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bluemerakis · 5 months

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┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ paper trails ❞

⤷ Word count: 2.5k

Pookies it was my birthday yesterday, so in honour of that, I wanted to write a lil something something with coryo 🤭 not anything grand, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless

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WARNINGS:

Implied smut ig, teensy bit fluffy, just coryo being the cutest little gentleman ever (outside the bedroom)

SYNOPSIS:

There was nobody else that Coriolanus trusted more with his cherished garden of roses than you. You were the keeper of his flowers, tending to them with a delicacy that only you were capable of. He’d always admired that about you—how your green fingers always seemed to yield a larger bloom rate than his own ever did.

You’d always thought that you were nothing more than a district eleven nobody gardener to Coriolanus, but little did you know that he knew pretty much everything (however little) there was to know about your history, including your birthday. He gives you a gift of his own, an invitation he’s hoping you’ll accept so that he may celebrate your birthday with you—Coriolanus Snow style.

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Crouched low to the ground, you bit back a hiss of pain as a thorn pricked the tip of your index finger, withdrawing your hand to wipe away the welling drop of red at your fingertip. You fashioned more conscious caution as you returned your hand to the culprit rose and gingerly bent the stem towards you, your other hand gripping a pair of garden scissors. You nipped the stem below the dying rose head, the decayed, featherlight petals drifting to the ground to form a scattered painting of a crime scene.

Each time you were forced to cut away the wilted flowers, a piece of your heart ached. It was a necessary practice in order to keep the bush healthy and set it up for a successful next season, but it didn’t hurt any less to know that you’d once poured as much effort into preserving that very flower, and now you would lay it to rest simply because it had lost all grace and beauty—and hence value. Funny, really, how much that concept seemed to equate to the real world.

Overhead, the sun seared on, taking full responsibility for the beads of sweat that now dribbled down your temples. You dropped your scissors to the ground, it’s fall cushioned by the decayed bodies of your rose victims, and wiped your dirt-strewn hand across your forehead with a sigh. You took a moment to glance around the garden of the Snow estate, your chest prickling with a sense of pride at the perfect order you’d managed to bring it to.

Coriolanus Snow didn’t much trust anyone to tinker with his garden, it was one of his most prized possessions—a symbol of sorts that only he knew the meaning of. No matter, he’d taken you in from the districts and trusted you enough with the duty of being his gardener, and he was a very generous host in return. You stayed on the property—in this very garden, in fact, in your own little rustic cottage. He didn’t often make a stop there, mostly tending to his own business, but there were a few occasions where he did manage to pass-by and would check in with you.

The last thing you’d expected him to be was generous—and kind. It was practically an unspoken rule in the Capitol for the higher classes to spit on and degrade anybody from the districts, merely because your lesser existence was offensive to their way of living. You had to admit that you didn’t much hold any love for the Capitol citizens, either, but you thought that your dislike of them was far more justifiable and valid.

But there was an air around Coriolanus Snow, not exactly the most humble, but he was far from boasting his wealth and luxury of a lifestyle from the rooftops of Panem. It was almost as though he were too afraid to, as though this life would and could be robbed from him in an instant. It gave you the impression that he was not like most other Capitol-born citizens—perhaps he’d known what poverty was like, whether it was him or someone he knew that had endured it. Maybe that was why he’d taken pity on your life in the district and offered you this opportunity to come and live with him in return for your services.

There were many possibilities at play, but because Coriolanus Snow was such an enigma of a man, there wasn’t much hope of closure. As if the mere thought of him was a summons, you heard footsteps clatter down the bricked walkway winding through the gardens, turning your head just in time to glimpse that signature red ensemble of the man who’d been plaguing your thoughts for the last hour or so.

You instinctively rose to full height to offer him a modest bow of greeting upon his arrival. It was a gesture he’d insisted on neglecting for the first few days of your presence here, but he’d soon after given up on the matter when he realised that you would not listen. Now, going off of the sheer delight that seemed to glint in those deep blue eyes, you thought he rather enjoyed the importance that your greeting seemed to imply.

“Mr. Snow,” you offered a formal greeting, feeling suddenly conscious at how ragged and sweat-stained your gardening dress had become under this hot weather. Quite frankly, you hadn’t expected him to pay a visit today, given the scorching weather. You only wished that you could have presented yourself in a better manner.

Coriolanus stood towering before you, his chin tilted down to glance you over as he merely said, “Coriolanus, please.”

You were hesitant at his correction, before offering a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Coriolanus,” you repeated softly, feeling out each syllable of his name. It felt odd to use his first name outside of your thoughts, but even then, you almost always addressed him by full name.

You noticed the way Coriolanus’ eyes had lowered down your figure, and the self-consciousness only seemed to worsen at the idea that he may be judging your appearance. But you were taken aback as he leaned forward to take your hands into his, his thumbs ghosting over the back of your hands before he turned them over to survey your palms. The way he cupped your hands in his felt far too intimate, and you hoped by the grace of all the Gods that the dirt plastered to your face was mask enough to hide the colour inevitably warming the apples of your cheeks.

“Have you not been using those gardening gloves I gave you?” Coriolanus asked as he trailed his thumb over the cuts littered around your palm and across your fingers. He lifted his eyes to yours, they were shaped with genuine concern.

You were taken aback at how blatantly careless he was in his handling of you, and for a second you almost felt like an equal in status. Capitol-born rarely laid their hands on district occupants, as though they feared the poverty and dirt they carried were a plague to be avoided at all costs.

It took you a few seconds to find your tongue. “No, I haven’t,” you admitted, then quickly added, “not for lack of trying, though. I’ve never used gloves, even back in the districts—they make it difficult to grab ahold of the stems, and I find that my cut becomes rather clumsy with them on. I prefer the unveiled contact with my greenery.”

The white-haired man seemed to nod with understanding, a faint smile stretching his full and soft lips. “I guessed as much,” he responded. The confusion that swept across your face prompted him to explain. “I never developed a taste for gloves, either. When I inherited this estate, the garden was in a ghastly state. No matter how many gardeners I managed to enlist, none of them could bring my roses to justice. For a while, I did all of the work myself, and the garden thrived.” He paused with a sudden and wistful look. “But as it seems, my time wore thin with all my newly acquired responsibilities, so I turned to the districts in hopes of finding a suitable gardener to continue my work.” He paused as his eyes lowered down to your hands once more. “And then I found you.”

Your heart lurched at the way Coriolanus’ fingers began to caress the curves of your palms. You felt that somewhere along the line, you had missed the part of the story where the two of you had grown close enough for this sort of intimacy. But even then, you didn’t find yourself withdrawing from his touch. It felt oddly soothing, the way he dragged a constant, rhythmic pressure across your torn and aching skin.

“Why did you choose me?” You asked suddenly, causing Coriolanus to lift his head with that lopsided smile.

“I just knew you were right for me,” he responded levelly. “When I found your stall, I watched you for a while—the way you tended the flowers and assembled the bouquets for that Capitol celebration order. I thought the work looked familiar, I’ve seen it decorating most—if not all of the foyers of the upper-class Capitol buildings. The bouquets have always had a signature crown to them—one flower in the centre that sits a little taller than the rest of them, like a king that gazes down across his people. I saw you do the very same thing with all of your orders, and I knew then that you were the popular artist whose flowers haunt me wherever I walk.”

You let slip a giggle at his last words, not caring for etiquette at this point. You thought that you’d long since left formalities behind when Coriolanus had taken up your hands.

“I was unaware of just how much of a fan you were, Mr. Snow,” you teased, instantly catching your fault and correcting yourself. “Coriolanus.”

“Involuntarily,” he chuckled, his smile quieting as his eyes flickered across your face rather intensely. You would have cowered away from his stare, had it been casted under a different circumstance. “In any case, I knew I had to have you. Your talent and potential would have been laid to waste crafting posies and ensembles for sanctimonious Capitol parties. I doubt either one of them could properly recognise and appreciate the true effort imbued into their side-piece decorations.”

You pursed your lips at those last words, feeling rather propelled by a sense of pride at his praise and recognition of your hard work. “Putting aside the “sidepiece decorations”—could you, Coriolanus, properly appreciate my work?”

“If you have to ask that, I’m afraid I’ve been too subtle in my efforts,” he responded. Your lips quirked at that, only to gape in slight shock as Coriolanus lifted both of your hands to his lips, and in elegant sequence, placed a tender kiss onto your knuckles.

You swore that the very skin of your hands shrank away from the feel of his soft lips, an explosion of shivers sent along your rigid arms. “Coriolanus—” you started softly, but he cut you off.

“I chose you because of what your potential had to offer me,” he said, slowly releasing your hands to return back to your sides, and there they quivered as he went on. “But also because I knew what I could offer you. Nobody understands the scars of labour more than I do—don’t forget that I’ve been kneeling in your place, doing your job, long before I brought you here. Gardening, it isn’t just an industry—it’s an art, one that very few can appreciate, letalone master. But you—you’ve perfected it. I’ve never seen flowers so full and abundant in bloom.”

“You’re being too generous.”

“No,” he politely disagreed, a faint smile trailing after. “I’m simply giving credit where it’s due. Please, allow me to commemorate your hard work.” Your lips parted to question what he meant by those words, but you were silenced by the shuffling of his hands as he reached into his crimson blazer and pulled a white rose from concealment. “Take this.” He offered you the rose, and you gingerly accepted it.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed that it wasn’t a real rose at all—not all of it, at least, but one whose petals were expertly shaped from paper. The stem of it was real, but the thorns had been carefully carved away, the leaves left behind already starting to wither at the edges.

“Coriolanus,” you breathed, tilting the paper rose in every direction to marvel at its beauty. “This is so beautiful. I never pegged you for an arts and crafts guy,” you added with a chuckle.

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “It was one of the ways Tigris and I used to pass time as kids.”

You glanced up in faint surprise at the mention of Tigris. When Coriolanus had risen to power and status, shorty after inheriting the Plinth fortune, it was very difficult for his history to remain private. Everybody—even the districts, knew that Tigris was his older cousin, and that their relationship following his newly acquired fortune had since been estranged. After all, it was difficult to conceal the fact that his cousin no longer partook in his life, staying separated in her living quarters as well as neglecting the courtesy of attending his events of honour to show support.

You wondered whether Coriolanus ever regretted growing so distant with Tigris, but as you silently gazed at him, his expression let on not even the slightest hint of his thoughts or feelings on the matter. He was fashioned from composure, the only way to truly get an answer would be to hear it straight from his lips. But you wouldn’t pick at that particular scab, not when you had hardly known each other for more than a month—or spoken for more than a few minutes.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” you told him, gently clasping the stem between your fingers. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.”

“I’m afraid you won’t have the opportunity,” Coriolanus said. You furrowed your brows. He made a slight gesture of his chin toward the rose, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers. “I left some notes on the petals. Feel free to read it once I’ve taken my leave.”

Your tilted down to the rose, your eyes narrowing in an effort to spot said note on the paper petals. After twirling the rose around for quite a bit, you managed to find the neat scribble of his handwriting nestled into the middle ring of petals. Before you had the chance to read the first word, Coriolanus’ voice stirred your focus.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said before offering a smile and turning to take his leave from the garden.

You lifted your head and watched him disappear around a winding corner. “Goodbye!” You called after him, not sure he’d heard you at all. You turned your attention back to the rose and manoeuvred your fingers between the various paper petals, managing to find the beginning of the note. You push down the first petal and began reading it’s contents:

Your breath hitched in your throat at that last sentence. Coriolanus Snow, you little flirt, you thought, but you couldn’t deny the flush of your cheeks as you entertained that possibility. You pushed the thought away as you continued reading:

You chuckled at that statement. You weren’t going to be the one to say it. You bent down the last petal, the writing a lot less than the last few notes.

You averted your attention to the pathway that Coriolanus had long since disappeared along, your heart brimming with a sudden warmth. Nobody, other than your now deceased family, knew of your birthday. It had never been anything special, only a grim tally of your miserable years in the district.

