#the anger and grief and vindication in her

[khaotunq]

no narrative, no scene, just her. Mind Sawaros as Nueng (GAP, 2022-2023)

[cromulent-marshland]

I know I'm going to be insane about Lisa Frankenstein for the rest of the year and I loved every bit of it. Today, I want to talk about female rage, especially teenager female rage portrayed in the movie.

I was a teenage girl not that long ago (notably in the late 2010's, when I hadn't even known I was non-binary), and what I remember about it is that people, (family members, teachers, adults in my life) never wanted me to be angry. I was a ball of emotions, but I had to be the rational one. I had to be the centered one. Not my little brother, or even my older brother, not my male classmates, just me and the other teenage girls. I couldn't lose my head or I was a bitch. I couldn't cry or I was a sensitive baby. I had to be happy or I wasn't worth the attention of others.

Lisa has the same problem every other girl has. If you have complex emotions, like grief or anger or sadness, nobody wants to see them. You can deal with that stuff on your own. Taffy gets the attention because she hides those "unsavory" emotions behind smiles and mascara. When she finally shows any kind of trauma, she is ignored, thrown away like a piece of garbage.

That's why I love Lisa and the Creature's relationship. The Creature can tell that Lisa is struggling, and he knows the consequences of what it is to be a woman whose emotions are different or hard to hide. He saw it in the early 1800's, where woman were considered crazy or filled with hysteria if they didn't conform to the standards men wanted them to be. They had wandering womb syndrome, or they were old maids, or they were locked up, literally hidden from society.

He sees Lisa struggling, and does everything in his power to make her feel validated in her struggles. Her rage doesn't make him hate her, just the opposite. Her sadness is his vindication to go after the ones that hurt her. When she feels happy, true happiness, he does too. He accepts her for the flawed human being she is, and in return, so does she.

Everything she does for him only changes him physically. His emotions never change for her. He doesn't get mad at her when she acts irrational. He's jealous when she goes to Michael's, but still drives her anyway and protects her when she gets hurt, literally shielding her with his body.

More movies need to show that teenage girls that are flawed. Teenage girls are angry. They aren't pretty little flowers. They feel rage and anger in a system when their pain is mitigated.

I want more teenage girls in film to fight people, get angry, chop off abuser's hands, or just allowed to show those "bad" emotions. It doesn't make them villains. It doesn't make them horrible people. It makes them human.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

we all know how vicious gale can get when he's spurned in game, so I thought about how nasty he could get during a fight. and the nuclear amount of fallout after the dust settled. sooo I bring you this~

Hard Times

18+ fighting (verbal), hurt feelings, night terrors, insomnia, allusions to drowning, terminal illness (sort of), grief release, intense feelings of guilt/inadequacy, tender care, thigh riding, oral (m!), reconciliation

After a venomous spat with Gale, Aurum finds herself in the prison of her dreams again. But with several pairs of hands cradling her, she doesn't have to weather it alone. And, perhaps, find her own vindication in the aftermath...

Masterlist

-

"Gods, Aurum, just speak to me!" Gale urged, voice swollen with anger.

She wasn't sure how the fight started, but tensions had been pulled tight as a violin string. A day with too much strife and even less success. Ground soaked in wasted sweat and blood born of friendly fire.

Aurum didn't want to fight, keeping her face cool and controlled. But it seemed that Gale did, and her veil of calm burned him ever hotter. Desperate to break her mask.

"I don't want to fight with you." Her voice came out soft, encouraging a cease fire. Face held in its pantomime, overriding the pinch sitting in her chest.

"No, of course you dont." His voice a cold bite. "Why would you? I can't expect you to be as open as I am. Not with that wall of stone you've trained around your heart."

A jolt of pain hit her chest, and, as if hearing him, a shock of burn accompanied along. Gritting her teeth against the pain, smothering a flare no easy feat.

"That's not fair." She breathed. Fighting the rage tremoring near her words.

But he had seen that he shook her. Not done prodding, fingers digging into the fracture he made.

"Fair? Nothing about loving you is fair. Between losing you to time and your staunch desire to keep me on the outskirts of your inner world... Hardly fair, that."

That stung, but she had expected it. Her demise was a circling vulture over them always. The venom he injected into it was less needed, but his anger was warranted.

"Are you near done? You've wounded me, you got what you wanted." She seated her voice back into its hilt of calm.

But that lit him into a blaze. Back bristling.

"I've wounded you? Have I? Color me shocked, as I couldn't even begin to see it on you."

"No, I'd have to try much harder, wouldn't I? I'd have to give much more strenuous effort to get you to give me the courtesy of your anger."

He stepped forward, a burning shadow.

"But anger seems to be beneath you. Funny. The apple falls far from the tree but won't gouge the rot from its core."

A physical shot of shock struck through her, face hitching in a wince. Her eyes clenched closed, a sharp intake of breath hissing through teeth.

And, just like that, he stopped. She lifted her eyes to a horrified silence settling over his face.

"Too far." She whispered, a grief laced laugh at the edges.

"Aurum, I'm s-"

"We're leaving." Astarion's hand came to her back, propelling forward between shoulder blades.

Gale stepped forward, tears filling the corners of his eyes. Reaching out for her hand.

"Don't touch her." Astarion threatened, voice deadly sharp. Holding Gale's stare.

"You're lucky she loves you, I would so enjoy taking you apart."

His voice fell into a low laugh.

"Though, let's hope she won't for much longer. After the blood you've spilt."

"Come, darling." He encouraged again, voice laced in posh reassurance.

Aurum nodded, cold in the aftermath of shock. Grateful to have someone to take her from him. She paused at the door, bolstered in Astarion's presence. Turning to level her hurt at him.

"I chose you. After everything... I chose you. Remember that."

Gale's face split in a desperate take of breath. Propelled torward to her again, a pleading apology forming on his lips.

But she was already turning, nodding at Astarion. The door leading out of the Elfsong a punctuation falling closed behind them.

-

The world tilted sideways, cool river stones against her temple. Circling call of insects from somewhere high in the grass. Moving water tickling her knuckles.

As water danced around her fingers, salt water flowed down the arch of her nose. Silent tears dripping down onto smooth stone. Laying on her side, hidden in the reeds.

It had been a long time since she had held the full weight of her grief. And Gods was it exhausting to carry.

A blistering warm hand spread wide across her back.

Karlach didn't speak, settling on folded legs behind her. Lifting her head onto her lap, fingers carding gently through her hair.

Aurum squeezed her shin, blinking hot tears onto her leather thighs.

They didn't speak for a long time, just holding in her silence. Her thigh getting wet with tears.

"I'm so tired."

"I know." Karlach smiled gently above her.

"I'm so tired of him tied to me." Her voice hollow in its pain. "I just want to sleep. I want to sleep at night."

"I know, baby. I've heard your night terrors."

Aurum swallowed, turning her face into Karlach's solid thigh. "Please, can I just sleep?"

Karlach cupped under her cheek, leaning down to tilt her temple into hers. Folding over her in silent protection.

Murmuring against her hair.

"I'll hold you, okay? Sleep a little."

Aurum's fingers tightened on her shin, then loosened in exhaustion. Body giving to the fall gratefully.

"Thank you." A soft sigh. Her eyes lead weighted. Pulled deep into the earth.

Falling for only a moment, then quick pulled away by the tide.

Gurgling. Thrashing.

No. Not here again.

Thrashing. Fingernails clawing at her wrist.

Come on. Wake up.

Black hair in her fist. Water sloshing into her forearm. Adrenaline cold in her veins.

Wake up!

"Aurum! Wake up!"

Karlach caught her as she fell backward, the memory disintegrating around her. Distantly aware of a scream, realizing it to be her own.

"You're here! You're back!" Karlach called over her hitching screams, holding her tight to her warm chest.

Aurum panted, wide-eyed in panic. Gripping at her back.

"Shhh... breathe, soldier."

"How long was that?" Aurum finally gasped out.

"About three hours."

Karlach pointed at the horizon.

"Look, the sun is coming up."

Tears pooled disappointed in her eyes, blinking them away with a steadying huff of breath. Cold acceptance bolstering her.

"That's better than nothing." Wiping away with sure fingers. "We have too much to do today."

"Do you want me to, well, let's say encourage Gale to stay back today?"

"No. We need him. We'll need all the firepower we can get."

"You're sure your up to it?" Her voice tender in concern

What choice did she have?

Aurum nodded, rolling her shoulders. Psyching herself up.

"Oh, Gortash is going to feel so good under my boot." Karlach growled.

-

"I need to see him." Karlach shuddered, nearly avoiding her gaze. "I need to be sure."

They drew forward, Gortash's still body laid face down in a pool of blood.

Karlach flipped him onto his back with a kick of her boot.

"That's... it?"

She stared down at his slack face. Eyes clouding and rolled into sockets.

"He's just... dead? Am I getting that right?"

Her voice rose in anger as she began to tirade.

"He's dead, and he isn't sorry. And I'm still dying."

Turning to Aurum with desperate rage.

"You're dying and I'm dying, and we get to join this fucker in the City of Judgement soon! And you-"

Turning on Gale and Astarion.

"You'll just keep going won't you. Watching the stars, warming yourself by the campfire, dancing, drinking, feeling the blood in your veins. All of it!"

Fire ripped from her with the same grief burned fury as her words. Locking eyes with Aurum.

"That's our reward, for all we've suffered! To burn away into fucking ash!"

She fell to knees, pushing her temples into her fingers. Voice shaking with drained rage.

"It isn't fair. I don't want it like this."

Aurum kneeled to her and slid under her arms, holding their bright chests to each other. The seat of their dual demise pressed in embrace. Blood slow soaking up their knees.

"I don't want to die. I want to stay." She wailed, gripping into the armor on Aurum's back. "I want you to stay."

"We can stay for a little longer." Aurum hushed into her ear.

"But what then? What the fuck are we supposed to do?"

"Hold on. We're supposed to hold on to each other."

Karlach sobbed into her shoulder, burying her face into her hair. Wide hands pulling tight. Two figures standing tearful watch of two entwined, bracing in the face of the inevitable.

"She's in good hands." Wyll's clapped down on her shoulder. "Get some rest, my friend."

She knew there was very little of that on her horizon, but appreciated the gesture anyway. Giving him a grateful smile.

He gave her two pats in depart, heading down the hall.

Aurum padded quietly, then finally stood at the barrier. Their small shared world beyond. A portal separated by oak.

She could feel him inside. The quiet of the room ahead held in anticipation. A silent statement:

You will have to face him, eventually.

She put her hand on the knob and moved through the veil.

Gale stood on the balcony, facing away from her. Back tense.

Closing the door softly, she came to the bed. Sitting down, letting down her hair. Taking a few deep breaths before announcing her presence.

