#light fury slander

[thecosmicmap]

Strap in folks this is gonna be a long one.

So as we know Dean Deblois is the writer of HTTYD2 and 3. As a writer you have a list of rules you should follow. One such rule is “show don’t tell.”

Dean disregarded this rule and we mainly see it with Grimmel and the Night Fury genocide. In the movie he tells us “I hunted every last night fury except yours” yet Grimmel has nothing to show for it. No trophies, no night fury hide cloak, not even a claw. The most we get is a few “facts” about Night Furies that aren’t even true, or can’t be proven to be true because we’ve only ever seen one Night Fury.

“Night Furies can’t survive the cold.” Yet Hiccup tells us (in GOTNF which is canon) that winter in Berk lasts for most of the year.

“Night Furies can’t fly long distances” Yet Toothless’ wings are large and wide, which allows him to glide for long periods of time.

“Furies mate for life.” We would never know because we only see one Night Fury in the entire franchise. And if we take a look at other dragons, it seems they only see their mate during mating season.

And why would Grimmel know that if he’s trying to kill off the Night Furies forever? What’s the point in knowing their mating habits if there’s never going to be any Night Furies again? Did he just look at a Fury pair and go “yeup. They mate for life.”

Now another thing about Grimmel is that his hunting method is unreliable. One, he left his bait without any restraints. Imagine if the Light Fury woke up minutes before and just left? Boom! No more bait. What if Toothless wasn’t horny and was mad at the Light Fury for trying to kill Hiccup multiple times? Boom. He wouldn’t be trying to deal with her and the plan is ruined because the bait isn’t appealing to the target. What if Toothless didn’t smell her and never showed up?

Lots of plot conveniences. It happens in the entire movie. Dean also had to confirm that yes, Grimmel did kill all the Night Furies in an INTERVIEW because people didn’t believe that Grimmel genocide the Night Furies. And Dean only did this because he thinks Toothless is special because he’s the last Night Fury.

Now we could be here forever talking about how stupid grimmel is as a villain and how stupid it is to even entertain the thought that ONE man and his six, drugged dragons were able to commit genocide to a species of intelligent, elusive and fast dragons, but let’s just continue.

Another rule Dean disregarded is having good characterization. Or ANY characterization!

The Light Fury immediately comes to mind. Name one personality trait she has that we actually see in the movie. You can’t, can you? Because Dean actively wrote that out. There was a deleted scene of Light Fury and Toothless’ romantic flight which gave her much more personality, yet Dean wrote it out and gave us the boring one we have now.

Also, can we just talk about how she doesn’t have a name? Her name is literally “The Light Fury.” Which is the same as naming a Golden Retriever Golden Retriever.

I know Hiccup would’ve named her. Hell, anybody would’ve named her! But no, Dean decided that she didn’t need one because “how else would she be wild”?

Dean says this in an interview, “We intentionally try to keep her [The Light Fury] wild and elusive, to kind of represent something that is pure dragon, that hasn't been tainted by human beings by domestication.” Which just goes to show that Dean doesn’t know what domestication is.

(Dean also doesn’t know what a subspecies is because if he did, then he would know a Light Fury can’t possibly be a Night Fury subspecies because they have too many differences).

1. this means that Dean thinks all of the dragons that have benefited from human companionship (Toothless, Cloudjumper, Meatlug, Stormfly, etc) are tainted.

And 2, there is nothing “dragon” about the Light Fury. She has small feet (Hiccup’s head is literally bigger than her feet), small claws, a small mouth, her wings are weirdly shaped, she’s curved, she has no protective scales and her tailfin is in the shape of a heart, which would actually mess up her flight.

Many people have said this is because she’s semi-aquatic. But this is disproven by the fact that we’ve never seen her in the water and the art book.

Here’s two direct quotes: “We had to explore how the Light Fury would walk and make her feel like a female.” “We had to control all the shapes while keeping her both powerful and graceful so she didn’t fall too much into the reptilian category.”

The Light Fury is a plot device, a “agent of change” in Dean’s words.

Now while we’re on the topic of characterization, let’s talk about our main cast. We’ll start with Toothless.

Toothless is Hiccup’s best friend, who will do anything to protect him no matter the costs. He’s sassy, intelligent, curious, loyal, protective and playful.

Now take all of this, and throw it in the trash because this isn’t the toothless you’re going to see in THW. In THW Toothless’ playfulness is shot to the max, making him more like a slobbery puppy than the lethal panther he was in HTTYD1.

Toothless isn’t protective of Hiccup at all, his intelligence is below hell itself and we don’t see a lick of sass. Httyd3 Toothless is physically incapable of looking scary because his face has been deformed to to look blocky and smushed together. He lacks any aerodynamics and we can even see it in his flying. He looks like he’s struggling.

Toothless and Hiccup’s friendship is so watered down in this movie, just for the sake of romance. That’s not how it should be. Romance and friendship go hand in hand, one is not more valuable than the other.

Astrid is nothing but Hiccup’s emotional support, yet she also puts him down. “you gave him [Toothless] his freedom, what were you expecting?” This implies that the dragons are being held captive and Toothless doesn’t want to be with Hiccup.

Which he does, as we see in GOTNF. Toothless only left to get Hiccup’s helmet, then he broke the auto-tail. But why would Astrid even say that? Thats so insensitive 😭.

The twins are dumbed down (despite proving to actually being intelligent), Snotlout is flirting with a woman who’s 20 years older than him (and might be his aunt, depending if you see Hiccup and Snotlout as cousins) and Valka outright tells Hiccup that they can’t hide away from the world.

Which is true, they can’t. Because eventually they will be found. Now remember this, it’ll come back later.

Now, when writing a story it’s important to move the plot along in a way that doesn’t seemed forced. When I think of this, I think of Trollhunters: tales of Arcadia.

The protagonist (Jim) goes into the villain’s home in order to rescue his friend’s baby brother, yet he gets trapped there. His friends have to get him out of there, which allows the villain to be freed from the Darklands. This happening allows the story to move forward in a way that makes sense and isn’t forced.

Now back to HTTYD3. Let’s look at the scene where Toothless and the LF get captured. The Light Fury smells grimmel, she calls to toothless, runs towards Grimmel and gets shot.

Toothless runs over (ignoring Hiccup’s warnings) approaches Grimmel, takes forever loading a plasma blast while sloooowly walking towards Grimmel, allowing the man to shoot him and make him go night-night.

Hiccup runs over, also taking forever. And the next time we see grimmel he’s already tied up two dragons (BY HIMSELF) in these complicated straight jackets. The other dragons come around (finally) ready to attack, yet Grimmel threatens the light fury and tells Toothless to call of the dragons.

“But isn’t Toothless asleep?” I hear you ask, and to that I respond with “no, he’s not. He miraculously woke up in time to call the dragons off, despite the light fury still being knocked out cold.”

The dragons are called off and grimmel leaves on his quad-copter. The dragons follow them, even though Grimmel didn’t tell toothless to make them follow.

Do you see how forced this is? There’s many more forced plot points, but we’ll be here forever talking about it and this post is long enough already.

Next up on the broken rule list, Dean let the antagonist win. Now it’s okay for an antagonist to win, but never in the third act.

Grimmel’s ultimate goal was for dragons to disappear. Dean himself says “he does not want a world in which dragons roam free.” And what do we see at the end of HTTYD3?

The dragons disappearing into the Hidden World forever. Exactly what Grimmel wanted.

Finally, the last rule Dean broke is having a consistent plot. Now the plot of each movie is a bit different. Httyd1: Hiccup shows Vikings that while dangerous, dragons aren’t monsters. And it’s better to work together than working apart.

Httyd2: Dragons are being captured and enslaved, we need to save them and fight for our friends.

Httyd3: toothless needs to get a girlfriend. He HAS to, despite not ever showing to want one, but he’s horny right now so YES, he HAS to.

But the franchise has an overarching narrative about humans and dragons coming together. That no matter what, they will prevail because they’re working together.

Well in HTTYD3 yes, they prevail. But the dragons leave. Why, you may ask? Because no matter what they’ll always be bad humans so there’s no point fighting.

Hiccup sends the dragons to an underground glittery cave that doubles as a prison, and six years of friendship is thrown down the drain for a female Toothless met three days prior. Hiccup tells the audience that dragons will hide until humans learn how to get along (despite the many humans that already get along with them).

And that’s it. The end. No more.

“But wait!” I hear you ask, “Won’t the dragons eventually be found again?” And to that I say, “Oh, you remember!”

Because yes, the dragons will eventually be found out again. And because Hiccup gave up on fighting for change, these humans think dragons are dangerous monsters and will undoubtedly enslave/kill them.

We even see this with his own kids! Zephyr thought dragons were monsters and was ready to hurt them in order to “protect her family”. Humans of the future will no doubt act like this as well.

Humans and dragons will never learn to get along if they are never around each other. Change won’t just happen, you have to fight for it. Like the end of slavery, or the Women’s Rights Movement. Those things didn’t just happen, people had to fight for change and they had to keep fighting because if they gave up then nothing would change.

And when the dragons are inevitably found once again, it will be Hiccup’s fault when they’re either killed or enslaved.

[lilliths-not-just-httyd-blog]

i'm off and on pretty neutral on the light fury but the one thing i absolutely refuse to budge on is the idea that she's supposedly "semi-aquatic".

design notes, concept art and prototypes aren't canon. they might've designed her with the intent of her being semi-aquatic, but until the day comes where she's actually shown interacting with water in any capacity, i'm sorry, but there's absolutely nothing to suggest the canonicity of her semi-aquatic nature.

it's a fun headcanon, and i personally love it and love seeing people do things with the concept, but it's not canon. maybe one day, but not now. until i am proven otherwise, she's not semi-aquatic.

[saturnniidae]

Toothless and the Light Fury are my least favorite interracial couple.

[fuck-cavern-crashers]

can someone edit the cavern crasher's scale texture onto the light fury and vice versa?

[blockedragon]

She looks like a white night fury hatchling with adult proportions and makeup. Her design is so smooth that she seems almost unfinished.

She doesn't even look pretty to me, she looks like one of those designer breeds that they went too far with, like she's SUPPOSED to look good but they went so far with exaggerating her features that it loops back around to looking weird. Her face is too flat and too round, and her eyes are too big, her face is so creepy looking!

I don't even hate her ENTIRE design, just 95% of it. I actually think the sleeker wings and the ridge on the back look cool, they remind me of peregrine falcons and fighter jets, the smoothed-down wings and fins give her a somewhat aerodynamic look that would've been great if applied to something better.

Her design is borderline sexist if you actually read about her.

Wouldn't want a dragon to look reptilian, that's just crazy talk! We gotter make her feel like a female, and as anyone who took first grade biology can tell you; all reptiles are male.