You wondered how he’d come to obtain this information, and you realised then just how true to his word he’d been—he very likely did know every single thing about you. But you hated being perceived, especially by somebody you knew nothing about. So you decided then and there that you would take up his offer on tonight’s dinner,

And then, you intended to find out his every secret.

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This was so fun and refreshing to write. I’ve got about 7 unfinished drafts sitting around that I’ve been working on now and again, but I’ve been itching to get something complete and posted—so although this is something small, at least it’s something lmao. Sorry to disappoint y’all smut lovers, but I’ve got to keep it clean now and again.

Anyways, I just turned 19 yesterday, which feels surreal because I’m literally just a 17 year old teenage girl. I don’t think I’ll ever feel grown up. Every birthday is a goddamn existential crisis 😭

I hope you enjoyed this, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. Mwah!

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its-actually-minicika · 1 year

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Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader;

Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;

Word Count: 6.5k;

Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡

I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!

How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?

Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.

Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.

To my dearest, Aemond

While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.

Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.

Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.

I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.

But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.

One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.

You would like it here.

And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.

I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:

First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.

I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!

Until then I remain, as always,

Your inquisitive and loyal friend

His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.

He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.

And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.

To my good friend,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.

King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.

My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.

I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.

Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.

The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.

A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.

Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.

She misses you greatly. As do I.

As does Vhagar.

The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.

Beckon your reply quickly.

Your most dutiful servant,

Aemond

A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.

His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”

A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.

Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.

A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.

“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."

His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.

Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.

“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”

Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”

Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”

Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.

“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”

Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.

He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.

Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.

His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.

“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.

He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.

Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.

To My Lady,

A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.

Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.

Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.

If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.

Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.

Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.

I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.

I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.

Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.

How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.

He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.

A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.

His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.

My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.

… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.

Aemond.

Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.

His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.

Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.

‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.

He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.

The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.

Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.

The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.

Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.

The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.

He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.

Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.

A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.

He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.

A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.

"F-Fuck… my Lady…"

His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.

His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.

His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.

'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.

It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.

Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.

He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.

Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?

Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?

Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?

His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.

How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.

His. His, his, his and his alone.

Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.

She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.

His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…

Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.

Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.

Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.

His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.

He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.

He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.

He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.

Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.

To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.

As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.

His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.

Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.

Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.

“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.

“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”

Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.

“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”

“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”

A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.

“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”

The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.

“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”

A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.

He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.

In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.

His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

To Aemond,

I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.

I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.

I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.

Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.

The Lady Tully of Riverrun

His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.

The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.

It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.

Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.

A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.

If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.

More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.

In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.

Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.

Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.

If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.

But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.

“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.

“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.

“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.

“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”

Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”

“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”

When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”

A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.

But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.

Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.

“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.

“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”

“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”

Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”

She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”

“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”

“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”

“Aemond was not the right match for you.”

The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”

A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.

“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”

Silence washed over their council.

“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."

“He’s a child.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It still makes for quite the difference.”

“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”

“I don’t like the finality of your words."

A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.

“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”

“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.

“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”

“You think a war is in its midst.”

A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.

“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”

The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.

“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”

For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.

“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.

For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.

She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.

Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.

His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.

Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.

His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.

Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.

As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.

With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.

He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.

His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.

He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.

The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.

Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.

Perma Tag-List: @welcometothelioncage

Specific Tag-List for the Fic: @howyouloveyourdragon @diamantesprincess @carriellie

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #yandere aemond

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marzipanandminutiae · 5 months

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Rating the Femme en Noir Crimson Peak collection when I should be going to bed (it's not ALL critical, actually!)

no judgment at all to people who like the collection. nothing can achieve higher than a 7/10 because it's all synthetic. let's get into it

Edith Victorian Gown in Ivory

...yeah! that's basically Edith's nightgown copied exactly, so it's a 7/10 from me

2. Lady Lucille Victorian Dress With Capelet In Teal

What. um. What does this have to do with anything Lucille wears? It's blue velvet and it's a dress; there the similarities end. Why is there a ruffly capelet? That's something Edith wears, not Lucille. Why are there leg-o-mutton sleeves? Why is there no trim whatsoever? (that last is to become a running theme.) 3/10.

3. Allerdale Moth Wallpaper Babydoll Dress in Olive

There's a longer version, and were it a natural fabric, I'd be tempted to buy it and alter it into a blouse and over-skirt or something. This one is honestly pretty cute, though I forget what part of the house this wallpaper appears in. 7/10.

4. Edith Victorian Knit Cardigan in Olive

I get that they want to modernize these things for their target audience, but the original being SO much more fitted and sumptuous-looking just makes this one look sad. It's like Wish.com Edith. 5/10 for at least keeping the little velvet pumpkins.

5. Ghost Shoulder Bag

If this were leather, I would buy it. Not a huge fan of Margaret being the ghost on the front, though- I feel like Enola or Eleanor would be more photogenic. Poor Margaret. 6/10 though they're lucky I don't take points off for calling it "vegan leather" in the description. Be honest- it's plastic.

6. Belladonna Maxi Dress in Crimson Red

This is just an existing product of theirs But In Red. Pretty, but 4/10 for lack of effort.

7. Lady Mourning Victorian Gown in Black

It's the nightgown in black with a sash. Try harder. 3/10 and I'm skipping any color repeats labeled as different dresses from here on out.

8. Mourning Victorian Bonnet in Black

You know what? Yeah. Sure! That's a cute bonnet. Good job. 7/10.

9. Lace Mourning Scarf Veil in Black.

You can get a yard of nylon chantilly lace for less than $28, pretty as this looks. 5/10.

10. Victorian Cycling Pullover Sweater in Black

I mean. I guess. What does this have to do with Crimson Peak, exactly? Why is "Lucille" wearing puffed sleeves when, again, her clothing being tight has so much character logic behind it? It's a mystery. 5/10.

11. Victorian Velvet Bustle Skirt in Black

This didn't photograph well, but it appears to have some cool pleat details. I don't like 19th-century skirts getting shortened, but that's more a matter of personal preference than reaction to movie inspiration or lack thereof. 6/10.

12. Taffeta Edwardian Blouse in Marigold

This comes in multiple colors, but I picked the marigold because it illustrates that Wish.com effect once again.

The OG bodice from the movie that they're clearly trying to evoke. It has DETAIL! it has TRIM! It has LUSH FABRIC! And obviously you can't do that with a mass-produced piece, but ye gods, why would you set yourself up for failure by trying? If they hadn't gone for the look of a specific movie costume, their blouse wouldn't look disappointing by comparison. 5/10

13. Wicker Tilt Hat With Black Veil

Once again I feel they shot themselves in the foot here. It's cute! But it suffers by trying to be something that was better in the movie.

Not great by comparison; it's TOO close without going all the way. 6/10 because it is cute, though.

[skipped a bunch more veils and some lace mitts, which were cute but have nothing to do with How Well Or Poorly The CPeak Inspiration Was Executed In My Opinion]

14. Victorian Hands Belt in Silver

THIS IS NOT THE CRIMSON PEAK HAND BELT. THIS IS NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE THE CRIMSON PEAK HAND BELT. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS?

IT IS THIS 1970S BELT- WHICH, LIKE THE ONE IN THE MOVIE, IS NOT BASED ON ANY VICTORIAN ORIGINAL THAT I'M AWARE OF -THAT HAS BEEN COPIED 50000 TIMES. DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND WAIT FOR CUTTLE AND BONE TO HAVE ANOTHER PREORDER OF ACTUAL CPEAK HAND BELTS. 0/10.

Conclusion: Not all bad, but I feel like I actually would have gone in a more modern direction with the resources and limitations of this collection. You're never going to be as good as the movie costumes at their own game, not with mass-manufactured pieces. So why set yourself up for failure? Bringing the characters, themes, and motifs to a yet-unexplored time and place (with some Victwardian touches, of course!) seems like it would have been a better way to go about this, IMO.

Also stop being allergic to trim when you're taking inspiration from a movie with oodles of passementerie and beadwork and lace all over everything.

5/10 overall.

#long post #fashion #crimson peak #also for the love of everything can we get some natural-fiber clothes that AREN'T beige linen?#Gothic Natural Fiber Attire When!!!

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writeforfandoms · 9 months

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Waking Lions 14

Find the series masterlist

We learn more about Ace's past and her connection to Kate. Also, she finally gets a meal.

Warnings: swearing, past violence, mention of past murder, Ace is still morally gray, Price still needs his own warning.

Word count: 1.7k

Captain went out first, making sure the way was clear for you as you locked up. You hiked your bag a little higher up on your shoulder and followed him down and out to the street, where an SUV was waiting for you.

“Ma’am.” Garrick nodded to you from the driver’s seat, and you settled in the back.

You looked out the window, tired and a little detached after everything. A quick look showed that you’d been working for nearly twelve hours straight. That was… less than ideal.

“Here.”

You blinked and refocused your gaze on Captain, who’d twisted enough to hand a water bottle back to you.

“Thanks.” You took the water, twisting the cap off slowly and taking a drink. You were definitely dehydrated, but you drank slowly, sips at a time, gaze unfocused.

It had been a hell of a couple days.

Honestly, now that you were thinking about it, you were surprised Laswell had noticed so fast. Was it just timing? Or had she gotten word of Gray poking around?

“Nearly there.”

Captain’s voice made you blink rapidly, lifting your head. Both men were facing forward, which was a bit of a relief.

You still weren’t sure how you were going to deal with Captain yet.

Garrick parked and a moment later Captain was opening your door for you. You almost made a teasing remark about him being a gentleman, but… Well, that was too much effort, and you were tired. You just shuffled after him, watching for Kate.

Kate spotted you first, your eyes locking across the distance. You sighed, long and slow. Oh, this was not going to be fun.

But you still let yourself be herded to a seat across from her, plopping down ungracefully. That didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be graceful right then.

“What happened?” She looked between all three of you.

You picked up the menu and held it in front of your face. Captain could start this one.

“Found her working,” Captain said after a few moments of thick silence. “No evidence of anyone else watching. I doubt anyone knows she’s here.”

“And why are you here?” Laswell pulled the menu down to stare at you. Damn. She was too good at making you admit things.

“Gray found me.” It was not any easier to admit aloud, even after all the work you’d put in burning three aliases. “Got a call from one of my clients, she informed me that he was asking around after me.” You let the menu fall to the table, exhausted all over again. Your hands were shaking. Just a little.

Laswell frowned, leaning back a little in her chair. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I’m not willing to risk it,” you shot back, tucking your hands under your thighs. Not that you really thought they had missed your shakiness.

“Which contact?” Laswell tapped her fingers on the table. “Who told you?”

You frowned at her. “No.”

“I need to know where to start looking.”

You sighed, tipping your head back. Valeria had called you, but she’d said he had been asking around. Okay. Gray wasn’t the type who went to underlings, so he hadn’t been asking Las Almas in particular. He’d been asking around that layer of criminal organization. Valeria knew some Russians and some AQ, which was how she’d gotten mixed up in the missile business.

It was possible that White was just a coincidence… But now you weren’t so sure. Especially given that the last place you’d heard about Gray was in the Middle East. And the Russians had ties to AQ.

In retrospect, you were amazed you hadn’t put the pieces together sooner.

“He’s probably working with AQ, or adjacent to them.” You spoke quietly, without looking at any of them.

“He wasn’t that eager to watch the world burn,” Laswell pointed out.

“Last conversation either of us had with him was years ago,” you pointed out, dull, flat. “It’s likely his morals have further skewed. Or he’s decided the ends justify the means. Or he thinks he’s using them for his own ends.” You shrugged, just a little movement.

Captain nudged you, and then again when you didn’t straighten up fast enough for him. “You need to eat.”

You thought about arguing, you really did. But he wasn’t wrong. You flapped a hand at him, letting the others order first as you scanned the menu until you found something vaguely appetizing. Good enough.

“So who is this guy?” Garrick asked, glancing between you and Laswell.

“Crazy asshole,” you muttered, leaning back in your seat again. Your eyes burned a little from too many hours spent staring at a screen.

“Bad news,” Lazwell added. “He’s got ties to weapons smuggling, but he hadn’t previously been a terrorist.”

You grimaced but shrugged. Eh. Close enough.

“And why does he want to kill you?” Captain spoke quietly. You could feel his gaze on you.

