#author hare answers asks

[chanshoesunite]

absolutely loved your work with petting and grinding on chan

but what if he and reader haven't been intimate yet (maybe reader wanted to wait or smth) and they were making out and got carried away so hard that they started grinding on each other and came at the same time

okay bye

This was the image I had in my head when I read your ask. There you go, nonny, it's unbeta-d still but ONLY FOR YOU MY LOVE

You smile at Chan as he joins you on the couch, handing you a mug of tea. “There you go, princess,” he says, mirroring your smile, and you feel yourself blushing. You haven’t been dating for a long time, and there is still a hint of shyness you feel when he gives you his undivided attention, what with him being not only incredibly sweet and kind, but also extremely good-looking. Plus, you’ve only ever picked him up from his flat before, never coming in, and now, as you’re sitting on the dark grey IKEA couch in his living room, you feel more than a little flustered.

You thank him, averting your eyes as you cradle the warm mug in your hands, your legs crossed. “We barely dodged that downpour, huh,” you add, your gaze raising to the torrents raining down against the window.

“Yeah,” he agrees, eyes also watching the rainstorm outside. “Are you sure you don’t need a hoodie or something? Your jacket got pretty wet.”

“I’m fine with tea, thanks,” you say, but growing a little bolder, you add, “but you can always cuddle me to make me warm again.” Chan turns his head to look at you, and his smile is so soft it makes your heart yearn for him. “Come here, then,” he whispers softly, almost too soft to hear over the rain. Putting your mug down onto the little wooden coffee table next to the couch, you swing your legs over Chan’s, half sitting in his lap. “Hi,” you quip, and Chan’s smile widens even more. “Hi, baby,” he answers. “Would it be terrible of me to want to kiss that smug little expression off of your beautiful face?”

You giggle a little, feeling soft and flirty. “Would it be terrible of me to want you to do exactly that?”

Chan boops his nose against yours. “So happy we’re on the same page about this,” he says in a slightly raspy voice before he softly touches his lips to yours.

His kiss is sweet and slow and caring, just like all of your other kisses have been in the few weeks that you’ve been dating. With both of you busy with college and jobs, there wasn’t much time for just being together. But as his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring it sensually, you realise that, with the rainstorm cutting your trip to the amusement park short, it is now late afternoon and there is nothing else for the two of you to do except enjoying each other’s company… And maybe bodies? You shiver slightly at the thought – you are not very experienced with men yet, and the thought of sleeping with Chan is a little daunting to you.

Chan seems to mistake your trembling for cold, because he breaks the kiss softly and reaches around you to grab a fluffy blanket from the back of the couch, unfolding it and tugging it over the both of you, cocooning you closer to him. “Is that better?” he asks, pushing a curl behind your ear. You nod, whispering a soft “thank you.”

He smiles. “Now, where were we?” he murmurs in a deep, vaguely seductive voice.

You shrug. “Is there a still a smug little expression on my face?”

Chan touches your chin, pretending to study your face from various angles. “Oh my gosh, yes, absolutely!” he proclaims in mock-surprise.

“Hmmm.” You pretend to think about it for a second. “Then I guess the off-kissing hasn’t worked yet.” And you lean in to kiss him this time. As soon as your lips touch his, you feel that this kiss is different; with your bodies cradled together under the blanket, there is an added level of intimacy you hadn’t anticipated. Your tongues slip together, and a light groan escapes your throat, a sound that makes Chan’s hand travel to the back of your neck, softly stroking the tender skin there, and you utter another little sound.

Encouraged by this, his hands travel over your back just as yours move to his shoulders. The shirt is damp beneath your hands – not surprising, since Chan had not been wearing a jacket but just his longs-sleeved shirt as you’d made the dash from the car to his apartment building.

Chan breaks the kiss again to pepper little kisses along your jaw and down to the column of your throat. “Is this okay?” he breathes against your skin, and you shiver again – and again, not from the cold.

“Yes,” you say in a low voice. “But Chan?”

“Hm?” he hesitates. “Everything okay?”

“Absolutely.” You meet his gaze and press a quick peck to his nose. “I just wanted to ask you if… Could you take off your shirt? It’s pretty wet?”

Chan’s grin is almost wolfish. “Baby, if you want me to take my shirt off, you just have to say so.” You slap him in slight indignation, but he reaches back, grabbing the hem of the shirt under the blanket and pulling it off in one smooth motion. And then you’re in Chan’s lap and he’s shirtless, and the heat radiating off his body is too much for you to hold back. As he nods his consent, your hands follow the line of his shoulder, his muscled arms, his veined hands, his pecks, and all the while you're gazing at him, at this beautiful man who has decided that yes, you are worthy of his time and affection.

The soft sighs of pleasure he utters do things to you, but his body language clearly tells you that all the power lies with you – Chan knows that you want to take it slow, and he’ll give you all the time you need. So when you lean forward again to claim his lips, his reciprocation is almost euphoric, and his large hands find your back again as he pulls you against him. As you kiss him, stroking his soft skin, you feel yourself getting more aroused – this simple situation of slow touches and soft exploration is so incredibly sexy to you that you know you also want to be touched like that. Reaching down, you grab the hem of your own shirt.

Chan’s gaze is heated, but he immediately says, “You don’t have to, baby.”

You smile. “I know,” you answer. “I want to, though.”

Your boyfriend holds your gaze, then nods, as he watches you tug off your own shirt. His eyes travel over your skin, but you feel less shy than full of anticipation. You want him to see you, know you, feel you, just like you want the same from him. His big hands find your waist. “Just tell me to stop whenever, okay?” he whispers, and as he kisses you again, his fingers lightly brush against the swell of your breasts, his mouth swallowing your gasp of pleasure. You retaliate by softly biting his lower lip, and a groan escapes him. As Chan squirms in his seat, you feel his hard-on against the softness of your thigh, and in a spur of the moment-decision, you also shift your weight, throwing one leg over him and straddling him.

There is a surprised look on his face as you bear down on his lap, effectively grinding against him, and his eyes fall closed with a moan that’s louder and rawer than anything you’ve heard from him so far – you find it thrilling. The hardness beneath you, pressed against your core, is exhilarating, and you know that some day soon, though not today, you cannot wait to feel it inside you.

As you draw a lazy circle with your hips, causing both of you to moan at the friction, Chan’s hands find the clasps of your bra. “May I?” he rasps, and you barely have the breath to answer, but he hears you clearly enough. Unclasping the offending garment, he gets rid of it, and then his hands are back against your hips, helping you swivel them in ways that make you both groan in pleasure. Your eyes fall closed as you feel his tongue against your nipple, and you give yourself over to the sensations – his skin against yours, both of you enveloped in warmth as the rain splatters against the windows. He continues to pleasure your breasts with his lips and tongue, and the pace at which you move together grows more frantic and sloppy as you feel your desperation growing more and more urgent. Chan’s hardness is rock solid beneath you, his own moans are beginning to sound more like cries of pleasure, their sound pushing you closer towards where you need to be.

“Chan, I-“

“I know, princess, I’m almost there, too!”

Your lips find each other again, his hand cups your breast and then, as you grind down particularly hard, your orgasm hits you, and the way Chan cries out tells you that you’re not alone in your ecstasy.

You slowly kiss as you both shudder, clutching to each other, trembling through the aftershocks of pleasure despite being warm underneath your blanket.

You lean down to put your forehead against his. “That was… Unexpected,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips.

Chan brushes a strand of hair back from your face. “A good kind of unexpected, I hope;” he says tenderly.

You nod. “Absolutely. You’re just too attractive to resist, Channie.”

You boyfriend chuckles. “God, I like you so much,” he says, pressing a few kisses to your face before you settle your head against his shoulder. You stay like that for a few moments, listening to the rain and the calming of your breaths.

“Baby?”

“Hm?”

“Could you… I’d love to get out of these pants?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry.” You try to get off, but not before stealing another kiss. Chan gets off the couch, the wet stain prominent on his crotch. “Do you maybe want another cuppa? I bet yours is already cold.” He waits in the doorframe for your answer, his jeans already halfway off.

“No thanks.” You grin. “I’m warm enough now.”

#author hare #author hare answers asks #anon asks hare delivers #chanshoesunite #bang chan smut #bang chan imagine #bangchan x reader #skz imagine #bang chan #christopher chan bang #maaaan I'm so sorry it's not betaD #for someone with an English degree I write exceptionally bad in terms of mistakes aaaaaaah shame on me shame on my cow #chan smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan scenarios #chan x reader #stray kids fanfic #bang chan fanfic

[zoestorm]

You mentioned a few decent Fictionmania stories existing. Could you recommend some? I'm curious what work from that environment looks like when it's not horrendous.

And I also got an ask from an anon:

So I'm answering both in here, and the answer is: good stories on Fictionmania are very rare, but when you like one it's like finding a diamond while digging through a pile of coal.

So I'm going to provide a few links :)

Before we start, I have to point out that Fictionmania operates on Cave of Wonders rules: touch nothing but the lamp. Seriously, this is important -- the links I'm giving you are safe (mostly! Because there's decidedly NSFW ads on the site!), but do not wander off on to other parts of the site. Or, if you do, don't blame me at least! 😄

First of all, I have to recommend all of Tanya H's production: they're a very good author, and I super enjoyed all of her realistic stories (i.e.: those that aren't tagged "magical transformation"); do be warned, though, that they can get quite dark. I would start with lighter fare like Hare and Hounds, Awards Evening, and Giving It Everything, and move on from that.

Secondly: The Awakening by BobH. (No relation to Tanya H above, as far as I can tell.) It's a standard "guy falls asleep and wakes up X years later as a woman" story, but it's very well written and I've really enjoyed the mystery and the solution.

Then we have Imp by The Professor. Like The Awakening above, it's a standard "guy gets magically transformed into a girl" story, but it's well written and I've enjoyed the mystery and the resolution.

And... nothing else, nothing that I can personally recommend, at least. I'm sure there's something else in there, but like I said: diamonds in a pile of coal.

