#very different kind of war going on there

[demigod-shenanigans]

Anyway have some Leo and Esperanza thoughts set in a universe where she’s alive:

-Definitely knew Leo was bi before he told her. This kid is not able to be subtle about his crushes ever 

-She was the first person Leo ever came out to. Just hugged him for ages and kissed his head and told him he’s perfect exactly how he is and she’s always going to love him no matter what 

-They Iris message almost daily when Leo first gets to camp. He’s so excited when he makes his first friend and gets to introduce her to Piper. Leo and Piper met in this universe because they were the oldest out of the kids claimed right after the Titan war and arrived at camp at the same time and they just clicked immediately 

-Let’s say in this universe Gaia doesn’t wake and Leo and Piper just sort of find an injured Jason on a mission by coincidence (make that “coincidence” because someone (Juno) decided it was time to mend the rift between camps and having CHB nurse one of the Camp Jupiter praetors then return him to his own camp unharmed was a good starting point)

-Jason stays at CHB for a while for diplomatic reasons and they properly become friends

-Esperanza definitely side-eyes Jason when he visits them for the first time because at first glance he gives off similar vibes to some of the football player kids who’ve bullied Leo before and she is Concerned but Jason withers so fast under her gaze that she ends up concerned for a completely different reason 

-Jason scrambles to try and tell her all the reasons why he thinks Leo is the most incredible person ever actually and yeah it turns out she really likes this kid (though she’s starting to get increasingly worried about what his home life looks like if some light glaring has him this rattled)

-He loves her cooking (but not as much as Leo’s. He’d never tell her that though)

-She doesn’t push Jason to talk about his home life or family but makes it very clear that he’s free to stay over whenever he wants. Fundamental mom instinct to wrap that boy in a blanket and make him hot cocoa.

-Esperanza is Jason’s first encounter with an adult that’s genuinely kind and caring towards him and he’s really really shocked about it. Like worrying amounts. He needs her to like him or he Will Die actually, especially because that’s Leo’s mom

-Esperanza definitely picks up on the vibes between Jason and Leo before Jason and Leo do. This isn’t even her being especially perceptive they’re just incredibly obvious and also idiots (I say this with affection)

-One summer Leo Iris messages his mom randomly in the middle of the day beaming but will not tell her what’s up. For like fifteen minutes he’s just smiling and fidgeting away talking about a whole bunch of nothing at all until she grins and asks “did you finally ask Jason out” and Leo just looks at her gobsmacked because he has no idea how she could have possibly figured that one out

-Jason tries to learn Spanish in parts to impress her and he is So Bad At It at first. She thinks it’s really sweet and is very encouraging (unlike Leo who just makes fun of his boyfriend for his shit pronunciation)

[demaparbat-hp]

I didn't know Katara also had silver marks on the Kintsugi AU. How did you come up with that idea? Is it an in-universe cultural thing? If it is, is it exactly the same as Zuko's or does the Water Tribe have their own beliefs around it?

Sorry if I'm asking too many questions, I just really love how your mind works when it comes to these AUs 💖

Hello, and thanks for asking!

Initially, Kintsugi was a strictly Fire Nation tradition. Something to hold over the rest of the nations, and deepen their own belief of cultural superiority. Zuko hiding his scars played into that idea, since having gold inlaid in your body is a clear sign of Fire Nation blood—furthermore, High Fire Nation blood.

That being said, one lovely anon gave the suggestion that perhaps the other nations also have their own kinds of Kintsugi, and I fell in love with the idea. @ican-fixitbooks went even deeper into the particular philosophies of each nation regarding Kintsugi. I'll be using some quotes from them—watch for the italics.

It was during said brainstorming session that I thought of Katara having a silver Kintsugi scar, and how could it be used to enhance the themes of ATLA, Katara's arc, and this AU as a whole.

But a little background is necessary, I believe.

Kintsugi is a tradition practiced worldwide, with minor differences in philosophy/technique according to each nation.

The Earth Kingdom seal their scars with a substance that resembles bronze, as the mentality of breaking yourself down to build yourself back up better than you were is very central to their culture. It is used as a way to celebrate one's victories, made all the better if damage was taken to achieve it.

The elite have rather different views on this practice. They believe themselves to be above such things. That which is broken must be hidden away, which has interesting connotations when thinking about a certain blind earthbender.

The Air Nomad philosophy leans towards a naturalist approach. Anything natural doesn't need to be "improved" in their eyes. If a scar is there, it is there. Let it be there as a part of you, no different than any other, no need to be "made better", but in fact better to just "be".

Kintsugi is a cultural practice meant to celebrate making something beautiful out of something broken, arguably even making it better than it was. During Sozin's reign and forward, Kintsugi became a way to show the Fire Nation's superiority. Especially as that is essentially their philosophy for war: "Breaking the rest of the world so it can be reforged in fire, made a better, more perfect place."

As for the Water Tribes, there's the healing factor to take into account. The Northern Water Tribe isolated itself from the rest of the world once the war began, so they hold tight to their traditions and beliefs. If something is not broken, then why attempt to fix it? Kintsugi is scoffed at in the North—it is a foreign practice, one that is not necessary when all your wounds can be healed with bending.

However, the Southern Water Tribe has been exposed to the world. They have seen war. They have lived through it. They have suffered, but they are also free because of it, if only in spirit. The South is strong and proud and bold, so it comes as no surprise that silver Kintsugi becomes the mark of their warriors, their hunters, their people.

Katara was wounded during the last Southern Raid. After losing Kya in such a terrible way, Hakoda made sure to seal Katara's wound with the silver of their warriors, so that she would always remember that despite having been broken, she is still strong, beautiful, and proud.

The scar itself is long and thin, going from her right shoulder up to her jaw. It loosely resembles lightning.

And despite how she got it, despite all the things she lost on that day, despite it being a constant reminder of her mother's death—Katara loves her scar.

It grounds her. It pushes her forward. You are a warrior, it tells her. You are a survivor.

When Katara arrives at the North, her scar becomes yet another thing the Northerners hold against her. They use it to demean her, just as they do her gender and out-spoken personality.

The North believes a lot of things that Katara always considered natural to be a problem. What does it matter that she is a woman? What is wrong about being passionate? Why should having a scar mean she's broken?

This scar is something they cannot touch. The Northerners try to use it to demean her. To make her small. Self-conscious. Worthless.

They're scoffing at her mother's death.

Her strength.

Her beauty.

Her pride.

Her story.

And she will not allow it.

[youremyheaven]

Random Mini Astrology Observations: Vedic Edition

Warning: This is just a string of random thoughts lol, don't compare it to my best work on here. It's a bunch of stuff I've had in my drafts and I'm trying to clear it all out

Before I get into this, I just want to say, that whether my observations are positive or negative, it won't apply to every individual who has these placements. 8 billion people exist on this planet, and not everyone will exhibit the same good or bad qualities. I hate having to put this PSA because some people don't get it but yeah "not all Lunars/Venusians/Nodals/Solars/Jup/Sat are going to be the same".

Jupiter influenced men are known for being introverted cutie pies who kinda have that mature-dilf-y vibe.

Obviously, another category of Jupiter men are often loud, extroverted and very outgoing but I've noticed these placements heavilyyyy in celebrities "known" for being private and introverted. They are also often known for being generous and kind hearted.

Prabhas, Vishaka Stellium (Moon, Mercury and Venus)

He is known as "darling star" and brings food that he has prepared at home for everyone on set (he is an actor). He is known for being very shy and introverted but also super sweet, generous and kind.

Sidharth Malhotra, Vishaka Moon

Sid is known for being extremely lowkey which is RARE for a Bollywood actor. He's also quite gentlemanly and charitable

Ratan Tata, Vishaka Moon

He is an Indian billionaire entrepreneur who lives in a small 2bhk apartment and has donated most of his personal wealth to charity. He is known for having led his company in a very humane way (there are lots of controversies and im aware of them but compared to the work culture and quality of life that most other indian companies offer its employees, TATA is in a different league).

