#putting intentions out into the universe

[creatingmoments]

My planner needed a new cover for the new month and new year. Garvez seemed like the obvious choice! Need to figure out a quote that fits them to add

[amerricanartwork]

What's up with 12th Council Pillar, the House of Braids?

Just wanted to share something interesting I noticed in Metropolis while looking at the room names on the interactive map! I doubt I'm not the first person to discover or take interest in this, but nonetheless now that I'm into the worldbuilding for this game, both canon and headcanon, I hope to at least encourage a discussion about what the rooms I found could possibly be for!

*Oh and by the way, spoilers for Artificer campaign, just in case.

Alright, so I was originally looking for how to get to a specific room for an Artificer expedition, but decided to browse around on the map just to refresh my memory on the region overall. Right off the bat I think it's interesting how this region's rooms are denoted mostly with lexical names rather than the more common "Capital letter + 2-digit number" formula. But scrolling to the right is where my interest really got piqued when I saw this name for the room right before that long corridor on the way to the 12th Council Pillar, the House of Braids, labeled "LC_templegate":

And the next room after that, "LC_templeentrance" confirmed my realization that this was a temple of sorts:

Now don't get me wrong, Rain World has always had a fair amount of religious associations, and even just the name "12th Council Pillar, the House of Braids" gave me the impression from the first time traversing it that it was once some high-esteemed, holy location of sorts. But I guess that never really sank in and captured my greater interest until now.

Part of that's because earlier I was focused more on just completing the campaigns from a basic playthrough perspective, not yet as big on uncovering every little lore detail, and another reason I didn't really take it in was that, at the time of my first Artificer playthrough, I wasn't as big on headcanon worldbuilding and trying to uncover/imagine Ancient culture and society outside of very general ideas. But now I think about it, another major part of this lack of realization was because of how the main rooms of this subregion that stuck out in my mind were the low-gravity iterator-esque zones. Many of which are explicitly labeled with "LAB", like this one, and they even have the same neurons, inspectors, and/or those gravity-distorting spheres:

I mean, that cube at the bottom even very strongly resembles an iterator puppet chamber!

But then the questions become: what are these rooms for, why are they so similar to the interior of the iterator they sit atop, and why put them in what seems like it was supposed to be a temple? And by extent, is this something unique to Five Pebbles, or do other iterators have similar temple-labs somewhere in their cities?

I guess the reason these parts stuck out to me more than the actual temple association was because 1.) we don't see this low-gravity mechanic and these features anywhere else in the game besides inside the iterators, so it already gets points for uniqueness, and 2.) they're such a great contrast to everything else within Metropolis; even the "temple" rooms still look very similar to the rest of the region in their general aesthetic.

Seriously, what's up with all this "lab" stuff? It's not that I haven't seen these things before at this point, but why are they here, in a temple, of all places?

However, I do really like this idea so far, as I believe it speaks to a theme of Rain World I really enjoy: the seamless blend of science and spirituality. I enjoy seeing fictional worlds where "magical" things are not only objectively real, but have a scientific in-universe explanation, and/or are employed to create magical technology, yet in a way where these two ideas can exist in harmony rather than seeming like opposites. And the Ancients seem to have been very big on that, not only having a very strong cultural sense of spirituality but also being very technologically advanced, and incorporating those spiritual ideas and even elements of the world into their tech (ex: mass rarefaction tech derived from Void Fluid, an objectively real and "magical" substance with direct connections to their religious beliefs).

I have yet to come up with an explanation for what these iterator-esque lab rooms are (and on that note why they so strongly resemble iterator interiors, to the point they even contain their neurons and inspectors, which are supposed to directly aid in their functions). But as of now, just going mostly of basic gut instincts, my current theories are: A.) they exist in the temple so that whatever scientific endeavors carried out within were blessed with a sense of "holiness" in a similar manner to the holy ash Pebbles talks about, and B.) whatever tasks they were used for was one entrusted to the clergy class of this city, probably because the tasks were seen as something very important and connected to the Ancients' spiritual beliefs.

However, as I said I'm hoping to invite discussion with this post. Figuring out the Ancients' design philosophies and intentions for their creations has been a passion of mine when it comes to my headcanons, so I really do want to see if I can find a more concrete, or at least reasonable answer as to what the overall purpose of the 12th Council Pillar, the House of Braids was. Therefore if anyone has any extra details or theories as to what it was, I'd love to hear them!

And if you made it to the end, thanks for listening to my little spur-of-the-moment ramble!