#trans #transgender #fictionmania #story recs #asks

[mlmxreader]

We're Ghosts | Keegan P Russ x m!reader

Anonymous asked: "I was so fucking worried, when they'd said that you-" "Hey, it's alright. Look, I'm fine" with Keegan P. Russ x m!reader (pls that man is too fine 🤭)

summary: Keegan gets hurt, and although you know it'll boil your blood to find out what happened, you go to see him anyway.

tws: swearing, mentions of gun violence

You weren't known for sitting still, doing as you were told, and obeying direct orders; maybe that's why the Special Reconnaissance Regiment, the SRR, were so eager to pawn you off onto the Ghosts, knowing that you did better in small groups where authority was more blurred, but you didn't mind. You worked well with them, Keegan especially.

Keegan seemed to understand your way of thinking, for the most part, and he seemed to be able to balance you out; between your rash and hasty decisions, your distaste for Americans and lack of willingness to trust them, Keegan managed to find a way to use it for the betterment of the team and of the operations that you were sent on.

While you would shout and scream and lose your temper at the slightest little thing gone wrong, Keegan was quiet, reserved, and a Hell of a lot calmer than you. You worked well together, you really did, and it helped that you enjoyed one another's company as well; you liked being together, which made your teamwork that much better.

You waited in the office for Keegan to come back with the others, reading a copy of Sun Tzu's The Art Of War as you kicked your legs up on the desk and leaned back; Riley was laid in his basket, curled up and only daring to trot over to you when he wanted a scratch behind the ears or a chicken foot. But he whimpered when the door opened, and when everyone but Keegan walked in, you frowned.

"Where the fuck is he?"

"He got shot," Logan shrugged. "He's in the infirmary now."

You didn't think twice, getting up and heading towards the door, but when Riley tried to push his nose past your leg and get out, you sighed, and gently pushed him back. "Not right now, Riley, we'll go for a walk later, yeah?"

The dog huffed, returning to his basket as you managed to get through the door; the infirmary wasn't far, thankfully, and you ran as quickly as you could while your head spun. A thousand thoughts coursed through your head as your legs did all the work, a lurcher after a hare; your chest began to feel hollow when you got closer, breath leaving you quicker and quicker as your breathing got shallower and harsher. Tears in your eyes and your legs getting weaker as you crashed into the nearest doctor, nearly taking him down as you grabbed him and shook him.

"Keegan P. Russ," you huffed out. "Where the fuck is he?"

The doctor waited a moment for the shock to wash over him before he cleared his throat, and pointed down the hall. "He's down there, Sergeant... by the way, if you happen to come across any scissors, could you bring them to me? I lost mine, and need them back, Sir."

You didn't even answer, taking off down the hallway as you glanced at the names on the rooms, coming to a skidding halt when you saw Keegan's; you pried it open, and almost collapsed as you came crashing down on the scratchy navy chair beside his bed, immediately taking his hand as you swallowed thickly.

"Keegan? Keegan, you okay?"

Slowly, Keegan opened his eyes, daring to look at you for a moment; he let out a harsh puff of air, and glanced down at how you were holding his hand; he felt fine, a little tired and groggy and worn out, but he wasn't in any pain. "I was sleeping, asshole."

Gently, you brought your free hand to his face, gently rubbing your thumb up and down his skin as you sighed heavily, relief mixing with caught breaths. "Sorry... are you in any pain? Any discomfort?"

He shook his head, running a hand through his black hair, coating it with the swear from his forehead as he kept his eyes on you and made no move to wrench his hand free of your grasp. He turned his palm over so that he could properly lock his fingers with yours, his thumb resting on your knuckles. "No... go back to the office, Sir, I'll be there soon enough."

"No," you shook your head, clearing your throat to try and rid your voice of the melancholic breaking. "No, I'm not leaving your side. Not again."

"Go," he growled. "I'm fine."

"No," you argued. "No, Keegan... fuck, I was so fucking worried, when they'd said that you-"

"Hey, it's alright. Look, I'm fine." He made a point to tap his chest just to make sure you could see. "I'm fine, (y/n)."

"Where were you hit?"

"I wasn't," he sniffled, the oncoming of a cold starting to bubble to the surface as he wiped his nose. "They shot at me, nearly hit me, but didn't even break the skin."

You frowned, falling silent for a moment; but then you gritted your teeth, snarling quietly as you dared to tell him, "whoever shot at you, I'm gonna find the cunt... and I'm gonna kill 'em. I'm gonna rip their fucking head from their shoulders."

"No," Keegan growled, shaking his head. "That's an order, no."

You clenched your jaw, glaring down at him as your temper started to rise; the thought that anyone would even try to hurt him, even try and scathe him with a bullet, made you more wrathful than anything else in the world ever could. "Then court martial me. I'm not obeying that order."

"(y/n)," he hissed, sitting upright and speaking through gritted teeth. "If you disobey this order, if you disobey me, I'll kick you through the fucking roof."

"Then do it," you challenged. "No one, no fucking body, has the right to try and take you away from me."

He fell silent, casting his gaze to the wall in front of him as he felt his stomach drop; this wasn't just you protecting a teammate, this wasn't just a case of you trying to get revenge for a teammate. This was something different. This was something that couldn't be controlled and couldn't be squashed with mere orders. This was something that Keegan had never been exposed to before, and he wasn't really sure how he was supposed to react; he kept staring at the wall for a moment, jaw clenching as he sighed heavily, brought his hand to swipe down his face. He couldn't deny that his hand felt akin to a fucking lead weight as he kept staring at the wall; the blank grey canvas upon which sat a chrome light switch and a black television, the screen echoing his reflection.

Nobody was going to take him away from you.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

You shrugged. "I care about you, Keegan, a lot more than I care to admit, and I'll be fucking scorned and damned if some fucking trigger happy cunt with an AK-47 takes you away."

"Again," he cleared his throat, finally meeting your gaze as he stared at you, confusion evident in those pretty blue eyes. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"Keegan," you grumbled. "I wanna be your boyfriend. That's what the fuck I mean."

He nodded, dropping his gaze to the ground. "But I'm a ghost."

"So am I," you pointed out. "I gave up a very fucking decent career with the SRR for this, y'know. I became a ghost, too."

"You can't love a ghost."

"Then what the fuck am I feeling?" You asked with a sharp bite.

"Respectfully," he shook his head as he coughed softly, "shut the fuck up, Sir... you can be my boyfriend, I don't fucking mind, but... we're ghosts, (y/n). Don't forget that."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM.

#mlem writes #keegan russ x reader #keegan p russ #keegan p russ imagine #keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ x you #keegan russ fic #keegan russ imagine #keegan russ x you #keegan russ #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod x reader #cod imagine #cod fanfiction #cod fic #cod fanfic #cod angst #cod #call of duty fic #call of duty imagine #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x y/n #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fanfiction #keegan call of duty #cod keegan #keegan cod #call of duty

[bananadrinkxxx]

THE BLOOD CROWN

Aemond Targaryen Fanfiction.

Enemies to Lovers.

Part 14

When Rose woke up tickled by the sun, she immediately knew where she was.

The tiredness was still in her limbs, and the previous night, had exhausted her. She had tried not to expect too much, but when she looked to the side and took an empty place next to her, she could not ignore the disappointment that spread through her. She didn't know why she had thought Aemond would be lying next to her when she opened her eyes. Whatever romantic notion she had, at that moment, she realized how naive she was. The spot between her legs felt sore and the memory of what she had done to Aemond brought a blush to her face. But last night had been perfect, and she had no regrets. Still, she wondered if it had been the right decision. How would he treat her now, after she had given herself to him so easily? The fact that he was already gone now was telling enough. Rose didn't know if she could still look him in the eye.

Just as she was about to get out of bed and walk back to the servants' quarters in shame, the door opened and Aemond entered. He wore a loose robe and in his hands he held a tray, with various delicacies.

"You are awake," he stated. He placed the tray on the table and turned to her.

For a brief moment, she watched him. She let her eyes glide over his muscular body. Despite his young age, Aemond looked like a handsome man. His body was muscular and well-toned. Everything about him was perfect. He had broad shoulders, long legs and was tall. His hare shimmered and moved elegantly with every step he took. Daeron had the prettier face of the two of them, but Aemond's face was more masculine and radiated authority. Dominance was in his gaze and Rose would not hesitate long if he ordered her to get on her knees.

But would he even want that?

"I won't bother you any longer," Rose said humbly, swinging her legs out of bed.

"What are you talking about?" Aemond approached her, irritated. He stood by her bedside, running his hand through her hair. His touch felt good. Rose, still sitting on the bed, looked up at him with wide eyes. "How are you?" his voice sounded soft to her ears.

"Fine," she said, "I just think you might want to be alone."

"No, I don't want that," Aemond objected. "Come, break bread with me."

He didn't let her get a word in edgewise. Aemond grabbed her hand and pulled her up. He led her to the table and handed her a cup filled with milk. She thanked him and drank from it. It was the best milk she had ever drunk. Aemond ordered her to sit down too and they both spent the morning together. It sounded strange to sit next to him, in her nightgown, listening to his words. It was more than inappropriate to her station, and yet she enjoyed every second.

"Do you need anything?" the prince suddenly asked. His question surprised her.

"If I need anything?" repeated Rose.

"Is there anything you long for?" There were many things she longed for, but doubted that Aemond could give her that. All her life, she had still longed for a family. Her mother, who had been more of a mother in the physical sense than a mother in the character sense, had never been able to give her what she needed as a child. Her mother had never loved her. She had provided for her, but that had been different.

"I have everything, thank you," Rose replied softly, but Aemond didn't seem satisfied with your answer.

"I doubt it. What do women your age want? Jewelry, clothes? Or money?"

"Are you going to pay me now for sleeping with you?" A strange feeling spread through her. Did he think she was a whore now? Because she had given herself to him?

Aemond looked at her in surprise. His eye widened.

"I didn't mean it that way," he defended himself. "You're mine now, in every sense, and I want to take care of you."

A warm feeling prepared Rose. "So you don't regret last night?"

"Why should I regret it?"

Rose said nothing and just shook her head. Aemond reached for her hand.

"I don't regret anything, and I hope you don't either. And I don't intend to leave it at this one night either." Rose surprised at his words. She hadn't expected them. In fact, she didn't know what she had expected at all. But she could not lie. She was pleased that Aemond had obviously enjoyed last night as much as she had. "Unless you object," Aemond added, seeming to misinterpret her silence.