Keanu Reeves, Punarvasu Moon (and stellium)

i dont have to explain but Keanu is the king of kindness and generosity

Mads Mikkelsen, Vishaka Moon

unlike his characters, Mads is actually a sweet guy and very private

Adam Driver- Vishaka Sun

he's so private that nobody even knows he's married with a kid

Tom Hanks, Punarvasu Sun

known for being a gentleman and quite modest. the OG nice guy and obviously very private

Ethan Hawke, Vishaka Sun

another lowkey, private guy who is known for being nice

2. Rashmika Mandanna and Surbhi Jyoti, Swati Moon

I find their eye area to be kinda similar?? I know they don't look alike but there are some overarching similarities between them and I think its bc they have the same moon nak.

3. I came across a comment that Akshay Kumar made about Asin and her CEO husband Rahul Sharma.

“He is madly in love with his wife, his child. It’s like he treats her like a goddess.

and guess what?? Rahul is a Purvashadha Sun 🥺😌😌

4. Ashwini natives often have post-apocalyptic dreams

Since its the first nak and is ruled by Ketu and is in complete darkness, symbolically representing the stage before creation (which happens in Bharani), the subconscious mind is susceptible to having really strange, fcked up, war-like dreams/visions. Also bc Aries rashi is ruled by Mars, God of War.

5. every Venusian man I know kinda has a voice kink

6. Many Punarvasus crave for a simple, rustic, relaxed type of life. In fact many famous Punarvasus live on a farm

Kaley Cuoco- Punarvasu Moon

Bretman Rock - Punarvasu Sun

MS Dhoni- Punarvasu Sun

Dennis Quaid, Punarvasu Moon on his ranch

7. Jupiter and Venus are 'Brahmins' or priestly, the Sun and Mars are 'Kshatriyas' or warriors, the Moon is 'Vaishya', or a trader, Mercury is a 'Vaisya', Saturn 'Shudra', or a lower caste and Rahu and Ketu are outcastes.

This is not an observation but just an astrological fact that I thought I'd mention

8. Magha girls are often the spoilt daughters or come from very bougie families where they're the princesses. They might emotionally suffer but materially and otherwise, they're very comfortable

Shruti Hassan- Magha Moon

she has spoken about how rough her childhood was bc of her parents' tumultuous marriage and subsequent divorce but that doesn't change the fact that she's the daughter of Kamal Hassan, one of the biggest stars in the history of Indian cinema

Kiara Advani- Magha Moon

Kiara is from a very wealthy and illustrious family, and she grew up as a much loved, spoilt ish daughter<3

Wonyoung- Magha Sun

Wonyoung is from a filthy rich family and she has said that she grew up very pampered. And that she didn't have an allowance bc whatever she asked for she got. However she became a trainee at 12yrs of age and that journey could not have been easy. Despite being born rich, she's had to go through a lot in life to be where she is today

Aditi Rao Hydari- Magha Moon

she's of actual royal lineage so she's a real life princess but her parents divorced when she was a kid and she grew up with a single mom in delhi and not in a palace

9. DMX- Mula Sun (dog yoni) was obsessed with dogs

The late rapper DMX's relationship with dogs, which seems almost mythical. He was born in 1970 - the year of the Metal Dog, and in his teens he ran away from his abusive household and befriended stray dogs while vulnerable on the streets. He began to gather dogs for protection, intimidation and family, and was sent to prison for stealing a dog (a neglected dog chained up in a scrapyard). In prison, he wrote a lot of his early songs, in which he came up with his "dog" mythology, in which he imagines himself as a monstrous dog-themed gangster who barks and howls. He had a huge tattoo of his favourite dog Boomer on his back. In 2008, his 12 dogs were taken from him by cops after there were reports of animal cruelty - DMX had paid a negligent caretaker to look after the dogs while he was on tour. (The dogs lived out the rest of their lives as therapy animals in a women's prison)

I think its interesting how our yoni animal influences our life

10. As Vighati graha, male planets are: Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Rahu; female planets are: Moon, Venus, Ketu whilst two eunuch planets are Mercury and Saturn. All the standard rules for determination of the sex of the child are applicable, female signs are: Taurus, Gemini, Virgo, Scorpio, Capricorn and Aquarius; male signs are: Aries, Cancer, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius and Pisces. Exalted planets indicate male issue and debilitated planets indicate female.

11. Mercurial men and Jupiter men are soooo flamboyant, sassy and gender non-conforming

RuPaul- Vishaka Sun & Moon

Elton John- Jyeshta Rising

Jeff Goldblum- Jyeshta Moon

Prince- Vishaka Rising

Jimi Hendrix- Mars in Vishaka atmakaraka

[starzzmissthesun]

i think you should totally drop whatever hc/ideas you have lying around honestly...i would love to see more into ur brain...pls <33

:DD

Hi!!!! Sorry this is a little late, I got so distracted with an animatic im working on(😈) and then a stupid essay😭😭 being honest rn... Almost all of what I've been thinking about is my fic.. 😔

But!! I can still go a little into that without spoilers. I've finally figured out The Perfect ending for this story that I feel fits with the overarching themes I wanted to tell. I've been making sure that every little detail fits with the themes I wanted to show, I wanted it to overlap Regulus and barty's characters and their overarching themes with PD. I also didn't want to just replicate PD cause I feel like that doesnt have the depth or commentary I want to out into it. Idk ive always thought it's super fun to put everything as some sort of symbol or metaphor or foreshadowing. I'm like literally so close to being done drafting and then I can actually talk about it a little more😭

Anyways! I've also been thinking about barty post regs death 😔(when am I not) But more specifically how every memory he had would almost be tainted, everything now would have an air of questioning and unsureness. Even memories where Regulus isn't there, just wondering where was he? What was he thinking? Am I remembering this right? What could've I changed? What was the domino that caused all of this to happen? Eventually finding it hard to accept the way it really was, having the "I guess it was" and feeling it, but overintellectualizing it. His logic and reasoning is his downfall in this situation, that's what makes him go crazy. (Side note I NEED to make a little post about his intersection between intelligence and madness) Hes doing a complicated version of when there's a task that seems so simple that you think it's a trick, but it's not, it's just that. What happened with Regulus was just that.

Also, I've recently self reflected and realized that a lot of my barty characterization is similar to how I think of Leonard Cohen's art(who I LOVE LOVE LOVE) Idk if you've listened to him or read any of his work, but I HIGHLY suggest it, it's perfect for fall. Anyways, a lot of his songs and poems carry themes of having a twisted self image, not completely self deprication though it may seem, but something else. It's closer to understanding and knowing that you are. Different. And unconventional. It's an uncomfortablility he has with himself. Being soemthig twisted from what you should've been. A lot of his stuff is also to do with tragically losing someone, out of their own choice, and still feeling very loyal yet bitter. Also of loving something so much that it turns dark, or it goes too quick, it spirals. Also his love songs are very barty's perspective on bartylus to me. And like, obvious war mentions. I could give some specific recs similar to barty or them if you'd like.

Another thing is of Regulus and his relationship with his dad. Though I see it completely reasonable if his dad was just kind of, not there and neglectful, it could give very interesting implications to his character, I like it the other way around. Orion seeing what a more carefree attempt at raising a child does and keeping Regulus even closer than he did before. I think Orion always liked Regulus more, despite him being the second, because he was a model son. I don't think he wanted this life or even to have kids, so Regulus being so complacent and in line with what he was supposed to be as a pure blood made him the decided favourite(as much as he could have one). He was always keeping a close eye on Regulus and he could feel it, but he didn't do anything out of place anyways. Orion could tell when he was even thinking something he wasn't supposed to. I believe that, no matter how much she tried, walpurga was too caught in her own head about her duty as a mother to see S+R as anything other than Her Kids, as property that she was supposed to care for and tend to, she obviously loved them, but couldn't see through them. But Orion was there around every corner looking through regulus' eyes into his soul to search for any thing out of his perfect kid.

Anyways.... That's all I can think of rn😭 but if you have questions about ANY of them lmk!!! I love yapping about my little thoughts 😁😁

[nikethestatue]

I finished ACOSF a few months ago and seeing this fandom has been so confusing to say the very least. Nesta is my favorite character and I loved the Valkyries but .... I just don't see this Gwynriel ship happening. I think they'd be cute together and I wouldn't be opposed to it obviously - but I just don't see it happening given where we left off in ACOSF. I also am confused about the personality difference in Gwyn & Elain and Azriel.

Gwyn didn't even kill anyone in the BR and was knocked out and carried to the top - so why are people acting like she is some great warrior and will destroy legions of armies and lead the Illyrians into war!? She saw a mini Pegasus at a sleepover and through it was cute and now all of a sudden people think she's going to ride one in the skies while she paints Prythian with the blood of her enemies? What enemies even?? She's not tied to any of the IC's plot?