No, I don't care about the subspecies excuse, I prefer the Doylist approach. The LF species was made to suit Toothpaste's role in the movie, they could've designed her and LFs as a whole any way they pleased. Sure, I couldn't convict them of gender crimes in gender court because their gender lawyers would whip out that sub-species excuse. But I am not a gender lawyer or a gender judge, I'm merely a humble gender-haver and am therefore not beholden to gender due process and the presumption of gender innocence.

moment of silence for two lady dragons who could’ve looked cool af but the character designers were cowards so instead we just got bland smooth worms

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

All I see is Red ♦️

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

A/N: holy shit, this took me so long to edit fml it's the longest thing I've written so far. I also think it's terribly paced, but I'll leave that to you. I hope you like it anyway <3

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: ADA SLANDER. Girl is getting wrecked in this one. Ada's a bitch. Reader is absolutely furious, Leon is supportive but a lil bit useless, description of injuries, feminine rage, RC flashbacks.

《Word count》: 6.1k

Inspired by this post of mine <3

Reader's codename is 'Loon/Loony' after the bird!

Please don't copy my work. I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

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Red. A color that held many a mystery, signifying an infinite amount of things and emotions. Every shade as different as the next. Ruby, crimson, maroon, burgundy.

Where others commonly thought of the symbol of love, a deep red rose, or perhaps the pale plush on the cheeks of newly confessed lovers and the sensuality of passionate nights, you saw different things.

Your relationship with the color red hadn't always been a complicated one, not until that fateful night. You wished you could go back where red was just that; red, a color, nothing more. Not something that had you anxious and alert.

You didn't see love, passion or deep devotion. What you saw where the horrors of human greed and pride. You saw the blood dripping from the gnarled jaws of the first infected you'd ever encountered at the gas station with Leon. You saw the red lights of broken down and abondend cop cars. You saw the red of dismembered police officers and civilians.

You saw the red of Kendo's Gun shop and the redness his daughter, Emma, held in her eyes. You saw the red of lieutenant Branagh's bloody finger prints in officer Elliot's notebook. And you couldn't get all the other shades out of your head- especially not the red of her dress, or the red dripping from his shoulder because he took a bullet for her.

It only ever haunted you, the tearing lump of flesh that once was Dr. Birkin, or the blaring red lights deep inside the NEST.

It wouldn't leave your mind. It was filled with red, overflowing with its common link to anger. The hot, excruciating fury that boiled in your veins when the facade of the woman in red broke into two, revealing what she really was.

You thought, as you watched her fall and saw the ruby shade being enveloped by unforgiving black, that you could move on.

But you never did. You never could. The betrayal and anger were still deeply rooted in your veins. But not only for what she did to you, but what she did to him. How she used and abused his kindness, loyalty, and care for her gain, pretending to care only to repay the both of you like this after you'd saved her.

But you weren't alone, fighting to stay afloat in the red sea that was trying to drown you. You changed your approach.

Instead of all the blood and anger you saw in red, you tried seeing Claire's jacket. Or the woven, red hair band Sherry wore. As well as the redness in Leon's cheeks after all the running and fighting.

You tried seeing the dark, dull shade that soaked his bandage, signifying that it was over. You were safe, he was safe, Claire and Sherry were safe. And it worked.

You saw the shiny crimson of Claire's bike, the leathery red of a matching jacket that Sherry desperately wanted, and the beautiful shade of the single rose that Leon gifted you on your first date.

You even saw the pale red reflections of the lovebites that littered your skin from time to time, courtesy of Leon.

The red of that nights horrors slipped to the back of your mind, just like the red of the Umbrella logo and the red cross that sat exactly where Raccoon City once was, standing out against the pale paper of a map.

All was well as love and passion took the reigns on the red in your mind, but if course things don't stay well forever.

And your peace was broken when you caught a faint glimpse of red from the corner of your eye.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

This place wouldn't have been your choice of a vacation destination, but lord knows the government doesn't give a shit about that.

The village was rundown, muddy, and most importantly, full of walking corpses.

Unbeknownst to you, of course.

The horrors had started ever since you and Leon stepped out of that god forsaken car, the red of blood, innocent blood, forcing its way into your mind once again.

You tightly gripped the red ammo box you'd just picked up from the ground after Leon had kicked a wooden crate into splinters.

"Hey, hey, easy! You're shins aren't made of steel." You scolded the blonde agent on your left, who only responded with a very playful eye roll while checking the mag of his gun.

"Don't you worry about my bones, Loony." He chuckled, patting your shoulder.

"Don't call me that! S'not my fault you got the cooler codename." You grumbled. "And for your information, Loons are excellent swimmers!"

"You see any water?" He shot back with a grin which earned him a huff from you.

Your gaze turned back to the pale red box in your hand, slight indents forming where your fingers were as you subconsciously squeezed it a little too hard.

The edges were worn and the colors were dull, but the bullets inside clinked together like the shuddering melody that haunted you ever since Raccoon City.

Leon noticed your dazed stare at the small container, they way your brows were scrunched together and the structure of the paper box crumbling under the hard grip of your hand.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked softly, firmly placing one of his hands on your shoulder. Your head snapped towards him, his gentle words pulling you from your trance.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine." You smiled awkwardly, shoving the box into your pocket.

"Alright. Let's see if the locals know something." He replied firmly. The air he had about him told you he hadn't completely believed your answer and that he would keep an eye on you.

The last thing he needed was you getting in your head. He needed your full support and attention in order to pull this off.

You were about to respond when a small zip sound made you whip your head in its direction.

"Did you hear that?" You fully turned to face the way the sound came from and narrowed your eyes to see whether whatever caused that noise was in your sight.

"Hear what?" Leon asked puzzled.

"It sounded like a... a zipline or something." You glanced at Leon, who still had his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Never mind." You muttered, walking past him towards the village entrance.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The locals did know something. They knew that they definitely did not like the two of you and that there would be nothing more satisfying than watching you burn.

The haunting screams of one of the Spanish Police officers echoed off the broken and shitty houses as he went up in flames.

"Jesus Christ.." Leon breathed out, reaching for his gun.

"This is not gonna be pretty." You mumbled, aiming for one of the villagers, who had noticed you by now and were storming in your direction, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit him right between the eyes with a splat sound and your eyes widened when he only held his head before continuing his way, lit torch in hand.

"What the fuck..."

Leon looked just as shocked as you, but didn't hesitate to feed the fucker four bullets to his forehead until he finally toppled over.

"Something's not right." You stated quietly, a crease between your eyebrows.

"We'll talk later." He said firmly, aiming his weapon again. Giving him a sharp nod, you moved in and took out any local that blocked your way.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You had underestimated the number of people that lived here. You were completely surrounded, standing in the Plaza of the village, careful not to slip on the muddy ground. Leon's back was firmly pressed against yours as you tried your hardest to fight off the horde.

The once quiet town was now filled with the piercing sounds of fired shots, the unholy screams and screeches from the townspeople and the heavy thud of bodies falling into puddles.

Your elbows were locked as you mercilessly took down local after local, only stopping to quickly reload your pistol. While reloading, you noticed the smallest flash of bright red flitting over the terracotta roof tops.

You froze and, stupidly, lowered your guard as your eyes were frantically searching for whatever that was. The fact that it was red made your blood solidify in your veins and your breath to get caught in your throat. It was as if time around you slowed down, the images of that night seeping into every crevice of your mind. The blood, Leon's blood, the lights, Kendo, and his daughter, Dr. Birkin and her. It all hit you again like a truck that was carelessly speeding down the road.

But you had no time to get lost in those horrific images swirling in your head or to slip into a panic attack because you were tackled onto the dirty ground, wrinkled hands wrapping around your throat, squeezing tight.

You were struggling for air, desperately clawing at the discolored arms that quite literally held your life in their hands. An old woman had jumped on top of you, screaming phrases you couldn't understand in your face as her spittle landed on your cheeks.

Her face was sunken in, more than it should at her age, and the veins around her eyes seemed almost black. And in her eyes there was only rage, a burning fire just like the one they'd lit before.

You were thrashing your legs, anything to get her off and her hands away from your neck. You could feel yourself getting lightheaded, your heart pouding in your ears. Leon came to your rescue quickly, harshly ripping the woman away from you and shooting her in the head twice with no hesitation.

"Loony, are you alright?" Leon asked firmly, keeping the few remaining residents at bay.

"Yeah, I... don't worry about me.." You heaved, soothing the red mark on your neck. You were coughing and panting, trying to steady yourself. Leon had given you a very sharp look that said I'll take care of this. and you weren't about to argue with him. There was no point in wasting precious ammo with how shaky and unreliable your hands were at the moment.

You dragged yourself behind a small fence and took deep breaths, pressing the heel of your palm into your temple.

Suddenly, the loud sound of the church bell bounced off the buildings and everything went eerily quiet. The once furious and aggressive villagers now slowly made their way to the church, mumbling soft illegible words and phrases.

They payed no mind to Leon as they brushed past him like nothing happened and he didn't exist. The door fell shut with a heavy sound after all the remaining people had entered. Leon turned in confusion.

"Where's everyone going? Bingo?" He huffed, his voice being the only thing heard, besides the soft crackling of the fire at the stake, and the quiet rustle of leaves as a soft breeze passed through them.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"What the hell happened back there?" It was clear Leon wanted an answer for your little freeze up. He knew you, and you would never let someone, or rather something, get that close to you.

"I... just got distracted." You mumbled, keeping your eyes on the sweet cow you were currently petting. Leon had gone looking for more supplies in the empty houses and had spoken to Hunnigan about Baby Eagle's whereabouts while you stumbled upon the gentle creature chewing on some grass in one of the open stables.

You needed to get your head back on right, and scratching the cattle helped clear the fog over your mind. It mooed softly and licked at your hand and you could feel the roughness of its pink tongue against your palm. Leon sighed and tipped his head forward.

"We can't afford distractions, Loony. You know that."

"I know. I just... have a really bad feeling about this. It's like... we're being watched. And I saw something red moving across the rooftops and I.. got inside my head. It won't happen again." You kept your voice small and quiet, looking down to hide the faint spark of shame in your eyes.

You wouldn't fuck this up. You couldn't fuck this up. You needed to pull yourself together and get back to the task at hand.

"Good." Leon said softly, placing his hand on your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He wished he could do more. He wished he could take you into his arms and kiss your forehead. He knew how odd and complicated your thoughts on the color red were. You'd told him all about it, and he held you through it all, as the two of you relived that nights events in your own minds.

But you'd set a strict rule. Absolutely no display of affection during work. The risk of the enemy finding out was too high, and they would surely use that newfound information to their advantage.

It wasn't easy being in a relationship and then working together like this, but you made it work. You made it work purely because you worked. You matched Leon perfectly, and he matched you.