"It would be nice if we could do it again," Rose said, smiling. She had enjoyed sex with Aemond. She had enjoyed his touches and even if she was ashamed of her words and her lust, it didn't change the fact that she longed for a repetition. To feel him inside her. It was a feeling she wanted to feel again. His dominance had aroused her and for a moment she had forgotten all her worries and fears. He had taken her to a place where she could forget everything. It had been breathtaking. She would be foolish to disagree.

Aemond returned her smile, and his hand to the chain around her neck. He played with the chain between his fingers, and turned it over. He read the engraving on the back.

"What does that mean?" he asked her.

Rose swallowed. "I have no idea."

"You don't know the meaning?"

"I don't know what it says," she confessed, and she saw surprise appear on Aemond's face.

It was the only thing that had belonged to her mother. She hadn't given the necklace to Rose, but after she died, she had simply taken it. Her mother had always worn the necklace. It was the only thing she had left.

"Because you didn't know there was anything written there, or..." he stopped, looked at her.

"Or because I can't read, yes."

Now she had tell the truth. And she felt pathetic about it. It was not unusual that the common people, could not read. But someone in her position should be able to - she was not a simple maid, after all, but served the royal family. Would he look down on her now?

She looked for a reaction in his face, but he did not reveal much of what he was thinking. He just watched her for a brief moment before letting go of the necklace and turning back to his food. The mood felt strange between them suddenly.

"What does it say?" she asked, trying to keep a reaction from him. He looked at her through the corner of his eye.

"In dreams we are united."

Rose had no idea what that meant. It was the first time she'd heard it today.

T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

The sun was directly over the idol tree. It was a hot day, and Rose felt the heat burning on her skin.

She saw Queen Helaena digging in the dirt under the tree. The queen was strange, but Rose found her interesting.

Helaena looked up as she stepped closer.

"Queen Helaena, you sent for me," Rose asked, bowing. The queen regarded her. She tilted her head as she looked up and down.

Rose felt strange under her gaze. Helaena said nothing more and Rose was about to say something when she suddenly heard a murmur after all.

"The streets will be full of blood and cheese," Helaena said softly and suddenly.

Rose stepped about closer and the slight smile on her lips died.

She had heard about it. That Queen Helaena was dreaming. Spoke prophecies that no one understood.  She was crying and Rose stood there not knowing what to do.

She was trembling, her dirty hands gripping her dress, and she shook her head. "No, not my child," she breathed and the pain in her voice, was hard to miss.

Rose came up to her, alarmed. She didn't know why the queen had sent for her, but it didn't matter. Though she wasn't supposed to, she grabbed the queen's hands and clasped them in her own.

"What is the matter, my queen? What is wrong with your child?" Rose to the nanny who was sitting with the children, on a blanket, just a few steps away. The woman looked at her in surprise.

"They are all right. Just look there, my queen," Rose urged her.

"I can't. It, I, please, no, no," Helaena moaned, adding in a trembling voice. "They're coming. The worm is biting. The castle will be full of blood and cheese."

Rose was trembling. She didn't know what to do. What was the queen talking about? How could she help her? She was completely distraught. Lost.

Then she heard steps behind her.

"Helaena!" Alicent Hightower stood behind them, dressed to the neck in her usual green and her wavy auburn hair tied so tightly that it pulled at her temples. Only a single strand had come loose from her hair. It made her look softer.

"What have you done to my daughter?" Alicent's voice was cold and sent a shiver down Rose's spine. So much for gentleness.

"N-nothing," she defended herself, stammering. "The queen suddenly started crying. And was talking about things I don't understand."

She looked for help to the nanny, who only looked at the floor.

Alicent walked past her and knelt down to her daughter. She tried to reach for Helaena, but the woman only flinched back

"One of her episodes then," Alicent said. Her voice was tired.

Her daughter ignored her and looked to Rose.

"They come," she breathed, "and they go. An old debt of blood and cheese."

Blood and cheese. What did that mean? Rose swallowed hard.

"It will pass. It's all right, my child," Alicent tried to reassure her. She looked to the nanny. "Take the children to their rooms. They don't need to see their mother like this."

That settled the issue for the queen mother. She sat down by the tree with her daughter and tried to calm her down. Suddenly Rose remembered the dream she had that night. The faces she had seen in the flames. Or was it not a dream after all? She had thought it was a dream, but now she wasn't sure.

Until the night Rose did not leave the encounter with Helaena alone. It kept returning to her thoughts, tormenting her with the question of what the queen had meant. Alicent Hightower didn't seem to attach much importance to her daughter's words, but Rose had the feeling that there was more behind them.

She felt sorry for the royals, so she thought about how she could cheer Helaena up. The queen told her that lemon cake was not only her nephew's favorite. She had also raved about it. With it, she hoped to cheer up the queen. Therefore Rose went to the kitchen and stole the last lemon cake for the queen. She didn't go by the main path, but went through the side passages that Dyana had shown her.

Arrived, Rose knocked on the door. No response. She knocked again.

There was an unnatural silence. This was not unusual.

Rose pounded harder. "My queen, it's me. Rose, please open up, I have something for you," she said, her voice crackling with fear of what might be behind the door.

She suddenly heard soft voices, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. Then she heard a whimper, and she knew whatever was happening behind that door wasn't right. Her knees went weak. She had to get help. She had to call Aemond, he would be able to help his sister. But Rose had a feeling it would make time disappear.

She heard someone laughing. A man. Who was that ? It was not a familiar voice. The wails grew louder. The laughter as well.

Without thinking about it, Rose pushed open the door.

She jumped into the room, the door slammed behind her and she looked to the side. First, her eyes slid to the queen, who was pressed against the wall, crying, her daughter also crying beside her. Both were pale and trembling.

Then her gaze slid to his and she drew in a startled breath. Two men were looking at her. Unknown men.  One of them had a scar on his neck, as if someone had tried to slit his throat. The man next to him is much shorter, only an inch or two taller than Helaena, with a thin face and long oily hair.

But what frightened her was not the appearance of the men, but that the taller one held the prince Jaehaerys, while the other held the younger prince Maelor.

And then, briefly standing right next to them, as if ready to pounce, was Alicent Hightower. Her eyes were wide open. She looked like a shadow of the perfect queen she usually was. Her auburn hair fell in her face, completely messy and wild. But Rose saw no fear in her eyes. Only anger.

"Who are you?" asked Rose, shocked. Like a fool, she still held the plate with the cake.

The men looked at you in irritation. They exchanged a glance among themselves before the smaller one answered her.

"We're debt collectors, girl. An eye for an eye, son for son," he said. He leaned forward, exposing brown, broken teeth. Rose had to struggle not to make her face contort in disgust. "You can call m' cheese, sweetie." He winked at her.

Blood and cheese. By the gods. And then Rose realized something. She had seen the man in the fire. She was not mistaken. It was so clear. It was him.

"You have no business here," Rose said, suppressing the fear inside her. "The king is on his way here," she lied, seeing hope appear in Alicent's eyes.

But Cheese seemed to see through her lie and laughed.

"I don't think so. The king is being entertained by his whore right now," he laughed and Rose felt sick. Her last hope. "But it is you who have no business here."

"She has to go," the tall man next to him suddenly said, taking a step toward her. Rose flinched fearfully, but before he could get closer, here the shorter one stopped him.

"Stay here, Blood, she's not a threat. She's just a woman."

Blood looked at her suspiciously, but he listened to what the other said and turned back around

Blood and cheese. It was definitely what Helaena had been talking about.

"So, fake queen," Cheese suddenly said, addressing Helaena and grinning disgustingly.

"Which boy is it?"

Rose looked irritated at Helaena and Alicent and the horror on their faces confirmed what she was thinking. Panicked, she looked at the boys held by Blood and Cheese and understood what Cheese had talked about.

A boy for a boy.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!reader #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #dark aemond smut #dark aemond angst #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #modern aemond angst #aemond targeryen angst #aemond angst #hotd angst #ewan mitchell smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond smut #aemond x wife #aemond x wife reader #aemond fanfic #hotd fandom #house of the dragon fandom #ewan mitchell fandom #aemond fandom #hotd fic #hotd fanfiction #aemond fic #rhaenyra targaryen #game of thrones

[h5artgreyzz]

requesting ellie williams caring for injured reader ‼️

thank you for your request!! :)

pairing: ellie williams x fem! or gn!reader

warnings: mentions of blood and needles.

author's notes: eeee my first request! this wasn't proofread since i quickly made this and drafted it but i really hope you enjoy!

you hobbled along the stoned path, clutching your side. blood seeped through your top, staining your dirty hands. you pushed the door open with force, making it slam against the wooden hut's wall. the sound of silence sat uneasy in your stomach as you trudged through the hut until you reached the bathroom. you locked the door behind you and sat down on the toilet.

''fuck.'' you seethed as you lifted your shirt to see the damage. the cut seemed deep and was still seeping with blood. you grabbed the first aid kit and continued to patch yourself up. then you heard footsteps coming towards the bathroom.

''babe? you in here?'' ellie spoke, a hint of anxiousness in her voice. she rattled the doorhandle, desperately trying to open the door.

''hey, are you okay? why is the door locked?''

you got up slowly and unlocked the door before setting yourself down on the toilet seat again. ellie opened the door with force before her face softening at your state. she knelt down next to you and placed her hand near the wound, looking at you for consent.

''can i-?'' she asked slowly, waiting for your nod of approval to follow. you nodded surely and lifted up your shirt to show the fresh cut. she looked intently at it before grabbing some cleansing alcohol, cotton buds and needles. she tended to your injury before standing on two feet again.

''there. it should heal up in a couple of days. now, do you wanna tell me what happened out there?'' you winced at the question before sighing heavily. she looked at you with sincerity before you answered with your head hung low.

''i was out hunting for just a single hare or something like that and i ran into people whilst coming home and they kinda attacked me but-'' you looked up to see ellie rubbing her sleep-ridden lidded eyes before turning back to you.

''you gotta stop getting into trouble out there y/n. you could get seriously hurt. i don't want to find you out there without dina or jesse next time okay?'' she asked, holding your hand gently. you nodded before embracing ellie in a hug.

''i promise els, love you.''

''i love you too baby.''

#ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us #bella ramsey #the last of us x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader

[troutfur]

what are your favorite rarepairs, and least favorite?