Elain didn't really stand out to me in ACOSF, which makes sense because it was NESTA's story. I didn't really have an opinion on her and Azriel or her and Lucien. I get that Lucien makes her uncomfortable but SJM writes her pairings that way it seems so I could see them ending up together tbh. But then I read the BC and - wtf ?? I am firmly team Elriel now because what do you mean Azriel's out here dreaming about how elain TASTES . I see you freaky azriel 👀 goddamn I Definitely was not expecting that from him but now that I have seen it I can't go back. There's no way SJM wrote that and plans on making Elain then end up with Lucien. Like I thought it would be fine but after that BC - there's no going back.

Either way - it's weird that people have such a strong opinion on Azriel and Elain because I think combined, they've said maybe like 200 words total? I like the idea of them but we dont know much about them? Why are people forming such harsh steadfast opinions on what either of them want or need or desire when we don't know much of anything? They're both kind of mysterious.

Idk I feel like I just missed a book with how strongly everyone is arguing about these guys.

Elain - had some badass moments but barely mentioned on the page in ACOSF

Azriel - even more mysterious than Elain but the dry humor makes up for it.

Lucien - he's not been in the past 2 books?

Gwyn - is great but not the Aelin type of warrior people online are making her out to be

Where is all this coming from I am very confused??

Honestly, most of this is coming from TikTok, Headcanons and fan art on Insta.

You have NO IDEA how many asks i've received over the years with people saying the same thing 'i saw so many Gwynriel arts on Insta and I thought that there will be some amazing romance in ACOSF. THEN, I read the book. And I kept waiting for something to happen and nothing ever did."

I think the key word for a lot of GAs is 'then'--they first saw the art, watched the tiktoks, got themselves all jacked up on theories and headcanons, and then, THEN they read the book. So now, the problem is that they have a hard time separating reality/canon from all that stuff that brought them to the fandom in the first place.

They are digging their heels and arguing that it WILL HAPPEN!!! absolutely will. Gwyn will become a great warrior and will ride a Pegasus into battles. Azriel will fall madly in love with her. They'll have kinky sex and she'll 'heal' him.

ALL of it comes from fan art. Literally, look at 99% of Gwynriel fan art and it's all 'fake'--imagined scenes that never happened.

I think many of them either left the fandom or can't accept that they've been duped and are incorrect in their assumptions.

It will be interesting to see what the fallout will be once the book is released.

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒗𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꒰ 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒖 ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ CHARACTER SHEET : a list of character ( with descriptions! ) that you can request for ” ꒱

. ˚◞꒰ 🍰 𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒎'𝒔 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒖 ꒱

𖹭. synopsis : a world where mysterious, terrible creatures of the night rule over the land from the shadows. mere myth to most yet reality to others, it seems that the latter might become more apparent as there is an uproar in the vampire royal court. this victorian esque story follows the lives of the vampire court, the internal divide between kings, the struggle of scientists fighting for humanity… and the war between creatures of twilight and the divine hunters that vow to eradicate them.

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍡 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ꒱

𖹭. be sure to take a look at the vampire legendarium to familiarise yourself with how our vampires work 

𖹭. various species other than vampires are included in this au, such as vampire hunters and enchanters

𖹭. while it is a victorian-like setting, it is not to be matched with the real-world time

𖹭. this is a very dark au and there will be various topics such as, but not limited to: violence, character death, manipulation, all sorts of torment and so on.

𖹭. variants are included in the world as it is not uncommon to come across a doppelganger of yourself with a different life ( different doppelgangers will be classified by a number combination, ie: "781" )

𖹭. there will be characters that you have not been introduced to as of yet. which is why we provide the blurps below along with face claims. there will also be some relationships that you have seen as of yet

𖹭. you may request for all characters on this page. with your own scenarios or a prompt from the following prompt page

. ˚◞ ꒰ VAMPIRES ꒱

purebloods: individuals that were born vampires

high halfbloods: humans that were turned into vampires by purebloods

low halfbloods: humans that were turned into vampires by high-rank halfbloods

 

⊹ ۪ ࣪vampires of the west, kingdom nocturne

‧꒰ zhào mùchén, king of the sleepless ꒱‧ ( m. )

the first and highest ranked of the vampires. often depicted merciless and tyrannical. no man is he, but a bloodlusting creature of the night. showing fang to any and all who dare trespass his homestead. yet, in truth, this vampire is far from the most evil of all. despite his particular dislike towards hunters and some humans, his hunts have long ago come to a halt. and though he once was one of animalistic nature. those traits have long since subsided, instead, he bears nonchalance of the thought of his children taking human lives, innocent or not alike. and often leaves it to servants to go and gather food, as he prefers staying in his castle together with his husband. in present day, he is a mere legend. one told to scare easily paranoid townsfolk. yet none realise the vampire king never rests, and always looks upon the lands with an opened eye. watching.

appearance ref: one

‧꒰ shī, the manic moon ꒱‧ ( m. )

husband to the vampire king of the west and a former researcher in his human years. he still retains his love for knowledge and tries his utmost hardest to bestow it upon his children. yet being a high half-blood turned by the king himself has its downsides. especially when it comes to feral nature. this gentle soul struggles with the animalistic bloodlust that courses through his veins. the desire to hurt, to maim. the manic moon is what they call him, merciless in every right - do not let his kind nature fool you. he despises letting go of his control and slipping into these states of madness. yet what is even more agony is watching his children decent into their own madness - with his husband never spouting a reprimand. ‘it’s a vampire’s nature,’ he says, and so shi finds himself despairing further. what is this beast that he has become? is he not happy to live alongside his husband for all eternity? even if he does struggle to maintain his thirst and might lash into states of sadistic glee. perhaps death was better. nevertheless, he will continue to write his poetries and novels. yearning for peace.

appearance ref: one

 

‧꒰ zhào talisen ( 781 ), the sadistic poet ꒱‧ ( m. )

with fingertips stained red with fresh blood, the triplet of the royal eldest sons hold no mercy for the mortal. delighting in their screams and fear. as much as he delights in the pleasures and persuasion before strike. one of the most deceitful of the sons, never truly having a side but his own. he instigates, pulling at strings just for a good laugh. cruel to sometimes even his younger siblings. one would think such an animalistic, bloodthirsty creature could bear no love for the world. yet. his poetry, written as if his heart was the purest of all. the vampire enjoys the wonder of nature, the beauty of the forest and the meadow. curious of mind he is too, quick one to capture those whom he may believe to bear interesting news. education. research. he adores people’s theories of his kind. why let them run around and give them to other mortals, if he could pry their words from their mouths with a sire bond. Most of the time when talisen is not out hunting for food. He recites his poetry to the townsfolk. Each and every beautiful word fallen from his lips sought after for the ear to hear by old and young.

appearance ref: one

 

‧꒰ zhào jùn lái, the deceitful professor ꒱‧ ( m. )

refined and studious, perhaps even a little aloof, a triplet of the royal eldest sons. an aura of serenity to mask the restraint of maliciousness that many find amusing, seeing as his smothered malice already extends to such great lengths in terms of violence. he writes, attempting to sate the desire. teaches a class of higher education in the art of linguistics and the craft of writing. yet despite this love for such an art, at times he wishes nothing more than to bathe in the blood of his own sadism. stealing away students to feast on their blood and write about it in the thralls of his novels and stories. the encounters that he shares. the people that he meets. it is most difficult to keep himself in check. what with the yearn for cruelty and the thrilling taste of blood on his tongue. perhaps he should write with crimson instead.

appearance ref: one

 

‧꒰ zhào tài, the malefic gambler ꒱‧ ( m. )

always looking for something to sate his boredom with cunning grins and sadistic ways. he turns to the cruel works and tricks of vampires unto the unsuspecting man. a triplet to the royal eldest sons, upholding a sarcastic and blunt persona. this vampire prince loves risks and wagers, which is why one can find him in one of the local taverns as a bar tender — unbeknownst to most that enter that he runs the gambling ring. he always adores a challenge, a risk. and he never loses. his pride and cunning intelligence won't allow him to. loves making wagers and bets, especially if it means he can find himself a new human to toy around with. one can often find him with his hand fan raised to his face. staring over it with keen, silver eyes. and fangs ready to tear in.