"Gale?" Her voice low, not bothering to hide her exhaustion.

He whirled around. Eyes landing on her stained and raw with tears.

Rushing forward, he fell at her lap. Kneeling at her altar, seeking to beg for forgiveness.

"I'm so so sorry." He gasped, head bowed at her knees. Hands grasping blind at her thighs. "I love you so much. So completely. How could I speak to you like that?"

"I'm so disgusted with myself!" He buried his eyes into his forearm. "I've never deserved your love, and now I don't even deserve to be in your presence."

He looked in wild desperation no higher than her clavicle. Making eye contact with her light smothered chest, crumbling further into himself. Face tight with grief.

"Please, leave me. Stop loving me."

She ran her hands through his hair, staring down at him. Only patient love pouring from her touch.

Despite his pleas, when she cupped his face, he leaned into her. Eyes closing tight, pressing his hand over hers.

"Gale, look at me." She whispered.

His teeth gritting, he slowly opened his dark circled eyes. Black and shining with prisms of tears.

"Did you eat today? When we got back?"

His lower lip trembled, face turning from hers in a sudden ragged sob.

"Here," She hushed, pulling under his shoulders. "Let's get you taken care of."

Aurum's lap damp, she gently washed his hair. Bath water steaming around his slumped shoulders.

Random boughts of quiet tears would hitch his chest. His hand kept reaching back to weakly pull her away from him. Her hands returning to their work in the same motion, undeterred.

"Lean back." She encouraged, tipping his head gently with her fingertips.

He slowly revealed his face to her, eyes tightly closed.

"Water." She warned softly. Pouring it through his hair in two steaming bucket fulls. Pulling the soaps through with a massage on his scalp with her free hand. Her front thoroughly wet now.

She slid the bucket away with her foot and cupped the back of his head in both hands. Leaning down to whisper the softest kisses on his swollen eyes. The skin tight and warm under her lips.

"Do you think you could eat?" She murmured.

He shook his head, gripping white knuckle on her forearm. Eyes still willed shut.

"Could you try? For me?"

"I... my stomach. It hurts."

"Nauseous?"

He nodded.

"Okay, I'll get you some tea."

His eyes finally opened.

"Why are you doing this?" Voice shaken in desperate guilt. Ripping through his chest.

She kissed his forehead. "Come on, let's get you dry."

She wrapped him in a bath robe, wringing out his hair in a towel. Sitting on the bed behind him.

The cup of tea sat still in his hands, near limp in his lap. Head still bowed, refusing to actively participate in her care.

"It's getting cold." She encouraged, bending her leg around his folded knee. Nudging gently with the heel of her foot on his shin.

He shook his head in a small tremor.

She sighed, reaching around to take the mug from his loose grip.

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" Her voice soft with reproach.

Lifting the mug above her shoulder, she swung her thigh around his hip. Standing on knees, she took a pull of ginger tea into her mouth. Holding him by the crest of his chin.

Pulling with a gentle resolve on his jaw, she pressed her lips to his. Pushing the mouthful into him in an open kiss.

He gripped at her wrist, shock opening his mouth to her.

Taking her advantage, she took another swig. Leaning his head back, pouring from her into him. Thumb caressing his throat in an encourage to swallow.

He finally relented, his throat pulsing under her hand. Allowing her to sustain him. The whole cup drunk between them as tears streamed down his temples.

"Thought you were going to let me drown you for a second." She laughed, thumbing away his tears.

"Would you?" His request a little too sincere.

"No." She chirped easily. "And I would feed you from my mouth if you'd let me."

She kissed both of his cheeks, pushing her body forward. Encouraging him to lay back. He fell, hand hovering over her lower back for a moment before resting in its usual home.

She was still sweaty, damp, and honestly, hungry. But she would be damned if she didn't ensure his sleep before attending to herself.

Laying her full weight on his body, she hitched one leg over his hip. Turning her head into his chest. Softly trailing little caresses into the skin along the base of his hairline.

He shivered, leaning his head to the side. Angling open to her touch.

She smiled, other hand rising to run parallel. Just the slightest skating of her nails added.

His cock stirred beneath her, and she slow rocked her hips into him. Feeling it get more rigid at her encouraging.

His hands fell to her hips, starting to push her away.

"Are you still upset with me?" She whispered into his chest. Allowing him to pause her.

"What? No!" He breathed.

She leaned up on forearms, staring tender down into his tear exhausted eyes.

"Do you want me to go?"

"I..." His eyes darted uncertain, but his hands pulled her down into him.

She waited, patiently running figure eights on the hair along his chest.

"No." He finally stated, eyes boring sincerity into her. "Never."

His hands took up in her same slow wave on her hips, asking.

She smiled at him, leaning on her propped palm. Grinding in time, eyes starting to glaze over. Breath coming out a little more strained. Pleasure blooming from her pelvis.

Sliding her other knee up, she leaned up to sit between his thigh and hip. Friction from her underclothes sending hitching jolts with each rock forward. Propping his knee up to anchor her hands on his outer thigh. Her hips suddenly insistent.

He gasped out, rising up to pull on her ass in assistance. Staring at her rutting with awed lust. Positioning her into the hard ridge of his hip bone.

She whimpered into the back of her throat. It had been so long since she had pleasured herself this way. The simplicity of it struck a flint of something primal in her. Chasing her heat in fast thrusts against his hip. Her exhaustion left her unabashed in her seeking. Face tensed, small cries leaving her as she quickly climbed.

"Yes, yes," He hushed, seeing the feral lust she ground into him. "Yes, please- oh Gods that's so sexy-"

Her peak fast barreling, she gripped fingers into his thigh. His hard cock weeping next to the grazing of her thrusting.

Her moans muffled into needy squeaks in her throat, building and quickly connecting into a soft chorus. The desperate ache in her pelvis about to collapse.

"Please cum, just like that." He gasped out, rising onto a propped hand. "Yes, use me. Use me for your pleasure. Gods, don't stop-"

Her orgasm hit her in writhes, pushing hard down into his pelvis. Riding it out in flattening fast drives. His hip soaked with her cum.

She fell into his propped thigh, turning her head into the top of his knee. Gasping and basking in the afterglow for a moment.

But she still had a goal in mind.

He had leaned up to twine his arms around her front, but she slipped down first. Settling on her belly between his legs. Dragging a flat tongue up from the base of his cock.

He shuddered, twitching up towards her mouth. Giving a silent plea.

"Aurum, wait-" He huffed, winding a hand into her hair. Unconsciously pulling toward his center. Body uninterested in his guilt.

She gave one hard suck, seating him to the back of her throat. His body arched under her, hand leaving her hair to grip into sheets. Panting out a hitching whine.

If he thought she had stopped taking care of him, he was dead wrong.

She bobbed her head, slurping loudly as her tongue pulled flat and twisted. Hand taking up at his base, her dripping saliva easily coated under her fist. Pumping tight pulls, mouth suctioning and sloppy.

His head turned into the bed above her, pushing loud uncontrolled moans into a pillow. Thighs twitching in jolts, belly getting more and more tense. She laid her palm on his lower belly, feeling the muscles bucking under her.

She could tell he was going to cum hard, the lower half of his body moving independent of his control. Ribs curling up, one palm pushing on the headboard. Still muffling his loud cries into cotton.

She seated him all the way in her throat, holding her breath. Hand tightening even more, blurring in fast thrusts.

His head shot down, rising on elbows. Shock ripping through his blinding pleasure.

She looked up through lashes at him, and starting swallowing. Humming in the back of her throat.

"Ah! AH!!!"

His head craned back, body tremoring in a deep tense. Hips fucking up into her throat.

She opened her throat for him, holding still as he thrust deep into her. Cum shooting warm waves down her esophagus. Her cunt fluttering, gripping his ass in her hands. Encouraging the drive of his hips. Starting to get lightheaded but with no drive to stop.

His hand cupped hard over his mouth, stifling final loud whimpers and half formed pleading words.

He fell boneless into the mattress, eyes rolling loose in sockets. Hips still twitching with aftershock.

Rising back into a kneel, she wiped her mouth. Finally allowing her anger to take root.

"To answer your question." She patted genially on his hip. His body jolted at the touch.

"I did this one: because I love you." She held up a single finger.

"And two..." Lifting another. "Because giving you love you don't believe you deserve must hurt you as much as you've hurt me."

He went still below her.

"I'm going to find some idea of sleep in the common area."

She leaned down to kiss softly along his jaw.

"Have sweet dreams." She sighed, rising back. Leg swinging off the bed.

"No!" He huffed, hand grasping her thigh. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

His voice shook with fear. As if her walking out now meant forever.

She paused, finally settling to sit at the edge of the bed.

He sighed in great relief.

"Why were you so cruel earlier?" She wound her fingers into his.

"I... I think..." He leaned up the headboard, head low in thought.

"I thought that if you got angry with me, really angry... you would be more honest with me. That it would push you to speak your mind."

She nodded. She thought that was his goal.

"But I just... Gods, I don't know where that venom came from. I said some things that I wouldn't say to anyone."

"Yeah, calling me rotten like my father was pretty awful."

His eyes flinched, out of tears but still trying.

"Unforgivable. I can't explain enough how remorseful I am. I am going to regret that well after my death."

"I appreciate the apology. But honestly, given everything you know about me, it's going to take a while to forgive you."

He nodded, face drawn in deserved sorrow.

"But, for now, I would like to hold you. I really do want you to sleep well. One of us has to."

Another shot of guilt struck him. Pulling her by fingers up to his chest.

"Night terrors again?"

"Yep. The screaming one."

He didn't know the context of that nightmare but had held her in the aftermath of it.

"What... can you tell me...?"

She encouraged him to lay down, wrapping around his back. Nuzzling into his shoulder.

"When I've had that one," She kissed his shoulder. "Do I ever go for your hair?"

He paused in thought.

"Once. It was over quickly, but you..." He pantomimed a hand gripping into the back of his head.

Her own guilt ate her. Shuddering out a sigh.

"I'm sorry, baby."

He tried to turn to face her, but she held strong. Laying her temple into the curve of his neck.

"Just let me hold you."

"What I said... by all that is good in this world. I am-"

"Shhh, I know. You've groveled enough."

He huffed, unamused.

"I love you." She smiled.

"I love you. A thousand times over."

~

[sir-phineas-lost]

TDP Season 6

Well, I think I might be fully on-board with this show again.

Well, maybe not fully, but certainly more than I have been since season 2. The ever-present problem is the refusal to actually deal with the generational trauma and prejudice aspects of the story in a way that isn't wholly one-sided or shallow. Along with the usual amount of protagonist-centered morality.

Spoilers under the cut.

