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imaginedreamwrite · 9 months

Text

Entirely Unconventional

Part 10: Once, And Again

Enjoy the show? Have a fun night? Did you and König recover?

Nicht so süß und unschuldig kleines Kätzchen

Damn fucking brat

“Hey LT!” He felt pain behind his eye, the sudden sharp twitch had come within seconds of his mind registering Soap McTavish’s voice, and the weight of another trip back to that hell-hole in the middle of the same desolate state.

That armoury and artillery compound they’d invaded had been secured, everything inside was transported. But the man who was funnelling money into the operations in the middle of God knows where, was still hiding. Captain Price had given the objective, for the two of them, to head back to that place and flush him out.

The man who had funnelled money into this compound, this storage facility for munitions and artillery, was squirrelling himself somewhere in the backwoods and rural properties of the villages and farmlands. It made him both an easy target and a little rat bastard hiding in the crawl spaces of abandoned farmhouses.

“Looking forward to going back, sir? S’been nearly two months since you saw her last! You wanna make a stopover?” Soap’s suggestion was as much of a jest as this emotionless exterior as it was a genuine attempt at getting the cold Lieutenant to relax.

It was your fault, you had done this. You had started this fucking problem with your fingers, and your moans. The sound of your pleasure had centred itself in his mind again, a reminder of the passion that was thickened by the bond of being each others soulmates.

You, and your damn masturbation habits, had broken the straw that kept their own hunger at bay.

It was one too many bands that had snapped, and that pressure led to both Ghost & König experiencing the first rolling snowball of desire. The first initial shove that made them crash into each other, devouring the other with lust, all because you couldn’t keep your fingers out of your pussy.

And now, all Ghost could focus on was the need to have König pinning your hands above your head, trapping you. Giving you no room to leave, so Ghost could return the favour and devour you wholly.

His traumatic past couldn’t stop him from wanting to unleash his deeply seeded desire to fuck, to crave and taste and unleash his fated passions upon you.

“Fucking hell, you don’t fucking quit.” Ghost’s ire was vehement, his eyes stormy and dark. “Goddamn wanker!”

Soap held no more fear of Ghost than he did König, knowing that both his commanding officers were feeling the effects of their little soulmates late night excursions. The late night hours that had driven them crazy, has made the two men cantankerous, although Soap was more amused than not.

“We got leave soon, LT. Heard my little bird Em say your American spitfire is coming to visit for a few weeks.” Soap grinned in the way he usually did, like he had no real care in the world or any real-world consequences waiting for him.

John Soap McTavish was the kind of man most of them wished they could be. He still wasn’t jaded from what they saw, he wasn’t bitter and closed off. He had this natural youthfulness to him that had followed him all his life. He still had the ability to feel like a kid, like someone who wasn’t battered, bruised and dragged through hell.

Johnny was one of the lucky ones, one of the soldiers who had someone waiting for him at home when he went on leave. Johnny had someone who was writing him letters and caring for him with the intensity of a well-known lover. No matter what happened, Johnny had his wife to lean on.

Ghost was bitter, he was closed off and inflexible to love. Even when he was awarded two soulmates who could be everything he needed, he was still unable to see how he deserved them. In his mind, he was damned, and they were damned with him. He didn’t think he would ever feel free enough to endure such love.

“You got somewhere to go, Johnny.” Simon’s voice was less guarded now, more honest and natural. “Don’t take that for granted, don’t fuck it up!”

“You do too, LT!” Soap called back, nodding his head in Ghost’s direction as if to extend the invitation without having to say it.

Ghost was silent, he had revelled in the silence that stymied them both. He had endured the quiet and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his knife. He squeezed and let go, squeezed and let go, until he felt his resolve regaining itself.

There’s no where for a place like him; like them. They’re phantoms, shadows more than people now.

No you’re not, you never have been. Your voice countered his, and Ghost verbally hissed from the gentility. It was unwarranted, it was a direct attack on the shell he had surrounded himself with.

Damned fool, you’re gonna burn with us

We’re connected, whether you like it or not. You’re mine, I’m yours.

And you’re damned for it. You’re breakable, it’s inevitable. He was condescending, of himself and of König’s dependency on you, the three of you all meant to be twisted and broken together.

It was innate, it was their future.

What you want, we could never give you. We could never give you the future you want. Ghost’s voice went through your head, and König’s. We’re not meant for it. We’ll only break you.

It all felt like a step back, like he was land-sliding further from this new openness. You had broken off pieces of their guard, and Ghost in his fear of losing something real and true, again, was trying to shove it all back together.

You were silent, for a moment, and then your voice echoed in his head. Soft like a bell or whistle, yet with the ability to further crack that detrimental shell around his heart.

It's amazing how someone can break your heart, and you can still love them with all the little pieces.

Silence rang out, the bridge that bonded the three of you was silent.

And Ghost remained in that silence, his eyes staring ahead as he fixated his attention upon the wall of the helicopter. Transportation back to the States, back to that hellhole had begun, their task to track down that little worm was started.

You wouldn’t be an ocean away, you wouldn’t be across the world. You would be within his fingertips. And Ghost, irregardless of how hard he wanted to keep you at a distance, was drawn like a moth to a flame.

Damn him, damn himself to hell, he had to see you.

To spite himself.

To spite every damn bone in his body that hated you, that absolutely loathed you, he wanted and had to see you. It was innate, it was incredulous.

Simon Riley could’ve cursed you, he could have damned you with every breath. He didn’t need you, he didn’t want you, he had no use for you.

Yet, your ability to make the ice around the old soldiers heart chip away was beyond what he could control. If it were up to him, to Ghost, he would have frozen his heart in a cryogenic chamber away from yourself and König.

But damn you, damn you American woman with all he had in him, Simon Riley couldn’t turn off from you.

He was driven, by an unseen force, to find you. Despite the warring denial that they required you, that they wanted you, Ghost thought about Soap’s advice.

“You know you’re thinking about it. About seeing her. Trust me, LT...showing up to see her is exactly what you need.”

“Not happening, Johnny. We have a mission.”

Still, the thought was tempting.

Fuck, you better be around. His thick gravelly voice echoed in his own head, a thought shared with you as he let that shadowed and tiny piece of him have a small victory.

Regardless of how scared shitless, he was over letting that tiny little piece of hope win.

************

Simon Riley was not damaged, not like he had thought. Rather, he was traumatized from events of the past, and the cruel hands of fate handed to him.

You knew that, you had been warned of that, but you’d never fully understood to what extent he had hated any chance of happiness.

It was clear that of the two, Simon & König, König had been less physically damaged a than Simon.

You had seen more of König than you had of Simon. You’d seen more of his memories than Ghost had allowed you to see, with much of König’s thoughts and memories centred around his home life in Austria & Germany.

Not only that, but you’d seen the memories he had of his mother, the blood sweat and tears that she had shed for her little boy.

Young König, who wanted so desperately to go on school trips, leading his mother to prevent herself from eating food to save him money. She had done everything she could to give him the ability to go.

You had seen his memories and the bullying he suffered from being a poor boy who was bigger and taller than all his classmates. The kind of bullying that made König develop social anxiety that followed him all his life.

You saw his memories, and he had seen yours. He had seen your love of being on the water on a sandy, smooth beach and the crystal-like water that stretched for miles.

It was Devonshire Beach, someplace that had you had adored and craved to be at, a place where you were endlessly wishing to be at every chance you got.

You had been able to communicate your love for that place, the place where you were most comfortable and happiest. That place where you had longed to be day after day, week after week.

König had seen your memories of your short-term relationships that never gone anywhere for your fear of being taken too far emotionally into something that was doomed to fail.

You and König had created a new level of this bond; Ghost and yourself were still at a crawling point.

“I can’t wait for you to get here! Ugh, there are so many places I want to take you!” Em’s excitement bled through the phone as you’d pinned it between your ear and your shoulder.

“Three weeks in Scotland away from work, what a dream.” You were ragged, you were tired, and you wanted to go to bed.

Upon approaching your village townhouse, you dug your keys out from your scrub pockets, twirling them around your finger twice before you stepped up the porch.

Though it had been more than 12 hours since you left, you’d felt as if it were just seconds ago since you stepped outside for your shift.

Your keys were stuck in the lock, as usual. You jiggled the keys in the lock, grunting your irritation and annoyance, your ire for the damned thing.

Your frustration grew, and you’d just managed to turn the key to unlock the door when you heard audible footsteps behind you. You turned your head and cast your speculative gaze behind you, a squeaky shriek ripped from your lips.

“Y/N-” Johnny Soap McTavish was less than three feet behind you, with one half of your soulmates in tow.

Your immediate reaction was to strike him, your fist balled as tightly as you could manage, and you’d driven it into his shoulder. Though it hadn’t actually hurt him, Johnny still cursed under his breath and rubbed his arm. His blue eyes were narrowed, annoyed at you for striking him, and causing him minute pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! What are you doing here?!” You screeched at him, panic and fear rushing through you at the sudden appearance of them on your porch. “Do you have a death wish?! Do you know how many people have guns here?! You could have been shot!”

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” You were only aware of Em still talking when she raised her voice through the phone, reminding you that she could hear everything.

“You almost became a widow!” You struck Johnny again, anger coursing through your attack on your best friend's husband.

“Johnny! You didn’t shoot him did you?” She chirped with wonder, while you glared heavily at the two men.

“You got a minute?”

“You could’ve been shot, you idiot!” You struck Johnny again, only once being aware of Ghost’s eyes on you, and the striking blue eyes alight with amusement.

Strike him again, love

“You—!” Your eyes darted from Johnny to Ghost, your soulmate looking deadly and intimidating, like a demon at night.

He had stood behind Johnny, wearing that familiar skeleton mask and the black eye paint around his eyes.

He was dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, starting with a thick Kevlar vest and a balaclava beneath the mask. He hadn’t gotten rid of his weapons, not a single one, but rather he had kept them on to give himself a more intimidating appearance.

Honestly, despite his aggressive look, having Ghost appear on your doorstep wasn’t even close to the most negating experience of your night. Despite his intense distaste that he seemed to have for you, seeing him here was almost relieving. It had almost heartening to see him, to have him this close.

Even if he would rather not adhere to this bond, you were happy to see him again. Regardless of how they scared the shit out of you, having Ghost here was almost exhilarating.

Being in the presence of your soulmate, irregardless of his feelings for you, was affecting you almost as intensely as it had the night you met them.

“What,” your voice had taken a hard edge, your eyes narrowing in on them, “are you doing here?!”

Johnny grinned, boyishly, in a manner that made you irritated. His natural penchant to be a man riddled with good-natured humour, and humour at others expense, had been vexing to say the least. But no more than his ability to also make you forget your qualms with a man like him.

Johnny would have been a good friend, but you couldn’t have handled someone like him continually trying to get under your skin.

“I guess we need another favour.” Johnny’s voice first caught your attention; however, it was Ghost that had kept it.

Another look at him, and another remembrance of his size, was yet again capable of producing a sort of enchantment that took hold of you. He was at least 6’4” if not 6’5” and seeing him in person, for only the second time, had reiterated your feeling of being a sprout compared to him.

Between Ghost & König, you felt like a little sprite, a little gaiety creature surrounded by giants and beasts. Hell, even compared to Johnny, you felt short.

“Ghost.” You spoke his code name, far more airily than you wanted to.

You were captivated by him, and his aggressive nature. He was your soulmate despite denying you and attempting to push you away, and want was only natural. The desire to be around each other, to hear each others voice and grow deeper connected, was only natural.

