Well, if you've already slain her, what on earth are you doing back here? VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: We killed ourselves so we could have another go. Then she killed us back, and now we're here. VOICE OF THE HERO: I'm not quite sure I'd put it like that, but yeah. We killed her, and you trapped us in some sort of... void. THE NARRATOR: Some sort of... void? That doesn't sound like something I'd do. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Don't play dumb. We know all about your idea of a "reward." VOICE OF THE COLD: Do you have any idea how boring it was in there? THE NARRATOR: It shouldn't matter how boring or not boring it was! You saved the world, and then you—you—you ruined it! VOICE OF THE COLD: If you didn't want us to 'ruin' it, you should have tried giving us a more interesting reward. THE NARRATOR: Look, since you've clearly already been here, you must know how dangerous the Princess is. You need to slay her again. VOICE OF THE HERO: I'm... not sure we can slay her again. She was a ghost last time. And a walking corpse. What are we supposed to do against that? THE NARRATOR: Look, I'm not sure exactly what happened last time, but as long as you do what I say, the Princess will not be a threat to you. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Yeah, she won't be a threat at all. VOICE OF THE HERO: And how can you be so sure? You saw what happened last time. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Last time you didn't have me. VOICE OF THE COLD: Yes, things should go quite differently this time. Maybe we'll fight her. Maybe we'll free her. THE NARRATOR: You are absolutely not going to free her. VOICE OF THE HERO: Whatever we do is up to you, but for what it's worth, I think we should try to make this our last go-around. Things are getting weird enough here already. Just look at the woods. If you can even really call these 'woods' anymore. THE NARRATOR: If the path is starting to look different, that's just one more reason to go back to the cabin and slay the Princess. You've still got a chance to do this right. VOICE OF THE STUBBORN: Oh, we'll do this right, all right. VOICE OF THE COLD: We certainly will. VOICE OF THE HERO: I'll stand behind you whatever you want to do. Though if you're taking suggestions, I think I'd rather not fight her again. THE NARRATOR: It seems as though these three are all feeding some very dangerous ideas into your head. You'd better put them out of your mind and focus on the task at hand.

[hmshermitcraft]

For the weekly theme - hurt/comfort!!!

This is inspired by @definitelynotshouting 's HungerAU (which you can check out for additional context)! Fair warning, said AU is a Dead Dove; I didn't manage to finish reading the fic they are writing for this AU, but I still love the concept they created!

This ask is just... me borrowing part of the lore from the AU and changing it a bit to suit my less angsty idea, and to give Grian a hopeful ending in the story (not a happy one, per se, that might be stepping on Shout's toes too much, but there is hope for the better)

The main difference is that it's Grian's 1st time meeting the Hermits, but all Players still know how Watchers can prey on them

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Ever since Grian remembered, he's been stuck in the endless planes of The Void. There used to be a time, way before he became a Watcher, when he was just a normal Player, able to build, to create, to feel the sun on his face. But those times are long gone and long forgotten, along with the memory of the humanity Grian lost when he was used as a base for creating this... monster he had became.

Lurking in The Void like a shark cruising the water, he remained hidden most of the time. He refused to live how his kin did - infiltrating servers, hovering above Players, amplifying their emotions till the humans were ripe from the picking, and then... killing them, hurting them, watching them slip into insanity, as their haywire emotions sustained yet another Watcher.

But it was difficult to resist the hunger gnawing on his insides. Grian wasn't as strong as he'd like to be, not strong enough to hide away and finally let himself die. He should have killed himself long ago, he mused. Nowadays it was just an endless cycle - hiding away, biding his time as he stared into nothingness, and then blacking out as the hunger overtook him. He never remembered much from those times, but after a while he would wake up, in a server he didn't recall breaking into, the bodies of Players disappearing into white puffs of smoke, presumably to respawn.

But he never waited to check if that was true. Disgusted with himself, Grian always ran. Feeling sick with what he had done, with how full he felt, he always rushed through the veil between the server and The Void like the coward he was. Emotions might not have been physical food he could expel from his body, but that didn't stop him from dropping to his knees and retching, bile rising into his throat, burning.

Fighting his will to live was a battle he kept on losing, not having the courage to finally take his life, ridding the world of himself and letting his code unravel, seeping back into The Void where he couldn't respawn. He wished he could just end this, finally being able to keep Players safe from himself. The scars on his body being a testament to how many times he tried, yet always flinched from the final blow.

Grian didn't quite care about his own fate. Yes, every breath he took was painful, every waking second of enduring the effects of denying his body sustenance was a nightmare, but... he deserved it. He was a monster, he should be miserable, he should suffer. Every tear he shed at his own fate was pointless, a cry for help he was not worthy of.

Grian shuddered, the filthy sweater hanging from his bony frame doing nothing to stop the chill from seeping into his heart. The Void was neither hot or cold, so the shudder was entirely caused by his weakened muscles spasming yet again. He was so hungry again, ages having passed since he last fed.

But there was one thing keeping him from blanking out again, one thing that occupied every single sluggish thought that passed through his head.

Time was an odd thing, here in the realm of endless nothingness, but for a while Grian's been feeling ripples on The Void's surface. They were all coming from a particularly bright spark of light on the dark tapestry surrounding him. Such a bright flash suggested a big server, one used frequently and by many Players. The ripples were... odd, to say the least. Grian's tired brain barely manged to recognise them. It was... a Voidwalker Player, gently poking and probing at the dark nothing, as if searching for something. What could they be looking for in here, Grian wondered idly. Voidwalkers were so rare, but it would make sense for one to be on such a big server.

Grian's mind flickered in and out of consciousness. He didn't have the strength to keep his eyes open, not anymore. But... this was the closest he ever felt to being at peace. As always, he hoped he wouldn't wake up this time, wouldn't end up in some unknown server, standing in a circle of items dropped by dying Players.

After a while, Grian felt a pull of something on his mind. He forced himself to became conscious again, to expand his Gaze past his little bubble of The Void.

Oh. The pull that Grian felt was the familiar code of the Voidwalker slowly easing into The Void. But... he was leading other Players after him as well? That was odd. Such trips to The Void were incredibly dangerous, it must have been important for them to partake in. Grian didn't have the energy to think too deeply about that, choosing instead to curl in on himself more tightly and to allow his mind to slip away again.

But his moment of peace didn't last too long. The ripples and distruptions pressed into the fabric of The Void got closer and more prominent with each passing moment. Was the party heading towards him?

Suddenly, everything seemed to click, the haze lifting from Grian's mind for a brief moment. The Players from that powerful server must have been notified about him, must have heard that a stray Watcher was lurking around and attacking nearby servers. They must be on a mission to remove this threat, to finally put an end to Grian's pathetic existence.

That thought was oddly comforting to him. There it is, his chance to finally stop the cycle of pain he caused and experienced. He flopped back onto the floor again, not having the strength to stay in a sitting position, now that he knew what was coming for him. His salvationn the end to everything...

But... No! No! He couldn't let them get close to him! He was so close to blacking out and hurting people again! He had to move away from them, he had to! Panic surged through Grian's veins, fuelling him in a last-ditch effort to avoid the hunting party approaching him.

Yet... when trying to lift his wings in attempt to get up, he felt that he was unable to move past the sitting position he was in previously. There was a cage around him, bearing the Voidwalker's characteristical code particles weaved through it.

In a way, the pressure of the cage was a comfort for Grian. Now he didn't have to try anymoren he was completely at the mercy of the hunting party, his fate was in their hands. It's not the end he imagined for himself, but it was oddly fitting, he suposed. Players taking revenge on him, punishing him for hurting them so. He only hoped his one life was enough to atone for what he's been doing all his life.

As his consciousness faded again, he heard voices getting closer to him. He was too weak to decipher what they were saying, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Now, he was able to rest for real, that was enough to put his frazzled mind at ease

...

When he woke up again, it took a lot of time for Grian to grasp his surroundings. He was not supposed to wake up, that's the first thing that puzzled him. The second thing, was his surroundings. The room he was in was washed in golden rays of sun, and the bed he was situated in was an explosion of soft, colorful blankets and pillows. After so long spent into The Void, those things were difficult to comprehend.

The thing that registered last, was that he was not hungry anymore. This revelation would push Grian into a flight response, but there was another sensation pushing at his mind, calming him down. There was a faint pressure at the back of his head, blocking the usual way in which he could reach out and feed. He tired to sense emotions around him, yet he couldn't do that.

As he was looking around the room, trying to make sense of all the new sensations, Grian noticed a piece of paper on a bedside table, resting innocently next to a pitcher of water. As he reached towards it, he had no idea that this little note was about to change his life forever.

...

Hello!

You must be terribly confused right now, which we all apologise for. The way that we brought you here was far from ideal, unfortunately. We definitely would prefer for you to be conscious when we found you, but we really couldn't wait any longer with transporting you here.

What you have to know for now, is that this server specialises in hosting dangerous and odd Hybrids, and making sure they can exist in peace, without hurting anyone. We have a lot of technology and magic at our disposal, and we already know how to help you.

You are safe here, we will not hurt you, and you are unable to hurt anyone as well.

We will explain everything to you shortly, we regularly check on you to see when you're awake, so someone will bring you into the main room soon.

Welcome to Hermitcraft!