But! It has some of the best characterization of Claudia and Viren in the show so far. I especially love how they utterly subverted the preview scene that made me a little worried. I really wish there was more of Claudia here because I feel like we needed more scenes of her trying this new path before settling on her final decision for it to really land, but it still works.

Sidenote: The Rayllum-hater in me really likes "The Frozen Ship" but for all the reasons I doubt were intended. An episode that shows just how much this ship is built on fandom-expectations that the main boy and main girl are going to get together. Really obnoxious meta-jokes about how popular the ship is? Check! Reading a completely different love-story to spell out how the characters are feeling? Check! Literal stand-ins for the fandom moving them around like dolls going "Now kiss!"?? Check check check! And all the while it is juxtaposed with scenes of Claudia and Terry that are nuanced, somber, haunting and really intimate yet tasteful, all without a single word of dialogue? And you want me to care about that other garbage?!

And Soren in the final 3 episodes is at his absolute best. His anger and grief are all equally justified and he is more mature and grown-up than ever. And we got some really nice vindication for that mess of a season-3 finale. Not that I expect it to lead anywhere regarding Ezran reevaluating his decision. As awesome as it would be for him to get home to a ruined Katolis and be greeted by his people who now look exactly like the soldiers he triumphantly fought off before and get hit with the realization "huh, maybe that wasn't such a black and white conflict after all".

The final episode is all about Aaravos and it hits just about every note it needed to, without giving away every detail. But it certainly does the trick in explaining his motivation. And the reveal of what a Startouch elf actually looks like is so well done that it hits you like a truck to realize "Oh, they already gave that away long ago and we just didn't notice".

Only problem is that it is going to be even harder for me to not root against the main cast now that I know they will be working against the person who is trying to overthrow the entire unfair order of the world, which is the part of the story I am invested in.

Still. I am looking forward to seeing how this ends and while I doubt it will ever live up to the better version of this that lives in my head, or in some excellent fanfics, I hope it will be good.

[alpacaroni-and-cheese]

Leah and Fatin, A Journey of Forgiveness

Spoilers for The Wilds seasons 1 and 2 Trigger warning for brief mention of a canon suicide attempt. Be safe before you read <3

Throughout the first season of Amazon Prime's series, The Wilds, you could be forgiven for thinking that Leatin (or Latin, for the OGs) was a rarepair. A crackship, if you will.

They had some intensely homoerotic moments (wiping your own blood on your rival's face? I see you, Fatin) and some deeply important and emotional moments (see my previous essay), but for most watchers of the show, they weren't much more than semi-strangers to lowkey friends to bitter enemies to close friends.

But then season 2 came out.

Forgive me, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Let's go back to the beginning of the season.

Leah has pulled herself out of a man-made pit designed by the experimenters who are threatened by her. She's so desperately close to unravelling the whole sick and twisted game, she just has to show the others the pit, and then they'll believe her.

When she gets back to the beach, however, there's no time to go looking for the pit, triumphant and vindicated, because Rachel is dying. A large portion of her arm has been bitten off by a shark. She needs a hospital and trained professionals, but the best they have are antibiotics and an understanding that bleeding is bad. The open wound is cauterised and bandaged to within an inch of its life.

Did I mention all of this is happening while epiphany by Taylor Swift plays in the background? Soul destroying stuff.

Anyway, now that Rachel isn't actively dying, Leah can drag Fatin away to find the pit, but it's gone.

Leah can't believe it. She knows it was real, and she knows Nora put her in there. She knows she didn't imagine it, but the proof is all gone. The truth has once again slipped through her fingers.

Fatin, on the other hand, is only growing more and more concerned for Leah. For some context, Leah's near-drowning experience only happened just a couple of days prior, so from Fatin's perspective, this could easily be a worsening of Leah's mental state. If she's hallucinated this pit, then she's quickly going to become a greater danger to herself and to the others. Fatin now not only has to especially worry about Rachel, but Leah as well.

And Fatin is tired. She's exhausted, and her threads are pulled taut, ready to snap.

The episode jumps ahead a little, just a few days, and we see that Leah is still searching for the pit. She's disappearing for hours at a time, under the pretence of doing something vaguely useful (like gathering wood for the signal fire) but returning with little to no real progress made.

Fatin notices all this, because of course she does.

She tries to convince Leah it was just a mirage, but Leah doesn't budge. She can't budge, because finding the pit is her only real way of knowing she hasn't completely lost it.

The group is moving camp from outside on the beach to inside the forest, so everybody is gathering up their stuff and moving it in-land. Leah's helping, sort of, but she's still lost in her spiral.

Leah believes that she needs answers, and the person who can best give her those answers is lost to the waves, presumed dead. So she goes for the next best thing, too caught up in her own monsoon of guilt, paranoia and unflinching desire to find the truth to realise that the answers she's trying to find are not as important as protecting Rachel's fragile heart and mind.

Before anyone can step in and stop the inevitable fracturing, she prods, and Rachel implodes.

All of the girls rush forward to Rachel. Some, like Toni, stand guard, facing Leah and warning her not to come closer. Others, like Shelby and Martha gently soothe and comfort Rachel, whose grief and guilt is on full display.

Fatin, however, is furious.

She grabs Leah and drags her to the cliffs, shoving her up against the cliff-face.

She snarls, teeth bared in anger. Leah causing hurt to herself was bad enough, but the escalation to hurting Rachel was a step too far.

Fatin bites, tearing into the soft, exposed underbelly.

"You take your delusions, and you take your theories, and you fucking bury them, now! And if you ever take them within 100 feet of Rachel again, I'll fucking kill you."

These words will haunt her, but she has a point. Leah was wrong for interrogating Rachel.

Confronted with the fact that she hurt Rachel, and exhausted of the ceaseless noise bouncing around in her head that something is wrong, Leah makes a decision. A bad one.

She overdoses. Later, she'll say she didn't really want to die, she just wanted to stop feeling.

We don't see the immediate fallout, episode 2 picks up a couple of days later. Leah is near-catatonic, lying on a bed of bamboo. Rachel is nearby, in a similar state.

Fatin, Toni and Dot sit together close by, and Fatin is tearing strips off clothing to make new bandages for Rachel.

Fatin is scared. More scared than she's ever been before in her life. She's filled with guilt, and wishing she didn't have to deal with this reality.

So she pretends that she doesn't care, because that's easier than facing her fear and her guilt. She knows, deep down, that despite her anger being righteous, she went too far.

"What matters is, she's alive, and she's finally fucking quiet."

Rachel, who is sick of being babied, and likely just a bit pissed off at Fatin's insensitivity, resolves to get Leah up and moving herself. To the surprise of all present, it works. Leah breaks out of her catatonia and stumbles after her.

They spend some time together, sharing a real, honest conversation. They've spoken to each other before, obviously, but this is the first time each one is sharing their true selves. No more facades of being a better person than they are, no more ulterior motives. Just Leah and Rachel.

They forgive each other, and themselves, forging an unbreakable bond.

They bring out in each other the first real joy they've felt in days, maybe even weeks (just look at their faces!).

Fatin sees Leah healing, and shares in her joy. Although, maybe now she's starting to have some revelations...

2x03 sees Leah and Rachel spending more time together. Their bond deepens, and the two characters who have been the most tense for the entire duration of the show, finally get to be relaxed.

"Well if I had one that counted the number of hours since my last neurotic thought, I would be at like, a hundred."

They gather bamboo to make repairs for the beds at camp, when Leah realises something. They can make instruments out of the bamboo.

Multiple hours of practice later, they arrive back at camp, proudly holding their crudely-but-lovingly-made instruments.

They play Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. It's a little off-key ("She's flat, but fuck me.") but the heart is there, and soon everyone is singing along.

Martha is dancing, Rachel and Dot are singing their hearts out, and Toni and Shelby are busy making googly eyes at one another.

And Leah?

Well, she makes her way over to Fatin.

She sings, "Home is whenever I'm with you," while cradling Fatin's face in her hands. Fatin melts, understanding the message, and falling even further in love.

In a tumultuous, traumatic time of their lives, filled with misery, guilt, shame, fear, depression, anxiety, paranoia, and bone-deep exhaustion they'll probably never fully recover from, this one simple gesture says everything.

I heard all you said. I felt your teeth tear my weary flesh. I bled from your wounds, but that's over now. I understand why.

I forgive you.

[rose-tinted-vision]

obligatory 'hey what the fuck, post-canon allowing character A to grieve as they should have in the drama' fic

Fic: 往事流转在你眼眸 | the past flows in your eyes

Relationships: Xiao Heng & Wen Ji, Xiao Heng & Lu Ji, Xiao Heng/Xue Fangfei

spoilers for the ending of The Double (墨雨云间) | edited because I shouldn't be allowed to write at 3am

Xiao Heng stares at the dead body of General Dai, and feels nothing. He feels no sense of triumph or vindication, just a gaping sense of emptiness, of loss.

He had only been able to soldier on, push through the last few days of war because he had Wen Ji and Lu Ji at his side, had been able to confidently raze through the battlefield because he knew that they would be watching his back.

Now, he was alone.

Alone, just as he was a decade ago.

Perhaps even more so than back then.

He picks up the jade token from A'Li– with its rope broken, he had no way else to reattach it– he holds it with his teeth instead, and lets the cold fury consume him as he charges to meet the next wave of Dai soldiers.

Xiao Heng would survive this war. He had to survive this war, in order to bring Wen Ji and Lu Ji back home.

—

Xiao Heng guards their bodies all the way home.

He carries out their funeral rites himself– as their employer, their friend, their brother– they had no other family members. It had always been the three of them, building the reputation of Duke Su from the ground up, all while avoiding the corrupt officials together.

“I'm sorry,” Zhao Ye mutters, rounding his desk to stand in front of Xiao Heng, who had arrived to present his report to the Emperor, “I never expected…”

“Don't get emotionally involved,” Xiao Heng laughs bitterly, “isn't that what you said?”

“They weren't pawns!” Zhao Ye snaps, his eyes flashing angrily as he whirls on Xiao Heng. And if this were anywhere but the Emperor’s private office, if they hadn’t grown up together, if Zhao Ye didn’t know how much they had meant to him, he would likely have gotten sentenced for talking back to the Emperor. Instead, he just stares blankly at his friend, numb to the rage written all over his face.

“They were. What else would you call risking their lives to carry out our dirty work? They knew it too, but they didn't care.”

Zhao Ye deflates with a shaky exhale, his anger gone as quickly as it came, and he places a comforting hand on Xiao Heng’s shoulder.

It felt anything but comforting. It felt like the hand of someone who sent them to their deaths– 

“At least they went together,” Xiao Heng forces out, and it takes all of his self-control not to shake the hand off, “Wen Ji always said that if they died in battle, at least he would have a companion in hell.”

