#so if it doesn't make sense I'm blaming that

[lxvebun]

challenge accepted!♡

synopsis: you're surprised when you find out he has not had his first kiss yet, you're even more surprised when he lets you be the one to change that aka your first kiss with Satoru<3

content: Gojo Satoru x gender neutral reader. Fluff!. Written with the highschool arc/satosugu friendship in mind so you'd be in the same grade together, but you can read it however you wish♡ Detailed descriptions of kissing. Around 650 words. Eng is not my first language. Not entirely proofread, lmk if there are any annoying mistakes♡

He's the strongest around, the Gojo Satoru! He has everything he could want and he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone. He doesn't have to but he does enjoy doing so.

So when you and Suguru teamed up against him, giggling oh so cruelly because here he was spouting out dating advice, saying that Geto will turn into a "grumpy old man" if he continues to reject people's advances, when he hasn't even had his first kiss yet, he knew he had to fix that♡

⁎⁺˳✧༚໒꒱.*

"You don't have much of a say seeing as you haven't kissed, let alone dated anyone yet, Satoru.~" Suguru replies, voice still as gentle as always even when he's dealing with his best friend's nonsense.

You're not entirely sure why your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. Sure it's unexpected given Gojo's flirty nature and good looks, but it's igniting a feeling of something almost hopeful in your heart....you don't like him that, not at all, right? So why is the image of him pulling you in by your waist and dipping down to lock his lips against yours fogging over your mind?

You've gone quiet for a bit as you hoped to make sense of what you're feeling, not unperceived by your friends sitting next to you

"Y/n?" They speak at the same time. You miss the shared glance of concern

You're glad you can blame the afternoon sun for the sudden spark of warmth surging through your body.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm here" you reply a bit clumsily as you make the mistake of looking back at him and the words almost get stuck in your throat. he looks ridiculously handsome with the way his head is slightly tilted, enough to look at you over his glasses, blue eyes shining even brighter in the sunlight, and something as simple as that really shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

Just for a split second you see his eyes soften as he lets his gaze trace of your features before he nudges his glasses back in place and continues-

"You're supposed to back me up, you know?? Tell him!"

"There's nothing wrong with not having had your first kiss yet, Suguru" you say sweetly. Gojo visibly relaxes and that stupid infamous smirk forms on his lips as he nods along with your words. you stifle back a laugh as you continue, "Unless you're Gojo Satoru"

The flail of his arms is entirely dramatic and entirely in character. It's not helping that you can hear the snickering of Suguru beside him too.

He's quiet for a moment as he regains his composure, one of his arms now draped behind you along the bench. He takes his glasses off and hangs them on the collar of his shirt.

"Alright"

.....

"Alright?"

Your body registers it before your brain does, heart fluttering in your chest, a hitch in your breath as he leans in. He's close, but he doesn't close the gap just yet. You can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks and his intoxicatingly good, probably extremely expensive cologne envelops the rest of your senses, makes you a little dizzy as all you see, hear, and feel is him but he allows you enough space to back away if this is not what you desire.

Perhaps your heart already knew what you're mind was just trying to catch up to. You have fallen in love. Fallen in love with Satoru of all people.

You're sure that at least a minute has passed since he leaned in but he doesn't falter and patiently waits until you do finally give him the smallest of nods and then it's over for you, you've fallen too deep now and you cannot and do not want to come back from this, from him.

the kiss is sweet, almost too sweet if you didn't have a sweet tooth that could battle Satoru's. And for a first kiss it's quite heavy, a little deeper and longer than you expected and it continues to linger warmly on your lips when he finally pulls away, face a little flushed, eyes bright, and smirking like he just won the lottery

"Now, listen, Suguru" he begins but you tune it out. Too focused on trying to calm the racing of your heart, too enamoured with the memory of his lips on yours

Gojo doesn't remove his arm from around your shoulder but his other hand has intertwined with yours as he draws heart shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, silently letting you know this was more than him just trying to prove something, silently letting you know, he'd be yours if you'll have him♡

Thank you for reading, angels!<3

I haven't written for jjk in such a long time😩 but I started season 2 and I want them to be HAPPY

[fruity-fruition]

I NEED more angry Saki content at this point. GENUINELY.

Guys, I love Tsukasa, Shiho, and Honami with all my heart but I desperately need Saki to finally let out all her anguish.

Shiho and Honami were middle schoolers, you can't blame them, but so was Saki. I love how bright she is, how bubbly, but for the love of god you just know she had some sense of betrayal when Ichika was the only one who appeared constantly.

I want Saki to stand before Honami and Shiho, trying her best to act as her usual self, but finally breaking down and telling them how hurt she was when they never replied to her text. When Ichika kept saying "they'll visit soon" because she knows they never will. How she felt so alone in that hospital room, missing two of her best friends and being so far away from home.

I don't want their friendship to wither, but I have her to be angry because she has every right to be. I want her to hold a grudge, and I want her to feel hurt because she cannot move forward without acknowledging how shitty the cards she was dealt were.

Again, I'm not saying it was Honami and Shiho's fault. They were middle schoolers, they were scared. they were children who didn't know how to cope with their friend being so far and so out of reach. But that didn't mean they weren't wrong. Saki has every right to feel abandoned, because in her eyes, she was.

And Tsukasa. This is a different betrayal, because he treats her like glass. Again, it's not his fault, because for a good while, she basically was. She couldn't go out, she couldn't move around, she couldn't do most things. And he saw her through all of it. Of course he'd be scared for her, of course he'd be wary about it.

But Saki's so tired of being treated like this. She wants to move on, to keep going, to feel normal but she can't do that when everywhere she goes, it's a constant reminder. I want her to lash out, not being she's in the right, but because she's a teen who's childhood was torn away from her.

I want to see Saki snap, I don't even want it to be for a right reason. She could be totally in the wrong, yelling at her brother for caring and trying to make sure she's okay, but she's tired of being reminded she isn't a normal teen. So she lashes out, because she's hurt.

Saki's feeling of betrayal towards Tsukasa reaches another part too, with Tsukasa refusing to trust her the way she trusts him. Tsukasa never opened up to her, being so determined to be the reliable older brother. She's not stupid. She sees what he's doing. She knows something is up, that something is wrong. He's hiding something from her, and it pisses her off that she most likely will never know what.

She feels like he doesn't trust her. She feels like her just being younger is burdening him. That he thinks she can't handle it because she'll always be the "younger fragile sister". She is wrong, and he's never seen her as such, but she feels. That's the whole thing here.

I just want my girl to be able to finally feel and not squash everything down. She'll have to accept the consequences of her actions, but she'll grow from it after, that's for certain. Because she's not going anywhere if she keeps ignoring it and just smiles through (Tenma Sibling trait apparently...)

GOD Saki Tenma I LOVE YOU.

[mammonsrockstargf]

Your most recent Luci fic—the one w the priest—is really good!

Not sure if you take requests rn, but I would love it if you could write something similar. For example, a fic about Luci with an ex-Catholic lover? Or maybe a lover who used to be a nun?

(I’m ex-Catholic, now agnostic-leaning-towards-atheist & when I was Catholic, I was in postulancy—training to be a nun—but…things happened lol)

hi, anon, thank you! <3 i'm glad you liked it. and wow, that sounds like quite the religious journey! i hope that you find something that makes sense for you. <3 i'm both baptized and confirmed in the protestant church but i'm an atheist now. (obv not the same at all, but i somewhat getchu >:D)

here goes! i hope you like it. <33

warning: very heavy religious themes!

When you're first teleported to the Devildom, your reaction is to say a prayer. It falls off your lips so easily. Call it old habits, call it shock. You're even surprised by it yourself, staring wide-eyed at Diavolo as the prayer slips your lips.

“Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil.”

Everyone is shocked. The prayer in itself doesn't really have that much of an effect, your dear god cannot save you here (not that you expected him to), but a deep shiver runs down Lucifer's back. It's safe to say he hasn't heard that prayer in a while.

As if isn’t enough that you just prayed for protection against the devil, the prayer that mindlessly slipped out of you is the prayer to the archangel Michael. It strikes a deep cord within Lucifer. He doesn’t blame you, per se, he’s just very very shocked.

He takes it like a challenge, even if he isn’t aware of it. He’ll question your faith constantly. You aren’t really interested in getting into your religious beliefs with this stranger, not to mention demon, who practically kidnapped you. So you just kind of ignore his questions or avoid them.

“Were you born into religion or did you find it later in life?”

“What?” You look at Lucifer tiredly, trying to bottle your annoyance. That’s the fifth question he’s asked today, despite you expertly avoiding his last four.

You’re in his office, seated at a chair in front of his desk. He pulled you in, saying you couldn’t leave until you did the homework you’d been skillfully neglecting. Lovely education reform.

“Were you born into religion or did-“ Lucifer begins to repeat. He seems rather immune to your annoyance, seemingly thinking his pursuit of your personal information is justified. You’ve come to find that Lucifer generally thinks that anything he does is completely justified.

“I heard you.” you interrupt and send him a tight-lipped smile. “I just didn’t want to answer you.” you follow up. Lucifer tilts his head to the side, red eyes piercing through you.

“Why not?” he asks. You sigh. Does this man never run out of questions? “You’re never going to get my approval if you don’t let me get to know you.” he lazily states, flipping some of the worksheets on his desk.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You really don’t wanna get into it but you do need his approval if you want to help the brothers and Belphegor…

“I was born into it. My parents are very religious,” you state while staring at your homework, not daring to make eye contact. It feels as though his eyes are burning holes into you. A small hum leaves Lucifer. “Very interesting, indeed,” he says, voice sounding almost melodic. When you finally look up at him, he’s grinning, while twirling his pen with his fingers. He thinks he’s won this round. Stupid prick.

Months later, when you’re lying in his bed with his arms wrapped around you, you finally breach the subject. “I was in postulancy for a while,” you say, completely out of the blue. You’re laying on his chest with his arm around your waist, the other caressing your hair.

You feel his body tensing underneath you for a few seconds before he softens again. You look up at him but he’s staring at the ceiling. “I practically grew up in the church. Mass every Sunday, youth choir every Tuesday, summer camp once a year…”

You lay your head on his chest again, looking at the wall. Lucifer doesn’t say anything, but his fingers move from your hair to rub soothing patterns into your back, encouraging you to continue. “It seemed the natural next step for me to become a nun. My entire community was the church. My parents were so proud as well. Their status in the church meant everything to them.”

A lump grows in your throat. “Sorry, I haven’t talked about this in so long, I’m rambling-“ you whisper. Lucifer's hand moves from your back to your chin, turning your head towards him. “Don’t apologize, little lamb. I am very proud of you for opening up to me,” he says and your breath slightly hitches. He smiles fondly at you and strokes your cheek. His smile then fades slowly. “It occurs to me that I haven’t been fair to you. I’m sorry that I was so insensitive when we met.”

You huff. “You were a dick,” Lucifer glares at you and pinches your cheek. “Now, now. I’ve admitted my faults, let’s not delve into it,” he says and you wince, gripping his hand and intertwining your fingers.

“Yeah, yeah, old man, I’ll consider if you deserve my forgiveness,” you say and settle your head on his chest again. A small chuckle vibrates through Lucifer before a comfortable silence falls over you.

“What made you change your mind? Why aren’t you a nun, my little lamb?” he asks after a while. You think for a while, looking at your intertwined hands. His thumb presses small circles into the back of your hand.

“It just didn’t feel right, I guess,” you mumble. Lucifer nods. “Well, I, for one, am glad you didn’t go through with it. It would all be terribly complicated if you were already in a relationship with my Father.”

You let out a surprised laughter and push yourself up so your face is directly over his. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs tracing patterns into your bare skin, where your shirt has ridden up. “What a weird thing to say,” you giggle and Lucifer's brows furrow. “Well, it’s true-“ he begins, but your lips press to his before he can continue his weird family rambles. It’s a chaste kiss and you quickly press another to the corner of his lips and then one to his cheek and jaw.

After that, Lucifer is very gentle with you on the subject. He never prods or questions and only talks about it if you start the conversation. He'll even subtly change the topic if someone else brings it up. It's like a little secret between the two of you when he sends you confidential glances, making your heart flutter.

You're in a beautiful meadow. The sky is purple and you're wearing a heavy rosary with white beads around your neck. A pack of doves fly above you, circling like vultures. They begin diving for you, pecking you with their beaks, pulling at your skin and hair. You try to shield yourself with your arms, but it's useless against the many doves, plunging down. Their shrieks fill your ears and you cover your ears, but it's useless, the sound ringing in your head. You try to run, but the rosary has grown in size, pulling you down towards the ground. 

You wake with a fright, covered in sweat. Your breathing is heavy as you gasp for air. You put your face in your hands and run them through your hair. Your heart is beating harshly against your ribcage. Lucifer. You need to go to Lucifer. 

You stagger towards his room, weakly knocking on his door. "Come in," he sounds from the other side. You brace yourself against the door. "Lucy," you weakly say and the door immediately opens causing you to practically fall into him. 

In a flash, you're in his lap on his couch. He worriedly grabs your face and examines you. "What's wrong, my love?" he asks and you wrap your arms around him, sinking your face into the crook of his neck. "Nightmare," you mumble. You feel Lucifer physically relaxing underneath you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer. You feel your heartbeat slowing, as you're finally able to relax again.

"Wanna tell me about it?" he asks and you explain your dream, voice muffled against his skin. His hand finds your collarbone and he pushes you, just far enough so he can press his forehead against your own. You pout and furrow your brows. "It was so real, I swear I can still feel their beaks on my skin." 

"Where do you feel it?" Lucifer asks and you shrug. "Everywhere..." His gaze is soft as he grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips. "You feel them here?" he asks, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His lips trail up your arm. "Here?" he asks, eyes still on you. You nod and he presses a kiss to your arm. "Your shoulder as well?"

"Yes," Another kiss is pressed into your shoulder, then your collar bone, your neck, your jaw, your cheeks, your nose. You let out a giggle and he presses a last kiss to your forehead. "Did I miss anywhere?" he asks and you nod. His eyebrows raise. "Really? Where?" he ponders and you bring his thumb to your lips. "Here," you say and this time you're the one pressing a small kiss to his fingertip. 

"Oh," Lucifers says, eyes following your every move. He takes a sharp breath and pulls on your bottom lip. "We can't have that, now can we?" he says and you shake your head. He leans and kisses you and you kiss him back slowly. 

"Thank you, Lucy," 

"I'll always be here, my love,"

a/n: aaa thank you for reading, guys, i hope you liked this one!! you can find my other stuff here. <333

[10underoot2]

I'm here in my agony to say that discussion between Haein and Hyunwoo after he moved his stuff into the nursery will kill me with how painful it is.

They're both in so much pain it's visible there but they're unable to talk to each other about it.

'How could you move your stuff without telling me?' She's so hurt. Her tone is accusatory. She's hurt that she just emptied her unborn child's nursery and her husband decides to move away from her as well.

'You never told me you were emptying this room either.' He's pained that they've lost a much awaited child and she didn't bother consulting him before removing everything. He didn't get his closure. He's angry and upset and so hurt but he doesn't know that he needs to get through a very strongly wrought shield around her heart to have her acknowledge his pain.

