#sympathy necklaces

[stemms]

I’ve unlocked a timeline based on @moondragon618’s Hybrid AU but canon-divergent. For now, I only remember Dream, but we’ll see if I end up remembering someone else. I (Tommy) was an avian, and Dream was an enderdragon hybrid.

I believe I was a reincarnation of @mcg-127’s Hybrids!Tommy, which is why I had internalised fear, hatred, and disgust for my own hybrid features, as well as memories of my past abuse caused by said features.

Dream was aware of my traumatic memories of my past life and it was trying to help me feel better about expressing my instincts, but what I didn’t know was that it was Its way of making me used to anything, so that It could get away with abusing, experimenting on, and even eating me.

It never made me file down my talons or suppress my instincts in any way, which always absolutely confused me because it felt Wrong.

Since the very beginning of the server, Dream was utterly fascinated with me. Even before it turned into an obsession, It saw some spark in me that no one else seemed to have, so It wished to play and study me more. Just like in canon, we fought in the disc war, Dream used a tunnel to get to my base, tried to steal my discs, and lived in my walls. It’d also sometimes leave me something small as a sign of Its presence, but it was more lighthearted than threatening. However, after the prison break, It’d leave threatening signs, feathers, and dead birds at the entrance to my house…

Dream called me ‘my little fledgling’, ‘my little songbird’, and ‘my treasure’.

It used exclusively It/Its because of Its God complex.

It enjoyed playing hide and seek or making me run away from It, and then finding/catching me. It’d often hurt me afterwards, but not always because It enjoyed confusing the shit out of me and then comforting me,,,

Dream enjoyed making purring sounds during our softer moments because it always made me vocalise as well, and we’d communicate like this for a bit,,,

When comforting me after a bad punishment, It’d hum the melody of Chirp or Wait and/or let out a purring sound because it always calmed me down (It picked that up from Techno btw).

Dream was very possessive and kept me in a house very, very far away from where anyone on the server lived. My room was made of obsidian because it reminded It of Its home, and I was even more precious to It than Its home :) And besides, it meant that I couldn’t escape easily because It’d hear every sound of mine :)

Dream adored preening my wings and It generally tried to be soft about it because It didn’t want to ruin the moment, but It’d often dig Its claws into my wings, just to elicit some sweet whimpers, and if It was lucky, some alarm calls as well :)

Here’s what we looked like:

(Art by @haunted-here)

[tiredhawks]

Okay I don't want to write it but think about a fic where it's focused on Dabi but Hawks is kinda tailing him at all times, always in the scene, though it starts to get weird because he doesn't really say anything. Just a few words here and there and Dabi getting increasingly antsy and bipolar, starting to ignore him, only then to talk to him and excessive amount for a little and repeating the cycle. That's happens over days, weeks. It's just very clear that Dabi is mentally unstable and it's confusing because why isn't Hawks doing anything? Why is he just apathetically watching Dabi struggle?

Only Hawks finally asks "was killing Endeavor worth it?" and Dabi just snaps and throws something at Hawks, screaming at the hero to "just leave me alone! Go away! Please!" And then Hawks doesn't react at all, just gets quiet again as Dabi falls apart on his kitchen floor. And you learn that Hawks wasn't ever there at all. He died in the war by Dabi's hand and this was just a constant illusion of Hawks haunting him, created by Dabi's own guilt.

Because Dabi realized the answer was no. It was not worth it. The satisfaction of killing Endeavor was like a flash of utter euphoria, but it was temporary. But the grief of killing Hawks? It won't leave him. It's dull, constant, overwhelming, and every thought and memory of the hero was breaking him apart piece by piece. Everyone always says revenge will not make you feel better, but it's hard to believe when it's the only thing you've wanted for years. And he can't admit it to himself, that if he had the chance again to let Endeavor live if it meant having Hawks, he would do it in a second. He can't admit it to himself, but deep down he knows anyway- that he should have chosen Keigo. And that's why Hawks never leaves him alone.

He's scared, too. That one day he'll wake up and even the ghost of Hawks will be gone.

[fideidefenswhore]

The executions detailed by Foxe were heart-breaking. One of the worst was the execution of Perotine Massey in July 1556, executed alongside her mother and sister in St Peter Port in Guernsey. She had reported a neighbour for stealing a cup; in the consequent investigation, the matter of her church attendance had come to light, and she was convicted of heresy. Amidst the flames, she gave birth to a baby boy, who was rescued by a bystander; but the bailiff in attendance thrust him back into the fire to perish with the mother. We know this was not Foxe's invention, for the bailiff was found guilty of murder during Elizabeth's reign. This is by far the most arresting of many dreadful stories, but Foxe was very good at tales that stay in the memory. At Laxfield in Suffolk, in 1557, the shoemaker John Noyes was sentenced to be burned; but in silent solidarity, his neighbours put out their hearth fires, so that there would be no way of lighting his pyre (although the executioners found a way in the end).

Tudor England: A History, by Lucy Wooding

[daedrabela]

sometimes i'll just be chilling with my bf and i start talking about something weird that happened to me as a kid/when i was younger and it turns out that was a whole ass trauma and then we sit there looking at each other like 😮

[swertha]

SYMPATHY KISS pre-orders starts the 24th January!!

The prices for the 3 editions (Limited, One Day and Necklace Edition) have yet to be declared.

Physical edition : pre-orders starts at 12PM GMT. Nintendo : pre-orders on the February 20th, at 2PM GMT.

Interview's with the game's seyuus (and it's translated in english, no worries). They announced that until the 16th January they're releasing character trailers

IFI's stores : EU | UK | America (don't ask me why the necklace edition doesn't shows up in america's website, I don't know)

Those who buy from Europe will get a trading card (no matter which edition):

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

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[emchant3d]

They say Captain Munson has a gift. That he’s blessed by a god’s touch.

His ship has survived every battle. His crew flourishes with bounty, with health and good fortune. He steers them unerringly through every storm, sailing directly into the gargantuan waves, into the lightning and rain, and comes out the other side pristine while other vessels would have been sunk, snapped and splintered on the ocean floor, crew turned to ghosts to haunt the waters.

They say he made a deal, sold his soul, sold his crew’s souls, will find his reckoning one day at the end of a sword or drowned in the sea he loves so much. They say he’s a devil of his own, that his eyes glow red and black and his teeth are sharp and fanged, nails clawed, that he slaughters innocents and bathes in their blood.

But the truth is much simpler. Captain Munson is no devil, he did not sell any souls, and he certainly isn’t blessed by any god.

Captain Munson fell in love.

He didn’t mean to. When the fishing nets are reeled in that fateful day he expects nothing more than a few meals, a couple pounds to send to the kitchens for Benny to work his magic with. He isn’t even on deck when the catch is brought in.

It’s Gareth’s frantic voice that draws him upwards, his shouting and knocking on his cabin door that has him strapping a sword to his hip before taking the stairs two at a time to see the threat.

He’s expecting a King’s ship. Maybe another pirate. 

He isn’t expecting a mer.

Pale, unconscious, bleeding, sprawled on the deck, plush and soft and gorgeous, tan torso tapering down into a huge, shimmering tail. He’s breathing but it’s shallow, weak, a shell on a necklace moving faintly with each hitch of his chest.

And the crown. A simple circlet, golden and shining, tangled in his chestnut hair, gems glinting from the locks.

Mers are mythical, believed to be stories by some and history by others, but Eddie grew up hearing the tales of them every night from his mother, and the evidence is right in front of them - how can they do anything but believe?

It takes three of them to move him below deck. Eddie grips him under his arms, Gareth supports his hips, and Jeff wrangles his tail. They take him to Eddie’s quarters, the only bed big enough to fit him.