~Xisuma (the Admin) and all other Hermits

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

🌠anon

Grian doesn't know how to react to the note. He reads it multiple times. There must be some mistake, right? Maybe they don't realise what he is. Or, maybe they were looking for a different person? Does Grian even count as a person, really?

True to the note, a player comes to find him barely a few minutes later. It's not the Voidwalker, even with this dampening he'd recognise that energy. No, instead it's a creeper hybrid, with a cybernetic arm Grian thinks he could stare at forever.

He nods at Grian, introducing himself as Doc. He doesn't even give Grian a chance to talk before he launches into a spiel. Half of the explanations go straight over Grian's head, somebody about suppression, saturation commands, feeding in healthier ways in the future. If there's anything Grian does take away, it's that it all sounds too good to be true.

He follows Doc to the next room silently, hugging his chest. There's a lot more people hanging around. A few turn to look at him - some more subtle than others. He can't tell what all of them are, but the Voidwalker stands out immediately. He rushes across the room to introduce himself, followed by scolding Doc for not asking Grian's name.

Grian can only follow Xisuma around in awe as he introduces various hermits. Grian finally manages to ask if this is actually right. Is this a mistake? Xisuma seems confused at the idea - they'd been planning this for ages! The idea of being wrong is literally impossible, they went over the operation far too many times for that.

Grian's... Not used to that. Being wanted.

This is going to be a lot for him to get used to.

[luesmainblog]

for those wondering why i have been mostly quiet regarding israel and palestine: most of the pro-palestine stuff i come across is dismissive of hamas' horrors, blatantly antisemetic in parts, and generally conflates the israeli population with their government. or worse, treats them as a monolith; it is true that there are many israelis mocking the people their soldiers are destroying. it is NOT true that all of israel doesn't care and is just totally cool with what's going on. i will share what i find of israel's atrocities, but i will not make my jewish followers feel unsafe for shit they had nothing to do with. most of the stuff i've seen that *does* acknowledge the horror is jewish bloggers who have spent much of their life advocating for palestine, now having to struggle against antisemetics coming to them, furious that they DARE to be upset at the lost israeli lives. as though they are not allowed to mourn for both sides. as though they are not allowed to be horrified by what has happened; that they can ONLY be worried for palestine and how the attack was the perfect excuse for israel to double down. i refuse to send even more hatred their way by spreading their grief further into the void; you never know Exactly who's following your follower's followers. i am glad, at least, that nobody i follow was outright celebrating. but i know that people WERE, and now they're trying to act like that never happened. so incase this wasn't clear, cheering on the deaths of Israelis does not fucking help palestine.

I am truly disgusted with the blatant racism and colonialism that manifests israel's very core. it is an attempt at a violent ethnostate, intent to not only destroy the people it seeks to replace, but fully erase them from history. i am also disgusted with the way that the left is happy to celebrate genuine terrorism if it's committed "for the right side", as if parading dead bodies and raping people does fucking ANYTHING good. as if that doesn't fuel the israeli government's chances for propoganda. as if it hasn't traumatized your jewish neighbors. there are no fucking winners in war. free palestine and protect your muslim AND jewish friends in this time, they are BOTH getting their shit kicked in by ignorant people who want to take out their anger on some random kid in ohio. we are all posting in anger here. but let's check ourselves before we post; misinformation and antisemitism weakens our voices. Edit for clarity: this post is for my mutuals. I am specifically asking my mutuals to think carefully about what they post; i am aware that i've been too quiet, and i am trying to remedy that. i am also warning my jewish and muslim followers that if you've been using my blog as a safe spot to not think about it for a little bit, you're gonna wanna block the tags below. 'horrible things' will usually do it. i am also venting about how every jew i follow is getting hit with the "die you stupid zionist" shit from coward anons who can't tell the difference between supporting israel and just being fucking concerned for your family over there. it's fucked.

[trulytiredhermit]

I have a wonderful idea. ( i always do, it's the confidence darling. )

Think about this, the reader from the modern world who was a voice actor of one of the Links, one of the Zeldas or any other characters.

Bonus points if the reader's voice is wildly different from the said character that nobody will believe that they are the voice actor of that character until they actually do it.

But then the Yandere Links will ask how they are able to voice them and we'd probably give them an existential crisis if we told them..

"No because it's actually easy to change my voice to [Character], AHEM AHEM.."

*'The reader's voice change to a deep or a more higher pitch

[insert a line on how the character would typically introduce themselves in the actual game/show or how they think that character would introduce themselves]

I said "show" than just game because of Courage.

Of course the Cartoon Link and CDI Link would be there too, their reactions will be hilarious i just know it.

Oh jeez, all the boys would be having existential crises and/or reoccurring trauma depending on who Reader voices.

For example if the Reader voiced any character that members of the chain had been close to that they have a sad past with. Well, hopefully Reader is just nice about it and doesn’t bring it up. (Ahem Navi, Marin, literally ANY of the champions, etc).

However if Reader was one of the Link’s voice actor then I feel like it’d be absolutely hilarious. Reader would say the most outrageous things in their voice and just catch the chain, and the Link, in question off guard.

For example could you just imagine Legend and Reader arguing over something and then Reader just whips out Legend’s voice on him.

Legend: I did NOT say that! I said-

Reader: Oh horseshit! You said, and I quote,-

Reader, clearing their throat, now speaking with Legend’s voice: “The map says we should take the left path, there should be a chest in there somewhere with loot or a key. And because I’m sooooo smart and know everything you should listen to me. Blah blah blah,” And then what happened! The floor starting projectile vomiting tiles at us!

Legend, taken aback: … first of all, how the hell did you just do that and secondly, I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT THE DAM-

————————————————————————

Or Reader having been Time’s voice actor and so they just use that to scare the rest of the chain or make Time laugh.

Like idk if y’all have heard the parody of Fly Me To The Moon, but Reader would DEFINITELY take advantage of Time’s voice to sing that parody.

Time, quietly cleaning his armor:…

Reader, coming from out of nowhere: Hey Time wanna hear a song from my people?

Time, sensing something’s wrong already: Oh, no that’s quite fine [Nam-

Reader: Great! Here is Fuck the Moon!

Time, fighting a grin off his face now listening intently: … you have my attention.

Reader, singing in Time’s voice:

Fly me to the moon.

And let me kick it’s fucking ass.

Let me show it what I learned in my moon jujitsu class

In other words

Catch these hands

In other words

Coward, fight me

Fill my heartless void

And let me see you explode

You are all I ever hated

So please just gooo!

In other words…

Fuck the mooooooooon

In other words..

I hate you!

Reader, out breath: so what’d you think?

Time, discreetly wiping a tear from his eye: Beautiful, absolutely perfect. I’m not even gonna question the voice thing right now.

———————————————————————-

Or like Wild and Wind are getting up to shenanigans and then they just hear Time’s disappointed voice from behind them like:

Wild and Wind getting up to stuff they shouldn’t:

Time’s voice sounding from behind them: And just what do you boys think you’re doing.

Wild and wind: !!!!!

They turn around only to see Reader holding back a grin and struggling to not break their composure.

Wild: Oh goddesses, I thought I was going to die a second time.

Wind: You’re telling me! That was worse then when Grandma and Aryll got mad at me.

————————————————————————

Time of course knows about Reader using his voice to prank the others and is all for it. That man is a prankster through and through and he is living for the chain being on edge not knowing if it’ll be him or Reader they encounter.

————————————————————————

Sad to say I’m not too familiar with the cringe Links but I know for fact that Reader would interrupt one of them with the “Well, excuuuuuuuuuse me Link!” And the Link in turn would just stare in betrayal and awe.

It’d turn into the Spider-Man’s pointing at each meme. Bonus points if Reader dresses up as them when they do it.

Also love the confidence darling, keep it up. 😂

[snootlestheangel]

Here, a crumb for what I'm working on involving Gaz angst and his villain arc

Inspired/a continuation of this post about Soap's death having been faked.

First things first, not sure if this is going to be more than what I'll put below and the big argument where it's clear Gaz has snapped. So, don't expect too much more of this for the time being, unless I get inspired.

Anyways, here's the first half :)

*if anyone wants tagged for future posts about this let me know and I'll add you* @stuffireadandenjoy

Loyal.

Faithful.

Dedicated. 

Loyal to hell not heaven.

Faithful to a lie.

Dedicated to traitors. 

Abandoned. 

Abandoned and left to fend for himself.

Handed to the vultures like a peace offering.

All in a moment. All in a single bullet fired from its steel chamber. All in a single crash of a body to the ground. All in a split second too fast to register. 

They had gotten a pulse, weak but just enough.

Then he was ripped from their hands. Taken by white gloves promising to save him, angelic creatures marked by red. Taken into a sterile void where he would die. 

And they lied. 

They couldn’t save him. 

They didn’t save him. They let him die on that table, nothing more than a casualty. A statistic against their fight to prevent the war to end all wars. 

And they lied. 

A dark, dirty room where she told them the news. A dark, dirty room the last place he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

A dark, dirty room where they left him. A dark, dirty room where he was left with nothing but the blood on his hands, left alone to grieve. 

Do better.

The captains and majors all hiss. 

You have a job to do, Sergeant.

The colonels and generals all snap. 