“He’s wanted to kill me for years.” Your voice was too flat. This was a tone you hadn’t heard from yourself in years. You didn’t like hearing it now. “He decided to take over my father’s business a long time ago, had him killed, tried to have me killed. Didn’t work, obviously.”

“The fact that you turned witness against him didn’t help his opinion any,” Kate pointed out.

You huffed softly. “And you still couldn’t keep him locked up.” But there was no vitriol in your voice. This had happened a long time ago, you’d come to terms with it already.

“You’re staying with someone until we get this sorted.”

That got you to lift your head and glower at her. “No.”

“If he knows you’re alive and he’s searching for you, you’re in danger. Until we can deal with him, you shouldn’t be alone.”

You grimaced. She wasn’t wrong, exactly, but you hated it. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You can stay with us.”

You blinked at the unexpected offer from Captain. “I dunno,” you drawled. “Sure you won’t try to kill me?”

He huffed out a soft laugh. “Not on my to-do list,” he agreed glibly.

“Good.” Laswell looked between the two of you with something very much like satisfaction, which was setting off all kinds of little alarms in your brain. Kate trying to meddle in your life was very much not a good thing. “We can discuss what you still need to do.”

You narrowed your eyes a little at her. “In terms of…?”

“Your research.”

You blew out a soft breath. Right. Research. The thing you were supposed to be doing before you heard about Gray. “Dunno what more I can get,” you admitted, rubbing your forehead briefly. Now that you were actually paying attention to your body, you definitely had a dehydration headache. “Especially not without getting any closer to Gray.”

“You think he’s involved?”

“I think I’d be a fool to assume otherwise at this point.” You rolled your shoulders, drinking half your water in one go.

Laswell was silent for a few long moments, just watching you. It didn’t make you nervous, not after all this time. Sure, you didn’t want her meddling, but you trusted her.

“We’ll discuss this more after you’ve slept on it,” she decided.

You scoffed but didn’t argue. You didn’t have the energy for that. Food arrived and you all ate, though Captain and Garrick talked quietly. You just focused on your food, working through it with a sort of exhausted determination.

“I’ll do some looking on my side,” Laswell said, looking at Captain. You forced yourself to pay attention, though you were fading fast now that some of the frantic desperation of the situation had faded.

Captain nodded. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Laswell agreed.

Captain stood, as did Garrick. It took Captain nudging your chair for you to stand as well, holding back a groan. Yup. You’d definitely spent too many hours hunched over your computer. The three of you were silent as you walked back to the car, Captain opening the door for you again.

“Do you have everything from that apartment?” Captain asked you.

You blinked, slow and sleepy. You needed to not be, but you’d hit your limit. The food had really cemented your fate - rather than invigorating you, the food was sending you on the fast lane to snooze land. So it took you longer than normal to answer him. “Yeah.”

He nodded once, glancing back at you as Garrick started to drive. “You’ll stay with one of us.”

“Bossy.” You made a face but couldn’t muster the energy to truly fight him. Not on this. Not now.

He huffed softly. But he didn’t say anything else. Something you were rather grateful for.

You weren’t up to your normal verbal jousting just at the moment.

The drive to their hotel was silent, and you slowly tipped sideways into the door. Your blinks got longer and slower as you struggled to stay awake, the quiet climate controlled air too soothing.

The car stopped and your door opened. You probably would have slid right out except for Captain bracing you, chest firm under your shoulder and temple.

“C’mon,” he rumbled softly. “Just get upstairs and you can sleep.”

“Not sleepy,” you grumbled, just to be contrary. But you could barely peel your eyes open, instead listing harder into him until he reached across you to unbuckle your seatbelt.

You did make sure you had your bag, though. You needed that. And you refused to give it up.

“Up we go,” Captain murmured, soft and amused and rumbly and entirely too pleasant. You stumbled a little, but Captain held you upright and kept his arm around your waist, guiding you inside.

You didn’t pay much attention to anything, too tired and out of it to bother to try. Captain wouldn’t let you get killed. Or grabbed. Not while he was right next to you, anyway.

A door opened and Captain pulled you through. A moment later he was gently tipping you into a bed, and you sighed as you went entirely limp. He huffed and pulled your shoes off for you.

“Sleep well, love,” he murmured, one finger gently touching your temple.

And you were out.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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lesbian-octoling · 1 year

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Hello all, and welcome to the third round of salmonid adopts: Horrorboros edition! Availability, rules, and other information below the cut!

What is an adoptable?

An adopt is a pre-designed character that I create, and you can ‘buy’ to be able be able to use and claim as your own character. Of course, since these are splatoon based I’m not selling the concepts of splatoon, just the idea and design of the character itself.

INFO + RULES:

Once you buy the adopts, they’re yours. You’re welcome to redesign, alter, give away and/or trade as you see fit. The only thing I don’t allow is reselling for a higher price (same or below is fine).

Though these are meant to be splatoon adopts, you’re welcome to use them for any setting that you please! They’re not inherently limited to splatoon; especially the more unique characters.

The placeholder names, personality, and info are just.. placeholder/concepts! You can name them whatever you want, give them any pronouns, personality, lore, whatever! I won’t feel bad lol

Once I receive payment, I’ll send you a full size, transparent, unwatermarked image of your adopt!

I can hold them for up to a week!

If one is on hold, you can still message and ask to be next in line if whatever they’re being held for doesn’t work out.

AVAILABILITY + PRICING:

Base price for each adopt is currently $40 USD (A bit pricier than my usual ones cus I worked really hard on these ones + they're really detailed), however, you can check out some discounts at the bottom!

Also, please keep in mind that my last adopt post had an issue where I could not edit the post after posting it, so if you see this message, PLEASE check the notes to see if any have sold, as this list won't be accurate.

“SCREAMO” - ON HOLD [3/10/23] A horrorboros that decided to put their voice to use instead of filling their mouth with slime. Quit your big run, join my screamo band!

“CAROUSEL” - ON HOLD [3/11/23] After sneaking a peek at Wahoo World, this horrorboros fell in love with the aesthetic of the beasts on the carousel, and became inspired to work on some fashion... in between battles, of course.

“LITTLE PRINCE” - SOLD [Note: this is a 2 for 1, do not separate them <3 ] A cohozuna who's taken it upon themself to raise this silly little... noodle into a proper king salmonid.

“THE TOWER” - SOLD A young teen horrorboros who wants to be a stinger, not a silly booyah bomb thrower!

DISCOUNTS + DEALS

Yeah, we know this is what you’re here for! I’m going to offer several discounts and deals, which are subject to change, and may or may not pop in and out! This is my first time trying some of this.

COMMISSION BUNDLE If you buy a character from me, you can also get a get a commission of that character for 25% off to come with it! This only applies once, and has to be worked out around the time of purchasing the character. You choose the type of commission you’d like! Commission info is here.

PASSION DISCOUNT If you do a piece of fanwork for one of these characters- come up with extensive lore, a piece of art, a piece of writing, etc- and I can tell you actually put some effort and passion into it, then you can get them for 30% off… making them $28! It doesn’t have to be anything fancy and I’m not going to judge you by how ‘good’ your work is- again, it’s only judged by passion for the character. If I can tell you genuinely enjoyed it and had fun and will love the character you get (instead of having them simply sit on a dusty shelf or resold, etc), you get the discount! If you’re worried about the work taking a while but you want to wait until it’s done to buy them, no worries! I can hold a character for up to a week for you.

BONUS LORE If you wanna shell out an extra $5, I can fully flesh out the placeholder lore for you and come up with something much more fleshed out! Names, backstory, personality, all the bells and whistles. I can also work with you to fit it into any preexisting lore or characters you might want them to be worked with! Once again, you’re welcome to change any of this- but I’ll work with ya on it to make sure it’s something you like!

TRADES I’m a bit iffy on art trades or character trades, but I’m not going to say they’re out of the question. You’re welcome to ask!

#my art #salmonid #splatoon #splatoon 3 #horroboros #adopt #adoptables #splatoon adopts #okay to reblog!

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sir-adamus · 8 months

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whenever i think of Ironwood's 'grand plan' after he gets spooked by a piece from a board game i always have to laugh because it was never gonna work, it was unsustainable from jump and only got progressively more unfeasible as volume 8 progressed

"we're going to use the staff to lift Atlas into the atmosphere where Grimm can't reach and leave everyone in Mantle to rot because if the poors didn't want to die they should've been born with money like the rest of us"

yeah cool bro, so given what we (finally) see of Atlas in volume 8 they've got some atmospheric control to accommodate for the temperature and presumably thinner air at the height Atlas is already floating at

and what powers that again? right, Dust. cos Dust powers everything

and you would have to assume that to maintain the current level of atmospheric control in a much higher altitude, that machinery would have to be cranked well the fuck up, which means more Dust is needed. and they can't mine for more because... they're up in the atmosphere, and their supply chain and underpaid exploited labourers got left to die on the ground

so power's gonna run out real fast and everyone's gonna suffocate and die slowly (guess Jimmy really wants to beat out Mountain Glenn on 'World's Largest Tomb')

but let's say by some miracle they do last longer than a week up there - food's gonna run out and they're not gonna be able to keep up supply and demand because they can't import any, supply chain is gone and they abandoned the rest of the planet to die to Salem. hell, water is gonna run out

and then the most ridiculous argument for the plan "Grimm can't fly that high". cos like. no. Grimm don't fly that high, because they don't need to. none of y'all were up there. just like none of y'all lived in the snowy tundras of the north so there weren't Grimm up there. until there were - funny how that works. and Salem's specifically been shown to be able to alter the Grimm without much issue - this wouldn't be a "one day the Grimm will adapt and fly that high" it's "give Salem maybe an hour and she'll make something that can get that high"

so yeah, the whole plan is stupid and it's basically just handing Salem the Staff because all she would have to do is wait out everyone dying from lack of air and then just going up there and taking the damn thing (and then dropping Atlas and causing mass devastation on a global scale)

and then volume 8 makes it worse - the shields go down and Monstra gets parked on Atlas. the plan was dead right there, she's already on the goddamn rock my dude - if you lift the rock now then she's still going to be on it and you will die even faster than you were already going to; like even after Oscar blew up Monstra and Salem was reforming, The Coward in Chief wasn't making any effort to scrape her off the side of Atlas before leaving, he just went back to making threats (which included the baffling logic of "Penny, unless you give yourself up now, i am going to blow up Mantle, and then you won't have any reason to not do what i say anymore anyway" as if Penny wouldn't have justifiable reason to decapitate him for doing that)

'the great general Ironwood' who grew up and came into power in peace time - strategically unsound, incapable of taking criticism and dumber than a bag of hammers

what a hero

#RWBY #if there's a lesson to be learned from this #it's that Jimmy's a dumbass #couldn't be trusted with a bag of cupcakes let alone a kingdom

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thegreatcaptainusopp · 6 months

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Straw hat dreams ranked by attainability level:

10. Usopp - Brave warrior of the sea

Easiest 10th place possible. My guy’s already there! Dream completed. He just has to realize it and we’re good

9. Franky - Sail the world in the Sunny

Also practically already happening! He’s doing part 1 already (the grand line trip), all he’s gotta do is keep going until he feels like he’s gone everywhere. It may take some time to actually finish it but I feel like in the world of One Piece, especially because he started with the Grand Line, it is very attainable

8. Brook - find Laboon

This one is very to the point! We already know where Laboon is, and Luffy told him to wait there so he’s probably staying put. All that will be required will be to renter the grand line from reverse mountain and he’ll be there! He’s below Franky because it’s not actively coming true at the moment, and there’s an element of uncertainty regarding if he will stay put or not. But this is quite attainable

7. Nami - map of the world

This one will take a lot of time and effort, but it is definitely possible. All she’ll need to do is continue making records of the grand line, and then hop onboard the Sunny with Franky who will take her around the rest of it! She’s a couple spots lower here because of the extra effort it’ll take to actually chart everything, plus the work that will be put in later to put everything together. It will also take a while to achieve. But it is still attainable enough!