'What are you getting at? Are you blaming me for the miscarriage?'

I never imagined Haein would think Hyunwoo would want to blame her. I want to cry that in her grief she failed to have enough faith in him and his love. She's hurt by his decision to move out so she takes it out on him. She's a classical study of saying something to completely annihilate the other when you're the one who's hurt.

Also, (this pained me more than anything) notice the extreme softness and absence of anger in his voice as he responds to her.

'What are you saying? I never thought that way.'

His anger and pain seeps back in when he confesses to her, 'I'm just as sad as you -'

'Don't lie. I know you want to say that it's my fault!' I wanted to yell at her to stop. I'm so sad that she let her past trauma catch up. Is that all she's thought about since she got the news of the miscarriage? That Hyunwoo would blame her? Her fears, her pain, her assumptions they all won. And they played a part in driving them apart.

'Forget it. I can't talk any sense into you.'

I think this is the most realistic line I've heard in a Kdrama. Because people do tend to in their anger and pain just give up. Hyunwoo couldn't deal with her accusing him of something he never did, he couldn't deal with her inability to listen and acknowledge his pain as well. So he walked away - it was just simpler, easier to do.

It's also reminding me of how he told her that if they lived in a closed space they would have been forced to confront each other. They were bound to hear the other cry and console the other then. When I think about the absolutely painful, lonely, cold two years that followed this, it makes me so sad.

I didn't know a minute long scene could send me in a spiral of sadness. As sad as a miscarriage is I've had immense clarity that it never implied that they could never have children. Not to dismiss their pain it's all very valid, but if they worked towards getting closure sooner they could have been so much stronger and probably could have had a child sooner. It makes me sad how the pain rendered them incapable to mend and work towards their relationship.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What do you think about Hermione? Love her? Hate her? Any thoughts about her being given the time Turner? Because that's what made me dislike her. There's literally no way it makes sense for her to have that other than favouritism from Dumbledore. Because if they were really willing to give out time turners to any smart kid, Barty Crouch Jr. and Tom Riddle should also have gotten time turners.

Okay, there are two parts for this answer. The first part is that I got to defend Hermione on the Time Turner bit because it's not her fault Dumbledore plays favorites.

I'm pretty sure Dumbledore knew Sirius was innocent all along (or at least suspected it) and intended Harry and Hermione to have all the means to help him at their disposal.

“Dumbledore just said — just said we could save more than one innocent life. . . .” And then it hit him. “Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!” “But — how will that help Sirius?” “Dumbledore said — he just told us where the window is — the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak — they can escape together!”

(PoA, page 395)

They were still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid’s back door. “One moment, please, Macnair,” came Dumbledore’s voice. “You need to sign too.” The footsteps stopped.

(PoA, page 401)

The back in time Dumbledore, before he sent Harry and Hermione back in time, seems almost too aware of what's going on. Even though he hasn't sent them back in time yet. So, I'm suspicious he had a plan there.

“Where is it?” said the reedy voice of the Committee member. “Where is the beast?” “It was tied here!” said the executioner furiously. “I saw it! Just here!” “How extraordinary,” said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in his voice.

(PoA, page 402)

But even if Dumbledore didn't plan Sirius' escape and the Time Turner shenanigans, it's not Hermione's fault Dumbledore wanted her to have a Time Turner. Honestly, it's good she had it for Sirius' sake, but Dumbledore's favoritism isn't on her. I feel it's wrong to blame her for a decision that wasn't hers. It was Dumbledore's and McGonagall's decision to give Hermione a Time Turner and not to other students. We don't even know how common Time Turners are for students (my guess is not at all, and Hermione wasn't supposed to have one, but that's a different post), but it was still a decision completely out of Hermione's hands.

As for the second part, which is my opinion on Hermione:

I like Hermione, she isn't in my top favorite characters, but I do like her. She's interesting, adds contrast to Ron and Harry and I related to her a lot when I was younger.

I hate what the movies did to her. They stripped her of everything that made her interesting and made her this perfect figure who always knew what to do which Hermione just isn't. Hermione tends to panic and stress out in the books often. It's often Harry who comes up with last-minute plans under pressure.

And yes, she's smart, but she isn't always the cleverest or wisest (I'll say Ron has the most common sense in the Trio), and a lot of times she doesn't think her plans through (like with Umbridge, the centaurs, and Gwamp. She didn't plan anything other than not wanting to see Harry in pain). And that's an interesting character flaw for her to have. And she knows this about herself. I mean, she says herself there's more to magic than just reading books.

And book Hermione really loves Harry and Ron and appreciates their cleverness compared to movie Hermione who's just done with both of them and their idiocy constantly. Which is a disservice to the Golden Trio's friendship. All three are really smart in different ways. and the three of them know this (sorta, Harry has really low self-esteem so he doesn't think he's smart).

My biggest grief with Hermione's character in the books was always her complete faith in authority she trusts. Throughout the series, Hermione is the one of the Trio who always speaks up that they should trust Dumbledore and do what Dumbledore says because she respects him. Hermione, once she respects an authority figure, she tends to just have full faith in them and their judgment. And that really got on my nerves sometimes. But again, that's an interesting character flaw that contrasts Harry and Ron and creates an interesting dynamic. It's a character flaw that is an extension of Hermione's loyalty. I think her loyalty is a trait that is often downplayed too, but she is so loyal. Like, once she decides you have her loyalty you could do pretty much anything and she'll try to justify you. She'll make excuses and justifications so people she's loyal to are in the right.

And she does this justification with her own actions too. I like Hermione's ruthlessness that is so often ignored. She:

Set Snape on fire as a 1st year (but, yeah she loves all authority *sarcasm*)

Kept Rita Skeeter in a jar

Marietta Edgcomb (the curse on the DA parchment in general)

Came up with the DA coins and told Harry she got inspiration from the Dark Mark:

Harry looked sideways at Hermione. “You know what these remind me of?” “No, what’s that?” “The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they’ve got to join him.” “Well . . . yes,” said Hermione quietly. “That is where I got the idea . . . but you’ll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin. . . .”

(OotP, 399)

6. Confounded Cormac McLaggen so Ron would get the Keeper position.

7. Basically everything she did in Deathly Hollows, I'm not listing all of it.

And there are more I'm probably forgetting!

The point is, Hermione is ruthless when she wants to be. She's not to be trifled with.

I think her loyalty, as I mentioned above, is a very distinctive trait of her character. She didn't have friends before Hogwarts (she was probably bullied for being a know-it-all. Like, it shows in her behavior) and she latched onto Harry and Ron and has been incredibly devoted to their friendship since. She's not only devoted to her friends but invested in keeping Harry and Ron as her friends (and each other's freinds).

And she actually is really smart. Yes, book smart, she can memorize books like a pro, but she's also a really good puzzle solver. From the riddle in the obstacle course in 1st year, figuring out the basilisk, finding out Lupin's a werewolf, figuring out Rita's Animagus form, etc... Hermione is really good at organizing information and putting the puzzle pieces together. And that's before I mentioned her magical talent, from brewing Pulyjuice Potion (a complex and advanced potion) in 2nd year in the girls' bathroom to usually being the first in class to get spells right.

Hermione's desire to know everything, as I mentioned in another post, I think is an extension of her desire to belong. She arrives in a new world as a muggleborn, and she takes each and every chance she gets to learn about the Wizarding World. To appear as if she was always there. Because she wants to be a witch so badly she doesn't mind Obliviating her parents and sending them to Australia.

I have more thoughts, but I'm just blabbering...

So, Hermione, while not in my top five, is an interesting and flawed character that I like a lot.