appearance ref: one | two

 

‧꒰ zhào hàoyŭ, the bloodlusting artist ꒱‧ ( m. )

the second oldest of the royal family together with his twin xuan jie. haoyu is a famous artist, with exceptional skill in his craft, known well across the kingdoms and lands, both by humans, in his alias as “the muse,” and by vampires as his royal title, for making portraits out of the finest of inks, and the statues out of the most peculiar stone none have seen before. what little know, is the very fact, that the paints are mixed with blood to create a unique smooth texture, and the sculptures made of ground bone, turned into hard stone with ancient knowledge and techniques from his father’s books. the man is animalistic, always on the prowl to find a toy to play around with for a bit, before collecting their blood and bone. of course, not without a little bite and taste. his savageness often results in scoldings from his father and even some of his siblings, despite their own savage traits. he goes all out into the pleasure of killing for the purpose of making his precious art.

appearance ref: one | two

 

‧꒰ zhào xuàn jié, the strained mortician ꒱‧ ( f. )

a mortician in town. she tends to keep herself to the dead in a strained effort of retaining her own violence and urges. unlike her twin, xuan jie tries with utmost effort to remain courtes. yet at times she cannot help but have a bite of some of the fresh corpses that find their way into the morgue. . . what does it matter? they are dead anyway. yet the notion makes her feel all the more guilty. as the first daughter of the nocturne kingdom, she upholds a sort of motherly persona - all shrouded amongst her monotone and sometimes rough exterior. she prefers to retain studious rather than give into the animalistic urges that come with her vampirism. sometimes, she finds herself slipping, however. it is these times that one is reminded what a beast she can truly be.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ zhào míng xù, the bloodstained lover ꒱‧ ( f. )

love letters sealed with a kiss of red lipstick. poetries and paintings depicted of vast romances and exciting escapees - such is the life of the third princess of nocturne. a hopeless romantic continuously seeking enamourment. with her various lovers all around, one might depict her kind and eccentric attitude for her being a kinder soul in comparison to her siblings. in reality, the many kisses that she gives are bloodstained. fang marks litter her beloveds. one night question why there is always a new lover — yet one would not dare ask what happened to the previous. she adores ‘collecting’ her adorers. draining them dry so that they might live with her forever.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ zhào xīyáng, the yearning ꒱‧ ( m. )

ever the solemn, lovesick fool. the fourth oldest of the royal family, and twin to haitao, whom he often acts nonchalant around. despite bursts of savageness at times when at loss of control. has always been on the less animalistic side, looking for diplomacy rather than violence and death. While also yearning for a love, forbidden by his family and kind. to fall for a human? it is a grave of shame, but for Denara? he will lay in for all eternity if it meant he could keep seeing her. Truths hidden. Telling brothers and sisters of his small expeditions that they are nothing but hunts, to sate his bloodthirst - or that he is simply working in the ‘flower’s meadow café’ a little more than usual to gather information. Some, he has deceived. Others, he has left dwelling in suspicion. ah, but despite all of the kind and quiet exteriors. should he be provoked enough, he will, without hesitance, retort to animalistic cold-blooded slaughter of whoever he deems should die. No matter who you are.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ zhào hǎitāo, the bloodbathed archivist ꒱‧ ( m. )

The archivist son of the royal family, and xiyang's twin brother. A quiet individual who takes pleasure in killing for the purposes of studying. Dragging corpses and living back to the castle catacombs to study them in his little archive. Frantically writing books and documents about new diseases, old ones to restore, syndromes, how to drive mortals mad, anything that could threaten humanity, just in case. one is never too sure when they could need it. amongst bookshelves and stonewalls, he likes to also use his time to watch research about his own kind being made by the famed vampire researcher, rishen herrera, herself. truly a fascinating sight to behold. often, he likes to bring his siblings along for hunts, so that they track down and kill and he gets the benefit of the corpse or items after.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ zhào yánglǐ, the starved hunter ꒱‧ ( m. )

wild eyes and grinning teeth, this prince of the nocturne is known for his incessant hunger. the thrill of the hunt is what gets him ticking. he adores those that rile him up and tempt his bloodlust. he's not one to deny himself. an indulger with a sick sense of humour and twisted grins to match. to hide this feral demeanour, he takes up a job as a weapon's master within one of the various towns. pushing out some of his violent urges into the teaching of swords and knives. although it never truly helps. he will always fall favour to chases through the winding forest of his kingdom. tearing his claws into his poor, frightened victim - and delighting in their screams as the hunt finally comes to an end. alas, it only means that he is to find new prey. but oh, does he love the game nevertheless.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ zhào yìzé, the conflicted scout ꒱‧ ( m. )

with swift feet, quick reflex and mind, despite being of the lowest heirarchy of all his siblings. a downright runt, as he has been called — zhào yìzé, the sixth son of the vampiric royal family, is known to be one of the calmer vampires. and while the boy, yes, does go and feed on people, it moreso for staying fed and full. rather than doing it for coldblooded and animalistic purposes. he enjoys the quiet surroundings, working around the forest and scouting. often acting to be a caretaker of it to humans who wander into the forest. most of the time, he guides them out. with a particular fear of one of his older brothers catching onto the scent them. well, unless the human has means of bad brought to the forest. he has not fed properly for a few days either, what would the harm be?

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ zhào dáyín, the dulled illustrator ꒱‧ ( he/they. )

another artist heir of the nocturne dynasty, yet silent in nature throughout. dayin finds themself in a constant state of dulled, monochromatic experience and life itself, despite the vast colours that they often paint with. one might depict them as cold, aloof, and all sorts of indifferent. in truth, they simply do not care about the world around them. bored, is what they are. it is why they do not find themself venturing to find a thrilling second life amongst the humans in the day like their siblings do. yet one should be careful as to pique their interest. as this is when a grim obsession settles over. and dáyín quickly overindulges out of the sheer need to feel something. even if it means playing with a heart.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ zhào xiùyīng, the malicious doctor ꒱‧ ( f. )

swift hands and calculated slices to contrast the storm within a non-beating heart. the young vampire finds herself in a healer cove amongst the supernatural. spilling out her malice into the act of healing instead. or at least, that is what she tells herself. the wrath that bridles within her heart is unmatched. one that confuses even her. what with her stoic appearance and the difficulty to decipher emotions of both others and herself. perhaps rage is easier to feel than others. perhaps drinking the blood of different supernaturals is sweeter to the taste than that of a human. whatever the case may be. she finds herself slipping regardless. and often embarks on mini massacres through the towns and villages of humans when emotions rise too high for her.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ zhào xuělíng, the tempter habromaniac ꒱‧ ( m. )

a coy smile. the graceful fall of silk along pale skin. a night of pleasure with the youngest vampire prince of the nocturne is what many lust for. what - with those pretty pink eyes of his, batting at his clients. the small bite of his thumb nail. xueling finds himself taking up a job at one of the red light districts rather than all the refined occupations that his siblings advance in. why not? he gets ample information from all of his vast clients and not to mention numerous hours of pleasure. he's considered one of the best in the business. seducing even the most calloused of souls and rising the business toll through the roof. although, lust and promises of pleasure is the ultimate way in luring those that particularly catch his eye. stealing them away for scandalous nights and hours, if only to drink them dry when the lust burts through. for to indulge one’s blood and body is of the utmost erotic art - and he himself is quite a lover of the arts.

appearance ref: one | two

 

‧꒰ rishen herrera ( 781 ), the mangled researcher ꒱‧ ( genderfluid. )

an intelligence to scare the supernatural coupled with a deadly curiosity and the unwavering need for answers. a high ranked halfblood and the writer of the vampire legendarium that you have come across. after losing his parents to vampires, he embarked on a journey to find out all that he could about them - so that he might destroy each and every one of them. a kind soul turned by none other than one of the eldest of the nocturne kingdom - zhào talisen. having been well on his way at discovering information that would have put vampires at risk, he was turned out of sadistic mockery and dragged to the palace nocturne. to aid the royal family in decoding nature about hunters and other vampire lore instead. considering his keen eye and wit. now, he is the royal researcher. searching for answers when tasks are brought to him and trying to deny the urge to drink of blood. it disgusts him. so does the rise in sadistic vampiric nature. to think he is now a being that he has despised for years. and now feeds like them. thinks like them. he tries to retain his kindness, in his mind. however, he thinks he is slowly going mad.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ alessio agresta arias ( 9948e ), the carnal knight ꒱‧ ( m. )

once an enchanter, now a high ranked halfblood. of a family that had sworn servitude to the kingdom nocturne for centuries. a head to the royal guard who loyally carried out his duties. yet was turned when he reached his death bed by his now sire, zhào talisen. dealing with the notion that his mortality was ripped away from him, along with the obsession of the prince, he has long since hardened his heart. considered to be a cold and standoffish man at times, or an indifferent, lifeless one at others. he takes no pleasure in life any longer and simply continues his duties with as much pride as he can muster. trying his utmost to deny his carnal urges and the sadistic ticks that run through his mind. he cannot always, and often feeds on many once he's starved himself enough to lose control. guilt always settles in after, and he'll dive back into his constant job as the head knight. a vicious cycle.