Fate was not to be ignored, fate was not going to let any of you, not the three of you, part from the other. You were, and always would be, connected and bound together.

You were watching Ghost, and he was watching you, his chin tucked ever so slightly. His eyes had narrowed, minimally, and his fingers flexed around the gun he held in his hands. The tension between you was skyrocketing, thick and heavy, and bubbling over with desire and mutual need.

“You want some privacy-“ you struck Johnny again, as hard as you could with everything you could.

“Y/N! Did you kill my husband?!” Em’s voice was far more panicked than before, concern for her husband's well-being at your hand was not understated.

“Not yet.” You reassured her, though you felt tempted by the idea of murdering her husband. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We had to deal with something—“ Johnny trailed off, ending the half-sentence abruptly. You thought it had been the end of it, and then you heard him speaking again. “Gonna let us in, love?”

“You don’t call me that.” You grit your teeth and bend down to gather your thrown items, ultimately standing and bundling them in your arms. “Why are you here? Didn’t think they allowed stop-offs when you’re doing the military’s work.”

“Got a job, went sideways. We only have an hour, two at max. Can we come in?”

Your eyes had been caught by Ghosts’ again, and your heart racing. There was such a draw to him, beyond the fear and the apprehension, you just wanted to be around him.

“You wanna come in?” Your question was aimed at Johnny, but looked at Ghost, and then turned back. “Your cut looks good, healed okay. You have another?”

“Not me. Got time?” Johnny’s grin seemed permanently affixed to his face, another layer to the charming Scotsman.

“I do now.” You mumbled under your breath and turned back to your door, opening for the three of you.

“If you murder me...” you looked back at Johnny, your stomach flipping end over end. “... I’ll haunt you.”

“So paranoid, lass.” Johnny’s retort was airy, and he was clearly amused, though you hadn’t seen the humour in it at all.

“Are you allowed to be here? Aren’t you on a time constraint?” You questioned them both as you stepped inside and waved them in.

There was hesitancy on both, parties, neither of them immediately wanting to step into your house.

Though Johnny was more receptive to coming in, even he had waited a moment before he stepped over the threshold and entered your place. As he had, you dropped your bag down onto your floor and kicked off your shoes. You flicked on the light switch and cast another look back at the two of them.

Both were wearing tactical gear, although Ghost seemed to have more, and while you could see the flag of their respective home countries on each of their uniforms, you were drawn to the UK flag on Simon’s.

“You can come in, maybe explain why you thought it was okay to give me a heart attack.” Your invitation was both ambiguous and intimate, depending on the two men who heard it.

Johnny had spared no effort to step into your townhouse, almost needing to step sideways with his gear; however, Ghost hadn’t been so eager. He stood on the other side of the door, staring you down with piercing blue eyes that struck deep into your soul.

And as you got a better look at both of them, you noticed the distinguishable sight of blood. Soap had seemed to be better off than not, with the man only receiving specks of the hemoglobin on his arms and forehead; however, it seemed like Ghost had a gash on his arm.

It didn’t look deep, but it was open, and it needs to be taken care of.

You didn’t want to know the details of how it happened, you didn’t think you could stomach the idea of it; however, you knew it must’ve been a sporadic event. His sleeve was ripped, torn or cut to find the wound, and there was already dried blood around his gash.

“Shit.” You winced at the sight of it, knowing that this was the explanation for their sudden appearance at your house. “You need that looked at, and it needs to be sewn.”

“Thought we should make a house call. Em gave me your address.” Johnny set the rifle in his hands down, much like Ghost had, and started undoing the Velcro straps of his Kevlar vest.

It is unclear to you why you didn’t notice before, why you hadn’t seen the wound on his arm and the missing portion of his sleeve, but now that you had, you knew you needed to fix it.

You didn’t need details, you hadn’t wanted details, and even if you had, you doubted they would tell you. Or at the very least fabricate a lie like Em.

That’s what you expected, that’s what you had anticipated, however you were once again surprised when Ghost had stepped forward toward your couch, littered with folded clothes you had forgotten about, and spoke with a gruff thick accent.

“Dealing with leftover shit, damned bastard set traps.” His gruff British accent had a surreal affect on you, the visible tremble of your hands and the definite acknowledgment of how attractive you’d found it, mentally at least.

It came naturally to your mind, and settled into your thoughts warmly.

An innate desire to hear it again, whispering the same kind of sexually fuelled words that had been uttered on the night that you had gone out drinking. It had been a turn on for you that night, the uttered sounds fuelling your need to find self-pleasure, and that had been shared with the two of them.

And you’d just as easily found yourself captivated by his thick British accent, and König’s German one.

“I have a habit of asking doctors for extra supplies just in case. I have surgical thread, I can sew it up.” You spoke quickly.

You were far more anxious being in your house with these two men, one being your soulmate, than you were in the hospital room with a crowd of them.

There, you felt standoffish.

Here, it felt intimate.

“I’ll just...” you glanced at the folded clothes, thanking your self-preservation for hiding your underwear in stacks of scrubs instead of keeping them out.

Still, you’d felt momentarily embarrassed by the state of your clothes folded and left out, and you’d quickly picked them up and set them back in the basket.

You’d wanted to put them away before you’d gone to work and never had the chance, your morning starting chaotically by your phone alarms failing.

“I’ll be right back. Umm...sit, make yourselves....just sit.” You turned away from them and headed toward the stairs, grabbing hold of the railings. You held onto both as you climbed the steps to the bathroom, stepping inside and opening the cupboard to the left.

You grabbed your first aid kit from the bottom shelf and tucked it under your arm, using your free hand to grab the antiseptic and gauze. With everything you needed, you headed back downstairs and to the living room, side-eyeing the two of them as they were in very different positions.

While Johnny was unceremoniously draped across one of your second hand armchairs, Ghost was standing near the couch, however he wasn’t sitting. He was staring dead on at a picture of you when you were younger that was taken at your favourite spot in the world.

Devonshire Beach was at the cusp of a massive lake, one that stretched for miles upon miles. The water was warm and relatively clear, with a sandy bottom. The lake had remained shallow enough to touch the bottom for what seemed like a mile before your feet wouldn’t reach, and the soft sand had continued well onto the shoreline.

In the picture you were seven or eight, covered in wet sand with a wide grin on your face and the sun at your back. You had just come out of the water after spending all day at the shoreline, and in the water, and there was no shortage of happy weeks there.

Devonshire Beach was one of the only times and places you’d actually enjoyed being in your dad’s presence. Every other time, you’d found ire for the man who would rather spend time with his girlfriend than his child.

But when he took you to Devonshire Beach, and let you run wild, you were truly happy. When you were in that water, on that beach, your father's indiscretions didn’t matter. You had the water, you had the sand, and you had the endless lake to spend your time in.

“That’s my favourite place in the whole world. I spent weeks there every summer when it was my dads turn to take me.” You set the first aid kit on the coffee table, talking to both of them, but mostly Ghost, as he had looked at your picture.

“I try to go back once a summer for a few weeks. Honestly, if I could live there, I would.” Your small conversation attempt with the roguish soldier was one-sided though you knew he, and König, acknowledged what you said and thought, when you felt that flourish of warmth in your body.

You thought of it, of the lake and the beach that you loved. The untouched source of happiness you experienced with your divorced father, and the soft glow of the sun. You were sharing that memory with them, all while Ghost was studying the coutures on your walls and Johnny looked like he was sleeping.

“I have the first aid kit, I can fix your arm.” You broke the silence and drew his attention away from the pictures on your wall, back to yourself.

His eyes had been striking, impossibly bright against the dark around his eyes and the bleached skeleton mask. He had turned further to face you, only taking two long strides to the couch, and sitting down almost silently.

“This might hurt,” you reached into the first aid kit for the kit of needles you had, as well as the gauze and wipes, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Ghost was silent but observant.

He had extended his arm to allow you access to the gash, and a better look at the tattoos he had on his arm. You had taken a brief look at the ink marking his skin, the story of each tattoo simultaneously cohesive and almost.

Although you knew there was some meaning to them, to him, you weren’t going to ask.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” You apologized prematurely and dabbed the antiseptic wipe against the edge of the wound first, watching him carefully for any indication that it hurt.

“Does this feel okay? Does it hurt? Am I hurting you?” His answer, predictably, came through your mind.

Doesn’t scratch the surface, love

“I don’t have any numbing gel or cream, so this might hurt more—“ you were cut off, rather abruptly, by his thick accent verbalizing his state of mind.

“I’ve been through hell, this is nothing.” His blue eyes bore into your own, and there was a cathartic minute where your gazes had been locked on each others.

Heat, intense and deep, had struck you like lightning. It was powerful and all encompassing, an internal combustion that was directly rooted in your fated bond.

Soulmates intertwined with each other in every captivating way.

Eventually, you dropped your gaze and finished cleaning the gash on his arm.

You had exchanged the antiseptic wipes for the surgical thread you’d taken from one of the doctors there. While there was no trauma bay, nor really, or any surgery rooms, a few of the doctors that worked there also worked in the city.

And they had known you wanted to stock up on your own miniature medical stash at your place. All it took was a conversation, a simple favour the next time they were in the city hospital, and at least one would try to abide by your request.

As you threaded the needle, you hummed a song under your breath. You worked quickly to tie and cut off the excess, only to hesitate before you made the first mark.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Your concerns for him, about hurting him, were high. You hated the idea of not having some numbing cream or gel, and without freezing it could be incredibly painful.

With his silence, you had started the process of stitching his wound, weaving the needle and the medical thread in and out of his skin to close it again. You worked in silence under the weight of his icy gaze, a slight tremble to your hands as you worked.

You hadn’t been this close to him in months, not since you’d first met him, and he was intimidating. He was built like a mountain, with his height and weight relative to his thick size and strength. He could easily kill you with his hands, and everything else about him was just as pertinent to terrifying anyone he came across.

“Are you okay?” You questioned Simon again, doubling down on your insistence that you hadn’t wanted to hurt him. “Simon..?”

You sat up on your haunches and reached for his mask, fingertips grazing the hard shell before he stopped you. His hand snatched your wrist and squeezed enough to make you startle. His eyes narrowed, and though you couldn’t see his mouth, you figured he might have been scowling at you.

In exchange, you had tried to tug your wrist away, stumbling forward as he held you firm. He had leaned down, drawing himself closer and allowing you to see the darker flecks in his blue eyes.

“I never take my mask off.”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice was tight, squeaking almost. “I won’t touch it again.”

Johnny, to his credit, had noticed the shift in tension and flipped himself right, placing his boots on the ground. His own wondering gaze had flitted between the two of you, and his lips had become pursed.

“Y’okay, Y/N?” There was a protectiveness, a kind that would be present between a brother and sister.

“I’m fine. I’m almost finished.” Your hands shook, and you felt real fear, real apprehension. You worked as quickly as you could, tying off the rest of the stitches and giving it a final wipe with antiseptic.

When you were done, you threw everything back in the first aid kit and zipped it shut, hastily returning it back to the bathroom.

You’d almost hoped they’d have been gone by the time you returned, both were still present however they were getting ready to leave. You shuffled into the living room, still on the edge of fear, with your heart racing.

“The stitches need to stay in for 4–14 days, depending on how fast you heal. You could cut them yourself, but if you have a medic or doctor on your...base or wherever—“

“Thanks, Y/N. You’ve said our asses twice now.” Johnny had finished securing his Kevlar vest, and the Velcro that kept it in on place, and then he picked up his gun. “Three weeks in Scotland, yeah?”