First of all: SORRY I TOOK SO LONG! My job's been kicking my ass as of late and I wanted to dedicate this ask proper attention. Only now that I am on my way to a little vacation I have time, energy, and attention span to answer.

ANYWAY, Top 3 fav and least fav rarepairs go!

FAV

Berrynose/Honeyfern/Lionblaze — HONEYFERN HAS TWO FRONT PAWS! Any time I see a love angle I just SMASH that polyamory button. Plus I like the idea of a very homoerotic BerryLion rivalry that evolves into romance. And I'm a big fan of Fernsong, Hollytuft, and Sorrelstripe so playing around with their parents situation is fun.

Crowfeather/Harestar — Before anyone comes for my throat for the age gap, this is squarely about them after Hare becomes leader and starts spending more time with Crow. I just find the idea of Hare as this young gay guy falling for this gruff older guy who in his younger days was quite popular with the girls (just see his two gfs he got in quick succession) to be really compelling. Bonus points if it's unreciprocated on Crow's part, all because Hare can't bring himself to confess.

Briarlight/Ivypool — This one was from a fic I read and, well, I dunno. I think it's a really cute alternative to Blossomfall/Ivypool which is one I get like intellectually but emotionally doesn't do it for me. What else do you want me to say? Also I like Ivy better as a lesbian GF for Briarlight over Dovewing which is someone I truly, genuinely don't get why it's caught on.

LEAST FAV

Squirrelflight/Sol — Fandom stop picking a new random ass man for Squirrelflight every few months challenge! I find it honestly grating how this cycle operates with her and Sol feels the most egregious because I see no reason ever she'd want to ever interact with him. Even if fucking like Shrewpaw or whoever is also annoying to see at least there is a shred of a justification there. (Also little perfect angel Shrewpaw is honestly a fun icon to irreverently smash to smithereens so he has that going for him.

Ivypool/Jayfeather — I've seen it once or twice before and I'm sure it was just the one author and it was just peak "He would not fucking say that" from both sides of the ship. Utterly infuriating how any shred of personality or personal history was just straight up ignored.

Jessie (or Moonlight)/Squirrelflight — By the same token as the first one I am also not a fan of the Squirrelflight's random woman of the month trend. BUT! It gets somewhat of a pass from me because at least it's not het. I will also freely admit I have read neither Bramblestar's Storm nor Squirrelflight's Hope so I may turn around on them if I do. (Also this got me scrapping the bottom of the barrel for a third because tbh? I don't have strong negative feelings about all that many ships let alone rarepairs.)

#warrior cats #wc

[ask-the-becile-boys]

Ask Index 2

An index of everything in the 'Askbox Answers' tag!

Illustrated - Weekend War Relics

Illustrated - Hare's Face

Illustrated - Taxes

Text - Composers and Authors

Illustrated - Riker's Brother Part 1

Illustrated - Riker's Brother Part 2

Text - Apologizing

Text - Locksmith is a Liar

Illustrated - The Jack's Memories

Text - Shirts on Fire

Illustrated - Anime

Illustrated - Gardening

Illustrated - Helping Riker

Illustrated - Fear of Blood

Text - Buster, Post-Incident

Text - Cowboys

Illustrated - Trying Times

Illustrated - Knitting Advice

Text - Talking Backwards

Text - The Power of God and Anime

Illustrated - Friends with The Jon

Text - Breaking Habits

Illustrated - Hatchworth Encounters

Illustrated - Bullies

Text - Upgrade

Illustrated - Scratch's Diet

Illustrated - Has Scratch Met Dee

Text - First Bass Song Part 1

Text - First Bass Song Part 2

Text - Norman and Vivian

Illustrated - Bad Smoothies

Illustrated - Norman and Vivian 2

Illustrated - The Jack's Favorite Color

Illustrated - Video Games

Text - Hobbies

Text - Portal (Old Bot, New Tricks)

Illustrated - Becile Industries on Tumblr

Illustrated - Six Could Fix You

Illustrated - If Someone Hurt Jack

Mod - Turning Human

Illustrated - Replacing Riker

Mod - Thanks!

Text - ASL

Mod - Weekend War

Mod - Weekend War 2

Mod - Relationships with the Walters

Illustrated/Mod - Jager

Illustrated - Where's Thadeus

Illustrated - What's So Funny

Text - Hare and Gwen

Illustrated - Nanny

Text - Craziest Adventure

Text - Locksmith's Hatch and Humans

Illustrated - Headpats for Tatters

Mod - Afraid of Animals

Mod - Superpowers

Mod - Best Gambler

Mod - Best Dancer

Text - The Skull's Favorite Songs to Play

Illustrated - The Jack Escaped Again

Mod - Hare and Dee's Relationship

Mod - The Walters' View of the Beciles

Mod - Riker's Allergies

Illustrated - Riker's Injuries

Illustrated - Thadeus's View of the Becile Bots

Illustrated - Has The Jon Seen The Jack Since...

Mod - The Skull as Counterpart, Hare Gifts

Mod - Classpects

Illustrated - Hugs

Mod - Favorite/Least Favorite Weather

Illustrated - Riker to Thadeus

Illustrated - What Was Riker's Ma Like?

Mod - Hare Opposite Rabbit

Mod - Thanks!

Mod - Hugs 2

Illustrated - How's Scratch?

Illustrated - Screaming

Illustrated - Jaime

Illustrated - Shaving Locksmith's Mustache

Illustrated - Shave His Eyebrows Too

Mod - Mr. Potato Head

Illustrated - Does Jaime Still Care?

Text - Was Riker Happy with Jaime?

Illustrated - I Hope Dee is OK

Mod - Thoughts on Killing

Mod - Peace with the Walters

Mod - Miss Lacy

Mod - Spotify Playlist

Illustrated - I'd Die For The Jack

Illustrated - Hit Locksmith with a Stick

Illustrated - The Jack's Feelings Toward the Others

Mod - Timeline

Illustrated - You Should Have Let Him Live

Illustrated - ReCAPTCHA

Mod - Tatters' Past

Text - Talk to Hare

Mod - Pacing and Thanks

Illustrated - Where is Hare?

Illustrated - If Something Happens to The Jack

Mod - Welcome Back

#becile bots #ask index

[generalluxun]

Fanfiction: Reciprocation, Chapter 4

Author's Note: Felix learns something of maintaining relationships, while still plotting for his freedom.

Link to AO3 in Bio, full text after break.

Silence of the heart, that blissful state of pure concentration he was used to, lasted him several more days. He got no further messages, but he knew. He knew and for some reason, that mattered. The next tug came more gently than the previous. It wasn’t an itch or a hollow that burned him, it was a prickling of his thoughts. It was a distraction that was gentle, yet grew over time. When it finally shifted from background to foreground it was a nudge not a yank, but he still took it seriously.

Felix was at his desk when it happened. His concentration broke and chemistry went from a wonderful dance of unity and division to a scramble of letters and numbers on paper. Felix set his pencil down and let his head fall back. Why must this thing exist? I can’t hare off to Paris every time my emotions decide to unravel themselves.

Felix picked up his phone from his desk and opened up the short text conversation. His fingers hovered indecisively over the keys. Indecision did not come easily to him, and this paralysis was revolting. He had nothing to say. There was no need for communication, no message, no update. The thought of a simple ‘How are you?’ was revoltingly childish. He found he had half-expected an incredulous tirade in response to his provocation from before, but had gotten nothing; less satisfaction, more (any?) respect.

Felix put the phone down and folded his hands on his desk. It was a slow, torturous process turning his thoughts inward. What do you want? He asked himself in frustration. This thing, this uncountable portion of his being that made no sense was one he could not command and barely knew how to speak to.

‘Of course you are.’ Even now those words created an uncomfortable warmth in his chest. Uncomfortable because it still made no logical sense. In the contemplation of that warmth a course of action drifted up into his mind. It coalesced and Felix understood what he had to do. He reached for his phone.

He balked.

His hand hovered again, it was a pure effort of will to make it pick up his phone. He keyed open his contacts, then closed them again, open, closed, open. Damn this, damn it all to hell. A plan was supposed to make things easier. A plan was how you claimed victory and what separated you from the weak fools. There were risks to every plan. The mind weighed and calculated them. It accepted the costs.

Felix wasn’t dealing with the mind though. He was dealing with the heart. It was a weak and stupid thing. It feared. The idea that he could encounter rejection reached up and took him by the throat. I don’t even LIKE this accursed woman, he growled at his fears.

‘Oh?’ They whispered back coyly.

I am no slave to petty emotion or amorous frivolity!

‘Mmm, then, why am I here?’ they murmured.

He had no answer, and not having one became its own fear. It grew until one fear outweighed the other, both inside him and threatening to break free. His thumb came down on the call button, a tightness spreading inside as the screen flicked over. Felix raised the phone to his ear.

The phone rang, and again, he tilted it away from his face to be sure the timer was ticking up properly. Of course it was. Half a dozen more rings had turned the tightness into suffocation.  He pulled the phone away from his ear again and-

*click*

More seconds of silence, but the icon was green. The icon was green and he could breathe again.

"Felix? Why are you calling me?"

Even more the tightness unwound itself. Too fast, and he felt the urge to snap, to bite back and live with the pains he understood.

He was quiet too long and she spoke again, "Felix, what the hell? What do you want?"

What did he want? How could he explain it?  No one had ever understood before, and here he was a supplicant to the least kind of souls.  But, against reason, maybe- "I don't want to talk to you."

Another long pause. "Oh. Okay."

Nothing more.  Felix checked again. It was still green. The timer ticked up and with it a mounting tension. Would it change? Would it? 

One minute.

Three minutes.

Five. 

He began to hope.  As if handling a newborn Felix maneuvered the phone down to his desk. He held it by fingertips only, terrified of bumping the screen accidently.  Once it was in place he continued to watch it for a minute more.

He had studies to do, and so he dove into them with his head clear and focused.  He checked back at five minute intervals, but it did not derail his work.  It wasn't until an errant thought, a dark whisper from up out of the chasm of misunderstanding whispered to him, She probably just left it on and went away that he began to worry.

He was full up on worry though and by the time his intervals had shrunk to one minute anger was back in force. He stabbed another button on the display, waiting to reveal a fraud.