You were a dream team to the government, which is why they kept you close. And now you would use your skills as a team and save Ashley.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Ending up in this Castle had not been part of your plan. It was an impressive building, no doubt, but the light marble walls and beautiful greenery that was littered with colorful little

blooms painted a wrong picture of its owner. The... host, shall we call him, hadn't given you one second to breathe. You were running and fighting, and running and fighting, and occasionally taking a hit or two to shield Ashley from as much harm as you could. It was all so... familiar. It felt like just how you tried to shield and protect Sherry from Chief Irons.

It made your head cloudy with bad memories. The constant separation from Ashley reminded you of how you somehow always caught up in the middle. You'd started out in the Police station with Leon after the crash but ended up in the orphanage with Claire, trying to rescue Sherry.

Well, that's not quite true, actually. Claire needed your help, so you left Leon... with her.

She seemed trustworthy enough with those big three letters plastered next to her name. What a fucking mistake that was.

There hasn't been a single day where you don't regret your decision. You felt so betrayed, and you still do. You were used just as much as Leon, putting your trust into someone who would've left you to die.

The memories rippled in Leon's blood, staring you right in the face, as you took a look at his injured hand. Whatever was inside of you had gotten inside of Ashley's mind, causing her to attack Leon with a knife. It sliced open his palm as he tried to stop the swing.

You were currently using some first aid spray on the wound before wrapping it on a piece of cloth you'd cut off from the many curtains around the Castle. Leon, as always, insisted he was fine and you needn't fret over him, but you were truly fucked if he couldn't hold his guns correctly.

You shut him down and began lecturing him on how stupid it was. And he listened, like he always did, staring at you with a smile on his face. He glanced past you, eyes falling on the gate that had separated Ashley from the both of you, and his smile was replaced with a small frown.

Ashley looked so terrified, and it broke your heart. She didn't deserve any of this, being ripped from her life and then having to fight for it all the same. You had to find her before Ramon did.

"Can you fit that under your glove?" You asked softly, tying a tight knot on the makeshift bandage around Leon's hand.

"Uh, yeah. Should work." Leon mumbled, squeezing his hand in a fist multiple times to test the flexibility of the wrap before putting his glove back on.

"Alright," he groaned as he got up from the edge of the stoke fountain he'd been sitting on,

"Let's get our Baby Eagle back." He held out his good hand to you, which you took, and he pulled you off the ground.

"Are you sure your hand's okay?" You questioned with a crease of concern between your brows when you saw him wince as he grabbed his gun. He only smiled at you softly and gently brushed his calloused thumb over your cheekbone.

"I'm okay. I promise."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The courtyard was really quite beautiful. The high and dense walls of green gave it a somewhat mysterious and mystical feel. There were plenty of old and mossy stone statues littered around the place, with a few fountains here and there. If it hadn't been under these circumstances, you might've called your stay here enjoyable.

It didn't matter now as you slipped from the literal maze that was the courtyard, into an open stone hallway right by its side. The gate was locked, so your only chance at finding Baby Eagle was to go around, which meant through the dark walls of the Castle. You weren't thrilled, but it was your only option.

There were two doors in the hallway; one to your right, and one straight ahead, at the end of the corridor.

"You go right, I'll take the one straight." Leon said, motioning to the wooden door in front of him.

"Okay." You nodded, checking the mag of your gun. There was no telling what else would hide in the Castle. Leon reached out to the door handle, but you interrupted him, making him stop in his tracks.

"Leon?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful. I saw some snakes around here."

He gave you a firm nod and proceeded, as did you, carefully entering the room.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Leon slowly pushed the door open, having his gun at the ready if anything decided to jump him. When he couldn't detect any immediate threats, he stepped inside fully and looked around.

The room was lit up in a warm hue from the various candles burning, their wax dripping down the metal candle holders.

There were many wooden cabinets pushed against the walls, filled with all sorts of shiny junk. An open window at the back if the room caught his eye, and he carefully moved closer as the hinges creaked.

"You can stop right there, Leon." A voice called from behind him, accompanied by the cocking of a gun and the clacking sound of high heels against the old wooden floors.

"Wouldn't make me use this, would you?" He'd know that voice anywhere. It haunted his dreams, whispering sweet lies and betrayals in his ear, only to fade away when it's owner fell to their death.

He clenched his jaw and chuckled bitterly, letting his gun fall to the floor with a thud.

"Well, after six years, that is one hell of a greeting... Ada."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The room was uneventful. It was mostly bare, only a big table in the middle filling the space, littered with scrap pieces of paper and metal parts.

There were no windows, only a couple of candles to light your path. You searched around nonetheless, and found a small pot with a green herb hidden in the corner.

You hummed at your find and plucked the stems, storing them in your pockets so you could grind up the leaves later and combine them with a rare yellow herb Leon had found in the courtyard.

You rummaged through the papers on the table, just in case, but were pulled from your task when you picked up muffled voices coming from Leon's direction. Alarm bells went off in your head, alongside utter confusion.

Who could he be talking to? You doubted the.. lovely.. gentlemen who had welcomed you had a knack for talking. It wasn't Ramón. It didn't sound nearly as pitchy and annoying for it to be him. There was no way it was Ashley..

what was going on? With furrowed brows and immense caution, you quickly walked down the stone hallway to the room Leon had chosen to investigate, finding its door ajar.

Your heart stopped when you heard what sounded like a gun hitting the floor. Next, there were sounds of struggle and soft grunts, same with a noise like a blade slicing through the air.

It felt like your feet were rooted in the ground, refusing to move. You had to pull yourself together. Leon was in potential danger.

You kicked open the door so hard that it smashed into the sturdy stone walls with a loud thud. When your eyes landed on the sight before you, your hands fell limp at your sides, your mouth slightly agape.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Leon had his knife pressed against Ada's throat and she slightly shifted her head to look over her shoulder, straight at you. She made an amused sound before turning back to face Leon.

"You brought your little friend, too, I see." She said with a smirk. Her voice was so smooth, too smooth. All you wanted to do was put a scratch in it. Leon stared at you, and you stared at him, with the occasional glance to the woman who ruined your life.

You stepped further into the room, keeping your eyes on her while letting the heavy door fall into its lock.

The second you finally met her eye, every single emotion you felt that night, and all the six years after, came bubbling up all at once, almost choking you. Your eyes were burning, your jaw was clenched and your breathing became irregular. You circled around her until you stood right next to Leon.

"Why the fuck are you not dead?" The bite and disbelief in your voice was evident, you balled your hands into fists to keep the fury and sadness at bay.

"Ooooh, Ouch." Ada feigned hurt and smirked back at you. God, how badly you wanted to slap that stupid smirk off her face.

You took a breather, trying to sort the words in your head. You didn't know what you wanted to say first. Everything wanted to come out at once. All the pain, and the anger and the fear. All the deep hatred you held in your heart for her. You looked up at the ceiling and shook your head with a small scoff.

"I can't believe this... for six goddamn years I've been trying to move on and get over what happened, get over what you did. And just as I was starting to get a grip, you show up. Why? You couldn't just do your shitty job without bothering us? You just can't go quietly, can you, Ada?"

"What, you're still not over that?" She shifted on her feet and almost rolled her eyes. There was no remorse in her voice, no regret, nothing. Just annoyance for your inability to be over it.

"You're awfully confident for someone with a knife at her throat." Leon said harshly, earning him a glare from Ada.

"You... are you serious? You used me! You used Leon, preyed on our fear only to... to fuck everything up! Do you even have an ounce of an idea of what you did?" Your throat started closing up as the emotions ran amok in your chest, leaving you with a shaky voice and a burning in eyes.

"We were fighting for our lives, thinking we were the only survivors and then you came along with your fucking FBI badge and gave us hope. Do you even know how-" she cut you off with an amused scoff that turned into a scowl.

"Oh, please. I didn't give you hope. You gave yourself hope." Your face dropped slightly, which only lasted a second before an expression of unimaginable rage took over your features.

"You fucking-" Leon stopped you from surging at her with a firm hand on your shoulder, sheathing his knife, "he took a bullet for you! I twisted and contorted three times over for you because we thought you wanted to help! We- We had faith in you, and we trusted you." You had to hold back a sob as you recalled the painful memories of betrayal that still sat deep in the marrow of your bones.

The first few tears sprung from your lashline, leaving streaks of salt on your cheeks. You were so, so incredibly angry and hurt. Your nostrils flared as you exhaled sharply, cleching your fists.

"But now I see that I should've shot you between the eyes first chance I got." You said lowly, staring daggers at Ada.

"A feisty one, huh?" She smirked bitterly, "Keep your bitch under control, Leon."

"Say that again, Ada, and I swear to god-" Leon hissed as he pushed past you, towering over her in an attempt to intimidate her. She laughed, she fucking laughed, and tilted her head at him.

"What are you gonna do? You're too soft for your own good." She spat, the venom in her tone could burn through your flesh like acid. Something inside you snapped.

The thin, tethered line of patience that you'd been holding on ever since you stepped foot inside this room crumbled under the weight of your emotions.

You quickly pulled Leon's combat knife from its sheath and pressed it against Ada's neck, successfully backing her up into a corner until she hit the stone wall with a grunt.

"I would choose my next words very carefully. I'm not above slitting your throat and watching all the lies spill out." You warned lowly, your eyes darkening. You saw a flash of something in her eyes. You couldn't decipher it. She was impossible to read. Everything about her was fake.

She could get on her knees and beg for your forgiveness and you'd believe her. That's how dangerous she was, how unpredictable.

"That was you in the village, wasn't it? The red I saw flashing on the rooftops? The weird sound I heard? That was all fucking you, wasn't it?" You seethed, pressing the blade to her neck, almost slicing through the knit fabric of her dress.

"You are a pest of a human being, Ada." You continued angrily, letting everything spill out.

"We were willing to die for the cause, for you, just so you and that stupid sample could get out and prevent this from ever happening again. The fact that that means nothing to you shows how truly rotten you are. You're not a good person, Ada, and you never will be." You noticed a shift in her demeanor when you harshly spat the last sentence.

The corner of your mouth twitched upwards. You'd hit her where it hurt, apparently. A gentle hand on your shoulder made the harsh crease between your eyebrows soften.

"Loony, we have to get Ashley. We can't let Ramón get her." Leon said quietly, trying to tug you away from Ada by your arm.

With a sharp jerk of your shoulder, you shook him off of you, nicking her jaw with the edge of the knife in the process. Ada breathed heavily as she tried to keep the knife away from her neck. She looked past you, directly at Leon.

"Leave the girl. She's lost no matter what."

At the mention of Ashley and without thinking, you struck her across the face. She gasped in surprise, both at the impact and that you had the guts to slap her.

"You don't fucking get to decide who's lost!" You bellowed, trying to keep your hands steady with all the rage that was coursing through your veins.

"You better thank whatever God you believe in, because that's the only one standing between your neck and my knife." You threatened with a harsh stare that made Ada swallow.