“Mandatory time off. I haven’t used my vacation hours and they won’t give me anymore.” You explained softly, not being able to look at Ghost for longer than a few seconds. “Plus it's been almost 4 years since I’ve seen Emilia.”

“You mean for more than 12 hours.” Johnny added, stretching his arms above his head. “She’s excited for ya, been talking nonstop about you and her going out for your birthday.”

I forgot about that, your thoughts betrayed you, 25 in two weeks

Birthday? When is your birthday, schätzchen? König’s voice had crackled in your mind, his question softened.

“Apparently 25 is a big deal.” You furrowed your brows and crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t celebrate my birthday usually.”

“Please for the love of God, humour my wife.”

Johnny practically begged, teasing her endearingly. “Let her take you out.”

“Mhmm.” You nodded and hummed, watching Johnny leave your house first, stepping forward to clsoe the door behind them. “I promise I’ll let her drag me out.”

“I love my wife, I’d die for her, but sometimes...” Johnny grinned, only minutely serious, and then he glanced back at Ghost. “LT...?”

You watched him standing just outside the doorway, his eyes once again boring into yours. As you stepped forward to close the door, one solid hand had pushed you back against the doorframe, and another cupped your chin.

His hand was large, fingers partially obscured by gloves that were cut off at his first knuckles. He had stepped close to you, trapping you between his body and your door. With one hand cupping your chin and his unrelenting eyes keeping your gaze hostage, you were breathlessly waiting for...something.

Tension was climbing, and it felt as if everything else surrounding you had become dull and stagnant. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, you were unable to stop your heart from beating wildly.

Slowly he leaned in, closer and closer until his voice was nothing more than a whisper to you.

“Shouldn’t have scared ya, love.” It was as apologetic as you imagined he could get. “Fixed me good.”

“Don’t....get shot or anything. At least not before you get to an actual doctor.” A dry, humourless sound was heard between you, and then his hand tightened on your chin.

“LT! We gotta go!” Johnny called out from the front steps of your place, urging Ghost to leave.

Another moment, brief as it was, and then he pulled away. “Have a good night, love.”

He stepped away from the front door, watching you with intensity until you closed the door behind them and switched the lock.

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formulatrash · 11 months

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hello hazel! first time watching the indy 500 yesterday and i just found it so strange and uncomfortable how all of the commentators were speaking about santino ferrucci. i didn’t follow the junior series till recently and even i found out about how much of a bad person he is.

everyone was actively rooting for him to win and i think i just kept muttering to myself “he’s a raging racist” the whole time and every time i thought they would stop, they would just bring him up again.

honestly, if they don’t care about what he did then maybe don’t vocalize that you’re ok with it? and anyone that says well maybe he’s changed, this guy has openly said he doesn’t regret what he did.

i don’t know, i just found the whole thing so bizarre because i didn’t realize that he was actually well liked in indycar for some reason.

cn: racist bullying, generally being an arsehole

so for anyone who doesn't have the context for this: in 2018 Santino Ferrucci was America's hot new Formula 1 prospect, signed to Haas as a junior and competing in Formula 2 with ehhhh I guess. some results. he'd scored points for Trident, which isn't a frontrunning team but good drivers have taken the car to wins.

his teammate was Arjun Maini, who during the French round gave one of the most desperate-sounding, saddest radio messages you've ever heard, sounding close to tears and begging "I swear you guys don't support me at all" and saying no one believed him about his car's performance.

at the time it was extraordinary but maybe didn't ring the right alarm bells. the F2 car was very tricky for teams to manage and even Maini's explanation, that parts were failing and he was losing pace compared to his teammate, more accused the championship of having a shoddy car than anything else.

Ferrucci didn't exactly seem nice. but then there was a battle at the front of the 2018 field between Russell, Albon and Norris that was fairly distracting so someone picking up the odds point finish wasn't getting too much press scrutiny.

then it gets to Silverstone and things explode. Maini is clearly miserable and at the end of the sprint race (which then was after the feature race, so this is Sunday) Ferrucci comes out of fucking nowhere and crashes deliberately into Maini on the in-lap. he's banned for four races for being a weapon and then it all starts coming out.

Trident apologise to Maini, who it turns out was totally right that his car was essentially being sabotaged by Ferrucci and was also being subjected to racist bullying by Ferrucci and his father. Ferrucci's also dropped for non-payment, in a statement that basically says we couldn't wait to find a legal way to get away from this asshole.

Haas bin him at the same time and that looks like the end of this wanker who adds 'texting while driving a racecar' and 'trying to run a MAGA livery' to his list of misdemeanours all over the course of the same weekend.

he does a bit more postural nonsense including claiming he can't be racist because he's Italian and then seems to go away. until 2019 when he turns up in IndyCar as darling of the year. I don't watch a lot of IndyCar but it was to pretty much everyone's dismay to find this dude being gassed up from the start and given opportunities to put his "behavioural incidents" behind him without any regret.

idk how much he actually changed even on an operational level within teams cus he did get binned out of Indy for a bit to NASCAR, which actually has a pretty strong anti-racism and anti-asshole thing going on so unsurprisingly he didn't last there. now he's back in Indy being gassed up as the next great American dream by anyone with a microphone and I can't tell you what the Penske corporation sees in him but it's always been this way since he rocked up there.

some of it is a bit of 'well screw Europe and their whiny moralism we're backing our boy' kind of thing but like. this wasn't 'oh no you don't have the correct experience of our intricate continental racing' this was 'fuck off, you racist non-payer who held a team ransom while abusing your teammate, along with your garbage dad.' I guess someone always has to be the worst cousin at the barbecue and like so often, they're the one with the sports medals lately.

#motorsport asks

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gameknigh · 11 months

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Anyways here is a list of about 200 things I am no longer allowed to do within the UNSC ONI or Spartan Operations, I do not regret any of these

My proper military title is ‘Spartan Sam’ not ‘Princess Anastasia’.

Not allowed to threaten anyone with black magic.

Not allowed to challenge anyone’s disbelief of black magic by asking for hair.

Not allowed to get silicone breast implants.

Not allowed to play ‘Pulp Fiction’ with a suction-cup dart pistol and any officer.

Not allowed to add ‘In accordance with the prophesy’ to the end of answers I give to a question an officer asks me.

Not allowed to add pictures of officers I don’t like to War Criminal posters.

Not allowed to title any product ‘Get Over it’.

Not allowed to purchase anyone’s soul on Government time.

Not allowed to join the communist party.

Not allowed to join any militia.

N ot allowed to form any militia.

Not allowed out of my office when the president visited Boston.

Not allowed to train adopted stray dogs to ‘Sic Brass!’

Must get a haircut even if it tampers with my ‘Sampson like powers’.

God may not contradict any of my orders.

May no longer perform my now (in)famous ‘Barbie Girl Dance’ while on duty.

May not call any officers immoral, untrustworthy, lying, slime, even if I’m right.

Must not taunt the Harvestians any more.

Must attempt to not antagonize ODSTs.

Must never call an ODST a ‘Wanker’.

Must never ask anyone who outranks me if they’ve been smoking crack.

Must not tell any officer that I am smarter than they are, especially if it’s true.

Never confuse a Revian soldier for a Martian one.

Never tell a German soldier that ‘We kicked your ass in World War 2!’

Don’t take the batteries out of the other Spartan’s alarm clocks (Even if they do hit snooze about forty times).

The Irish Spartans are not after ‘Me frosted lucky charms’.

Not allowed to wake an Non-Commissioned Officer by repeatedly banging on the head with a bag of trash.

Not allowed to let sock puppets take responsibility for any of my actions.

Not allowed to let sock puppets take command of my post.

Not allowed to chew gum at formation, unless I brought enough for everybody.

(Next day) Not allowed to chew gum at formation even if I *did* bring enough for everybody.

Not allowed to sing ‘High Speed Dirt’ by Megadeth during airborne operations. (‘See the earth below/Soon to make a crater/Blue sky, black death, I’m off to meet my maker’)

Can’t have flashbacks to wars I was not in. (The Interplanetary War isn’t over).

Our medic is called ‘Sgt Larwasa’, not ‘Dr. Feelgood’.

Our supply Sgt is ‘Sgt Watkins’ not ‘Sugar Daddy’.

Not allowed to ask for the day off due to religious purposes, on the basis that the world is going to end, more than once.

I do not have super-powers.

Camouflage body paint is not a uniform.

I am not the atheist chaplain.

I am not authorized to fire officers.

Not allowed to trade military equipment for ‘magic beans’.

Not allowed to sell magic beans during duty hours.

Not allowed to quote ‘Dr Seuss’ on military operations.

Not allowed to yell ‘Take that Cobra’ at the rifle range.

Not allowed to quote ‘Full Metal Jacket ‘ at the rifle range.

‘Napalm sticks to kids’ is *not* a motivational phrase.

An order to ‘Put Kiwi on my boots’ does *not* involve fruit.

An order to ‘Make my Boots black and shiny’ does not involve electrical tape.

The proper response to a lawful order is not ‘Why?’

The following words and phrases may not be used in a cadence- based, necrophilia, I hate everyone in this formation and wish they were dead, all Marines are latent homosexuals, Arcadian yoga, Gotterdammerung, or any references to squid.

May not make posters depicting the leadership failings of my chain of command.

‘The Giant Space Ants’ are not at the top of my chain of command.

It is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, no longer applies to Spartan Sam.

Command decisions do *not* need to be ratified by a 2/3 majority.

There are no evil clowns living under my bed.

There is no ‘Anti-Mime’ campaign on Harvest.

I am not the Spartan Ops Mascot.

I may not line my helmet with tin foil to ‘Block out the space mind control lasers’.

May not pretend to be a fascist stormtrooper on duty

I am not authorized to prescribe any form of medication.

May not conduct psychological experiments on my chain of command.

The MP checkpoint is not an Imperial Stormtrooper roadblock, so I should not tell them “You don’t need to see my identification, these are not the droids you are looking for.”

I may not call block my chain of command.

I am neither the king nor queen of cheese.

Not allowed to wear MJOLNIR to any army functions.

May not bring a drag queen to the battalion formal dance.

May not form any press gangs.

Must not start any SITREP (Situation Report) with “I recently had an experience I just had to write you about….”

Must not use military vehicles to ‘Squish’ things.

May not challenge anyone in my chain of command to the ‘field of honor’.

If the thought of something makes me giggle for longer than 15 seconds, I am to assume that I am not allowed to do it.

Must not refer to the Commander as ‘Dad’.

I am not authorized to initiate Jihad.

When asked to give a few words at a military ceremony ‘Romper Bomper Stomper Boo’ is probably not appropriate.

Nerve gas is not funny.

Crucifixes do not ward off ONI officers, and I should not test that.

I am not in need of a more suitable host body.

The proper response to a chemical weapon attack is not ‘Tell my chain of command what I really think about them, and then poke holes in their masks.’

A smiley face is not used to mark a minefield.

Claymore mines are not filled with yummy candy, and it is wrong to tell new soldiers that they are.

I am not allowed to mount a bayonet on a crew-served weapon.

Rodents are not entitled to burial with full military honors, even if they are “casualties of war”.

My commander is not old enough to have fought in the Second American Civil War, and I should stop implying that he did.

Vodka, green food coloring, and a ‘Cool Mint’ Listerine® bottle is not a good combination.

I am not allowed to bum cigarettes off of anyone under twelve.