The picture winked into existence to prove him false though. There she was. She wasn't even looking at her phone. The image was askew as if propped up on something, but she was in it. Felix watched, seemingly unseen, for another full minute.

He got back to work.

It was three hours and five subjects later when Chloé's voice filled the quiet of Felix's room. "I'm going to go down to dinner now. It'll be noisy. One Hour, two if Daddy decides we have to be a family today."

Felix blinked at the phone. He looked down to a closeup of Chloé's face. "Okay."

"You're so weird." The words were familiar, but the inflection was wrong. Felix frowned and received a smirk and a finger wave in reply before the picture flicked out.

Felix realized that he was ravenous. It was way too early for his own evening meal, but his stomach was making its voice clear. He considered his schedule. Workout first, eat after. My body will not start disobeying me too.

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

Everything had arrived. Everything was in order, yet still he sat idle. Felix knew how he would blackmail his uncle. He had practiced the sabotage until it was rote in his mind. He would allow no mistake to put his aunt in true peril by his hand. The one missing component was timing. He had to be sure he would not be interrupted while he worked. He needed a plan more concrete than his previous ones had been, the interruption in his uncle’s atelier had nearly been a disaster.

Felix sat alone in the living room in a high backed chair. Hot water with honey and lemon was his drink of choice, no caffeine to cloud his thoughts at the moment. Beside him was a stack of books. Doyle, Chandler, Christie, James, and others, mysteries often held obscure and yet clever solutions to mundane problems. Few scenarios were sensible if taken whole cloth, but they made excellent seeds at times. Felix flipped through page after page, transferring the stack from one side to the other as he devoured the possibilities.

BuzzBuzzBuzzBuzz.

Felix let the noise continue until the end of a page before frowning at his phone. He’d left it on for his mother to reach him. She knew well enough to text though unless it was an emergency, and he had no reason to believe it would be. He picked up his phone and, no not his mother. Chloé’s number stared up at him from the vibrating device.

Putting aside his habitual unease, Felix touched the pick up icon. "Yes?"

"-nd Lila's not picking up, and she's gone! Those stupid, horrible, tacky, disgusting nobodies took her! What am I gonna do? Mommy is too busy, daddy says he'll buy me a new one but he doesn't understand!" A wave of blubbering sound assaulted Felix, pausing only when frantic emotion overcame the ability to draw breath.

The desperation wrapped itself around Felix and tried to sink its claws in. He reacted quickly and decisively. "Chloé, I am busy. I don't have time to indulge some flippant tantrum over a lost bauble."

He braced for a second salvo, it was expected. Instead, he got only a hiccup and a simple, "Oh."

Off balance at the lack of resistance, Felix waited several seconds before tapping hang up, cutting off a sniffle from the other side.

Immediately the discomfort unwound itself. The emotional assault ebbed and dissolved into the still air of the room. Felix turned a page.

Is it still on? A little voice whispered. Felix looked over at his phone. Of course it wasn't. The little voice whispered, but it was. That timer had ticked up, second after second, minute after minute, for hours.

It's not the same, Felix countered. That cost her nothing.

Didn't it?

Felix forced himself to read a paragraph, when not a single word stuck, he felt the voice cackling at him. He knew what it wanted, but those hooks threatened. Look, I'll call back later, when she is calmer. I'll let her yammer to her heart's content.

It was a spurious argument. Felix knew how emotions worked. He made it his business to know. Emotions were powerful tools.

Damn you, Felix hissed in his own head, the irony of such a thought was not lost on him. He snatched up his phone and hit call. 

After one ring a wet, "H-ello?"

"You have fifteen minutes. That's all I can give you."

Instantly the flood hit again. Felix braced and endured. Words ran over each other, slurring and repeating in an endless spiral of broken glass and rubble.

He pulled out bits from the cacophony, supplying grunts and 'mmhms' when she paused for breath. Her longtime acquaintance, the ginger with glasses, was hanging out with other students it seemed. Felix was well aware of how much Chloé had utilized the girl's academic prowess, but as she herself had said, her father had promised to make good on a replacement.

Felix tracked the time as it ticked up, eight minutes, ten, twelve. Chloé was talking herself in circles without end. The blubbering came and went of its own accord, but the flow was unending. Her agitation was a trial of endurance for Felix. Provoking responses was fun, staying for them was exhausting.

Suddenly the flow cut out for a second of silence then, "Oh, that's Lila calling me back. I'll stop inflicting myself on you now. Talk to you later, or not, or whatever it is you do when you call."

*Click*

Felix blinked at the flashing time. The silence was suddenly louder than a room full of Chloés. "But, you had two minutes left…"

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

He scanned himself in the mirror, this time with a hint of pride. He had his plan. It was so simple the odds of it failing were almost non-existent. It did rely on another person, but history was on his side in that regard. It had been a flash of inspiration, an ingenious calculation, a scheme mulled over and honed in the pure silence only the witching hour could bring.

It also had absolutely nothing to do with that blonde woman in Paris, or those missing two minutes; no matter what the little voice in his head kept saying. Well, it had something to do with her, but she was not the reason. She was simply a cog. He’d come up with the idea while watching the Paris news, a perfectly reasonable thing to do, right?

Felix smoothed down his collar, adjusted his cuff, and wheeled his luggage out into the living room. A full suitcase, garment bag, and hardened carrying case were his significant burden for this trip. As soon as he made his appearance, Felix announced, “I’m going to Paris, mother.”

She looked up from the counter where she was enjoying a morning cup with the financial section of the day’s newspaper. “So soon already, dear heart?”

Felix raised his chin and stood a little taller. He allowed a smile to play over his lips. “I think I have found my solution, Mother, to our dilemma.”

Her face brightened with genuine joy. Amilie stood and hurried over to him. Soft fingertips touched his shoulders, “Really? You will be careful won’t you? How will you do it? Oh- don’t tell me. I will worry if you do. I will worry if you don’t, but I will worry less. I have faith in you, my son. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

Felix absorbed his mother’s joy. He understood it, he welcomed it, and he let it pass through him. “It may take a few days. I will stay in one of our apartments there. I will contact you every night, so that you will know I am safe.”

His mother’s face fell, clouding with the concern she could not hide. Her touch lifted. “Days? Will it be long? I will miss you terribly, my moon.”

Felix clenched a fist to demonstrate his conviction for her. “Not long, if all goes well. I do not wish to remain in Paris any longer than I must.”

Amilie’s hands wavered, as if to reach out to him again, but she clasped them instead to her chest. “Go, go quickly. I want all of this behind us as quickly as possible, but most importantly I want you safe. If I had the power I would do this all myself and spare you, Angel.”

Felix made a concession. He stepped in and wrapped his arms around his mother for a firm if stiff embrace. She didn’t move, she scarcely breathed until he let her go. When he stepped back her eyes were shining so intensely he had to look away. “I will hasten back, Mother.”

Felix turned abruptly and took hold of his bags. As he started off his mother’s voice rose in a gentle question. “Are they a part of the plan; the person the cologne is for?”

Felix stopped dead in his tracks. It was an incisive question, but then, that was his mother. He had made a mistake with the embrace perhaps. He chose honesty. “It is a bargaining tool. They will find it appealing I believe.”

Good humor seeped into his mother’s voice, “Then allow me to provide this tip, my little Lothario. The scent will not hold for the duration of the train ride. Apply it again before meeting your mark. Give it fifteen minutes to air before the meeting for best effect.”

Felix assuaged his shame by focusing on the factual information. It would be of use to him. “Thank you, Mother.”

With that, he walked towards his Fate.

#ml fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #Feloé #Felix x Chloé #aro/ace character #chloé bourgeois #felix graham de vanily #felix fathom #ml fanfic #mlb fanfiction #mlb fanfic #amilie graham de Vanily #Reciprocation

[coruscantiscribbler]

My brain seems to have switched to creative overdrive…or I have gotten extremely inquisitive 🧐

This is a fair warning to my Artists, Authors, and all -around interesting people (because anyone who is not me is interesting) of Tumblr that The Asker’s Studio™️ is in session!

When last we met, I had intended to ask this set of questions, but the fates (and my keyboard) would NOT have it. We jumped tracks and went to Yularen, instead. (Not a bad thing ❤️)

While watching the new Andor series, I could not help but to think of you, and your fic, We Regret.

For those of you unfamiliar with this fabulous, Rebels (say what you will, that show brought us 6 more Thrawn books) based fic, it has all of our favourites: Kallus, Thrawn, Eli, Yularen, Pryce, Andor, and a host of interesting Original Characters.

A brief overview:

Follows Kallus as the very foundations of his life, and his most precious relationships are twisted and poisoned by his continued loyalty to the Empire. He finds it more and more difficult to silence the still small voice that wants him to question, to doubt but to go from blind loyalty to betrayal is a journey that is neither easy nor quick.

As anyone who is familiar with Rebels knows, Kallus eventually defects from the Empire and joins the Rebellion.

While the series did not include the character of Cassian Andor, you have done us all a favour and corrected this wrong. Andor plays his own pivotal role in your fic.

The questions that were pummeling me as I was watching the series were fast and furious, so I will try to keep it to a low roar. However, as I always remind my guests: you have carte blanche to answer, deviate, expand…or go in a completely different direction from my presentation. All I ask is that you talk, and talk a lot.

The first group of queries concerns, Andor, himself.

When you started the series, was there any urge to edit, expand, or depart from how you presented Andor thus far?

Was there anything about the series/character presentation that you would have changed?

The second set of questions involves your fic as a whole

Was there any desire to change how you were going to present the Rebellion & Kallus’s experiences after viewing the series?

Finally, I am curious how set is the arc of We Regret, are you certain of how it ends and the journey in-between here to there (end)?

I ask this last question, because I have always wondered if authors wake up one morning and totally trash the outline, jump rails, and end up in a completely different place!

Once again, it is my honor and pleasure to take up some of your precious time. Thank you, kindly.

I love your Asks, they are always so insightful and force me to (try) and be equally insightful.

I'm going to start with the last question first. No, I never trash the outline and go haring off in a completely different direction. For me the value of outlining or "breaking a story" as is said in Hollywood, is that I have explored all the dead ends, or seemingly attractive paths that only lead you into a swamp well before I actually start writing. And I plot backwards. I know the end of a story or novel or script before I ever start writing. If I know where I'm going it's very easy to figure out the scenes that I need to get there.