How did you ever make sergeant acting like this? 

They all sneered as they rubbed his face in the dirt. 

He’s gone, move on already.

And they lied.

“I’ve got your six.”

But now where are you? I turn and see the armies of hell behind me and not you. You left me in that room, left me as I began to grieve. And for what? To make a mistake and disappear into fuck knows where? You led me down this path, now you shall see this for what it truly is.

“Tell me where, and I’ll be there.”

But you were the first to leave. You gave us the news and vanished. You didn’t even stay to watch us break. You acted like a coward, all for what? To cover a lie you knew we would figure out if you stayed any longer? To hide the evidence of your monumental cover-up? 

“I’m with you. To the end.”

The end did not come with his fall. You never said a word to me that day. You just dragged your sorry, selfish ass out of that room and vanished. Too consumed with your own broken heart to consider how shattered mine would be. It disgusts me, how truly fitting your name is. 

All left me alone because he was dead. 

Because he had died.

He was dead.

He was…

He’s not dead.

Not anymore.

Because they lied.

[bananadrinkxxx]

THE BLOOD CROWN

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC female!

Enemies to Lovers

Lovers to Enemies

PART 11

Princess Aemma Velaryon, named after Queen Aemma Targaryen. The name had always haunted Alicent, and when Rhaenyra had brought it back to life, she had seen it in Visery's eyes. Her husband had never loved her. He had liked her, no question, respected her, given her warmth, but she had not been the woman he had wanted at his side. But it had come as it had come and neither he nor Alicent had had a choice. Of course he had chosen her, but Alicent was aware that no woman could have filled the void left by Queen Aemma. At the beginning of their marriage, Alicent had tried to imitate the late queen. She had tried to dress like her, talk like her, walk, eat, and even smile. But she had quickly understood that all efforts were in vain. She was Alicent and she was Aemma. Alicent had imagined her life differently, she had not thought for a second about becoming the wife of Viserys, until her father had urged her to do so. Alicent did not regret this marriage, she had loved him, even if it had not been the romantic love she had hoped for, but she had loved Viserys. Just as she had loved Rhaenyra. Probably she had never loved anyone more than her once beloved friend. Seeing Rhaenyra had always filled her with joy, but then anger had taken hold of her heart, fear, distrust and finally hatred. Nevertheless, she could never drive the love for Rhaenyra out of her heart. She had chosen her children, her family, but she had not done so because she wanted to steal something. Aegon was the rightful heir and yet she would have accepted Rhaenyra as queen. Because it was the king's wish, but when Viserys had revealed to her on the evening of his death that Aegon was to be the next king, she had done what was her duty. She had feared that Rhaenyra would not believe her, but she had taken that risk.

Alicent had almost begged Lucerys to write this letter to Rhaenyra. She had to do everything in her power to prevent a war from breaking out. But Lucerys refused, and Alicent realized that the plan she and her father had conceived, the one they were pursuing, was in danger of failing. She feared war, feared Rhaenyra's anger. Her father had told her of her reaction to Dragonstone, had raised hopes that Rhaenyra would bend the knee, but now she was sure that would not happen. A mother's rage was boundless. They had Lucerys, a stupid decision Aemond had made that could bring war. Rhaenyra had already lost Aemma. If she lost Lucerys as well, the princess would rip their hearts out alive.

The kidnapping had been a stupid decision that Alicent would regret for the rest of her life. Aemma Velaryon's smile, her sweet, innocent, pure smile always appeared in her mind's eye and ever since Lucerys was trapped here, it haunted her dreams. That guilt would eventually haunt her, turn on her, and take revenge on her. She had an innocent child on her conscience and the feeling that Lucerys would be next would not let her go.

T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

Aemond had to pull himself together not to turn back on Vhagar and give Daemon Targaryen the death that son of a bitch deserved. His uncle had lived too long and Aemond was no fool. He would never bend the knee. Even if Rhaenyra did, Daemon would rather die. The illusion his mother and Otto were under was beautiful, but in the end it was still what it was. An illusion.

Aemond was not a coward, he did not shy away from battle, he even longed for it, he wanted to show what he had learned, that he was not a weakling, that he rode the biggest and most powerful dragon in the world, but he was not a selfish man. The innocent creature before him that he had promised to protect trusted him and he was not a man to break his word. He felt her trembling, he saw her hands clutching at the saddle, and how fast she was breathing. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, pressing into her soft back and breathing in the pleasant scent of her hair.

He said nothing, but he didn't need to. He felt Rose surrender to his embrace, relax a bit and find strength. She had been involuntarily drawn into a fight she had nothing to do with. Daemon had seen her, and he knew his uncle would not forget her. She was in danger as of now.

Aemond pondered what to say to her, searching for soothing words he didn't have, for an affectionate gesture he didn't know. He had been brought up cold. His father had had no interest in him, his mother had tried, but she loved him, Aemond knew that, but she rarely showed what she felt and even more rarely said it. As a child he had sought her closeness, almost begged her for it, but with age and the loss of his eye, he had outgrown that phase.

"Thank you for not fighting, my prince," Rose said, and Aemond raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You didn't have to take me into consideration, and yet you did. I appreciate that."

"This fight does not concern you."

"Forgive me, but I must disagree. This battle will affect all the citizens of the Seven Kingdoms when the time comes."

"When the time comes?"

"Do you still believe in peace?"

Aemond knew that the common people were not well educated. Most of them did not even have the ability to read, let alone write. They were uneducated and he had never been interested in conversing with them, but Rose was different. She had lived among nobles, and as a maid to highborns, they were expected to be intelligent enough to understand what they were ordered to do. And even if he didn't think Rose was educated, she had proven that she was not a stupid naive girl. She understood what was going on around her.

No, he did not believe in peace. In part, he even had to admit that he wished for war. The desire for battle and triumph hungered within him, even longed for a war, even though he knew it could destroy everything he loved. But he had not wasted years of his life training only to be able to prove his skills in tournaments afterwards.

"Does the prospect of war frighten you?"

She was silent for a moment before shaking her head. "Not fear, but respect. I just think if dragons go to war, there won't be much left to fight for."

Aemond knew she was right. Even if he had Vhagar, and his brother Sunfrye, he wasn't idiotic. The Blacks had more dragons, and in Daemon Targaryen, a man who had fought many battles. Ser Criston was on their side, but even though Aemond despised his uncle, he could not deny respect for him. He had the strategic genius of a Gernal and the madness of a Targaryen.

He preferred to make no further reply and remain silent for the rest of the flight.

At King's Landing he was met by his mother, who looked at him with irritation as he helped Rose off Vhagar. Rose bowed to his mother and gave him one last look before asking her permission to leave.

Aemond wanted to deny her, to force her to stay here, with him, but he was still of sound mind to know that this request was childish and not befitting his station.

"You took her with you," his mother asked irritably when Rose was gone. "A servant?"

"I greet you as well, Mother," Aemond replied wryly.

"Don't play games, Aemond. This mission was extremely important and you interrupted it because you took a girl with you? I wouldn't have pegged you that way."

"I didn't interrupt it because of a girl, I interrupted it because of your brother-in-law."

Alicent winced. "What?"

"Daemon Targaryen greeted us, with rage and fire and if it hadn't been for Rose, then you would now know if your son was dead or successful."

As if Alicent did not perceive his words, she sprinted out and surveyed him. She looked for injuries. "I am unharmed, mother. There was no fight."

Alicent looked at him in surprise. She looked upset, irritated, and Aemond had seen the fear in her eyes. She played with her fingers again. He grabbed her hand to stop her.

"Tell me everything, my boy."

T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

"Little Luke," Aegon mocked as he refilled his wine cup. He looked to his mother and grandfather. "Since when do we allow prisoners to eat with us?"

"Prince Lucerys is still our guest," Otto replied. "We want him to realize that we do not wish or desire any animosity within the family."

Aegon rolled his eyes. "Of course, Grandfather," Aegon said, his voice full of irony. "After all, no one would want that. After all, we are known as a happy family, aren't we, nephew?"

"If you say so, Aegon," Lucerys replied with a touch of arrogance, fully aware that he was addressing his uncle by his name. Disrespectful. But Lucerys had no respect for traitors.

He refused to see his uncle as anything other than what he was. A usurper.

"Prince Lucerys, watch your tongue," Otto admonished him. Lucerys did not look at him. "This is the king you're talking to."

"No, no," Aegon said with a laugh, clapping his hands as if it were a funny spectacle which had just been presented to him. Perhaps it was, in fact. He turned to Helaena, who was looking stubbornly at her plate. Aegon frowned, snidely, and turned back to Lucerys. He winked. "It's my nephew. He can speak as he pleases. I allow it. I am the king and we are family, after all. He is our guest isn't he?"

Otto frowned. "Your Grace, he is a guest, but one in a precarious situation."

"Yes, yes, a situation my dear brother has put him in," Aegon replied. "But I am happy to have my nephew with me. We used to have so much fun when we were kids." His voice defied full of irony but no one could deny the last sentence. Despite the enmities, they had been friends as children. Until the time Aemond had lost his eye.

"And speaking of him," Aegon suddenly shouted, raising his cup. Everyone present turned to look at Aemond, who had just entered. Next to him was his mother, who looked displeased. "Bürderchen, how nice."