I may not trade my rifle for any of the following: Cigarettes, booze, Unggoy, Kalishnikovs, Covenant Armored vehicles, small children, or bootleg CD’s.

Must not mock command decisions in front of the press.

Should not taunt members of the press, even if they are really fat, exceptionally stupid, and working for the UEG.

I am not authorized to change national policy in the Eastern Orion Arm.

Never, ever, attempt to correct a Spartan II about anything.

I am not qualified to operate any Covenant, UNSC, Banished, or Swords of Sanghelios Armored vehicles.

I cannot trade my CO to the Covies.

Crucifying mice – bad idea.

Burn pits for classified material are not revel fires – therefore it is wrong to dance naked around them.

I cannot arrest children for being rude.

An EO briefing is probably not the best place to unveil my newest off color joke.

Radioactive material should not be stored in the barracks.

I should not teach other soldiers to say offensive and crude things in Sangheli, under the guise of teaching them how to say potentially useful phrases.

Two drink limit does not mean first and last.

Two drink limit does not mean two kinds of drinks.

Two drink limit does not mean the drinks can be as large as I like.

‘No Drinking Of Alcoholic Beverages’ does not imply that a Jack Daniel’s ® IV is acceptable.

“Shpadoinkle” is not a real word.

The Microsoft ® ‘Dancing Paperclip’ is not authorized to countermand any orders.

‘I’m drunk’ is a bad answer to any question posed by my commander.

The loudspeaker system is not a forum to voice my ideas.

The loudspeaker system is not to be used to replace the radio.

The loudspeaker system is not to be used to broadcast the soundtrack to a porno movie.

Shouting ‘Let’s do the village! Let’s do the whole ****ing village!’ while out on a mission is bad.

Should not show up at the front gate wearing part of a Sangheli Combat Harness, messily drunk.

Even if my commander did it.

I am not authorized to sell mineral rights.

Not allowed to use a broadsword to disprove ‘The Pen is Mightier than the sword’.

I should not drink three quarts of blue food coloring before a urine test.

Nor should I drink three quarts of red food coloring, and scream during the same.

J should not threaten suicide with pop rocks and Coke ®.

Putting red ‘Mike and Ike’s’ ® into a prescription medicine bottle, and then eating them all in a formation is not funny.

Must not create new ONI forms, then insist they be filled out.

On Sports Day PT, a wedgie is not considered a legal tackle.

The proper way to report to my Commander is ‘Spartan Sam, reporting as ordered, Sir’ not ‘You can’t prove a thing!’

The following items do not exist: Keys to the Drop Zone, A box of grid squares, blinker fluid, winter air for tires, canopy lights, or MJOLNIR oil.

Shouldn’t treat ‘piss-bottles’ with extra-strength icy hot.

Teaching Sangheli children to taunt other soldiers is not nice.

I will no longer perform ‘lap-dances’ while in MJOLNIR.

The revolution is not now.

When detained by MP’s, I do not have a right to a strip search.

No part of the MJOLNIR armor is edible.

Bodychecking General officers is not a good idea.

Past lives have absolutely no effect on the chain of command.

Take that hat off.

There is no such thing as a were-virgin.

I do not get ‘that time of month’.

No, the pants are not optional.

Not allowed to operate a business out of the barracks.

Not allowed to ‘defect’ to Covenant during training missions.

On training missions, try not to shoot down the General’s helicopter.

‘A full magazine and some privacy’ is not the way to help a potential suicide.

I am not allowed to create new levels of security clearance.

Furby ® is not allowed into classified areas. (I swear to the gods, I did not make that up, it’s actually ONI policy).

We do not ‘charge into battle, naked, like the Celts’.

Any device that can crawl across the table on medium, does not need to be brought into the office.

I am not to refer to a formation as ‘the boxy rectangle thingie’.

I am not ‘A lesbian trapped in a man’s body’.

On Army documents, my race is not ‘Other’.

Nor is it ‘Secretariat, in the third’.

Pokémon® trainer is not an MOS.

There is no FM for ‘wall-to-wall counseling’.

My chain of command has neither the time, nor the inclination to hear about what I did with six boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups. ®

When operating a military vehicle I may *not* attempt something ‘I saw in a cartoon’.

My name is not a killing word.

I am not the Emperor of anything.

Must not taunt officers in the throes of nicotine withdrawal, with cigarettes.

May not challenge officers to ‘Meet me on the field of honor, at dawn’.

Must not make s’mores while on guard duty.

Our Warthogs cannot be assembled into a giant battle-robot.

The proper response to a briefing is not ‘That’s what you think’.

The Masons, and Gray Aliens are not in our chain of command.

Shouldn’t take incriminating photos of my chain of command.

Shouldn’t use Photoshop ® to create incriminating photos of my chain of command.

I am not allowed to give Spartan augmentations

Not allowed to lead a ‘Coup’ during training missions.

I should not confess to crimes that took place before I was born.

My chain of command is not interested in why I ‘just happen’ to have a kilt, an inflatable sheep, and a box of rubber bands in the back of my car.

Must not valiantly push officers onto hand grenades to save the squad.

Despite the confusing similarity in the names, the “Safety Dance” and the “Safety Briefing” are never to be combined.

“To conquer the earth with an army of flying monkeys” is a bad long term goal to give the re-enlistment NCO.

NEVER nail a stuffed bunny to a cross and put it up in front of the Battalion Headquarters sign as an “Easter Desecration.”

Don’t write up false gigs on a Warthog PMCS. (“Broken clutch pedal”, “Number three turbine has frequent flame-outs”, “flux capacitor emits loud whine when engaged”)

Not allowed to get shot.

Not allowed to play into the deluded fantasies of the civlians who are “hearing conversations” from the CMA, ONI, UNSC and SoS due to the microchip the aliens implanted in their brain.

Must not make T-shirts up depciting a Grunt with the writing “Breath Oxygen or Die” in Unggoy to bring as civilian attire when preparing to deploy to their homeworld.

Must not go on nine deployments in six years that require a security clearance that I don’t have, even if the ONI tells me repeatedly that I have one and I have no reason to question them.

Do not convince NCO’s that their razorbumps are the result of microscopic parasites.

Do not lick Spartan IIs

Do not change Smart AI’s avatars to “obscene” things or pictures of my Cat

Do not show up to the UNSC Infinity in a “Anime Bunnysuit and fishnets”

Do not use a 560 year old H&K XM8 because ‘it looks enough like a battle rifle’

Well, that concludes the list. I probably shouldn’t have done some of these, but I definitely don’t regret the second to last (I looked hot AF).

#halo #spartan #halo shitpost #oni #halo shitposts #halo infinite

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gijoe-forever · 6 months

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“….and to top it all off it’s against federal OSHA regulations to operate a saw like this without a guard, safety glasses, and a face shield. That’s going to result in a fine..”

“Buggar off ya wanker!”

#dreadnoks #zarana

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wellpresseddaisy · 8 months

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James decided that there was more to this story and also everyone please remember that he really, really enjoyed the 1970s (and so did Sirius and Lily). And also he had all the shame burned out of him over the various times McGonagall found him in a broom closet with Lily, or Sirius, or Sirius and Lily.

James opened his eyes to the brilliant galaxy of his childhood bedroom ceiling. The stars swirled and danced across the ceiling, reacting to the joy he felt in the Potter Magic, just as they always had. The magic, the feeling of home settled deep into his bones, even as the Paterfamilias bond sounded the warning.

It thrummed within him, the bonds with Sirius and Harry damaged and aching. He’d never experienced such…imperative magic before. In the past it lead him gently where he needed to be. Now though, now it shrieked like a klaxon against his soul.

Harry would be the easy one. He could, of course, walk into Hogwarts that afternoon and retrieve him if he wished. (He would, horribly, need to wait a bit and reestablish his existence first, but he’d have Harry back for the summer holiday at least.) Sirius, though, Sirius could be a challenge.

What absolute wazzock put Sirius in Azkaban? And for a single blasting curse? Everyone who worked that case ought to be tossed out on their arses.

They should have known. At the very least they should have asked. He knew how the magical world operated, though. They’d have found the easiest answer and stuck with it.

Well, they’d rue the day they abandoned their duty. He’d make sure of it. James sat up with a groan and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

One would think he’d feel better for having slept properly, but his legs still seemed a bit weak. Throwing caution to the wind, he shoved himself upright…

And immediately went arse over teakettle.

Dad never warned him about the particular side effects of the Avada Kedavra on Potters, but someone really ought to have written things down. Slowly, he hauled himself upright and scrabbled back into the bed.

Right, well. He’d make it work. Hopefully some wanker had started a fashion for canes because he’d need one for the first little while. First, though, he needed a wash and a shave and some proper clothing.

-------------

Washed, shaved, fed, dressed, and escorted by the Potter Steward (wonderful man, Alaric), James strode into the Ministry.

He liked to think of himself as striding. In reality, one could at least describe his forward motion as…forward. The cane helped a good bit, but his usual balance had yet to return.

They just spent the longest three hours of his life at Gringotts, first to alert them to his waking and then to go over every financial decision undertaken by his account manager in the last decade. Excellent chaps, the goblins. His father would have been thrilled at how skillfully they’d managed everything.

But, as he’d never have his father’s head for business, James felt a bit at the end of his tether. The estate was important, of course. A healthy estate let them live as they pleased. But he needed to get Sirius back. He knew himself—he couldn’t be the person, the father, he needed to be for Harry without either Lily or Sirius. He wanted both. Lily’s absence clawed at him, rending his heart every time he thought her name.

But he could only have one of them. Sirius lived and he knew, knew Lily would want them to raise Harry together if she couldn’t be there.

He distinctly remembered them promising each other that whoever lived would strong-arm Sirius into living with them and being a real part of Harry’s life, not just a godfather.

Lily called him Dadfoot through the whole of her pregnancy. Harry, such a delightful baby, babbled Papa at Sirius and Dada at him.

(He may, may have been the teensiest bit smug over Harry’s clearly superior baby intellect obviously inherited from Lily, but that was no reason for Lulu to hex his hair green)

James made it through registering his wand and let Alaric take his elbow. Generally Alaric wouldn’t take such liberties, but neither of them wanted him breaking his nose on the marble tiled floor. He’d perhaps overdone it a bit. Grateful for the support, he let himself be lead to the lifts.

James steeled himself as they were lifted deeper into the Ministry. He could do this. He had to do this.

-----------------

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have that information to hand.” The records clerk smugged at him.

He loathed smug Ministry twats in general. This particularly spotty specimen might just end with a Blood Feud sworn against them. Hell, he might just swear a blood feud against the Ministry in its entirety.

House Potter hadn’t done anything of the like in far too long.

“Can you retrieve the information, as it is your job to do so?” James asked icily. Half a bloody hour he’d been waiting. “Or does the DMLE public records department no longer contain any records accessible to the public?”

“Mr.—” The clerk looked down at the requisition form (finally) and choked on his tongue. “You’re dead.”

“Obviously not, although I may have died of waiting in the last half hour. If anyone had spoken to my house elves in the last decade they would know that I was simply…indisposed. Certainly not dead.” James tried out a sneer. He couldn’t see himself, but he reckoned his face wasn’t the sort made for sneering.

“Er…”

He seemed to have broken the clerk. Just his bloody luck.

“Look, either you have an actual arrest file on Sirius Black which I can check as a member of his family, or someone has made a terrible mistake. Why don’t we find out? Before I expire on the tiles here?”