[wonder-worker]

"...Walsingham, the monastic author of the St. Albans Chronicle, was by far [Alice Perrers'] harshest contemporary critic, who in his venom has (somewhat ironically) left us with the longest and most detailed account of her background and personality, her influence as Edward’s mistress, and her subsequent trial. He describes Alice as a shameless lowborn meretrix (a word variously translated as mistress, whore, or harlot), who “brought almost universal dishonour upon the king’s reputation […] and defiled virtually the whole kingdom of England with her disgraceful insolence.” Although Walsingham was not always accurate and, specifically in this case, clearly heavily biased against Alice, he nevertheless provides a truly contemporary account, and his importance as a source should not be underestimated. Likewise, the anonymous monk of St. Mary’s York recorded that in the Good Parliament the Commons (represented by their speaker, Sir Peter de la Mare) stated that it “would be of great gain to the kingdom to remove the said dame [Alice] from the presence of the king both as a matter of conscious and of the ill prosecution of the war.” During the same assembly, the bishop of Rochester, Thomas Brinton, preached from St. Paul’s Cross that “it is not fitting nor safe for all the keys of the kingdom to hang from the belt of one wife.” Although the word wife (uxoris) is used, it is widely accepted that this is a reference to Alice.”

-Laura Tompkins, '"Edward III's Gold-Digging Mistress": Alice Perrers, Gender, and Financial Power at the English Royal Court, 1360-1377", "Women and Economic Power in Premodern Courts" (edited by Cathleen Sarti). Italics by me.

[quietwingsinthesky]

oh, yeah, another thing i noticed that was odd about s5 in comparison to earlier seasons was how much they relied on like. not the history of the doctor, exactly, but the image of that history. whether from little easter eggs of the first doctor’s picture popping up everywhere to i think the two(?) times in the season we get a montage of past doctors. and i honestly can’t remember anything like that happening earlier (with the exception of the time crash short, which felt more substantial to me and was also like. 7 straight minutes of david tennant being allowed to fangirl.)

and i say ‘the image’ because hell knows the RTD era was pulling from doctor who past left, right, and center, but it rarely felt like a moment of ‘look at this old thing, you remember old thing? old thing was cool and so are we for continuing it.’ and more like ‘here’s a species/character/etc from classic who. and here’s how they’ve changed and fit into the new world we’ve built for the show.’

I guess, the difference here for me is that. i haven’t watched classic who. s5 shows me a slideshow of doctors and to me, those are the guys i once ranked by how sexy i think they are. and not much else. i don’t have an emotional connection to an image. but take, say, school reunion? an episode that was my favorite even back when i was a kid specifically because i adored sarah jane? i had no idea who she was then, i only just figured out a little bit ago which doctor she traveled with, and exclusively all i’ve watched of her is that episode in s2 and the sarah jane adventures. and yet, that episode, without the context there for me, managed to make sense to me. i’m sure it was probably even more impactful to fans of sarah jane from classic who, but it didn’t lose its impact without that knowledge.

so, that’s a shift. i don’t want to say it’s a negative one, exactly, because maybe people who have seen classic who like these references and i’m missing something. but, to me, it feels a little more shallow.

[bloodfin]

in light of recent events, if anyone needs a hug or a listening ear, i'm here

[thresholdbb]

Let’s talk about some of the problems with Star Trek. There are obviously real-world, behind-the-scenes reasons for many of the things we don’t like about Star Trek, and they’re usually pretty messed up. A very non-comprehensive list includes but certainly is not limited to:

Geordi being bad with women - racism

Geordi and Worf being the people of color on the cast but in heavy make-up - racism/othering

Harry Kim not getting a promotion - racism (see: model minority)

Klingons all being black/dark skinned (pre ~2001 at least cause that’s mostly what I know) but sometimes played by white actors - racism (see: blackface)

Chakotay’s whole deal - racism (see: noble savage)

The Kazon not assimilated by the Borg - anti-black racism

Deanna Troi not wearing a uniform - sexism

Seven of Nine not wearing a uniform - sexism

Jadzia getting killed off - sexism

Ezri’s poor reception - sexism again

Miles/Keiko/Kira’s baby situation - theres a post going around calling it misogynistic and it’s a pretty good take

B’Elanna being reduced to angry Klingon - Racism and sexism double whammy (see: spicy Latina)

Keiko being perceptually reduced to nagging wife even though that’s not what her actions necessarily portray - racism and sexism double whammy again

Beverly Crusher’s trill episode - homophobia

DS9 flirting with different expressions of sexuality (many characters) but barely committing - homophobia

Pike’s fate - ableism

DS9 Augments - ableism

Later iterations of Spock losing the Jewish coding - antisemitism

I’ll stop the list there since we can keep pulling examples out as nauseam and find examples of any of the -isms, any of the -phobias either within the media itself or behind the scenes but especially in some of the fan spaces. There’s plenty of ethnic/religious/gender/sexuality coding, erasure, contradictions, and many other things that can be pulled out and dissected in ~900 hours of a franchise made over 6 decades. (Keep adding examples if you want, since mine do not cover the whole spectrum of the franchise and barely even touch alien species that also have issues.)