(He doesn’t know why he said that, or why he had bothered to share anything with Zhao Ye, who he had taught to view others as chess pieces and the world as their playing board).

Zhao Ye wisely says nothing, silently bearing the brunt of Xiao Heng’s grief.

—

“They’re gone?” A'Li asks, her voice trembling, “what do you mean they're gone?”

Xiao Heng simply takes her into his arms, because he does not want to say it either, does not want to say those words that would cement their deaths in reality.

(He doesn't think he could bear the expression on his furen’s face right now– his A'Li had always felt death more acutely than others, had always grieved for people openly, and he doesn’t think he is ready to feel his heart shatter again).

“Oh, Xiao Heng,” she mutters, burying her face into the crook of his neck as she breaks down, hands fisted in the back of his robes.

And that was all he really needed to let go, apparently.

For the first time in a month, Xiao Heng finally lets go of the restraint on his emotions, letting the grief overtake him as he cries in the security of his furen's arms.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ten

“Nyke jiōragon rhēdan lo nyke istan ao.” I’d get started if I were you.

Watching her deliver blow after blow to Aegon was a sight to behold. Each punch, each kick resonated like a symphony of beautiful music to his ears. The sound of Aegon's cries mingling with the impact of Maera's strikes created a macabre melody that filled the air, and every splash of blood seemed to paint a vivid tableau of retribution.

Despite the violence unfolding before him, Aemond couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction wash over him. Duty and loyalty to his family, as well as his affection for his mother, had restrained him from taking such action himself. But witnessing Maera exact justice upon Aegon, the woman bound to him through prophecy, felt like the ultimate vindication.

In Aemond's mind, Aegon was unworthy to rule. While the crown may have been his by birthright, Aemond saw himself as the true heir, possessing the temperament and skill that Aegon sorely lacked. Aemond embodied everything Aegon was not: strength, intelligence, and a sense of duty to his family and his realm. Seeing Maera deliver Aegon's comeuppance only reinforced Aemond's conviction that the crown rightfully belonged to him. With his queen by his side.

Watching her reach for her dagger beneath her skirts, Aemond knew instinctively that it would be a step too far. Despite the monstrous nature of Aegon's actions, he was still his brother, and moreover, the King. He couldn't shake the image of his mother's tears for the late Prince Lucerys, and the thought of her grief if he stood idly by and watched his brother be murdered was unbearable. With a sense of urgency, Aemond approached Maera and forcefully yanked the dagger out of her hand. She was furious, her rage clouding her judgment in that moment, likely fueled by her Targaryen heritage and the intensity of the situation.

When the door began to jiggle, signaling the imminent arrival of guards, Aemond acted quickly. Without hesitation, he seized Maera and dragged her towards the concealed tunnels, determined to prevent them from being caught. Despite her resistance and continued struggles, Aemond remained resolute, his focus unwavering as he sought to extricate them from the volatile situation, sparing a fleeting glance back at Aegon's beaten form before disappearing into the shadows of the passageways.

Dragging Maera through the secret corridors, he navigated the labyrinth with ease, their walls adorned with ancient stone carvings and flickering torches casting dancing shadows upon the damp stone floors. These passages were familiar to Aemond, known like the back of his hand, having studied them since he was a child—a pursuit that Aegon had never bothered to undertake. Unlike his brother, who only knew the passageways to his chambers and the exit of the Keep, Aemond had explored every nook and cranny, mastering the intricate network of hidden pathways that wound their way beneath the Red Keep.

Reaching a more open passageway with a dim flicker of light filtering through a distant opening, Aemond stole a moment to observe Maera. She was still breathing heavily, her hands pressed against her thighs as she attempted to steady herself. The lingering effects of anger and adrenaline left her trembling, and Aemond couldn't help but find her vulnerability endearing.

Noticing that she had yet to fully settle, Aemond gently grasped Maera's chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze. He drank in every detail of her features: the depth of her forest green eyes, the gentle slope of her nose, the rounded reddened cheeks flushed with exertion, and the slight purse of her lips as she endeavored to sync her breathing with his own. In that intimate moment, as their eyes locked in silent understanding, Aemond knew they were one of the same, two sides of the same coin. Meant to be.

As Maera eventually calmed down, her initial rage giving way to a more subdued demeanor, she unleashed a barrage of critical words laced with sarcasm directed at Aemond. “Was that too much for you to stomach, my Prince?”

Despite her biting remarks, Aemond struggled to hide a smirk, finding amusement in her fiery spirit even in the midst of turmoil. "Oh, forgive me, Lady Maera, but I couldn't just stand by and allow you to kill the King," he scoffed, his one eye narrowing in disapproval.

However, when the gravity of what she had done to Aegon dawned upon her, Maera's demeanor shifted once again. Instantly, she turned her blame on Aemond, accusing him of allowing her to take her vengeance too far. Aemond couldn't help but jest in response, attempting to lighten the mood, yet when he saw the worry etched in her eyes, he reassured her with a solemn promise—he would not let anything happen to her. After all, she was his, bound to him by the gods.

Their moment of reassurance, however, was short-lived, as she began to frantically pat at her chest, causing Aemond to raise his brow. "What's wrong?"

"It’s gone," Maera replied, her voice tinged with panic. "My necklace, my mother's necklace."

Aemond's posture stiffened at the implication— if evidence of her presence was found in Aegon's room, it would mean grave consequences for Maera, potentially leading to the executioner's block.

Despite Aemond's reassurances that they would find the missing necklace, Maera seemed resigned to her fate—death at the end of a sword. With a heavy heart, she tossed the remaining piece of her mother's necklace down the dark tunnel, hurt evident in her green eyes. Then, without a word, she stormed away, leaving Aemond to chase after her, his pleas falling on deaf ears as she refused to respond, fleeing from him.

In the days that followed, Aemond searched tirelessly in Aegon's chambers, scouring every inch in a desperate attempt to find the missing piece of Maera's necklace, but his efforts proved fruitless. Meanwhile, Maera isolated herself in her rooms, refusing to spar with him at dawn and rejecting any visitors who sought her company.

However, one day as Aemond traversed the passageways, a glint of metal caught his eye. Rushing towards it, his heart soared with relief as he discovered the missing piece of Maera's necklace lying abandoned on the ground. Though broken and tarnished, Aemond knew how precious the heirloom was to her, and he could only imagine the regret she must have felt in her moment of frustration when she cast it away.

Pocketing the small golden chain, a sudden angered voice through the walls drew Aemond’s attention upward. Intrigued, he followed the sound through the winding corridors until he reached a door. Opening it, he found himself in the Small Council chambers, with his elder brother Aegon ranting and raving near the grand table.

The cuts and bruises on Aegon's face were still dark shades of blue and purple, a stark reminder of the violence inflicted upon him. It brought to mind the state his sister, Helaena, had been in after Aegon's attack, serving as a grim testament to the justification of Maera's actions. Opposite the pacing King stood Lord Commander Criston Cole and the Hand, Lord Otto, who were attempting to placate Aegon, their efforts proving futile in the face of his fury.

"I'm going to kill her. I'm going to fucking kill her!" Aegon's voice reverberated with rage, his fists clenched in fury.

Aemond closed the secret door behind him, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Gods, I thought something had actually happened from all that screaming." He cast a wry glance at Lord Otto and Ser Criston, who looked relieved at his arrival, grateful for the assistance.

"Don’t tell me one of your whores has given you an ailment again," Aemond quipped, his tone laced with sarcasm as he addressed his older brother.

Aegon's anger was palpable as he stormed towards his younger brother, jabbing a finger into Aemond's chest with each word. "Maera. Fucking. Wylde."

The one-eyed Prince felt his heart stop. Surely Aegon had not actually seen Maera do this to him? And if he had, did the King know his own brother bore witness, and even encouraged, the attack? A surge of apprehension washed over Aemond, but he maintained his composure. "What about her?" he inquired calmly, meeting Aegon's gaze evenly.

Aegon stepped back, gesturing dramatically to his battered and bruised face. "She did this to me!" The King's accusation hung heavy in the air as he turned to address Lord Otto and Ser Criston. "She made her way into my room and did this to me!" His voice cracked with indignation, seeking validation for his outrage.

As Aegon's accusation hung in the air, there was a palpable silence from the Lord Commander, while the Hand of the King emitted a silent scoff, betraying a hint of disbelief. Aemond noted their apprehension to contradict their king, but he remained resolute, prepared to deceive and undermine if necessary.

"Absurd," Aemond asserted, shaking his head incredulously. "Have you been indulging in the herbs and spices of Flea Bottom again?" His tone carried a hint of disbelief, a subtle attempt to cast doubt on Aegon's accusation.

"I know it was her," Aegon growled in response, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

Aemond simply crossed his arms, adopting a stance of skepticism. "How?" he pressed, his voice laced with curiosity.

Aegon reached into his pocket and produced a golden chain adorned with sapphires—the missing half of Maera's necklace. Ser Criston's eyes widened in recognition, and Lord Otto let out a gasp of astonishment. Aemond, however, tensed his jaw, his mind racing as he realized the gravity of the situation.

The discovery of the necklace provided damning evidence against Maera, placing her in imminent danger. Despite the mounting pressure, Aemond knew he had to remain composed, unwilling to give anything away that could further jeopardize Maera's safety. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Aemond knew he had to tread carefully. "The King of the Seven Kingdoms was beaten to a bloody pulp... by a girl?" he remarked incredulously, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Aegon's frown deepened at Aemond's comment. “You think this is funny?!” he snapped, his anger flaring.

Aemond attempted to hide a smirk, choosing instead to redirect the conversation. “Not at all, brother. I’m merely speculating what the Realm would think if this became public knowledge,” he replied smoothly, his tone measured.

Ignoring Aemond's jest, Aegon turned his attention to the Lord Commander, his command ringing through the room. “Take her head.” A sense of urgency washed over Aemond as he locked eyes with Ser Criston Cole, silently pleading for restraint.

Ser Criston himself seemed hesitant, attempting to reason with the King. “We still need the fleet she possesses, my King,” he interjected, his voice strained with caution.

Aegon laughed dismissively. “If she is dead, there will be no heir, will there? Then we can have it anyway,” he declared callously, his determination unwavering. Aemond's expression hardened at the King's words, his mind racing as he contemplated their next move in the face of Aegon's ruthless decree.

In the midst of the charged atmosphere, the Hand's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "A king who executes his own subjects will not win the love of his people," Lord Otto interjected firmly, his posture reflecting years of experience and wisdom.

Aegon's response was swift and resolute. "It will win me their fear," he declared, his voice tinged with unwavering determination.