Another forty minutes later, James actually did stride into the DMLE proper with Alaric following, looking as if he hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Sometimes the family Steward knowing one from birth did not help matters. Adrenaline born of pure rage coursed through his veins.

“Which utter and complete wanker employed here sent the heir to the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black to Azkaban without a bloody trial?” He waved the alarmingly thin Sirius Black file as he spoke.

Silence. Several Aurors craned their necks to see who made the racket and promptly went bug-eyed and pasty. Gratifying, really. He hadn’t made a good scene in ages.

Waking up didn’t count.

“Who didn’t even bother to check his wand? Hmm? Which one of you ignored protocol? Or buggered up the forms so completely they weren’t added?”

No reply, but a good bit of nervous shifting.

“Mr—”

Amelia Bones stopped short as James turned around.

“What—” she croaked, her monocle swinging by its cord as her eyes bugged in surprise.

“Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated.” James answered airily.

#harry potter #james potter #i have no idea what this is but James Potter woke up and chose violence (of a sort)#hp society/the ton #hp the season au #hp the season/the ton au

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courfee · 8 months

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the last chapter of my 10 Things I Hate About You Jegulus AU is out. the story is finally complete... :)

“Sirius, Sirius please, help me,” James groans into the two-way-mirror. "I can’t mess this up, I need this to be perfect!” “Prongs, my love, you’ve gone on several dates with my brother before and he has never once complained about your choice of clothing, I don’t think he’s going to start now.” “But what if this shirt is somehow inappropriate?” Sirius gives him an unimpressed look. “It’s literally a white tee, mate. The only situation this could be inappropriate for was if you were taking him to a funeral.” James looks up panicked. “So you’re saying it’s too boring? I can’t be boring on my first proper date with Regulus!” Sirius groans and hides his face in his hands. “I’m going to hang up on you.”

#operation wanker #jegulus #jegulus fanfiction #marauders #marauders fanfiction #the marauders #james x regulus #starchaser #sunseeker #fake dating #regulus x james #my writing #mine #hp

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breaniebree · 2 years

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Quick Sneak Peeks/Taunts At the Final Chapters of ASC

Chapter 343 — The One With the News

The curtains were pulled open and Harry and Neville each stood there, holding a pillow. Before either of them could move, pillows beat them over the head until they were laughing and on the floor, shoving them off. Feathers exploded out of one and Neville spit a feather out of his mouth.

Chapter 344 — The One With the Last Hurrah

“Eight!” Ron shouted. “Nine if you count the green of his new one.” He grabbed Harry’s wrist and held it up. “This wanker actually tattooed my sister’s name onto his body!”

Harry blushed, pulling his arm away. “Hey! I love her.”

Ron shook his head. “Soppy wanker.”

Chapter 345 — The One With No Pressure

“And we need to make more of a plan because my parents are going to have questions.”

“A plan? We have a plan. We’re going to raise these babies together.”

“A more detailed plan,” Fiadh corrected. “We should talk about moving in together.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Fred demanded. “I want you to move in with me. You know that.”

“I know, but maybe we should look for a bigger place. This flat isn’t exactly baby proof.”

Fred frowned. “What’s wrong with my bachelor pad?”

Fiadh’s lips curved. “For starters, the fact that it’s a bachelor pad.”

Chapter 346 — The One Where We’re Not Gonna Take It

Operation Kill the Sodding Bastard was finally bloody here.

Chapter 347 — The One Where This Is Our Life, This Is Our Home

If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wasn’t sure if he would have believed it. Canadian geese, with their long necks and wide wings, were honking and chasing Death Eaters down in front of the castle.

Chapter 348 — The One With Operation Kill the Sodding Bastard

Someone huge tackled him to the ground and he grunted as his breath was stolen from him. His breath came out in a loud whoosh as he looked up into the face of Goyle in surprise.

“Goyle, what the fuck?”

Before Goyle could answer, a red spark hit the ground near Theo’s head and he winced. Goyle rolled him before he pulled him to his feet. When Theo looked over, Lestrange was dead and part of the stone from the courtyard had collapsed where Theo had just been standing.

Chapter 349 — The One Where It’s Finally Over

“I’m okay, too.”

“No, you’re not,” she told him, kissing his brow, “but you will be. Take a breath, Harry. Tom’s gone.”

Chapter 350 — The One With the Polka Dot Tie

…people started to applaud him.

“Thank you!” Someone shouted.

“To the Chosen One!”

“To the Conquerer!”

“For he’s a jolly good fellow,” someone began to sing as others joined in.

Harry’s cheeks flushed. He shook some hands and spoke to few people in earnest before he managed to sneak out, the sounds of people still chanting his name, echoing in his ears.

Chapter 351 — The One With the Dance in the Rain

He stayed seated on the blanket as the warm spring rain fell and just watched her. Her long red hair was soaked to her back, to her neck. Long strands were stuck to her face and he watched her twirl and laugh, face upturned towards the sky. Her brown eyes were alight in pure joy and he clambered to his feet to grab her hands.

She shrieked in delight when he spun her into a dance. Her eyes lit up as the lightning glimmered across the sky and the tempo of the rain increased. Neither of them spoke as they stood there, swaying in the warm rain. When she stood on her toes, sliding her hands up his chest to kiss him, he tasted the rain on her skin.

Chapter 352 — The One With the Blow Jobs

Harry caught sight of his girlfriend’s red hair by the snack table and hurried over to her. He grabbed two of the shots from the tray the house elves were passing around. They each had a dollop of what looked like whipped cream on top and looked like a rather delicious dessert.

“Pudding?” he offered.

Ginny’s lips curved. “Blow job.”

Harry choked as he got white cream on his lip. “What?”

“The drink in your hand,” Ginny said, smirking. “Are you all right?”

Chapter 353 — The One Where Life’s About To Get Good

Harry was holding a sleeping Teddy curled up on his shoulder. Teddy’s sweet little face was against his neck where Harry could feel his soft breaths.

Chapter 354 — The One With the Search for the Replies

The sound of Ginny belting out the lyrics to “Shadows of the Night” made him smile. He reached around to turn the burner on low before he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a dance. Ginny laughed, her brown eyes lighting up as he spun her around and pulled her back into his arms. She looped her hands around his neck as they swayed in the kitchen.

“Is this what our life is going to be like? Cooking and dancing together in the kitchen?”

Harry brushed his lips over her ear. “If I have any say in it, absolutely. And I plan on having you for dessert.”

She blushed, her lips forming into a sexy pout that made Harry kiss her again. He let his hand slide over her back, fingers brushing under the tiny string that was across her back barely holding the small triangles over her breasts.

Chapter 355 — The One With the Quinque Annos Consilium

They talked about how she was going to move in after she wrote her NEWTS and spoke more about how they would try to find time for each other while she was at school, making plans to talk on the mirror every night.

Then they would find their way upstairs and make love in the big bed, sometimes in the tub or shower, and fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. Harry woke her every morning with his head between her legs and they would have lazy morning sex before going downstairs to make breakfast.

After a week in Barbados of nothing but surfing, sun, and sex, they both felt relaxed and happy. It was how they ended up going down to the magical village called Kaleidoscope Kove which was right along the beach near Bridgetown. It was a very unique place in the sense that all of the buildings did indeed look like a kaleidoscope in bright colours and geometric patterns that looked magical.

They walked hand in hand through bookstores and little boutiques. Harry bought her a pair of earrings in bright crystals and an emerald crystal hoop for the top of her ear. They ate ice cream and ate lunch at a beachside café and then saw the sign for scuba diving and snorkelling.

Chapter 356 — The One With the Dickwad

“Understood,” Harry said. “I got another tattoo.”

Ron’s eyebrow rose. “Please don’t tell me you got my sister’s face tattooed on your arse now?”

Harry chuckled. “Nah, that’s where your name goes.”

Ron snorted.

Harry pulled his tee shirt over his head to show Ron the new tattoo he’d just gotten yesterday. It was three written lines across his left ribs and Ron leaned in closer to read the small black script that said: Teddy, 11th April, 1998.

Ron’s lips curved. “Just like Sirius’.”

Harry nodded, picking up his beer. “He tattooed my name on him after I was born and I wanted to do the same for my godson. It’s even in the same spot.”

Chapter 357 — The One With the Training

“Good morning. I’m Auror Gawain Robards and I’ll be your leader for basic training. Today will be about getting you acquainted and understanding the plan for the next few weeks. As you know, with the war, we have an immediate need for Aurors, which means we’ll be accelerating the coursework a little bit. Basic has been dropped down to three weeks instead of four and you’ll be tested weekly.”

A short blonde witch who was stunningly beautiful raised her wand. “Where will basic training take place, Sir?”

“If you’re patient and listen, you’ll find out.”

The witch looked put out, but she kept her eyes on Auror Robards as she waited for him to continue.

“Basic is all about seeing if you have what it takes to physically be an Auror,” Robards continued. “If you’re looking for a desk job, you’ve come to the wrong place. It will be up to you to keep up on assignments and there will be zero exceptions for late homework or half-arsed work. Not all of you will make it through the next three weeks,” he declared, his eyes narrowing. “Aurors need to be ready to face everything and anything and if you’re not here to give one hundred percent, you might as well walk out right now.”

No one moved and he nodded.

Chapter 358 — The One With the Marble Wall

Ginny smacked him and he laughed. “That’s not the point, Harry! Does everyone think that we’re just randy sots?”

“But we are randy sots.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Hey, who got who naked first on the cliffs yesterday?” Harry insisted, making her blush.

Chapter 359 — The One With the First Assignment and the Red Moon

Harry and Ron finished at the Academy and were officially presented with A1 badges. The bronze star-shaped badge with the Ministry of Magic emblem rising over the top of the star had a Roman numeral one imposed over the top of the emblem. In the centre of the badge were two crossed wands with a sword between them and around the circle were the three words that Aurors lived by: Honoris, Praesidium, Veritas. At the bottom were the carved Roman numerals of their badge numbers. Harry’s thumb brushed over his in amazement: MMMMCMLXXII. When he looked over at Ron’s, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw his friend’s was only one number off of his MMMMCMLXXIII.

They were to report to Kingsley Shacklebolt Monday morning at eight AM sharp for further instruction. Harry had done as Robards had asked and finished learning all about Fletcher Fleming. Robards had let him sit in on the interrogation of the thief and allowed him to write up part of the final report on his arrest and capture.

Harry was ecstatic. It felt like he was doing real detective work and he loved it. He couldn’t wait to stop being a trainee and be the bottom of the totem pole in the Auror Department as an A1. Nothing sounded cooler in his mind.

Chapter 360 — The One Where It All Comes Full Circle

Robards nodded. “And you destroyed all of them?”

“Yes, Sir. Ron took out the last one in the Battle of Hogwarts, his giant snake, Nagini.”

Robards tapped his fingers on his desk. “Horcruxes are the darkest magic known to man. If he truly split his soul six ways to Sunday, it’s too damaged to ever be properly resurrected.”

“But he still could be?” Harry asked, his heart sinking.

The End!

#the world of asc #harry potter fanfiction #breanie #bonus sneak peek #sneak peek asc #welcome to breanie's world of asc the kismet trilogy #a second chance by breanie #the kismet trilogy part two a second chance by breanie

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agena87 · 7 days

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📩 Simblr question of the day: Choose as many sims/ocs as you'd like for this question, What's something INCREDIBLY obscure and/or out-of-pocket about your sim/oc? Something that nobody (fellow sims and/or your followers and mutuals) knows 👀 (This could be things about their social skills, physicality and/or birth defects, or it could be something they vaguely remember, a dream they had that actually predicted the future, etc etc... whatever you come up with)

Oooooooh, I love this ask! I feel that I'll discover plenty of stuff about my characters 😃

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In no specific order other than whatever pops into my mind first:

* The first "book" Jeb ever wrote was about twelve (short) sentences long, full of spelling & grammar errors, written in several colours in crayon, and called "Don't cry, mommy". He was eight.