He wakes in stages, delirious from pain, snapping teeth and swinging claws when he has the strength for it and slurring rambling words when he doesn’t, head lolling on the pillow, eyes rolling back. 

His injuries are strange - a band of dark bruising around his pretty throat, his back shredded, bites taken out of the dips of his sides and the meat of his tail. There’s sickness in him, but Joyce is patient. She patches him up, soothes the mer’s fever and stitches the wounds she can, bandages what she can’t, keeps it all clean, keeps it wet because apparently that’s what he needs - salt water, which makes Eddie cringe in sympathy, but only seems to ease the mer’s pain, not make it worse.

It’s a week before those pretty eyes blink open with genuine awareness in them, sharp and wary. Eddie’s taken to sitting at the mer’s side, feels a strange responsibility to him that he doesn’t want to look too closely at, and he glances up from his journal to find the other’s gaze locked on him.

“Where am I?” he croaks out, and Eddie smiles, snapping the journal shut.

“You’re aboard the Hellfire, sweetheart. Captain Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows in his seat, and it goes over about as well as he thought it would.

There’s a lot of threats and snarling and cursing, but Eddie simply leans back, out of the mer’s reach as he crowds himself into the corner of the mattress, back pressed to the wall and sheets tangled around his tail.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tries to soothe, and the mer scoffs. Eddie can’t blame him for his caution, but he tells him the honest truth - where he was found, the state of him, how they’ve nursed him back to health.

The mer’s hand hovers over one of the nastier wounds at his side, covered in gauze, dampened with saltwater. When he cuts his eyes back to Eddie there’s a little less animosity in his gaze, and Eddie will take what he can get.

Eventually he pulls a name from that snarling mouth. Stephan. “Prince Stephan,” he begrudgingly admits once Eddie points out the crown that he’d gently worked free of his hair. 

And he’s a mer, but different.

“Siren, is what I believe your kind calls mine,” Stephan says, “half and half. Mer and human.” 

“Human,” Eddie muses, and Stephan confesses, warily, haltingly - he’s the King’s bastard son. Born to King Richard of the land and the Mer Queen of the sea.

“And how did the Prince of the Mer find his way into my net, hm?” Eddie asks, smiling, and Stephan rolls his eyes at him. 

He’s a runaway. King Richard had come looking for his son and with his mother’s blessing Stephan abandoned his title, his home, because the King would find him eventually if he stayed, and whatever dangers he might face in the open sea would be nothing compared to what the King might use his gifts for.

“Gifts?” Eddie asks, and Stephan smiles, his pointed teeth glinting.

It’s a clear day, not a cloud to be seen, no sign of rain or bad weather. And yet as Steve begins to hum softly, a shadow crosses overhead. 

It happens slowly. Stephan’s voice builds, a wordless little melody, something melancholy and soft, and the sky beyond the windows of the cabin darkens. Thunder rolls and in the distance, Eddie can see a crack of lightning.

The ship rocks as waves begin to form, the once-smooth water taking a turn. Eddie can hear the crew above deck begin to shout to one another, confusion building, growing more insistent as Stephan’s song grows, and Eddie’s stomach drops.

The siren’s voice is haunting, terrifying. Eddie’s frozen in place, meeting his eyes even as tears well in his own. He’s transfixed, can’t move, can’t speak, paralyzed with some ancient, instinctual knowing of danger, of death.

Eddie does not scare easy. But this is terror personified. This is the true threat that lives in the sea. Not the waves, not man, this. This creature who smiles at him with sharp teeth and a haunting voice, reaching towards Eddie with a clawed hand, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear in a touch that makes Eddie’s skin crawl and his heart skip and dread sink into his very bones.

He’s staring death in the face, and death is smiling.

Then Stephan quiets, and it’s over as quickly as it had begun. The sky clears in moments. The waters calm. The vessel’s heaving calms, and Eddie’s spine unlocks.

He stares at the being before him, amazed, before a slow, brilliant smile breaks over his face.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you, Prince Stephan?” he asks, and gets a smile in return.

“Call me Steve,” he tells him, and fondness begins to worm its way into Eddie’s chest.

“Then call me Eddie.” He sees Steve’s eyes flutter, and he tilts his head. “You’re tired,” he tells him, and gets a huff in response. “You’re safe here, Steve,” he tells him, and he knows he doesn’t trust him, not fully, not yet, but that’s okay. “Rest. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Steve watches him warily, but clearly the little display has worn him out. His hand finds that same wound on his side, cradling it carefully, back shifting like it hurts to sit up straight and stretch all that marred skin.

“Lay a hand on me, and I’ll eat you,” Steve warns, and Eddie snorts a laugh. 

“Whatever you say, highness,” and he tugs the sheets back into place over that large tail, and lets the mer get the rest he still clearly needs.

part 2 💕

[floatyflowers]

You are the daughter of Sauron and everyone is obsessed with you as they are obsessed with the rings.(Part 1)

"Everyone was aware that falling in love with you was madness, given your father's identity. Still, no one minded as long as they could have you by their side."

Morgoth/Melkor

He is obsessed with you as much as he is obsessed with the Silmarils.

Doesn't care if you are the daughter of his servant, he wants you.

Despite your refusal of Morgoth's advences, Sauron encourages you, and wanting to please your father, you decided to try and please Melkor.

"Your soul and body are mine like those silmarils"

He crafted a necklace made out of one of the Silmarils, gifting it to you as a token of your unity.

Thankfully, the Valar captured him after the battle of Wrath, however you already left him before the battle.

Maedhros

You met him while he was in Thangorodrim, getting tormented by your father.

At that time Morgoth was imprisoned in Angband, so you were free from his obsessed jealousy.

However, after seeing the handsome red-haired elf for the first time, you decided to take care of him and try to free him, feeling sympathy and gulit.

After freeing him with the help of his cousin Fingon who had to cut off his hand to free him, Maedhros tried to convince you to escape with him, as you handed him the Silmaril Morgoth gave you.

"Come with me, you will find peace away from your father's clutches"

And you did leave with him when you realize how awful Sauron is.

But your decision is like falling into another trap.

As Maedhros appeared to be the same as Morgoth in causing violence.

Celebrimbor

After discovering what Maedhros and his brothers have done to their kin, you fled without a second thought.

And as years passed, you kept yourself hidden wandering alone, until you met Celebrimbor whom you find his knowledge remarkable.

You thought of leaving when you discovered that he is the nephew of Maedhros, but his generosity tempted you to stay, and you did.

Honestly, you thought you found peace with him in the safety of his home, but that was never the case, Celebrimbor was possessive and refused to let you leave.

He crafted special rings to keep you safe from danger, and also to keep you in love with him.

"Your pain, your pleasure, your every thought belongs to me. You're mine to command and possess."

Celebrimbor thought he owned you, until Annatar 'Sauron' came into the picture and corrupted Celebrimbor into making the rings.

Sauron/Annatar 'platonic'

Sauron didn't realize how much you meant to him until you ran away.

He almost went insane and never stopped searching for you.

So, when he encountered Celebrimbor, he didn't expect to see you, and deep down it steered horrible jealousy at the sight of you, his only child, happy with Celebrimbor.

Adding to this, he noticed Celebrimbor's obessesive behavior towards you and how he tried to keep you away from his sight.

What is more amusing to Annatar is that you didn't discover his disguise.

So, he decided to reveal it to you.

"How sad that you don't remember your father, my sweet child"

You warn Celebrimbor about your father before handing him the rings he made for you and leaving.

Elrond

You knew Elrond since Maglor, brother of Maedhros, was the one fostered him and his twin brother, Elros.

So, seeing him after so many years surprised you and what made you feel shy is the fact that he invited you to stay with him at his realm.

You decided to take on his offer because you didn't want to keep on wandering in the middle earth after you did for many years.