A weary sigh escaped Lord Otto, his expression betraying a sense of concern. "You need both fear and love to rule, Aegon," he reasoned, his words carrying the weight of caution.

Aemond shook his head to himself at his grandfathers words, his mind filled with a litany of unspoken criticisms. A good king needed to possess strength, intelligence, and a deep sense of duty—qualities that Aegon glaringly lacked. Aegon’s selfishness and lack of interest in his birthright contrasted sharply with Aemond's dedication to their family and the realm.

Aegon’s debauchery and irresponsibility stood in stark opposition to Aemond's discipline and strategic mind. Aemond saw himself as a protector of the Targaryen legacy, someone who valued honor and possessed the will to lead with both justice and ruthlessness where necessary.

If the witch had been correct, Aemond mused, Maera by his side would be the catalyst for a formidable rule. Together, they could command the love and fear of the people, securing their loyalty and respect. Maera’s fierce spirit and his unwavering determination would complement each other, bringing forth a great dynasty that would restore the Targaryen name to its former glory. Aemond envisioned a future where their combined strengths would usher in an era of prosperity and power, a legacy that would be remembered for generations.

As the room fell into a heavy silence, Aemond seized the opportunity to present his case, his voice cutting through the stillness with clarity and resolve. "I believe I have a solution."

The King, the Hand, and the Lord Commander turned their attention to Aemond, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, awaiting his proposal with bated breath.

"Give her to me," Aemond proposed boldly, meeting Aegon's gaze with an unwavering stare.

Aegon's scoff of disbelief rippled through the room, but Aemond pressed on, his conviction unshaken. "Marriage is the best way to secure alliances. And with the fleet as her dowry, we can match the Blacks at sea," he reasoned, his voice steady and persuasive. A glance at Lord Otto, the Hand, revealed a flicker of consideration in his eyes, hinting at the weight of Aemond's proposition.

However, Ser Criston, the Lord Commander, interjected with a furrowed brow, his concern evident in his tone. "Are you not already promised to a daughter of House Baratheon, my Prince?" he inquired, seeking clarity amidst the unfolding proposal. Aemond offered a reassuring nod, his confidence unwavering. "Daeron will take my place in the betrothal, so long as Lord Borros is in agreement," he explained calmly, earning a nod of approval from his mentor.

With all eyes now on Aegon, Aemond awaited his brother's response, though the soft smirk playing on Aegon's lips left him uncertain of its meaning. "Well, brother?" Aemond prompted, his gaze steady as he awaited Aegon's decision, the weight of their future alliances hanging in the balance.

His elder brother's expression was difficult to read, but the slow turning of the cogs in his mind was evident, and a devilish smirk soon crept onto his face. The sight of it made Aemond uncomfortable, a knot forming in his stomach.

Aegon's challenge cut through the air like a blade, his grin laden with mischief. "Are you that obsessed with getting your cock wet that your whore in Harrenhal is not enough for you?"

Aemond felt a surge of shock and indignation, his expression faltering at his brother's brazen accusation. The memory of Alys atop him surfaced, making him feel physically ill. Aegon's implication that Aemond derived some sort of sick pleasure from the situation was abhorrent. It was as if Aegon saw them as kindred spirits in their debauchery, a notion that Aemond found repulsive.

"How do you..." he began, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

"I am the King," Aegon declared slyly, his tone smug with authority. "No one even sneezes in this Realm without me knowing." Aegon took a step forward, his hand resting heavily on Aemond's shoulder. "And my, have I heard some tales about you and a whore in the Riverlands."

The one-eyed Prince clenched his jaw. Where Aegon indulged in reckless hedonism, Aemond sought discipline and purpose. His lying with Alys had been born of necessity and strategy, not depravity. The suggestion that he shared his brother's base instincts was an insult to everything Aemond believed about himself.

Aemond's gaze flicked sideways to the Lord Commander and the Hand, both men visibly uncomfortable in the face of the brothers' confrontation. Uncertainty gnawed at him, unsure whether their discomfort stemmed from the tension between him and Aegon or from the revelation of his tryst with Alys.

Unable to bear the weight of their scrutiny any longer, Aemond made a decisive move. "Leave us," he commanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

The Lord Commander and the Hand exchanged glances, hesitating for a moment before acquiescing to Aegon's silent nod. Bidding the Targaryens a respectful nod, they scuttled out of the room, leaving the brothers alone in the echoing chamber.

Once they were gone, Aegon chuckled silently to himself, savoring the tension between them. He turned and approached the long table in the middle of the room, reaching for the jug of wine in the center. With a casual grace, he poured the rich red liquid into two goblets, his chuckles lingering in the air like a mocking specter.

Aemond watched him, his eye narrowing as he took in his elder brother's appearance. Aegon's short, wavy silver hair framed his face, his violet eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and malice. His fine black and green garments, tailored to perfection, spoke of his royal status, but it was the conqueror's crown atop his head that drew Aemond's focus. The ruby at its center caught the light from the window, sparkling malevolently, almost as if the crown itself were mocking him.

When the King attempted to give his brother a goblet of time, Aemond’s frustration boiled over. "I cannot believe you," he muttered, his tone laced with disappointment and rage. "I am your brother. I am helping you hold the throne. I have given my life to our House and never asked for anything in return. Yet you stand there and insult me, and will not even grant me one request."

"A request, is it, Aemond?" Aegon snickered, placing down the goblet he had previously offered, his amusement evident in his tone. "I thought this was purely based on strategy and for the good of the Realm." Aemond clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening as he met his brother's gaze, determined to assert his rightful place and secure the future of their House, even in the face of Aegon's mockery.

"Tell you what," he began, his voice teasing as he swirled the wine in his own cup . "I will grant this for you if you admit this is not for the crown, but for yourself. That this is born of personal desire." Aemond's jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration crossing his features at his brother's persistent teasing.

But Aegon remained undeterred, putting down his goblet, clasping his hands together in mock prayer and batting his eyelashes dramatically. "Come now, brother. Your King demands it," he pleaded, his tone laced with amusement. Aemond hesitated, grappling with his pride, but on the brink of destiny, he found himself willing to set it aside for the sake of his desires. "I want her," he admitted grudgingly, his admission tinged with reluctance.

Aegon's grin widened ear to ear at the stoic Prince’s admission. "Fine," he declared, causing Aemond's eye to widen in shock. The King's giggle filled the room as he continued, "I will have a raven sent to Lord Borros immediately, and if he allows Daeron to take your place, you may have her." Aemond couldn't believe his ears, his disbelief evident in his expression as he processed the unexpected turn of events.

Approaching his brother, Aegon placed both hands on Aemond's shoulders with a dramatic sigh. "My little brother, gone soft," he teased, his words eliciting a cringe from Aemond. But Aegon pressed on, his tone brimming with amusement. "I am sure you will whip her into shape once you are married," he added, his words dripping with condescension. “Poor girl. Her cunny is probably aching from not being touched. No wonder she is so hysterical and attacked me. She doesn’t know how to control herself.”

Aemond gritted his teeth at Aegon's insults, his fists clenching at his sides. The hypocrisy in Aegon's words was glaringly obvious to the one-eyed Prince. Aegon claimed Maera was out of control, yet he was the very person who had attacked his own wife so brutally that Maera had felt compelled to exact revenge on him in Helaena's name.

And just a few months ago, Aegon had attacked Maera herself. He could still picture the bruises that had marred her forearms from the brute force of the King’s attempt to dishonor her, a vile act to satisfy his own twisted needs. The memory of her suffering and the sight of her injuries had fueled Aemond's anger then, and it did so again now.

Aegon, standing there in his regal attire with the conqueror's crown atop his head, spoke of control and decorum, yet he was the one who lacked it the most. Aegon's reign was a constant display of reckless hedonism and violence, unbecoming of a true king. And yet, he still wore the crown, the symbol of Targaryen might and legacy. This incongruity enraged Aemond to his core.

Yet, in that moment, he remained silent, unwilling to risk Aegon rescinding his decree. In a hushed voice, the King issued his final orders. "Keep a muzzle on her once she is yours and we will have no problem," he instructed, delivering a hard pat on Aemond's back before exiting the room, leaving Aemond to grapple with the weight of his brother's decree and the unsettling implications of his words.

The week before Maera was summoned before the court by the King, Aemond once again struggled to sleep. His mind raced with a storm of thoughts and emotions that kept him restless through the nights. Maera continued to isolate herself, refusing to receive visitors after attacking Aegon. Aemond didn't even attempt to see her, knowing he couldn't forewarn her of the King's decree, despite his overwhelming desire to do so. He chose to stay away, feeling it was the lesser of two evils.

The Prince felt a myriad of conflicting emotions. Guilt gnawed at him for what he had done to Maera’s family to secure her by his side. He was ashamed of his liaison with Alys and the fact that his brother had discovered it. But most of all, he felt a deep-seated fear. He had not known fear since before he lost his eye, and now it clawed at him relentlessly.

This fear was not for the future, for he trusted that the Gods had a great plan for him. It was a fear born from Aegon's decree for Maera’s death. The prospect of losing her struck a chord within the stoic one-eyed Prince. It was a fear of losing Maera ever again, whether it be through her death, her departure, or her refusal to marry him. It was deeply personal and unsettling, born from a profound need for her presence in his life. It made him feel vulnerable and weak, emotions he hated but also paradoxically welcomed.

The intense and undeniable connection to the Lady of House Wylde frightened him to his core, making him question his own strength and resolve. The thought of a life without her was unbearable, and the uncertainty of her reaction to their betrothal left him feeling more exposed than any battlefield ever could. This fear, intertwined with his need for her, created a dissonance within him, making him both desperate and determined to possess her for his own, in order to protect her and ensure their destiny was fulfilled.

Then the day finally came. Aemond awaited the arrival of the Wyldes in the grand throne room, standing beside the formidable Iron Throne with his family. The throne room itself was a vast hall, with high vaulted ceilings supported by massive stone pillars. Rich tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen adorned the walls, their vibrant colors muted by the dim light filtering through the narrow windows. The floor was a mosaic of dark stone, polished to a sheen that reflected the flickering torchlight.

A large crowd of courtiers filled the room, their murmurs creating a low, persistent hum of anticipation. Nobles and knights, all clad in their finest attire, had gathered to witness the King’s decree. The tension in the air was palpable, with eyes constantly shifting between the Iron Throne and the entrance.

Seated upon the Iron Throne was Aegon, the Conqueror's crown perched arrogantly on his head. His violet eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and malice, and a smirk played on his lips as he awaited the proceedings. The throne, forged from a thousand surrendered swords, loomed ominously, its twisted metal and jagged edges a stark reminder of the power it represented. Aegon lounged with a casualness, one hand resting on the armrest, his posture exuding a sense of ease.