"Aegon," Aemond replied.

"You're back early. Why?"

Aemond glanced briefly at Lucerys, then at his grandfather. "Why is he here?" He ignored Aegon.

"Lucerys is our guest, Aemond," Aegon replied with a grin instead, leaning forward. "Now tell me why you return so early. We weren't expecting you."

"Perhaps we should-," Alicent began, but Aemond ignored her.

"Daemon Targaryen has declared war on us."

Suddenly there was an icy silence in the hall. You could have heard a pin drop. No one dared to say anything, most did not even dare to breathe.

"What did you say?" asked Aegon, his voice suddenly serious. His eyes bulged slightly and Lucerys saw him turn pale. But Aegon was not the only one who reacted like that. He too felt his heart begin to race. His hands became sweaty and it felt as if the air to breathe was taken away from him. Anger spread through him.

But before Aemond could answer, Lucerys jumped up.

"What did you tell him?" growled Lucerys. All eyes turned to him.

"You think I said something, bastard?," Aemond replied, hissing, and though he had only one eye, what Lucerys had left, his gaze was piercing. The insult no longer had any effect on him. It no longer pained him to be called a bastard. He was used to it.

"You must have said something!," Lucerys yelled and lunged at Aemond, ready to take his other eye as well. Aemond was a dragon killer, he had taken Arax from him and now he was going to take his family from him as well. His mother, his perfect, pure mother. He would not let that happen.

"Aemond," Alicent called out in panic, but her son reacted quickly. He grabbed Lucerys by the wrist, the other around his neck.

"You lie," Lucerys cried. "You lie, you honorless-"

"Careful, nephew. Don't think you have any relevance now," Aemond retorted harshly.

"Prince Lucerys, you will control yourself," Otto cried admonishingly. "Aemond, let him go. Guards!"

Aemond raised his hand, the guards looked irritated at Otto, who again had his focus on Aemond.

"I know you're lying," Lucerys hissed. "He wouldn't start a war."

"But he did, nephew."

"You have no proof!"

"Yes we have," Alicent suddenly shouted. Lucerys' gaze locked on her, as did her son's, who looked at her in irritation.

"Rose, come here."

Rose flinched in fright when the queen dowager called out to her. She saw Dyana's surprised look and the other servants also gave her perplexed looks. Alicent's gaze locked on her and she knew she had no choice. She looked to Aemond, who had a hard look on his face. He didn't seem too thrilled that his mother had called for her. She swallowed and gathered all her courage. She felt the gazes of everyone present on her and bowed to Queen Alicent, who looked at her seriously.

"Can you confirm what Prince Aemond said?" she asked, her voice cool and commanding. Rose felt cornered, defenseless and completely at her mercy. Her eyes met Lucerys', and guilt welled up in her. The boy didn't deserve all this. This was wrong. He looked at her pleadingly, hoping she would contradict Aemond.

"Speak, girl," Otto called to her commandingly, and Rose flinched. Her hands clawed at her dress and her gaze crossed Aemond's. What did he think? Should she talk? He did not contradict his grandfather.

"Prince Daemon has ordered his dragon to attack us," she confirmed, and she felt like she was signing Lucerys' death warrant. The boy looked at her stunned and suddenly everything happened so fast.

Lucerys broke free from Aemond's grip and before anyone saw it coming, he punched the one-eyed prince in the face.

Rose flinched screaming and saw Aemond react quickly and grab Lucerys.

"You forced her to lie," Lucerys screamed, and he struck at Aemond again. This time the prince quickly dodged and struck back in the same breath. His blow was hard, much harder than Lucerys' and the younger fell to the ground groaning. But not enough for Aemond, as he lunged at the boy, who fought back with his hands and feet.

"Hold still, bastard!," Aemond screamed, drawing his dagger. Rose's eyes widened in horror.

"Don't, stop it, don't hurt him!," Rose screamed as Aemond grabbed the boy to press his dagger to his throat. It was like that time, only this time they were not alone. She felt the eyes of the others on her. Surrounded by nobles, king and queens.

Before she knew what she was doing, she lunged forward, threw herself protectively in front of the son of Rhaenyra's Targaryen, and looked into the eye of the man she had kissed with passion that morning.

Aemond looked at her, stunned. "Get out, now!" he hissed and Rose shook her head. She looked to the dagger. "He don't deserve this."

Anger reddened on Aemond's face.

"What do you know, what he did or didn't deserve," he hissed angrily. Suddenly he seemed like the Aemond she had come to know again. "Get out of here now."

She shook her head. Her hair had come loose from her braid and was bouncing back and forth with her hasty movement. She could feel Lucery's gaze on her, but she only had eyes for Aemond.

She couldn't let anything happen to Lucerys. Even though she had only spoken to him once, she had been attracted to him. But it wasn't that attraction that Aemond had with her. It was something else, a different attachment that she couldn't explain.

"Please," she breathed, and even more quietly she added, "Aemond, please." No one but the prince heard her.

She saw the inner struggle in Aemond. She saw him thinking about what to do, saw the emotions sliding over his face before he took a step back. His gaze was on him the whole time. Then she breathed a sigh of relief when he put the dagger away.

Before Rose could move a step, Aemond stepped forward and grabbed her by the arm. His grip was rough. He pulled her along without a word and shoved her out of the hall.

She felt his anger and fear spread through her.

Only now did she realize the effect of what she had done. She had turned against Aemond and protected Lucerys Velaryon, his enemy. This bordered on treason, and perhaps it was. She felt Aemond tremble. Rose wondered what he would do to her. Even though she had come to know his gentle side, she had not forgotten his rough, hateful side.

He pushed her into his chambers and slammed the door behind him. Silence reigned for a moment before Aemond fished a vase from his table and smashed it against the wall over the fireplace. Rose flinched fearfully. She snapped her eyes open as Aemond's gaze locked on her.

"I'm sorry," she said in fear.

"You will never do that again, do you hear me?" shouted Aemond, approaching her. "Who do you think you are?"

Her heart was beating wildly against her chest.

"He didn't deserve this," Rose defended herself. "He's innocent."

"Innocent?" repeated Aemond, stunned. Then he reached for his blindfold and Rose's eyes widened. A violet eye peered out at her. Well, at least what served as a replacement for his eye. The cavity where his eye would otherwise be was adorned by a purple gemstone. The stone sparkled and despite its beauty, it looked scary.

"He took my eye and got away with it, no punishment no consequences," he stepped closer to her. "He got everything he wanted all his life, could do whatever he wanted and now suddenly he's supposed to be innocent," his voice grew colder with each word. Hate. So much hate in his voice. He wasn't screaming anymore, but he didn't need to. Rose had never been so afraid of him. She was trembling all over. He would kill her.

"Lucerys Velaryon is a bastard, and has always gotten what is due me. And now you come and presume to lecture me?"

He is a bastard... She was one too.

"I wasn't going to-"

Suddenly Aemond stood close to her, grabbed her by the chin, and pulled her toward him. The gentleness had gone out of him, leaving behind someone Rose had learned to fear. She trembled and her hand clawed at his arm.

"You're lucky I like you, Rose. If you do that again...," he stopped before the words left his mouth, but he didn't have to say them. She knew what he was about to say. She knew the consequences of betrayal. The only thing that saved her at the moment was the intimacy that bound them both together. Aemond was watching her face, and she didn't know what he was seeing, but obviously it seemed to be enough for him and he let go of her. Without another word, he turned and left his chambers. He left her behind like a worthless piece of clothing that he no longer needed.

Rose was trembling all over. The tears would not stop flowing and she bit her lip to keep from making a sound. Her legs were shaking so much that they gave way and before she even registered it, she landed on the floor. She didn't feel the impact, too preoccupied with the pain in her heart. Her fingernails clawed at her palms to steady herself, but her tears wouldn't stop. She had only wanted to help. Far be it from Rose to humiliate Aemond. She had only wanted to protect him from becoming a Kinslayer. She didn't want him to incur that curse, and Lucerys wasn't a bad person. He was right, she didn't know what Lucerys was like then, but she knew him now. He was a good boy.

Rose pulled her legs to her body and threw her arms around them. She pressed her upper body against them and curled up into a ball. She buried her head in the cave.

All she wanted to do was help. And now Aemond hated her. Everything they had until now was destroyed because she had interfered.

Rose flinched as something suddenly touched her. She straightened up fearfully and saw Aemond kneeling in front of her. He had put his blindfold back on and his hateful look had faded. Instead, she found pity in his eye, and regret?

Before she could even react, he grabbed her by the shoulder and pressed her against him. His other hand was on the back of her head as he pressed her head against his shoulder and rested his chin on top of her head. Rose's eyes widened in surprise. What was the meaning of this?

"Forgive me," he breathed. "I didn't mean to frighten you." His voice was soft, and contrite. "This situation, this condition, it's making a person out of me that I don't know. You're making a person out of me that I don't know."

She was making a person out of him that he didn't know? What did he mean by that?

He gently pushed her away from him and gently stroked the tears from her cheeks. His hands were cold, but he interpreted her wince as fear. She saw his apologetic look. Suddenly he seemed so young, so vulnerable, and Rose thought for the first time that Aemond was still a boy. He had the body of a man, but he was barely older than she was.