6. Zoro - World’s Greatest Swordsman

From what I can tell, there aren’t that many people specifically aiming to get this title, so Zoro has hopefully fewer competitors against him for this dream. There’s also a very specific end goal in that he has to defeat the current greatest (Mihawk) to achieve the title. Since this is determined by a single duel, all he’s gonna have to do is win the fight and he’s got it. Bit more difficult than the rest because it will be one dangerous and difficult fight rather a specific journey, even though it may take less time. But that difficulty level raises it in attainability because he’s basically got one last shot at this duel, as if he loses this time then I don’t think Mihawk spares him.

5. Luffy - King of the Pirates

Even though it’s a similar kind of dream approach to Zoro, I’ve classed it as one spot higher because Luffy has a lot more competition in getting to this goal than Zoro does. There’s a specific end point (finding the One Piece), but so many other pirates are trying that it’s gonna be a tough go of it. It’s also not necessarily an unsolvable mystery as there are people out there who know where it is, even if they don’t actually tell you where it is. He’s actively working on it, but the fierce competition and level of danger make it attainable but tough

4. Robin - Find the True History

This one is placed higher than Luffy’s because of how many people are actively working against Robin in making this happen-the entire world government deems her a threat for even being able to read the poneglyphs. She has so much going against her, with people specifically trying to stop her from finding the true history, that it’s gonna be a tough one to achieve. It helps that there are some out there who are aware of what actually happened in the void century, but actually putting together all the poneglyphs is going to be quite a difficult task. Attainable, but only just due to all the moving parts (finding poneglyphs, reading them, putting them together, and doing it all discreetly)

3. Sanji - Find the All Blue

This one seems like it should be more attainable, but I think the very existence of the All Blue being in question puts it higher on this list. Because, well, it might not actually exist! We don’t know anyone who’s been there or claims to have seen it, like the true history or the One Piece. So Sanji has literally nowhere to start, no thread to follow, nothing specific to start his chase. He may have a hazy idea of where it could be, but it’s not a lot to go off. So I guess attainable if it exists, but the fact that it might not may make this straight up impossible. If it does exist, finding it with almost nothing to work off of is still difficult

2. Jinbe - Peace between the Fishman and humans

I don’t remember if Jinbe has officially declared this his dream or not (correct me if I’m wrong) but this one is going to be so, so difficult. For one, there’s no fixed endpoint, and it’ll be a constant struggle to maintain and will be fight that’ll continue past Jinbe’s life time and beyond. There’s a lot of hurt and discrimination to work on and he’s starting at practically zero. With time and effort he could improve relations but I don’t think he could fix generations worth of pain in the way he wants to. So, attainable, to an extent, but unattainable as a perfect solution

1. Chopper - Cure every disease

Oh buddy. How would that even be verifiable? How is this quantifiable? There is sadly not enough time in the world to make this happen. He could come up with cures or treatments for various diseases, but I don’t think he’s achieving this one. The difference between him and Jinbe is that Jinbe can make improvements towards a very specific societal wrong. Chopper is working against the forces of nature itself. Unattainable.

#one piece #op #usopp #roronoa zoro #sanji #nami #nico robin #luffy #monkey d. luffy #tony tony chopper #franky one piece #soul king brook #Jinbe #speaks

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lej222 · 9 months

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Seo Jisu Character Analysis (ASLFUA)

After the latest chapter of Unripe Apples (117), I felt like I had to write this post because of the immense hate this character received. I personally find him the most interesting part of the series because in order to understand his actions, you need to put all the pieces of the puzzle together that the author has given us from the very first chapter. I've seen posts about him being a "bully" or "an unserious funny guy" and I found these pretty bad interpretations of his place in the story as of now.

Let me explain. In my opinion, there's a high possibility that Jisu is on the autistic spectrum. Let's look at all the clues that can lead to this conclusion.

Physical appearance

Jisu has an "expressionless" face from his very first appearance. He also has his mouth open a lot of times, especially when he's supposed to emotionally react to a certain situation or he doesn't understand something. These are typical signs of people with autism spectrum disorder (ASD). We can also see that even when he's feeling more extreme emotions, such as surprise, his facial expressions don't change significantly like in the case of other characters, the change is always slight. It's probably important, as all the other characters show a wider range of emotions with their faces, and we are talking about a manhwa where body language is clearly important (like how Miae or Cheol walk, for example, tells a lot about their characters).

Behavioral patterns and personality

Let's quickly get one thing out of the way - if Jisu is indeed on the spectrum, then saying that he's an unserious guy or immature or a bully is insensitive and a bad misinterpretation of his character. Autistic people are not immature, sometimes they even deal with stronger emotions than most people, but they have a hard time expressing these feelings. Just because they seem expressionless doesn't mean they are ignorant, it means that they see the world in a different way, which is not a problem. Miae doesn't need to make "a man out of him" and other weird takes I've seen in the last few days.

Having clarified this, let's look at some things that Jisu does in the story that could show us he might be neurodivergent.

-We see that Jisu is often sleeping and yawning in the story, even as a kid. For neurodivergent people, sighing and yawning are not only the signs of boredom/tiredness, but also tools for emotional regulation. Autistic fatigue is a real thing and it can be caused by many things like major life changes, sensory overload or even prolonged interactions at work or school. Some autistic people do not even notice that they are yawning until someone points it out to them. He also sometimes looks away while talking to Miae (like in ch117)

-Jisu is shown to have exceptional mental capabilities, it wouldn't be an overstatement to say he might be a genius. Many people on the autism spectrum have higher-than-average intelligence and Jisu clearly has exceptional capabilities if he could earn the first place in school without much effort. He also knows the names of all his previous classmates as shown in ch 117 so he seems to be good at memorizing factual information.

It connects to my previous point, but Jisu has his own unique way of perceiving the world and other people find it hard to understand. Even among his schoolmates, Jisu is famous for his "unique" personality, as Miae's friend points it out. Miae sometimes doesn't understand what Jisu wants to communicate and she ends up misinterpreting his intentions, the latest chapter was the biggest proof of this. Here's the thing, Jisu doesn't know that what he did annoyed Miae. He seems to have trouble understanding social clues and is genuinely surprised when Miae calls him a bully - because he never felt like he was bullying her. He always asks back when she's accusing him of something ("Me?" "Is that true?") because he cannot understand why she's saying those things about him. He isn't trying to be rude, he's simply confused, and Miae takes it the wrong way because she's an impulsive person. Jisu talks in a blunt way and his way of showing remorse is also strange to Miae, the best example is when he flipped over the plant just to prove that he wasn't bullying her.

-Jisu also seems to take things literally, like when Miae told him to stop yawning or when she told him she would twist his arms if he put them on her desk. Like many people with ASD, he seems to observe others and imitate their behavioral patterns, like when he imitated the way Miae was walking and she thought he was bullying her. He simply said that her way of walking was interesting. Talking about interesting, Jisu finds his coincidental meetings with Miae fun and interesting and it ties with the fact that neurodivergent people can have unique "fixations" including fixations on people. Jisu finds these occasions fun, but fails to read the social clues that Miae is bothered by it. While Jisu seems to avoid socialization at school and is mainly alone most times, it might seem strange that he has a fixation on Miae, but for autistic people this contradiction is not weird at all. She was also the person who helped him as a kid, so the theory that Jisu showed her how to count airplanes doesn't seem far-fetched knowing that it's indeed a pretty unique habit. In conclusion, Jisu was probably not even aware that he was being rude, because he just wanted to get close to Miae and found her fun. He even apologized in ch117 for not understanding her feelings.

So, extra thoughts quickly:

Jisu is not immature, he actually seems to have mature thoughts, but has trouble picking up social clues like how he should behave normally (that's why we see him doing all that ninja-stunt and hiding in the bush), and he cannot seem to realize that his direct approach to Miae seems excessive to other people. People on the spectrum are NOT immature, they won't magically change and they do not do a lot of things intentionally. Jisu seems to be pretty wise as well, he can see situations rationally like when Miae wanted to disrupt the faceless girl's confession (sorry, forgot the name)

So, what's his role in the story?

In my opinion, he's definitely the catalyst to Miae's growth as a person. Ch 115 even calls Miae out saying that Cheol has changed a lot, is it Miae's time to grow? Miae was Cheol's catalyst for sure, she brought him out of his shell, encouraged to make friends at school etc. But what about Miae? Sure, she has a few moments when she reflected on her actions when she was with Cheol, but she didn't mature significantly, whether people accept it or not she's still emotionally immature in many ways. It's not a coincidence in my opinion that the relationship between Jisu and Miae parallels the Cheol-Miae dynamic, in ch 117 Miae even used the same words and expression Cheol once told her ("Don't act like we're friends.") Let's just quickly look at some things where Miae's immaturity could be felt:

Miae is a messy person, doesn't clean her room and loses her stuff. She's forced to clean the school because Jisu didn't understand her frustrations, so SHE had to be the responsible one. Cheol always says that he will take responsibility for her, but Miae needs to be responsible on her own. Same goes to when she wanted to teach Jisu. Miae doesn't take her studies seriously, is often distracted, but she had to be responsible (even if it was not her choice and felt betrayed)

But most importantly, Miae thinks about Jisu's advice whether she hates him or not. Two good examples: when he called her out on her relationship with Cheol while they were cleaning; and when he stopped her from interrupting the confession. Deep down, Miae knows that Jisu was right, but she's too prideful to admit it. Jisu doesn't want Miae to be the "weird" girl probably because he was also bullied for being "weird."

Miae is also very impulsive, which is not necessarily a bad thing but she keeps hitting Jisu for the reason that he annoys her. But what if, she realizes, he indeed meant no harm, wouldn't she feel bad? We are shown that she used to hit kids who made fun of her, but as you grow up, violence is not the answer. You have to be level-headed in situations even when you feel angry. And understanding Jisu's intentions might be the first step to achieve that.

So, these are just my speculations, could be totally wrong as always, but I'm interested in what others think.

Edit:: it's not my purpose to diagnose these characters, but there are enough clues in the story to conclude that Jisu is indeed neurodivergent. Obviously, these traits are not strictly connected to ASD, this is just a theory, and I do not condone any hate on teenagers, even if they are fictional, so please refrain from doing so. Miae also shows signs of ADHD, but there's a possibility these things won't get addressed directly as the story takes place in the 90s.

Edit2:: I feel like the latest chapter on Naver(124) reinforced this theory again. Jisu was not simply angry, he was livid. Most people on the spectrum find it difficult to regulate their feelings, especially anger. It can lead to outbursts or even meltdowns, just think about how Jisu wanted to hit Cheol and how intense his reaction was compared to his usual behaviour. It definitely felt like an outburst. Also, have you guys seen how often he avoids eye contact since I first made this post?

(Btw, for those who say that Jisu's biggest problem was that he couldn't catch Miae - I feel like it had to do more with the fact that he almost smashed his head into the ground and was humiliated in front of everybody. We know that he was bullied as a kid so it's no surprise he felt intense anger, even his head kept hurting from the fall.)

#aslfua #hwang miae #seo jisu #after school lessons for unripe apples #mi ae hwang

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halliescomut · 1 year

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Our Dining Table: Costuming Analysis

Alright…week 3..4?? of me begging you to watch Our Dining Table. No spoilers in this one, I actually wanna talk about one of my favorite underrated things in TV shows…wardrobe and costuming.

I’m going to be focused on the wardrobe of Minoru and Yutaka, but I’ll also touch on Tane and Koji (who I may also call Papa).

Wardrobe is one of the most fascinating things to me about film and television, but it is especially important in television (I think) because TV shows more often show a day-to-day story. There may be time jumps, but in general you’re following these characters through daily life. Character costuming is intended to not stand out unless that’s the point (see Tankhun) but instead add additional dimension to each character and enhance the information being presented by the script, actors, and director.

Looking at Yutaka first, what we know about Yutaka is that he is fairly simple, not very gregarious, quite kind, and from a monetarily privileged upbringing. He works a steady job, I would imagine likely has a college degree, and while he may be a mid-level employee, he’s probably making a decent salary. His clothing you see throughout the show is often simple, we don’t see loud patterns or a lot of color, he generally sticks with neutrals across the board, which makes it simpler for him to build perfectly fine outfits. His clothing is generally very neat, seems to most often be natural fibers, making it comfortable to an extent. It also appears to be more on the expensive end, not designer, but not Walmart.