Aemond stood tall beside his grandfather Lord Otto, his gaze fixed firmly ahead, though his mind was a maelstrom of thoughts. His mother, the dowager Queen, stood nearby, her face regal and composed as always. Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was a silent, stoic presence, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

As the grand doors at the far end of the hall swung open, the room fell silent. All eyes turned to watch as the castle guards announced the arrival of the Master of Laws and his daughter, the Jewel of Rainwood, Lady Maera. Aemond watched as Maera walked beside her father through the throne room towards them, her presence commanding attention despite her apparent trepidation. She was dressed in her usual attire of turquoise and gold, her defiance evident in every stride she took.

Though her face was flushed with fear and her eyes wide with apprehension, when she stood before the Iron Throne, she glared defiantly at Aegon, offering him only a begrudgingly small curtsy. Even in the face of punishment, she refused to be broken. As the King toyed with Lord Jasper and his daughter, Aemond observed with a mixture of disdain and disgust. Aegon seemed to take pleasure in watching them squirm beneath him, reveling in his power to control the rise and fall of a House with a mere flick of his wrist. It was a display of cruelty that sickened Aemond, yet he remained outwardly composed, his features betraying none of the turmoil within.

It was evident that Maera and Lord Jasper had been expecting a dire outcome from these summons, their nervous energy palpable in the air. Yet as Aegon continued to speak, Lord Jasper's posture gradually relaxed, and Maera's agitation only seemed to grow.

When he was satisfied with the entertainment he provided himself with, Aegon then interlaced his fingers and rested them beneath his chin, adopting a casual yet commanding posture. "I would like to propose an offer of marriage," he announced with a glint of mischief in his eye, "between my brother, Aemond, and Lady Maera, elevating her to the esteemed title of Princess of the Realm."

The one-eyed Prince felt her heart pounding in his chest as gasps of surprise and intrigued murmurs rippled through the assembly like a gentle wave. Whispers of alliances and implications filled the air as the courtiers exchanged knowing glances and furtive gestures.

Though Lord Jasper attempted to act diplomatically and cite a previous pact Aemond had made with House Baratheon, Aemond could see the excitement gleaming in the Master of Laws' eyes when Lord Otto declared that the matter had been resolved. The prospect of securing such a valuable alliance seemed to outweigh any concerns Lord Jasper may have had about his daughter's happiness.

Aemond's one-eyed gaze landed on Maera, who appeared frozen in shock, her expression unreadable. Aemond couldn't discern how she felt about the news, which only added to his unease. He longed to know her thoughts in this moment, to understand what she truly desired amidst the political machinations of their family.

As he watched Lord Jasper drag his daughter to the floor with him as he kneeled, thanking Aegon for his generosity, Aemond stifled an eye roll. He had little interest in the opinions of the Master of Laws, but he was desperate to know what Maera was thinking in this pivotal moment. Her silence spoke volumes, leaving Aemond grappling with uncertainty and apprehension about the future that lay ahead for them both.

The King noticed the Lady’s apprehension, and used this to provoke her further. "Is there anything you wish to ask of me, dear sister?"

Aemond watched a shudder of disgust go through Maera’s body, but she hid it well from the eyes of the court. The silence stretched on as he intently studied her face, as if she was still processing what was happening, her expression a complex mix of emotions that he struggled to decipher.

Unexpectedly, Maera's gaze then met his own, her forest green eyes locking onto his with a fierce intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. In that moment, he felt ensnared by her gaze, drawn in by the depth of emotion he saw reflected there, like a mountain pool of a forest

"Is this what you want, my Prince?"

When Maera addressed him directly, instead of addressing the King first, Aemond felt a surge of anticipation mixed with apprehension. Her question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications, and Aemond knew that his response would carry weight not only with Maera, but with the entire court as well.

He maintained a diplomatic facade, his tone carefully neutral as he replied. "I shall do as my King commands, for the sake of the Realm."

His words may have appeared cold in the eyes of the court, but Aemond was determined to appear indifferent to Maera's presence. He understood all too well that she was not only his greatest strength, but also his greatest weakness. If their enemies were to perceive the depth of his feelings for her, they would undoubtedly seek to exploit it. Aemond could not bear the thought of Maera becoming a pawn in their political games, and so he masked his true emotions behind a veil of detachment, even though he yearned for her deeply.

With the match agreed to and a wedding date set, Aemond felt a sense of anticipation building within him. Each step brought him closer to uncovering the grand plan the Gods had in store for him, and with Maera by his side, he felt as though he was finally stepping into his rightful place in the world.

As Lady Maera and Lord Jasper departed, words of congratulations were offered to the Prince for the match. Aemond met these words with his usual stoic demeanor, but inwardly, he couldn't contain the surge of happiness that flooded through him. It was a feeling akin to the triumph he had felt the day he claimed Vhagar as his own, but even greater in magnitude. Finally, after years of waiting and striving, Aemond was on the cusp of attaining everything he had ever desired.

Notes: I had writers block and then the trailer dropped and gnhgnchdkfbfj!!!!!! Impatience is the word of the week in all aspects of my life and the new trailer is just adding to it!!

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[katarasmomsnecklace]

Someone was talking shit bout Katara again and I'm about to kill people

Warning LONG post sorry

EVERYONE always brings up the "then you didn't love her like I did" scene and you know what in Kataras angry vindicated righteous fury addled mind, that's how she feels

She heard Sokka say he can't remember their mom, that he can only see his YOUNGER sister when he tries to picture her

Katara is fucking fuming because she finally has a chance to hunt down the man that killed their mom and Sokka is trying to stop her and I'm sorry but Sokka CANT understand Kataras pain

While not outright stated, we know Katara knows why her mom died, she's known the whole time.

Her mom died in her place, that is something Sokka will never have to live with

Losing his mother obviously hurt him, duh I'm not going to devalue his trauma, but Sokkas trauma that gets explored in the show is not losing his mom, but his dad.

Another thing I hate is when people say, well Sokkas older so he spent more time with their mom, like way to fuck up your argument because you are saying their love of their mother can be objectively measured.

Also you're trying to tell me in a society dependent on gender roles Katara wasn't spending more time with their mother than Sokka yeah right.

Yall say she needed to apologize (which I completely agree with because at the end of the day it is an awful thing to say to your brother who while not impacted the same way was just as affected as you) but no one is saying Sokka needs apologize for making fun of Kataras waterbending (do yall not understand why she's so passionate about bending her mom DIED because Katara was a bender, Katara thinks she needs to prove that her mother's death wasn't in vain HER AND SOKKA ARE PARALLES Kataras trying to prove herself to their mom and Sokka their dad)

They are CHILDREN they deserve to talk about what they loved doing with their mom and how losing her hurt them differently.

Because they're kids, they can't grasp that grief is different for everyone. They were both so fucked up by her death but in almost opposite ways. Sokka represed that shit so hard it's insane please baby get therapy and Katara lives her life trying to ensure NO ONE forgets their mother's sacrifice.

Sokka forces himself to forget

Katara forces herself to remember

I wish Katara apologized because she was objectively wrong, Sokka did love their mom but he grieves differently. And once Katara returns she understands where Sokkas coming from. She was just angry he wasn't angry because she's a child and wanted to know her emotions and anger were valid but instead felt vilified by the person who was meant to understand.

I wanted to see Katara apologize to, because her and Sokka deserve to hug and cry and scream about how unfair the world is, they deserve to have a mother figure in each other (which they do, they basically raised each other) but I hate how yall say she's unforgivable for this.

Unforgivable really? Yall are too harsh on Katara, it was fucked up, like insanely fucked up but unforgivable?

I guess the point of this post was me asking yall to give Katara some slack especially yall Sokka stans cuz if you hate Katara for this I feel like you don't really get Sokka either.

Obviously they love each other and they love their mom they just have never had the incredibly difficult conversation about how her death still affects them.

Their relationship is everything to me, I just want Sokka and Katara to be happy 😭

[allykatsart]

This idea just crossed my mind, and I just had to ask your thoughts: What if in a continued storyline for the PK, he has to learn what his children had to go through? This thought came as I was thinking of the line, "No voice to cry suffering." He'd have to feel their pain without being able to speak out in resistance. Probably not a very good basis for a story but there's that idea out there now

Mortal Radiance AU

I've had this ask for awhile and I've been thinking about it passively.

There's a lot of ways one might continue this. Pale King learning about what Hollow/Ghost struggle with, what it means to be mortal, and learning what restitution means.

His conflicts with Radi would also be interesting. And there WOULD be conflict! The new gravedigger is not so nearly at peace as she may seem. She is grieving the death of her Seer and she is still so VERY angry at all she has lost. She's still learning to have empathy, she's still flawed and still growing all the same.

She is mortal, after all.

Pale King, too, is learning how it is to be brought down to earth. To no longer be a higher being, or a king at all. No one who knew him recognizes him now. He cannot claim a title that is no longer his, he has no voice to do so with. He is as his children were, no one and nothing in a world that has forgotten him. Pale King has yet to truly be humbled.

With his voice being gone, most of Radiance and Pale King's fights would be one sided. She would insult him, desperately longing for a fight, for her anger to be vindicated! But... She is denied. She cannot argue with him, cannot spiral into a rage to hide from the grief eating her up. He has already had everything taken from him, what other punishment could she possibly lay upon him?

Nothing that would change what has happened.

Slowly, she stops antagonizing him, and instead replaces her cruel words with helpful ones. She sees him struggling, and assists. She lets herself weep at the loss of her moth and slowly comes to accept it. And, in the end, she talks to the Pale King.

They are, in some way, the only thing the other has left.

They're the only ones who can truly understand what has happened to the other. It is not perfect, of course, but slowly Pale King stops treating her so coldy. Despite everything, there's a part of him that starts to understand her pain as well.

Then there's the Pale King's children...

Hollow would be conflicted, both wanting to see their father again, but also being terrified of the judgement. They have so many questions they cannot ask, so many things to apologize for that have no answer. Meeting their father would bring pain again...

Next, there's Ghost. Ghost visits the most regularly, mostly to check in on Radi. They seem to be less of a mystery to Radi, now that she understands them a bit more. She'll always make a drink for them if they come over. Sometimes Ghost will bring her new mourners looking for a grave. Often, she gives them what they're looking for.

And then there's Hornet.

Hornet who grew up too fast. Hornet who knew the secret of what the Pale King was. Hornet who protected this fading grave of a kingdom. Hornet who lost her mother..

Hornet's feelings on the Pale King are... Complicated. They get even more complicated now that he's back. Does she see him as a father? Or does she judge him for what he's done? Should she take what he's trying to do into account? Should she even acknowledge him? I don't think Hornet knows the answers to those questions and they would be overwhelming.