"Do you forgive me, Rose?" he asked, almost pleading. She forced a smile to her lips and nodded.

"Do you forgive me?"

Aemond looked at her in surprise. Then he smiled gently. "There is nothing to forgive."

And suddenly it was there again. That familiarity between them. That warmth her body craved. This was the Aemond she craved. The one her body needed. And despite this feeling, this one thought did not let her go. Maybe it was stupid and naive, but she couldn't stop it. She reached for Aemond's hand and clenched in her small hand.

"Let me talk to Lucerys. Maybe I can convince him to write his mother after all."

As expected, Aemond's gaze hardened again. "Rose-"

"I know what you're going to say, my prince. I know I'm just a servant, a bastard, but I think I can help."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"But that's what I am, a bastard. I think I can talk to Lucerys and he'll listen to me. And if I'm unsuccessful, then I'll keep quiet forever."

"No."

"Please Aemond. Let me try. A war would be the downfall of this empire. You know that. I beg you."

She could see Aemond's inner conflict on his face. He frowned, and seemed to want to contradict again, but something stopped him. He surveyed her face, contemplating it for a few moments, before suddenly, unexpectedly, nodding. Rose looked at him in surprise. He said yes? He trusted her and a feeling of happiness ran through her. She clasped his hand with both hands. Aemond would let her talk to Lucerys and she would try everything in her power to get the boy to write to his mother.

She could not fail.

T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

Rhaneyra watched her son Aegon as he knelt down to Viserys and offered him his toy. She smiled and leaned back. Both children laughed and for a moment Rhaenyra forgot all her worries. All the duties and all the burdens that the office of heiress to the throne had imposed on her. All the pains that this position had cost her. She had asked herself not once if she should give up this title, just give her will to the Hightowers and live happily with her family on Dragonstone. But pride and the will to protect this land had opposed that decision every time.

Now she sat here, as Black Queen, about to release the start of a war. A war that she wanted to prevent for all the world, still wants to prevent.

Rhaenyra watched her midwife pull Aegon away from the fire as he approached dangerously close. A dragon was always drawn to fire. Just like Aemma, a thought flashed through Rhaenyra's mind. Aegon was very similar to Aemma in character, and that they were the same age, the age when Aemma was taken from her, made everything a little more painful. Aemma had also always been drawn to the fire. She had told Rhaenyra that it had a magical effect on her. An attraction. Rhaenyra hadn't given it much meaning, but as a Targaryen, that wasn't surprising.

But Aemma had seen something in the fire then. Rhaenyra had dismissed it as a gimmick, a childish imagination, but she had kept talking about this paper dragon and the sea. Now Rhaenyra knew that her daughter had a gift that had presented her with the future. Her own future.

"My Queen," Ser Erryn said suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts. He bowed. "A letter from the Red Keep."

Rhaenyra suddenly felt a stab in her heart and she had to pull herself together not to snatch the letter from the knight's hand. She opened the letter and each written word filled her heart more and more with horror.

They would execute Lucerys if she did not lay down her rebellion, as they called the Greens, by the next moon and bow the knee to Aegon.

Rhaenyra had to force herself to breathe. Her whole body felt numb. She felt sick. Her bowels contracted.

They threatened to kill Lucerys. They would execute her little baby if she didn't give up what was hers. What they had stolen from her. Rhaenyra felt a tear roll down her cheek. She quickly wiped at her face. Her lips trembled and she felt her throat tighten.

Alicent had written that letter. She had not written the letter provocatively, but it was what it was. Lucerys would die if she did not bend the knee.

Traitor. Fucking Traitor.

A noise caught her attention.

Daemon entered the hall in a rage and Rhaenyra looked at her husband, startled.

She saw the smoke marks on Daemon's face. 

"What happened, Daemon?"

_____________________

What do you think? Will Rose be able to convince Lucerys or will we witness Lucerys execution?

[veny-many]

Related work :

"You should not move your arm for now, sir."

Wolffe dryly said while examining Kel-Dor's right arm. In collection, it was his General's now mechanical arm that Wolffe was checking. The copula of skin and metal site were dirty with blood and fever, but Plo not even moaned or made sound when Wolffe cleaned blood and pus, and applied a bacta patch.

"Your copula site is infected, this is far more bad than we expected."

'It is not surprising either, considering we needed illegal surgery to avoid Empire's search.'

When he heard the soft yet rumbling voice directly in his head, Wolffe's face didn't soften, only hardened by worry and anger. The anger even Wolffe didn't know where they were from, what they were for. He was exhausted. From the long journey of running underworld, fighting your brothers and whole Empire, and keep lying for everything, and wandering around the world that Wolffe was never able to experience before the end of the war. They were many new dangers everywhere, so many lies and darkness, and Wolffe needed to protect his General, no matter what happened and will happen to them. He needed to be sharp, sensitive and brave to endure all those harsh outside world. But, it was always a difficult mission to him. Even his Jedi General seemed to be more aware of the rules and cruelty of the outer world. He always saved Wolffe when his in problem.

Like before, the time when they were fighting in warfare together.

It never changed. Even after his General now injured and hurt from burnt in his skin, the pain and infection in his lost arm, and loss of his voice. Even the fact that Wolffe and his brothers were the reason now Plo is suffering.

Wolffe never felt this powerless. It felt like the Malevolence, the Khorm again.

And it made Wolffe angry. He was ashamed of this. Because it was not Plo's fault, yet it was him who was enduring when Wolffe broke down. Like that morning.

"I will go to town for myself this time. You will stay here."

Wolffe gathered his package while he ordered his friend in a low voice. Kel-Dor signed behind him, and Wolffe definitely felt more uncomfortable to hear that.

'I do not doubt about your strength and bravery, but I'm afraid that I have bad feelings about letting you go alone for today.'

And Wolffe knew that his General's concern was always collected, due to their Force ability shit or something. He knew that Plo was just worried.

"General, I and trained man. And I know about how to protect myself. It would be harder if there's more injured I need to protect."

After realizing his outburst, Wolffe quickly turned his head to door, opposite of Plo, with much shame and shock from his word.

He would never, ever feel uncomfortable for taking care of his General. He would gladly die, or die trying to save his Jedi. The Jedi who always treated clones as a sentient, a friend, a brave trooper. The Jedi who gladly accepted the place as the leader of the pack, and took the symbol of the wolf. Who fought by their side, healed their wounds and traumas, and remained by their side when they marched away. Who took many blasts and dangers to protect his troopers, always jumped to battle first, and left as the last.

He never deserved this.

He never deserved anything from this.

When Wolffe was about to quickly leave, another word rumbled through his head.

'Be careful, Wolffe.'

Plo never deserved this.

He didn't deserve Wolffe.

Who was just coward, who just watched helplessly in the pod when his brothers and General fought for him in the dard space void, who cried in pain through his eye and desperately cringing in his General's arm, who was not strong enough to fight back the sith twice, who couldn't fought the Order before attacking his General, who never admitted his helplessness and fear and turned them to anger, and always get in General's way and needed his help.

And yet, Plo always kind to him. Always tried to understand him, and wanted to help him for everything.

Wolffe felt like he was a burden. Which was funny, considering that he was the one who saved and patched his General. Maybe that wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to be by side of Plo Koon. To be his friend, his pack, his...

Wolffe shaked his head hard. There was no time for being sentimental. He needed to gather more medical supplies from markets. Plo's wound needed more treatment, and the saved supplies were running out. He couldn't fail this time. He needed to be strong and smart. For his General's sake.

Wolffe didn't come back to their hideout even after the sun went down to the ground.

Plo Koon was very worried. Worried about where Wolffe was, and what he was doing, or what happened to him. Wolffe was a man of the word, he was never late to come back to their place before the sunset. Which meant probably something that Plo always feared had happened to his friend.

Wolffe was a tough man, smart and brave, but never was a good liar and negotiator. He was dragged so many troubles in life as a civilian, and even almost dragged to danger of crimes, including murder and abduction. And yet Wolffe always wanted his General to be behind his back to ensure Plo's safety.

Wolffe always said that Plo's life and safety were the priority. That he would help his General's search and find remaining Jedis. But he was wrong.

In deepest place in Plo's mind, he knew that he would never find any survivors that easily. He doubted how many survivors were even there in galaxy. Plo was saved by the suffering of his Commander, who still had trauma from the Khorm in his eye and head. His survival was the twisted miracle made by tragedy and fondness.

Plo knew that he had no purpose after the fall of the order. Jedi had failed, his family had died, even his niece... He tried to stop her, stop her from reckless and dangerous last mission, through their last remaining bond. But she was stubborn like she always was, and also brave and honored Jedi Knight, who never backed away from what is right thing. When their bond broke for the last time, the shock had knocked down Plo in the middle of the road, which made Wolffe full panic.

After all the grief and mourning, when Plo finally managed to gather his strength to move, he watched Wolffe silently patching his wound, and finally realized.

He was never alone. He still had one purpose. At least he could find one precious priority for now.

Wolffe never managed to experience the world outside the war. The cruelty and the beauty of the galaxy, without the army, and the orders. He still could see all the new world outside. He could live to see them all.

And Plo wanted to help him to live in the world outside from the order. To protect him from the cruelty of the space. And make him experience many joy and freedom. The normal life.