[litnerdwrites]

"We don't treat Elain and Nesta the same because Elain Apologised,"

Elain and Nesta aren't the same people. They can't be compared. While I understand that Nesta said some cruel things in that cabin, so did Feyre. While Nesta could've made things a bit easier on all of them, so could Feyre. They both have reasons to apologise to one another, so if you're going to condemn Nesta for not doing so, then Feyre deserves the same treatment.

But if Nesta did want to apologise, what makes you think it would be the second that Feyre got back? And in front of fae, no less. Nesta is complicated character who carries herself with pride and is considered a very private person, and is described as being queen like multiple times. The two have more issues to work through than just a few mean comments, and the moments they have the most sincere heart to hearts, are when they're alone. Without Rhysand peering from behind a door way, listening in and commentating whenever he feels like.

Looking back, in ACOTAR 1, we learn some of the myths humans tell about the Fae including that they can't lie, and they have to and that if you catch one, then it has to tell you what you want to know. Both of those turn out to be false, since fae can lie, and Ianthe caught the Surreal, but we learn in ACOWAR that it wouldn't tell her anything.

We can assume this means that the rules the fae follow in our mythology are the same ones that humans believe about fae in ACOTAR, meaning it's a fair assumption that one of the many stories about fae include never letting yourself be indebted to them. Saying things like 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry' comes across like as owing them something, and Nesta is, at this point, under the impression that doing so will cause the fae to hold it over her head and use to demand things of her for as long as she lives, if not ask something straight up impossible to make her more indebted to them.

On top of that, Feyre just asked her for a favour that could get her and Elain killed. The Mortal Queens could've just decided to have Elain and Nesta arrested and executed for collaborating with fae, or have them exiled even. It wasn't a small thing that Feyre asked for, and basically peer pressured her into, with Elain. So it's understandable that pleasantries and apologies are the last things on her mind, when her and Elain's life could be forfeit at any moment.

Even if Rhysand offers to protect them, what could he do? Nesta's under the impression that the Fae hate humans, look down on them and would treat them horribly if she crossed into their lands. Moreover, she has a whole life there, that they're suggesting she could drop to move to the other end of the country without so much as a message to their father? Or an idea of what's waiting for them? To abandon their home, friends, family and peoeple?

For what? Potential servitude? Amongst creatures she were taught were slave driving monsters? To live under her little sister's rule (cause even if she wasn't HL at this point, as fae, she has significant power over Nesta. Plus the ruler of said land they're offering to take her too openly favours Feyre, and kind of Elain but hates her, so she'd basically still be living by Feyre's whims) for the rest of her short life? Literally what part of that is appealing?

So Nesta not apologising to Feyre at that dinner, makes sense. Our girl had bigger things to worry about. She probably would have if she Feyre didn't outright abandon her to deal with her trauma alone, only showing up when she wanted to parade Nesta around at parties for her own joy, without considering how it feels to her. Or when her court, who don't like her and whom she doesn't like either, show up to insult her, and blame her for having trauma.

If Feyre and Nesta had more moments like the one in the library, or the one all three had after Az and Feyre rescued Elain, Nesta would've likely healed and apologised on her own. If the IC had just stayed out of it, then all three sisters would've figured things out, on their own. The IC just want something to complain about, so like the CON and the HC, they make a problem, and they complain that it exists.

Also, if I remember right, Feyre herself said she wanted to start over at that dinner. So unless Feyre or Nesta want to bring it up or talk about it, why does any of her family get to hold it over her head for the rest of immortality? Feyre literally just called it water under the bridge and all three of them were going through their own shit at the time, so let them actually work through their own issues privately, and I'll bet that they'll solve it on their own within a year.

[kindlingkeen]

(i'm sorry if this doesn't make sense, it's late, but i just realized a lot of this recently and i needed to put it into words so i hope you don't mind)

i've been thinking recently and while i don't mind fics with lazarus pit madness (or lazarus pit side-effects that basically amount to uncontrollable rage or violent blackouts, etc) if they are written well and the madness is handled in an interesting way, i've recently taken to mostly avoiding them because — well first of all so many of them are about tim, which. sometimes i want to read a jason fic that's actually about jason. anyway,, — i've realized that a lot of the time the "lazarus pit madness" is used to excuse everything jason has done since he was dunked. it's the reason he kills now, it's the reason he cut off those heads, it's the reason he beat tim bloody in titan's tower, etc.

instead of letting jason be a character who has his own morals, different and not what is usually considered "acceptable" as they may be, instead of exploring how they influence how he does things as the red hood, or how his own morals, his unique code affects his relationships with the batfam, he's just sort of… flat? he's made into basically nothing but a walking wall of seething green that's easily triggered and makes his black out with rage and is to blame for every violent thing he does — he is given no responsibility for his actions. and i've found that a lot of these fics end with the pit madness either somehow being done away with or at least being dealt with and then jason is back with his family happily ever after completely exonerated because it's not his fault, he didn't make those decisions, the pit did

i just,,, what about a jason who is aware of his actions? what about a jason who has thought things through and decided what kind of person he was going to make himself into? what about a jason who looked his trainers in the eye and knew he was going to kill them, who makes a plan and follows through, who didn't have to cut off those heads but he had a statement to make and maybe cutting them off was awful and horrible no matter that he decided they deserved to die but he did it because it needed done? and he's fully aware of what he's doing, he is responsible for his actions and any consequences. and he's going to do whatever he's going to do anyway. i think he's a much more interesting character that way

You 🤝 Me. Let’s be best friends. We can start a fan club, the let-Jason-have-his-autonomy club. I’ll be treasurer (fair warning, I plan to blow our budget on Red Hood stickers).

In all seriousness, yes, this, exactly this. I read a ton of these fics when I first got into the fandom, and I still enjoy a good pit madness fic from time to time, but nowadays I tend to want so much more for Jason.

For whatever reason, I think there’s a lot of “fast” fanfiction (as in the idea of “fast fashion”) written about Jason. It leans hard into a popular trope, hits those hurt/comfort vibes with a wrecking ball, and usually ends up absolutely nerfing Jason.

Writing a Jason who’s resolute in his mission and his methods, a Jason who is balanced and believable, is hard. Writing that kind of Jason and getting him to authentically reconcile with the Bats without sacrificing his autonomy is miles past hard. Reading that kind of Jason, staring uncomfortable truths in the face, that can also be hard. It’s not for everyone, and that’s okay (*grumbles unhappily*).

Thanks so much for the ask, anon, and for sharing your thoughts with me. 💙💙💙

[kiaxet]

So it turns out the latest update in @somerandomdudelmao‘s apocalypse comic has been living in my head, and when that happens I need to get it out, so ~900 words of sad it is!

~~~~~~~~

Donnie is good at birthdays. He has been once he was old enough to understand the concept. It's a point of pride.

Specifically, he's good at presents. According to his data, most people who fail at presents do so because of the guesswork they seem to think needs to be involved. He's never understood the point of that. Data and hypotheses, certainly, but why guess when a definitive answer is available after a simple direct inquiry?

"What do you want for your birthday?"

Early on, the presents are easy. Art supplies. Comics. Stuffed animals. Things he could hand to Papa in an easily followed list format, or obtain for himself once they all got old enough to start safely leaving the lair and venturing into the city above. It's simple and straightforward and so, so easy to get right.

(Of course, he always has an annotated list of his own desired gifts to provide to his brothers; if he's solved the guesswork issue, he may as well make things easy for them too. Plus, that method ensures he gets what he wants.)

Things start getting a little more complicated as he and his brothers get older. Art supplies and comics and stuffed animals are still very much appreciated, and he's documented his brothers' tastes well enough to know exactly what they like, but the answers to his simple direct inquiry are different.

"Dee, can you help me plan this mural out? I think I have enough space, but I could use a hand with the measurements."

"Donton, my half of the day is gonna be a Jupiter Jim marathon, and I need you there. Without your laptop." A beat. "But you can pick one of the movies if you want."

"Hey Donnie, you think you can help me out fixing up the gym? Things just stay put longer if you weld 'em."

After a few years of documentation, Donnie spots the pattern. His brothers appreciate physical gifts from him, certainly, but that's not what they want anymore. What Donnie's family wants from him is time - time outside the lab where he spends a good amount of his days, time spent in conversation or shared activity or simply in the same room. It's not as easy as finding the right physical gift, but if that's what they want, then he's more than happy to provide. Now that he's discerned the pattern, it's just as easy to give his brothers what they want, and Donnie can continue to maintain that he is Good At Birthdays as a point of pride.