* On a more happy note, Lukas and Max have been calling each other husband and wife since, when they were nine, Elsa "married" them during recess.

* Hugo & Mallory used to date, that's no secret. What is, is how they actually broke up (Hugo will kill me for telling this story). They had been dating for nearly two years, and never had sex (they did touch each other a bit before, though). After talking, and deciding they were both ready, they scheduled their first time. Hugo, the sweet boy he is, had even "studied" how to please his partner; he was determined to give Lory the best experience possible. And he did give her a good time. So good that Lory couldn't stop from moaning a name, but unfortunately it wasn't Hugo's, but Jacques's. And that's how Hugo discovered that his girlfriend had the hots for his father; worse, Lory was IN LOVE with Jacques. So, they broke up (and somehow remained friends).

*Strabismus is very common in the Landgraab family, especially among women. If you look closely to pics of them you'll notice that Clara, Sofia, Olivia, Teresa, and Joy have it to some degree. But not Nancy. That's because Queenie had her operated because she "had to be perfect".

* Willa got pregnant when she was sixteen, but she got an abortion because she wasn't ready to be a mom. Plus, the dad was a wanker who dumped her as soon as she told him he had knocked her up. She sometimes regrets her decision, as she wants plenty of kids (at least four), but she knows it was for the best. And she still has time.

* Mila owns a restaurant and has two Simichelin Stars. Hugo is her sous.

* I think I already said that Joy's mom was Holly Alto and that she died during childbirth. What I didn't say (I think), was that Holly was Malcolm's best friend (and regular "bed companion"), and that they only got married because Holly got pregnant. They loved each other but were never IN LOVE with each other.

* Jacques is a very enthusiastic and talented pussy-eater. Sorry, Lory took possession of me for an instant.

* Willa says that Mal is, too. THANK YOU, GIRLS, THAT'LL BE ENOUGH.

* Björn and Nancy used to date in high school, but her parents were against their relationship (a heiress such as Nancy shouldn't marry someone from a "poor" family). So, she married Geoffrey who always had a massive crush on her; he was cute and from a good family, so why not? Clara who had always been sweet on her older sister's boyfriend, saw her chance to finally have the boy she wanted (her parents couldn't care less about what she did, she was just a spare after all). Somehow Björn accepted to date her and later asked her to marry him (a long time later, she would understand that it was to stay close to Nancy without seeming suspicious).

* Nancy was already pregnant with Johnny when Geoffrey and her married. Of course, Geoff knew he wasn't his, since he and Nancy hadn't had sex before their wedding night (though now one other than them - and Björn - knew that), but he loved Nancy and thought that their wedding would put an end to Nancy and Björn affair (which... nope).

---

Aaaaaand, I'll stop here because it's starting to be a tad long.

#SQOTD #the fearless and the ravishing

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seriouslysam8 · 1 year

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Brumous Sneak Peek #2

Since I couldn't post over the weekend, I decided to spoil you with a second sneak peek! New chapter is up on Sunday!

Chapter Sixteen: The Reunion

When the meeting was declared concluded, Sirius was one of the first people to stand, keen to get back to the kids in the other room. Then, Dumbledore called him to stay back, as well as Remus, Dora, and Tegan. Sirius squinted as Remus rose from his seat, gathering a few pieces of parchment together and tucking them away neatly in a folder.

Sirius bent down, his face pressing close to Remus’. “What’s going on?”

Remus shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. I’m intrigued because Tegan was called as well, so it can’t have anything to do with Harry.”

Everyone slowly filed out of the room. Molly shot Sirius an inquisitive look but Sirius threw up a hand to indicate that he didn’t know. Tegan made her way around the table to stand with the others, a small smile crossing her face in greeting.

“Do you have the inside scoop?” Dora asked, leaning in close to Tegan. “The boys are clueless, like always.”

Sirius rolled his eyes up to look at the ceiling while Tegan chuckled.

“Nah, no idea,” Tegan replied. “Oi, I heard you were dumped that Cooper case. Gawain has a contact in the Met that may be useful. He was going to get you his contact information, but he’s shit at remembering so make sure you get it off him.”

Dora sighed. “Merlin, thanks, yeah, Axel and I had no idea where to start. Of course, fucking Dawlish was a bloody wanker when he dropped it in our laps.”

Tegan snorted. “What else is new? I swear, Dawlish lives to make everyone’s life miserable.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow at the two. He didn’t know much about Dawlish, but he had never heard anyone say anything even remotely nice about him. He glanced up to see Marlene looking back at him as she exited the room with Andromeda and Ted. He raised his right hand to give her a small wave and he received a smile in return. That was a start, he supposed. Once everyone was gone and the door closed, Dumbledore smiled at the group.

“I won’t keep you long,” Dumbledore announced as he walked over to join the group. “I had a mission for the four of you, if you’d be so inclined to accept.”

Sirius perked up at the words. He hadn’t been on a proper Order mission in, Merlin, probably since he had watched Edgar Bones die right in front of him. Remus’ gaze bore into him but Sirius ignored it. He wasn’t going to let Remus ruin the moment for him. Whatever it was, he was game to do it. He knew it must be an important one if he was assigning four of them to one mission – two of which were Aurors. Honestly, there wasn’t a group he’d rather go on his first mission back with. He trusted Remus with his life. Dora was his family – the good kind. Tegan had proved where her loyalties lied when she risked her career to help prove his innocence.

“It has come to my attention that a group of wealthy Death Eaters have been buying tickets to the St. Mungo’s fundraising ball and auction next weekend,” Dumbledore explained. “You may know that this function takes place yearly with Narcissa Malfoy always being one of the main organizers as she holds a spot on the board. What is surprising is within the past week, purebloods who normally do not attend are buying tables for the event such as the Crabbes, Goyles, Macnairs, as well as a few others. Table prices run a bit steep and there’s four allowed to a table. Sirius, I was hoping that you would be willing to pay for the four of you to attend.”

Although Sirius suspected that he was only being offered to go so he would finance the operation, he didn’t fucking care. He was more than happy to get out of the house and back into the field. If some silly charity ball was the only way to do that, he was more than happy to buy some nice dress robes and clean up a bit. He’d do a bloody fantastic job at it too so he’d be assigned more and more missions.

“Yeah, I’ll fund it,” Sirius agreed without hesitation.

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 10 months

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A Long, Unnecessary Love Letter to Comic Books

I’ve gotten way the fuck into comics lately, ranging from weird titles from publishers I’m pretty sure are defunct (Solar, Man of the Atom follows the ongoing adventures of an energy being whose origin story includes accidentally destroying his own timeline) to unsettling little horror tales (Gaiman’s Likely Stories disturbed me to the point of feeling physically ill once or twice) to big, bombastic superhero fair (just give me anything with Batman). It’s particularly this last category that I want to focus on, because it was while reading the 2018-onwards run of Justice League that I realised why I’ve been getting so into comics at the moment. They’re currently filling the niche that film used to fill.

You see, folks, I have a little problem when I go and see most films nowadays. The problem is very simple. While I still enjoy movies, that enjoyment is somewhat marred by the fact that NINETY PERCENT OF THE TIME I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING TO HAPPEN! I’m a progressive chap- I’m a commie, a sometime-advocate for fat acceptance (obvs) and I’m viscerally disgusted every time I hear about some fresh injustice perpetrated against non-white ethnic groups by the racist-as-shit American legal system. I’d never call myself a feminist, but I accept that feminism has a point in terms of its broad complaints and aims (I part company from both rad and third wave on a fair number of specifics, but that’s probably just because of my nine foot musical penis). And yet, as most of you already know from my previous spates of bitching and moaning, media wokeness winds me up. It’s not just that it’s obviously insincere and designed to curry favour with an imaginary demographic of humourless wankers- it’s that it also hobbles any story��s ability to surprise or engage meaningfully with its own fictional universe. Give me a list of characters and tell me nothing about them besides skin colour, age and gender, and I’ll tell you who’s going to live, who’s going to die, who’ll be permitted a redemption arc, and who’ll turn out to be a ‘twist’ villain (and I use the term ‘twist’ with heavy-duty sarcasm marks). It’s cloying, constrictive and a death sentence for any kind of creativity. It’s gotten so bad that, whenever a movie does manage to pleasantly surprise me, I have to fight back tears of fucking gratitude. Progressive values are all well and good- I actively subscribe to them myself every time I go out and assassinate a member of the fucking Tory party- but modern movies and telly don’t operate from a place of deeply-held progressive values (or any values). The mainstream media’s ‘wokeness’ is just a tired list of boring tropes that cowardly, talentless screenwriters cling to lest creating something original engender cancellation.

And so, we come to comic books (and on comic books, if they have General Zod in them. Kneel before Zod? I certainly fucking will!). I was about type the words ‘even mainstream comic books are great’ but then I started laughing like the Joker watching a snuff movie, because that would have been an idiotic sentence. You see, while Superhero comics are ‘mainstream’ in the sense that they’re the thing people most associate with the medium, they still have a relatively tiny readership. In fact, I suspect that requiring their audience to know how to read is the main barrier to entry nowadays- it seems like something of a lost art.

The point is that I’ve been reading the ‘Justice/Doom War’ arc in Justice League and I’ve noticed something about it. It has a huge, diverse cast of characters from different ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds, different genders and different belief systems and walks of life… and not even one of them is an insufferable twat defined only by their relative privilege or oppression! To give you an example, Green Lantern John Stewart is a heroic space cop who happens to be black, but the plot never grinds to a halt so he can give us a lecture on race dynamics in modern America. He’s too busy using constructs of solid light to smash the ever-loving crap out of pan-dimensional cosmic monsters. When the plot does slow down to give him time to breathe, we learn more about his conflicted yet complementary history as both a soldier and an architect than we do about his skin colour. I mean, it’s not like it never comes up- the DC universe has some ties to reality and characters do occasionally find themselves on the receiving end of racism, but if it’s not relevant to what’s happening, the story doesn’t bend over backwards to include it. Conversely, Batman is a rich white dude, but the story never feels the need to ‘hold him accountable’. His main arc at the moment is about learning to be a good father figure to a sentient, telepathic starfish who wants to be the next Robin (yeah… the 2018 run is gloriously fucking weird). Hey! Here’s another example! On the surface, Hawkgirl is the epitome of the ‘strong female character’ beloved by modern media: a ferocious, take-no-shit warrior woman with countless lifetimes of carefully-honed experience. But she’s not some bloody sexless, characterless archetype designed as a flag for empowerment rather than a person: she’s a fully-developed character. She has complex internal motivations; she has romantic feelings for Martian Manhunter; she experiences grief and loss and is changed by them; she makes mistakes that she then has to triumph over. She doesn’t get to win just because she’s the first person on hand with a clitoris- she actually has to work and go through a character arc. Surprising and sometimes unpleasant things happen to her, making her a sympathetic and interesting character who I actually want to see triumph.