I know exactly how I will end this story, several years after the restoration of the Republic, and I will give away this much -- it won't be on Lira San. As I've indicated elsewhere I could never buy the happily-ever-after ending for a man with this much blood on his hands.

Andor has had a profound impact on me, but only in so far as how it bolstered by own views about the Empire. I have always seen the rebellion as having a dark underbelly because you don't overthrow a government without making some ugly compromises with decency and morality, and Andor does not shy away from that. Neither did Rogue One. One of the first moments in which we see with Andor is him coldly killing an informant to keep him from falling into the hands of the Empire.

I'M GOING TO THROW OUT A FEW SPOILER HERE. SO IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ANDOR STOP READING NOW.

The two rebel leaders we see in ANDOR are Mon Mothma and Luthen and they both make some truly ugly decisions in support of the rebellion. Mon Mothma basically sells her teenage daughter to a crime boss so she can keep financing the rebellion. And Luthen in an act of cold calculation doesn't warn a fledgling rebel cell that the Empire is waiting for them because it would compromise his informant inside the ISB. Ugly choices forced on these individuals by the dark times in which they live. Of course the crimes and brutality of the Empire are far worse than the morally grey choices made by the rebels, but none of these people are saints.

I'm going to try to keep that balancing of the light and dark now that Kallus is in the rebellion. Draven is a hard man. He expects his agents to be hard as well, to know they must bury their morals because everyone on all sides thinks they are fighting for the greater good.

YOU CAN START READING AGAIN.

I knew before I ever started typing that it would be Andor who recruits Kallus into becoming a Fulcrum agent. But I didn't want it to be a straight line from crashing with Zeb on the ice moon, asking a few questions and then ringing up the rebellion to ask if he could help. A man as dedicated and loyal as Kallus wasn't just going to throw aside his life and beliefs that easily, so I took him to rock bottom, and had it be a single, simple event, the death of a single young pilot trainee, that was finally too much. The proverbial pebble that starts the avalanche.

I wouldn't change a thing about Andor. I think Gilroy did an absolutely stunning job with the character's development. We first see him as a small time crook, a man with no direction and no purpose. A string of petty crimes, mooching off his friends, sleeping with a variety of woman, committed to nothing. Then slowly, slowly he starts to discover outrage and finally his purpose. It's how I wanted to move Kallus from loyal Imperial officer to rebel spy.

The other point where I found support from Andor was the presentation of family. Throughout the movies the rebels all seemed to have either real or found families, but the Imperials were presented as just two dimensional bad guys. And the treatment of the stormtroopers always offended me. Who were these men and women in the white armor? Wouldn't they have had mother's fathers, siblings, wives, husbands and children? Someone would mourn their passing.

Andor showed us people on both sides of this conflict with families. There is the commandant of the garrison on Aldhani with his wife and teenage son. There is the lieutenant who turns traitor because of a woman. There is Syril and his domineering mother. Mon Mothma has a husband and a sulky teenage daughter. There is the ISB informant who wants out because of his new born child. And of course there is Maarva who saved and raised a child, and whether Cassian knew it or not instilled in him a thirst for justice.

#Rebels #Andor #alexsandr kallus

[greenlodgecypher]

The Yoders' Farm

From Caitling

Ensor is a completely normal rural town. If so, this is a completely normal adventure.

The Yoder's farm is a fairly ordinary Ensor Zone farm. It consists of a farm house that's about a hundred years old, a largeish barn, two smaller sheds, and a little shed that they've been selling cheese and honey from. They're also fairly well-known for using all available print media to run regular yardsale-type sales out of their house. We wouldn't call them a store, but they certainly had a good line on various used business equipment and household goods. Actually, they just made good use of moving/estate sales and closed businesses. Since the Yoders moved away so abruptly, we weren't sure how to go about this. Was the farm really abandoned? Should we enter at night, or during the day? The last attempt at a visit was at sunset. That night there was a particularly nice aurora, although those seem to be more common lately. Given that we weren't sure about the potential for accidents, we decided to visit during the day. We showed up bright and early, before it could get too hot. The Yoders' cars were nowhere to be seen, and neither were their cattle. We assume they must have shipped them out to wherever they've gone. Despite the absence of the inhabitants, the property has not been left alone. We found several large tread tracks in the dirt from what must have been large vehicles. They were reminiscent of the tracks snowplows leave, or the torn-up dirt from fire department exercises in the woods. The authorities must have been here. The house has been staked and roped off with caution tape. Every opening, door, window, and vent, has been taped across with red strips. On one side, the house appears to be damaged. The brick has collapsed outwards, revealing what must be old, fibrous insulation that has fallen about everywhere. It almost looks like weeds itself, in its confusion. The rest of the property didn't hold anything so dramatic for us. It looks like the Yoders decided to plant the (rather unsuitable for planting) cattle fields this year, because they were verdant with a profusion of corn. It must have been a late planting, because it was positively flourishing and had only just started to tassle. It was very tall, too, and it made exploration of the fields difficult. The barns and outbuildings were difficult to access, since the paths had been overplanted on each side. If you've ever walked into a cornfield, you know how they are. They scratch. They rustle. They whisper, and they're very unnerving. Nevertheless, we pulled out our maps and did as thorough a search of the fields as we could. The farm really isn't large, so we were able to walk the grounds and search it in strips, methodically. All we found was more corn, and some large broken tracks through the fields. They looked animal, not vehicular, but it must have been a large animal. Maybe one of the cows was left behind. Around eleven, we spotted a helicopter. This wasn't one of the somewhat business-like helicopters that come to hover around looking for weed; it looked smaller, rounded, more civilian. This chopper had pods, or instruments, on it, though. We haven't been able to get a good identification of what the instruments were; they were rounded front and back, all of different sizes, and mounted in irregular clusters towards the front of the helicopter's underside. They did not resemble the long, flat-sided pair of tubs that usually makes up a cargo attachment. After the helicopter hovered around the area for several minutes, pausing sometimes, it left. We took this as our invitation to leave. We have asked around about the farm's status, and gotten no answers. We have gotten some stringent requests not to ask about the situation. If you hear anything from Freddi, or see her (Erin Fisher), or Brianna Hare, Daniel Cox, or Angela Steigenberg, please contact us or any of our families. They were last seen leaving from the Fisher household for the Yoder's farm in June. There is something rotten in the state of Denmark.

#the green lodge cypher #tglc aug 97

[chanshoesunite]

Hello there! I hope you are doing good :) I was wondering if maybe you would write something along the lines of sweet Channie not being able to help himself and masturbating bcus he got turned on by seeing some of (idol!)readers photos, or maybe a video? Bonus points if it's in public/somewhere where the boys could easily walk in on him. It can be during the relationship or before you guys are even together, whatever you prefer! Just some nasty thoughts I had heh. I'm loving all the content on your blog, keep it up ♡

Hope you don't mind I went for a fancam instead, I just liked the idea so much! :)

CHAN has always had a sweet spot for you – his dongsaeng from the same label. You met years ago during training, when you were still a soft-cheeked girl that called him “oppa” in the innocent tone of a little sister. He used to sneak you tteokbokki so you wouldn’t go hungry despite your harsh dieting plan.

Now, two years after your debut, you hardly ever see each other, and your relationship has changed with it. The easy friendship has developed into something else – you call him sunbae now, not oppa, and there is a tension there that Chan has never quite been able to place…

…until today, when he is lounging on his bed, scrolling through TikTok, and comes across one of your fancams.

It’s from your latest comeback, “Down”, and the concept is quite sexy. The song is a slow, pulsating tune with a hypnotizing bass and an almost chant-like chorus, perfect for autumn and the upcoming Halloween season. You are wearing a flowy white dress that is made to cling to you in all the right places by a black leather harness that goes well with your black leather stilettos and the smoky eye makeup. The fancam shows the killer part of the choreography, slow hip circles that follow the anti-drop in the chorus, and the way the members lower themselves to varying levels, creating a V formation, while circling their hips and pushing their arms up through their hair. It isn’t the most difficult move ever, but you are the centre for this formation, and you drop low on your high heels, managing to look demure while simultaneously practically eye-fucking the camera.

And that’s when it hits Chan, as he feels his pants constrict his awakening cock.

You are fucking hot.

His first reaction is panic – he can’t find you hot! You are his sweet, innocent YN whom he’s shared snacks with! He throws his phone onto the bed, crossing his arms. Then he grabs for his phone again and watches the fancam a second time. And a third time. Chan tries to tell himself that he is just doing it because it is his duty as a sunbae to watch out for his hoobae’s improvements so he can give her constructive criticism. But if he is completely honest, he watches it for that smirk you do just before you get back up from your … your slut drop.

It's as if Chan is seeing you for the first time – your round hips, your long legs, your breasts which are quite nicely accentuated by the harness… This is not the girl in sweatpants and trainers. This is a young woman who is desirable.

He glances down to his half-hard cock, then switches to YouTube to pull up an actual full-length fancam of you. There are several, and he chooses the one he’s briefly seen on TikTok, pressing play with a mixture of desire and anxiety. And then there you are, a vision in black and white, as you shamelessly seduce the camera. Chan doesn’t realise when he starts palming himself, only that he is, that he cannot get enough of the way you circle your hips, and then he’s thinking about what it would be like to have you on top of him, drawing lazy circles above his half-hardened cock. How he would put his hands on the curve of your hips and push himself into you, and how you would bounce on his dick – maybe you could keep the harness on, for the fun of it. He thinks about how good you would feel as he watches you shake your ass on Inkigayo, and then Chan pulls his cock out, and he knows it’s wrong, but how can it be when it feels so right, when you are the sexiest person he’s ever seen?

His hand is dry, and it’s not entirely pleasant but he’s too far gone, jerking himself hard and fast to you in that outfit, you doing that choreo, and when your eyes catch the camera again, he feels like you’re staring into his soul, knowing what he is doing, and you smirk. That smirk is Chan’s undoing, and he comes hard over his hand, your name on his lips, panting heavily.