So, what does this tell us about Yutaka? He’s not really interested in appearing fashionable, his clothing allows him to blend in, not be noticed, which we’ve seen is kind of his preference. He takes pride in looking well put together but doesn’t necessarily want to put in a large amount of effort. The natural fibers tell us that comfort matters a bit more than style, but also that he’s not going out of his way to buy something markedly expensive. Touching back on the expense, with his history and being from a fairly privileged family, my interpretation (which is based on experience with friends) is that he’s not seeking out buying expensive clothing for prestige, but more just shopping at the stores he’s used to going to, the stores his parents would have taken him to. A secondary benefit is that he’s buying higher quality clothing that with care is going to last him a fairly long time, which means less having to shop for replacements.

Moving to Minoru, but also the Ueda family as a whole. They’re clearly a working-class family, but may not be financially struggling, but more just coasting to a certain extent. The family as a whole wears some brighter colors, mostly Tane by the simple fact that he’s a child and children’s clothing is often colorful. I’m not going to say their clothing is unfashionable, because that’s too much of a subjective term, but more I’ll say that it’s serviceable, especially the adults. Papa and Minoru both wear comfortable basic clothing items, rarely anything ‘fancy’. We don’t see slacks, or neatly pressed clothing, just comfortable basics. Minoru tends to stick with cargo pants, jeans and sweats, with cotton t-shirts and hoodies. Any of these items could be looked at and seen as well used, or possibly even purchased secondhand. In Minoru’s case specifically, it’s likely that much of the clothing is pieces he’s had for several years, as he’s a young adult and isn’t having to purchase new items to accommodate for regular growth spurts.

So, what does this say about Minoru? Comfort is high on his level of importance with his clothing. While his clothing is always clean, not in need of repair, or clearly mended, which indicates that he takes care of his clothes, but also doesn’t feel pressed to make a single item last as long as possible. Again, with the natural fibers, which promotes the individual comfort of the wearer, but also conveys a sense of comfort and softness to the viewer. We’re far more likely to think of someone as comforting wearing a soft, worn sweatshirt versus an itchy wool sweater. By their ages, which are fairly similar, we do also see Minoru looking slightly more juvenile, which could be indicative of him continuing to wear clothing from his teen years because it’s still in perfectly good condition for wear. What look to be the newest items he wears are his coats and jackets and his uniform at the ramen shop, which you can attribute to a combination of outerwear generally being worn less often, meaning less wear and tear, and the likelihood that his uniform is provided by his employer, and therefore replaced whenever it’s worn to a point where they deem it unwearable.

Looking at Tane, his style matches that of his father and brother in that he’s seen wearing very comfortable clothes. There’s occasionally some mismatching going on, which for his age (I’m guessing around 6) could be just because he’s dressing himself or because Minoru and Papa don’t care if he’s mismatched…or both honestly. His clothes, noticeably to me, look to be slightly better quality than what we see on Minoru. They also obviously look newer, but Tane is likely only just getting to the stage where his growth has plateaued to the point that he might wear out an item of clothing before he grows out of it. I also don’t see much cohesion in the styles or themes of his clothes, which to me implies that they’re letting Tane pick a lot of his clothing in the store, versus them picking it out. Generally, when parents purchase clothing for their kids, they stick to the colors and styles that they themselves feel comfortable in. Going off Minoru that would mean Tane in sportswear like sweatshirts, track pants, etc.; maybe jeans but with limited funds, items with more give, would be preferable. Tane also has some ‘nicer’ clothing as well, not necessarily formal, but whatever the child equivalent of business casual would be (I would call them church clothes).

So, what can we read from Tane’s clothing? It’s in good condition, fits well, contains a few what I would call department store pieces, which are slightly more expensive than what we see on Minoru and Papa. This indicates he’s well cared for and that new good quality clothing for him is prioritized over other members of the household. The mismatching, and not so cohesiveness of the wardrobe overall indicates that he’s probably allowed to pick his own clothing and outfits regularly. In some cases, combined with other things, this could indicate lack of adult involvement, but here it’s mostly likely meant to imply that Minoru and Koji are encouraging Tane’s independence, and helping him learn to be self-sufficient (which is in line with general cultural norms of Japan).

Papa, or Koji, now we get to a little more fun. Of all the characters, Koji’s wardrobe and costuming is the most interesting to me and generally the most interesting to look at. His wardrobe, like the rest of the Ueda family is comfortable, well-worn, but also includes far more traditional Japanese cultural pieces than Minoru and Tane, who wear majority 'western’ styles. His clothing is often mismatched outside of the occasions where we see him wearing a full outfit. The styles we see of western clothing is along more classical lines, as opposed to ‘trendy’ pieces.

Looking at what this information is meant to impart, we see some repetition of course, the desire for comfort over being fashionable, serviceable clothing that shows wear as well as care. The inclusion of traditional Japanese clothing pieces emphasizes the generational divide, but also I think serves as an intentional counterpoint to Papa’s clearly accepting nature. As this is a queer story, the audience would have some concern over the possibility of him not accepting Minoru and Yutaka’s relationship. The mismatching outside of full outfits that don’t require decision-making to match, tells us that Koji doesn’t particularly care about looking ‘good’ especially while at home, as we actually only see him in the Ueda house. The classic styles of his western clothing I think serve a two-fold purpose. The most important is I think an indication of how he is able to be both traditional and modern in his mindset. He can respect and appreciate the traditions and styles of his culture and want to keep those alive without perpetuating outdated discrimination. A common phrase you see in the western vintage clothing community is “Vintage clothing not vintage values”, which I think gets my point across a little better and definitely more succinctly. The second purpose is that it makes it difficult to determine when a piece would have been bought. Take the polo shirt he’s wearing- the viewer would have no way of knowing if it was purchased in 1984, 2006, or 2019 outside of physically inspecting it (and having a remarkably in-depth knowledge of polo shirts). We also wouldn’t know if it was purchased new, at a discount shop, or second-hand.

I’m going to make a brief stopover to talk about Yutaka’s adoptive family, just to give some context. All dress very similarly to Yutaka, expensive, higher-end clothing, but not ostentatious. They follow a similar muted color palette of mostly neutrals as well. I would note that Yuki’s clothing is more well-fitted than Yutaka’s perhaps not tailored, or not always tailored, but probably actively tried on in stores where Yutaka would likely just buy the size he knows usually fits and if it’s a little loose who cares. Bottom line is Yuki is a man who strikes me as someone who knows what his inseam length is while Yutaka may not even know what an inseam is.

The Evolution of Yutaka’s clothing through the series

Yutaka’s sense of fashion doesn’t necessarily change, but you can see a progression in him through his clothing. We get a sense of two Yutaka’s in the beginning: work Yutaka and off-duty Yutaka. His work attire is as expected, your standard salaryman suit with an assortment of bland ties. Occasionally he wears a sweater as well, which makes sense as it’s winter. Off duty Yutaka wears jeans, though nice ones, not worn, no decorative rips, with sweaters and occasionally a button-up as well. We only see him in ‘comfortable’ clothing at home. The first time Minoru sees him in ‘comfortable’ clothing is episode 5, when Tane spills something on his shirt and Minoru gives him a sweatshirt to wear. Seeing Yutaka in that style of clothing is him becoming more comfortable with Minoru. He’s okay with Minoru seeing him at ‘less than his best’. We see it again in the next episode with Minoru coming to take care of a sick Yutaka at his home.

The ‘comfy’ clothes indicate Yutaka’s willingness to be vulnerable in Minoru’s presence. We also see a progression from mostly blacks, whites, and greys to more colors. We start with blue, which makes sense to me, as it’s not outside of Yutaka’s comfort zone, but it’s also a color we see a lot of in the Ueda house. This is a visual indication that Yutaka is not only welcome there, but fits in. He can belong there. I feel it also shows Yutaka becoming a bit braver over the course of the show as well. In our most recent episode, we see our biggest leap-- THE YELLOW SWEATER.

Interestingly he wears this sweater to his parent’s house. Seeing him in that space…he doesn’t fit in there anymore. That house is all cool-tone neutrals, but that’s not Yutaka anymore. He’s come to life. And do we even need to talk about the metaphor of him taking off the neutral greige jacket and showing that sunshine yellow underneath? Right before he reveals to his brother that he’s found his place, that he’s found himself??? He’s not going through the motions of trying to fit in, he’s not attempting to blend into the background. Oh! It’s beautiful!! Not to mention we see Tane in yellow throughout the show, which I believe makes the yellow sweater a little bit of a nod to Tane’s youthful kind spirit helping bring life to Yutaka.

In a final wrap up I want to discuss what is one of my favorite things to see in serialized television and that is outfit repeating…or at least clothing pieces repeating. It’s not something you see a lot of in television, though you see it more in long running or serialized television in the west, because wardrobe and costuming can be expensive. But I specifically appreciate it when you’re dealing with working-class characters. It’s impractical for a character who supposedly depends on their job to live to have an entire new outfit every single day. Having limited wardrobes for characters and showing items worn repeatedly adds to the realism of a show. It also enables you to add personality. As in real life a character would wear their favorite items of clothing a bit more often. We see Yutaka repeat whole outfits, which probably means that he’s not really thinking about making unique fashion choices, but instead just knows what goes together to look presentable. With Minoru you see different items of clothing repeated but never a whole outfit (outside of his work uniform). But you also don’t see anything that looks contrived or like an attempt at a fashionable or cohesive outfit, which indicates a lack of concern about fashion, but also a lack of concern of other’s perception. He doesn’t care what other people think about the way he dresses; it just isn’t something that has occurred to him at all.

Well, I hope you enjoyed. I don’t know if this will have encouraged you to watch the show, but I certainly hope you will.

NOTE: Many pics were pulled from various posts here, and I wanted to give credit. Link 1, Link 2, Link 3, Link 4, Link 5, Link 6, Link 7, Link 8, Link 9, Link 10, Link 11, Link 12, Link 13, Link 14

#Our Dining Table #yutaka x minoru #minoru x yutaka #bokura no shokutaku #Our Dining Table Meta #Wardrobe and Costuming #This post is 2300+ words #Japanese BL

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1000sunnygo · 2 months

Note

for the ask game

kidd and doffy

Here's for Kidd:

I like that goofy goober hahah, probably my 5th favorite supernova after Luffy, Law, Zoro and Bege. Maybe it has to do with his voice actor being Namikawa Daisuke who has insane vocal range (Oikawa. that you??) I have so much respect for NamiDai for his amazing performance as Kidd and hope his efforts will pay off.

The fandom takes Kidd slanders too far, especially whenever they compare him to Law 🫠 He's literally stuck at SH's next destination, he has a higher chance of having redemptive screentime before Law.

The final arc in OP would be a full fledged war, it's not like being defeated means one's possible relevancy drops to zero. I think Oda still hasn't explored his earlier plans with Kidd yet, so I have high hopes.

As for Doffy.. well I'm a Doffy trash too.

M4rkim's Doflamingo rap might be my favorite One Piece video on the internet.

youtube

I was bummed to see him ranked 20th in the last official poll. IMHO you can't write a Shonen manga character better than this.

Take Cora and Law for example, 5th and 13th, I think their arcs would fall bland if you remove Doffy from their stories. But Doffy would STILL be intriguing and amazing as a character if you remove Law and Cora from his story, he's just that good.

Everyone has their own interpretation of Doffy and there's room for debate, there's still more about him to learn, he has never wasted a single panel he's in. What I like about Doffy most is probably how deeply he hates, especially Law, I don't think Oda has shown petty outburst better in any other character.

I hope he makes it out of Impel Down. No matter how terrible as a person he is, he deserves to see the fall of Celestial Dragons just as much as their other victims. Better if he gets to play a role. Even better if he shares that role with Law.