In the end, she wouldn't have anything to say to him. It's too much for her. Now, she has new people to protect, a new family to look forward to. And she will not let her father see her pain.

He loves her, though. Pale King, even in mortal form, cares about his daughter. The one child he got to keep. He doesn't understand why she shies away when the other two vessels seem fine with his presence. Then again, she's not a vessel. She's a child with emotions.

It's a messy situation. He wants connection to her, a connection that pains Hornet. She doesn't know how to explain it to him. Ghost and Hollow can't explain, even if they did understand. So, It would be left to the Radiance to try and meditate. To her immense displeasure.

[submitwittyblognamehere]

I am one again going insane about The Bifrost Incident (album by The Mechanisms (aka no-longer-immortal time traveling cyborg space pirate cabaret band, feat. hit podcast writer Jonathan Sims)) and all the complexity that's hinted at and expressed between Loki and Thor, specifically from Thor's perspective. That's it, I'm just thinking about Thor.

(long thoughts under the cut :3)

I'm thinking about what it means to have a friend and how it hurts to think you know her until one day she disappears. How could this have happened? Did she tell you her plans beforehand? Did she try to give you warning? Did you believe her? Had she whispered her desires to escape like a confession? Or worse, did she leave without so much as a "goodbye?" Do you play and replay your last conversations with her in your head, searching for codes and meaning that you can't ever be sure is there?

I'm thinking about what it means to lose someone, to feel absence in your chest like a cavity for years and years and years and.

I'm thinking about what it might mean to hold dear the memory of the one you're missing until she returns. And I'm thinking about how, when she returns, instead of a joyous reunion, her actions steal away someone else who was dear to you.

I'm thinking about how you've lost them both. She (because it is just "she" now, you can't even speak her name) is back---caught, more like, but your other is gone, and you hate her for it. There is no way to have them both. And now there is no way to have either of them. How could you be expected to forgive such an unconscionable and irreparable act? An inconsolable pain? You hate her so much for it that you can only feel vindication when she is executed. Did you feel vindicated? An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, but what is it like to feel as though you're the only one who can't accept that this happened?

I'm thinking about how the anger of betrayal (now, twice over) might feel, until your friend's enemy's death, and how you can expect that the very public exhibition of violence against her is the only closure you will ever receive.

Was she quiet at the gallows? Or did she plead and cry out her conspiracies, desperate for a listening ear? Did she beg for your help in the moments before her demise? Did you turn away from her, or did you watch until the life left her eyes? How could you stand it?

I'm thinking of how years may soften the sting of grief, but a dull knife can still wound.

I'm thinking of the years you spent alone, with only a fool as competent company.

I'm thinking of ghosts. I'm thinking of anger and mirth. I'm thinking about reflections and the face you saw on that damned train. Did you feel a brief moment of joy at her familiarity, or did you jump right to the impossibility of her presence? Did you feel any hope at reconciliation, or did that only come later after the last remnants of remorse had finally left you?

I'm thinking about how, head clouded with confusion and rage, you confronted the mastermind behind all of your frustration; and how in exchange for your effort you, too, were excommunicated.

I'm thinking about how priorities change in the face of tragedy; how unlikely alliances form in the most desperate of situations; how there is room for shared grief to be felt together, even as you and your new Ally put the past behind you.

I'm thinking about your decision to be the final one to confront the Mastermind.

I'm thinking about how, even after death, there is no room for forgiveness.

I'm thinking about how, even before death, there is still room for peace.

You stand and face the friend you no longer know; the friend you will now never forget. She faces you and you both understand that there is no more time to figure things out, there is only the violence that lies between you and the union you find in the middle.

I'm thinking about the many meanings of vengeance and love, of peace and honor.

I'm thinking about courage, ambition, fear, audacity, stubbornness, reason, determination, rage, frustration, loss, acceptance, sabotage, power, maliciousness, mourning, and strength.

I'm thinking about autonomy and how you were able to choose the way in which you ended things.

I'm thinking about friends. Was it enough?

[oldfangirl81]

Some have already touched on it but picturing the chaos social media would be during The Fall Of The House of Usher has me cackling.

Spoilers

• People trying to both do serious memorials for the dead after the orgy and make jokes about rich death from sexual misadventures.

• Then Camille dies at Victorine's place of work. So the quiet conspiracy folks who didn't think Perry's death was accidental start to make a louder noises online.

• Next comes the death of Leo. Half the siblings are dead in less than a week. Seemingly all unconnected although a lot say grief caused Leo's death. Hemsworth has to answer a lot of ridiculous questions once it comes out about the role the hammer had in Leo's mental breakdown.

Okay a lot of the next part comes from the idea that as Roderick gets closer to death the protections from Verna are fading to allow for consequences. So things could be hitting social media with much more attention than before. Like a veil being lifted from the world's eyes.

• When the details of the murder/suicide of Victorine come out people are truly horrified. But there are a few bloggers who get vindicated. Dupin wasn't the only person over the years who wrote and saw truth when nobody else did. There are lots of texts/tweets/Tumblr posts with "Dude, sorry I said you were crazy for thinking the Ushers were the devil incarnate. I just thought they were normal rich awful."

• Tamerlane's death sparks so many videos and posts on sex work, sex surrogacy, toxic fitness standards, etc. Her husband gets some support from the public but is also a big punchline in alt-right.

• The government conspiracy folks and the occultists have ended their online beef. They are in agreement that this is a deal with the devil coming due. They start fighting again as more deaths happen as to which Usher made the deal, a few even try to say it was somehow Annabell Lee's fault.

• The aftermath of Freddie's death is a lot of disbelief. And more people wondering if maybe there really was something supernatural at work. People use historical examples as proof it is just chaotic forces of the universe but others point out they can't prove those instances weren't supernatural too.

• Lenore dies and her AI is active but very clearly twisted and broken. Causing more genuine anger towards Madeline Usher. At least one of her classmates is online influencer who is heartbroken and engraged in equal parts.

• Madeline Usher's gravestone is never free from vandalism. Actually most of the Ushers graves are vandalized. Lenore's always has flowers. Someone tracks down where Annabell Lee is buried after more facts come out. They gofund a proper grave marker for her.

• Then someone finds the tape Dupin left. It gets uploaded online. Dupin never confirms the authenticity of it because he wasn't born yesterday. That leads to debates of those that believed it was supernatural all along and those convinced the tape is a fake.

• Still the world offline mostly just puts it down to tragedy mixed with rich people bullshit. It ends up being considered a thing like bigfoot or faking the moon landing.

[thesungod]

their theme is so inconsistent like at the beginning it feels clear, being who you are and accepting each other’s darkness, but the way its done is 😬 and then it switches up to being literally budget toa saying “well everything can change yk??? don’t stay in the darkness” but in a horrible fashion and they’re acting like this is what they’ve been trying to tell me in the past 400 pages when it ISNT dont LIE to ME

i don’t think EITHER of them was reading the book as they write they were just mashing words together bc im watching a book promo for it rn and rick’s saying that will likes nico bc he likes nicos ““darkness”” and how intrigues him and mark’s saying neither of nico or will wants to change that core part of the other. which explains away him in BOO trying to tell nico that nobody disliked him—being that will was projecting his own feelings about nico onto others—and also relates will to apollo even more with their need to reach out to outcasts and love them. but then they didn’t write that they literally wrote that will doesn’t like it and he wants to fix it. thats my STEP SON and they did that to him.

rick did not want to write this book at all, and mark probably projected their nico stanisms onto the other characters without justifying the stanisms. you can really tell when rick has a passion for writing something and when he could not care less. the subtle toa promo in one of the gorgyra scenes and apollo’s updated glossary—he wants you to read toa so bad he could not gaf about this book. and yet apollo is never mentioned positively like give him back to me.

speaking of mark i think this is just a consistent issue they have when writing. i read reviews of one of their books (anger is a gift) and some were very negative about the way the narrative made the protagonist the most righteous person ever and completely revolved around them. ifl that issue bleeds into this book as well.

i saw people (including the writers) say this book is darker than a lot of rick’s other books and i really need them to shut the fuck up; THO literally had kids tied up in crucifixes to be burned at the stake 😭

ok sorry for the ramble i see the letters tsats together and i go on a rampage

you absolutely ate this up!!

also laughing at you calling it “budget toa” because that’s exactly what i said to a friend about this book once. i felt almost offended over the authors trying to fit the “everyone can change!!” narrative last minute and make Nico the symbol of re-invention after five whole books of ToA. i was very “how dare you stand where he stood” about it which is childish but alas.

i’ve also mentioned several times how will and nico’s conflict in the book was not intriguing to read about because it was inconsistent. not to mention that according to the timeline they’ve been together for a year!!! an entire year!!! and the book still has Will acting #shocked that Nico, idk, likes darkness.

the Mary-Suing of Nico literally the worst thing to ever happen to me. i’m usually all for my faves winning, but that’s after they’ve been through the mortifying ordeal of losing, yk. and i get that Nico has been through a lot but the book was basically a 400-pages-long ass kissing and i couldn’t do it.

i couldn’t even feel particularly moved or vindicated by Bob pledging loyalty to him in the end because it wasn’t cathartic at all. i was like we get it dude lol

same with his “friendship” with Piper tbh. not everyone needs to like Nico😭 i would have totally loved it if the book had shown a friendship progress organically through their grief for Jason or common interests (even if just briefly narrated through a recollection!! i’m not saying we needed chapters of flashbacks or Piper as a third main), but Nico does not mention her once ever. they didn’t even like each other in HoO!! then at the end of the book he calls her and he is all like “of course she wouldn’t be angry at me for not calling after Jason died <3 she understands that grief is complicated <3”

my king Piper isn’t angry at you for not calling because she dgaf about you. why would she. who are you to her

another thing I’ll never get over re: Nico and Will’s relationship is how, per the book, Nico encouraged Will to come out and was the first one of the two to do so, when every. single. thing written about them in the Hidden Oracle suggests the opposite.

why the fuck is Nico so reticent and embarrassed about admitting to be Will’s boyfriend in the first book of ToA if it’s Nico who came out first? IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CAMP might I add?

because i get that coming out to someone doesn’t necessarily mean being comfortable coming out to everyone, but Nico announced his crush IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CAMP. and asked Will out. and Will wasn’t out at the time. so whyyyy is their dynamic on THO literally the opposite of this? with Will pushing Nico to be more open about their relationship while Nico plays coy? because Apollo is Will’s father? idk, maybe i guess😭

but it’s pretty obvious the change in the dynamic was established later on and that the impression we were supposed to have while reading THO is that Will was the one more comfortable and in tune with his sexuality. like, come on.