appearance ref: one

 

⊹ ۪ ࣪vampires of the east, kingdom carmine

‧꒰ aristaios, king of the vicious ꒱‧ ( m. )

malicious with the poisonous touch of deeprooted obsessive habits. Laughing in tyranny and bathing in the miasma and graves he has made for himself with pride. the title he bestowed upon him most befitting for such animalistic man he acts. The king of the east, and the inventor of telepathy. Indeed. . . The master of it, teaching it to his people and kingdoms outside. He's long lost his mind. Giving in to his darkest of urges and indulging in them. He loves the worship from his people. The sacrifices held in his name. slaughtering mortal left and right and turning them for his own pleasure. Gifting the half-blood slaves to his wife in eager attempts to make her look at him with her beautiful eyes. his, late wife's pleasures were not shared with her doppelganger's, who seems to bear no enjoyment or amusement of his acts. It drives him mad. He broke rules for her. Taking her away from her lover to be with him, he's better than a hunter. He is manipulative, a sharp knife that never dulls. Hungry for flesh and blood, but only that of lisse's. Her blood being the only source of feeding he takes. It forces his insanity to push further away from sense. Deranged. What is a few five-thousand-lives taken if it means he has her all to himself? She will love him.

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ lisse, the bloodthirtsy countess ꒱‧ ( f. )

dusty rose coloured eyes now shine bright with wildness and hunger. a constant twitch in her stature. a search for anything that she can sink her teeth into. a young flower maiden having been plucked from her husband and made the wife of a tyrannical, maniacal king. she finds herself starved, unless it is vampiric blood on which she feeds. the diet leaves her insatiable, beast-like even. she might tear her claws and fangs into whatever mortal that comes near her if it means sating the ever burning feeling in her throat. she feels herself growing mad, yet to her horror - slowly but surely taking on the role of the former queen. an equally as insane and hysterical psychopath like her husband. painting the towns red with the sheer want of bloodshed and carnage.

appearance ref: one 

 

⊹ ۪ ࣪vampires of the north, kingdom abyss

‧꒰ rinfier, king of the ebony shards ꒱‧ ( m. )

Charming smiles and pesuasive silver tongued words. The king of the Abyss, ever gleeful. Partying and staying up with the humans and vampires of his kingdom. His little, perfect, worshippers. Oh they're all adorable. By far, this is one of the first kingdoms we see mortal and vampire in harmony. A cult of humans, that Rinfier one autumn night stumbled upon with his loyal guard along his side. They worshipped vampires — oh and he was quick to convince their leader and them to join him, help build his kingdom. He'd grant them all and everything they so wished for. In turn for their blood and endless loyalty to gather more. Animalistic urges often shoved away by sheer will, if he wishes for them to come out. Why not expose people of other kingdoms to it?

appearance ref: one 

 

‧꒰ orion, the imminent bloodshed ꒱‧ ( m. )

Sadistic and quiet. Ever a stalker of the night roaming the lands together with his husband, or without, to feet. Sate his hunger. No moment passes where hunger does not tear through the growling vampire stomach of this man. Always adoring of unsuspecting victims, no awareness that once the hour tolls its bell. Only a dried up cadaver will be of their remains. Within his kingdom walls whatsoever, serving his king. He is a soldier, a diplomat. Serene and calm, always bearing a smile. Yet all of it is but a faux image of what he truly is.

appearance ref: one

 

⊹ ۪ ࣪vampires of the south, kingdom frost

‧꒰ rishima singhania ( 1311 ), queen of the cunning ꒱‧ ( f. )

cold eyes. few words. a frightening intelligence. one is not to expect anything less from the queen of the South other than a sharp stare and the threat of losing their heads. emotion is something she has long abandoned. a queen does not feel. feared amongst the lands for the simple fact that she usurped the throne from her father and six older siblings. one cannot kill a pureblood, and so instead she nailed them to the walls of the catacombs. a good ruler must do what is best for her kingdom. and so she has. a calloused heart to even her own husband who is locked away in the confines of her room. a harsh soul to her own son. the sweet taste of victory from overcoming her position as runt of the family is nothing in comparison to the repeated paranoia that her very son might do the same to her as she has done to her own family. after all, intelligence is what drives her lineage mad. it is what broke her own mind, after all.

appearance ref: one

 

‧꒰ rishen herrera ( 1311 ), the unwilling ripper ꒱‧ ( genderfluid. )

charming yet callous. the heir to the frost throne and seen as no better than his mother. what with his calloused acts, the way that he so mercilessly mangles his victims for the pure sake of it. yet no one will ever come to know the truth that all of his killings, his very title as a bloodthirsty ripper - is by the order of his mother. to kill or be killed. to be the prince and an assassin of the kingdom at the same time. it is a way for her to keep him under her thumb. and oh, it does. making his mind tick at the sight of blood. the thrill of a kill. yet a never ending guilt. a forever paranoia to match the queen's. thinking that he will be next once he's become a threat to her power of the throne. perhaps he should start taking his own precautions. . . or perhaps he should see that the curse of his lineage is true. and that he is indeed losing his mind the more intelligent he becomes. the more calculative he grows.

appearance ref: one

 

. ˚◞ ꒰ VAMPIRE HUNTERS ꒱

‧꒰ rasui, leader of the hunters ꒱‧ ( m. )

dubbed untouchable, the loyal leader of the vampire hunters has been around for centuries now. he has seen what none has and has for years now hunted vampires like the plague. hatred growing each bloodstain of a comrade spilt by the hungry creatures. and just as broken branches, scattered like the pieces of glass that fell graciously to the earth when the mirrors shatter each new death of a friend before the hunter. with a promise to those fallen, he shall always put their names to respect and rest. his soul never once bittering, only solemnly pulsating after a rough life, that, to him, has no end in sight until he kills all vampires. or dies trying. what truly brought his soul to dissolve was losing his beloved to the bloodlusting, tyrannical vampire king of the east. that bastard of the carmine, taking away his wife. and despite his close bond with his hunters. the familial love he had with them. a part of him blames them for not getting to her and protecting her. as much as he blames himself. each day is a one of insanity, struggling to fully trust himself. His hunters, struggling to trust townsfolk who simply wish to visit him and assure he is alright. he hates it. This mission will be the death of him, or it will be his happiest days lived out. to get lisse back. vampire or not, he doesn't care if he breaks his own rule as the leader of the guild. of centuries of passed down roles. He will kill the kings, and then he will have her back.

appearance ref: one

 

‧꒰ alessio arias ( 781 ), the returning hunter ꒱‧ ( m. )

one of the best hunters returns after years. the strike of a match. a smoke of a cigarette. anything to mask out the smell of blood and the last crawling vampire that he slams his boot into. flirtatious, a charmer, and years of experience travelling through the lands with golden daggers. ‘one of the finest hunters’ is a name he's earned himself over the years of killing and tormenting vampires. yet he'll so surely deny such a title. for a true vampire hunter will not have ripped out the gold from his body and sworn off his duty. not after vowing to avenge his loved ones. no true vampire hunter would have fallen in love with the beings they have sworn to kill. he has now returned. more ready than ever to stab with stakes and rid himself of the shame he's brought on himself. all with crooked grins and tired eyes looking for fun every now and then.

appearance ref: one | two

 

‧꒰ zhào jìngyí ( 9948e ), the two-sided hunter ꒱‧ ( m. )