#sorry for the delay ahh #ask game #donquixote doflamingo #eustass captain kidd #trafalgar law #donquixote rosinante #egghead arc #one piece meta #kinda?#one piece #mine

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cloveroctobers · 10 months

Text

EM HAYWOOD — summer prompts 🍋

A/N: writing this quickly with a cold and before that vertigo has me spread out like Anderson Paak in that one music video lmao. This was meant to be out last month during pride but there is no limit to that sugar in your tank if you catch my drift! 😜 Also we’re always spreading love to THEE mother Keke so I thought why not? Hope ya’ll are still out there reading and it might be time for me to give NOPE another watch this summer! This is a mixture of fluff & humor mostly since the last one I wrote ages ago! really wasn’t that. Although I love a little spookiness too, otherwise I wouldn’t be called “Octobers” for nothing! You’ll find that out towards the end ❤️‍🔥

PROMPTS are from here & I’m using: “i know it’s hot but we have to go grocery shopping, get up...” + “roll the windows up, I’m about to put the AC on.”

ੈ✩‧✧.* ↟ ੈ✩‧✧.* ↟ ੈ✩‧✧.* ↟ ੈ✩‧✧.* ↟ ੈ✩‧✧.*

The sleep was hitting okay!

Especially when it took forever to get comfortable in this new home and you were managing the electric bill. Emerald was used to the heat SoCal would bring growing up in Agua Dulce but moving out to Lancaster? That dirt was bringing up a different type of heat—despite being only twenty something minutes away! But she didn’t mind spending the extra money so that the both of you could be comfortable.

With the way inflation is set up and companies are increasing everything every month just because they felt like that was the answer to their problems was a problem. You weren’t having it and settled on opening windows and fans majority of the time while Emerald let it slide…except for today.

You’re sleeping on your stomach, cheek pressed into a pillow made for hotels, covers a tangled web over your now room temp body as you rest peacefully. Which was a contrast to what started at the beginning of the hot uncomfortable night, you were home alone dressed in nothing but a oversized white t-shirt and Em was hanging out at the ranch with OJ and Angel. The invitation was always open for you to join but you needed to get some last minute things done for work, so you stayed behind to meet that deadline.

It was funny how that worked out, you being a digital journalist who fell in love with a charming woman, who went through a unexplainable experience that is still talked about to this point in time. If you thought Emerald Haywood was a talker, then that made you a believer and combined? That made the both of you a invested duo.

You thought you had it all figured out, since the trio received a nice “settlement” if that’s what you want to call it—once the higher ups were involved but that didn’t mean you didn’t want to put in the effort towards this home. Em’s name maybe on the deed and she wanted you to live with her but you’re the piece that made this feel like home.

Emerald’s dreams were always big and bright, she had no issue being a hustler but with you by her side you had to level her out just a bit and so she wouldn’t get too crazy when it came to home shopping. Sure house shopping was actually kind of fun; you personally didn’t think too much about it before, since you were still scrapping for money once living underneath your elementary school teacher mother’s home. It was just the two of you since your brother moved off to Texas with his girlfriend; that your mother didn’t particularly like but respected that her eldest wanted to start a new chapter elsewhere.

She just didn’t expect her daughter to go off and do the same thing a year later. Your mother tended to be harder on you than she was on your older brother but you stemmed that as your mother being dependent on you. Relax! Y’all were finally in therapy working that out and it definitely wasn’t with the help of Em’s ex, that would be a huge red flag.

So yeah there was some things going on along with some heat? You were going to do everything in your power to ease that electricity bill. Even if a nagging throbbing headache started to occur? Ice packs were in your reach for your dear forehead and back of your neck. If the walls were getting sticky? Put the fans on blast and rotate and open up those large windows to allow some fresh air in. You had it figured out and definitely was known as the DIY queen.

Emerald was staring down at you adoringly, kiss going right to the side of your neck before she lightly shook your shoulder, “wakey wakey, baby.”

You huffed, keeping your eyes closed, normally Emerald was the heavy sleeper but for some reason she wanted to be up and at ‘em, “huh?”

“We got things to do.”

“…like?” You croaked, knowing you needed some water soon.

“Plenty. First we need to get more gas and fill up the portable tanks, then we need to pick up Bam Cooke and Cathaway.” Emerald started counting your to-do list as she began pacing beside your side of the bed.

You honestly forgot your mom had your dog and cat (they were named after some soulful legendary singers, name creds completely go to emerald for this one!) for the weekend.

Peeking over at your nightstand you squinted trying to see the time and settled on snatching your phone instead.

8:56am.

Unlocking your phone you checked the weather and sighed, “there’s also a heat advisory today and tomorrow.”

“Girl what else is new? We also need to eat. I know it’s hot but we have to go grocery shopping, get up.” Emerald stated with her hands digging into hips, after she just yanked the curtains open to reveal the sunlight.

Slapping a slighty damp arm over your eyes after resting your phone back on the night stand, you exhaled, “can’t we just do a delivery service?”

“Yeah, we can. But you’ve been cooped up in this house for who knows how long. Like when’s the last time you’ve been to the office or been interacting with people?”

You’ve interacted with plenty people! That’s the perks of working remotely, you chatted only when necessary—although that also started to feel like a ghost town? Ghost server? it was still enough socializing for you with a employer that was basically a chatty Kathy that loved video calls and phone calls that could go on for hours every other day.

“Interacting with you and my mom is more than enough,” you mumbled, “plus we still have to get this house together, things are still in boxes, and we’re still waiting on backordered items.”

Emerald scoffed with a fan of her hand, “we’ll worry about that in due time! There’s no timeline to when this place has to be together, it’s about what we make of it.”

Which didn’t stop her from having a house warming with her group of close friends and your best friend. You wouldn’t have minded if it was just family but having friends over when the decor wasn’t even in the state was a little annoying. However emerald was open to sharing with everybody, her success was basically everyone’s success, although you tried to hint that one of her friends out of the group seemed to be moving a little funny after Emerald came into that money.

True tea.

You repeated after a yawn, “Grocery shopping?”

Emerald nodded as she approached the bed in her bra, brief’s, and rodded hair. She then climbed up onto the bed, standing over you as she lightly sang, “oooowoaaahyeaaah!”

Snorting you teased with some snaps, “Okay, Hannah.”

Winking, Em spun off the bed as you pushed up onto your elbows, “you need help taking your rollers out?”

“I got it, baby, thank you.” Emerald called out as she entered the bathroom, “you can help me pick it out though…never mind yo ass is heavy handed.”

“Compared to who?”

“Me myself and I.”

You rolled your eyes as you tossed the covers back, reaching for your tumbler so you can down some water, before joining your girlfriend in the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Now…drives to the grocery store was just as if you were in the south. This you knew since you were originally from North Carolina but finished your senior year and attended college in California. Emerald was always in the driver’s seat out of your relationship but it was amplified with the new car y’all were leasing. You offered to get out and pump the gas along with refilling the extra jugs, leaving Emerald to sit sideways, checking social media while her elbows dug into her knees with the door wide open, legs begging for some air since…you guessed it! wouldn’t drive with the AC on either.

Gas stations were never far from the house living in Lancaster but going to the grocery store? That required at least a thirty-five minute drive on the highway and there was a accident, which was taking this little outing much more time than usual.

Emerald was getting impatient while you sat with your legs up on the dash of your Honda sport, hands throw up and locked behind the headrest while you gently nodded your head along to the Afrobeat mix.

The side eye game was strong as Emerald peeked over at you, completely at ease in this weather. Yeah she should be used to this weather and normally she is but with a heat wave with barely a breeze brought on some agitation for real.

Sitting bumper to bumper, tumblers of water in the cup holders, heat rays roasting the brown on Emerald’s hands and arms, and the drip of sweat sliding down the back of her neck towards her back was enough for Emerald’s Patience to wear very thin. With one hand on wheel and the other shooting out to mess with the knobs and buttons on the dash, caught your attention.

“roll the windows up, I’m about to put the AC on.” Emerald started before sitting up straight and glanced over her shoulder, “I’m also about to float this motherfucker.”

Your eyes went wide after cautiously rolling your window up and latching onto the door before Emerald whipped the car out of the slow lane, now flying down the emergency lane towards the next exit, quickly influencing some cars to follow right behind.

You breathed, “Excuse me, Samuel L. Jackson.”

“You ain’t know? That’s my uncle.” Emerald curled her lips into a smile, proud of herself before increasing the volume of the music by the steering wheel.

Shaking your head, you lowered your feet onto the floor, stretching before sitting up on the passenger side. You were already comfy before but now you had to reach into the backseat to reach for your crochet blanket you made last winter to toss over your bare thighs.

“Sorry but we’ve been inside the house with no AC during ninety degree weather and there ain’t no type of breeze outside! If we’re gonna be outside, we need to survive.” Emerald claimed as she paused at the stop sign before turning right.

You shrugged, “We got a full tank now so it’s whatever.”

Emerald hummed at this before holding her hand out to rest on top of your blanket, “Guess that means now we can be cute and hold hands without being sweaty.”

“Uh uh, both hands on the wheel Ms. Float this muthafucka.”

A laugh bubbled out of Emerald’s lips at this, “Fine, if that’s how you wanna do me.”

“Safety first,” you raised one finger in the air before pushing your glasses up the bridge of your oily nose.

“You right, can’t have nothing interfering with my baby and I.”

“That’s riiiight.”

“Oooh, alto.”

You laughed.

Eventually the both of you made it to the grocery store after eleven, the parking lot wasn’t packed but had a nice little crowd filling the area.

“Good, now we can use the corporations’ air instead, knowing they’re about to sell us some overpriced eggs.” Emerald told you as you walked the aisle, making a elderly woman glance at you two.

You laughed, watching as the woman slowly smiled at your conversation before carrying on. Emerald was pushing the carriage and you were rotating between hanging onto the crook of her arm and holding onto the side of the carriage.

“That’s my girl.” You praised as Emerald pointed at you.

Stopping at the vegetables section, you bounced up on your toes as you noticed the organic section up ahead, “Ooh, I see that tangerine juice we like. Let me grab that before there’s none left.”

“Yes please do! I’m gonna get into these bell peppers and zucchini.”

“Alright,” you tapped the carriage before departing.

Folding your arms and humming to the soft 80s jams the store played, you took your time heading over to the organic section, briefly glancing at the other sections before getting to the main one that sparked your interest. Standing in front of the mid-sized section, you scanned the various of drinks and decided on three main ones.

First you picked up the tangerine juice, tucking it underneath your arm, some kombucha that people were raving about on tiktok, and finally when you reached for the small bottle of pomegranate juice, you paused as another hand was reaching for the same thing.

“Oh,” the voice says, making you turn to them.

Hey listen, normally you weren’t the type to say much on anyone’s appearance but the woman with the sun hat and wicked smile made you feel some type of way. Her green eyes were large, almost too large that they looked too big for her tight pinched face. Her ears were also pointed and stuck out from her long frizzy jet black hair, lots of teeth, thin barely there brows, and pale skin the color of powder.

“Looks like there’s only one left of the little ones.” The woman spoke, taking note that your eyes went to the four large bottles to the right of the smaller bottle.

“Mhm.”

The woman’s eyes almost widened as she said, “A little goes a long way, don’t you think?”

“Sure does. My mimi—my grandmother, used to have a pomegranate tree. Learned to love them from a young age.”

“How wonderful,” the woman commented, “I sense southern roots…where about? Princeville?”

You halted and pushed your glasses further up the bridge of your nose at that. You knew your history regardless of being a journalist or not but this didn’t feel like good ‘ol southern chat with this woman. It felt invasive and unsettling.

Clearing your throat, you pulled on the top of the bottle, weighing the juices in your arms as the woman cradled the basket that held small amounts of pink petals that grew from the lengthy green leaves and stems. Almost as if she pulled the shrubs up herself, which you noticed she had lace gloves covering her hands. You’ve never seen flowers like those and planned on picking up some here later but there was a feeling in your gut telling you otherwise.

“A much bigger city,” you responded with a small smile, “my family leaves their mark wherever they go. We tend to be active in many communities. Excuse me, I have to get back to shopping.”