"Loony-"

"If I catch you near Ashley you're dead meat, Wong." You said lowly before stepping away from her and pressing the knife back in Leon's hand.

With a last angry look you walked towards the door. You pulled it open, the hinges groaning under its weight. You looked back over your shoulder.

"Just know this... no amount of good deeds will ever undo what you've done. You're the one that's lost. Not Ashley."

You didn't wait for a reaction, or for Leon, you just needed to get away from her.

You headed towards the courtyard again and sat down near a fountain, watching the small stream of water drip from the stone vase.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

It was over. This absolute nightmare of a mission was over. You were exhausted and covered in... well, maybe you didn't want to know. You'd removed your Las Plagas parasite, and Saddler met his demise at the hands of Leon.

You could get Ashley back home and then barricade yourself in your shared apartment with Leon, waiting for the next shitty mission to come along.

It was an endless cycle of exhaustion and pain, but you were lying if you said it wasn't addictive.

You fell to your knees with heavy breaths, letting everything fall off your shoulders. You were so relieved you could cry. Your neck and shoulders hurt from tensing up, your back had been crushed into too many walls, and you'd been thrown against a barrel.

Holding your side in pain, you lifted your head up only to see Leon on the ground, reaching out for the amber. Your body sagged, the adrenaline fading away by the minute.

However, your head shot up when you heard what sounded like a metal clang of shoes. Ada came down from the sky, tucking her grapling gun back into its holster.

"Jesus christ- do you ever fucking go away?!" You yelled, more to yourself than her. She bent down and plucked the amber right from under Leon's nose. You heaved yourself up with a groan and grabbed one of the small knives you'd found along the way.

You aimed and threw it at her, you didn't care where it hit her, if it hit her at all, but if she didn't get the hint that you wanted her to fuck off now, all hope was lost.

The blade embedded itself in her thigh, making her cry out in pain and, in turn, dropping the amber.

You used all your remaining strength and threw yourself at the small glass container, grasping it tightly. Ada's eyes widened, still holding onto her injured thigh.

"W-What.. what are you doing?" She demanded through hisses and groans. Dragging yourself up with the support of one of the metal rails, you held up the amber in the light.

"Fuck you.. Fuck this stupid little stone.. Fuck whoever you're working for. I am done." You panted, throwing the amber as far as you could, watching as it disappeared into the deep, dark ocean.

"No!" Ada screamed, reaching out for the stone, "do you have any idea what you just did!?"

"I don't give a shit."

You limped over to her and bent down, meeting her at eye level. Pulling the knife from her thigh, you couldn't help but chuckle.

"This feels a little... familiar, wouldn't you say, Ada?"

You thought back to when a piece of metal had lodged itself into her leg back in the Umbrella lab. You'd found her by coincidence, lying on a pile of debris and rubble. If it hadn't been for you and Leon, she would've died in that hellhole. Not that you ever received a thank you.

"Go to hell." She spat in your face, holding her bleeding thigh.

"I'm already in hell." You mumbled bitterly, sinking down next to Leon, who had an expression on his face that you could only describe as awe. With a scowl on her face, she heaved herself up and limped towards the helicopter that had flown up.

Ada managed to get into the heli, with a little trouble, and smirked back at you.

"I'd offer you a ride, but... I think I'd rather watch you be blown to bits and pieces."

"If I ever see you again, I'll be your worst nightmare." You snapped at her, praying she'd just fuck off already.

She scoffed with a frown and signaled the pilot to take off.

"Have fun being mince meat."

You sighed and slacked against Leon once she was gone. Your head fell against his shoulder and you closed your eyes.

"We need to get out of here, the whole Island's gonna blow." Leon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I know, just..." Your voice was shaky, trying to suppress the tears that would ultimately spill. You took a deep breath, blinking away the salty water droplets. You needed to be strong. You needed to get Ashley out of here.

You had plenty of time to break down when you were back at home. Leon noticed your fight to keep the tears away and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly while pressing a kiss to your temple.

"You're okay. Ashley's okay. I'm okay." He cooed, gently rocking you.

"I love you. And I would love to spend the rest of my life with you, but we can only do that if we find a ride out of here. Now." Leon said as softly as he could. He wanted to comfort you, hold you, and kiss you, but the situation was urgent.

"You know I'm always prepared." You sniffled with a small grin, holding up a pair of keys for Leon to see.

"Where the hell did you get these?" Leon asked bewildered. You got off the ground with a groan and grinned.

"She's got some pretty shitty pockets." Leon followed suit with getting up with an amused smirk playing in his lips.

"You clever little thing."

You winked and tossed him the keys. He chuckled once he caught them and noticed the little bear Keychain that was attached to the keyring.

"Cute."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You were sitting on your couch, knees tucked under your body as you watched the TV. Your gaze was unfocused, and in reality, you weren't watching the TV at all.

You were thinking about everything that happened. About all the emotions that you didn't get out, all the things you hadn't managed to say.

You were inside your head all the time. Not being able to focus on anything without slipping away into that September night or those rainy days in Spain.

Leon noticed. Of course he did. And it broke his heart to see you like this, all dull and void of joy. But he knew that this would pass. He wouldn't allow you to get lost.

Which is why he held you that little bit tighter and whispered how much he loved you just that little bit more often.

You didn't notice Leon coming into the living room, jumping slightly when he slid down next to you on the couch and slung his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

"Look what came in the mail." He said softly, pressing a small decorative card into your hand. You looked him with furrowed brows but he gave you an encouraging nod and pressed a kiss to your temple.

There was a big, red 18 on the front, surrounded by small hearts. You turned the card over and began reading the inscription. Your eyes got brighter with every line you read, and a smile tugged on your lips.

"How sweet of her. Sherry invited us to her 18th birthday party." You smiled softly, looking at Leon. He hummed and pulled tighter against him.

"She called earlier when you were taking a nap. She's really excited to see you again, you know." He replied softly. You chuckled.

"Yeah, me too. It's been forever. God, I can't believe she's turning 18 already." You sighed.

"Time flies, huh?" Leon grinned.

"It sure does." You giggled, snuggling closer to Leon.

"Hey, is Claire still planning to take Sherry for her first ride on her bike for her birthday?" You asked.

"Hell yeah, she is. She's got her Harley all polished up for the big day." He smirked. You laughed and let your head fall back against Leon's shoulder. He pulled you into his lap, your back pressed against his chest, and started littering soft kisses down the side of your face.

"Lee! What are you doing!" You giggled, trying to get away from his wet kisses. He held you tightly, not letting you escape his grasp.

"Jus' wanna see you smile, baby." He mumbled against your skin. With a mischievous smile, you let yourself fall onto the length of the sofa, dragging Leon on top of you.

You placed a sweet kiss on his lips, brushing some of his blonde locks out of his face.

"I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart." Leon whispered, looking at you with a smile, blushed cheeks and slightly red lips.

Maybe the color red wasn't so bad, after all.

🗡°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°❤️‍🩹°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°🗡

More of my Leon fics are here 🩷

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[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ WHEN ANGER

TURNS TO HONEY ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

daemon targaryen x fem!reader

summary: tensions rise between house targaryen and house royce after the death of your sister, lady rhea. the night of princess rhaenyra's wedding feast, accusations come to light, a finger pointing to the brother of the king  — who just so happens to be your lover.

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, loose enemies to lovers trope, scratching kink (??), graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of loss of virtue, daemon being daemon, the usual hotd shenanigans

a/n: yet another installment of 'birth of violence' that has me fanning myself silly. bear with me if there are any mistakes or if you find anything to be incorrect, as i am still slowly easing my way into the fandom. enjoy friends <3

“I am making an accusation.” 

The moment those words were spat out of your cousin's lips with the utmost venom he could muster, you had suddenly wished you were hidden behind the thick walls Runestone provided; mourning the loss of your older sister. 

Gerold Royce should have bit down harshly on his tongue the second his heart burst in flames with overwhelming heat — hatred for the man before him, eyes narrowed with murderous intentions he so desperately wished to act on. 

This occasion was anything but the correct time to address such serious matters, especially under the scrutinous eyes of the King, his heir, and his Hand who had watched with such caution that you had opted to distract yourself by digging your fingernails in the wax-coated skin of an apple you had plucked from the vast array of foods. 

The rhythm of your breathing had grown uneven, breasts squeezing uncomfortable against the upper trim of your dress, pillowed lips pressed in a thin line.

 Daemon Targaryen leaned back in the finely carved wood that made up his seat, nodding in faux understanding at your cousin's bold choice of words. Craning his head slightly to scan his violet eyes across his elder brother and Lord Lyonel Strong, his lips jutted before parting to speak. 

“In King’s Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you.” 

There it was. The infamous insult that sharpened the blade — stabbing it into the already agonized heart of your relative, as well as your own through the sonorous music pouring in the canals of your ears. 

You had known this so-called slander to be true; knowing his profound hatred for the Lady of the Vale had finally been acted upon in the treachery of her brutal murder. It was an unfortunate occurrence you had trampled upon. 

Her skull was bashed to bits, remnants of brain matter scattered about in thick clots of crimson that had decorated the grass and watered the dirt. You had touched with the pads of your fingers, still slightly warm to the touch. Deep within the pits of your stomach, weaved in your intestines, you had known the silver-haired man before you were to take the blame for her untimely demise.

However, you were in no position to come to such a decision, and nor would you ever be. Therefore, Daemon Targaryen would walk away with every limb intact, and you would continue to suppress your fury, forever scarred by the loss.

It was only then that you had sharply stood from your seat, apple long forgotten as it dropped onto the table with a quiet thud, momentarily attracting the curious gazes of those across from you, the others none-the-wiser as they continued to prance about. 

Piercing, violet eyes caught yours for a fraction of a millisecond and if you weren’t as aware as you were now, it was something you were sure to miss. 

Destastation never consumed you so… barbarically.

Gerold stepped forward, chubby fists clenched and shaking with contained wrath. 

Daemon took it as no threat, offering an amused smile as if to mock his feeble attempt at intimidation and defense of his house, his name, and his cousin.

“The truth is, I’m glad you’ve come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance.” 

��What inheritance?”

“Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband whatever she was due now passes to me.”

His words to you became a jumbled nonsensical mess.

Surely he had too much wine to drink before he had strutted through the thick doors of the feast hall, all mighty and proud of his feats and dirty achievements.

Before you could stop your actions, you strutted up the four short steps, forcing position next to Gerold whose jaw had grown taut with anger, teeth grinding against each other, practically shaking in place. 

“It seems you’ve forgotten that Lady Rhea has a sister,” Your sharp words cut through the pause of uncomfortable silence that had settled despite music still echoing in the expanse of space, dimly lit, cozy yet unnerving at the same time. “and truth that no heirs have been brought forth, I have a right to claim. As long as I continue to breathe, you will take nothing.” 