Star Trek is undeniably made in a capitalist Hollywood production company, so white supremacy, heteronormativity, and dominant cultural tendencies usually end up dictating what gets put on air. Hollywood has a dominant thread of white supremacy throughout its history, so even intentionally trying to diversify staff and talent is difficult because of the systems feeding into Hollywood or other industries/institutions. There can also be a great deal of privilege working in the favor of successful artists - not always but something to consider.

Additionally, Trek presents itself as a post-scarcity, futuristic utopia, and sometimes things stick out to us if they don’t meld with our personal understanding of what that would look like.

I’m sure we’ve all heard a little about the old production schedules, long days, demanding schedules, rotating writers, rotating directors, etc etc. It has been proven that implicit bias can drive decisions, especially when people are busy. Even if the production isn’t explicitly motivated by these things, they seep into the work. The -isms and -phobias are sometimes reduced to characteristics of a person/piece of media, but it’s sometimes more useful to characterize actions instead of people since it allows better conversation about the topics. Sometimes it is intentional and explicit, sometimes it’s not. The intention does not affect the impact, so how a storyline or message lands on the audience/viewer is important. Science fiction in particular is a genre that makes social commentary, so by design it lends itself to deeper analysis.

We also can’t forget that the shows are products of their respective times, and a lot of what was shown was pushing against cultural boundaries. For the most part, the franchise has tried to explicitly be diverse, but they are bound to make missteps in other areas, intentional or not. No piece of media is perfect or above scrutiny.

Now, all of that said, there are many schools of thought for how to analyze media. I’m not gonna give a whole crash course in literary criticism but we can look at it from a continuum of different perspectives. We can wonder what the production meant when they made it/what happened off camera (author intentionality), we can draw from the piece itself (in universe), we can focus on how the media was received either in its cultural context or outside (reader response), or we can do some combination of the three. No media exists in a vacuum, so they all end up working together to make the work.

My main point is this: it is ok to pick your analytical perspective. You can chose to ignore the real-world contributions and intentionality when analyzing media. If people want to stay strictly in universe to come up with reasons why something did or did not happen, that’s ok. If people want to focus on what happened behind the scenes and how that affected the work, fine. If people are just focused on how it made them feel, also great. Just maybe don’t get all worked up because someone is analyzing media from a different viewpoint or someone has a different take than you do.

[coolzvillesuckz]

dont worry about not being able to read the text just look at the shapes ok

(ft. my boyfriend (@ necromanticzz)'s spidersona aphrodite)

[kidkubrick]

wait hang on

ok so

something i think abt a lot are the sweaters that jeff wears. theyre so unique from everyone else's costumes. no one else really wears patterns. so why the distinction?

and then i realized it's because it echoes saul goodman.

the cool thing about this, in my opinion, is the fact that they conveyed this in a world that operates without colour. every episode jeff shows up in is in greyscale, but by using patterns- by using clothing that is very clearly separate from everyone else's "boring, plain" clothes, they're still able to communicate jeff's position in the story.

[badnewswhatsleft]

honestly so cool that this is how they announce what a time to be alive will be getting a music video<3

[lunarshifting]

GUYS I JUST FIGURED OUT INTENTION. LIKE ACTUALLY.

Every time I've tried to set intention, it's always been a "failure." It's super annoying, but I was like "what am I doing wrong?

I KNOW WHAT I WAS DOING WRONG.

Every time I've tried to shift, it's always been without actual intention. I was repeating words, but not their meanings.

What is shifting to you?

It doesn't matter why your shifting, but the emotions and thought process does. When you wake up in your DR, what will you feel? Not physically, but emotionally.

THAT IS WHAT GIVES YOUR INTENTION, YOUR WILL TO SHIFT. THAT ALONE CAN, AND WILL SHIFT YOU.

To set intention, you feel the weight of your words. Ask yourself, what do you emotionally feel about shifting? That emotion you feel, right now, in that universe, is enough to shift you. When you lay down, and close your eyes, no matter the method, when you shift, you have to think about the emotional impact you'll have waking up on your DR bed or area. Think about the feeling of your environment. How happy you'll be to feel that one thing there. And once you feel that happiness, that excitement, affirm. "I am shifting." Or, if it pleases you, say "i have already shifted." And you wanna know why that shifts you? Because your emotions are your intentions.

THIS CAN BE SAID ABOUT LITERALLY ANYTHING. TO MY CLUELESS INTENTION SHIFTERS/MANIFESTORS/LOA, KNOW YOUR INTENTION IS JUST YOUR EMOTIONS PUT INTO PRESENT TENSE.

[mrfoox]

Happy late birthday Eva, still remember you and your birthday.

[nikkashidashipper]

i am once again considering dropping out of uni

[celaenaeiln]

You know what’s interesting?

Dick didn’t set out to murder Zucco with the intent of being a killer. He viewed it as an unfortunate byproduct of his actions.

His real goal was to “purge the world of criminals” because “darkness needs light.”