I could go on… and on… and on… and on… pretty much forever. I could probably write an entire essay just on how Lex Luthor uses his wealth for selfish ends even while purporting to represent a higher cause while Batman embodies an idealised version of how those with power and money should use it for the greater good. I could talk about how Superman is both effectively an immigrant and the most endearingly Rockwellian slice of walking Americana one can imagine. I could write fucking books on what the character of Perpetua says about the modern world’s complex relationship with faith and fanaticism and where the line is drawn.

But the real point is that I don’t know what’s going to happen next! Character who would never be allowed to triumph under their own power in movies succeed. Characters who would never be allowed to fail in movies get broken by horrible events and circumstances. Arcs are never what I expect them to be about, but always make sense when I look back and consider what I know about the character’s personality. It’s wonderfully refreshing in a way we just don’t get to see much nowadays… and I started to wonder why comics are so much better than everything else going on at the moment.

I was recently reading an Editorial in Metal Hurlant (basically the French 2000AD- a comic anthology of sci-fi and horror tales published on a monthly basis). The top brass were bemoaning the niche-ness of the comic book medium, asserting that comics should be promoted in bookstores and literary circles; that there should be a widespread push for them to reach a readership and audience that traditionally don’t engage with pulp culture (my term, not theirs). And what I realised is that this would be a terrible, terrible idea- because the main reason comics are so good is because they’re niche; their small; their disposable. Consider, if you will, the mainstream film industry. A big part of the reason that it mainly produces hot garbage is that it’s too big to take risks. Hollywood (for want of a better catch-all term) has spent its entire life-cycle pursuing larger and larger audiences so it can fund more and more epic blockbusters with bigger names and bigger, bolder FX. It’s a cycle of abuse in which each new generation of films has to outperform the generation before it. Meanwhile, because the audiences have to be so vast, the people making the flicks don’t think of those audiences as individual people with specific interests and ideas and a desire to be challenged and entertained. They think of them, instead, as demographic swathes; undifferentiated and united by broad, base commonalities that each project has to play to. But people aren’t demographics and the movie industry is currently getting a royal drubbing for its decades of ever-increasing contempt-of-the-viwer. Disney in particular is haemorrhaging money because it thought it would be a good idea to make Star Wars and Indiana Jones films and telly shows for a generic set of imagined demographics instead of people who actually like those franchises and are interested in the themes and ideas that go with them. As much as watching Disney fail gives me the warm fuzzies, I have to ask: who in their right mind would wish this fate on comics?

You see, folks, comics do sell plenty of copies- more than enough to justify the fairly modest expense of printing the darned things) but the overall audience for any one title is less than half the audience for any given major film release (I did some research and applied some maths that I won’t bore you with, but the absolute top selling comic books of recent years sold under a quarter million copies overall while an average film from any of the major studios sells around half a million cinema tickets in the US alone- and then there are the DVD and streaming sales on top of that. Notice how the latter number is more than double the former number. Regrettably, data on both films and comics is jealously guarded by vested interests, so I apologise for how ballpark those figures are, mind). Meanwhile the total audience of comics in general is much narrower in certain key respects. Perhaps the most obvious point is this: pretty much everyone who reads comic books is a comic book fan, whereas not everyone who goes to the cinema is a cinephile. But what does that actually mean? Well, for one, it means that comic book readers and writers are more of community- they tend to trust one another more; leaps can be taken that would be considered too chancy when dealing with ‘demographics’. At the same time, however, the writers’ connection to the fans means they have a better sense of when something is going to alienate large sections of their audience or piss people off (something film-makers have proved either bad at or wilfully blind to lately). The result is stories that know what bold ideas they can pursue while also knowing where to draw the line.

I think another reason comics are currently kicking the film industry’s pallid white buttocks in terms of creative merit is that they’re real cheap. Paper on ink is much easier to organise and send forth into the world than a vast audiovisual experience containing hundreds of actors, countless FX and goodness-knows-how-many extras, all put together by an enormous team of people who often never get to meet one another. If I wanted, I could probably write, draw and distribute a limited run of say, fifty comics, for the price of a Payday Loan. I wouldn’t, because it’s not where my talent lies, but the point I’m trying to make is this: companies and distributors are more willing to do interesting things when there’s only pocket change on the line compared to when there’s millions or billions of dollars. It’s why we get comics like Serial Artist (about a dude who claims his paintings are of his murder victims and becomes the centre of a vast government conspiracy) and W0rldtr33 (an ongoing slice of weirdness in which the internet comes to life and starts murdering people). It’s why something comparatively mainstream like Justice League can have an arc about Batman parenting a starfish and why the whole thing becomes Dark Nights: Metal and Death Metal for awhile (the Metal comics are end-of-the-world stuff inspired by- obvs- heavy metal albums… and they’re fucking great). It’s why stuff like Metal Hurlant and 2000AD is given a chance to find readers. So do comics need to be bigger and more widely accepted? Fuck no! The fringe is always where interesting stuff happens and aiming for mainstream acceptability is, it seems to me, a massive trap. The allure of more money and better social status is like one of the bug-zapper lights that draws in the moths and then fries their brains.

But what the fuck is the point of all this rambling? Comics are good- and thank goodness, since a lot of shit isn’t at the moment. There, I got it all down to once sentence, so what was the point of the rest? Well, I suppose there’s a lesson to be learned here. I’m a writer finally starting my career; finally putting work out into the public domain with a real publisher. No, I don’t do comics: I do sci-fi and fantasy books. But the lesson’s still applicable and it’s this: it’s a lot better to be good than popular and sometimes- just sometimes- you really do have to pick between the two.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer #comic books #comics #graphic novels #Justice League #Metal Hurlant #Dark Nights: Metal

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cassatine · 2 years

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rewatched ep10 and honestly it is growing on me. enjoyed it a lot more this time. extremely long meta post (almost 4k) spoiling pretty much everything under the cut.

the visenya birth scene is harrowing and rhaenyra rocking her dead girl in her arms... emotional devastation.

i wish we'd had more time with rhaenyra's internal conflict over what to do. i wanted to see her angry and more visibly torn over duty (she is her father's chosen heir and aegon a wanker) vs duty (the 7K united for the future winter). i wanted to see her in full ugly grief mode. but on rewatch it's like... she can't!! no full ugly grief mode for her because she has to hold her shit together, because she has to hold everything else together and daemon is too busy having his own unhinged breakdown to be of any help whatsoever (he's more of a problem lbr). i'm pretty sure she spends most of the ep wishing she could just have her own breakdown over her dead dad, her dead baby, her ex bestie betraying her, and daemon's skyrocketing level of unhingedness, but she simply fucking can't because if she does everything's going to explode in her face.

on monumental miscommunication: the show this week local couple completely fails to understand each other's positions because they are not operating from the same set of variables and unaware of it: she thinks he knows about the aegon prophecy of winter, he has zero idea there even is an aegon prophecy to know until she drops the bomb. on rewatch it is really rewarding to see how much the aegon prophecy informs rhaenyra's position on everything and how much it *doesn't* informs daemon's.

i still kinda wish we'd had more of a follow up on rhaenyra choosing fear with the laenor fake murder to hitch up with her uncle because so sue me i was absolutely there for the unhinged partners in love, politics & war crimes kind of dynamic but then again. the situation in ep10 is not at all what rhaenyra was planning for at the time. she wanted people to be afraid of the shit they could pull, so that no one would be too much of a problem when the time came for her to take the throne, and for that daemon's reputation and overall daemon-ness was an asset. or at least looked like one to her (it wasn't an asset, like ok sure intimidation factor but also it'd have lost her the support of people who weren't fans of the idea of daemon ruling, and people absolutely would have believed daemon was the one who called the shots. also it near lost her the velaryons and the velaryons are the main fleet. the math was bad). instead turns out she has to decide between duty (she is her father's chosen heir and aegon a wanker) vs duty (the 7K united for the future winter). the fact that daemon is the sort to war crime first and think later (on top of the prophecy miscommunication fail) isn't really an asset in this situation it's more of a huge fucking problem.

even if he knew about the prophecy... he'd probably be a bit more understanding of her position, and her his, but i don't think it'd have changed things that much because *if* he'd bought it, he would have fixated on the part about a targ sitting on the throne being necessary, and he would argue alicent's kids aren't targ enough so of course rhaenyra has to go to war to park her ass on the throne. they would then have a huge row because rhaenyra would say oh are you saying my boys with not-laenor aren't targ enough??

idk what to think about rhaenys 'i came to warn you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house' it really bugged me on first watch because she's a targ too ffs buuut she's been ambivalent about rhaenyra for a while (pretty reasonable what with her thinking rhaenyra had her son killed to hitch up with daemon) so... guess it works. and it makes sense that the thing that actually gets her on rhaenyra's side in the end is not being gung-ho about war because that'd have been why she didn't try to push her claim & go to war herself after viserys got chosen by the lords as the new king on the basis of *checks notes* having a dick.

otoh the thing with rhaenys not wanting war probably for the good of all is the same thing with alicent's 'a true queen counts the cost to her people' (alicent you are bad at math and if you *had* done that you would have looked at aegon and gone eeehr. that was a bullshit line) which is that rhaenys also smashed a bunch of peasants just last episode because none of these people ought to actually care about the masses (other than rhaenyra, but only in the sense that she knows about the aegon prophecy -- caring about adverting the end of the world and the death of humanity isn't really the same as caring that people don't die in your war for power) they are medievish rulers, they ought to believe in absolutism AND other than alicent they're all targs, they also ought to have liked subscribed followed on targ exceptionalism.

jace being mean to luce when they're having their bit of training on the beach makes me sad but on top of "send us" being his idea it's just gonna make him even more devastated. like not only was it idea for them to be their mom's envoys but also the last time they had bro time he was a meanie to luce… the sheer amount of angst he's gonna carry around next season!!

kind of funny: the fact that daemon and rhaenyra did not take five to discuss their options / air shit out & have daemon update her on what he's been doing already (ravens sent etc) in private before the war council (part one) around the extremely awesome-looking candlelit painted table. it's giving me ep3 rhaenyra & viserys public fight vibes. same mistake of making dissension a public spectacle, which in this case is pretty bad optics-wise. everyone can see rhaenyra doesn't know what moves daemon already made, and that they are not in agreement at all. most likely it's because they are pissed at each other and also grieving (but mostly pissed). and probably no amount of discussion would have gotten them on the same page, but at least they wouldn't have had a fight in front of everyone five minutes after he crowned her. maybe they could also have avoided the huge miscommunication issue re: the aegon prophecy.

otto scene paralleling ep2 is yummy (kinda wish criston had been there to be a bitch about stuff tbh) but also rhaenyra just miscarried i don't think she should be flying. the terms otto brings are VERY interesting (they are mostly alicent's, otto is a liar and his intentions for the long term are still absolutely to get rhaenyra and her fam killed, because as long as she's alive there will be people to say she was the heir, she should have been queen, either because they believe it, either because aegon is a shithead, either because opportunism etc etc); they're giving rhaenyra dragonstone, ie the most targ place in westeros, the traditional seat of the heir to the throne, and also where there are all the wild dragons and also an island not that far from king's landing on dragonback, so it's kind of like telling her you can keep most of the nukes and stay in our backyard it's fine. the terms also imply that they'll stop calling her kids bastards and make it royal policy that they aren't since jacaerys would inherit dragonstone & lucerys driftmark. the catch is the part about aegon the third and viserys being given 'positions of high honor at the court', which really means they are to be hostages for rhaenyra & daemon's good behavior. also otto said what i've been saying, which is that his faction was never reacting to anything rhaenyra did or didn't do ('she could be jaehaerys returned and it still wouldn't matter') and had been planning to crown aegon ii since he was a baby, because he was born with a dick and otto & hobert are thirsty for power. also lol at 'stale oaths' this shit is the foundation upon which feudalism stands but ok. stale oaths. side of honor and decency, lol.