The finality of your statement seemed to have temporarily embedded itself in some part of Daemon that wasn’t as rot-ridden as he was, as he had nodded curtly at you, taking longer than necessary.

His lingering stares had never failed to send a chill down your spine, numbing you at the very core of your existence whenever you’d catch his gaze. He had preferred your presence over your sisters, despite the little time you two had spent together. Though he quickly figured that since you and the eldest bronze bitch had come from the same cunt, you were bound to have the same irritating little quirks — he just found you more tolerable, more sheltered than Rhea.

After all, the eve he had flown on the back of Caraxes back to King’s Landing, he had filled you — had given you something to remember him by. It showed when hues of purples and blues decorated the expanse of your stomach, under your ribcage, everywhere he could reach until you could no longer take everything he had to offer.  

Daemon loved to ruin pretty things. And even though he had stated that the sheep were much prettier than any of the women in the Vale, he had not thought of you. 

Roughly circling your arm around Gerold’s bicep, you tugged him away, and back to your designated seats, pulling him down to sit with as much strength as you could. 

“Do not ever make such accusations in front of other lords and ladies of the realm.” You seethe, feeling him stiffen under your near-suffocating grasp, lips pressed together tightly before he nods. 

“Good. Now eat, you’ve been neglecting your needs.” 

And without a word, Gerold obeys. 

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

There’s moonlight casting shadows over the gargantuan towers of the Red Keep, basking certain spaces with a luster so gentle, it almost felt as if you were on your homeland, feeling the grass between your bare toes, inhaling as much fresh air as your lungs could home. 

You could not do that here. 

You could not taint your body with such putrid, toxic air as what loomed over in King’s Landing in thick clouds, dusting over the already sinful streets, waiting to discreetly make its way down your throat until it attacked every single cell in your body. Refuge from the disastrous occurrence of tonight's feast was not to be found here. 

That was something you had quickly come to realize when you had picked at your fingernails draped over the ornate decoration of one of the many balcony railings that riddled the large fortress, mind wandering to other things that developed a small bubble of guilt. 

You wouldn’t feed the monster. No. You couldn’t feed it the small handful of ill-at-ease altercations you’ve had with your brother bound by marriage, and the way he looked at you only intensified it to the point where you were sure it was to burst open, spilling your intestines and long-kept secrets. 

“There you are. You know, you’re very hard to find.” 

Clutching at the fabric of your dress, you rubbed it between your thumb and pointer fingers, spine straightening with such haste that it cracked slightly, back still turned to him. 

That voice had haunted you in your dreams once, maybe twice if you could recall correctly despite your enthusiasm to find a way to rid them from the tissue of your brain. It had chosen to gather in the outer fluid of your skull instead, sloshing around the forefront from to time whenever Rhea had mentioned her cunt of a husband. They had not consummated their marriage, as he had no interest in sticking his cock in the likes of your sister, an eagle with wings far too big for her body. 

That was something he despised about her, amongst many other things. Yet, he couldn’t find it in his dull, black heart to take any of it out on you, a vision among many; a person in his dreams he wishes he could call a stranger.

You had robbed him of something, and although Daemon wasn’t quite sure of what exactly it was, he’d figure it out in time.  As he always did, no matter how rash. 

“Should I be honored to be in your presence after you’ve sought me out, then?” 

A brush of wind passes, seeping through the thin material of your clothing, through your skin, and wrapping itself around your bones. 

“I think I should be … lady of the Vale.” 

Turning your head in his direction, you narrow your eyes into slits as he makes his way toward you, hands clasped together firmly behind his back, hair slightly disheveled. 

There’s a lump in your throat that you swallow with difficulty, heaving out a large, dramatic sigh, keeping your eyes locked on the side of his face, the slope of his nose. His brows were furrowed, the lines of age even more visible on the face you’ve only had the pleasure of touching once when he had thrust into you. 

The mere thought of it calls upon the guilt again. So, you resist.

“I am in no mood for jesting, I only wish for a moment of peace. That is all I ask.” As tired as you had sounded, you had felt even more defeated knowing that no matter how much tea you’d ingest when you reached your temporary chambers, it would not be enough to keep your rumination at bay. 

There’s a whistle somewhere nearby, a momentary distraction from how close he’s standing to you, shoulder to shoulder, body heat practically radiating like the fires you’d set deep within thick branches and high grass. 

“You have a sly little tongue on you, don’t you?”

“Only when one claims what is to be mine.” 

“Hm,” He hums, turning his head slightly to stare you directly in the eyes. “So eager to replace that dear sister of yours. Tell me, how did she so tragically pass again?

Daemon was trying to get under your skin. It was a skill he was best suited at, especially in a time of vulnerability such as this, with no one else around to diffuse the fire sparking between the both of you as your chest expanded so wide, that your lungs burned, 

Grinding your teeth together, you could taste nothing but wine on your tongue as you pressed it against the roof of your mouth.

“A snapped neck and a crushed skull.” He tutts, “Such a shame.”

“Do not speak of my sister in ill manners when she has no way to defend her honor.” You spat, hand shaking at your sides, nails digging into your clammy palms – leaving crescent indents in their wake. 

“Is that not why she has a sister to take her place when it suits her, to fuck her husband without remorse.” The smirk that appears at the corner of his lips has your chin wobbling in anger, a hand outstretched to clasp at the lining of his blood-red sleeve; the same blood-red that painted your sister's head when it laid cracked open on blades of grass. 

“Laying with you was an insult to my virtue.” 

Slowly, as if you were to strike him at any moment, Daemon raised a hand, gently pressing it against the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, wet with saliva and ready for him to devour all over again; the taste of citrus coating his taste-buds. 

“I rather enjoyed our time together.” He admits with amusement as if the agony written on your face was purely a source of entertainment. 

With unshed tears burning behind your irises, you blink, wrinkling your nose in mild disgust at the man in front of you. “Fuck you.” 

And with that, he presses his lips against yours, teeth clashing against teeth as the heat of his mouth overpowers your will to resist. You’re putty in his arms and he knows it by the way his free hand grips your hipbone, gripping as if you keep you in place. 

It’s messy, yet delectable all the same as his tongue mingles with yours, hot and needy as they dance, heads growing hazy from lack of breathing. A quiet moan escapes you when Daemon tugs your bottom lip between his teeth as if he were starving, pulling you as close to his chest as he can manage.

You’d burn for this, surely; for fitting in the arms of your sister's husband as if you’d belong there — for feeling some sort of desire — lust all for the man who had taken her from you. It had become all too real to you when he had brought you into his chambers and unclothed you slowly as if you were a sight to behold, drinking you in like the most expensive wine he’d ever sought out in all of the Seven Kingdoms. 

It had all become too real when his hands had greedily palmed at your breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth with such enthusiasm, that you were positive this was an entirely different man from the one you had come to know. His cheeks were hollow as he sucked, nipped, and swirled his tongue around your hard bud, an arch in your back only encouraging his movements.

The organ in your chest was beating erratically, practically pounding on your ribs, hoping to crack them one by one and leave you a shell of yourself before you were to return home. 

Just for tonight. 

You’d feel his touch one last time before you’d beg for forgiveness for the rest of your life. 

When Daemon removes his mouth from your chest, he finds himself sucking the skin at the base of your neck, paying attention to a particular spot you had reacted to, bruising all he could to claim you just like he told you he would the first, and only night he bedded you.

The sensation of the bare skin of your legs wrapped around his waist sends him into a frenzy as he inhales sharply, slapping his hands at the meat of your thighs before trailing one between your legs to palm at his hard cock, dripping with pre-cum and ready to bury you to the hilt.

“One last time.”  You whisper, letting it mix in the heavy air, watching the way his brows furrow before the only emotion in his dark eyes dissipates. 

He wastes no time, gathering your arousal on his tip before he’s sheathing himself into you, groaning lowly in the crook of your neck as your walls shape around him. Your insides are on fire with the way he’s stretching you, left hand gripping at the sheets near your head.

“I’ll never grow tired of this.” He says it as if he’d have you for the rest of his life, a soft lilt to words that you’d find praising if they weren’t coming from him, a Targaryen — a dragon conqueror.

Biting down on the soft flesh of your lower lip, you stared at his features, clouded with a certain haze of carnal desire. The feeling of your heart beating quickly against the bones of your ribcage subsided when a flow of arousal made itself known at the burning intimacy of the action, causing you to clench around his cock buried within you, your nails dancing down the nape of his neck to the expanse of his back.

A groan left his throat when that not-so-innocent sound he relished reached his ears, and it was hard not to pound you into the satin sheets right then and there. Instead, he pressed his bare chest against yours, skin hot and flushed, his wet lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

As the muscles in his back flexed, the light sting of where your sharp nails had once been clawing desperately reminded him just how much he loved the feeling of your nails breaking the skin there the first time. The sadistic action secretly becomes one of his favorites as you do it now. It was physical proof that he could please you in a way no one else could touch you in all the right places, and watch your pretty eyes roll into the back of your head. 

Every single reaction you had to even the slightest touch  — was all because of him. He’d want his touch to be all you’d ever know. 

“So good, sweetling,” He drawled lowly. A quiet but adequate praise before he removed one of his hands from your side, producing a sharp hiss from you as his palm slapped against the outside of the fat of your left thigh once more.

You whined, the pulse between your legs aching with arousal, your slick pooling at the base of his cock when he’d fully unsheathe himself only to ram, back into you again. “Such a tight little cunt, huh?”

Wrapping your legs around his unclothed torso as much as you could manage, you crossed your ankles, pushing him in until he touched a spot so deep within you that you choked on your breath, the air seemingly knocked out of your lungs by his harsh movements as he continued to stretch you.

With closed eyes, you let your eyebrows furrow in concentration at the euphoric feeling he brought to you, a relentless pace that sent your toes to curl involuntarily. 

The air was hot and the sheen of sweet blooming between the both of you did little to quell the intense heat. Skin slapping against skin and your lewd moans echoing off the thin walls and right back into your ears was all that could be heard aside from his panting.

It was only when his hand had slipped near your neck to cup your jaw, that you had let out a sob so pathetic that he had chuckled right into your skin, tears distorting your once clear vision of him as he continued to pump himself in and out of out.

 “Look at you.” He cooed, “So pretty with those tears in your eyes.” 

Your fingers had flexed uncomfortably near the top of his spine, nails scratching against the expanse, and moving toward his scalp, twirling wisps of loose silver hair around your finger as the frame squeaked beneath your bodies. 

His guttural groan vibrated throughout your chest, rattling your body.  The burning sting that seeped through the minor, raw wounds encouraged him to hold your hips down, ramming so deep into you, that you had started to writhe beneath him.

Daemon could tell you were close. 

How could you not be with the way he was abusing your cunt; rocking you through your orgasm.

The slow, deep breaths he took to steady his breathing helped you focus on calming your own as he rubbed the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, thrusting one, two, three more times before emptying himself in you, painting your walls with his seed, filling you to the brim before swiftly pulling out of you.