The video ends and Chan tries to even his breathing. His hand is sticky, and he’s gotten some come onto his sweatpants. As he sees the stain, he feels shame – did he really just jerk off to his dongsaeng’s fancam? He pushes the feeling away. It’s not wrong – he knows for a fact fangirls (and fanboys) have done the same thinking of him – it’s part of being an idol. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why you have been weird around him lately? Because you realised he’s hot too?

What an interesting thought. Maybe, just maybe, you on top of him isn’t an impossible fantasy, after all? Chan grabs a tissue to wipe his hand. Grinning to himself, he decides to maybe try to catch you in the practice rooms next week…

#anon asks hare delivers #author hare answers asks #bang chan smut #bang chan imagine #chanshoesunite #bangchan x reader #skz imagine #bang chan #christopher chan bang #bang chan x reader #skz hard thoughts #bang chan hard thoughts #bangchan hard thoughts #bangchan hard hours #author hare #chan smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan scenarios #chan x reader #stray kids fanfic #bang chan fanfic

[unvalley]

Telling life at bedtime

Happy Gruvia & Greige day 2021! ❄️💧💙

I haven’t written in almost a year so this was difficult  but I just couldn’t miss this day and not create something on this special day, so here it is! I hope you like it!

___

‘’Greige Silver Fullbuster, get back here!’’ Juvia yelled for her son to get back into bed but he had other plans. The toddler was running half naked [like father like son] around in the living room, like he had all the energy left in his tiny body, clearly disobeying his own mother.

‘’You’ll never catch me, mommy!’’ Greige yelled back and laughed like the little troublemaker that he is, still making difficulties for his mother. Pregnant mother, in fact, so she could barely run. Poor Juvia.

‘’But daddy can!’’ Gray appeared in front of Greige, wrapping his arms around their little boy and headed straight to his bed.

‘’Daddy, nooo!’’

‘’Daddy, yes! It’s already past your bedtime, young man’’

Greige was not happy that his daddy was on mommy’s side and not his. Traitor, he thought. But he immediately gave up because he didn’t want to make his daddy and mommy angry. And he certainly couldn’t risk his baby brother or sister to know that he was going to be a bad big brother! So he had to be cautious, because he or she could always be listening from inside mommy’s belly.

‘’Fine. But can mommy read a bedtime story first?’’

‘’Because mommy is so nice, she will grant your request’’

‘’Yay! Mommy’s the best!’’

‘’Mommy knows’’ Juvia answered with confidence and smirked at Gray, making sure he knew his place. He just rolled his eyes but he couldn’t have agreed more with that statement. It was a fact after all.

Gray gave Greige a goodnight kiss and exited the bedroom, leaving him and Juvia for their story time.

‘’Which book would you want to read tonight, sweetheart?’’ Juvia asked Greige at the same time she was going through the bookshelf.

‘’No book. I want to hear mommy’s story!’’

Greige loved books and it was one of his favorite activities to do. Looking at the illustrations, reading with daddy and mommy and sometimes even with his aunts and uncles when they were over to babysit him.  Aunt Lucy was the author of Greige's favorite book The Princess & The Dragon that he had gotten from her and uncle Natsu for his third birthday. So saying Juvia was confused would be a big understatement. She was shocked.

‘’Mommy’s story?’’ Juvia was still confused and made sure to ask him to make sure he knew what he had asked of her. 

‘’Yes!’’

As she tucked Greige into bed, she thought for a while before finally coming up with just the thing!

Once upon a time there was a hare. The hare always felt sad and lonely. Ever since she was just a baby, she had no one. Even though she was always nice to other hares, none of them wanted to be her friend, and no other animals either. It was like rain was constantly following her wherever she went and she hated it.

‘’Oh no, that’s so sad, mommy’’ Upon hearing that, Greige’s smile dropped right away.

‘’Yes...’’ Juvia paused for a second to think back at all of her bad memories from the past but quickly continued the story because she didn’t want to think about it anymore nor did it matter. She was happy.

But little did the hare know that all of that was about to change. Because one rainy day, the hare met a wolf. He was so beautiful. In fact, she thought he was the most beautiful of all the animals she had ever seen. She really wanted to know who he was and get to know him but it wasn’t that easy. Because at first, the two of them didn’t get along very well.

‘’Oh no! Did mister wolf eat lady hare?!’’ Greige gasped, for he was worried for the hare.

‘’Don’t worry, sweetheart’’ Juvia giggled, thinking Greige’s reaction was adorable.

The wolf didn’t eat the hare. Although if the hare would have to be completely honest, she was most certain that it would indeed happen.

Instead the wolf decided to help the hare. And with that he finally made the hare see the sun. While the wolf didn't realize the intent of his actions, the hare was very grateful. She decided to show the wolf her love by always being by his side. They put their differences aside and started working together to survive in the woods that we're filled with dangers. Soon after they had developed a friendship. With the sunshine that the wolf brought into the hare’s life, so did the happiness. The hare had never felt so content before but it wanted more. However the wolf was known to be a tsundere. He would always reject the hare by acting very cold towards her.

However the hare was very stubborn. So she stuck around him whenever she could until the wolf was willing to change his ways. With time he started to show how much he cared for the hare more and by the end the hare was sure that the wolf felt just as much for the hare as she did for him.

Through good and bad. Through thick and thin. There wasn’t anyone they'd rather be with. There wasn’t anywhere they’d rather be but with each other. And so, the hare and the wolf lived happily ever after; The end.

Juvia wasn’t really sure if she did a really good job or if if she did terribly. Because Greige had fallen asleep listening to her. Not sure if that was was of boredom of what. But he was sleeping after all so she considered that mission successful!

‘’Goodnight, my sunshine’’ She whispered and gave sleeping Greige a peck on his forehead and turned off the lights.

"Well, that was quite an interesting story"

Juvia hadn't realized that Gray had been leaning on the door the whole time. She went out of the room slowly closing the door behind her so she wouldn't wake up their sleeping boy, before she focused her attention on her husband.

"Gray-Sama liked it?"

"Yes. It sounds awfully familiar though. Are you sure you didn't copy that from somewhere?"

"No, that's Juvia's story for sure"

Gray smiled before leaning in and giving his beautiful wife a peak on the lips before he put his hands on her round belly, a soft look in his eyes. He had already gotten so lucky with Greige and now he was getting even luckier.

"Thank you Juvia. For not giving up on that cold wolf"

___

I want to thank my amazing and talented @jetblackrevival @eme-eleff @heademptyonlygruvia for not only helping me with this story but also for keeping up with my shit LMAO. I wouldn’t have made it without you three and I don’t deserve any of you, but thank you so much! I love you all so much 💙

#LOL i'm 4 hours late to gruvia day in my country i hate myself :') #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #greige fullbuster #gray fullbuster x juvia lockser #gray x juvia #gruvia #gruvia day #gruvia day 2021 #greige day #greige day 2021 #gruvia fanfiction #gruvia fanfic #fairy tail #ft #fairy tail 100 years quest #anavi 💓 #leyla 💓 #marilu 💓 #unvalley fanfiction

[sweetsoundsofignorance]

Ohhhh! 7, 10, 25!

What is your deepest joy about writing?

When it comes to sharing writing, it is when someone connects emotionally with something I’ve written, especially when it’s something I’ve whole-assed myself emotionally. For me, that’s also the greatest joy of reading, that rush of empathy.

I also get really happy when my intentions for a story are noticed by readers, the little details and symbols and themes and specific character traits. I know the author is dead and all, but this still makes me happy.

When it comes to actually writing, the act itself is one of my deepest joys. I’ve always used writing as a way to process and expel a lot of built-up emotional energy. For me, it’s a self-soothing activity.

Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

Oh, yes. Many.

For fic, though, pretty much anything @whatwouldflorencedo wrote for American Horror Story: Murder House and From Dusk Til Dawn lives inside my head rent-free, especially Kansas City Shuffle. I am a slave to many many things about their writing, how they write tension, intimacy, their exploration of moral grey areas. For one, no one writes smut like them, the kind that eviscerates you. I can only aspire to write smut like them. Speaking of which, I think Kansas City Shuffle is due for a re-read.

@darknessaroundus Total Dark Sublime, I’ll be obsessed with Jughead’s tattoo obscuring their names forever. I mean, I’ll be obsessed with a lot of that story forever, including the poem for which the fic is named.

I could go all day about specific scenes from books that are practically nailed to the inside of my skull, but the main ones would have to be the climactic scene in The Secret History, and the entirety of Bunny by Mona Awad and Call Me By Your Name. If I was any more specific, it would spoil the endings, but I’m partial to these sorts of last gasps of intimacy in the midst of irrevocable and/or unavoidable loss, and that is probably why the devil’s daughter and loose lips also haunt me 24/7.

What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

I’m sorry, but I don’t have a good answer for this one, or maybe I don't understand the question? Is it asking if there's a specific detail that I've left out of a story because it's irrelevant or a detail I included that has no purpose?

I’m sure there are strange attributes I’ve sprinkled throughout my stories that I’ve forgotten about and served no purpose to the story, but I can’t think of any detail I’ve purposefully included about a character that wasn’t put there for a reason, even the seemingly innocuous ones. I obsess over small character details. I think any attribute you give your character has a connotation attached to it that is, on some level, integral to their character and the overall story. It’s all informative.

Someone (I think it was Sully) pointed out that Jughead was left-handed in Kill Your Darlings, and that was on purpose. It was supposed to make the reader think about how it would look watching Jughead write. If you’ve ever watched a left-handed person write, most of them write like the runt of ten children at the dinner table, guarded, and because Jug is a hare, hurried in this case. Then, there’s also the reflection symbolism, the sinister element, and the messiness inherent to being left-handed (you smudge the paper like crazy; it’s unavoidable). On its face, it seems like a small insignificant detail, but it’s not.  

Thank you for the ask 🤍🤍🤍

#asks

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ACOK: Theon III (Chapter 37)

Theon wiped the spittle off his cheek with the back of his hand. "Robb will gut you, Greyjoy," Benfred Tallheart screamed. "He'll feed your turncloak's heart to his wolf, you piece of sheep dung."

Aeron Damphair's voice cut through the insults like a sword through cheese. "Now you must kill him."    

Why do we keep doing this?

+.+

Uncle Aeron was relentless. "When he spits on you, he spits on all of us. He spits on the Drowned God. He must die."    

(...)

"No," Aeron Damphair declared. "He must be given to the god. The old way."