[searchingforserendipity25]

a cold midnight over hithlum, rain-damp and full of shivering, would have been sweeter than a dozen mild evenings under the stars of amanyar.

this was not a thing that ought to be said. still the freed thralls were very ungrateful, and sang it regardless. they did not love the land where they walked. valinor, made to house and keep the quendi, reached into them to ease their pains, and was denied.

defied. they had been defiant too long; it made no difference to them which of the powers it was that ruled their destiny, which traitors aligned with them.

only the grinding of one will to the other did they know, the constant strife, the lack of trust and the disdaining of it. anger so learned could not be easily shed, and must not.

the first time one of the returned noldor, scarred with the fetters of angband and branded in the face, looked king olwë's face as they knelt, making all the gestures morgoth had valued in abasement, and laughed and laughed at his horror and disdain - and then cringed, teeth bared, at the offer of a kindly hand -

the first time a kinslayer turned their back on the kin that remained behind. the grandchildren that refused to know their father's fathers, the mothers that closed all their doors, the daughters that disdained all the lore and sense in bride-prices and paternal laws.

estë of course did her best to ease pains and unrest, where unrest was pain, and lórien quieted many restless dream. some of the exiles did quit their bodies; but then their bodies had survived a great deal, and were too dearly bought at liberty.

there was a strange unity of purpose, where those born anew kept near to the newly returned by ship, and found a contract of strength in it. a thing less binding, nothing like fealties of old; yet true.

they went to finrod, dearly beloved, killed in the dark, though he gave the best of himself for love and estel - there were many friends of men, among those who sought him out.

and after him some went to aegnor, angrod, these children of the king made more willful than ever they had been. orodreth, most disillusioned, lost his love for following and being followed entirely; and fingon was much among the grey-elves and the miners of angband, for he knelt in repentance where they could not without falling to madness. but turgon his brother kept no ruler above himself, except for what he must for formality's sake, and even that was not lightly done.

aredhel went into the deep woods of oromë and dared him to combat.

naturally she lost; but a good defeat had been her goal, and with it she had affirmed a trade of some sort, of which none could quiet be certain. afterwards she held her own hunting band, outlaw riders, many ladies among them - amarië of the vanyar was with them, and they said a great white hound ran beside her.

they stewarded the forests in places that had not been so deep, perhaps; but then aman was made for the quendi, and must alter itself for them.

and then there was gil-galad.

gil-galad, of whom the fingers of harpers in tirion and valimar and the lands of the falmari sang, though they knew not the words, nor the king whose grief sank itself into the material of elven memory even across the sea.

early in the beginning of the third age, many exiles and returned, both grey-elves and noldor, sat themselves in a council of their own and over the course of many days invented and decreed a new language for themselves, not sindarin nor quenya, nor any of the languages of the avari, but a new thing altogether.

it was useless, of course, to suppose reconciliation would ever be a neat thing.

'at least there is no blood,' arafinwë said grimly, turning over the scroll.

for what little comfort that was! the characters of the new alphabet gleamed in fresh ink; there was no need for oaths or fealties, when language had ever been the truth at the heart of the quendi.

yet this was an healing, too. and indeed many of those that had remain found their choices vindicated. the city of the noldor, long theirs, was their entirely to their satisfaction.

the absence of princes proved most fruitful to many labours, and a great breathing clarity for those that stayed, such that many works that would not have been made, nor the source and course of their thinking valued were raised high, and always challenged.

for it was in the nature of arda, that in severance many things might flourish; though grief, too, may persist.

the stars were very bright and very near over aman. their light blinded a little, without the two trees to compete with it; and they were a little, and at times very much like eyes looking down, judging, gauging, watching with an watchfulness everlasting.

many freed thralls named themselves anew for the old places, however - that hithlum might never die, and its death never forgiven.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

When you take into account the conceit of Midnights being things that have kept her up at night, Vigilante Shitis so fucking funny, because who among us has not seethed and festered over someone who’s done us wrong and concocted elaborate revenge scenarios in our minds to vent our anger??

It’s such a hilarious and ingenious way of illustrating the anger she felt towards 🛴 by crafting it as this Cell Block Tango-esque takedown full of espionage, spilled secrets and comeuppance. Do I think Taylor actually dreamed up a scenario in which she had him tailed and submitted proof of his cheating to his wife and spilled his secrets to the FBI? Probably not although you never know with her lol. But the story is SO rich when you think about it, and all the scenarios she sings about detail different parts of her anger and the things she wish she could have done in the real world.

You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them Sometimes I wonder which one will be your last lie They say looks can kill and I might try -> Telling on him for the lies he spread about her (not just about the masters, but his likely involvement in the kimye shit)

I don't start it but I can tell you how it ends Don't get sad, get even So on the weekends I don't dress for friends Lately I've been dressing for revenge -> she didn’t start this war (eg snakegate, the fight over the masters) but she’s got the last word with her “name” being cleared years later and her rerecordings’ unprecedented success. Instead of wallowing in her grief over losing her work and her name at one point, she recalibrated and forged a path through the pain and worked night and day to reclaim her life.

Ladies always rise above Ladies know what people want Someone sweet and kind and fun The lady simply had enough -> she was sick of living up to everyone else’s standards for her and she upended her entire world to survive this mess. She was mad as hell and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.

It’s contrasted so chillingly with the imaginary (?) revenge fantasy, about selling him out to his ex wife and the FBI and the world for his white collar crimes (and drug use lol). Unfortunately it seems like that part didn’t come to pass irl lol, but the imagery of her telling on him to his wife and the cops and the world as payback for what he did to her is a stand-in for what really happened: his deceit was exposed, she was proven right re: the phone call and vindicated for her claims years before, he lost part of his power and status and reputation (and money with the resale of the masters), which probably cost him his marriage, while her career skyrocketed into the stratosphere even more furiously than had she not lost her masters he bought from right under her.

The song is saucy and campy and fun, but it does a really good job of crafting an allegory for the rage she felt about the situation and the payback she so desperately yearned for in the aftermath. And that is definitely something that would cause many a sleepless night indeed.

[misty-caligula]

A short post about DRUGS

The Doomcoming as a reference to It Chooses is such a specific choice, I think, because it was never resolved. I feel like some folk think it was like a non-sequitor, a sign of things to come but otherwise disconnected from the events that followed. But here’s a thought I’ve been having:

Here’s how a weird trip could have occurred if they were on, like, a camping trip. They go out, have some drugs, it goes places they didn’t expect, they go a bit wild, they come down, they wake up the next morning, feeling embarrassed, maybe a bit of pain and anger, maybe apologise to each other, pack up and go home. The whole thing is a ... blip on the radar of their lives, and tomorrow they’re back in Walmart, gossiping about celebrities.

But that’s not the situation here. There is no solid ground here, there’s nowhere to return to, and the Doomcoming is a fundamentally destabilizing episode.

When they hit the shrooms they have this transcendental experience. The core cult lay around and connected to each other, and with The Wilderness. Travis, Jackie, Misty, Ben and Natalie are all absent, and Javi doesn’t get into it, but the rest of them spend a lot of time in this ... space. Lottie has her premonition that Something Is Coming and that they’ll be fed soon, and then ... well you saw it.

But the day AFTER, when they wake up sober, they do not forget the experience. Mushrooms do not wipe your memory, you don’t get blacked out like alcohol. If you tried you could recall with a lot of specificity what happened, and what you were thinking. And the connections that people make while tripping are often ... lasting. People wake up the next day and change their entire fucking lives around, it happens.

So they wake up, and they’re a bit embarrassed, a bit overwhelmed, but NOBODY apologises. Nobody says “Man that was ridiculous and dumb.” There’s a moment, a tiny sliver of a moment, when Ben tells them what’s up, and they turn on Misty that they might have all decided that it was just a huge silly waste of time but then... the bear turns up.

That timing, that specific series of events, just completely vindicates not only Lottie as divine, but also the entire night of the Doomcoming as being... legitimate. Like, the part of them that’s still attached to the outside world (the part that’s getting weaker every day) knows what drugs are, knows how they work... and they know, in theory, to distrust it. But simultaneously... We’re also primed to look at drugs as a spiritual tool. For many thousands of years people have been using drugs to get attached to the supernatural. And in the Doomcoming they felt the connection. They felt what Lottie feels. And then, completely stone cold sober, they saw the proof.

So, when It Chooses comes around, they don’t NEED the drugs. They KNOW what to do, they’ve had the dress rehearsal. It’s harder sober, but the memory of the connection is there, is personal, and once the adrenaline hits, it’s familiar, and it’s Real.

It makes me think of the bacchanal. The way that their hunger, their grief, the weird spiritual randomness of the moment, culminated in an event they’d never have planned, and the way that they approached it as a manic banquet. Like they barely realised what they were even doing once they broke the taboo. It makes me think how vast the gulf is between that and what happened to Pit Girl, how calm they are, how Aware they are. The bacchanal got them through it the first time, as the drugs got them through the Doomcoming. In S2E9 I’m expecting... something much colder, much more ... deliberate. Aware.

[tobiasdrake]

My heart breaks for both Okoye and Ramonda in their confrontation.

This is so hard to even talk about. I don't think firing Okoye from the Dora Milaje was the right call but I fully understand where Ramonda is coming from. She is right to be livid, to feel wounded and ignored, and to also be resentful of the way the Dora Milaje betrayed her in the previous film.

Ramonda is making an emotionally charged decision in a moment of intense grief that could have been avoided had Okoye listened to her from the beginning. And I don't think it's the right decision. But it feels wrong to call it an "overreaction" because that devalues her real and valid anger. It's an entirely justified level of reaction.

"I am queen of the MOST POWERFUL NATION IN THE WORLD and my ENTIRE FAMILY IS GONE. Have I not given everything!?" This is one of the most emotionally powerful lines in the entire MCU, made even stronger by its incredible delivery.

It's just. It's so hard to agree with where the decision that her entirely justified reaction leads her to make. It's not helped by the fact that Okoye will ultimately be vindicated for taking Shuri into the field. She wasn't wrong to point out that Shuri has made no process in dealing with her grief after a year of hiding away in her lab and that something else should be done with her instead.

Okoye's decision to take Shuri out there has set her on the path to finally confronting her grief and moving forward. But those aren't the facts in evidence at this time. At this time, the facts in evidence are that Shuri is either dead or a prisoner of a country that has declared itself potential enemy to Wakanda. And she didn't have to be.

Okoye took a risk, and that risk ended with the Princess of Wakanda locked away in an enemy state's dungeon. That's a pretty nasty screw-up no matter which way you slice it.

The drama of this scene is intense. Nobody here truly feels like they're in the wrong, and yet the outcome itself feels wrong nonetheless. That's powerful writing, right there.