Actually, you came to his realm after his wife decided to leave to the Undying Lands.

And Elrond is the only one who felt like he wanted to marry you but he decided not to act on it to not frighten you.

Especially after everything you told him about others 'locking you up' and 'refusing to let you leave'

Actually he witnessed how his foster Uncle treated you, so he understood where you are coming from.

"Do not worry, Nin meld, you are safe here with me, I promise to protect you from any danger."

[tamayakii]

a son for a son.

notes: I changed a thing or two of what happened in the show, basically putting Maelor in cause i still cant believe they didnt put him in it (same thing with Daeron) this can be read as a stand-alone fic or paired with the Their Angel series. pairings: Otto x reader (romantic), Helaena x reader (can be viewed as one sided or platonic) warnings: Otto & reader have a son, SPOILERS FOR HOTD S2;E1!!!

The candle light illuminates the room, flickering against the stone walls of your and Helaena’s chambers. You had moved into her living spaces the night that Aemond had come back from the Stormlands, a sick smirk upon his face as he waltz into the small council room.  

And when your husband had shown no remorse for your brother's actions, no sympathy for your dead nephew? You couldn’t stand to look at him, matter of fact, you couldn’t bear to look at anyone. The grief toppled upon the hatred you had towards everyone who had played a part in usurping your sister’s throne. 

The twins and Maelor were already asleep within their beds, and your own son blinks his big owl-ish eyes at you. He looked so much like his father, even at two years old, a little wisp of white tangled within his brown locks- almost emulating Otto’s salt and pepper hair.

“Why can’t I..?” Alerion fumbled over his words, tiny hands curling over the cotton blanket, trying to fight his heavy eyelids as they dropped low. Chuckling lightly as you brushed his hair aside, he was quite stubborn. Especially as bedtime neared and sleep hovered over him. “Because I said so, besides; don’t you want to play with your cousins on the morrow?” Your reasoning seemed to reach him, Alerion’s brown eyes slowly shutting as he murmured. Sighing, reaching around your back to unclasp your heavy necklaces, you couldn’t help but smile as your son unconsciously pulled the blanket closer. 

The recent days weighed heavily on you; the war was impending. With no word from Rhaenrya, Rhaenys and Meleys helping guard the gullet with the hundreds of Velaryon ships, war was going to burst like a bloated goat. 

Perhaps if you were more active in the small council, you would’ve stopped the rats that sat in those seats. Staring at the necklace as you set it down, dark jade glimmering in the light. Helaena’s soft reflection reflected in the deep sea of green. It hits the table with a soft thud.

As you hear steps incoming, you simply assumed it was Helaena. She always had a sense for when you were upset, coming to you like a doe, with her big purple eyes and soft face filled with worry. 

Or perhaps she came to take you to bed. Since your move, Helaena was delighted to have you close, and near-ordered that you sleep in the same bed, just as you did when she was a little girl. “Quiet! Quiet!” The voice made you turn around, and your gasp died in your throat. Fear laced through your veins like a snake coils around its prey, freezing your body like the north. 

A strange man holds a dagger to Helaena’s throat, her blood dripping over the steel. Her eyes were wide with fear. The man's eyes flicker over to you. “Move and I'll cut her throat.” He spits, slowly dragging the blade, causing more blood to leak. Nodding as the tears well in your eyes, heart beating against your rib cage. The blood roars in your ears like a thousand horses stampeding. 

Another man comes in, a bigger and scarier man, and your heart stops. 

“A son for a son.” His words were all muddled until he said those five words, a son for a son. Helaena offered her necklace to the men, trying to convince them to run off with its worth, but the bigger man snatched it from her. “It’s not a son.” He turns around and looks at the twins in their beds, sleeping ever so peacefully. Gently, you reached back for Alerion’s crib. Shaking hands gripping the wood with a grip tighter than death and yet you were too weak to fight these men off, in the past week and a half, you’ve neglected your meals within your grief and even if you didn’t, you’d sooner be dead on the stone floors of the Red Keep with your sons fate unknown. 

The men came to the realization that they did not know which twin was the boy, and for a brief moment you felt elated that perhaps they would give up their mission, but all hope vanished when Helaena pointed at Jaehaerys.

“Helaena..” You whisper, lips trembling and you can't help but feel bile come up your throat as the men storm to Jaehaerys, the bigger one covering his mouth, covering his scream. Helaena shakes as she makes a move to her daughter and youngest son, and you do the same.

As you hear the splatter of blood, a sob escapes your throat, your hands trembling as you hurriedly and carefully retrieve Alerion from his crib. Helaena runs out first, holding her children close to her and you’re not too long after her. 

Whilst Helaena makes a mad dash down the stairs, you run onward. Climbing up the other pair of stairs, Alerion stirs in your jumbling hold. Whining at the rude awakening and you try to shush him over your crying, 

“Shh.. shh.. Alerion,” The halls rushed past you as you ran, the skirt of your night-dress threatening to trip you. Only thoughts of protecting your own son ran through your frightened mind, fearing that perhaps he would be targeted too. 

The doors to Otto’s chambers slam open and a flurry of fabric and hair falls to the floor in sobs. The man looks at the sight bewildered, but soon he realizes it is you, his wife, that refused to look him in the eye. Surely, you had come to beg for forgiveness, having come to your senses. 

But as you look up at him, your son in your arms, cradling him like he was about to shatter- he knew something was wrong.

“They killed him.. They kill the boy!” 

[owosa]

Ex Bishops & Caretakers

Once brought back to life and integrated into the cult, those who were once deities themselves have been reduced to mere mortals condemned to immortality. At their side, a caretaker in charge of keeping them in line, helping with their integration and, perhaps, a punishment in itself.

Hey, now there's the complete collection! I have plans for a comic that includes all of them, so I needed a reference of their looks.

I'll add a bit of info about them below.

**You can find info about Leshy, Heket and Narinder here.

The new additions, Kallamar & Shamura, "The Unwanted".

Kallamar causes a particular disdain in the False Prophet, so going to find him was not a priority until it became inevitable. The confrontation and recruitment of him did not improve that impression, really. He was assigned the clown suit to lower his ego and to work in the refineries. Choosing who would be in charge of him was the easiest, considering that the squid arrived directly to the infirmary.

Shamura is a very special case. There are two reasons why they weren't annihilated once they touch the cult's ground: their lack of memory and their siblings. The False Prophet didn't do much more than give them the golden skull necklace and left the rest to whoever wanted to take charge. It's hard to get a clear idea of what the leader really feels about the spider, but their silence and how they ignore their existence is something the cult tends to share in solidarity.

Camellia was assigned to take care of Leshy as a "guide cat." Prior to this, the False Prophet had had some problems with him since he was a somewhat violent drunk, so in part, this mission was his rehabilitation. Able to confront the worm's aggressiveness and keep his spirits high, they ended up having a good relationship where they were usually seen laughing while tending to the gardens and the harvest. His grave always has fresh flowers.

Mushu was assigned as Heket's interpreter, since she was the only one who was not intimidated by her and could understand her easily. Cordial and friendly, her personality allowed their relationship, although somewhat difficult at first, to end up being harmonious. Something similar to a shadow, the mushroom girl was there at all times to help the frog communicate. Thanks to her work, the cult learned approach the former bishop and future generations were teach how to understand and communicate with her.

Crystal, the head nurse at the time, was in charge of keeping the temperamental former bishop in line, with permission to use force if necessary. Hurt ego and justified fear aside, she was the only one who showed him sympathy apart from his siblings, so it wasn't strange to see Kallamar wandering around the infirmary even when she allowed him some freedom. Crystals decorate the infirmary to this day.