Your gaze never left his fit, naked figure as he ran a hand through his hair, shuffling toward the end of the bed, back hunched and toward you as the silence and realization of what you had done ate at you. 

Never again. That was a promise you intended to keep. 

Never again.

[thecosmicmap]

Now these are what Simon Otto took inspiration from to make the Light Fury.

But the Light Fury doesn’t share any of these traits other than being white. With a blue belly. To me, it’d make more sense for her to grey with a lighter underbelly with rosettes. She should also have feet that aren’t smaller than her eyes.

If she was truly made with axolotls in mind, her ear and side nubs should be bigger and she should have more than one (especially since the nubs kinda act as whiskers. She needs help with sensory).

If she was made with terns in mind, her wings would surely be shaped like them and not this.

Those wings aren’t made for flight, they’re more suited for a water dweller. Especially the tailfin.

We aren’t even going to talk about how small her mouth and claws are. Or how round her teeth look (granted, Toothless also has round teeth) or how she has no actual scales (and yet has two glitter hearts on her head). And we know it’s not because of the invisible thing, because Toothless can also go invisible, despite having actual scales.

BUT ANYWAY!

The Light Fury is supposed to be a Night Fury subspecies, right? Well subspecies aren’t that different from each other. Think of Darwin’s Finches. The only differences they have is their beaks. But compare these two.

They don’t really look that similar.

[laecunas]

✧｡  ––  ( arsema   thomas,   thirty   one,   cis   woman,   she/her )   you   do   not   know   me   but   rest   assured   i   know   you,   𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗬   𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗔   𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗪𝗢𝗢𝗗.   you   are   the   𝗥𝗨𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚   𝗩𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗦𝗦   𝗢𝗙   𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗪𝗢𝗢𝗗.   you   maybe   be   known   for   your   𝗘𝗟𝗢𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘   but   it   is   only   a   mask   for   the   true   nature   of   your   𝗖𝗬𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟   ways.   however,   i   am   not   here   to   spread   slander   on   the   queen’s   jewels,   though   i   suspect   you   are   her   𝗣𝗬𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘.   the   ton   says   your   name   reminds   them   of   𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚   𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗞   𝗙𝗢𝗥   𝗔   𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘   𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧   𝗡𝗢   𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥   𝗘𝗫𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗦   ,   𝗡𝗢𝗧   𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗚𝗡𝗜𝗭𝗜𝗡𝗚   𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗙   𝗜𝗡   𝗧𝗛𝗘   𝗠𝗜𝗥𝗥𝗢𝗥   ,   𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗚   𝗗𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚   𝗔   𝗧𝗛𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗠.   how   scandalous!   you   have   been   warned,   dear   reader,   that   i   will   prove   if   this   is   true   and   share   every   last   detail.  

✧｡  ––  𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦.

full  name  :  lady  florentia  rosewood.  dob  :  october  the  23rd.  age  :  thirty  one.  zodiac  :  scorpio.  gender  :  cis  female.  pronouns  :  she  /  her.  orientation  :  bisexual.  hair  color  :  black.  eye  color  :  brown.  height  :  5'5"

✧｡  ––  𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬.

from  the  moment  she  arrived  into  the  world  ,  florentia  haldegrave  refused  to  be  small.  she  did  not  wail  ,  nor  whimper.  she  simply  looked  ,  eyes  far  too  wide  for  any  newborn.  her  nursemaids  swore  she  understood  things  children  shouldn’t.  and  the  storm  that  raged  for  three  days  after  her  birth  ?  an  omen.  haldegrave  blood  born  of  thunder  ,  not  light.

her  home  was  no  place  for  a  child  with  questions  ,  and  poor  little  florentia  had  many.    why  must  she  curtsy  lower  than  the  boys  ?  why  were  the  women  always  beautiful  and  silent  ,  and  the  men  loud  and  foolish  ?  why  was  freedom  a  thing  spoken  of  in  books  ,  but  never  in  parlors  ?  her  tutors  labeled  her  difficult.  her  mother  called  her  spirited  ,  which  in  their  world  was  a  polite  way  of  saying  dangerous.  her  father  kept  her  at  arm’s  length  —  a  man  who  measured  his  child’s  worth  in  lineage  and  dowries.

by  the  tender  age  of  only  twelve  ,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  :  she  would  never  be  like  the  other  girls.  if  forced  to  marry  ,  she  would  honor  what  duty  demanded.  but  she  would  never  belong  to  any  man.  too  bad  the  world  did  not  offer  kindness  to  girls  like  florentia.  though  praised  in  public  ,  her  name  would  be  whispered  behind  closed  doors.  not  deemed  worthy  for  any  suitor.  and  if  she  wished  for  freedom  ,  she  first  needed  the  luxury  of  a  rich  husband.  

so  ,  she  skilled  herself  in  the  art  of  illusion.  she  became  the  picture  of  perfection  ,  charming  in  a  way  that  baffled  those  around  her.  an  expert  in  polite  deception.  her  rebellion  softened  into  smiles.  her  fury  folded  into  silk  gowns.  they  called  her  enchanting  ,  sharp-tongued  …  like  a  rose  adored  with  thorns.  

then  came  the  engagement.  a  match  praised  by  the  ton  as  brilliance  —  fortune  ,  title  ,  beauty  ,  legacy.  but  behind  the  congratulations  ,  florentia  could  feel  the  edges  of  the  trap  snapping  shut.  

now  ,  as  viscountess  of  rosewood  ,  she  is  both  admired  and  feared.  praised  for  her  composure  ,  admired  for  her  sharp  wit  ,  but  often  called  a  mystery.  if  only  because  society  does  not  believe  a  woman  can  be  both  brilliant  and  bitter  ,  soft  and  seething.  she  plays  her  role  to  perfection.  but  behind  her  eyes  ,  the  fire  has  never  gone  out.  

[primavras]

(cemre baysel, twenty-seven, cis-woman, she/her) you do not know me but rest assured i know you, MISS HAVVA KARA. you are the COUSING TO THE RULING LORD KARA & LADY IN WAITING TO PRINCESS ALEXANDRA. you maybe be known for your PERCEPTIVENESS but it is only a mask for the true nature of your DISHONEST ways. however, i am not here to spread slander on the queen’s jewels, though i suspect you are her PREHNITE. the ton says your name reminds them of A SMILE THAT DOESN'T REACH THE EYES, THE WHISPER OF A WILLOW TREE, DARK HAIR ALWAYS FALLING PERFECTLY INTO PLACE, OBSERVANCE HIDDEN IN DULLED GAZES. how scandalous! you have been warned, dear reader, that i will prove if this is true and share every last detail.

name : havva miray kara title : lady-in-waiting to the princess alexandra family: adem kara ( father ), beren kara ( mother ), havva kara ( twin sister: deceased but officially named as miray kara ) , * adding the template of the kara fam here* sexuality: bisexual, biromantic pronouns: she/her

traits : practical, rational, eloquent, dishonest, envious, competitive, charismatic inspiration: katherine pierce (tvd), lydia martin ( teen wolf ), amy march ( little women )

! note: going to refer to her as havva instead of her real name in threads, plotting etc to avoid any confusion ( since i'm already confusing myself ) !

BACKGROUND

you're the sun, and everyone knew it. walking into the room and shining brightly. that kind of bright, that people remembered. warm laughter clinging to you, like dus t to velvet. you spoke and the world listened. tender, golden, beloved.

but this was never your story. it was your sister's.

you were never the sun. and you would never be. even when you looked just like her. even your name has abandoned you. named after the moonlight. only ever existing in reflected light. never the source. only the echo. the shadow , shaped like your sister .

and this is where your story begins.

since  you  were  young,  you’d  always  wish  you  were  more  and  less  like  you.  there  is  softness  in  your  features,  in  the  way  your  eyes  would  crinkle  so  slightly  like  that  of  your  sister,  yet  you  know  that  your  heart  would  never  bear  the  same  warmth,  nor  would  anything  ever  change  that.  instead  there  are  only  two  vessels  sitting  in  your  heart  :  envy  or  admiration  ;  and  you  don’t  know  which  one  to  press.  you  know  that  others  adore  your  sister  and  you’d  always  ever  be  the  shadow  of  her.  where  she  is  aspiring  you’re  opportunistic,  where  she  is  smart,  you’re  a  know-it-all.  whatever  you  do,  whatever  interest  you’d  pick  up  for  her  and  not  yourself,  she’d  always  be  better.  jealousy  has  poisoned  your  heart  a  long  time  ago,  has  pushed  away  the  love  you  feel  for  your  sister  and  sometimes  you  ask  yourself  if  it  has  been  lost  forever.   when  in  a  blink  of  an  eye  the  person  you  couldn’t  decide  whether  you  loved  or  not  is  gone.  the  lucky  child  who  always  seemed  like  someone  untouched  by  mortality  taken  away  by  something  as  dull  and  unspectacular  like  an  accident.  sorrow  filled  with  anger  are  staining  your  tears.  she  left  you  with  all  that  fury  and  desperation  and  now  when  she’s  gone  you  don’t  know  who  you  are.  but  you’ll  never  find  it  out.  instead,  your  father  has  finally  taken  notice  of  you.  not  because  he  finally  sees  something  in  you  but  because  he  sees  his  lost   golden  child , the one that just looks like you.  he  hopes  that  no  one  will  notice  that  she’s  gone.  that  his  beloved  daughter,  adored  by  many,  has  been  taken  away.  it’s  your  chance,  given  by  a  man  that  refused  to  love  you,  offering  something  that  would  come  close  to  it  but  only  graze  it.  so  you  become  your  sister  and  no  one  will  ever  know.  even  your  own  death  would  be  taken  by  your  sister  and  the  day  she  dies,  it’s  only  you  who  will  be  gone.   when  the  funeral  is  held,  it  is  not  your  sister  who  is  buried  but  you  and  along  it  your  name  but.  at  least  for  once  you  see  your  father  crying  bitter  tears  for  you.