The woman kept a smile on her face as you talked, not blinking once as you conversed. She turned while you walked by her before she called out to you, “Yes, Miss. we all have to finish our deeds before God pours the storm on us. You should enjoy that juice to ease his suffering and return.”

You didn’t grant the woman a word or a glance as you sped-walked back to Em who also happened to be chatting with a bald buff man. You caught their attention as you placed the items back into the carriage, almost roughly.

“Hey baby, this is my new friend, Duncan. He listens to Angel and I’s podcast…matter of fact, why don’t you snap a pic on our phones so I can send it to him and our socials?”

“Really? Oh no. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Oh please! Anybody that’s a supporter of mine, can get something as simple as a conversation and a picture. Don’t be shy on me now, Duncan!”

The man grinned as he cautiously held out his phone to you, “Only if you don’t mind?”

This was nothing new.

Ever since operation nope hit the internet and radio stations, people were intrigued to know the people who took it on. You didn’t feel any sort of way when people would come up to Emerald, you admired how she handled herself with grace, chatting with people with ease as they inquired about the what and the how.

Although she was advised not to speak much on it, with hush money, her and Angel still touched on some of it on their supernatural podcast: UNO U KNOW U.F.NO! Yes it was lengthy title that was abbreviated when you search for it but it makes sense if you’re observant and think about it. The listeners that get it, get it and those that don’t?

They don’t listen.

You seemed to be on autopilot, taking the phones as you snapped a few pictures, which Duncan thanks you two for before the both of you carried on shopping. You didn’t see the woman around anymore and that still didn’t make you feel alright.

“Can we hurry out of this section, em?”

“Yeah sure,” Emerald responded as she finished up some texts before shoving her phone into her back pocket, “we only need some fruits then we can head out into the main aisles.”

“I think we’ll be fine with frozen fruits, we don’t eat the fresh ones fast enough.”

“Speak for yourself, there’s nothing wrong with stocking up.” Em leaned on the carriage as she pushed forward, “don’t worry about a thing, I’m buying.”

Quietly you responded, “okay,” eyes still searching the area around you.

Emerald raises her brows at this, stopping in front of the pineapples, “…you okay? Is The AC making your head hurt again or something? Usually you’re all up for debating on who wants to pay.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” a look of uncertainty passed on Emerald’s face as she wrapped the pineapple in a plastic bag for protection before placing it into the carriage.

The tension in your shoulders almost faltered as the both of you went through the main floor, breezing through two aisles until you got to the third one. You stood in front of the carriage while Em voiced her complaints on oat milk and coconut milk. She had her back to the opposite end of the aisle while from your peripheral you saw a flash of black.

Turning your head, you glanced out the aisle and saw no one for awhile before a customer walked by with a carriage.

“I mean I don’t even care for oat milk like that, I think it messes with my stomach. Almond milk ain’t all that and coconut milk is only good for certain meals…wait a damn minute they got rice milk? How do they do that?!” Emerald browsed the milks in awe.

It was when you turned back, you saw her. She was walking by the aisle, raising a few fingers to wave at you, sickening smile planted on her lips, except her green large eyes were almost see-through, a silver tone that flashes as she went by.

Hell. nawl.

Leaving the carriage behind, you backed up in the other direction and took off into a sprint.

“Aries?” Em called out to you.

However you didn’t look back until your back was pressed up against the car. Emerald was only seconds behind you, hands on her knees as she finally caught up to you.

“…what…the…hell…was that? you never told me you were a track star?!”

You pulled yourself from the heat of the car that seeped through the thin material of your shirt and yanked on the car door handle. Emerald was completely confused but something was clearly going on as she rested a hand on your waist.

“Hey, tell me what’s going on?”

You swallowed, “There’s a shapeshifter or some shit in there that’s been following me—or us around!”

“Say what now?” The look of seriousness washed over Emerald’s features as she let go of you to start patting herself for the keys.

You nodded your head, not showing a ounce of humor on your own face and Emerald knew she had to ask questions later. Unlocking the doors, you threw yourself inside, waiting for Emerald to jog around the car to get into the driver’s side. She locked the doors and stuck the key in the ignition as specs of rain began to platter against the window shield.

Before she could turn the key, the both of you turned to the right parking space to see a yellow Volkswagen beetle pulling up beside you with their window down. It was the same woman with the bow sun hat, smiling and her eyes flickering silver like a coin about to be spun in circles, just watching you two before she sped off.

That action alone made your glasses fog up more than the humidity outside.

You sank into your seat, ripping your glasses from your face, other hand holding onto the strap of the seatbelt as you croaked out, “Did you see that?”

“Uh uh. And I don’t want no damn parts,” Emerald stated as she started the car, putting it in reverse not bothering to use the back up camera this time, “Let’s get the hell up outta here and call OJ.”

You pulled out your own phone with shaky hands as Emerald led the both of you in the opposite direction. As the phone rang on the Bluetooth, Emerald reached out to grip your hand in her’s.

The touch was comforting enough but you couldn’t help but to think:

Here we go again.

However it was round one for you and round two for Em but with the warmth of her hand in yours, maybe you’ll make it out just fine with her by your side.

Or you could both simply ignore this?

Yeah…

Right.

ੈ✩‧✧.* ↟ ੈ✩‧✧.* ↟ ੈ✩‧✧.* ↟ ੈ✩‧✧.* ↟ ੈ✩‧✧.*

Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.

#nope #nope film #nope 2022 #jordan peele #keke palmer #emerald haywood #em haywood #emerald haywood x reader #emerald haywood x f! reader #emerald haywood x black! reader #em haywood x reader #em haywood x f! reader #em haywood x black reader #summer prompts #queued

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opbackgrounds · 2 years

Note

Firstly - get better soon Sarc!! Secondly, a question - how about a rating of doctors/medical professionals in One Piece? Worst to best, and why =D

Worst to best, eh? Going to have to consult the wiki on this, but I’ll give it my best shot

Hogback: I considered putting him higher since he seems to be a competent surgeon—successfully transferring animal parts onto Absolom, among other things—but his utter disregard for ethics puts him at the bottom. Doc Q is a terrible human being, but he doesn’t claim to be advancing medical science. Plus, his supposed greatest feat isn’t even his own. Without Moriah’s devil fruit, Hogback’s “resurrections” don’t exist. He’s a fraud and a creep, -100/10

Doc Q: We haven’t seen him do much doctoring but considering his own health and that of his horse, I have my doubts. That, and handing out exploding apples and then blaming fate when they explode is generally regarded as bad practice. He’s caused much harm and brought no health, so -10/10

Hiliruk: An inspirational figure does not a good doctor make. Please don’t force feed children frog spawn in order to treat their broken bones 0/10

Dr. Blackbeard: we didn’t see his medical practice, but he seemed nice and probably didn’t deserve to be kicked in the head by an Emperor’s commander ???/10

Masked Deuce: I read both Ace novels and didn’t remember he was a doctor, but the wiki says he was a dropout with sucky grades so we’ll say 2/10

Aladine: Also did not remember he was a doctor, but unlike almost everyone else on this list he was sensitive to mental health issues. But without seeing him more in action I can’t give him higher than a 5/10

Nako: Don’t know much about him, but he gave Nami her tattoo and stitched up Zoro’s chest so 5/10 for being partially responsible in universe for two iconic character designs

Marco: Devil. Fruit. Hax. Seen more slapping on temporary (albeit effective) bandaid solutions than truly healing underlying conditions and hasn’t shown himself to be any great specialist or researcher 7/10

Crocus: He’s a doctor and a veterinarian, so he gets bonus points. Couldn’t heal Roger, but kept him alive for his last journey, and is a good enough engineer to hook Laboons stomach up with electric lighting without killing him 8/10

Kureha: If this were based purely on knowledge and expertise she’d win hands down, but we don’t see here treat the range of injuries and illness as some others, and her predatory business practices run the risk of causing real harm to her patients. Don’t through scalpels at your patients while robbing them blind. 10/10 doctor, -100/10 bedside manner

Law: Devil Fruit hax with legitimate medical genius is a dangerous combination in a man who literally steals hearts as a hobby. 10/10 doctor, but there’s a good chance he’ll just murder you instead

Chopper: Protagonist powers, and is the only upper tier doctor who is genuinely altruistic while conducting ground breaking research in the area of manipulating his devil fruit abilities with the power of SCIENCE. He was fifteen years old when he kept Zoro from dying at the end of Thriller Bark and reverse engineered viruses in the middle of a battle as the equivalent as a high school junior. 11/10 doctor, I will be forever mad that Oda never shows more off his efforts keeping these morons alive

Whitebeard’s nurses get a bonus shout out, because as great as he was as a person Edward Newgate was a shit patient and they all had to work in those ridiculous outfits. 15/10 for the lot of of them, I hope he at least paid well

#sarc talks

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worrywrite · 4 hours

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I am frequently amused when I see art of Ianthe post skeleton arm. Amused because almost every artist picks where the skeletal structure starts at a different point. Some go right up to the shoulder, some go just under, some go past the elbow (though I've only seen this once) and some don't even get which arm it is correct. And I'm amused because there is a fairly accurate description in HtN of where Harrow cuts off the grafted arm and begins rebuilding with bone. It's about 3-4 inches above the elbow on the right arm. You can extrapolate her height and estimate just about where it would be. And in m head it should be lower than where most people draw it.

More musings on Ianthe and art of her below.

I've met a handful of folks with a stump in about that same place and I think it's a fairly common point for amputation and so whenever I see art with the skeletal emerging higher up it seems off.

I'm not trying to shame the artists, of course. I don't think I've seen a bad portrait of Ianthe yet. I am, perhaps, most amused as a result of all this how you can tell the artists usually just want to draw a girl with a cool bone arm. And in my head, the higher up on the arm it starts the more I to it they are. After all, why no just give her more visible bones.

I wouldn't be surprised if, in an effort to seduce Harrow she slowly abandoned more and more flesh in favor of gilded bone. Sure she started with it just above the elbow, but then she stripped off the bicep. Then the shoulder. Then part of the flesh around the collarbone. And when she started encountering more arteries and organs it gets trickier but she manages to remove the flesh and grow out her osseous material into plated structures to keep the important bits covered. Then she takes off the neck and the lower jaw. Then the entire left arm piece by piece from the fingertips up, one segment per day. At that point she doesn't feel pain any more. After that, it's the whole collar bone. The face she keeps, because she won't go quite so far as to essentially wear the paint of the ninth house by making her face a mask of bone. What beauty would that leave? She'll leave her breasts too, to satisfy her own vanity and hope that Harrow appreciates it least some flesh. But then it's to the ribcage; which is tricky, but it can be externalized and most of the internal organs can be put in flexible cartilaginous or osseous chambers padded with fat. By the time it gets to the pelvis she's torn, she wouldn't dare rob herself of some of the last pieces of stimulating nerve endings she has, and yet she feels like Harrow wouldn't care much; so naturally she exposes portions but not all of the pelvis. And then it's just the legs, and that's not even a big deal by that point.

Now fully formed, Lich!Ianthe has made herself everything that she thinks Harrow would adore. She has lost her sense of pain, and also almost all of her pride as she has come to realize that she has succumbed to an obsession. She has made herself a monster the likes of which stirs fear in the eyes of God. She is asked time and again to stop, but she only does when she's taken all that she can. Now she's gilded to perfection, equal parts gaudy trophy and skeletal object of desire. And she feels more like her own person than she's ever been.