Aracnia was the only volunteer to help Shamura at the time, since despite their siblings' wishes, the ex bishops weren't able care for them all the time due to their own obligations in the cult. The False Prophet accepted his wish for what it was, simply wanting to help someone in need, so they provided him with whatever he wanted for this task. After his death, it's not strange to see some followers and even disciples take care of the spider on their own. The leader just remains silent.

**Info about the Lamb with Narinder here.

+ Bonus because I wanted to have a clear reference of all the clothes they have in game and yeah, I did an edit of the lamb with the closed outfit in game that I could use.

[sinsirellaxx]

Slytherin Boys – What makes them toxic?

Warning: Toxic Slytherin boys – what else? 🫡

Mattheo …

… he’ll always monitor who you’re talking to without making it too obvious. He will listen to the conversations you have with others while pretending to be busy with something else. Messages? He has hacked into your accounts and checks everything regularly – there is nothing you can hide.

… whenever a boy’s eyes linger on you for too long, he will memorize their faces and hunt them down either at night or early in the morning. If he finds out that someone has a crush on you, that someone will slip and fall down the moving stairs.

… if you don’t want to be intimate before marriage – for whatever reason – he will guilt you into sleeping with him and giving him what he wants, whenever he wants. This way he can bind you to him in a much deeper way.

… at first, he won’t care about what you wear and how revealing something is, but the deeper in love he is he will slowly start manipulating the way you dress

… depending on how naïve you are, he will make you do the unbreakable vow with him – promising to love each other until death does you part

Theodore …

… wants you to always tell him where you are and with whom

… if you don’t reply to his messages within minutes he will start calling you – and if that doesn’t work, he will come find you

… has many female friends but won’t allow you to have any male friends that he doesn’t approve of – and he does not approve of anyone except for his own friends

… will occasionally flirt with girls in front of you just to make you jealous and to constantly remind you how desirable he is. If you get mad at him for flirting with other girls, he just makes you believe that you are being overly dramatic and that he would never flirt with others. It wasn’t his fault that he had girls throwing themselves at him left and right

… bought you a necklace – basically a choker – with his initials on it and expects you to wear it all the time

Lorenzo …

… never posts you on his socials but expects you to do it

… whenever you spend more time with your friends, he will start a fight to ruin your time with them – if you’re not having fun with him, you won’t be having fun at all

… always questions your love for him if you don’t give him what he wants: You don’t want to change your clothes? You must hate him. You won’t stay in with him instead of going to Hogsmeade with the girls? He always knew you didn’t love him as much as you claimed you did. You don’t want to be intimate? Your love for him isn’t strong enough – his ex-girlfriends never made him ask for it

… buys you clothes he likes wants you to dress up for him all.the.time

Draco …

… he is annoyed whenever you have an opposing opinion

… uses his parents’ wealth to impress and overwhelm you. You are mad at him? He buys you jewelry. He forgot your anniversary? He’ll take you on a trip to Paris. He hurt you and screamed at you in a fight? He’ll have roses delivered to your room every day until you forgive him

… you are not allowed to talk to the golden trio at all

… you always have to join him on the boring pureblood-events his parents host, even if you don’t want to

… he has to be you first priority. Always. Even if you aren’t his

Blaise …

… is the sweetest and most attentive boyfriend until you do something that provokes him

… will cancel dates whenever Draco needs him and does not have any sympathy when you get mad at him for it

… can’t help but smirk whenever girls stare at him with heart-eyes even if you are with him – he still enjoys their attention

… even though he stares at the cleavage of other girls from time to time he does not allow you to wear revealing clothes at all

… kinda ghosts you whenever he’s back home

… calls his ex-girlfriends crazy and problematic

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: Uh… I might do a part two to this? But it randomly came to me and I wanna try something different.

Warnings: Language, hurt, angst, unrequited/one sided feelings, sadness, anxiety, mentions panic, body issues, and mentions self-esteem problems.

You’re hunched over the counter, skin taunt over your knuckles, bones sharp enough to shred through. A hot, sticky wetness resides in your lungs, the pain of its steam burning in your throat, settling over your lungs. You cannot see through the haze of blurred vision, half-assed attempts to wipe copious amounts of moisture going nowhere. Only when a heavier set of footfalls fall outside of the door and it’s yanked open — you finally cease some panic. Your manager, in all his greasy glory, clings to the doorframe, looking into the storage closet to make sure that you’re alone.

Obviously, because who would go in here with me? Steve never fucking will. He’s probably had other girls in here…

Keith is speaking, sounding like his voice is somewhere above the surface of murky waters. But you make it out. “Hey, uh. I heard what happened with Harrington back there. Let me take you out, show you how a real man can treat a lady?”

If Keith wasn’t so disgusting towards the female population, you’d feel bad for him, but to sink yourself as low as to only get an offer from him? And right after HE saw you get rejected by your best-friend?

Nip it in the butt before it continues. You have to work here, after all…

“No, thanks, Keith. But I appreciate it.” You force a smile so fake that it burns the corners of your mouth.

He snorts, shaking his head. “Fine, but know that if Harrington side stepped you, you shouldn’t be so stingy with standards.” The comment stings, pricks your heart, tearing it apart to bleed out. “I’ll be in my office if you change your mind, sweets.”

One nasty wink later, and he’s back in his office and you’re out the door. This is all too much. You have to go. It’s break time, you thank fuck for, glancing at the clock, but you can barely think, your head pulsating with a pressing pound between your eyes. You punch out for lunch, gathering your purse, and you’re coming out as Robin is talking rapidly to Steve, seemingly scolding him at the front desk.

She’s come in for her shift. They stop immediately, features softening, too observant for your liking. You do what you do best — change the subject. Steve isn’t going to care anyways, so you might as well say it. It’ll help you get outside quicker.

“I have a fucking headache, I’m hungry, and Keith just hit on me, so I’m taking my break.” You blow out a wobbly breath.

It’s also Steve’s break, and he starts to remove his vest. Is he serious? You are so beyond outer limits right now… Granted, you take your breaks together every single day, but after everything that just happened in the past hour?

Steve’s jaw clenches and his body tenses at what you tell them, pausing his removal mid-way, inclining his head to look back in the manager’s office direction. Robin looks mad, tongue clicking as she looks over at Steve and shakes her head. You let them go, about halfway to the door before the bell rings and the beautiful girl that Steve’s been after forever to get a date with — approaches. She’s looking extra special, all dolled up. Sundress, heels, makeup, bracelets, a dainty necklace on her perfect shape.

It’s things you know Steve loves, because it’s also what you’re wearing. It made you feel good, but it was out of your element, yet you’d thought his hints, his behavior with you — Robin and Nancy had encouraged that those things were MAJOR signs. The girl goes straight for Steve, reaching for his massive hand. You’re frozen, having been waiting on him, despite all of your instincts telling you not to. Robin is looking at you with sympathy, something you’d rather never see directed your way again.

The girl, she’s acting as if it’s just her and Steve here. “I know you said this is your lunch hour. Looks I’m free if you still wanna hang out?” She swings her purse in her free hand. He’s been after her for a while — for sex or emotional connection, you aren’t sure. But what you do know, is that doesn’t want you at all.

And you can’t fault him, no one can. As his friends, you should worry about his happiness and dry yourself up, not making him feel guilty for not returning what you have felt for a while. That doesn’t mean that this isn’t pulverizing your heart, dusting your bones to ash, dashing all hopes and future fantasies, telling yourself he did like you, letting yourself believe — it does not hurt any less. It hurts more than you can bear. You feel his mossy eyes filter into your direction, meeting over her head, his nose wrinkling, that tick in his jaw that occurs when he wants so badly to speak, but can’t.

You’re caught in the moments that happened before any of this… Body on fire, doused in flames, tumbling down a cliff side of revelations. You weren’t even sure if reality existed, or if you were feeling too much of every emotion to comprehend anything.