HEADCANONS

her sister used to be a great singer, however, havva is far from even hitting one note. while her sister has been gifted musically, havva always preferred painting and is actually really good at it. however, as she didn't want to be overshadowed by her sister again, she kept this hobby to herself.

she's a perfectionist and hates when things don't go her way, and whenever this might happen her facade is slipping and she has to watch herself not losing her temper

she l oves learning new things, reads up on everything and gets quite immersed in it. although she usually uses books for practical knowledge she has a secret passion of reading romance novels and sometimes finds herself giggling and kicking her feet because of some cheesy scenes

although identical to her sister, she has a distinct scar on her shoulder caused by an accident in her childhood

more tba

WANTED CONNECTIONS

childhood friend : this friend knows about her true identity, however just plays along with it ( for whatever reason ). this muse would've been her sister's childhood friend, hence why they might've noticed the change.

best friend: another person who would know about her true identity because she probably told them about everything that have happened. they're very close and one of the few people she trusts.

fellow gossiper : havva is not immune to enjoy some good gossip. and this muse happens to be the same way. always sharing the latest gossip and talking about it over tea. although they enjoy each other's company, they do not really trust each other and would perhaps also be caught talking about each other behind their back.

her ex betrothal/ lover (???) : havva ( before she took her sister's identity) had a fair share of ex betrothals who were called off . this person was different, and at some point they even developed feelings for each other and came as close to seeing her real self as only few people did. this really scared her and so she called of this engagement and stopped talking to them. there are still some feelings left and she tries to avoid this person. especially now since she's now going by her sister's identity. there are still lingering feelings when it comes to her, whether this person feels the same or not is utp, and it can go many ways as rekindling their relationship etc.

betrothal: this person was actually betrothed to her sister, and doesn't know about everything that happened. they genuinely developed some feelings ( or at least are fond of ) for her sister and are now confused about the shift in her. this can go many ways, where this leads to something and havva feels bad about lying about her identity, them finding out etc ! lots of drama and angst pls

music tutor: someone who gives havva singing lessons in secret. her sister used to be known for her beautiful voice, however, havva does not possess any talent when it comes to singing and is in desparate need not to be miserable at it.

people who see through her: her sister used to be known for her kindness and something about how havva is acting is off. they might see through her facade and call her out for being fake ??

muse : she loves painting and beautiful things and this person happens to be beautiful and a source of great inspiration. this is very open and a genuine friendship could

one-sided crush: someone who is completely blinded by her fake personality and thinks she's actually that kind and lovable person she's portraying to be.

ANYTHING HONESTLY ! give me enemies, friends, juicy plots, angst and everything

[phoenix-king-ozai]

ATLA Comic: The Search AU Fanfiction!

Fire Lord Azulon finds out about Ursa’s letters claiming Fire Prince Zuko’s illegitimate heritage as Ikem’s son!

Crown Fire Prince Iroh the famed Dragon of the West is trying to defend Zuko’s heritage as Ozai’s son and his nephew along with him truly being Fire Lord Azulon's grandson. Iroh then tries to get Ozai to back him up on Zuko’s defense as his child.

“Ozai anyone with eyes can tell that young Zuko is your child!” “He is basically your complete copy of you when you were younger!” “Please, brother and father…don't let rumors and falsehoods kill this innocent young boy’s life!”

Ozai glares at Ursa in chains and says “Well, apparently according to the boy’s mother…I’m not Zuko’s biological father!” “You know the saying, mother’s baby and father’s maybe…” “At least I have the complete confidence that Azula is my daughter… her impeccable skills and genius talent alone are proof of that!

Ursa is livid yet feels immensely guilty for her incredibly risky and stupid false letters. She made her coffin and now unfortunately she and her darling baby boy Zuko will have to lay in the burning inferno she made...

“OZAI, PLEASE! YOU KNOW THAT ZUKO IS OUR CHILD AND IN PARTICULAR YOUR SON!”

“HE HAS COMPLETELY INHERITED YOUR LOOKS AND LOVES YOU AS HIS FATHER!”

“HE’S OUR SON, OUR BABY BOY! PLEASE! I BEG YOU!”

Ozai scoffs and gives a cold aloof humorless laugh. The complete pathetic desperation is palpably evident by Ursa’s yelling screams, frantic panics, and streaming tears!

“If so, Ursa, then why did you write such disgusting, vicious, and heinous sacrilegious lies about our child being your son with Ikem!”

“Only a completely idiotic fool would write such knowing falsehoods despite the severe consequences of these lies!” You must logically be writing the truth in these love letters!”

Azula glares alongside her father at her mother and brother in chains. Zuko, the poor boy is absolutely terrified and confused about why people are saying that Ozai isn’t his dad. This can't be true… he REFUSES to believe that it is true. Ozai is his father, his daddy, and no one else. This is complete lies and slander! IT HAS TO BE!

Ursa gives a heated glare with tears streaming down her eyes. How dare Ozai use this desperate and dangerous moment where his wife and son lives are at risk against her! Did he have no love for his wife and first born son?

“BECAUSE I DID NOT WANT TO DREAM ABOUT HIM TURNING AND BECOMING A MONSTER LIKE YOU!!!!”

“YOU ARE A SICK MAN OZAI JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER AND I PITY THE BOTH OF YOU!

“VAATU AND HIS CLONED SPAWN SON!”

Ozai is extremely pissed and livid is a mild term to express his burning and boiling rage at his unloyal and unfaithful wife. The foolish wrench had put her and their son’s lives at complete risk of immolation by his and Fire Lord Azulon’s molting wrath!

Fire Lord Azulon leaned up on his Burning Throne seat and gave a burning, seething, volcanic glare at his daughter-in-law who had just insulted him, the Fire Lord, his son, and the entire Fire Nation Royal Family.

“YOU DARE INSULT MY SON IN THE PRESENCE OF HIS FATHER!”

“YOU THE GRANDDAUGHTER OF ROKU DARE INSULT THE GRANDSON OF SOZIN!”

“YOU WHO LIVED IN A BACKWATER VILLAGE KNOWN AS HIRA’A!”

“YOU WILL HOLD YOUR INSOLATE TONGUE BEFORE I MELT IT OFF!”

“…You are extremely lucky if I don't decide to immolate you publicly nude with four heated spikes through your hands and feet dangling you in the air under the light of Agni, the Sun Spirit…”

Fire Lord Azulon finished off in a low growl full of hatred and simmering fury at his soon-to-be former ex-daughter-in-law! Iroh and Ozai was completely shocked at Fire Lord Azulon coming directly at Ozai defense as a loyal father should have. Ursa, however, couldn’t help but cower in fear an natural reaction as the Fire Lord’s flames in his throne room turned from a bright crimson red to an brilliant azure cobalt blue!

Zuko and Azula are completely shocked by what their mother Ursa said to their father Ozai in front of the now-whispering Royal Court! Sure, both of their parents sometimes got into arguments. However, this full-blown yelling and loathing was completely foreign to both of them!

Iroh on the other hand knew that it would be extremely hard for Ursa to adapt to her new lifestyle and his brother's ruthless imperialistic personality. Yet, this fire and fury is not something that he expected from his young sister-in-law! He fears only immolation and ash for his sister-by-law now by the Fire Lord’s own personal burning desire for vengeance…

[burningclocks]

HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED

Say what you will but women in classical plays had the best rage-filled monologues

1. Beatrice’s Kill Claudio Monologue, Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare

Kill Claudio! You kill me to deny it. Farewell. I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go. In faith, I will go. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with my enemy. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, – O, God that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Talk with a man out a window! A proper saying! Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant surely! O that I were a man for his sake! Or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

2. Iphigenia’s Monologue to Agamemnon, Iphigenia at Aulis by Euripides

If I could speak as well as Orpheus, Father, if I could use words to inspire the rocks around us to rise up and follow me, if I had that same gift of persuasion I would use it. But I have only one talent, my tears. I offer them to you. It is all I can do. I bend before you like a branch bending towards the earth, pressing my body against your knees. This is the body that your wife gave birth to. Don’t send me to an early death. It is sweet to see the sun’s light. Do not force me down into the darkness of the Underworld. I was the first child to call you father, the first you called your child. I was the first to sit upon your knee while you fondly kissed me. You used to say to me, “Will I see you one day, happy in your husband’s house, bringing honor to your family?” And I would say to you, as I pulled upon your beard, the same beard I now caress, “And what about you, Father? Will I welcome you into my house, when you are an old man, and take care of you in thanks for all the years that you took care of me?” I remember every word we said, but you have forgotten them, and now you are planning to end my life. By Pelops, by your father Atreus, by my mother, who suffered the pain of my birth and suffers more pain now, I beg you to spare me. What do I have to do with the marriage of Paris and Helen? Why should I die because of them? Look at me, look me in the eyes and give me a kiss, give me that at least to remember when I die, if you are determined to remain deaf to my pleas.

3. Medea’s Dead Children Monologue, Medea by Euripides

Women, my mind is clear. I go to slay my children with all speed, and then, away from hence; not wait yet longer till they stand beneath another and an angrier hand to die. Yea, howsoe'er I shield them, die they must. And, seeing that they must, 'tis I shall slay them, I their mother, touched of none beside. Oh, up and get thine armour on, my heart! Why longer tarry we to win our crown of dire inevitable sin? Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine, thy sword: then onward to the thin-drawn line there life turns agony. Let there be naught of softness now: and keep thee from that thought, 'born of thy flesh,' 'thine own belovèd.' Now, for one brief day, forget thy children: thou shalt weep hereafter. Though thou slay them, yet sweet were they. . . . I am sore unfortunate.

[inamindfarfaraway]

Stayed Gone (Joker vs Harley Rewrite)

A live evening news broadcast by Vicki Vale. An intimidating photo of Harley Quinn, in her liberated supervillain outfit with dip-dyed pigtails and wielding a giant hammer, is displayed in the upper left. Slow zoom out to show the television it’s playing on in a living room. The walls are painted purple.

Vicki: Batman was able to defuse the bomb, but she escaped and remains armed and dangerous, with a confirmed death count of five people already. Her current whereabouts are unknown. All of Gotham is wondering when the new, independent Harley Quinn will strike again.

Opposite the TV, the Joker is rigid and hunched on a sofa. He wears a purple and green suit. His eyes are out of frame, but he has a severe frown and clenched fists.

Joker: (appalled) All of Gotham?

Vicki: But Batman has promised that her capture is his top priority -

A card throwing blade, the ace of hearts, flies into the screen and shatters it. Joker lunges to his feet. He paces the room, gesticulating wildly.

Joker: No, no, no. Not only does she betray me, but she’s trying to do my thing without me? And those idiots are buying it? (smiles with gritted teeth) Time to remind everyone who’s who.

Collecting himself, he stalks down a corridor. He straightens his posture, smooths back his hair, adjusts his collar and slams open the door of a video recording studio.

How you’ve grown

I’m gonna make you wish that you’d stayed gone

On my board, pawns don’t get to be queen

You can’t afford this brazen, blazing dawn

I’m a pro, you’re a con

He hijacks the airwaves to put a parody news segment on TV screens across Gotham; whether at home or in a public place, the civilians are alarmed and watch him closely. He has an unflattering drawing of Harley pinned up and his headline reads ‘Whiny Bitch Throws Tantrum, 5 Dead’. He uses a lot of bright colours, dramatic lighting, rapid cuts and flamboyant props and special effects.

Ensemble: Welcome to the show

Joker: I hear the city’s pretty stressed that my mess of an ex

Is back to give you grief (Ensemble: Welcome to the show)

So since I know her the best

Here’s some comic relief (Ensemble: Welcome to the show)

What will the vexing pest do next?