#the locked tomb #tlt #ianthe tridentarius #ianthe the first

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catsouu · 2 years

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- late night returns.

character/s: diluc x gn!reader

- a.n. this one is for my platonic twin flame and bestfriend eli hiiiii how r u when r we watching supernatural together

warnings: not proofread this was super impulsive

‘…diluc?’ you muttered under your breath as you sleepily lifted your upper body up and hoisted it on the elbows, your hair tussled and eyes still threatening to close. the nightgown you always wore slid off your shoulder ever so slightly, adding to the overall drowsiness your partner loved so much. diluc wanted to slither inside your shared bedroom trying to make less noise as to not irritate you, yet the old wooden door that definitely needed some fasteners oiled awoke you anyways. you squinted trying to make out diluc’s dark silhouette in a dim room, the only light source being the moonlight shining through the windows, but it seemed like there was no point.

it was the middle of the night, almost reaching the very early morning, and you’ve been in the middle of your sleep. you knew diluc would be coming late, as usual, but most of the time he didn’t manage to wake you up, even when he unintentionally stepped on the squeakiest floorboards in the room. this time it seemed that you were a bit more anxious than usual, the rise in fatui heists just outside mondstadt had you worrying about anything and everything. even though you had your trust in his extraordinary abilities, diluc’s late return was not of any help to ease the anxiety. it only worsened with each passing hour. you tosses and turned in your bed, seemingly unable to close your eyes, only to grow immensely tired from you own thoughts and finally drifting off. all that effort to be awoken an hour later by the squeaky door and heavy boot stomping.

‘i’m sorry, dear. please, go back to sleep,’ diluc said, his voice warmer than freshly brewed tea sweetened with the best honey. your eyes adjusted to the darkness, so you could finally make out him slipping out of his coat and boots. you lowered yourself on the bed, still looking at him, almost mesmerised by how precisely careful his movements were, every step taken to not make more noise. he looked disheveled, not uncommon for someone who works all day with no breaks. his shirt was no longer tucked into his pants, and his hair seemed to be rustling its way out from the ponytail. you distinctly remembered diluc tying it higher on his head in the morning, yet now the tie barely held the messy waves together somewhere below the back of his head. the front strands of fire alluringly framed his face, making it hard for diluc himself to see what he was doing. it was obvious he was nearly falling asleep as well, to the point where you wouldn’t be surprised to see him sit down right on the floor and drift off without a hitch, but he maintained the last drop of composure he had left just to undress and get into something more comfortable for the long awaited three hours of sleep.

you kept your eyes on diluc’s figure throughout all his little antics and watched carefully as he stumbled to his side of the bed, which was still neatly made. he crawled into the space right next to you and took a deep breath of relief. you were now on your back, admiring his calm sleeping face, eyes closed shut and mouth slightly agape. his head wasn’t on the pillow, he wouldn’t even bother to try and change his position to rest on it. you reached out your hand to cup his warm cheek and slid your thumb left to right under his eyes. the gesture seemed to have comforted diluc, as his breathing straightened and became more even. you kept one hand on his cheek, and tried to move some pieces of hair away from his face with the other, loosening the tie on head and softly ruffling the hair that was tied all day. diluc hummed approvingly in response to the pleasant sensation and scrunched his nose a bit, making you chuckle. unbeknownst to himself, he always did the scrunch when he got very comfortable around you - a little something that made your heart swell with love and warmth.

diluc was near, so calm and ethereal. he doesn’t even realise how much you’d give up to see him this vulnerable more often. you usually don’t get to see each other fall asleep like this, so it was indeed a moment for you to cherish, at least until the next time he would wake you up at night.

for now, all you felt was peace. snuggled into his form you buried your head in the crook of his neck and left the smallest softest kiss near his jawline. diluc’s lips curved into a tiny smile and you could swear you felt his whole body relax, all the pressure from the day going away in a sweep. the two of you breathed in unison, holding each other close, listening to each other’s heartbeat - the only lullaby you could ever need. in reality, it’s moments like this you two could finally feel calm and united.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #diluc comfort #diluc imagines #diluc headcanons

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talesfromsiteredacted · 1 year

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Dealing With Fae Entities, a Helpful Guide To Managing Elves, Faeries, Pictsies, and Other Annoyances

Hi, kids! This is Dr. Snow here, your friendly neighborhood Fae expert, as of this afternoon. After several very irritating encounters with the Fae, Dr. Clef and I agreed I should record some tips for dealing with them.

First thing first, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE, NO MATTER HOW FRIENDLY A FAE MAY SEEM AT FIRST ENCOUNTER, GIVE THEM YOUR TRUE GIVEN NAME. Names have power, give them yours and you are screwed.

Second, never enter any contract without reading it three or four times and running it through both Legal and Ethics first. Dr. Venser failed this crucial test, and had to give up her first born child. Don't be like Venser. Fae contracts are almost as hard as Hell contracts to break.

If cornered, bonk the bastard relentlessly with cold iron. Burns them worse than a bloody flamethrower, plus the added hilarity and embarrassment of being nearly clubbed to death by cookware. Skillets are the best option, but never underestimate the humble fireplace poker.

Do not, no matter how hungry you are, or how good the food or drink look, accept "free" gifts from the Fae. That's how you wind up in their debt. Plus, the Fae are worse cooks than Clef, which is saying a lot. THERE IS NOTHING FREE WITH THE "FAIR FOLK"! Bunch of scheming, cheating arseholes. Again, remember Dr. Venser!

Never believe a word they say. They lie more than Clef.

If a Fae raiding party approaches, throw candy at them then call in the MTFs. They're distracted by sweets, much like children. Plus, they are compelled to pick up every single piece of thrown sugar. Candies that shatter against hard surfaces, like jawbreakers, are ideal.

If captured, AGREE TO NOTHING, EVEN THE ATMOSPHERIC CONDITIONS. Agreeing with the Fae on anything is practically giving them consent to torture you.

Carry silver on your person at all times. To think, Dr. Harrigan laughed at me over my silver snowflake Scranton pendant. She's not laughing now, seeing as she's now the Fae King's newest plaything. Silver burns Fae like cold iron, plus it renders their unicorns too weak to do much.

Trust nothing in the presence of the Fae. They bend reality just by being here. Cold iron jacketed hollow point magazines will be distributed by Munitions. Treat them like your average Bixby, aim for their head once distracted.

To ward against the Fae, salt the entryways and windows. While this works on vampires due to the purity of salt, the elvish arseholes will be compelled to pick up every last grain of salt spilled. You may then headshot them to your heart's delight.

If attacked by six inch tall blue pitcsies with red hair and a tendency to fight, steal, or drink anything they come across, offer copious amounts of alcohol, and hide. The Nac Mac Feegle may be tiny compared to him, but those scunners managed to kill SCP 076-2 with minimal effort. One of them even climbed in his loincloth. Look, if even ABEL is afraid of these guys, don't try to take them on. Abel barely lasted ten minutes.

Refuse ANY item offered. We do not need another "Anomalous Ring Of Inconsistent Waterbreathing" incident. Poor Dr. Mariner needs a tank now, and that damned thing is fused to his finger.

Unicorns, while beautiful, are... not very nice. How not nice? They'll gore you as soon as look at you.

Do not look at the Queen of the Fae. Two reasons: one, she's incredibly vain and will pester you to no end on how beautiful she is, and then... she'll try to get you into bed with her. Bad decision. She's got a higher (dead) body count than a black widow spider, and like a preying mantis, bites her victims heads off. Two, the King is hella jealous and you may not even live to accept that invite to the Queen's bed. Bigger dick than the Scarlet King.

Glitter also distracts the Fae long enough to dome them easily. Especially if 035 coats his junk in it. Wasn't ever expecting Disco Dong Dyo to be helpful, but the bastards were so confused killing them was easy.

If all else fails to repell the elvish dickheads, threaten to summon Dr. Clef. Not even their King wants to hear his ukulele.

If, for some reason you are tired of life, you decide to really annoy the Queen, insult her appearance. Again, she's extremely vain. She'll be so busy trying to become your version of the "perfect" woman it's easy to distract and kill her. Use their weaknesses against them.

Those perfect, 7 foot tall walls of elvish muscle in the invading forces? That is not at all how they really look. The average Fae's no taller than 5 feet tall, max. And uglier than a Hollywood divorce. It's a glamour, pretty convincing one too. Distract them enough, and it crumbles.

Speaking of distractions, these dickheads are compelled to dance whenever they hear music. You can thank Dr. Myriad for this one, they had the entire army grooving along to the "Safety Dance". Yes, there is video footage. No, the Fae do not have rhythm. It was like watching the most awkward mass dry heave set to '80's pop.

Grimhounds, much like Wu-Tang Clan and the Ethics Committee, ain't nothing to fuck with. Think hellhounds on massive doses of steroids, pcp, with the most advanced and aggressive case of rabies, with teeth sharper than Abel's swords. They are fast, relentless, and the only sure way to get them off your arse is to blow them off the map with high explosives.

While it is possible to bribe the Fae... they're not trustworthy. Just don't bother.

Mousetraps work well against smaller entities. As do cats; Liam caught one last night. Was really funny to see my fluffy boy dragging this cursing little sod all around my kitchen like my cat was doing a victory lap. Theiving bastards won't raid my pantry again anytime soon, heh heh.

Clef discovered if you use enough rocks, you can weigh them down enough to drown them. It might have helped that the portal opened upon the Red Pool instead of the ocean as I intended. Oopsie. Mea Culpa if the Ethics Committee are reading this. I know, three months Keter Duty. Still worth it.

If you're thinking of poisoning the Fae... don't bother. It simply doesn't work. No one knows why. They can, however, succumb to the zombie prion disease, but then... you have to deal with feral, infectious, and above all quite undead Fae.

For once, those damned bloody Tesla Gates are useful. Fae and electricity do not react favorably, for the Fae. They explode. Bone shrapnel is an issue, but if you get far enough back it's minimal. Still, wear your goggles kids!

073 is immune to the Fae glamour. He confirmed the Fae being unattractive, and I think it was the first time I ever heard him drop the "mf" bomb. Dr. Gears dropped his Foundation issue mug so hard it shattered. You know you're hideous if CAIN, the nicest guy in the Foundation, calls you "one ugly motherfucker" to your face. Dr. Clef and Dr. Cimmerian nearly hyperventilated laughing in shock.

In need of a quick distraction, but trapped in your office? Simply scatter whatever is on top of your desk, book it out of your door, and flag down the fine friendly folks in the MTF. While the Fae reorganizes your desktop, the MTF can shoot them. Even if you don't believe Clef on this... we had one in his office last month, he scattered his massive pile of paperwork on the floor, by the time we got the clear to go back in, his desk had never been better organized. Aside from the blood splotch on his Shooter's Bible.

Fun fact: Fae are highly flammable. A raiding party caught the backblast from one of 682's Volcano Chili farts, there was nothing but ash in seconds after the flame hit them. Must ask if we can weaponize the big lizard's flatulence, that stuff burns hotter than even thermite! Pity R&D could never quite replicate it, even if it reeks worse than a zombie skunk in a manure pile.

By all means, allow 049 access to the Fae should they attempt another invasion. With his skills and knowledge, we'll soon know exactly how these bastards operate on a physical level. For once, Ethics Committee has authorized 049's request for live test subjects, provided they're Fae. No, Agent Dennis does not count, he's just short, not an evil magical arsehole.

One last thing: I cannot stress this enough. NEVER TELL THE FAE YOUR TRUE GIVEN NAME, AGREE TO ANYTHING THEY ASK, OR THINK OF TRUSTING THEM FOR A SECOND. I realize this sounds incredibly species-ist of me, however, it's truth. The Fae cannot be trusted, even less so than you'd first suspect. They will trick you, use you, then drop you harder than the atom bombs. Shoot them first, don't bother with asking questions.

Okay, I think that's everything. Oh, wait... never mentioned how to spot one before it spots you. Grimhounds are obvious. Hellhounds on steroids with rabies. The Nac Mac Feegle, once you meet them you're either broke or dead. The others? People who seem way too perfect, too good to be real, you meet in life? Those could be Fae. The hot chicks in the bar everyone is flocking around despite them being mean vapid idiots? Fae. The super smoking but arrogant dickhead every straight girl in 10 miles is lining up to be rejected by? Either Lucifer Morningstar post marriage or Fae. The guy in Soho offering unbelievable deals on top line stuff like PS5s or suchlike? Fae. And shimmering lights where no such lights could possibly be, Fae. They can be anywhere. Stay alert, stay aware, trust your instincts. Keep on, carry cold iron and silver, and Secure, Contain, Protect on.

Hugs,

Dr. "Rabbit" Snow and Dr. Alto Clef

#scp foundation #tales from site redacted #dr snow #dr clef #do not trust the fae #auntie rabbits helpful hints

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