“I really like you, Steve. And I think that, maybe, you like me too?”

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

“More than anyone, probably.”

“Me too.”

“But I don’t… We’re really close, honey.”

“That’s a good thing though, obviously. Right?”

“It’s always gonna be a good thing, trust me. I’ve never had someone in my life like you before.”

“Sooo. What about tonight?”

“I’m so sorry. Any guy would be lucky to have you. And I care about you, more than anyone, but I just… I don’t feel the same way.”

Drowning in an ocean of pity and panic. You’re back to present, watching him see those moments through your eyes, which have now glossed over with tears. He’s trying to be respectful, not accept her in front of you, keep things okay, show he won’t make it weird because of your confession. Normal. Keeping his lunch date with you.

You don’t fake your smile, hand on the door, nodding several times. He doesn’t have to feel guilty, he doesn’t have to sacrifice his happiness. You love him, even if he isn’t in love with you. And that’s all that matters. He deserves this.

When Steve glances down towards the door and back up, the bell is fading against the glass, but you’re gone...

Your sundress blows in the wind of a fresh summer storm as you leave the store behind to walk to the deli, your tears cresting, before rising in a tempo that you don’t control. Your chest feels as if there’s a thousand pounds crushing you, every negative self-image colliding, thoughts flowing free, self-loathing — it all lets loose. And before you know it, you’re sobbing in the middle of the street over Steve Harrington…

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Before I get too mean

Pairings - clarisse x femme! Reader

Synopsis- you need closure, clarisse needs a good reason to fuck around

An: THERES NO SMUT JUST MAKING OUT😭🙏

For months now all you’ve been trying to do was get over clarisse. After you two had a big argument over something stupid and a dramatic breakup you done everything. You’ve madeout with other girls you’ve flirted around and even flashed someone but nothing compared.

Clarisse on the other hand Didn’t give two shits. She saw you fucking around with other campers but she knew none of them were better than her.

And you knew exactly what you were doing tonight, purposely wearing a tanktop that showed off your cleavage and a pair of sweats that showcased your hips and ass— you knew exactly what to do to get clarisses attention and you also knew how to get her riled up by flirting with one of her sisters. You figured messing around with clarisse one last time will finally give you the closure you wanted.

That’s why it wasn’t a suprise when you were in the ares cabin with clarisse pushed up against the wall and her hands tracing your hips and ass while you two kissed. She started to kiss down your neck eventually leaving hickeys.

“Ah!~ Lise stop” you whined and pushed her head away. “I fucking said no marks”

Clarisse Just rolled her eyes “You Wanna make-out but you don’t want me to leave hickeys, you wanna flirt with my sister and get me mad but don’t want me to react, you want me to kiss you like your my girlfriend but you don’t want me to say shit to you” she sarcastically spoke “at this point just ask to get together”

You just scoffed “as if we broke up because your an entitled bitch”

“Boohoo suddenly its a crime for a woman to have a personality” clarisse grinned before grabbing your face pulling you in not letting you respond.

Standing on your tippy toes and creasing your shoes in the process, you continued to kiss your ex girlfriend.

Once again clarisse started to kiss your neck trying to leave hickeys but this time you didn’t care and just let her. You grabbed a handful of her curls and tugged them knowing it would piss clarisse off because of the knots it made.

She groaned and bit you. “Ow! You shit”

“Don’t tug my hair”

“Don’t leave hickeys!”

Clarisse Just grunted and started to suck on your neck just to prove a point to you. “Just because your pissed doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me”

“Yeah Well im out of sympathy for you” you panted still messing up her hair.

—

Still pressed against the wall clarisse started to pepper kisses on your cheek while you played with her necklace.

“Maybe you should leave” Clarisse muttered “before you get mean and fuck shit up again by taking it out on me”

You giggled. “Yeah well your angry ass needs someone equally as toxic to keep you in line”

“Mmhmm maybe you should have left when silena Said i was bad news, that’s why your so broken hearted” clarisse continued to make her way down to your neck and top of your chest.

You closed your eyes and tucked some hair behind clarisses ear.

The moment was ruined however when some ares kids started to bang on the door. “Clarisse what the fuck let us in!” One shouted as the door was locked. You jumped at the noise and yelped as clarisse shoved you aside.

“Bitch”

“Just sneak out the window damn” she sighed and rubbed her lips that had your lipstick on it. She watched as you started to sneak out- before you shut the window clarisse whistled gaining your attention. “Keep it open and sneak in again tonight” she grinned and you rolled your eyes.

——

You: *sneaks in like clarisse asked*

Some ares kid who woke up from the sound of the door: “if your sneaking in to hook up with one of my siblings atleast take your shoes off and keep quiet”

——

Clarisse: *leaning on the bathroom sink watching you try to cover the hickeys she left*

You: your a fucking psycho these look like you tried sucking my soul out

Clarisse: yeah but you love me

——

Clarisse: *making-out with you with you sitting on her waist*

Clarisse: Let’s get back together

You: fuck you

Clarisse: so yes then

——

[piastrirots]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ not ready to make nice !

pairing: armando aretas x howard!reader summary: all you’ve ever dreamed about since your granddad being killed was the son of a bitch who did it sharing the same fate. what you never expected was to have to work with your granddads killer to rescue your sister and especially not that you’d take a liking to him. word count: 3.7k warnings: typical bad boys violence (guns, blood, death...) read at your own caution <3 notes: thank you for my first request, i had so much fun writing it! feel free to comment down your thoughts, things you want to see etc.

YOU FELT SO HELPLESS AS YOU REPLAYED THE SCREAMS OF YOUR SISTER CALLIE, but it was nothing to what your sister must have been feeling. You felt so stupid - your mother entrusted you to look after your sister whilst she hunted down your grandads killer and like a fool you left her alone at the house when you got a message to go to Dorn's you just could not ignore.

You would have disregarded the message like you did the millions of texts of pity that people from the station have sent following your indefinite suspension. It was unfair, but since your granddad was under investigation for working with the cartel (which was absolutely bullshit), it was only procedure to have his protégé and granddaughter on leave until everything was cleared up.

Following this, your mother had you and your younger sister on house arrest. You understood your mothers concern and admired her grit and ability to separate her personal feelings from her work. You couldn't begin to imagine how she must be feeling and certainly wonder how she copes with everything.

You didn't really see much of your granddad growing up since he was always working and just like him, your mother followed in his footsteps. It only made sense to everyone when you joined the police academy straight out of high school and worked at the station your grandfather did.

You fiddled with the necklace clasped to your neck nervously as you watched the drone footage of the men who had captured Mike's wife and your sister from the safety of the AMMO van. You didn't deserve to be here - it should be your sister. The same Callie who was being held hostage by dangerous people she had no business being entwined with.

Kelly squeezed your shoulder reassuringly and you give her a forced smile she could see right through. "It's going to be alright," Kelly said, piercing through the silence that enveloped the trio that was Kelly, yourself and Dorn.

You wished you could be in the thick of the action, but knew you would be no help to anyone in your distressed state. Your eyes flickered from your sister and briefly landed on the man who arguably was the reason you were all here.

Armando Aretas. The man that had cursed her family and the name that once made your stomach churn. As you observed him in the water, gun poised, you couldn't summon hatred, only a detached indifference.

She couldn't stop reliving their first meeting, each detail etched in her mind like a broken record. She knew everything about his case: Armando, Mike's son, tied to the cartel, infamous for his role in her grandfather's and other officials' deaths, and locked away in maximum security for the past few years.

Her empathy, seen by her mother as a weakness in their line of work, blurred her objectivity. She resisted this notion, yet felt a pang of sympathy for Armando.