Wolffe deserved it, like all other sentients do. Like all those troopers who marched away did.

And Plo would make sure at least Wolffe will get what he deserved. Because they were Pack. They offered him their space and color.

'Until the war ends.' Wolffe said when he gave Plo the vambraces painted in gray Wolfpack symbol. They're bond were for the war. The war tried to tear and break them. So they sworn to this symbol that they would protect each other as the Pack through the war. And when the war finally ends, they will go back to their home.

Now, their home were gone, and war never ended, not for them. Plo and Wolffe were still fighting in war. For survival, from the Empire, in the nightmare, they always fought together.

And Plo were determined to protect Wolffe from the war. He war not able to do that in the wartime, because they never wanted to run away from fighting for innocent. But for now, they were at least free. Wolffe didn't need to be stay sharp, to push himself off limit. Plo wanted Wolffe to be more honest to his mind and emotions, but it appeared that nothing in this galaxy had an easy road to success.

Plo checked his arm one more time. The bleeding had stopped, but the aching pain never stopped. His body felt like burning, and his breath made his throat hurt every time he breathed.

But something told him to move out.

The Force was telling him to move out. To find him. To help him.

Outside the door, the weather was dark, and tick clouds were gathering above the town. It felt like warning. Like preparing something strong.

Feeling the Force which remained in silence now shifted in air, Plo hurried his steps toward the town.

Considering his experience from his history as a seeker, it would be the hard search for his friend.

[archivus]

MAG[REDACTED] - Dark Down Below

This is episode dedicated to fans of Agnes Montague, the Cult of the Lightless Flame or the People's Church of the Divine Host

Statement of Lisa Yordanka regarding her experience with a strange mattress. Original statement given 22nd of August 1998, recording by Arcturus Walker, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, Budapest. Put to tape on April 2nd 2024. Statement begins:

I know about the entities. And I know that you must know about them as well. The ten lords in the sky beyond controlling our fears, but there's only one to which's power I consented to: the Desolation. I never thought a daughter of The Blackened Earth would be haunted by The Forever Blind. But I guess dark and destruction, flame and ash and coal go hand in hand. I never thought of their faction as the enemy. I thought we had some kind of contract binding us until we rid our area of The Mother of Puppets. Assuming they were the ones that brought it upon me.

I'm a coward. I have been devout to Asag ever since it enlightened me to it all: the human race deserves not what it has. The only one to bring destruction to it all is my God and no one else's. I would sacrifice myself in its name and yet, I haven't. I want to say I just haven't had the chance to, but that'd be a lie. I am afraid to die. Even in light of the powers at my fingertips I cannot bring death upon my shell. Because wouldn't that mean giving myself up to Terminus? Wouldn't that just feed The Coming End That Waits For All? Will I stop lying to myself one day? I can't bring myself to do it. It's that simple.

Until the inevitable end comes when I'll finally unite with the one to light my fire I will put this body to the most use that I can for both IT and the cult. So then, how come The Dark set it's blind gaze upon me? Why did I become their target? I don't even know what it counts, maybe as- as an artefact? A monster that came for me? Did something *posess* my mattress while I was busy fighting for Agnes?

It was a cold night, I remember. I got the chance to be around the chosen one, for a week I was blessed by her presence and I soaked it up, I could feel it in my powers. But the apartment she and Jude shared didn't have a guest bedroom nor a third bed, but luckily someone from the cult had a spare mattress we brought over to accommodate those that wish to see messiah and bathe in her immediate divinity. I was not the first to sleep on it. But I was there at the wrong time.

See, we had a bit of a commotion with our siblings over at the people's church, some started a protest that this joint of powers is a downright sacrilege towards their "Mr. Pitch", that whilst our flame is lightless, the heat it emanates is reminiscent of the thing they hate the most. They argued that our burning is parallel to that of the Sun which they're so desperately trying to blacken and thus we were harmful to their sanctity.

Though we tried to keep Agnes's identity a secret, their most sensitive to the world beyond ours could feel her presence and the gossip carried the word quick and far. So their target was set on our dear messiah's back and that was something I simply I could not let happen. The physical aspect of the fight was lacking to say the least, the darkness works by disorientation not by direct combat, which is what the flame excels at.

Thankfully my blessed abilities include striking a spark into all that's electric and once the churchmen's frosty void surrounded us all I was able to flick all the broken bulbs lying around, those that they ritualistically destroyed into a flashbang for those who still perceived with their eyes. The rest also felt their power dissipate. The destruction of their ego, their fear of eradication almost made me want to get up close and personal with those who were first to open fire but there was no need, for they all turned their backs and my family from the cult urged me to leave them behind. That mercy was undeserved and it hurt.

That evening I had a hard time ridding my system of the pent up adrenaline. I took to some meditation with the members who were still there by the nightfall, but I still struggled to fall asleep. The mattress seemed too wavy and for long long hours I thought it was just my shocked perception playing tricks on my brain. But then I felt something slam into the middle of my spine, a shocking pain piercing through my skin like a round knife. It was like a heavy wooden door shutting, again and again and again. I tried to scream. I see well in the dark, my heat perception is impeccable yet I couldn't find a thing in my vicinity. The room seemed empty and after half a second the darkness seemed to wrap around my neck, flowing down my throat, muffling any sound I made. Then another spring etched into the nape of my neck, with a power that should've sprung my head up but something weighed me down on the needle bed that kept on prying into my body, spring by spring until I lost consciousness.

I don't even have to mention. It was dark. The most pitch black one couldn't see. This one had to be lived by a soul, as I was sure that was all I had now. My, at least what I believe to be my projected- body was glowing. I wasn't floating though. All around me was all encompassing darkness, yes, but I was laying in a swamp of some sort of viscous liquid that barely felt like it was even there. At first at least. I could barely touch it, the texture escaped my fingertips. That was until I felt a bump forming under my back from what, I now felt as a tiny swarm of particles, a dark sentient confetti. Thinking they were about to transport me I relaxed my body. How naive of me. Expecting to meet face to face with one of the gods from beyond? In my right mind I definitely wouldn't have thought myself worthy and I still not am. But I let go to see where the darkness takes me. Nowhere.

All of a sudden I experienced an ache of a thousand suns burrowing under my skin, the wounds were still obviously there from where the springs burst into me, and now they were being pried open once again by the mysterious creatures, bleeding me dry in the dreamscape of their master(s). I was numb. The pain made my brain forget where my muscles were positioned. I wouldn't be surprised if it was because of a spinal cord injury. For a moment it all seemed to cease but right after the calm my whole being began to spasm. I was experiencing a shock, a fit that I can't describe. I wasn't conscious all throughout though, I can tell you that much. After all my muscles startes vibrating uncontrollably, I lost myself.

And then awoke. My head throbbing like a bad hangover, I climbed over to the bathroom. I spare you the details, I was in a rather sorry state. I do not know who cursed me in the church and I do not care to find out. I want them all to pay, to burn among the flames they'll wish so desperately to not see. But my fire will burn through their blackened eyeholes and etch a flash in the deepest corners of the minds of even those that could never see. And I'll leave this statement to you and the ages to come, to note the day those wretched monsters dare lay their closed eyes upon our Agnes.

Statement ends. There are certainly a few interesting details to this statement so I'll go over them in order. First, Lisa only seems to know about 10 of the 15 entities, which may translate to the Cult of The Lightless Flame having the same, limited knowledge. This can be seen by the fact that miss Lisa's powers described here more closely resemble The Extinction's, rather than The Desolation's. It definitely gets me wondering how someone devout could be snatched from their entity's grasp. Maybe the Future Without Us was already within her when she first joined the cult?

Still baffles me how such a new power would dare mess with the subordinates of the burning destruction. Miss Lisa's fear and inability to sacrifice herself may come from The Extinction preventing her from becoming an avatar to the *wrong* entity, or it could just be a manifestation of its powers, just like her wishing death upon the entirety of the human race. I was also unaware that the two most active cults at the time, at least of those serving the entities, held such close ties, even if we just witnessed them getting severed...

Two days after giving this statement the apartment under the name of Lisa Yordanka caught fire, which is assumed to be electrical in nature, her kitchen appliances being the most likely source, and whilst cameras don't show her leaving, no body was found. Per my deductions this means she had completed her transformation into an avatar, though maybe not the one she wished to become. I wonder if the metal from the springs could've helped her body transform, like a crystallization chain reaction. Those born of The Terrible Change seem to enjoy their robotic bodies more than their organic ones, which they often experience as flesh-prisons. *sigh* I hope this fellow avatar finds it freeing as well and not as another bound to something she doesn't even know about. Wonder if she's ever going to figure it out. Recording ends.