Do you realize how unhinged that sounds? It means Robin wasn’t created from anger. It was created from the messed up psyche of a child who realized at 8 years old that the entire world needs something better than what it was given and so he went out and became it.

I cant properly explain how insane that is. It’s like putting the logic of the Joker inside the mind of child but turning it for good. Everything is falling into place now. That is why the Joker hates Dick-he is the one Robin the man couldn’t break. Literally COULDN’T because when he’s facing Dick, he’s facing the version of himself that would have existed if he had put himself to good. That was would break HIM.

Imagine spending the better part of your life doing your utmost worst to show Batman that people and the system are inherently evil only to have him fall head over cowl for a version of yourself to completely invalidate your reason for existing. How psychotic would you turn when you realize you have nothing to prove?

This also explains why Dick is so well adjusted and sociable in a way that Bruce and the others aren’t.

Bruce loses it when he loses his children, he thinks it’s a failure of his abilities and doubts his life’s work.

Jason loses it when he thinks he’s been replaced because his reason for being is having someone care for him.

Tim loses it when he comes to a dead-end. He feels helpless and lost when he doesn’t know the next move because his reason for being is being able to solve what’s wrong.

Damian loses it when he feels abandoned. He feels hurt and broken because he’s a child who wants to be loved.

The reason Dick was the perfect choice for Dark Crisis and to become the dawn of DCU is because his sole reason for being is to be the light.

That is why Bruce refused to destroy a planet when Superman asked him too. That is why Dick was the only person in the universe who could control the Darkness infecting him when even Deathstroke lost his mind to it. That is why the evil Justice League chose Dick of every one to kill-to make a point.

This is why he’s looked up to by major heroes such as Superman, Wonderwoman, the Titans, the children, the villains, and the civilians.

This is why Harvey Dent called Robin Dick “Batman’s secret weapon.”

Although anger was the baseline emotion, Dick doesn’t have anger issues because:

Robin wasn’t created for revenge. It was created with the intention of building a world so unrealistically good, that the level of the vision Richard Grayson was aiming for and set the standards for- is so terrifyingly inconceivable.

And that-is why he is a happy, feral, monster.

[quietwingsinthesky]

“It’s like you kicked a big hole in the side of my life.” things even would say if they met the doctor After-

[raven-dor]

me and my husband

In which gwayne hightower is overprotective of his pregnant wife, and she begins to worry about the outcome of the birth

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader

WARNINGS: angst, anxiety, rough pregnancy, mentions of blood, arguing, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

AN: I read "chose me" by @entitled-fangirl and had to write something similar for gwayne!! this could also be read as part of the come back to me universe, but you do not have to read any other fic to understand the context!!

She watched from the dark hall, her heart fluttering as he leaned back, exposing his neck and upper chest. Pregnancy awoke a dangerous animal inside her, one that needed her husband near her at all times. 

Instead, he sat in his office. 

She could not blame him; it was hard work, taking care of Old Town in place of his uncle’s absence. Seeing as his cousin had died recently, Gwayne would stand to inherit the Hightower title, and he all but jumped at the chance to begin his training.

But as of late, it seemed as if she needed him more than he needed her. Mere thoughts seemed to drown out her happiness, every attempt to block them futile. The larger she grew, the closer she got to the inevitable. She cleared her throat, making herself known to her husband. 

“Gwayne?” He looked up, smiling brightly. 

“My love! You should be in bed.” He stood up, ushering her over to a cushion. She glared, letting him coddle her for now.

“I am not inept.” 

“I know, darling.” He knelt in front of her, kissing her hand gently. “But you also know that I cannot help but worry for you.” He caressed her stomach, whispering. “And how is our little one?” 

“You have no need to worry, I assure you. The Maesters say the babe is perfectly healthy; there is no cause for concern.”

“And you?” He kissed her hand once more. “How do you fare?”

She was taken aback by that question, avoiding the question. “Do not worry about me.” 

“That is my job as your husband.” He walked back to his desk, putting out the flickering candle. “And Maesters are not always correct.” 

“That is a rather skeptical view.” She grabbed the handles of the chair, pushing herself up. Gwayne glared. 

“Please ask for my aid next time you plan on standing.” 

“Shall I ask you to help me relieve myself as well?” She glared back. “I love you; you know that I do. But I am not a frail piece of straw. I will not break from a gust of wind.”

“You are carrying the future heir to the Hightower name, my dear.” 

Terms like that make her uneasy. That is all she heard all day. ‘Future heir,’ ‘Hightower name,’ ‘a boy.’ All phrases she had heard over a hundred times. She just wanted a moment of peace where she was not reminded how little she mattered in this situation. A tight smile graced her lips, and she lost all humor in her tone. “As I am constantly reminded.” 

He grabbed her hand, walking slowly out of the office. “All I ask is that you take care. If not for me, then for the sake of our child.” 