His life story was a tragedy in itself: manipulated by his mother, misled into dark deeds, and shattered by the revelation that his beloved father was actually the cop his mother had him hunt down. It was a complex web that stirred sympathy despite his crimes. The nature versus nurture debate, something she'd studied in school, fascinated her. She pondered how upbringing and genetics influenced choices, even in someone as troubled as Armando.

Despite his past, she sensed a glimmer of remorse in Armando, especially in his recent efforts to clear her grandfather's tainted name.

Urgency had drove her to burst into Dorn's house upon receiving a cryptic message warning of Mike, Marcus, and Armando's presence, and urging her not to call the police. She remembered her eyes scanning the room, and then her eyes met his: emerging from a file, unmistakable even dressed in a bud light shirt and a truckie cap.

His expression faltered briefly, something flickering in his eyes—recognition, perhaps regret? She swiftly looked away, her mind racing. She was quick to make a beeline for Dorn, who sat at his desk, scrutinizing security footage.

The sound of gunshots shattered her focus. "Shit, shit, shit," Dorn muttered as the footage flickered and went out.

Panic surged through her. They had been warned not to intervene, but with the situation unclear and no backup in sight, the three of them impulsively decided to join the action, Dorn pressing hard on the accelerator.

They arrived too slowly for her liking, but she was the first to kick open the van door and grab a gun, rushing towards the crumbling ruins where her sister and others were held. Dorn and Kelly followed closely, but soon they had to split up due to the overwhelming number of men on the other side.

Her sole focus was on rescuing her sister, ensuring she returned home safe and sound. The thought of anything happening to her sister was unbearable, a burden she couldn't bear to carry.

She moved through the abandoned building with caution, every sense on high alert for any sign of her sister or anyone really. The eerie silence enveloped her; the absence of gunshots and screams left a chilling void that unsettled her deeply.

Just as she was about to give up and retreat to regroup with Kelly and Dorn, she spotted her. A glimpse of straight brown hair caught her eye, unmistakably her sister. And she seemed to be alone as well.

"Callie!" she called out, quickly holstering her gun. In that moment, the danger and the looming threat of the hostile environment faded into insignificance. The girl turned around, and you couldn't help but release a laugh of relief, running her hands through her hair.

Callie spun around at the sound of her name, initially startled but then relieved when she realized it was only her sister. A smile broke across her face, and she rushed forward for a warm embrace. They held each other tightly, and she felt herself finally let go of the tension.

"I can't believe it's really you," she said, pulling back slightly to grip Callie's shoulders and study her face, as if fearing she might vanish into thin air.

For a moment, they were enveloped in their own little world, a bubble that felt impenetrable. It was just the two of them.

But then Callie's screams shattered the moment, snapping you back to reality. You whirled around, but it was already too late.

A stranger had grabbed Callie, and instinct took over as you lunged forward, gripping the man's arms to pry him away from your sister. In his other hand, a knife sliced into your shoulder. Adrenaline dulled the worst of the pain, but you winced as he withdrew the blade.

Positioning yourself between the man and your sister, you shielded Callie instinctively. You swore you wouldn't let anything happen to your sister again, not on your watch.

Preparing to confront the assailant, you adopted a fighter's stance, your shoulder throbbing but ignored in the heat of the moment.

Before the man could strike again, you glimpsed Armando over his shoulder, gun trained on the back of the man's head.

Their eyes met, and in that instant, they shared an unspoken understanding. She saw trust in his gaze—at least for this crucial moment.

Wrapping her arms protectively around Callie, they both dropped to the ground just as Armando squeezed the trigger. The deafening silence that followed was broken only by the thud of the man's body hitting the ground.

Your eyes remained fixed on Armando as he swiftly approached. There was a hesitation in his movement, a conflict evident in his expression, before he went against his instincts and extended his hand towards you. Part of you wanted to rebuff the gesture, to stand on your own, but you couldn't deny that he had just saved both you and Callie's lives. Reluctantly, you reached out and grasped his hand, allowing him to help you up.

As they stood face to face, you realized just how much taller he was, which added to the lingering tension between them.

Their eyes locked in a silent exchange—yours clouded with confusion and a whirlwind of thoughts, his dark and intense. You cleared your throat, breaking the moment that felt like it stretched on for an eternity.

Helping Callie to her feet, you felt your sister's arm wrap around your waist, a comforting embrace amidst the chaos. Together, the three of them navigated through the abandoned building, searching for an exit. It took some time, but finally, Callie spotted a glimmer of light cutting through the darkness—a way out.

You felt a brief surge of relief, quickly snuffed out by the sudden emergence of danger. Three assailants descended upon Armando with lethal intent, their knives flashing in the dim light. Despite taking a few hits, Armando fought back with fierce determination. His movements were swift and calculated, deflecting blows and retaliating with precision.

Beside you, Callie clung to you in fear, her wide eyes darting between the unfolding violence and your uncertain face. Should you intervene? Part of you wanted to let justice play out, to see if these men would finally meet their comeuppance. But Callie's presence reminded you of innocence untouched by the darkness that surrounded Armando.

"Run!" Armando's command pierced through the chaos, directed at both you and Callie. Callie wasted no time, obeying without question as she sought safety. You hesitated for a moment longer, torn between curiosity and caution. In the end, the instinct to protect prevailed, and you guided Callie to a secluded spot, instructing her to hide and close her eyes until it was safe.

Returning to the fray, you joined Armando just as another assailant attempted a sneak attack. With swift reflexes, you seized the attacker by the neck, swiftly incapacitating him with a forceful chokehold. As he slumped unconscious, you brushed off the dirt and debris, refocusing on the ongoing struggle.

Armando had managed to evade most of their attacks and had already neutralized one of the attackers. But the sudden, deafening blast shattered the night, signaling the arrival of an unexpected adversary. A helicopter descended violently from above, crashing through the glass roof of the building. Smoke billowed, obscuring vision as its menacing blades sliced through the air with deadly intent.

Caught off guard, one of Armando's assailants faltered, his footing lost in the confusion. The helicopter's blades found their mark, hurling him away with a sickening thud.

"Let's go," Armando's urgent voice cut through the chaos, and he extended his hand towards you. Without hesitation, you grasped it tightly, knowing that in this moment, trusting him was your only option. He started to move in one direction, but you tugged gently on his hand, indicating the opposite direction. Confusion flickered across his face, silently questioning your choice.

"My sister," you explained quietly, nodding towards where you had left Callie. Understanding immediately, his expression softening, You hurried towards where Callie was hiding, Armando following your lead without protest.

When you reached Callie, you gently released Armando's hand and cupped your sister's face, relieved to find her unharmed but visibly shaken. Her eyes, wide with fear, met yours briefly before you focused on reassuring her.

"Let's get out of here, Callie," you murmured softly, helping her to her feet. Armando remained close by, a silent pillar of strength amidst the chaos. With Callie beside you, you navigated through the debris-strewn building, every step a cautious move towards safety.

The sound of sirens grew louder, their wail promising help and rescue drawing nearer by the moment. But as the cacophony echoed through the shattered building, Armando's presence beside you felt heavy with unspoken tension. The sirens, usually a beacon of hope, now cast a shadow of unease.

You glanced at Armando, catching the furrow of his brow and the distant look in his eyes. The sirens weren't a comfort to him; they were a haunting echo of the prison cell waiting for him when this was finished.

They had found themselves deep in the forest, the uncertainty of their surroundings providing a little more safety than the building they had just left.

Armando, who had been their steadfast protector through the chaos, now showed signs of weariness that had gone unnoticed in the heat of the escape. As he slowed to a stop and slumped against a nearby tree, it became painfully clear just how dire his situation was.