Shitty jokes and whiskey exchanged. So goes the day of the azure moon, but as night rolls around, his demeanor and acts change drastically. A cold hearted vampire killer. He has a goal to avenge his youngest siblings after their gruesome deaths caused by low-blooded vampires. They got commanded to pull the bloodbath along by their precious ruler. He holds no compassion for them, neither does his brothers. The four of them rarely seeing each other but exchanging letters each and every day. The hunter himself works on his lonesome. . . Unless a certain emerald shines bright in the pile of rock and limestone.

appearance ref: one

 

‧꒰ valerio agresta caliari , the retired hunter ꒱‧ ( m. )

often coming off as callous, blunt and rude. dead eyes oversee powerful, effortless strikes. such is day in and day out of valerio’s long-existing life. dubbed one the best and a former leader of the hunters altogether - he now roams the lands with a straight line to his lips and a careless touch to each attack. for a hunter to strip themself of their gold is disgraceful - what more if one of the leaders does? he has lost all concern for such matters long ago and instead wanders the lands. slaying the creatures of the night left, right and centre. considered to be quite the aloof man with a dry way of speaking and ragged personality run down by years of doing what he’s best at - and being away from his family. his son. one might find him at a tavern every now and then, drinking to numb something that isn’t even there - at least in his eyes - . . . his heart. ( this is alessio 781's father )

appearance ref: one | two

𖹭. up next : vampire legendarium | prompt list 

[artbyblastweave]

What part of the Fallout setting and themes would you want to focus on if you got to decide on the direction of a new game?

Observation that's been boiling in the back of my head since forever is that out of all the games in a series where the tagline is that War Never Changes, New Vegas is about war to an extent that the other games never really approach. Really the only example of a traditional ground war between peer states or something akin, with articulated battle lines, points of contention, supply chain issues and the like. Fallouts 1 and 2 get at least a partial pass because they're set before humanity's redeveloped the capacity for state on state violence; 3 and 4 are trying to be about Wars but kind of flail their arms on that front, 4 in particular. Regardless I want more of New Vegas's energy on this front.

[katyspersonal]

me: I do not really understand the hardcore insistence of some Mohg fans/simps that he could not or must not have done any sexual-incestous crime! Not only it is a reasonable version, but also extremely interesting and intriguing to explore how not all victims of oppressive system are good people! Soulsborne is super fitting for fucked up themes and characters, any Mohg is valid and fun including the darkest you can get, right? Extremely messed-up interpretations of Mohg don't THREATEN other fans in any way shape or form!

fandom clowns: *passively-aggressively shun Mohg fans from the circles, attack Fromsoft for """homophobia""" (wtf), confuse acknowledging the event with enjoying the event, will label Mohg fans as insensitive or danger to real SO/incest victims, fear Mohg as an awful scary taboo to bring up in memes compilations or fanart that could obliterate all fun despite him being part of the canon, demand blacklisting anything about him in their clown Discord servers thus making lore chats weird, shame or block people with flattering interpretations for MeDiA iLiTeRaCy uwu, treat hating Mohg as a moral act rather than personal stance and generally cause a lot of hostility in the fandom, ALL because whereas seeing Mohg's SO as canon they then got mad at this canon instead of either swallowing it or move onto another videogame free of this theme*

me:

me: Nevermind, this fandom is chronically incapable of handling the dark themes and think the fandom owes them sanitised experience.

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

[antianakin]

Satine fans: She would DIE for her beliefs.

Me: She'd also send innocent people to JAIL for her beliefs, so that doesn't really mean much, does it?

[fusionsprunt]

Hunter what the FUCK-

.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Clad in Justice and Worth

Written for the Inklings Challenge 2023 (@inklings-challenge). Inspired by the lives of Jeanne d'Albret and Marguerite de Navarre, although numerous liberties have been taken with the history in the name of introducing fantastical elements and telling a good story. The anglicization of names (Jeanne to Joan and Marguerite to Margaret) is meant to reflect the fictionalization of these figures.

The heat was unbearable, and it would grow only hotter as they descended into the lowlands. It was fortunate, Joan decided, that Navarre was a mountain country. It was temperate, even cold there in September. It would be sweltering by the sea.

The greater issue ought to have been the presence of Monluc, who would cut Joan’s party off at the Garonne River most like. The soldiers with whom she traveled were fierce, but Monluc had an entire division at the Garrone. Joan would be a prisoner of war if Providence did not see her through. Henry, perhaps, might suffer worse. He might be married to a Catholic princess.

Yet Joan was accustomed to peril. She had cut her teeth on it. Her first act as queen, some twenty years ago, had been to orchestrate the defense of her kingdom, and she was accustomed to slipping through nets and past assassins. The same could not be said of the infernal heat, which assaulted her without respite. Joan wore sensible travel clothing, but the layers of her skirts were always heavy with sweat. A perpetual tightness sat in her chest, the remnant of an old bout with consumption, and however much she coughed it would not leave.

All the same, it would not do to seem less than strong, so she hid the coughing whenever she could. The hovering of her aides was an irritant and she often wished she could just dismiss them all.

“How fare you in the heat, Majesty?”

“I have war in my gut, Clemont,” Joan snapped. “Worry not for me. If you must pester someone, pester Henry.”

He nodded, chastened. “A messenger is here from Navarre. Sent, I suspect, to induce you to return hence.”

“I would not listen to his birdcalls.”

“Young Henry said much the same.”

Joan stuffed down her irritation that Clemont had gone to Henry before he’d come to her. She was still queen, even if her son was rapidly nearing his majority. “Tell him that if the Huguenot leaders are to be plucked, I think it better that we all go together. Tell him that I would rather my son and I stand with our brothers than await soldiers and assassins in our little kingdom.”

Her aide gave a stiff nod. “At once, your Majesty.”

She would breathe easier when they reached the host at La Rochelle. Yet then, there would be more and greater work to do. There would be war, and Joan would be at the head of it.

*

When she awoke in the night, Joan knew at once that something was awry. It was cool. Gone was the blistering heat that had plagued them all day. Perhaps one of the kidnapping plots had finally succeeded.

Certainly, it seemed that way. She was in a cell, cool and dank and no more than six paces square. And yet—how strange! —the door was open.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Joan crept towards the shaft of moonlight that fell through it. She glanced about for guards, but saw only a single prisoner in dirty clothes standing just beyond the threshold. He was blinking rapidly, as though the very existence of light bewildered him. Then, as Joan watched, he crept forward towards the gate of the jailhouse and out into the free air beyond. Joan listened for a long moment, trying to hear if there was any commotion at the prisoner’s emergence. When she could perceive none, she followed him out into the cool night air.

A lantern blazed. “Come quickly,” a voice hissed. “Our friend the Princess is waiting.”

The prisoner answered in a voice too quiet for Joan to hear. Then, quite suddenly, she heard his companion say, “Who is it that there behind you?”

The prisoner turned round, and Joan’s fingers itched towards her hidden knife. But much to her astonishment, he exclaimed, “Why, it is the lady herself! Margaret!”

But Joan had no opportunity to reply. Voices sounded outside her pavilion and she awoke to the oppressive heat of the day before. Coughing hard, Joan rolled ungracefully from her bed and tried to put away the grasping tendrils of her dream.

“The river is dry, Majesty” her attendant informed her as soon as she emerged from her pavilion, arrayed once again in sensible riding clothes. “The heat has devoured it. We can bypass Monluc without trouble, I deem.”

“Well then,” Joan replied, stifling another cough. “Glory to God for the heat.”

*

They did indeed pass Monluc the next day, within three fingers of his nose. Joan celebrated with Henry and the rest, yet all the while her mind was half taken up with her dream from the night before. Never, in all her life, had her mind conjured so vivid a sensory illusion. It had really felt cool in that jail cell, and the moonlight beyond it had been silver and true. Stranger still, the prisoner and his accomplice had called Joan by her mother’s name.

Joan had known her mother only a little. At the age of five, she had been detained at the French court while her mother returned to Navarre. This was largely on account of her mother’s religious convictions. Margaret of Angoulême had meddled too closely with Protestantism, so her brother the king had seen fit to deprive her of her daughter and raise her a Catholic princess.

His successor had likewise stolen Henry from Joan, for despite the king’s best efforts she was as Protestant as her mother. Yet unlike Margaret, Joan had gone back for her child. Two years ago, she had secretly swept Henry away from Paris on horseback. She’d galloped the horses nearly to death, but she’d gotten him to the armed force waiting at the border, and then at last home to Navarre. Sometimes, Joan wondered why her own mother had not gone to such lengths to rescue her. But Margaret’s best weapons had been tears, it was said, and tears could not do the work of sharp swords.