~~~~~~~~

The Hamatos don't do birthdays anymore. There's no time in the apocalypse, no supplies, and Donnie is one of the few who actually keeps track of the calendar date. The apocalypse certainly has its share of anniversaries, a list that only grows the more people they lose, but birthdays are no longer celebrated.

With one exception.

Casey Jones Junior, their collective adopted kid, is young enough that birthdays still matter - should still matter. They do their best to keep him safe and keep those days calm and happy for him, despite everything happening around them, and while they don't always succeed, they at least try.

And damn it all, Donatello is still good at birthdays.

"Casey Junior!" He greets the kid with a grin, leaning on his bo like it's not both an inconvenience and a humiliation to need to rely on it in order to stay upright.

"Uncle Tello?"

"Since I'm not very good at guessing, I'll ask straight out." This is not entirely true - he has a list of potential gifts for Casey drafted, with 98% certainty that whatever Casey asks for will align with one of them - but he requires that confirmation to move forward. A certainty in a world where certainty is in short supply. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"My...ah." Casey's expression falls and he looks away, gaze fixed on the paperwork in his hands. Donatello says nothing, pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room in order to give Casey space. "You...can do anything," Casey starts.

"Pretty much, yes." Material issues aside - spirits know he'd have a cure for whatever the Krang had infected him with if those weren't a concern.

"I want you to stay alive," Casey says, and Donnie's smile freezes in place as Casey looks back up at him. "Can you do that?"

Damn that two percent uncertainty.

"Ah. Of course." He shrugs, as though he doesn't know exactly what Casey is asking for, and pulls up a holographic display of a calendar. "According to my calculations, I will be alive next month, which means I'll be here for your birthday." Not talking about it won't solve the problem, but it may salvage this conversation. "So! What's an actual gift you want?"

"I want you to be here." Casey's gaze finds a point on the floor, and Donnie falls silent. "Not just for a month."

No. No, he needs something concrete - something he can act on - he knows how long his list of responsibilities is, but he still feels stymied, rushing up on the end, and he needs something he can do- "But it's not a gift," he replies, a last-ditch effort he's fairly certain is bound for failure-

"No. No, it is."

As always, all Donnie's family wants from him is time.

And now, at the end of his rapidly-shortening life, it's the one thing he can no longer give them.

[q-starhalo]

I think I've said this before but there's something about the fact that q!Bad is related to Death in a way. He's a Grim Reaper, part time or not, he's a Grim Reaper. And his relationships with the eggs are just so unique. Especially with Tallulah.

Bad and Tallulah value family in a unique way I must say. We always tease on how Bad misses Skeppy and question his actions (ex. Skeppy toaster) but character wise, Skeppy is the only person Bad knows that will never leave. And now he's gone. One of his main comforts. Gone. Taken away from him. Just how he had to take away the souls of people who didn't want to be taken away. It hurts. And he knows that hurt, especially with the dead eggs.

Wilbur has been so soft with Tallulah and that has been her comfort since the beginning. The softness and gentleness. Tallulah wanting to hear his letters is comfort to her because it's from someone who held her so gently. So gentle like his voice. And expressive. Expressive like his music. He's a storyteller and Tallulah finds comfort in Wilburs stories.

Both situations are so unique yet so similar. Both of them miss someone who is now gone. So when Tallulah calls Bad a father figure, when she asks him when Phil isn't around to take her back home or if they can talk in a quieter place or if he can read her the letters from Wilbur, it hurts. Because Tallulah has found comfort in Bad. Bad, a Grim Reaper. Bad, one who holds so much guilt and sadness for the eggs deaths. Bad, someone who understands her in a similar way. And Bad, he understands her worries and her feelings because he's in the same situation. It's easier said than done when it comes to missing someone and they both know it. It hurts badly but it's something they're trying to accept.

Just, the implication that a little girl finds comfort in a Grim Reaper (and an Angel of Death, can't forget about Phil) hits me a lot.

[tarashima]

Sooo... guess who's secretly been playing Genshin Impact since July last year and thought up this joke about a week later but couldn't finish until recently due to work and adulting?

also yes I ship them in a "Ryouken would be absolutely livid about getting stuck in Teyvat with Kaeya so I'm gonna let him get stuck in Teyvat with Kaeya" kind of way because crossover ships will never stop being hilarious/emotional

also, small bonus because why not:

[sweetrevxnge]

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter Three

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter I

Chapter II

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 5k

A/N: *me explaining to my friends why there's 17 tabs about medieval europe and vampires open on my computer* "you know, i'm something of a historian myself"

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

“Get up.”

Your eyes burned as you pried them open, waking to find the Commander standing over you, the door to your cell now open behind him. Nestled between his fingers was the fallen key, its shining silver now a brilliant gold in the candlelight.

“What?” you croaked, your head still foggy with sleep.

“I said, get up,” he said, enunciating the last letter of each word as he stepped closer.

Finally tearing your eyes away from the open door, you propped yourself up, discovering that the cuffs on your wrists were gone. The thought of him touching you while you were asleep—even if it were only to take the restraints off—made your skin crawl. A glance at your clothes reassured you that only the restraints had been meddled with.

Obeying his command, you staggered to your feet, backing away as much as you could manage. Your eyes darted between him and the cuffs. Was this another one of his tricks? For all you knew, he had freed you just to lock you in a pillory, leaving you for all of Hosnian Prime to watch as you rotted away.

“I come bearing good news,” he said flatly.

“What ‘news?’” you asked, matching his enthusiasm.

“Don’t sound so upset. It comes from your General.”

The scowl twisting your face dropped. “What is it? What did she say?”

“Perhaps if you would let me finish, I would tell you,” he sneered. “Shortly after your failed incursion on our camp, the First Order generously presented her with terms of peace. In a rare moment of sensibility, she has agreed.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. The flame of hope in your heart shuddered, shaken by the Commander’s words, but you couldn’t let it die. The Leia you knew wouldn’t submit to the First Order so easily—certainly not after one of her officers was captured. There must have been more that the Commander was withholding from you.

“And what exactly are the terms of her agreement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

He was quiet for a long moment, allowing the ambient creaks and groans of the dungeon to bleed into the conversation. Finally, he said, “In return for peaceful relations, the New Republic militia will stand down at once and pledge fealty to the First Order.”

Oh.

He continued, “Leia will control–”

“General,” you hissed. “You have no right to address her by her name.”

The Commander let out a quiet scoff. “Don’t I?”

Your eyes narrowed. Insufferable bastard.

“As I was saying, in exchange for this peace, she will oversee the land north of Republic City. I trust her experience from collecting donations for the Resistance will serve her well in this duty.”

You couldn’t fathom what he was saying. Leia exchanging her role as general of the Resistance for warden of a First Order territory was completely out of her character. Instead of providing clarity to your questions, this revelation was only creating more.

“That is…wonderful.” You had to force the sour words out of your mouth. “Yet, I must confess my confusion.”

“Yes?” the Commander asked with mild curiosity.

“Unless I am mistaken, if the New Republic and the First Order have settled their conflict, then there is no further need to have me as your prisoner.”