You had been laser-focused on guiding Callie to safety, shielding her from the danger that had threatened their lives moments before. Now, as you turned your attention to Armando, your heart sank at the sight of him clutching his shoulder, his face contorted with pain. The urgency of the escape had overshadowed his injuries, and guilt gnawed at you for not noticing sooner.

"Hey," you murmured softly, your voice laced with concern and regret. Crouching beside him, you carefully inspected the wound, your eyes tracing every line of pain etched across his features.

Callie hovered nearby, her own worry mirrored in her eyes as she watched silently.

With gentle hands, you lifted his hand to examine the injury. The sight made you wince; it was clear this was no ordinary cut or scrape. Blood seeped through torn fabric, evidence of the violence that had unfolded only moments ago.

His eyes followed your every movement, studying your reaction with a hint of amusement. Despite the pain etched on his face, a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he observed your subtle grimace.

"You squeamish?" His voice, husky with pain yet laced with a hint of playful teasing, caught you off guard. His ability to crack a joke in such a dire situation surprised you, momentarily breaking the tension that hung heavily in the air.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. "That obvious?" you replied softly.

With practiced efficiency, you tore a strip of fabric from your shirt and began to wrap it tightly around his arm, applying pressure to stem the flow of blood. Your hands moved swiftly, guided by a combination of urgency and careful precision, your focus unwavering despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Armando watched you work in silence, his eyes hooded with a mix of pain and something else—something you couldn't quite decipher. The forest around you seemed to fade into the background as you tended to him, the rustling leaves and distant sounds of wildlife a distant backdrop to the moment.

As you worked to stabilize his condition, you couldn't shake the feeling of his gaze upon you, the weight of his silent observation palpable. The atmosphere between you shifted subtly, a current of unspoken emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Armando's breathing was shallow, his complexion growing paler beneath the layer of sweat that glistened on his brow. You noticed the way his chest rose and fell unevenly, the signs of light-headedness and erratic heartbeat becoming more apparent.

"Stay with me, Armando," you murmured softly, your voice a steady anchor in the midst of uncertainty. Your fingers continued their careful work, applying pressure and adjusting the makeshift bandage as needed. Each touch was gentle yet purposeful.

The forest around you seemed to hold its breath as you worked, the rustling of leaves serving as a stark reminder of the isolation that surrounded you. But then, the snap of a branch shattered the fragile calm, jolting you back to the present.

Armando stirred beside you, a reflexive movement to rise, but you placed a firm hand on his uninjured shoulder, commanding Callie to keep him still. Instinct took over as you swiftly drew your gun from its holster, your training kicking in as you flicked off the safety and aimed towards the source of the sound.

Tension coiled in the air as seconds stretched into eternity, your senses heightened and focused on the approaching threat. Then, emerging from the shadows with an air of nonchalance that belied the danger of the situation, was Mike.

"Woah," Mike exclaimed, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I've had way too many of those pointed at me today."

Relief flooded through you, dissipating the tension like a punctured balloon. You rolled your eyes at Mike's antics, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the moment. Slowly, you returned your gun to its holster.

"Nice to see you too, Mike," you replied, your voice laced with a mix of gratitude and amusement. The bond between you and Mike was one forged through shared dangers and trust, a connection that transcended the chaos that had brought the two of them together in the first place.

Callie, sensing the shift in atmosphere, dashed towards Mike and enveloped him in a tight hug. "I missed you too, kiddo," Mike chuckled warmly, ruffling Callie's hair affectionately. His gaze shifted beyond her, settling on Armando who now seemed to be regaining some color despite his injuries.

Mike wasted no time after his affectionate exchange with Callie. With a sense of urgency, he made his way to Armando's side, offering him a steadying hand and helping him to his feet. You followed closely behind, observing with a mix of relief and concern as Mike scanned Armando's body, his brow furrowed with worry.

"You alright, man?" Mike's voice was filled with genuine concern as he assessed Armando's condition. Armando managed a silent nod in response, his exhaustion evident in every line of his face and posture.

The moment of quiet reassurance was abruptly shattered by the distinct click of a gun being cocked. Instinctively, all four of you spun around, eyes scanning the shadows and underbrush that surrounded you. The forest, once serene and tranquil, now seemed to bristle with unseen threats.

Your hand instinctively went to your holster, fingers curling around the grip of your weapon. Mike's stance shifted subtly, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he positioned himself between you, Callie, and the direction of the ominous sound. Adrenaline surged through your veins, sharpening your senses and heightening your awareness.

"Who's there?" Mike's voice rang out, firm and commanding. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement or threat. Your grip tightened on your weapon, prepared for whatever might emerge from the shadows.

Minutes stretched into eternity before a figure finally emerged from the dense foliage.

The tension in the forest thickened to a suffocating level as my mother emerged from the shadows, a gun leveled directly at Armando. My initial shock at seeing her dissolved into confusion and concern as her serious expression betrayed no hint of recognition or relief.

"Mum?" I managed to utter, my voice wavering with a mix of emotions. I instinctively released my grip on my own gun, hopeful that her appearance meant salvation rather than further danger. But her unwavering aim at Armando shattered any illusions of safety.

My gaze followed hers to where Mike stood defensively in front of Armando, his posture protective yet tense. Callie's distress was palpable as she clung to Mike, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. You stood frozen, torn between the desire to protect Armando and the urge to comfort your mother.

Mike attempted to reason with her, his voice calm yet urgent, but the anger and betrayal radiating from my mother were unmistakable. It was clear that words alone would not sway her resolve. As the standoff intensified, I knew there was only one path forward.

With hesitant steps, you moved to stand between your mother and the trio —Mike, Armando, and Callie. Your hand stretched out in a silent plea, a gesture laden with unspoken desperation and determination.

"Mum, please," You implored softly, my voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of a plea for reason. "Put the gun down."

My mother's gaze flickered between me and the men behind me, emotions warring within her. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the sounds of rustling leaves and sirens fading into insignificance. 

"Move away from him," your mother commanded, placing emphasis on every word, gripping her gun tightly. "And take your sister with you."

Callie ran towards you and with a burst of bravery, challenged her mother. "He saved my life," she let out, looking between Armando who was watching the scene unfold, unsure of his fate and her mother who stood rock solid. 

"He saved our lives," you joined in, turning to Armando with a look of determination.

For a moment that stretched agonizingly, she hesitated. The gun trembled imperceptibly in her grip, her resolve faltering under the weight of you and your sisters plea and the truth that stood before her. 

Finally, with a shuddering exhale, she lowered the gun. With the gun lowered, the confrontation over, you should be happy, and yet a new wave of unease washed over you. Your mother's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Go, before I change my mind," she finally uttered, her voice strained but resolute. Callie wasted no time, rushing to envelop your mother in a tight, reassuring hug. You stood apart, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, wondering if you should go to your mother and Callie, or help Mike and Armando.

Turning away from the tender moment between mother and daughter, you approached Armando and Mike at the edge of the dock. Together, you helped guide Armando onto the boat, Mike offering last-minute fatherly advice that echoed softly against the backdrop of the lapping waves.

Watching them, you couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for Mike—a man who had spent so little time with his son now bidding him farewell under such dire circumstances. It was a scene that tugged at your heartstrings and made you glance away, the ache in your chest growing more palpable by the second.

Instinctively, you reached for your necklace, fingers searching for the familiar weight against your skin. Panic fluttered as your touch met empty space. Looking down, you realized with a sinking feeling that the chain must have snapped during the chaos. It was a simple necklace, a gift from Callie—a token of your bond, adorned with the initial of your first name.

Before the full weight of loss could settle in, a voice cut through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the boat now drifting further into the horizon. Armando's smirk was unmistakable as he held up the shimmering necklace in his hand.

"Thanks for the necklace," he called out, his tone carrying a mix of mockery and triumph. "Until next time cariño."