“I am careful.” She glared. “You know this. It’s not as if I go looking for things to hurt the babe. Do not treat me like a child to be watched over.” 

He rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand. “I do not mean to upset you-” 

“Well, you have.” She scoffed. “You have somehow managed to insult my care for your future line and my child in one blow. It is astonishing, truly. I applaud you.” 

“You know that was not my intention.” He shut their bedroom door, removing his shirt. Y/N tried to keep herself from blushing at the sight, but when he looked like that, it was hard to do. He knelt in front of her, holding both of her hands in his. “I am sorry.” 

She hummed, walking away and sitting in front of her vanity. “Yes, well, I suppose I forgive you.” 

He grinned. “I am glad of it.” 

The woods were peaceful, a nice retreat from the bustling of Old Town. Her velvet green dress dragging behind her. She hummed, closing her eyes and listening to the sound of the trees swaying. There was a lake nearby that she desperately wanted to swim in, and stare up into the sky of blue. Pushing the tall grass out of her way, the clearing stretched out before her, the lake at the center. She grinned, running down the hill with a newfound joy.

“Y/N? Where are you?” 

Her smile fell, remembering the whole reason she had even been ‘allowed’ to go on this excursion. He’d only let her go if he came along. She sighed, turning around and walking back up the hill. “Coming, my love.” 

The auburn-haired man smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Where did you run off to?” 

“The clearing.” She traced shapes on his chest. “I was thinking, perhaps you could join me for a swim. It is a perfect day for it.” 

“I-” 

“My lord.” Their guard’s voice echoed through the forest. Y/N groaned, falling against her husband’s chest. Gwayne kissed the top of her head, smiling sympathetically. “Another time, I swear to you.” She sighed, nodding. A finger hooked under her chin, his eyes serious. “You look far too melancholy, my love.” 

“Well, perhaps if-” 

“My lord, I’m sorry, but it is most urgent.” 

Gwayne sighed, intertwining his hand with hers. “What is it?”

The Maester’s Wing was dim, with just a few candles keeping light. Gwayne had been summoned to settle a squabble between the townfolk, leaving Y/N to visit the old man herself. She tapped her foot, waiting for the Maester to ask her the questions she dreaded. But those questions never came. 

“My lady.” 

Y/N smiled, nodding. “Maester Jon, it is wonderful to see you.” She held her stomach. “Tell me, any developments my husband or I should be aware of?” 

“Unfortunately, yes, my lady.” He sat down. “It seems, from what we can tell so far, that the birth may result in a breach pregnancy.” Y/N’s blood ran cold, and she felt her breath catch. “A breach pregnancy may result in a choice needing to be made.” He leaned forward, a sympathetic look on his face. “Do you understand what this means, my lady?” 

She nodded, standing up quickly. “I do. Thank you, Maester Jon. I shall relay the news to my lord husband.”

She gave one last look at the dark corner before practically running out of the wing. She burst through the hall doors, dinner in full swing. There sat Gwayne, eyes drooping, visibly exhausted from his duties. 

Who was she to worry him anymore?

Y/N sat beside her husband, kissing his cheek. “How was your day, my love?” 

“Infinitely better, now that you are here.” He smiled. “How was the visit?” 

She took a large sip of her wine. “Well. All is well.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I love you.” 

He grinned, squeezing back. “I love you much more, my dear.” 

If he chose the babe, she knew she would surely die from heartbreak before she bled. She laughed, her eyes watering. “I do not think that is possible.” 

Since learning of the news, she’d been restless, barely sleeping and often waking before the sun. Its bright rays peeked through the curtains, hitting her skin. The warmth soothed her for a moment, but it was just that, a moment. 

The babe kicked harshly, a quiet groan leaving her. She stared at the ceiling, thinking that in just a few short weeks, she’d be giving birth in this very bed, staring at the same ceiling. 

It had always been described to her as horrible and painful beyond recognition. And now that she was carrying an heir, which could possibly be breach, she almost wished she could go back to when they first met and stop herself. When she didn’t have to worry about what she did or where she went, she could just be free. 

He would be pressured into choosing the child over her; she knew this. Sometimes, when the need for an heir was strong, women had been carelessly cut open, being left for dead. It had been done many times, most notably in her lifetime, by King Viserys. Rhaenyra had told her of his actions: how he’d carelessly cut Aemma open, and her mother bled out on the bed without ever getting to hold her babe. 

She looked over at her husband, fast asleep and dead to the world. His hair covered his eyes; his face was shoved into the pillow haphazardly. She giggled; he’d always slept like there was no tomorrow; it was heartwarming, to say the least. She leaned over, pushing the hair out of his face, kissing his forehead gently. 

 Rolling to her side, she quietly stood, careful not to wake him. Grabbing her robe from the wardrobe, she made her way to the dining hall, eager to eat something of actual sustenance. 

After learning of the news, she had picked at her dinner, telling Gwayne it was because the babe made her nauseous. 