“You’ll find that you are mistaken, Lieutenant. The crimes you committed against the First Order occurred before the introduction of this treaty, meaning your actions were indeed treasonous. But you needn’t worry.” With that, the Commander turned his back to you, swiftly exiting your cell in a few long strides.

“Forgive me, but I feel as if I should,” you said frantically, chasing after him.

As your feet carried you, you realized that something else was missing. The fragments of bone riddling your lungs had vanished, making your breath effortless once more. Every ache in your body seemed to disappear overnight. Either the Commander had been true to his word, or the gods had answered your prayers, allowing you a moment of respite from your suffering. Given the Commander’s sudden generosity, you would have preferred it to be the latter.

“Your concern is unnecessary,” the Commander said, stopping in his path. “The two entities will be allies, united not only with a treaty, but with a marriage, as well. Since General Organa clearly values you enough to make you a lieutenant, wedding you to me will ensure her compliance with these terms.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath you. Blood roared in your ears as sweat gathered in your palms, which were searching for the stone wall beside you for stability. This was a nightmare. A vivid, terrible nightmare designed to crush your spirit. “N-No, you can’t… She wouldn’t…”

The Commander placed a hand on your back and began guiding you through the dim corridor, unfazed by your reaction. “The matter has already been settled.”

“No, please, there must be another way–”

“Enough!” he snapped. “Unless you would like to spend the days preceding our wedding inside a cell, I suggest you save your breath.”

 Numbness pricked at your fingertips as your breath quickened. Never mind what you had said about the gods earlier—they were cruel, now serving you a punishment of a different kind. Forced to marry a monster, the man responsible for the slaughter your men. The man who had taken you prisoner with the intent of turning you against your allegiance. Death was a more desirable fate than this.

At your silence, the Commander pushed you forward, his hand still planted firmly on the center of your back. You concealed your panic as the two of you navigated the dungeon. Flickering sconces cast tall shadows on the stone walls as you passed, each dark figure moving like ghosts in the night.

Dozens of cells surrounded you, each one occupied by a stranger with a story of their own. Some were dressed in civilian attire, others in Resistance uniforms. All of their bodies were bruised and bloodied, their brows stained with dirt and sweat. It was easy to determine those who had been there longer than you by the bones protruding from their limbs. Nausea rolled through your stomach.

At the end of the path was a short staircase that led to an iron door. If you didn’t know any better, you would have expected it to be made of feathers from the way the Commander pulled it open. He stepped aside, revealing another dark corridor, only this one stretched into the heart of the castle.

“After you,” he said, sliding his hand to the small of your back and pushing you forward. Bile rose in your throat at the sensation.

The First Order’s opulence oozed from the castle walls, as if flaunting their wealth would make their claim to power any more legitimate. Black velvet drapes lined the corridor, a stark contrast to the crimson quatrefoil tiles marking the path. Mounted between the drapes were portraits, each one illuminated by candlelight. Predictably, the paintings seemed to be reserved for the knights and noblemen of the First Order, with no ladies among them.

One portrait in particular caught your attention. The man was striking, with long, dark hair framing his alabaster skin and a stoic expression gracing his features. Though it was merely oil and canvas, your heart flipped in your chest.

Though it came at no surprise, the portraits of the knights were the most chilling among the artwork. Their empty gazes seemed to follow you through the hallway, even after you pulled your eyes away. Each helmet was unique to its owner, but they were all equally as ghoulish. From what you could see, there were six knights in total, yet one was missing. The Commander’s image was absent from the walls.

“Commander, if you don’t mind me asking…” You hesitated, debating if the question was appropriate to ask. “Where is your portrait?”

The only response you received was a low laugh vibrating through his mask. How am I to marry this man if he won’t so much as give me the time of day?

The Commander glanced at you before turning the corner, leading you through the entrance of a vast room. Your face burned at the realization that he had heard your inner dialogue. Quickly, you turned your attention away from him and focused on your surroundings. Overhead, a grand chandelier cast light upon you, its crystals shimmering from the flames of fresh candles. Intricate rose windows graced each of the walls, the red-stained panes of glass obscuring any view of the outside you may have seen. Their design was undeniably beautiful, yet haunting.

The Commander steered you toward a spiraling staircase, leading to another dimly lit hallway. Every velvet curtain was drawn, with only the candles mounted along the wall guiding you. Did the First Order prohibit the use of natural light? You could only imagine what percentage of Hosnian Prime’s taxes were spent on supplying the castle with fresh candles.

When you reached a set of tall doors near the end of the corridor, the Commander stopped you. “These are your chambers. You are not to leave them unless I instruct you to. Do you understand?”

A question floated to the front of your mind. Why did he wear that mask? You tried to picture how he looked beneath it. Perhaps his face was marred in battle, forcing him to now hide his ghastly scars from the world so as to not terrify any children he encountered. Women likely collapsed at the sight of him, and those who didn’t would surely run away screaming. A well-deserved curse for a bastard like him.

The Commander’s hand closing around your throat pulled you from your imagination. “I said,” he growled, “do…you…understand?”

You writhed in his grasp, clawing at his fingers as you nodded your understanding.

“Good,” he said, releasing your neck. “The Supreme Leader is hosting a dinner tonight. As liaison for the New Republic, you are expected to be in attendance.”

“I’m honored,” you sneered, rubbing the sore spots on your neck. Unlike last time, his grip was cautionary, like a hound baring its teeth before biting.

The Commander stepped back, flexing his hand as he lowered it to his side. “Be dressed in three hours time. Call for a handmaid to assist you with your needs.” 

With that, he turned away from you and descended the staircase, leaving you alone in front of the heavy doors.

Betrothed. Never in your life had you aspired to be someone’s betrothed—much less so being promised to an enemy. An enemy who slaughtered your soldiers, your brothers. The thought alone was enough to turn your vision red.

Upon entering your chambers, the first thing that caught your eye was the four-poster bed in the center of the room. Even in a large chamber like this, it swallowed the space. Similar to the drapes lining the castle’s walls, the bed was made with black, silk linens and covered with a dark, velvet spread—a color reminiscent of dried blood on your blade. After weeks of sleeping on a stone floor, it beckoned you, enticing you to crawl under the glossy sheets and sleep for an eternity.

But you didn’t. Whether it was fear of the possible consequences of missing tonight’s dinner or the layers of dirt coating your skin, you stepped away from the bed. Above all else, you needed to bathe.

Adjacent to the bed was a washroom, with cobblestone walls and an oak wood bath tucked in the corner. Long candles lined the perimeter of the room, already lit and illuminating the space. Furs covered the floor, nearly erasing the marble tiles beneath them. The luxury was nagging, inescapable.

At the Resistance base, you would draw your own baths, but here, you were clueless—not to mention barred from leaving your chambers. With no other option, you scoured your chambers for anything that resembled a call bell to summon your handmaid.

After checking behind every curtain and rearranging the furniture, you found it—an ornate, silver handle tucked between one of your bed posts and the wall. A soft ding sounded as you pulled on it, hopeful that someone would soon answer.

Time passed at a snail’s pace as you waited. It seemed nearly impossible to settle the unease that churned in your stomach inside these castle walls, but you found that busying yourself helped. 

You started with the furniture you had displaced, first moving the red upholstered chaise lounge back into its respective place, then tied the curtains back with the silver, braided ropes connected to them. Every item you touched felt more expensive than the last. A worthy use of Hosnian’s dues, you thought.

Just as you were sliding the last displaced book into place, a small knock came from the other side of the doors.

“My lady, may I come in?” a quiet voice asked, muffled by the wood.

“Yes, please do,” you replied, hurrying to open the door.