Other than Euron, if you asked me which Greyjoy is the biggest piece of shit, days later I still wouldn’t have an answer for you. How very House Targaryen of them.

Speaking of House Targaryen, you’ve got to love the complementary dynamic of burning people alive and drowning them. Where’s all the A Song of Water and Fire metas? I know destiny when I see it.

+.+

What does it matter? Dead is dead.

Not in this story!

+.+

"You will come as well. You command here. The offering should come from you." 

That was more than Theon could stomach. "You are the priest, Uncle, I leave the god to you. Do me the same kindness and leave the battles to me." He waved his hand, and Werlag and Stygg began to drag their captive off toward the shore. Aeron Damphair gave his nephew a reproachful look, then followed. Down to the pebbled beach they would go, to drown Benfred Tallhart in salt water. The old way.

If you can’t stomach drowning the man, then don’t authorize it.

Have you learned nothing? The man who passes the sentence should hold under water.

+.+

Climbing a jumble of stone, Theon looked down on the dead men and dying horses. The horses had deserved better. 

(...)

The rest of his men were looting the corpses. Gevin Harlaw knelt on a dead man's chest, sawing off his finger to get at a ring. Paying the iron price. My lord father would approve.

If this is supposed to remind me of the Dothraki, it’s working.

+.+

One of them was in a shoving match with a fat man named Todric, who was reeling among the slain with a horn of ale in one hand and an axe in the other, clad in a cloak of white foxfur only slightly stained by the blood of its previous owner. Drunk, Theon decided, watching him bellow. It was said that the ironmen of old had oft been blood-drunk in battle, so berserk that they felt no pain and feared no foe, but this was a common ale-drunk.

"Wex, my bow and quiver." The boy ran and fetched them. Theon bent the bow and slipped the string into its notches as Todric knocked down the Botley boy and flung ale into his eyes. Fishwhiskers leapt up cursing, but Theon was quicker. He drew on the hand that clutched the drinking horn, figuring to give them a shot to talk about, but Todric spoiled it by lurching to one side just as he loosed. The arrow took him through the belly.

x

Even Robb . . . he ought to have won a smile the day he'd saved Bran from that wildling, but instead he'd gotten a scolding, as if he were some cook who'd burned the stew.

Theon accidentally shoots a man in the stomach when he’s aiming for his hand, then pages later conveniently forgets that just happened. Classic Theon.

+.+

He kicked at Benfred's fallen banner, clutched in the dead hand of the squire who'd borne it. A rabbitskin had been tied below the flag. Why rabbitskins? he had meant to ask, but being spat on had made him forget his questions.

Callback!

Leobald Tallhart had his turn the following day. He spoke of weather portents and the slack wits of smallfolk, and told how his nephew itched for battle. "Benfred has raised his own company of lances. Boys, none older than nineteen years, but every one thinks he's another young wolf. When I told them they were only young rabbits, they laughed at me. Now they call themselves the Wild Hares and gallop about the country with rabbitskins tied to the ends of their lances, singing songs of chivalry." - Bran II, ACOK

I’m sure rabbits, rabbitskins, and floppy ears hold deeper meaning, but you won’t get those answers here.

+.+

Theon thought of seeking out the bodies of the two men he'd slain himself to see if they had any jewelry worth the taking, but the notion left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could imagine what Eddard Stark would have said. Yet that thought made him angry too. Stark is dead and rotting, and naught to me, he reminded himself.

x

He tossed his bow back to Wex and strode off, remembering how elated he'd felt after the Whispering Wood, and wondering why this did not taste as sweet.

x

He did not like the taste of any of this, but what choice did he have?     

x

"The day is won," Dagmer called down. "And yet you do not smile, boy. The living should smile, for the dead cannot." He smiled himself to show how it was done.

The Smiler is not smiling. Theon, what’s the matter? You seem conflicted.

What choice do you have? Um, let me think, you could leave and sail back to Robb?

+.+

"Any force he summons will be larger than mine," Dagmer said, "and these old knights are more cunning than you think, or they would never have lived to see their first grey hair. You set us a battle we cannot hope to win, Theon. This Torrhen's Square will never fall."

Theon smiled. "It's not Torrhen's Square I mean to take."    

Never mind, that was brief. He’s smiling again. Back to shithead.

Final thoughts:

Is every Greyjoy shortsighted? It’s not only Theon, I want to sit down Balon and ask him what exactly the long-term goal is here.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #acok #theon iii

[dark-magician-girl-meets-world]

honestly, im really, genuinely curious, and I’d like to hear you talk about it. Why aren’t psychopaths an actual thing?

Yes! Thank you for asking! So, let’s start with the most obvious question: what is a psychopath? You certainly hear the word a lot. People will also frequently say sociopath. They’re used kind of similarly, mostly. What’s the difference?  Well, this is the problem we run into. There isn’t any fixed definition. The usual authority on these issues is the DSM, or Diagnostic Standard Manual. It provides names and agreed on definitions that accredited psychologists will diagnose. There’s no category in it called “psychopathy” or “sociopathy”. No similar organization has such a definition.  But isn’t there a checklist or something? Yes, there is, but it’s not put out by an organization like the DSM. It was written by a random psychiatrist as a proposal and it hasn’t found universal acceptance. There are a few writers who write about psychopaths and sociopaths, but all of them have their own definitions, meaning there’s no one universal definition you can pin it down to. That means it can’t be diagnosed or even defined, really.  But that’s not the biggest problem with the idea of psychopathy and sociopathy. It probably wouldn’t be too hard for the psychiatrists who write about it to get together and agree on a single defined symptom list. There even are already two diagnoses in the DSM that people who worked on it say were meant to be their stab at representing what a diagnosis for the general idea of sociopathy/psychopathy might look like: antisocial personality disorder and dissocial personality disorder. Those diagnoses are defined, but not officially linked to the terms psychopath and sociopath.  So what’s the bigger problem? Well, to answer that we, first have to look a little closer at what a diagnosis actually is. The usual idea people have is that every diagnosis represents some kind of brain, something real inside the mind of the person it’s a diagnosis of. According to this idea, a diagnosis has a sort of causal power: you act in certain ways because you have a certain type of brain.  But that idea is more like the GOAL of psychiatry, not the reality. In reality, especially for personality disorders, it’s the opposite. Rather than people acting a certain way because they have a diagnosis, they are diagnosed because they act a certain way. Every diagnosis is a list of behaviors, and if you meet a certain number of them, you’re eligible for the diagnosis. But it’s hard to know if people act that way because of that diagnosis, that is, that it represents something about their brains or if it’s just an arbitrary grouping. It would be as if we grouped animals based on what they DID rather than whether they can breed. “Skittering” might represent a meaningful group of animals, but would “swimming”? Or “hiding?” Maybe several different diagnoses represent various different ways people deal with a specific kind of brain. Maybe many different types of brain can lead people to act in similar ways, and get lumped into one diagnosis. So the question is: when we look at the sorts of behaviors that people tend to associate with the terms psychopathy/sociopathy, is there reason to think that they represent a sort of brain, as there is with, for instance, the term autism, or is there reason to suspect that many kinds of brains could behave that way and the behaviors are only associated in some other way? And HERE is the big problem with psychopathy/sociopathy. Especially when you look into the history of the terms and the research that the people who use it did, it becomes very obvious that what psychopathy really is is “commits crimes disorder”.  One of the big names in popularizing the term psychopath is Robert D. Hare. And guess where most of his research is done? Prison. And if you look at his checklist, his criteria are a mix of criteria from several other diagnoses with criteria that are subtle variants on “commits crimes”. And what other researchers, including one I’m about to quote, have found is that what happens is a lot of prisoners with completely different disorders that have been involved in their criminal history check off the criteria that are just doing crimes and the criteria that are from the issue they actually have, and thus get labeled with psychopathy rather than their real issue. Dorothy Otnow Lewis, a professor of psychiatry at Yale writes: “To this writer’s mind, psychopathy and its synonyms (e.g., sociopathy and antisocial personality) are lazy diagnoses. Over the years the authors’ team has seen scores of offenders who, prior to evaluation by the authors, were dismissed as psychopaths or the like. Detailed, comprehensive psychiatric, neurological, and neuropsychological evaluations have uncovered a multitude of signs, symptoms, and behaviors indicative of such disorders as bipolar mood disorder, schizophrenia spectrum disorders, complex partial seizures, dissociative identity disorder, parasomnia, and, of course, brain damage/dysfunction.“  And this gets to the darkest part of psychopathy/sociopathy, which is its use in the law. Despite the fact that it’s not a diagnosis, people like Hare get brought in to testify about it at trials and it increases the penalties for offenders. Psychopathy is an astonishingly, I would argue, suspiciously convenient disorder for our prison system. Once someone is deemed a psychopath, there’s no use treating them or giving them sympathetic therapy. The only answer is locking them up, because that’s all you can do with a psychopath. And fortuitously, that’s already the path of least resistance for the prison system.  So, tldr, psychopathy isn’t a real diagnosis. It doesn’t have an official definition. And the definitions people have made are suspicious. Often the people they call psychopaths have other things going on, and the term psychopath seems almost tailor made to excuse the prison system for its cruelty and failure to do anything but lock up people with numerous mental health issues. 

#psychopath #sociopath #whoof #that came out long #anyway #that's my rant #psychopathy isn't a thing #to be clear #this is all internet research #but I believe it is accurate

[splittinghares]

@thelightfalls​ asked: “did you find what you were looking for?” [ random dialogue prompts ]

     —       what is it that they’re meant to be looking for? maybe, countless lifetimes and rabbit holes ago, hare might’ve had the drive to search for exits. for answers. but now, it seemed as if all stones had been turned. the author of their tale artfully left no avenues for escape, no matter what story hare found themselves in.

     —       hare’s answer is as plain as a shake of the head. no, they haven’t. and they doubt they ever will. as painful as acceptance is, it requires far less energy than continuing to thrash in vain. as if they were a fish upon the dock, wordlessly begging body and soul for the sweet relief of the river. but the will of man is not to be questioned when you are just a little fish.

#thelightfalls #↝ 🐇 𝚒 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝 ( ic ) #↝ 🐇 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 ( asks ) #[ thank you for the ask! #and the followback. i really like your blog! i'm excited to interact ]