The Navarre party arrived at La Rochelle just before dusk on the twenty-eighth of September. The heat had faltered a little, to everyone’s great relief, but the air by the sea was still heavy with moisture. The tightness in Joan’s chest persisted.

“There will be much celebration now that you have come, Your Majesty,” said the boy seeing to her accommodations. “There’s talk of giving you the key to the city, and more besides.”

Sure enough, Joan was greeted with applause when she entered the Huguenot council. “I and my son are here to promote the success of our great cause or to share in its disaster,” she said when the council quieted. “I have been reproached for leaving my lands open to invasion by Spain, but I put my confidence in God who will not suffer a hair of our heads to perish. How could I stay while my fellow believers were being massacred? To let a man drown is to commit murder.”

*

Sometimes it seemed that the men only played at war. The Duke of Conde, who led the Huguenot forces, treated it as a game of chivalry between gentlemen. Others, like Monluc, regarded it as a business; the mercenaries he hired robbed and raped and brutalized, and though be bemoaned the cruelty he did nothing to curtail it.

There were sixty-thousand refugees pouring into the city. Joan was not playing at war. When she rose in the mornings, she put poultices on her chest, then went to her office after breaking her fast. There was much to do. She administered the city, attended councils of war, and advised the synod. In addition, she was still queen of Navarre, and was required to govern her own kingdom from afar.

In the afternoons, she often met with Beza to discuss matters of the church, or else with Conde, to discuss military matters. Joan worked on the city’s fortifications, and in the evenings she would ride out to observe them. Henry often joined her on these rides; he was learning the art of war, and he seemed to have a knack for it.

“A knack is not sufficient,” Joan told him. “Anyone can learn to fortify a port. I have learned, and I am a woman.”

“I know it is not sufficient,” the boy replied. “I must commit myself entirely to the cause of our people, and of Our Lord. Is that not what you were going to tell me?”   

“Ah, Henry, you know me too well. I am glad of it. I am glad to see you bear with strength the great and terrible charge which sits upon your shoulders.”

“How can I help being strong? I have you for a mother.”

At night, Joan fell into bed too exhausted for dreams.

*

Yet one night, she woke once again to find her chest loose and her breathing comfortable. She stood in a hallway which she recognized at once. She was at the Château de Fontainebleau, the place of her birth, just beyond the door to the king’s private chambers.

“Oh please, Francis, please. You cannot really mean to send him to the stake!” The voice on the other side of the door was female, and it did not belong to the queen.

A heavy sigh answered it. “I mean to do just that, ma mignonne. He is a damned heretic, and a rabble-rouser besides. Now, sister, don’t cry. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it is your weeping.”

At those words, a surge of giddiness, like lightning, came over Joan’s whole body. It was her own mother speaking to the king. She was but a few steps away and they were separated only by a single wooden door.

“He is my friend, Francis. Do you say I should not weep for my friends?”

A loud harumph. “A strange thing, Margaret. Your own companions told me that you have never met the man.”

“Does such a triviality preclude friendship? He is my brother in Our Lord.”  

“And I am your true brother, and your king besides.”

“And as you are my brother—” here, Margaret’s voice cracked with overburdening emotion. She was crying again, Joan was certain. “As you are my brother, you must grant me this boon. Do not harm those I love, Francis.”

The king did not respond, so Joan drew nearer to the door. A minute later, she leapt backwards when it opened. There stood her mother, not old and sick as Joan had last seen her twenty years before, but younger even than Joan herself.

“If you’ve time to stand about listening at doors, then you are not otherwise employed,” Margaret said, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I am going to visit a friend. You shall accompany me.”

Looking down at herself, Joan realized that her mother must have mistaken her for one of Fountainbleu’s many ladies-in-waiting. She was in her night clothes, which was really a simple day dress such as a woman might wear to a provincial market. Joan did not sleep in anything which would hinder her from acting immediately, should the city be attacked in the middle of the night. 

“As you wish, Majesty,” Joan replied with a curtsey. Margaret raised an eyebrow, and instantly Joan corrected herself: “Your Highness.”

Margaret stopped at her own rooms to wrap herself in a plain, hooded cloak. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Joan, your Highness.”

“Well, Joan. As penance for eavesdropping, you shall keep your own counsel with regards to our errand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Joan replied stiffly. Any fool could see what friend Margaret intended to visit, and Joan wished she could think of a way to cut through the pretense.

When Margaret arrived at the jail with Joan in tow, the warden greeted her almost like a friend. “You are here to see the heretic, Princess? Shall I fetch you a chair?”

“Yes, Phillip. And a lantern, if you would.”

The cell was nearly identical to the one which Joan had dreamed on the road to La Rochelle. Inside sat a man with sparse gray hair covering his chin. Margaret’s chair was placed just outside the cell, but she brushed past it. She handed the lantern to Joan and knelt down in the cell beside the prisoner.

“I was told that I had a secret friend in the court,” he said. “I see now that she is an angel.”

“No angel, monsieur Faber. I am Margaret, and this is my lady, Joan. I have come to see to your welfare, as best I am able.”

Now, Margaret’s hood fell back, and all at once she looked every inch the Princess of France. Yet her voice was small and choked when she said, “Will you do me the honor of praying with me?”

Margaret was already on her knees, but she lowered herself further. She rested one hand lightly on Faber’s knee, and after a moment, he took it. Her eyes fluttered closed. In the dim light, Joan thought she saw tears starting down her mother’s cheek.

When she woke in the morning, Joan could still remember her mother’s face. There were tears in her hazelnut eyes, and a weeping quiver in her voice.

*

Winter came, and Joan’s coughing grew worse. There was blood in it now, and occasionally bits of feathery flesh that got caught in her throat and made her gag. She hid it in her handkerchief.

“Winter battles are ugly,” Conde remarked one morning as Christmas was drawing near. “If the enemy is anything like gentlemen, they will not attack until spring. And yet, I think, we must stand at readiness.”

“By all means,” Joan replied. “Anything less than readiness would be negligence.”

Conde chuckled, not unkindly. “For all your strength and skill, madame, it is obvious that you were not bred for command. No force can be always at readiness. It would kill the men as surely as the sword. ‘Tis not negligence to celebrate the birth of Our Lord, for instance.”

Joan nodded curtly, but did not reply.

As the new year began, the city was increasingly on edge. There was frequent unrest among the refugees, and the soldiers Joan met when she rode the fortifications nearly always remarked that an attack would come soon.

Then, as February melted into March, word came from Admiral Coligny that his position along the Guirlande Stream had been compromised. The Catholic vanguard was swift approaching, and more Huguenot forces were needed. By the time word reached Joan in the form of a breathless young page outside her office, Conde was already assembling the cavalry. Joan made for the Navarre quarter at once, as fast as her lungs and her skirts would let her.

The battle was an unmitigated disaster. The Huguenots arrived late, and in insufficient numbers. Their horses were scattered and their infantry routed, and the bulk of their force was forced back to Cognac to regroup. As wounded came pouring in, Joan went to the surgical tents to make herself useful.

The commander La Noue’s left arm had been shattered and required amputation. Steeling herself, Joan thought of Margaret’s tearstained cheeks as she knelt beside Faber. “Commander La Noue,” she murmured, “Would it comfort you if I held your other hand?”

“That it would, Your Majesty,” the commander replied. So, as the surgeon brandished his saw, Joan gripped the commander’s hand tight and began to pray. She let go only once, to cover her mouth as she hacked blood into her palm. It blended in easily with the carnage of the field hospital.

Yet it was not till after the battle was over that Joan learned the worst of it. “His Grace, General Conde is dead,” her captain told her in her tent that evening. “He was unseated in the battle. They took him captive, and then they shot him. Unarmed and under guard! Why, as I speak these words, they are parading his corpse through the streets of Jarnac.”

“So much for chivalry,” murmured Joan, trying to ignore the memories of Conde’s pleasant face chuckling, calling her skilled and strong.

“We will need to find another Prince of the Blood to champion our cause,” her captain continued. “Else the army will crumble. If there’s to be any hope for Protestantism in France, we had better produce one with haste. Admiral Coligny will not serve. He’s tried to rally the men, to no avail. In fact, he has bid me request that you make an attempt on the morn.”