i'm still meh about the book page moment. i want it to work for me because alicent & rhaenyra are the core of everything and it is a neat callback to ep1, it just... doesn't. it feels so alicent, the appeal to past friendship, but the book page itself feels contrived and i don't really buy that otto wouldn't have thrown it into the sea. also the family dinner from hell was about three days ago so it's not like rhaenyra would have forgotten the temporary rekindling of frienship or alicent saying she'd make a good queen only to put her own wanker son on the throne. idk it's not that she shouldn't be sad and yearning for the good old days but. i guess i think she should be kinda pissed too.

when daemon says 'the enemy declared war already' at the war council (part two)... he is being especially unhinged and bitchy, and him and rhaenyra REALLY should have taken five to air shit out in private after otto left -- but he isn't wrong either. neither of them are wrong, but again: they aren't operating from the same set of variables. rhaenyra is considering the cost of going to war with the aegon prophecy in mind, and daemon doesn't know about it. what daemon is considering is what he knows about how shit works, and what he knows about otto ("a second son that stands to inherit nothing but what he seizes for himself") (and also he is still in unhinged breakdown mode) and he probably realizes otto's terms are bullshit... because otto wasn't exactly wrong about his 'being the challenge' thing. if rhaenyra had been crowned there would always have been people to say, well aegon has a dick so he ought to bethe one sitting on the sword chair, even if he's an incompetent drunken wanker -- and while i very much doubt rhaenyra would have had her half-siblings executed to shore up her claim as soon as she got on said chair, it's very likely aegon ii would have been a problem at some point or another, not especially because of anything he'd do, but because he'd be a rallying point for discontents and opportunists. and now with aegon ii crowned there will also always be people to say that viserys changing his mind at the last minute is hightower bullshit, that his chosen heir was rhaenyra so she should be on the chair, ie she will always be a danger to aegon ii, and it's only when she's dead and her whole family with her that the doubts about aegon ii's legitimacy as king will die -- if only because then there would be no other pseudo-legally viable option than him left. and otto absolutely is the kind of person who'd make it happen, he has been planning on it since aegon was born, he's not gonna change that just because alicent said 'no i don't wanna'. plus the offer to give dragonstone to rhaenyra really is a huge red flag: otto said aegon ii had all the symbols of legitimacy, but dragonstone traditionally is the heir's seat, it is also a symbol of legitimacy and pet nukes island, there's just no way otto would really be fine letting the one threat to aegon ii just live out her days there even if he had two of her kids as hostages. his side of the fam is also missing another targ legitimacy symbol in dark sister. otto plays a long game, and for now he's just humouring alicent.

so yeah from daemon's perspective of prophetic ignorance, otto hatedom and general daemon-ness understanding of the world, if the blacks don't do a war, not only are they gonna have to hand over aegon the third and viserys ii to *otto* as hostages, but they'll also get to spend the rest of their life waiting for a sad regrettable accident to happen to them. he isn't considering the third option, which is get the fuck out of dodge and go back to pentos or wherever because he is in unhinged breakdown mode, and also if not him he wants rhaenyra on his bro's throne.

i'm still fine with the choking. makes sense to me. he's having his unhinged man breakdown over what he thinks is his bro getting murdered, and another breakdown on top over the visenya situation. the fact that his brother (he thinks) got murdered and the news sent rhaenyra straight to miscarriage... it's kill bill siren on repeat in his head and nothing else. dude spends the whole episode wanting to kill someone - wanting to kill a lot of someone. plus he is pissed at rhaenyra for not being gung-ho about war from the start. he is also pissed she didn't let him kill otto, whom he hates probably more than anyone else ever and probably expects will not rest until his and rhaenyra's whole family is dead. and he is pissed rhaenyra isn't listening to him because he's the one with the war experience and whatever, and on that one he 100% thinks he knows better. and he is high on targ exceptionalism as ever. and he is also very upset to learn about the aegon prophecy because viserys never told him, and under the swag and the overperformance of gender he is at his core a pathetic insecure little bitch hungry for big bro's approval, and this to him (and to rhaenyra) would confirm viserys never truly trusted him nor ever saw him as a viable heir. ever. also: poor impulse control is not new.

rhaenys and corlys not being on the same page for most of the season is kinda funny but mostly sad. corlys reconsidering velaryon ambition and support for rhaenyra HAS to happen when rhaenys is like 'actually... i kinda support her now'. she also confirms jace luce and joff their official grandchildren won't be safe as long as aegon ii sits the throne. (it is however meh that she didn't mention baela & rhaena who are their real grandkids, and also at risk because they are now betrothed to jace & luce. very uncool.) reversal of position to the nines, considering she used to be the one to say they weren't really their grandkids and that rhaenyra had laenor killed, which is now corlys' point to make. her position doesn't really make sense tho -- she says she supports rhaenyra because she is demonstrating restraint when everyone around her wants to go to war (which is sort of funny when you consider rhaenyra might have been as gung-ho about war as everyone else if not for the aegon prophecy, once again it's all about who knows what) but at the same time if jace luce & joff (and by extension baela & rhaena) are in danger as long as aegon ii sits the throne then... how is war not inevitable?

'you father's realm was one of justice and honor' is so fucking funny to me coming from corlys, who spent most of the season arguing it was complete injustice that his wife was cheated out of the throne. a+ no notes bitchiest backhanded compliment.

it's also really funny to me that rhaenyra tells the kids to swear on the seven because it's not like she's shown any care for the faith previously, and what with the oldtown link it's pretty unlikely any show of religion would get the faith on her side rather than the hightowers'. it's a weird decision and i don't really get the point. might make more sense later on tho.

another thing i do not really get: what is daemon even doing with vermithor other than looking cool?? on the one hand it's just as well he fucked off because the war council really went more smoothly without him but otoh what is he doing serenading a dragon that isn't caraxes?? is he intending to cheat on the noodle boi?? the whole point of that scene escapes me like ok bunch of dragons to claim on dragonstone... but if he's looking to organize blind dates then why is he alone.

baby lucerys giving me all the feels in this ep, and also making me wish we'd had more time with rhaenyra's kids to make everything more devastating. i get that aegon & aemond would get more screentime this season because they're going to last longer while lucerys dies especially early on, but isn't that reason to give him more time to steal all our hearts!! same with rhaenyra as a mother imo it wouldn't have hurt to get more of that for maximum impact when she learns about lucerys getting eaten. especially since the timeskips already meant we don't really see her go from not wanting kids because of aemma trauma to having like half a soccer team worth of them.

i do wish we'd gotten more time in storm's end too, but the whole fail visit shows rhaenyra fucked up in at least two big ways: 1) she just asked for fealty and while yeah oaths were sworn and all that jazz... like boros said, aegon ii's side at least came with an offer. the thing to do is to offer something when you're asking someone to go to war for you and not that other guy. if not a son's hand then a position on the small council or whatever. 2) her kids weren't prepared -- or at least lucerys wasn't prepared to treat with boros. baby boy doesn't know what the fuck he is doing, and he does the best he can but someone with actual experience would have known not to stop at 'well sorry sir i'm already betrothed' and made some counter-offer or another.

sapphire reveal YES. aemond being so good at being a scary mofo until it turns out he's basically a kid too?? that hit way more on rewatch. on first watch i really didn't like the specifics of how things went down with lucerys -- i went in knowing it would be an accident what with the leak, but not the exact details, and i really expected aemond to fuck up because he was so fixated on revenge he'd take it a step too far and that'd be the accident so on the moment it felt cheap when it turned out to be the dragons. now i think it's not at all a bad change for a show that's trying to show everyone's humanity and amp up the tragedy of it all.

and all in all i do think it did a good job at accounting for f&b canon while doing something different, because while the actual death is sort of an accident and aemond didn't want shit to get quite that far... it was still rather unhinged behavior of him to go all 'an eye for an eye i'll give it to mommy revenge revenge revenge'. he was out there doing the evil anime laugh, living out his dream of being the scariest dude around and finally getting himself some revenge... and it was fun and enjoyable for like five minutes and then it wasn't! probably the first time he actually kills anyone. but also lbr it wasn't that much better an idea than to straight up kill lucerys in light of what it'd do to the negotiation process and all that. and the fact that he called lucerys my lord strong & bastard when his mother's terms to rhaenyra imply the green will finally acknowledge jace luce & joff as legitimate... neat. of course aemond of all people couldn't let it go.

the thing that sold me on the no control over dragons was remembering back in ep1 when viserys said... we don't control the dragons the idea that we do is an illusion. full circle! i guess it is kinda sexy and not actually boring to have the war start like that. daemon is out there spouting his 'dragons will win us the war' spiel and meanwhile. dragons panicking. vhagar eating lucerys. also fits with the "ten thousands ways this could have been avoided (it was always going to be this way)" approach. and it all fits with the fact that show aemond is more of a wannabe edgelord at this stage of the story; his best war crimes era is still ahead of him, and i am curious to see how s2 goes from there. he isn't really the sort to tell people it was an accident imo (maybe to alicent) but even if he was, the thing is he can't actually tell to people it was an accident... because you can't tell your allies and possible allies and more generally your bro's subjects that woopsie! you can't control your pet nuke all that well actually. that's really, really, really bad press, even worse than doing a war crime. like. being led by dudes who do war crimes is one thing because they do the war crimes to the other side, but being led by dudes who don't control their pet nukes all that well means the pet nuke could eat you.

the only reason there could be to tell anyone is convincing rhaenyra it was an accident, but she wouldn't believe it from eamond (he of the toast escalation). and even if she magically learned all about how shit went down... she wouldn't see it as an accident because in the end aemond did pursue lucerys, who was just an envoy under explicit orders not to fight, with the intent to take an eye for an eye to bring back to his mommy and that's the reason there could even be an accident.

also ironic that aemond probably did more to save the daemyra marriage (and maybe even their cause) than anyone else in this ep because if he hadn't accidentally war crimed lucerys, giving them cause to war crime back? they'd be fighting like crazy over how to go about things and they'd be doing it in public, and daemon would be switching from undermining rhaenyra as queen to straight up killing people who don't bow low enough to her at least three times a day and that would not make their side very popular let's be real.

in the end i kinda wish this ep could have been the council of the blacks as a pendant to the council of the greens, things would have had more time to breathe. doesn't make for a killer season finale but maybe an eleventh ep with a longer stom's end passage (awkward diner!!) + blood & cheese idk.

buut then again that final scene... what a way to finish the ep & the season!! everything about it is so!! perfect!! love that we pretty much see only rhaenyra & daemon's backs throughout and yet you just fucking know what she's feeling. her little faltering step!! her hands on her stomach!! she's losing another baby... and when she does turn to the camera... her pissed off face, the way it just screams she's done... for the whole episode she's been trying so, so hard to do that thing alicent thinks she keeps giving the finger to, she's been trying to do her duty, she's been trying not to fall into pieces, she's been trying to hold shit together and do what she thinks viserys would have wanted her to do ie keeping the peace, she's been putting the aegon prophecy above everything else, she's been trying not give in to anger and now. and now that's over. she is gonna do some war crimes of her own.

#house of the dragon #spoilers #meta #messy but meh it's late and i just wanna be done with it #mostly focusing on the good because i did enough grumbling and i wanted to see what does work for me and turns out: a lot #go figure

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