Thanks for reading! I love how this turned out and actually written most of it before The Stranger's episode was done 😅. This episode is dedicated to The Dark and you can find the other ones here: The Flesh The Vast The Stranger

[evolutionsvoid]

An endless black hell, that is where I must be. The path before me forged of obsidian tar, shrouded by a night that knows no end. Ahead lies nothingness, but behind me is more of the same. There is no escape, no logic, I have long accepted that now. It seems to be the only fact that can be found in this void, as the rest is just asphalt and darkness. Yet, I drive on, because that is really all I can do. It is either that or just give up. Pull my car off to the side of the road (wouldn't want to obstruct this path of damnation), kill the engine and just wait for the end. Just sit in this cramped metal prison until I rot, but would that even happen? I am driving in a car that has no gas, in a world of ceaseless roads and fields, where the sun cannot be found despite days passing. Would I actually starve to death? Or die of thirst? It feels like I obviously would, but when my mind drifts to thoughts of food and drink, I don't find myself wanting. How can I not be hungry? How am I not parched from doing nothing but mindlessly driving for hours? Perhaps time doesn't exist here, just like all other rules of reality. It is almost silly for me to realize this now. Of course time is broken, of course this is just some frozen limbo that has no end. What good would all this torment be if I simply perished from thirst? No, I must remain alive, remain driving this lonely road. It is my punishment, though I don't know why. What did I do to deserve this? What horrible sin did I commit? What god did I offend to be condemned to this timeless prison? I cannot say. Perhaps it isn't even meant to be torture, maybe I just turned down the wrong road. Honestly, I don't know which option is worse...

I have yet to accept the idea of giving up, of bringing my futile quest to a halt, so I just keep driving on. Maybe determination is the answer to this hell, that persevering will eventually bring me to a conclusion. Follow this road for weeks, months, or maybe years and then the angels will come down and congratulate me for passing this insane test. But that is unlikely to happen. There is nothing to be gained from mindlessly cruising down this empty road, just more asphalt and darkness. As if in a trance, I just let cruise control do its thing and I let the car take me down this path to damnation. How long will my noble steed last? Though gas doesn't seem to exist around here, can I pop a tire? Can the engine die? Perhaps that is what will finally kill me. When I twist the key and send this metal beast into slumber, its glowing eyes fading away in the night. When the light and the purr of the engine finally die, then I too shall perish. The darkness and tar that surrounds me will surge inward at last and devour me, and I will be just like those rotten tar globs that scatter the path. Maybe I should try it, just to see. It sounds like it would be a relief at this point, to finally end it all. Surely a swift and deadly conclusion would be better than toiling away for eternity in this void of a countryside. It does sound tempting, but I cannot fool myself. Despite my wishes for the end, my hand still pauses and shakes when it reaches for the key. I still hesitate and wonder if this will truly be the end. Call me a fool, call me a coward, but I cannot bring myself to shut this vehicle off and let the night take hold.....yet. The road widened again adding more lanes to this monotonous trek. It just seems to do that the deeper I dive. Will there be a time when the grass and dirt vanish too? When these maddening roads run into one another and make a world of pure tar and paint? Perhaps. I cannot say for certain that it won't happen, as there are truly no absolutes here. Except for the one where I will absolutely never make it back to the real world. I will never see another building, human being or even a road sign ever again. So I guess there are no good absolutes here. If it is bad, then yeah, free game. Just keep driving and see what unfolds. For the first time in what feels like weeks, I see a structure ahead of me. It looms in the darkness, my headlights finally hitting something besides empty road and twisted metal monstrosities. The flash of pale gray cement woke me from my mindless driving, startling me so that I instinctively hit the brakes. My steed slowed to a crawl, and I could take the second I needed to truly understand what I was looking at. Cement pillars rising upwards into the night sky, arranged in lines and sloping patterns. An overpass. A bridge crossing over my dark path, where it is coming and going I couldn't say. For a moment I had a bit of hope. A new road, a new path. Somewhere else to go, or at least a radical change in scenery. But could I abandon the road I have been stuck on for so long? Would changing directions help my situation, or even change it in the slightest? No one could know, but it wound up not mattering. The second I drove further towards these cement pillars I realized that there was no new road to worry about. There was an overpass, or at least parts of a couple. What stood atop these structures were garbled chunks of bridge and rebar, arranged by a messy toddler with too many toys. There was no coherent bridge to be found, and I uselessly noted that there wasn't even an on ramp. Someone chopped a dozen overpasses into pieces and then scattered and stacked them with reckless abandon. The craziest intersections or tangled web of ramps found in the real world paled in comparison to this awesome architectural mess. Some bridge pieces ran into the sides of others, colliding with the cement barriers usually meant to keep cars from plummeting to their doom. Some chunks stood alone, looking like a lost chess piece left standing on an empty board. Some bridges were actually long enough to serve as one, if they hadn't looped onto themselves to create an infinite spiral. Others were stacked atop each other so high that I couldn't see where they ended. My headlights couldn't illuminate enough of them, and even craning my neck upwards didn't let me see the top of this mangled toy set. But my searching upwards did allow me to spot another new thing amongst the drab chaos. This twisted nest of road parts didn't stand empty, as an occupant was found atop it all. It was perched atop a random piece of scattered bridge, looking down upon me like a vulture eyeing a sizzling piece of roadkill. Its great metal limbs arched in such a way, that it made it looked hunched over. Thick sheets of tar dripped from its cobbled together frame, as if it sought to cloak itself in this noxious material. What had caught my eye was the blinking of orange lights, a steady rhythmic pulsing as if it was tied to a heart. A shiny black slab served as some kind of face, and strange arrangements of these orange blinkers gave the sense of crude eyes. Its hunched body held itself with iron claws, digging into the cement as if it was made of chewing gum. The way its whole form leaned over the edge, its strange face pointed downwards, gave me the sense of a judge staring down at a defendant from their towering bench. Though it had no real eyes or facial features, my body knew it was staring at me. The way my hair stood on end and with how my heart pounded in my chest, I knew. Once again, I was being acknowledged by a denizen of these endless realm, with no idea if it would finally take action against my presence. Would it pounce from its perch and drop onto my vehicle like an metal owl seeking to tear me to pieces? Would its pulsing face change into a signal for others, calling forth its brethren with the promise of flesh and steel to devour? No, that didn't happen. Like the times before, it only stared. Unlike the other two, it didn't carry on with its task, if it even had one. Perhaps this thing's only job was to stand guard, and watch all who came down this doomed road. I stared at it for hours, and it did the same for me. But at last, the shock of the encounter wore off and I decided to continue on. I slowly rolled under the tangled nest of bridges, keeping the speedometer just barely above the ten, as if speeding would anger this dripping sentinel. It did watch me as I passed under its home, but eventually its glowing face turned away and found something more interesting to stare at. The bridges and their guardian vanished into the darkness behind me, and I was once again left with the lonely open road. Just like before, I picked up speed and just kept rolling on...

------------------------------------------

“Attention”

Been a while with these fellas!    

[minorfamilysupremacy]

for the vp drabble requests: idk if you can even do anything with this since it's only a concept rather than an actual plot idea but i'm personally obsessed w the thought "vegas may sometimes have pete on a literal leash, but the one holding it in their lives and relationship is pete" (something something vegas learning to let someone take care of him and pete gaining agency in his own life)

OP i am so sorry that this is perhaps the most liberal interpretation of the theme possible but i did go hog-wild and write a thousand words of it while off my ass at 2 am so

Vegas understands the human body — the ways in which it works and fails, the ways in which it can be broken apart and stitched together, the paper-thin line between causing pleasure and pain. He understands how easily the same hands that touch Pete with reverence and devotion can be used to maim and destroy.

He looks at Pete, in all of his open, guileless vulnerability, and he thinks: If I didn’t love you so much, I could kill you so easily.

And yet, Pete turns to him, and offers himself up, and puts his life at Vegas’ mercy. He meets Vegas’ eyes and his gaze says, silently, If it’s what you wanted of me, I would gladly die.

—

They do not talk about the angry mass of scar tissue or the nerve damage to Vegas’ arm. He had seen the concern on Pete’s face the first time his body had threatened to give out and he had squeezed Pete’s throat a little harder with his good hand, and that ended the conversation before it had a chance to start.

He understands his own body and wishes he didn’t. He knows its pains and twinges and itches and its untold, unceasing miseries. He knows how to shove down the constant scream that builds in his gut and claws at his insides. He knows that there’s a great void inside him that hurts and hurts and hurts and that can’t be sated or calmed. He lies awake at night, Pete nestled close against him, and imagines smashing the useless meat and bone of his arm into a bloody pulp. It makes him feel good, or as good as he can, to think of tearing himself apart in such a fashion. The void inside him will never be full, but he feeds it anyway, lets it feast on the thought.

Pete sighs and moves closer in his sleep. He is teetering on the edge of a precipice, but when Vegas calls his name, he only turns and smiles.

—

He says to Pete: ‘You’ll leave one day.’ They had all left in a row, with Mama leading the way. Now Papa is gone and Macau will leave them soon enough and then Pete will go, and once that’s done, he’ll go too.

‘Don’t say that.’

Pete always sees the good in him. He is the closest Vegas will ever get to filling that empty space inside himself.

Vegas thinks, If you stay, you will be swallowed alive.

‘It’s alright,’ he says. ‘No one will blame you.’

‘I don’t care if anyone would blame me,’ Pete says. ‘I only care about what I want, and that’s you.’

‘For now.’

His hand is shaking involuntarily at his side. Pete takes it in his own. Vegas can feel the smooth line of the scar on his palm.

‘My heart is here,’ says Pete. ‘I’m not leaving.’

‘You’ll die if you stay.’

‘I’ll die if I leave.’

’And if I order you to?’ says Vegas.

Pete says, ‘I don’t think you could.’