The engine roared to life, drowning out everything around it as Armando steered the boat away, disappearing into the vastness of the sea. 

"Callie is going to kill me."

the request:: Y/n attend Armando wounded as they was against the tree. Y/n were much more hurt than him didn't tell anyone your breathing was heavy but well y/n didn't care, he was the only thing that mattered. She stopped her mother from killing him.

[i-am-traveling-the-multifandom]

Blood and Cheese

Warnings: S2 E1 spoilers, mentions of SA, mentions of gore and blood

So, you are telling me that HBO made b&c an accident. It was supposed to be Aemond. And they made Heleana run while Jaehaerys was being killed and her daughter safe and sound. And Alicent and Maelor wasn't even there. What the hell??!!

They turned one of the best, in fact the only well written part of the book and turned it into this piece of crap

Aemond was never involved. Daemon wanted to kill a child when Luke died because he didn't have the guts to fight Aemond. Aemond might have been the reason the dance of the dragons began but he was never the cause of b&c.

Heleana begged blood and cheese to take her life instead of her children and in the show, she offers her necklace. The entire point of blood and cheese is to show a distraught mother trying to protect her children and being forced to choose which one of her children die. And they made her simply point at her son. Book!Heleana would never. Book!Heleana had to hold the lifeless body of her eldest child that didn't even have his head. She couldn't see his last expressions, was there fear on his young face or was it pain? She would never know until these ruthless killers were found. She would rather lose her life and her sanity than her own children. And in the end, she lost them all. And that is the tragedy of Heleana the Dreamer. That is the tragedy of a mother and a queen.

Jaehaera is sleeping soundly and isn't even harmed while in the books she was a traumatized kid. She was threatened with rape by a man when she was 6 years old. She watched her twin get killed in a helpless position and could do nothing to protect him. That possibly was a driving reason of her suicide.

Maelor was present there at the time of b&c and he wasn't even born in the show. He was two years old; he was a child who saw such a brutal murder. Heleana in her mind made the right decision by offering Maelor instead of the heir to the throne but imagine how much that would have mentally and emotionally scarred him, if it wasn't for his untimely death. He was a victim of 'the greater good'. But it was never him and if he had grown up enough to even form words they would have been of pain and sorrow.

Alicent was in her room having sex with Criston Cole while in the book she had to wait knowing that her daughter and grandchildren would enter any minute and be harmed. She was helpless in those moments, and God knows what went through the mind of this woman who loved her children so much. Her trauma is undermined. She saw her bed maiden killed knowing this might be the fate of her beloved children and it was for Jaehaerys. She had to take care of Jaehaera and Maelor while her own daughter sank into a deep and dark pit of madness. She saw her daughter commit suicide because of this. Do any of us ever stop and wonder if she blamed herself for all this?

Blood and Cheese was one of the most traumatic events in the entire history of Targaryens and I will murder those who say otherwise. Not because I am team green but because I have sympathy. Sympathy for two young children forced to witness such cruelty, sympathy for a child who was inflicted with such early death, sympathy for two helpless mothers who blamed themselves for their children's doom.

And the show destroyed it. HBO destroyed everything, from the cruelty and from the trauma. And those who have never read the book will never know. Never know the cruelty of team black. Blood and cheese wasn't revenge, it wasn't a son for a son. It was pure cruelty and malice. It was the murder of a child who had never done anything wrong, and the show erased it. They never showed what extents team black could go in the name of war and revenge.

And I despise HBO for what they did. Once again, they show that team black can do no wrong, that Daemon Targaryen's actions are justifiable because he did it for his 'family'. But he didn't, like always he did this for the sake of violence, and forever will.

This season is ruined from the beginning. HBO can do nothing to make it better.

[boldlygoingtohell]

In a weird way, as a Jew, I can kinda take Normal Antisemitism™️.

I mean, I understand where right-wing racists are coming from when it comes to their antisemitism. At the end of the day, theirs just comes from fear, replacement theory, etc… It’s easily identifiable. 2+2=4. Yea its shitty, but I see how they got from A to B and it’s a straight line.

But left-wing antisemitism?? Like, how does that happen? I thought the left was about supporting minority groups, encouraging them to speak and be heard. But all I’m seeing from leftists these days (I myself being super fucking liberal, left, etc…) is just waves and waves of antisemitism. And yes it has to do with Israel, but these people are incapable of criticizing the Israeli government without going “all Jews are responsible!” in the process. It's infuriating.

Are all the the world’s Jews, millions of which live OUTSIDE of Israel, now responsible for Israel’s actions? I'M a stupid American! I’ve never even BEEN to Israel, much less know the intricate details of a geo-political conflict whose complexities go willfully unlearned by armchair activists in favor of yelling in all caps for 140 characters.

But what really gets me, and I mean REALLY get me about the whole situation, is the hypocrisy.

Remember how awful it was when we saw waves of Islamophobic hate crimes after 9/11, American Muslims with no ties to al-Qaeda being targeted for the faith those terrorists claimed to represent?

Or do you remember standing against the wave of anti-Asian hate crimes that was spurned on by COVID falsehoods? The “China virus” as Trump so eloquently put it? You remember being pissed about that, not blaming Asian Americans but standing with them against hate?

And hell, I’ve heard there has been a rash of Islamophobic attacks again because of the Israeli-Gaza conflict. That’s fucking awful, and I will stand against that bull shit because it does not belong here, end of story.

But now there are also antisemitic attacks, hate crimes, being perpetrated around the world. And who are the perpetrators now? The left that stood against everything else. There's no widespread ally-ship for Jews like me. There's no sweeping social media campaign, no catchy hashtag, no ice bucket challenge.

Why am I allowed to be condemned for what a country on the other side of the world is doing, when I have nothing to do with it? Why can I have the finger pointed at me when I don’t want the fighting in the first place? Why must Jews be allowed to be the target of this ire when it's already been decided that other ethnicities/religions don't deserve it either?

Now, I am PROUD to be Jewish; it is my culture, in my heritage, in my literal blood. It is in my genetics, my bones, my spoken language, it is in the holidays I celebrate, the philosophies I live by.

But it is also in the generational trauma of my mother insisting I have a passport as a young child, not because we were traveling, but in case we had to flee. It is in her inherent distrust of the government; a card-carrying Democrat all her life, she would always remind me, "if you don't think the government can't turn on you, you're kidding yourself." It is her constant reminders that as a Jew, our assimilation is conditional, our acceptance is political. I felt these, but never as strongly as she did. Not until now.

I am third generation American, and yet I feel like an outsider in the only country I have ever known. People who I thought understood, who were my friends, who marched with me against the injustices of the world, are now calling after Jews to answer for Israel's actions.

I say I don't want the violence to persist and I'm told that I'm, "one of the good ones". I'm told hurt Israelis don't deserve sympathy because, "all Jews are rich anyway, right? Who cares." I tell them my fears about the rising antisemitism and wearing my star of david necklace out. I'm told, "it doesn't matter, you're white anyway."

For the first time in my life, the racists aren't just some crazy KKK members. They're not just Nazis marching around with beer bellies and ill fitting helmets. It's not just some screeching street preacher who claims I'm going to hell after he caught the glint off my star of david necklace. If needs be, I can kick and punch my way out of those. They're just idiots. Isolated, concentrated incidents. It'd be a good story to tell at a bar the next day though a gap-toothed smile and a sling on my shoulder.

But now, both sides are coming after me and my people. Now, it's not just idiots who have all of their views backwards; it's people I thought I could trust to have my back, to go down swinging with me against those Nazis. Right. Left. It's everywhere. There's no escape.

It's coming from all sides. It's coming from social media platforms, from dinners with friends, from posters on street lamps.

I live in one of the safest, most Jewish neighborhoods in America, and for the first time in my life I am truly scared.