In a way, it had. 

The smell of bacon and eggs flooded her senses, and she rounded the corner, the doors of the hall wide open. Greeting the occasional servant that passed by, she sat down, piling food onto her plate. 

“My lord.” Y/N looked up to see her husband stalking toward her, not even acknowledging the man who had greeted him. Odd, he normally slept as long as he could before starting his day. She smiled brightly. “Good morning, my love.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Is it a good morning?” 

“Quite.” She tilted her head. “Why? Is something amiss?” 

He nodded, crossing his arms. “I awoke, and my wife was gone. Imagine my surprise.” 

She had felt horrible leaving him, and fighting would only give him more cause to choose the babe. “I am sorry if I scared you.” 

“You should be. And another-” He stopped, shock adorning his features. “You are sorry?” 

“I should have woken you. It was my mistake.” She pat the chair next to her. “Please, join me.” 

“I’m afraid I cannot. I have to meet with the steward this morning.” 

Her heart clenched. “I can join you if you’d like-” 

“It is not necessary. I will only bore you.” 

She murmured, reaching out to grab his hand. “You have never bored me.” 

“You are kind, but I’m sorry, I cannot be distracted.” He grabbed a plate, placing a biscuit and two pieces of bacon haphazardly.

She scoffed, glaring at her lord husband. “I did not realize I was such a distraction."

"Y/N...."

"Perhaps I should stay in my chambers for the remainder of my pregnancy. To keep you from further distraction.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.” 

She stood, her eyes cold. “I know nothing of the sort.” She looked over his shoulder, beckoning over a servant. “Please move my things into the adjoining room. I will be sleeping there-” 

Gwayne sat his plate down, looking at the servant. “Do not move her things.”  

“My lady?” The young girl looked frightened, scared that she was caught in the middle of their argument. 

Y/N sighed, dismissing the girl. “It is alright.” She walked away, yelling back at her husband. “I shall do it myself.” 

“Y/N!” Gwayne yelled, dropping his plate and running after her. “Come back here at once.” 

She ignored him, walking faster. The stairs proved to be a challenge, holding the railing tight. Gwayne placed a hand on her back. “Let me-” 

She flinched, pushing him back. “Don’t.” 

He mumbled. “You may hate me all you want after this.” 

“After what-” He hooked his arm under her legs, carrying her up the stairs. “Gwayne Hightower! You let me down right now!” 

The top of the stairs was a relief; she practically jumped out of his arms. She walked into their joint chambers, filling her trunk with things she would need. Gwayne sighed, watching from the doorway. “Will you please just-” 

“I will leave you to your devices, my lord. I hope your meetings prove well spent.” Dragging the trunk through the door, she slammed it in his face. 

That had been three days ago. They’d seen each other in the halls and at meals, but other than that, Y/N steered clear of her husband. For the better part of the day, he’d been in a meeting with the patrons of Old Town, or so she’d heard. Y/N took that as an opportunity, rushing out of the castle’s gates. Squealing, she cut through the tall grass once more, racing down the hill towards the lake. She threw her dress off, her petticoat barely revealing her modesty. Not that anyone would see, this part of the wood was only known by the family. 

The water did wonders for her nerves, cooling her skin. Her hair stretched out past her waist, flowing like the tall grass that surrounded this oasis. She floated for what seemed like hours; the babe had not stirred once. She hummed, rubbing her bump gently. “It is quite peaceful here, is it not?” 

A kick. 

Y/N grinned, her eyes tearing up. “Please, try your best to make this an easy birth. It would break my heart not to meet you. If that is the case, don’t worry. Your father’s a good man; he’ll raise you well.” 

No kick. 

She laughed. “Do not ignore your mother. It’s quite disrespectful.” 

A kick. 

“I miss him too, my love.” 

A voice broke through the silence. “Miss who exactly?” 

Y/N jumped, standing in the water. “My lord, I did not expect you-” 

“I was in a meeting when a guard informed me you were running out of the castle gates.” His face looked conflicted, but she didn’t want to address the fact that he most likely heard that whole ‘conversation,’ so she remained silent. “Is there something you wish to tell me?” 

So he had heard. She smiled, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. “I do not know what you are referring to, my lord.” 

“Stop.” Gwayne sighed. “You haven’t called me that since before we were engaged, and I do not wish for you to start again.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Please come out of the lake.” 

She walked past his hand to her dress, every attempt to retrieve it proving futile. “Here.” Gwayne knelt down, picking it up off the stump. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been here?” 

“I would have figured it out, thank you very much.” She glared, pulling the frock over her head. “Do you not have another meeting to attend, my lord?” 

“I canceled them.” He laughed, stepping forward. “After I heard my wife was running away from our home, I thought it best to tend to the matter myself.” 

“How wise of you.” Y/N crossed her arms. 

“Shall we go to bed?” 

“I am not tired.” She walked up the hill, leaving him behind. “Have a restful night, my lord.” 