Before you could grab the handles, the doors opened from the other side, revealing a doe-eyed girl. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, but despite her youth, she seemed tired. Freckles dusted her pointed nose, spreading over her rosy cheeks. Her fine, chestnut hair was gathered in a neat bun, with a few small pieces hanging freely around her face.

You pulled your hands away, reflexively stepping back from the doors.

“My apologies. I didn’t expect…” she said, freezing in place. 

“No need to apologize,” you said, trying to cover your shaking voice. “I’m not used to having a handmaid.”

Anxiously, she smoothed out the black apron that covered her crimson smock, still standing outside of your chambers. You weren’t sure which one of you was more nervous.

“Please, come in,” you said, stepping aside and motioning her in.

The girl obeyed, averting your gaze as she slinked past. She was lithe, her fair skin taut over her collarbones. Your heart grew heavy at the sight. Despite its abundance, the First Order didn’t seem to feed their servants any more than what they fed their prisoners.

“How may I be of service, my lady?” she asked, her voice small.

“I, um,” you stammered, “would like a bath drawn. If you could show me where the water is collected, I can do it myself.” Asking this poor girl to do this mundane task for you felt unnatural, wrong.

“That won’t be necessary. I will draw it for you. Allow me a moment to gather the supplies.” She offered you a brisk smile before starting off towards the washroom.

“Oh,” you whispered. “May I start the fire for you, at least?”

“You needn’t worry about that, my lady,” she said, returning with a bucket in either hand. She was quick, already crossing the threshold of the corridor before you could stop her.

“Wait,” you called after her, stopping her in her path. “If you do not mind me asking, what is your name?”

At that, she turned to face you, bewilderment flashing in her hazel eyes. “No one has ever asked me that.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. Was that not a question you should have asked? 

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry–”

“It’s Rey,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning upwards. “My name is Rey.” As she repeated the word, her eyes brightened, as if she were uncovering a forgotten memory.

“That’s a beautiful name.” You meant the compliment sincerely. The name reminded you of the sun, an immovable presence in the sky with the power to eradicate darkness with just a touch of light.

“Thank you, my lady. I will return shortly,” Rey said, nodding at you before slipping between the tall, oak doors.

Rey was true to her word, returning not ten minutes later with both pails brimming with fresh water. Against her wishes, you had taken it upon yourself to light the fire beside your bath with one of the candlesticks in the washroom. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind.

After her fourth trip to the kitchen, the bath was starting to take form. As the last cauldron became warm, you began to undress, starting with your weathered boots.

“Rey?” you asked as you tossed the first shoe aside.

“Yes, my lady?”

You laughed softly. “You needn’t call me that. I’m not a lady.”

Her eyes drifted to your tattered clothes, lingering on the patch of orange cloth sewn onto your right shoulder. The emblem of the Resistance. “Perhaps not now. But soon, you will become Commander Ren’s lady.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, neither of you wanting to discuss the matter. But you couldn’t avoid it forever.

“His name is Ren?” you mused, hanging your outer layers over the side of the tub.

“His surname is, yes,” she answered as she poured an herbal soak into the bath. “His proper name is Kylo Ren.”

The name rolled around your head, ricocheting off the walls of your skull. It was a powerful moniker, one that fueled the anxiety building in your gut. A faceless monster by the name of Kylo Ren would be your husband, your lord.

“He never told me his name. If it weren’t for the prisoner across from my cell, I wouldn’t have even known he was a commander,” you muttered.

Rey tipped the last cauldron of steaming water into the tub, filling the air with the sweet scent of lavender and rosemary. “Commander Ren is a very private man.”

“What do you know of him?”

She stiffened, and though you couldn’t see it, you could almost feel the hairs on the nape of her neck standing.

“I can’t—I shouldn’t–” she stammered, worrying the fabric of her dress between her fingers.

“Please,” you begged, covering her hands with yours. “I need to know what he’s like, what kind of treatment lies ahead of me.” 

Her eyes seemed to darken as she looked at you, your heartbeat rising in your throat as you awaited her response.

“I could lose my head for discussing this,” she hissed.

“What do you mean?”

“It is forbidden to speak ill of our leaders.” She pulled her hands away slowly, folding them neatly in her lap.

You felt dizzy, like the world around you was spinning, but your bare feet planted on the floor told you that it was not. Her nonanswer was louder than any lie she could have conjured about Commander Ren.

“Excuse me, my lady,” Rey said, breaking the silence that followed her previous statement. “I will return later to help you dress for dinner.” 

Before you could protest, she was gone, a blur of red fabric moving through your chambers.

Warmth rose to your cheeks as steam tickled your skin, enticing you into the water. You removed the rest of your clothes and tentatively slipped into the bath.

For what it was worth, the First Order seemed to have the finest soap and herbs in the realm. The soft scent lingered on your skin as you dried yourself with a plush towel, unlike the threadbare ones you had come to know in your Resistance quarters. Small pleasures felt more satisfying now than ever before.

Rey had spent the latter half of your bath entering and exiting your chambers, each time carrying with more gowns than before. The array was overwhelming, and with exquisite craftsmanship woven into each one, it seemed impossible to make a decision. Truthfully, you would prefer to wear something comfortable, like a smock or trousers, but such options seemed to be out of the question.

“Where did you find all of these gowns? Does the First Order have a storehouse specifically for them?” you joked, hoping to lighten the conversation.

“No,” she replied with a stiff laugh. “The castle’s tailors have been working tirelessly for weeks at Commander Ren’s request.”

“Weeks?!” you exclaimed. “Gods, time was lost to me in the dungeon.”

Rey was silent, busying herself with a black, satin dress. The material flowed onto the floor like a dark tide, eclipsing the intricate pattern of the rug. Long, tapered sleeves fell at its sides, with thin, silver threads connecting the rubies sewn onto the chest and shoulders. The gems were vibrant against the dark backdrop, like stars filling the night sky. It was truly stunning.

You and Rey shared a look, and within moments, she was loosening the ribbon at the back and helping you step into it. The fabric was cool against your flushed skin, from both the bath and the fireplace across the room. With one final pull, Rey laced up the bodice, allowing the dress to hug your figure. Its high collar wrapped around your neck, leaving just enough room for you to breathe.

“It suits you, my lady,” Rey said behind you, her voice full of awe.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you replied, staring down at the lustrous rubies gracing the front.

“Now, allow me to fix your hair.” Rey was already returning from the washroom as she spoke, holding a brush in one hand and ribbons in the other.

Fortunately, the heat from the fireplace had dried your hair rather quickly. You perched yourself at the edge of the lounge, allowing room for Rey to sit behind you. The excitement of donning the gown began to fade, giving way to the reality of the occasion. You were tied on the end of a string, the pet sheep for the First Order to treat however they pleased. Dread filled your gut once more.

Rey gently combed through your locks, separating knots that had formed from countless days of sleeping on a stone floor. Her fingers were nimble as she braided, carefully securing each section with pins and ribbons. The process was calming, distracting you momentarily from the night ahead. A tranquil silence filled the room, only interrupted by the occasional hiss or pop from the fireplace.

As she worked through your hair, you wondered what Rey’s life was like—what it had been like before the First Order. Was she born into this role, serving lords and ladies of the New Republic before its collapse? Or had she been like you, captured and given a harrowing ultimatum: a life of servitude or the blade. For her sake, you hoped it was the former.

“I am finished, my lady,” she said as she stood to her feet, gathering the remaining supplies in her apron. “I shall see you when you return from the feast.”

The thought of her leaving made your stomach drop. It wasn’t necessarily her you had grown fond of—you had only known her for a matter of hours. It was the sinking realization that you were going to be alone again, alone with Commander Ren. Given that his parting gift to you had been a hand clutching your throat, you were less than eager to see him again.