“Henry will lead.”

“Henry? Why, he’s only a boy!”

Joan shook her head. “He is nearly a man, Captain, and he’s a keen knack for military matters. He trained with Conde himself, and he saw to the fortification of La Rochelle at my side. He is strong, which matters most of all. If it’s a Prince of the Blood the army requires, Henry will serve.”

“As you say, Majesty,” said her captain with a bow. “But it’s not me you will have to convince.”

*

Joan settled in for a sleepless night. Her captain was correct that she would need to persuade the Huguenot forces well, if they were to swear themselves to Henry. So, she would speak. Joan would rally their courage, and then she would present them with her son and see if they would follow him.

Page after page she wrote, none of it any good. Eloquence alone would not suffice; Joan’s words had to burn in men’s chests. She needed such words as she had never spoken before, and she needed them by morning.  

By three o’clock, Joan’s pages were painted with blood. Her lungs were tearing themselves to shreds in her chest, and the proof was there on the paper beside all her insufficient words. She almost hated herself then. Now, when circumstance required of her greater strength than ever before, all Joan’s frame was weakness and frailty.

An hour later, she fell asleep.

When Joan’s eyes fluttered open, she knew at once where she was. Why, these were her own rooms at home in Navarre! Sunlight flooded through her own open windows and drew ladders of light across Joan’s very own floor. Her bed sat in the corner, curtains open. Her dressing room and closet were just there, and her own writing desk—

There was a figure at Joan’s writing desk. Margaret. She looked up.

“My Joan,” she said. It started as a sigh, but it turned into a sob by the end. “My very own Joan, all grown up. How tired you look.” 

The words seemed larger than themselves somehow. They were Truth and Beauty in capital letters, illuminated red and gold. Something in Joan’s chest seized; something other than her lungs. 

“How do you know me, mother?”

“How could I not? I have been parted from you of late, yet your face is more precious to me than all the kingdoms of the earth.”

“Oh.” And then, because she could not think of anything else to say, Joan asked, “What were you writing, before I came in?”’

“Poetry.” Joan made a noise in her throat. “You disapprove?” asked her mother.

“No, not at all. Would that I had time for such sweet pursuits. I have worn myself out this night writing a war speech. It cannot be poetry, mother. It must be wine. It must–” then, without preamble, Joan collapsed into a fit of coughing. At once, her mother was on her feet, handkerchief in hand. She pressed it to Joan’s mouth, all the while rubbing circles on her back as she coughed and gagged. When the handkerchief came away at last, it was stained red.

“What a courageous woman you are,” Margaret whispered into her hair. “Words like wine for the soldiers, and yourself spitting blood. Will you wear pearls or armor when you address them?”

“I will address them on horseback in the field,” answered Joan with a rasp. “I would have them see my strength.”

Her mother’s dark eyes flickered then. Margaret looked at her daughter, come miraculously home to her against the will of the king and the very flow of time itself. She was not a large woman, but she held herself well. She stood brave and tall, though no one had asked it of her. 

Her own dear daughter did not have time for poetry. Margaret regretted that small fact so much that it came welling up in her eyes.  “And what of your weakness, child? Will you let anyone see that?”

Joan reached out and caught her mother’s tears. Her fingertips were harder than Margaret’s were. They scratched across the sensitive skin below her eyes.

“Did I not meet you like this once before? You are the same Joan who came with me to the jail in Paris once. I did not know you then. I had not yet borne you.”

“Yes, the very same. We visited a Monsieur Faber, I believe. What became of that poor man?”

Margaret sighed. She crossed back over to the desk to fall back into her seat, and in a smaller voice she said, “My brother released him, for a time. And then, when I was next absent from Paris, he was arrested again and sent to the stake before I could return.”

“I saw you save another man, once. I do not know his name. How many prisoners did you save, mother?”

“Many. Not near enough. Not as many as those with whom I wept by lantern light.”

“Did the weeping do any good, I wonder.”

“Those who lived were saved by weeping. Those who died may have been comforted by it. It was the only thing I could give them, and so I must believe that Our Lord made good use of it.”

Joan shook her head. She almost wanted to cry too, then. The feeling surprised her. Joan detested crying.

“All those men freed from prison, yet you never came for me. Why?”

“Francis was determined. A choice between following Christ and keeping you near was no choice at all, though it broke my heart to make it.” 

If Joan shut her eyes, she could still remember the terror of the night she had rescued Henry. “You could have come with soldiers. You could have stolen me away in the night.” 

Margaret did not answer. The tears came faster now and her fair, queenly skin blossomed red. So many years would pass between the dear little girl she’d left in Paris and the stalwart woman now before her. She did not have time for poetry, but if Margaret had been allowed to keep her that would have been different. Joan should have had every poem under the sun. 

“Will you read it?” she asked, taking the parchment from her desk and pressing it into her daughter’s hands. “Will you grant me that boon?”

Slowly, almost numbly, Joan nodded. To Margaret’s surprise, she read aloud. 

“God has predestined His own

That they should be sons and heirs.

Drawn by gentle constraint

A zeal consuming is theirs.

They shall inherit the earth

Clad in justice and worth.”

“Clad in justice and worth,” she repeated, handing back the parchment. “It’s a good poem.”

“It isn’t finished,” replied her mother.

Joan laughed. “Neither is my speech. It must be almost morning now.”

As loving arms closed around her again, Joan wished to God that she could remain in Navarre with her mother. She knew that she and Margaret did not share a heart: her mother was tender like Joan could never be. Yet all the same, she wanted to believe that they had been forged by the same Christian hope and conviction. She wanted to believe that she, Joan, could free the prisoners too. 

She shut her eyes against her mother’s shoulder. When she opened them, she was back in her tent, with morning sun streaming in. 

*

She came before the army mounted on a horse with Henry beside her. Her words were like wine when she spoke. 

“When I, the queen, hope still, is it for you to fear? Because Conde is dead, is all therefore lost? Does our cause cease to be just and holy? No; God, who has already rescued you from perils innumerable, has raised up brothers-in-arms to succeed Conde.

Soldiers, I offer you everything in my power to bestow–my dominions, my treasures, my life, and that which is dearer to me than all, my son. I make here a solemn oath before you all, and you know me too well to doubt my word: I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy cause which now unites us, which is that of honor and truth.”

When she finished speaking, Joan coughed red into her hands. There was quiet for a long moment, and then a loud hurrah! went up along the lines. Joan looked out at the soldiers, and from the front she saw her mother standing there, with tears in her eyes. 

[j-esbian]

i lost the post but i saw someone talking about how some of y’all act like being weird is a choice and like. YEAHHHHHHH.

that’s fine, it might be for you. but i just live like this and don’t know any other way. like yeah i’ve worked customer service, i can do innocuous small talk, but anything beyond that, i don’t understand what i’m missing. and it’s frustrating to see the tonal disconnect especially from people who are like “uwu embrace weirdness!!” where they’re like. dressing quirky and talking about bugs and listening to obscure music and eschewing small talk to ask Deep Questions on the first date and unlearning their tendency to not infodump. and generally have an idea of what Weirdness is supposed to look like. idk man some of us wake up and get out of bed and can’t figure out why the rest of their coworkers chitchat with each other but when they join the conversation it dies.

weirdness is value neutral. let’s stop trying to turn it into a badge because quite frankly, it’s not a choice for everyone. it’s fucking exhausting to never be on the same wavelength as other people and they’re going to react the way they do and label you the way they will without any conscious actions on your end. it’s difficult to talk about this without feeling like you’ll be dismissed as immature, a teenager whining “no one understands me” but the thing is. sometimes you don’t grow out of feeling alone and different, and there’s no good way to talk about it without feeling like people will think you’re just fishing for pity.

[krazieka2]

It's so surprising to see you on an Edelys fanzine, I seriously thought you didn't like Edelgard!!

No, I like Edelgard a lot! All of the students are likeable characters to me.

[parasitoidism]

Ur making me want to get into devilman...the art is so intoxicating to me

it is very good but I feel like I gotta state for the record it’s not something you should read if you want to like. Have fun. It’s just very grim and violent especially toward the end

[fictionadventurer]

All the tour groups in Springfield should be very proud of me for how well I refrained from sharing all my fascinating Lincoln facts.