She slammed her bedroom door shut, leaning against it. She was tired; she hated to admit it. But she wouldn’t have told him that. She walked over to the window, placing the bouquet she picked on the mantle. A reminder of the freedom she once had. A reminder of life before she faced death itself. 

A knock rang out. “May I come in?” 

She tensed. “If you must.” She faced the window, too scared to face him. If she looked at him, truly looked at him, she thought she would start crying. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” 

“I have to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly.”

She nodded, walking away from the window and placing her robe in her wardrobe. “Ask it then.” 

“Do you still love me?”

Her heart stopped. “I-” 

Gwayne stepped forward, wrapping a singular arm around her waist. He drew her in, his scent engulfing her senses. She fought herself not to fall for his spell, but as he leaned his head down, and his breath hitting her neck, she knew she would not last. “If you do not, speak it plainly because I- I cannot go on like this any longer.” 

She turned around in his arms, placing her arms on his chest. “I do not believe I could ever stop loving you. Trust me when I say this.” She smiled. “I’m afraid it’s terminal.” 

“Ah.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Then what is it that troubles you so?” 

“I do not know what you-” 

“I beg you, do not finish that sentence.” He tilted her chin up, worry in his eyes. “What ales you, my love?” 

“I am simply nervous.” She to be out of his arms. The longer she stayed in his embrace, the more compelled she felt to tell him. “It is nothing, I swear to you.”

He raised his eyebrows, pulling her hands from his chest and kissing them gently. “Please do not lie to me.”

“That night I visited the Maester, he told me something.” He nodded. “He said with the way the pregnancy is progressing, it is possible that the babe will be born breach.” Her voice grew quieter the longer she spoke. 

“That’s not all, is it?” 

She pushed out of his hold, walking to the other side of the room. “I’m so sorry, Gwayne. Truly, I am. Please forgive me-” a sob wrecked her body. “But I want to live. Please.” 

Gwayne shook his head. Where was this coming from? “Whatever are you talking about?” 

“I know I have been acting radical as of late, and I apologize, I just thought-” She hiccuped. “I thought it would make your choice easier.” 

“What choice, darling?” 

She whispered. “Between me and the babe.” 

“Why would I-” It dawned on him. Had she really been dealing with this all by herself? “Oh, my sweet girl. Why did you not tell me?” 

“I didn’t want to stress you any further.” She hugged herself. “Please, Gwayne. I swear I will give you another heir if this pregnancy-” She shivered. “Just don’t cut me. I beg you.” 

He dropped down in front of her, grabbing her hands in his. “Listen to me well. I could sire a hundred children, but you. You are one of a kind, and I will always choose you.” He kissed the back of her hands once more. “Irreplaceable. You must know this.” 

“Gwayne, no one is truly irreplaceable.” 

He stood, his eyes dark. “Do not say such things again. Swear it to me.” 

“I-” 

“Swear it, Y/N.” 

“I swear.” She whispered, cheeks red. “I swear to you.” 

He nodded, smiling lightly. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“For coddling you.” He stepped closer, caressing her bump. “I am scared as well. My own mother had many a difficult pregnancy, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.” 

“I am sorry as well.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “I should have come to you with my worries. I did not want to burden to burden you. And I will make sure you have your heir. I promise you that.” 

“I do not care if the Hightower name crumbles away into nothingness. As long as you are content, I will be as well.” He leaned down, their foreheads touching. “There would be no point to this without you. I fear I could not do this if you were not by my side.” 

“You have been doing perfectly fine as of late.” She winced. "I truly am sorry.” 

“No more of that.” He whispered, staring at her lips. “May we please go to bed?” 

She nodded, knowing if she tried to speak that words would fail her. She lay on the bed beside him, tracing his freckles. “Sleep, my love.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “I will be here when you wake, I promise.” 

[yanderenightmare]

Deku - Midoriya Izuku

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere

gn reader

Thinking about being childhood friends with Izuku, who’s always had a bit of a crush on you. 

You’ve always known, but you’ve never humored it. He’s your friend – anything else would just be awkward. If you had to put it in any other term, you’d say he felt more like a little brother.

You wish he’d allowed the two of you to grow apart – as normal people do.

There wasn’t really any reason for the two of you to stay friends after middle school. His quirk suddenly manifested, and he got into UA – became a pro-hero – and then the symbol of peace. And you were still… kind of just doing your thing – studying, working, struggling to pay rent – struggling to keep a date…

The two of you never had much in common anyway, and you never really knew what to talk about with him anymore – only knowing to ask him how his mother was. After all, you grew out of your otaku phase a long while ago – and otherwise, you felt out-educated in any and every conversation the two of you had with each other. You swear talking to him makes you feel like a toddler learning your first words – it’s humiliating, and you don’t understand how any of it’s remotely stimulating for him, either.