Rey was already in the hallway when you finally whispered, “Farewell.”

As the doors fell into place, a swarm of hornets erupted in your chest, rattling your ribs with the force of their anger. Emotion washed over you, too many at once to know the difference. Immediately, you thought of General Organa. Was this really her plan? Allow the First Order to rip out her spine and oblige their every demand? Years of loyal service dedicated to the Resistance, all for you to be used as leverage for the Supreme Leader to maintain power.

Yet, that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, that would be a fair treatment in comparison to being Commander Kylo Ren’s wife. In the eyes of the gods, as well as the laws of the land, he would own you, every part of you. The only escape from this torment would be in your mind, but even then, the sanctity of that was uncertain.

A stream of tears rolled down your cheeks. You wiped them away with the back of your hand and focused on steadying your breath. Everything you did was still in the name of the Resistance, in the pursuit of liberty. If sacrificing your own freedom meant that countless others would gain theirs, then it would be a worthy cause.

The light of hope flickered in your chest, wrapping its glowing tendrils around your heart. It had never abandoned you, and now, it was your duty to foster it. 

Just then, another knock fell on your door, this time landing harder than that of your handmaid. The sound startled you, prompting you to stand to your feet and fix the creases in your dress.

“Come in,” you called, folding your hands in front of you. As unnatural as it felt, it seemed as if the etiquette you had been taught as a child was slowly resurfacing. Poised shoulders, delicate hands, and eyes trained on the ground in front of you. If she were alive, your mother would be beaming with pride at the sight of you.

The two doors creaked open, revealing a tall stranger on the other side. You lifted your eyes, and as you greeted him with a nod, you recognized him. The man from the portrait—the one with ivory skin and russet eyes. Your pulse quickened.

“My lady,” he said, returning your greeting with a small nod. His voice was low and smooth, almost melodic. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he were a divine being, not a man.

The dress fluttered over your feet as you stepped towards him, closing the space between you. “Forgive me, I am not yet familiar with the First Order’s procedures. Are you my chaperone to the dinner?”

At the question, the man took his eyes off you and looked around the room, rolling his tongue over his teeth with a scoff. “I suppose so.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “My apologies, I only meant–”

“No need,” he said, offering you his arm. “Please, come with me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, slipping your hand around the bend of his elbow and stepping outside of your chambers. He was breathtaking, with long, dark locks framing his sculpted face and an aquiline nose sitting perfectly between his high cheekbones. He wet his bottom lip as he watched you take his arm, the contact of your bodies sending electricity across your skin.

A black cloak cascaded from his broad shoulders, pinned to his suit by two silver insignias. Like many of the accents in the castle, the inside of the cloak was lined with red silk, only seen every few strides. He wore a matching black suit, as dark as the night sky with a collar that reached his jaw.

The nerves buzzing in your stomach gave way to a different sensation, one that was much softer and hummed louder with every glance you stole at your escort. An oil portrait couldn’t do his beauty justice. Despite being betrothed to another, you allowed your mind to wander, imagining how his smooth, leather gloves would feel on your bare skin, or how his plush lips would move against yours. To make matters worse, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty for thinking such things.

Rich aromas wafted through the grand chamber below the staircase, an unspoken cue that you were nearly at your destination. Your mouth watered, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten fresh food in weeks. If only the circumstances of this dinner were different, you might have been able to enjoy yourself—even if it were only for a fleeting moment.

As you rounded a corner, the entrance to a grand dining hall came into view. A polished mahogany table stretched the length of the room, with attendants filling nearly every spot along it. The room was alive with energy, vibrating with laughter and conversations of the guests. Cheery voices overlapped with the scrape of silverware on porcelain, the sound of glass meeting glass as greetings were exchanged. It reminded you of special occasions within the Resistance. If it weren’t for the First Order emblem on the cloth table runner and the countless uniforms scattered throughout the hall, you could almost fool yourself into believing that it was. 

Your knuckles blanched around your chaperone’s arm as the two of you reached the tall doorway, trepidation churning in your stomach at the sight of the dinner party. 

“I do not know where I am to go,” you said quietly.

He looked down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, someone else spoke.

“Silence! Silence, all of you!” a husky voice bellowed throughout the hall. An older man stood from his seat at the end of the table, a seat lined with black velvet and silver accents fastened to the upholstery. From this distance, it almost resembled a throne.

The blood coursing through your veins turned to ice at the sight of him. Supreme Leader Snoke, in the flesh.

“We have all gathered here tonight to celebrate peace in the realm, but such a feat would be impossible if it weren’t for the union of our two powers.” A cacophony of voices cried out in agreement, the sound grating to your ears.

You clenched your free hand into a fist at your side. His words were poison, and somehow, you felt as if you were the only person in this room privy to it.

“It is with great pleasure that I welcome our honored guests—Commander Ren and his bride. Cheers to the lovely pair, and to a new reign of the First Order!”

Glasses clinked and spirits flowed at the Supreme Leader’s declaration, but you couldn’t hear the roar of the celebration over the blood rushing in your ears. Your fingers burned where you gripped Commander Ren’s arm, as if you were clinging onto a smoldering log in a fire pit. Quickly, you tried to retract your hand, but before you could, he clasped it in his.

“Cheers,” he echoed, flashing you a wicked smile.

[fromtheseventhhell]

The worst part of the GOT and HOTD adaptations is that they remove any sense of narrative or themes being explored from George's writing. The showrunners rewrite characters and change plotlines on a whim and remove any sense of cohesive storytelling. There's just...literally no point to the story and the writers struggle to come up with sensible explanations for the changes they've decided to make.

[uncanny-tranny]

I think multiple things can (and are) true and important to recognize:

1. Cis people are trans people will more often than not have a ton in common. Trans women and cis women, for example, can have a ton of experiences in common as women

2. Trans people oftentimes do have very different experiences from cis people, and it can be irresponsible to say that trans people have to have the exact experiences as cis people of the same gender identity. The experiences of transness can overlap with experiences of cisness, but by no means does that require them to overlap in every instance. Trans people don't need to be the same as cis people in order to be authentically their gender.

3. Trans people aren't solely responsible for "saving" their gender, or for making people better men/women/people.

4. For the love of all that is holy, cisness is not the default. It is simply one human experience of gender and/or sex, and transness isn't an anomaly - it is just as much a human experience as being cis.

These are complex conversations, and I know it can be hard to navigate sometimes. I'm not here to condemn people for not being the most Nuanced about trans topics, in fact I want to invite more people to the table. We all have something to contribute to making the world a better place for trans and cis (and those beyond or inbetween) people

[ectonurites]

almost 4am can't stop thinking about the meaning of the idiom 'to have blood on [someone's] hands'—to be responsible for a person's death—combined with the fact that Zach is the one we are specifically shown with Daryl's actual blood on his hands (once for real and once in a dream)... Not Josh who had been holding the sword Daryl fell onto, but Zach who took the sword out.

[the-rollerchloster]

Just feeling a little salty so I want to throw a thought out into the universe...

Has anyone ever considered that when you make your entire online personality about being anti something - by filling your blog with anti tags, or actively searching out posts/blogs to publicly berate - that you just look like a sore loser?

[pinkyjulien]

Finished the game start to finish once more and man...

It hits hard. Last playthrough until a loooong time, years from now, when I'll be playing my favorite game again full of nostalgia gfhghf

cause that's it... that's it, it's wrapped up, no more CP77, no more DLC no more expansions- we'll get new stories for sure, but V's story is done

Maaaan... ough that hits hgfhhgf That hits yeah ngl

Remember being so excited back in 2020, and then so excited for Phantom Liberty to drop and now that it's over there's that... post game credit depression / dread creeping in hardcore y'know

awh shoosh