—

His father had beaten him like a dumb animal for so long that it’s impossible to see himself as human any longer. The man who had shot him at the poolside had only done what you do with dumb animals too old and broken to be of any use any longer, and it’s only Vegas’ bad luck that he didn’t finish the job.

He stays alive for Pete, and for Macau, and for the gnawing fear of dishonoring his father’s memory by taking the coward’s way out. But Papa would be disappointed in him for the pitiful thing he’s become anyway. There is no escape from his shame, no matter if he lives or dies.

He is nothing, always has been nothing, always will be nothing. He sees Pete and the way Pete sees him, with fondness and softness, and he feels a vicious stab of guilt for the deceit. The scream that builds and builds inside of him, every hour of every day, is begging for release. The force of it could level mountains.

‘What will it take for you to see sense?’ he says.

‘You have an odd definition of sense,’ says Pete. ‘Come here.’

Vegas does not. He feels as though the yawning emptiness inside him will pull him under, too. He says, venomously, ‘Why would you love me when my own papa couldn’t?’

‘Oh,’ Pete says, more of an exhalation than a word, as though he’s just been punched. He goes to put his arms around Vegas, and Vegas shoves at him with the heel of his good hand.

‘Tell me,’ he demands. He wants to hurt them both and he knows he has. He can see it reflected in Pete’s eyes and it twists the ache in his stomach even tighter.

Pete cradles his cheek in his hand. ‘He should have.’

‘But he didn’t.’

‘I know.’ Pete’s thumb strokes over his skin. ‘I’m sorry.’

Vegas swallows and says, ‘Then what did I do wrong?’

He doesn’t say, Because don’t want to do the wrong thing again. He doesn’t say, Because I can’t lose you.

But Pete knows, because Pete knows him with a clarity Vegas will never know of himself. He says, ‘You didn’t do anything. It wasn’t your fault. It was his.’

He doesn’t say, I’m not him. He doesn’t say, I told you I wouldn’t leave and I meant it.

But Vegas knows.

‘I want to be better,’ he says.

‘You’re good enough as you are. More than enough.’

Vegas is nothing. He is a small sad thing, a worthless, burdensome failure, a drowning man lost at sea.

But Pete is drawing him in anyway, patient as ever, gathering all the jagged, shattered pieces together with gentle hands, pulling him to shore and saying, Fall to your knees. The ground is solid. It will not fail you. It will not give way. You are safe. I am here.

I am here.

[ma-lark-ey]

I feel like challenging GOD so in my first ever read of Harry Potter I will be listing all of my headcanons in one big master post and sending it into the void space of tumblr thank you goodbye. I have no concept over which of these are hottakes, which of these are widely accepted, and which of them are just me being batshit crazy because as I write this I have never once looked at the Harry Potter fandom proper and my only knowledge of it is My Immortal and the fact that TikTok thinks Harry's dad and Sirius' little brother should makeout. 1. Ron Weasley is autistic.

2. Neville Longbottom is half-Korean on his mother's side, and also probably wears goofy little frog overalls.

3. Ron is tall, Harry is Short

4. Harry's scar is smattered across his face like a lightning storm and not just one little bolt, that's pussy shit. Make that shit dramatic

5. Ron and Luna probably had a fling at one point. Autism for autism

6. No way this isn't fanon, but Luna Lovegood is autistic.

7. Ginny Weasley is the HOTTEST bitch in Hogwarts and she is AWARE.

8. In Goblet of Fire the entire little Ron and Harry arc happening there was that they had a summer fling and then broke up when Ron had his little pissboy arc and they were both babies about it and then went back to having their regularly scheduled bromance thank you goodnight

9. Harry is actually dating a new person each book, no matter how short-lived it is. Why? Comedy. It's FUNNY.

10. I think Harry and Ginny have a shotgun wedding at like, nineteen.

11. All I know is that in my brief dive into AO3 (re: I looked up this exact tag out of morbid curiosity of it was A Thing), Sirius/Snape were apparently one of the smallest ships with like only 2k fics which is wild to me, because that enemies to lovers??? Thought bitches would eat that shit up. I don't ship it, but it still was wild.

12. Sirius and Remus are in love. (post mortum: I have now dived just slightly in the fic of Harry Potter and realize this is widely accepted fanon.)

13. Hermione wears fun frilly dresses outside of school and actually really loves dressing up and being girly fuck this 'not like other girls' agenda going on with her. Put her in a pretty dress and let her frolic in a field with flowers.

14. Luna is a seer. She goes on to teach divination

15. I was gonna say something about in my little noggin Ginny raised her and Harry's kid as a single mom or whatever and it's a fic I'm gonna work on and also his name is Remus Weasley and he's a Slytherin but APPARENTLY that's just the entire plot of the Cursed Child as my HP special interest having bestie informed me. I just added in a Gryffindor pretty boy for my Slytherin Potter boy to make out with when JKR was too much of a coward to make him gay.

16. RON SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN HUFFLEPUFF.

17. Cedric Diggory lived a very long and happy life and had a lovely spouse - guy who got really attached to this dorky little dude, knowing full well how he died.

18. It takes Harry at LEAST two marriages to women to realize he's gay. The egg takes a very long time to crack.

19. Ron is straight. He's just. He's got such bi wife energy.

20. Ginny Weasley is a raging bisexual, and so are the twins, and so is Bill. And Charlie? I know in my soul that's a nonbinary.

21. Luna Lovegood? NOT a lesbian, sorry lesbians. I'm claiming her for the aromantics. That's right. She belongs to us.

22. Fleur Delacour was a lesbian. LESBIAN.

23. Harry and Dudley reconnect in their like, thirties/forties and actually become good friends I think.

24. Harry often does diy piercings in the bathrooms during fifth and sixth year, Luna helps.

25. Fred and Lee Jordan are boyfriends god bless.

26. Out of spite for JKR, here's a list of trans woman in Harry Potter according to ME: Ginny Weasley, McGonagall, Hermione, Luna, Lily Potter (her and James are t4t), Tonks (that bitch is nonbinary transfemme),

27. I will live, breathe, and die by my personal headcannon that Tonks and Remus are comphet and in a lavender marriage but they lovingly coparent their child together and regularly at parties Tonks goes "where's my husband? Oh, he's making out with his boyfriend okay cool." and moves on.

28. Draco Malfoy's patronus is that white ferret Moody Crouch turned him into in book four.

29. In my perfect world James Potter is alive and I love him most than anything, I'm holding him like a wet cat. i literally bought three stag plushes over the month I was reading this series just because I couldn't stop thinking about him.

30. I am ignoring the implications in the epilogue that Harry did not raise Teddy Lupin, because he did, actually. That was the last promise he made to his beloved Remus Lupin and if Deathly Hallows taught us anything it's that Harry Potter keeps a fucking promise <<3

31. Molly and Arthur heavily assisted Harry in his 'I'm gonna raise this god damn orphan to good y'all won't know what hit him. I'm gonna be such a good dad.'

32. I am literally IGNORING all these implications of the Cursed Child. Draco Malfoy is also a banger dad. i think he goes to counseling and sorts out his issues and tries very hard to not put such high expectations on his own kids. I think he tries very hard to undo the damage Lucius did to him, and the bad choices he made in trying to make his parents proud of him. I think he makes sure his kids know better than anything else, that all he wants for them is joy. He wants them to be good, happy people.

33. Just Lovers - Zerrazapriel says that Sirius' patronus is Moony and that's so fucking real and true of that fucking fic and I live by that now.

34. On a similar note, Molly and Arthur have matching patronus'

35. Fuck this 'hermione minister of magic' nonsense that girl is a leftist and would never join politics did jkr forget her own fucking canon of harry and hermione doing their absolute best to fuck the government over for the last half of the series? whatever the fuck. HERMIONE TEACHES CHARMS AT HOGWARTS.

36. I'm sorry I got so heated on that last one. I had thoughts. Anyways, Draco also goes on to become head of Slytherin and teaches DADA.

37. I was so anti-Draco for the entire first five books and then the last two books Happened and so now I'm just holding him so close to my chest. He needs therapy. And i think it takes him until their mid-twenties or so, but I think he does make amends with Harry and the crew and actively tries to come back from the actions of his youth, and obviously the Golden Trio and co are sympathetic because Harry himself in the books clearly could recognize Draco was acting on the instruction of his trusted adults, trusting they knew better than him.

38. this is not a headcanon but the wandlore of Draco having a unicorn hair in his wand and the unicorn hair wizards being the most difficult to turn evil and his wand ultimately being the one to defeat voldemort is sooooooo. He's such a product of grooming and I think about him. I want to study him.

39. YOU KNOW WHAT. what if I said harry trans woman who unpacks her gender after the war is over and has time to contemplate who she is as a person and her and Draco become a very cute and in love little couple in their early thirties??? what then???? (does this fic exist and if it does give me links)

40. I think the funniest mental image ever is if Harry just shows up to a party or whatever with everyone when they're like, 26 with Draco fucking Malfoy in his arm and is like "this is my boyfriend" with no further explanation or nothing and half of the group is like "no yeah this is an expected development" and the other half is like "THE BITCHBOY????" and yeah.

I will most definitely have more Harry Potter thoughts as time goes on but this is all I'll put into the world. Good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.