What can you expect?

What does this mean for your family?

Well, handily I’ve got good news

She’s a fool, not a jester

Lay your concerns to rest, for

I made her and I’ll end her!

Her alleged threat is pathetic

Forgettable as her aesthetic

She’s generic, l get you in hysterics

Stop giving her the time of day

Don’t listen to a word she’d say

Her skill was built on my sway

So she should’ve stayed away

She’ll tell you she’s the one who quit

But I just tired of her bit

Uninspired, ineffectual and trite

The Joker is on two large screens in a crowded square. In the third line the right one is itself hijacked and switches to a different video with static around the edges. The citizens all turn to stare at it. The Joker’s jaw drops.

Always begging for respect

Jokes don’t land, blows don’t connect

Harley: Funny, not how I remember our last fight

Harley sits relaxed in a brown armchair, in a plain room with white plaster walls and warm overhead lighting. Her confidence, composure and astute observations contrast the Joker’s escalating petulant fury, and her simply talking captures the audience’s undivided attention. Her feed improves in clarity and strength, taking over more screens. The Joker fights to override it.

Wow, you couldn’t wait to create your own scandal

By spewing hate with no basis

It’s nothing new

Joker: I’ll break you in two!

Harley: Flying off the handle in your spite-driven stasis (Joker: Come on!)

Your slander can’t stand up to scrutiny

Like a comedian who needs laughter-causing poison

Joker: Ignore her noise!

Harley: You know you’re nothing without your terror

Joker: I’m your worst nightmare

She’s a comedy of errors

Harley: You call my heart’s devotion weak

But you’re obsessed with the Bat-freak

All your glitz and gore is just to draw his eye (Joker: Leave him out of this!)

Your passion’s rash and immature

You’re flashy ‘cause you’re insecure (Joker: Shut up!)

Bats doesn’t care, but unlike me, you still deny

Joker: You’re a needy flea who fears rejection

Harley: Textbook insincere projection

Joker: I’ll destroy you, you little -

His studio door slams open offscreen and Robin III (Tim Drake) leaps into frame. A swing of his staff unceremoniously knocks the Joker out and his camera is turned off, allowing Harley to dominate the airwaves.

Harley: I’m afraid you’ve lost your signal

She stands. Her approachable expression twists into a truly malevolent grin. The room’s light flickers and dims, but her eyes now shine with vicious excitement. The camera zooms in on her face. In the Batcave, Batman is watching her on the Batcomputer, which is also tracing her location through the livestream and, as a progress bar indicates, almost finished. He narrows his eyes.

Let’s begin

I’m gonna make you wish that I’d stayed gone

The doctor’s in

When I’m done

Your status quo will know its race is run

Oh, this will be fun!

With an eerie cackle, she ends her broadcast just in time. Batman scowls.

[nirawrite-holab-if]

Can we get a snippet of a child MC in the process of almost deleting someone from the earth with a cold/emotionless rage because tgey insulted Brandr? And maybe Brandr having to talk them down?

 I would say this was a close call. 👇🏼

If there's one thing Brandr has learned over the years with the MC, it's that their silence spells trouble. It doesn't matter what kind; the little monster will manage to get into some trouble.

As should be the case now.

 The complete silence plus Brandr's instinct told him there was something wrong—very wrong. He started walking around the castle looking for the MC in their favorite places, and when he didn't find them in any of them, he used a location spell.

They were in the woods, as the result pointed out.

Brandr didn't even care how he must have looked to the people of the castle; he just ran to the edge of the forest that surrounded the east side of the castle.

The MC was not allowed to go there alone. What were they doing?

 Let this just be a joke, please.

 It didn't take long for Brandr to find them, and the scene in front of him was disturbing.

There was an elf quite familiar to Brandr on their knees on the ground with their hands tied and their mouth open in a silent scream. The elf's eyes were wide with terror, and sweat was dripping from their faces.

And a few steps from the elf, the MC was standing with their arm outstretched in front of their body, where a light bluish glow enveloped their hand completely and seemed to become more intense with each moment.

"MC!" Brandr called, and his voice sounded strange in his own ears. "What are you doing?"

 Hearing his voice, the MC turned their head to him. Their face were empty. A blank mask without any sign of emotion, but their eyes glittered with an intense glow of pure hatred.

Brandr winced at that gaze. He'd never seen the MC like this.

"I'm punishing," the MC replied so casually that Brandr wasn't able to respond immediately due to his shock.

"Punishing?" He was only able to let out that question; a bad feeling was beginning to envelop him from head to toe.

"They were slandering you out there." The MC's face contorted in disgust. "They used your name to make jokes in court, to mock you with outrageous words and lies. I'm not going to tolerate that."

Oh. Now Brandr knew why the elf was so familiar — the teenager already had a reputation for making jokes and making rude comments to anyone who crossed their path.

"MC.."

"Don't worry, Brandr," they said sweetly, but their eyes remained bright with fury. "They will no longer speak a word against your honor."

"MC, no!" Brandr used every discipline he had learned in the decades of his life to remain calm and rational. To stop the MC from making the biggest mistake of their existence. "You need to stop this immediately."

The only response he got was the same blank stare from the MC.

"That's not how you work things out; you can't punish everyone who has something bad to say about me or someone you care about."

"I can! I can!" The MC countered, and Brandr felt mildly relieved to see that their behavior now resembled that of a bickering child and not a cold killer. "I am the princex of the kingdom, and I have a lot of power."

"Your powers don't give you the freedom to use them irresponsibly and futilely," Brandr began to say, approaching them with every word. "Stop this madness, MC, let them go, and go back to the castle with me."

But the MC remained motionless.

"I asked them to stop, but they said I'm a monster," they whispered, and now there was pain in their voice. Brand felt a mixture of pain and anger. "I'm going to do what monsters do then. They're going to obey me that way." The hybrid's attention turned to the elf on the ground.

"You're not a monster, MC." Brandr covered the final distance between them and knelt beside them, speaking close to their face. "You're very special. And some people can't handle it, so they lash out with words, but you shouldn't react to it. You should ignore them, because that's not true. And if it's not true, why bother? You need to do your best to move forward no matter what they say and not let them turn you into what they want you to be."

Brandr noticed a hesitation in the MC as they listened to him, but they still kept their magic ready for use.

"Did you see me reacting to the rumors they spread?" He tried once more, his hand touching the MC's shoulder, to make them look at him. "I ignored it because it's not true, and I don't care what people who don't know me think of me. I care what you think about me."

The MC's face began to change as they absorbed his words. The fury of their eyes gave way to the familiar glint Brandr knew and loved; the lack of emotion in their features was now a mixture of regret, shame, and admiration.

"I think you're perfect!" They exclaimed, shaking their head for emphasis on their words.

"So that's all that matters to me," he said, looking the MC in the back of their eyes. "Let them go."

There was another moment of hesitation, but in the end the MC nodded and turned to the elf. The glow of their magic faded, and with a wave of their hand, the bonds as well as the spell of silence were undone. The teenage elf ran out and stumbled through the woods, screaming at the top of their lungs.

"Do you think they're going to tell my mom about it?" MC asked, sounding nervous about the possibility.

"No," Brandr replied, standing up, "No if they know what's good for them." He then held out his hand to the MC. "Come on, little monster, you need to get some rest."

[swordscleric]

Inspired by the poll on hottest dnd class and the absolute slander of clerics being dead last, here's my entirely subjective yet objectively correct list of hottest cleric subclasses, from hottest to least hot. Are clerics as hot as paladins? No. Are they hotter than every other class? Absolutely.

Life - Sometimes going back to basics is the hottest thing you can do. Better healing, a wide range of gods to be blessed by from healing to agriculture to the sun and then being a representation of life itself. 10/10 for healing you of all those aches and pains.

Knowledge - Knowing things is pretty important, both to advance your campaign's plot and to make your DM's life easier when the rest of the party have dumped Intelligence. Whether you play Knowledge clerics as scholars or detectives à la an Inquisitive Rogue, you will go very far with your ability to become proficient in any skill for a time. 10/10 for knowing exactly what to do.

Light & Tempest - Divine storm and fire incarnate. While War might be a stereotypical version of "cleric playing at paladin", Light and Tempest clerics can actually put their smiting where their mouth is. Having the power of light and the fury of a sun god plus the wider healing options of cleric makes Light the hottest blaster option. The theming is on point with Tempest, and being able to shatter foes with max damage spells is phenomenal. You'll also be working with storm gods and gods of weather, so you can have a Mr. Darcy walking out of the lake scene whenever you want with a wink and a prayer. 9/10.

Peace - Give Peace a chance. While Emboldening Bond is contingent on party members being within 30 feet of each other, that is never a problem if you have two frontline fighters. Plus it means you have to fight side by side, glancing over as your allies thrusts and parries... The sheer buffing power of this domain in its domain spells is also nothing to sneeze at, and isn't working towards peace the entire point of most campaigns? 8/10.

Forge - Crafting things is hot, especially when you can make personalised items for your party or give them an exact replica of lost jewellery. Blessing your party's weapons is huge early on, as is gaining resistance to a common damage type. 7/10.

Arcana - Getting a free dispel magic from 6th level on and then picking up wizard spells by the time you hit epic level is pretty hot, as is having access to teleportation circle. Being a cleric of magic itself and gaining a free Arcana proficiency also makes you a really interesting pick for any party since you'll often be straddling the worlds of wizardry and clericdom. Points are lost for the expanded spell list, as magic circle, magic weapon, Leomund's secret chest or Nystul's magic aura are very limited or useless if given magic items. 6/10.

Grave & Twilight - Having power over life and death, straddling the boundaries between them? Hot. It is something that all clerics can do however, and being the best at it isn't as hot as being the best healer. While Grave and Twilight both have great theming, being the serene and silent type isn't as hot as being the blazing fury type. They're both strong classes, don't get me wrong, just not super hot. You can get a good few resurrection scenes from Grave and twilit heart-to-hearts from Twilight. 6/10.

Trickery - Illusions are sexy when used to help you, but since a lot of Trickery gods are gods of lies, you might inadvertently end up spiralling about how truthful your Trickery cleric beau is being. I can see why some people would be into it, they just aren't hot enough to overcome the flimsiness of their illusions. 5/10

Nature - Just play a druid. Having played one myself, they don't have the shapeshifting potential of druids to make up for lacklustre spells and abilities. 4/10.

Order & War - While they have very useful abilities, worshipping gods of order and war can get very iffy on an ideological level very quickly. As hot as paladins are, when clerics emulate them to this extent it just doesn't work. You need devotion to a single cause to pull off a good paladin, and clerics are not built for that kind of a lack of perspective. Great spells to choose from, it's the possibility of screaming "deus vult" that turns me right off. 3/10.

Death - Just no. Undead are not sexy. Undead clerics even less so. At least necromancers have wizardly hubris to fall back on. 0/10.