Still, he’ll text you when he has the time, asking if you’d like to meet up at a café – talk, catch up – and you, not wanting to be rude, always accept.

You’d gone wide-eyed the first time you’d met him after middle school. Jeez Louise – he’d had to have grown twice his size – jacked and scarred to no end. It only got worse over the years. Now, adults – he must be twice your size. Bigger even.

You blush now when he flirts with you. But not so much for the reasons he wants.

Honestly, it’s more uncomfortable than it’s flattering. It was Izuku, after all – Deku – no matter how little he resembled the crybaby from your childhood – he’d always be that same nerdy loser friend who’d chased after you ever since you first met.

He might have grown up, but his crush on you hadn’t.

His doe-eyed look of longing and adoration had always made you feel a little awkward – a little sorry for him. And now that he’s become a man, it’s only become even more… desperate… a little pathetic, actually…

Bedroom eyes that make you laugh nervously, pretending to brush it off as a joke but really wishing he’d just give it a rest already. Surely, as a pro-hero and public figure, he could get a date? One of the many screaming fans that pine for him everywhere he drags that awful golden cape he has on his shoulders. And if not any of them, then maybe a model. A movie star even.

Why is he so hung up on you?

The funny thing is, you’d tried vying him of his crush by telling him about hook-up after hook-up, boyfriend after boyfriend – treating him like a girlfriend you could gossip with.

But it’s almost like he takes it as a challenge – talking and helping you through your relationships, giving his input and advice – just like a real friend would… only… always implementing something… something condescending, something suggestive, something saying you ought to be with him instead – he’d never treat you like that, he’d never do you wrong, you’d be taking good care of with him.

You’d made the mistake of saying you were struggling with a class at university – just to make conversation – just to talk about something trivial. But of course, he’d seen it as an opportunity – quick to offer his help, saying he’d taken that class as an extracurricular – just for a bit of fun, he’d said, light reading material he’d done on the side of his internship.

You don’t know why it’s so hard to tell him no.

Suppose it’s the possibility of being wrong – the guilt of thinking he has impure intentions when he’s supposedly the purest person in the world.

But you should have trusted your instincts.

“Please, Izuku-” You’d immediately restored to begging. Who wouldn’t? He’s a two-meter-tall monster of a man – jacked with muscles fatter than a bear.

Your phone’s been missing since you came back from the bathroom – your lips wet with his unwanted kisses – your neck sore from having his fist wrapped around it when you tried stopping him.

You’d only managed to break free after biting – blood salty in your mouth. You nearly vomited, choking on a mix of bile and fear.

Fuck – your legs are so weak, you might just buckle from the dread alone – feeling like a bunny snagged on fox teeth.

“You used to take me when we’d play wrestle... you remember?”

The comment is pulled out of nowhere.

He stalks you, a fond look on his face as though the two of you were reminiscing good old times. As though his eyes weren’t a nocturnal green like foxfire on the fen. As though he wasn’t radiating black whip – ready to snare you.

“Think you can take me now?”

You had your hands raised apprehensively – but the hopelessness took its toll and made your entire body shake on the spot.

Your only hope was to talk him out of it. If only you could think past the fear and string a sentence together that wasn’t along the lines of “Please-”

But something about that look on his face told you he wouldn’t listen to reason anymore. Not manic, not like a person who’d finally snapped – but controlled – resolute – and playful even. Nothing like you’d ever seen. Nothing you could understand.

“What’s wrong, hm?” He smiles, head tipped in that charming way that used to make you want to pinch his cheek. Now it just makes you sick to look at – swallowing thickly as you tack another step back away from it. “I’ll go easy – so don’t worry… I know it's not exactly a fair fight anymore…”

Your better judgment failed you – fight-or-flight kicked in, and you made a break for it. 

Budging into the couch on your way, it’s a messy scramble for the door – but you manage. Feeling feverish with dread and pumped full of adrenaline, you brush the cold handle with just your fingertips before something wraps around your midriff in a snug grip – pulling you back into the living room.

You’re lifted from the ground, kicking – now screaming – flailing in the air before you’re flipped on your back against the couch.

“Don’t be like that~” He murmurs. “Always so wishy-washy~” Voice in a low purr that makes you feel like coughing up your heart – squirming beneath him and his heavy hands as they paw your thighs – manhandling you like nothing you’d ever imagine him to do.

Raking his fingers through the dough before squeezing your ass greedily – kneading his fat crotch against the thin fabric protecting your sex. 

“Complaining about all your weak-dicked boyfriends as if begging me to come fuck you myself – yet such a flighty little slut when it comes down to it.” He sneers, and blackwhip tightens some around your limbs. “Let me help you out.”

One hand tugs your underwear until it rips, whilst the other hand pulls up to grab your face – squeezing your cheeks to keep you still when forcing his kisses on you.

“After all… what are friends for?”

♡ DEKU - MIDORIYA IZUKU masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist