#& it gets to the point where there's so much expectation and obligation and 'demand'-
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I'm surprised you haven't posted any Welcome home stuff recently! Honestly kinda makes me sad since I love your WH art and stuff
yea y'all are gonna have to be Patient w/ me bc
a) i have like. a week left to pack all of my stuff before i need to shove everything into a uhaul and leave, so its crunch time! leaving little to no energy/interest in anything else
b) to be honest my mental health is the worst its been in years - which is fine, its whatever, i can deal. it's not as bad as it could be and im handling it! like a champ, even! but also its leaving little to no energy/interest in anything else
c) had a minor crisis over my art and how i interact w/ WH, and i realized im not scribbling enough of what I want. ive mostly been trying to please people and do as asked and thats! not good! so i want to temper expectation & reassert that im Not a WH art blog - its just a hyperfixation / something i love rn. i draw what i enjoy & what i want in the moment.
#i picked up my tablet last night and all of my motivation died on the spot#so im just. eh whatever ill get back into the swing of things eventually#but yeah im spending my time packing & keeping myself afloat! not much room for other things at present!#rambles from the bog#but yeah i was starting to feel like a commodity of sorts?#like the majority of asks are just some form of 'can you draw this' 'draw this' 'id love it if youd draw this'#which is. fine. im an art blog! thats what i do!#but its also like hey. im just some guy doodling what they enjoy. im not a machine churning out content for consumption#& it gets to the point where there's so much expectation and obligation and 'demand'-#when do i ever sit down and truly indulge in what i want?#like the monster scribble i posted the other day! it made me so happy! i love monsters and Beasts!#when do i ever allow myself to draw them?#rarely bc i feel like people Expect puppets from me. and thats not a great feeling!#i love puppets i love wh and everything but i would like to enjoy it w/o pressure yk yk....#& for a second there i Was feeling the pressure and scribbling puppets was starting to feel like a chore#something i Needed to do to please people#so! im focusing on real life & taking a break from creation & keeping my mindset away from 'jump into traffic' thankyew <3#theres just too much going on right now#in my head And outside of it.#so ill stick to packing & binging psych & i'll lovingly place everything else on the backburner
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Thank you for leaving these tags @pharawee! Without getting into any speculation about how Dead Friend Forever will actually end, I do want to address your question and talk about why most of us want to see severe consequences for these boys. The short answer: it's about genre expectations and the psychological catharsis of a good revenge narrative.
To get down to the really basic point: people who love revenge thrillers love them because they are a fantasy construct in which good people survive and bad people get what they deserve. In a world where bad things happen and we rarely have any control, a good revenge story can be exhilarating, giving you the feeling that justice prevailed, villains received appropriate comeuppance for their wrongs, and the protagonist seized control back and experienced much needed catharsis for their suffering. Real life is very much not like this, which is why it's such an appealing genre of fiction.
So how do we calibrate what "appropriate comeuppance" means? This is where genre expectations become really important, because the genre the revenge narrative plays out in sets the terms for where that bar sits. In The Glory, a recent world class revenge drama, we were in the psychological thriller genre, so revenge came in the form of Dong Eun playing mind games with her bullies until they destroyed their own lives. No murder necessary. Dead Friend Forever, however, is in the horror genre, and specifically began its story by planting itself in the slasher subgenre, giving us a masked killer and setting up expectations that these boys are being hunted. When you watch a slasher, you come in with the mindset that most of the characters are going to die and begin rooting for it and looking for reasons why they "deserve" it. And typically, in a slasher, it takes very little for a character to "deserve" a death--you often see people die for the tiniest infractions, like making a rude comment, telling a bad joke, or having sex. But DFF went much farther than that and gave us a multi episode flashback in which we got a detailed accounting of every wrong this group of boys committed against Non, increasing the audience's bloodlust and conviction that these boys needed to pay.
So why do so many of us want the bullies to die? Because the genre demands it, and the story set the audience up to expect it from the outset. I have seen some discussion of the way the show is blending different horror subgenres and not sticking strictly to typical slasher conventions, and that's true, and expected. Slashers are usually two hours max, and this show needed to fill 10+ hours of content, so it's doing a really interesting blend of slasher, mystery, psychological thriller, and other horror subgenres. But the bones of the story still hold, and despite the storytelling choice to give the villains some nuance and fleshed out motivations for their behavior, they are still villains who destroyed Non's life. If you're feeling overly sympathetic to any of these boys at present, I encourage you to go back and remind yourself how they behaved in the early episodes of this story, which took place after the events of the flashbacks. These are not genuinely remorseful kids who made minor mistakes and then got their acts together and became upstanding citizens; they just want to move on and avoid blame and accountability for what they did, while Non's entire family was irrevocably destroyed by their actions.
If this story ends without Por, Tee, Top, Fluke, Jin, and Phee suffering genre appropriate consequences for their choices that harmed and betrayed Non, it will be a letdown and many will feel unsatisfied. In real life, we may believe that forgiveness is the right path, and we know that Buddhism teaches unconditional forgiveness. But this is not real life. This is a fantasy genre that is specifically meant to provide an escape from the constraints of real life morality and obligations. No one wants to show up to a fantasy party only to receive a moral scolding. The most disappointing thing a revenge narrative can do is wimp out on delivering the actual revenge.
#hope this helps!#i think folks coming to this show mostly from a bl lens and not grounded in horror genre might have a harder time with this#dead friend forever#dff the series#shan shouts into the void#thai bl
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az x short reader??
shortcake.
a/n: listen it's 100% confirmed that azriel has a size kink i know because his shadows told me.
azriel is ridiculously tall. he's used to towering over everyone everywhere he goes, but for some reason, it's different with you. the shadowsinger thinks it's cute that you barely come up to his shoulders and that you have to practically crane your neck just to look up at him. he absolutely loves the height difference.
when you're out, he's constantly tucking you to his side, his arm around your waist while his wing brushes against your shoulder. he especially loves cocooning you from the world within the safety of his wings, knowing that you're his and his alone.
azriel uses any excuse to pull you behind him. whether it's to protect you from actual danger like when you visit the court of nightmares and someone speaks to you in a threatening manner or even when you're out with the inner circle at rita's and some random male tries to hit on you, the shadowsinger won't hesitate going full alphahole and securing you behind him while his shadows wreathe you in darkness.
you'd pretend to be annoyed, craning over his shoulder and reprimanding him for being so overprotective, but you'd secretly love it.
when you first move into the house of wind, azriel purposely moves all of your favorite coffee mugs on the top shelf so that you'd have to ask him for help. he'd watch you open the cupboards, that confused little frown on your face melting his heart, before you sheepishly turn around and ask him to grab a mug for you in your shy, sweet voice. he'd happily oblige and when you stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek in thanks, azriel knows he's absolutely fucking done for.
he'd tease the absolute hell out of you, calling you little one, munchkin, and his personal favorite, shortcake. you'd huff and puff, crossing your arms and trying to look as intimidating as possible which just makes you look even cuter to the point where he's actually chuckling at the sight.
once he gets comfortable around you, he'd flirt endlessly. casually moving you aside, lifting you up, giving you piggyback rides. you'd catch on easily and use that age old trick of comparing hands. azriel would be self conscious about it at first. you noticed that he always liked to hide his hands behind him and one day while you're playing cards and drinking wine, you surprise him by grabbing his hands.
azriel half-expected you to pull away from his touch, but you only lay your palm against his, grinning as his large hand swallows up your much smaller one. he'd watch silently as you trace every swirl of scarred skin, every bump and ridge a reminder of his traumatic experience, every crack and crevice filled with blood and brutality, but you'd intertwine your fingers in his, never hesitating never faltering.
"it's like ripples of water. strong and swift and solid like the sidra. your hands are beautiful, az. just like every inch of you."
and gods, that exact moment is when his harmless little crush on you evolved into something bigger than he could've ever imagined. azriel knew then that he was falling in love with you.
the shadowsinger would surprise not only himself, but the rest of his friends—his family. for five centuries, they have always known him to be reserved and sensitive to touch, but now he couldn't even help himself. he'd seek you out in every room, constantly pulling you closer, wrapping his arm around the back of whatever chair you were sitting on, his wing curved protectively around you and his shadows swirling through your hair and wrists and ankles.
azriel is also a big fan of giving you hugs. he knows it makes you flustered when he picks you up and squeezes you into a bear hug, twirling you in the air while you kick your feet up. you’d feign embarrassment, demanding for azriel to put you down right this instant even though you can’t get enough of his addictive embraces and that night chilled mist and cedar scent that was so distinctly him that you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze back despite your initial protests.
don't even get me started on the cuddling. azriel loves when you curl up against him, head tucked into his chest, arms and legs twisted together while he wraps you in his strong arms. you're so small compared to him especially when his wings cocoon you in completely and he'll hold you so gently, whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he strokes your hair. it's warm and toasty and you're falling fast asleep in seconds murmuring dreamily.
sometimes you'll have nightmares and azriel would wake up in the middle of the night, reaching out for you and cradling you in his arms while reminding you that there's nothing to be afraid of because he's right beside you.
azriel would whisper in the darkness, "it's alright, my love. you're here. you're safe. i won't let anything bad happen to you. i've got you, sweet girl."
you believed every word. you knew this beautiful male meant it with every fiber of his being. "i feel so safe when i'm with you, az. like nothing bad could ever happen when you hold me."
his heart would soar. all his life, he'd been known as the feared spymaster. the ruthless illyrian warrior. the dark shadowsinger, but to you, he was azriel. the male that you fully trusted to protect you and keep you safe.
and gods, he'd be so careful with you. so gentle and restrained to keep from hurting you, but fuck one day you'd decide enough was enough.
things would get heated in the bedroom and you'd be in the middle of a particularly steamy makeout, lips and tongues and teeth clashing as you kiss and kiss like you're trying to crawl into each other's skin. you'd be straddling him in nothing but your bra and panties, the shadowsinger shirtless and panting as you finally bite down on his bottom lip and declare, "stop holding back, az. i want you. all of you."
this results in azriel absolutely losing his shit and manhanding you, flipping positions so that you're pinned down and helpless below him. he'd chuckle darkly, palming your breasts in his large hands, squeezing your thighs and hips and ass, reveling in the way his body covers yours while he hikes your legs over his shoulders.
the shadowsinger would watch your petite form writhing underneath him, delicate hands gripping his cock while you pump him eagerly. then you're guiding him between your legs and he nearly passes out from how fucking tight you are, how snug you feel around his cock as you take him in inch by inch. he'd press down on the bulge in your lower belly, swallowing your moans as his proud length stretches your walls. then he's moving and you're wrapping your delicate legs around his waist, trying to get more, more, more.
and when you guide his large hand over your throat, his fingers splayed out across your soft skin like a perfectly crafted necklace, azriel finds himself unable to hold back. he gives you everything he’s got, rough and hard, soft and sweet, caring and intimate.
from that day on, azriel would take you against the wall, outside the alley at rita’s, on a balcony in the house of wind and even in a coat closet at the river house. it’s so easy to pull you into a room and have his way with you. he absolutely loves getting you all flustered and he thinks it’s cute when you’re an absolute mess for him.
“what’s the matter, little one? did i make you all hot and bothered?”
as much as he loved to tease you, az would also treat you like a princess. aftercare with him is heaven. he’d run you both a bath, letting you sit in his lap while he scrubs your exhausted body, his hands gently shampooing your scalp and massaging all the tension out of your taut muscles. after you’re done he’d wrap you up in a soft, fluffy robe and set you on the counter, kissing your forehead while he gets you ready for bed.
azriel would help you into one of his shirts, smirking at how the fabric swallows your petite frame. there’s something so satisfying about seeing you wearing his clothes. he’s so possessive of you and he loves knowing that it’s his scent covering you while you sleep cuddled up beside him.
he’d chuckle as you greedily snuggle against him, burying your face in his neck and peppering him with kisses as you claim your place in his arms. azriel would kiss the top of your head, stroking your back.
“goodnight, az.”
“goodnight, shortcake.”
#PAIN ALL I KNOW IS PAIN#azriel#azriel fluff#azriel smut#azriel fic#azriel fanfic#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel acotar#azriel fanfiction#azriel shadowsinger#azriel spymaster#azriel/reader
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Tbh CC, I don't think MC is still in love with the brothers after everything that's happened,,, thinking about it, it feels more and more like MC is just putting up with the brothers and taking care of them rather than loving them
Imagine MC admitting their love for the brothers died a long time ago and now they're just here to keep things in check, what do you think would happen?
Oh hey Lucifer, bringing me the angst today I see! Ouchies!
I think it probably depends on the MC involved. Generic OM MC is highly tolerant, slightly crazy, and somehow insanely resilient. They've definitely been through a lot and I think it's interesting to note that they have never once had any kind of emotional breakdown. They've had little outbursts here and there, but that's about it.
I think part of this is due to the story format. We've got a situation where MC is a character that doesn't say or do much. They're very reactionary in general.
But if we consider how this same story might go if it was a specific MC, one who was a fully fleshed out character, things can change dramatically. And there is absolutely a chance that MC could fall out of love with the brothers or even not fall in love with them to begin with.
It's kinda funny because I have a preference for the side characters in general and I think it's because they don't need MC to take care of them. The brothers are all very demanding and don't like when MC isn't with them all the time. But the side characters have their own stuff going on and are independent. They're all still hopelessly in love with MC, but they don't rely on MC the same way the brothers do.
But let's consider the scenario where one day MC has reached their limit. They don't explode or anything, but they quietly admit that their love has died and they only stick around out of obligation.
The thing about this is that I think all the brothers would have picked up on it before this moment, but some of them wouldn't know what was happening and others would. For instance, I see Lucifer and Asmo just sorta being like yeah we expected this. Whereas Mammon and Levi would be like okay we knew something was up, but we didn't think it was this!
I think at that point, the brothers would do all they could to change things. They can all be idiots and they get carried away and often cause MC more stress than anything. But I think if they knew how MC felt, that they were feeling this way, they would try to change.
It might not work. These demons are old and old people are often set in their ways. It might be hard for them to change. Then again, they were also created to live as long as they do, so perhaps they're better at adapting than humans are. Maybe they would find it isn't so hard for them to make the changes they need to in order to have MC be more comfortable again.
The problem is that even if they succeed in changing their behaviors, that doesn't mean MC will love them again. No matter what the brothers do, MC won't be able to make themselves love again. It's not impossible, but it's not something that's predictable, either.
I think part of the solution would be MC spending time away from them. Whether that's staying in the Devildom, but living somewhere else such as the castle or Purgatory Hall or going back to the human world, I think it would require some time apart.
I think a lot of times people fall out of love because they change in different directions. So if MC has changed, but the brothers haven't, that could be the cause. It could be that MC and the brothers have both changed, but differently enough that they no longer have that same chemistry from before. And sometimes you just can't fix it.
MC would have to make their choice at that point. If they all spent some time apart, then the brothers actively tried to change, but MC still finds that they aren't in love with them anymore, then MC has to decide. They have to decide if it's worth spending the rest of their life taking care of a bunch of demons who have already managed to survive a long time without them and who will likely live on far after they're gone. If MC is still mortal, they may decide they don't have time for that. Maybe they'll permanently move in to the castle or Purgatory Hall. I think that has a lot of angst potential because they'd still see the brothers a lot, but it'd be like there go my seven exes lol.
Ahhh it's such a sad scenario! And there are a lot of ways it could go, depending on the MC involved. My MC is more likely to lose their shit way before it ever got to this point so I can't even imagine it with them lol. But a quieter MC who feels the responsibility of being everything the demons expect them to be might certainly stick around long enough.
Anyway, this is getting lengthy, but I think it'd be a difficult time for all if this happened. The brothers might try to fix things, but I think in the end everybody would want MC to make the right choice for themselves.
#it's hard not to complain about the story itself#because I think MC would absolutely have had some kind of break down by now#considering all the nonsense they've constantly had to go through#but it's always leave it to me! and let me do the nice thing! and only occasionally I'm gonna break this door down!#anyway#obey me#obey me nightbringer#obey me mc#avatar0fpr1de#cc mutuals#misc answers
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there’s a few potential sansa romantic endgames that i think have some textual basis and i think all of them come with a lot of issues wrt sansa being able to publically claim these relationships which is why i think sansa will say her children are “fathered by a wolf” because regardless of Who she’s with or even the legality of it, she’s going to be actively concealing their identity AND YET she needs to have children.
i think especially that even though arya’s love life is guaranteed to be less complicated, sansa will feel obligated to take this “burden” of ensuring their line onto herself; she wants arya to have the freedom to go where she pleases, be with who she pleases, and follow her passions and that is not easy to do if everyone is expecting you to come home and start popping out kids. I consider them a sort of reflection of ned and lyanna in this way in that sansa, second born and not meant to rule, uses her newfound power to let the wild, youngest girl (but not youngest child) in the family follow her passions wherever they may take her.
this is all kind of weird with the nixed time jump but considering that george has talked about writing stories from arya’s pov about her adventures, I think it’s going to be fairly important in story regardless of their ages that arya will attempt to offer to stay home and marry and have children as a way of helping to protect sansa’s very shaky claim on winterfell but that sansa encourages arya to do whatever she wants. to travel, to help shepherd the boatloads of refugees from the various wars to wherever they want to call home, to settle displaced northerners in other parts of westeros as well, to get involved in the lives of the people arya is helping and agree to help them liberate their own homes by using her skills (crucial here that arya is A leader but not the SOLE leader), or to go out into the woods and be a secret not-quite-an-outlaw (bc sansa isn’t outlawing anything that could hurt arya’s lil crusades, probably is helping bankroll arya) to bring justice to the smallfolk, like whatever it is arya wants to do with her life, the point is that she offers to give it up and sansa refuses to take the offer.
and then we have the idea that her kids are fathered by a wolf. not elizabeth-ing herself here exactly because she’s having children but never publicly acknowledging a father or a husband or even a lover.
i think the candidates most likely are jon snow and theon, with both brienne and podrick as like “i’m not saying he’s gonna do it but i am saying they make a lot of sense narratively” and aegon vi as a huge long shot but still undeniable contender. if briensa does go canon everyone owes me five bucks each tho. i think the options other people float are not just wildly unserious they also clearly don’t think sansa will be The Ruling Lady Of Winterfell, but some much more minor or less emotionally resonant title and i just do not vibe with that shit at all. harry the heir, sandor, sweetrobin, tyrion, littlefucker, like never mind sansa never once showing any real interest in these guys and NONE of these dudes being satisfied by the idea of being her secret husband, if sansa says to arya “yeah i’m marrying tyrion” arya is going “blink twice if you’re being held hostage and you need me to kill him” but it’s too late because jon snow is already unsheathing longclaw and bran is attacking with every raven in winterfell. it’s not fucking happening and imo it’s unserious to pretend like it could happen in canon. (and if it DOES happen in canon you will find me rocking up to george’s house in jersey and demanding to know why he’s so weird about teenage girls). i think margaery is a huge long shot here (and not just bc it would make them both canonically on screen gay) because i don’t think she’s gonna live to the ending, and jeyne poole is too traumatized at this point in time for me to feel confident in putting her in the same category as brienne and pod.
(theon’s trauma is WHY i think he’s still a contender - post reek theon is going to struggle a lot with figuring out where he’s supposed to be, who he’s supposed to be, and who he can trust as he puts himself back together, and that lends itself nicely to the idea of a secret husband/lover imo. once again, we are talking extreme trauma bonding here - that’s just the only way i see sansa’s romances going).
if you’re asking “who do you think arya is winding up with” it’s gendry. i don’t doubt that there were some plans for edric dayne, arya, and gendry but i think gendry was always going to be her great love here, that she’s always going to turn down the idea of marriage to him but gendry doesn’t care so long as they are still together. there’s a neon blinking sign over gendry’s head that says “endgame material” and i think it’s unserious to pretend it’s not there too!!
#again my conspiracy here is that he can’t do all the rhaegar/lyanna/robert/ned/ashara/cat paralleling he would like and it’s thrown him off#that’s my rant of the day aksjdj#getting on my soap box#theonsa#jonsa#briensa#jeynsa#what’s the pod sansa name i always forget#the sun and moon in endless chase
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Where the heck is Satan in Good Omens S2?
And could we perhaps find evidence of him in the places where the furniture used to be?
For reference:
Hastur & Ligur, 1.1: "All Hail Satan." "All Hail Satan."
Crowley, 1.5: "I never asked to be a demon. I was just minding
my own business one day and then… oh, lookie here, it's Lucifer and the guys."
Adam Young 1.6: "You're not my dad and you never were."
Satan, 1.6: "No, no, no!" (He promptly dissolves into black ash and vanishes. Immediately after, Aziraphale and Crowley look at their no-longer-flaming sword and tire iron as if not entirely sure why they're there.)
Crowley, 2.1: "Do you ever think, what's the point? ... Heaven, Hell, Demons, Angels?"
Crowley 2.2 (circa ~2000 BCE): "Satan and his diabolical ministers..."
Gabriel 2.3: "I remember when the morning stars sang together and all the angels of god shouted for joy.” (emphasis mine. Lucifer/Satan was the Morning Star. Why the heck is morning stars plural??)
Edit: Shax 2.6: “I demand that you hand over both Gabriel and Beelzebub as gifts for Satan, our master.” (Could debunk the whole theory, might not only because she seems pretty low-ranked and could be going through the motions even though he's gone, but we'll see. Including to get all the evidence down.)
... And I think there's some other S2 references to higher ups and "Our Lord" by Shax supposedly, but I'm too sleep-deprived to go combing through for them (I'd be much obliged if anyone else could grab any other exact quotes that mention Satan by name or seem to refer to him in Season 2.)
Let's first get the Doylist explanation for why Satan might not be around out of the way: Satan was the Big Bad of Season 1. He's been dispatched. Furthermore, he's played by the most likely very expensive Benedict Cumberbatch, so he's not likely to be back in a hurry if it at all can be avoided, and alluding to him at all might just create confusion with viewers who will then expect to see Satan.
(Below the cut: but what if there's more to it than that?)
But as others may have seen with the, "Metatron is actively editing the Book of Life in S2 and that's why things are weird," meta, there's quite a bit of speculation going around that something fucky is going on in S2.
However, while I agree that some points in S2 are certainly fucky I'm not convinced on all or even most of the supporting evidence. Most of the explanations have a Doylist counterpoint like "It's just bad writing," or "They just wanted to bring back some actors they enjoyed working with," or, "The film crew just made a mistake," or "They just forgot that bit of continuity." After all, half of the original writing duo is tragically no longer with us, so there's going to be some level of story drift regardless.
While in general I find the, "It's not that deep," explanation more plausible in most instances, I'd be a very poor disgruntled English Major indeed if I made sweeping claims that the wallpaper being blue is always a coincidence. It's muddier with TV because there's so many proverbial cooks in the kitchen and plenty of human error to go around, but I'd equally never claim that I think Good Omens S2 wasn't a labor of love by those who worked on it, and certainly there's evidence that care was taken in its production, so everything that's off being a mistake is also not a sweeping generalization I'd want to make either.
Which is my way of saying that I'm not convinced by the Metatron meta but I think some of the ideas there are on to something. I don't think it's plausible that a writer would in S3 reveal that in S2, the heretofore largely off-screen character of the Metatron was actively editing the story as we went with the heretofore only mentioned once, never seen, and immediately denounced as a joke Book of Life. BUT, there is some fucky stuff happening that I won't say was the result of some Genius Mastermind Writer deciding it was a good idea to actively write badly and provide stories with no payoff, but I will consider that some of the apparent continuity errors might not be so accidental as they seem, because this was a labor of love and at least on this count, I don't think that Neil was necessarily that careless. Or at least, I'm more inclined to look for clues in places where I can see logistical choices being made, rather than in more subjective claims like "This bad writing is meant to be Bad Writing and therefore a Clue." Because writing is hard even under the best of circumstances, especially in TV and having lost the aforementioned half of a beloved writing duo.
Moving on! Thing is, if we're to believe that there's some sort of mystery hidden in plain sight that was introduced in Season 2, then it did not pay off yet. This makes me a little suspicious of the overall claims that there was a hidden Season 2 mystery, because a good mystery really should pay off within the text, and expecting the reader to keep their unsatisfied suspicions in their heads for 3-4 years for a later satisfying conclusion is... optimistic at best and downright sloppy at worst.
Unless, the mystery spans the entire show. If the clues we're seeing are meant to pay off in S3, and we assume some level of competence, then more likely these are series spanning mysteries that will be satisfying when one is able to watch all three installments. And that means, if there is a mystery in S2, we should be checking back with Season 1 to look for the roots of it.
Which is what brings me to Satan.
What on Earth happened to Satan?
Is Satan still around?
Now, my theory would be much more satisfying to me, personally, if Satan's name was never spoken in S2 but alas, there is the Book of Job episode and I believe some other mentions by name, mostly by Shax? I'd love some backup on that. But I very deliberately don't count demons just saying things like, "Our lord" or making vague referrals to the powers that be to be references to Satan because if he's vanished, someone could have easily filled the power vacuum or there could be an empty throne room somewhere and everyone is just going through the motions (or he's become the Sandman Lucifer who fucked off to lie on a beach, which would be delightful. Anyway).
When Hastur and Ligure showed up in 1.1 they specifically said, "All Hail Satan," and Crowley was shown to be an outsider that he did not return this familiar call-and-response. Yet no one in Hell in S2 uses the All Hail Satan greeting. The references to Satan are few, even in Hell. There doesn't seem to be a lot of fear of Satan either, but more around other higher-ups like Beelzebub, Duke of Hell, who appears to be the highest ranking person we see in Hell?
And also interestingly, Crowley and Beelzebub are both lamenting how pointless all of this seems. Kind of interesting for two individuals who still despise Heaven too and, presumably, took Satan's side once long ago when they all Fell. The political fire has definitely gone out of them, which can be plausibly attributed to the Apocalypse failing and/or the two of them falling in love with their Angelic counterparts, but it's also just kind of weird that suddenly they both really don't see the point in any of these conflicts that once defined their existence.
Perhaps, and this is where I go out on a limb or ten, because Satan isn't around anymore?
Is there no longer a hand at the wheel in Hell, reminding everyone of their loathing of Heaven?
Is there no longer someone actively above Beelzebub, telling them what to do, such that they have the freedom to sneak away and pursue a romance with an archangel and not have their boss show up to stop them the way Gabriel's did?
Did Adam, when he made Satan not his father but more importantly that Satan never was his father, undo more than we realize?
Because that's the kind of Gaiman mystery that I can wholly believe is lurking in plain sight, because Satan was a big deal in S1, he was the Big Bad! It's in the text! The damned book series is built on the idea of a satirical Antichrist take on The Omen. All Hail Satan is one of the first spoken lines of dialogue in the book. Satan is kind of central to any story that's going to revolve around a battle between Heaven and Hell!
And yet... he's barely mentioned this season. And demons suddenly don't remember what they're fighting for. How odd.
Maggie and Nina's actresses also played nuns of the Satanic Chattering Order of St. Beryl. If there was no Antichrist, isn't it possible that neither of those women would have become Satanic nuns and might, instead, own a coffee shop and a record store somewhere?
If there was no Antichrist, isn't it possible that through some convoluted series of events, Madame Tracy, a witch, fell afoul of a demon or managed to become one herself?
Isn't it possible that once you open the door to the ripple effects of a Satan who either never existed (though the Fall still happened) or who only existed up until at least Job, but who was never Adam's father, that some other fucky things could happen too, like Aziraphale suddenly not being fond of alcohol? This continuity detail is much more of a stretch but it is such a plot point in the book that Aziraphale loves to drink and S1 that I do find that particular continuity break particularly vexing and it's one I side-eye the most in terms of "not sure if sloppiness or a Clue".
Anyway, point is:
Satan is curiously absent this season and technically, he was unmade or at least unmade as Adam's father last season. If something is fucking with the timeline, I think that on-screen, very visible event deserves some scrutiny over and beyond vaguely alluded to, off-screen fuckery by the Metatron with no in-text confirmation at all.
There's a lot of weird and bad writing in S2, sure, but some of the continuity breaks do, admittedly, feel too big to be simple oversights and I don't think it's entirely conspiratorial to think something more might be going on and if such a mystery is going to span multiple seasons, we should look back to S1 for the seeds.
It is possible that the unmaking of Satan has had ripple effects that explain some of these continuity changes and some of the cheeky casting of S1 actors in new roles as perhaps not entirely without in-story justification.
So in my mind, the question I have no answer to, but that might deserve some scrutiny going into Season 3 is:
How much did Satan never being Adam's father alter the timeline?
Edit: And here's one last spooky quote to consider:
“I remember when the morning stars sang together and all the angels of god shouted for joy." - Gabriel's weird prophecy / quoting of God
Why single out the reference to morning stars plural? Lucifer is very famously the Morning Star, you can't accidentally allude to morning stars in this context without referring to him, you just can't. So what the fuck is going on with this Biblically sourced quote that sort of alludes to Satan, but not by name, and makes the reference to the Morning Star plural?? And even though it is the original text, apparently, it's still a choice by the writers to really highlight the line about morning stars and give that line to Gabriel to say in the present too. Something is sus.
#good omens#good omens spoilers#good omens meta#spoilers#IMO THIS is a hidden in plain sight mystery#because Satan is a MAJOR figure in the world of this story and he's just suddenly GONE#there's TOTALLY reasonable Doylist explanations#but at least if we're looking for where the furniture used to be then Where the Heck is Satan is a reasonable question
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This isn’t a question as much as it is an agreement with your last ask (talking about how romance is both looked for and expected from IFs). I’m personally pansexual and love a good harem, but it is growing more and more evident that that is what readers/players are expecting from our stories/games. Maybe it’s a maturity issue with the fans begging for more romance options and the anger when a plot point doesn’t play out the way they want; but you also see that with grown adults in other fandoms—namely Star Wars or A Song of Ice and Fire.
I enjoy writing romance and I do write it, but that is not the only thing my stories are about. It gives me anxiety when my readers expect more than what I’ve promised. And I always gaslight myself into thinking that I should be giving them what exactly they want instead of writing for myself.
I suppose I do have a question: how do you maintain fan expectations in your IF and stay true to your vision with/without worrying about their opinions? <3
Unfortunately, there is no way to stop your audience from having expectations that don't match up with the story you want to tell or where you want to take your characters. This is a normal part of writing fiction--everyone is going to have an opinion, everyone is going to want different things, and some people are going to be disappointed when you don't follow through with the thing they imagined in their head.
And, as an author, it can be a lot to handle.
Managing feedback--whether it's criticism, wildly off the charts expectations and assumptions, hate messages, or actual constructive critique--is a skill. It takes time to learn how to manage it without feeling like you're attacked and need to go on the defensive. It can also be really hard not to sit with all of this feedback and want to change your whole story to fit your audience's demands.
There's no easy way to get used to this. I think a good starting place is to have a dedicated beta group--either your playtesters, an editor, a few trusted friends with whom you share in-development things--so you can get genuine feedback before you put it into the public eye. It's really easy for writers to isolate themselves because it's a one-person job, but you need to have people with whom you can safely share the unpublished stages. Once something gets published, it's a free-for-all and you can't control how people react to your work, positive or negative. You cannot rely on that for the kind of feedback you would get from a beta group.
Furthermore, you are not writing for one person, regardless of how many times they ask (if they want something personalized, they can commission you). A lesson that was stressed to me in grad school is how fragile a playwright's new work can be when it is in the workshop/staged reading stage. People are giving you their opinion constantly. You make changes, you make edits, you come back one day with a whole new draft of Act 2 and the actors have to adjust. It's really easy to want to make changes to the characters so they better suit the actors originating them. Sometimes actors make demands because they had an idea about the character they are playing and they were really excited about it and they come to you with questions. The fate of a play is that it will be performed multiple times by many actors, not just the first one.
My supervisor told me: "Don't write the role for the actor--their job is to play the character you wrote, not the other way around."
And I think this can be applied to IF. Be clear about the direction of your game from the beginning. If players want something that isn't part of your vision, it's OK for them to voice that--but they may also have to accept that this isn't the type of game for what they want.
At the end of the day, you need to let your audience have their opinions on your work. That doesn't mean you're obligated to listen to them.
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Seventh Year: Reconciliations Bonus Scene 7
Oh, I finally did Gabriel's POV of the thing! The thing! That scene where the breakdown happened.
Love to hear your thoughts! :)
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**
When Raphael returned sans Michael and in too little time for anything to have happened, Gabriel was simultaneously disappointed and also resigned. Of course.
“Well?” Draco demanded. It felt rude calling him by his last name after everything. “What happened?”
Raphael looked and felt a little discomfited. “He says he would like time.” She glanced at Gabriel.
“We’ve been giving him time. It’s not been doing anything,” Gabriel pointed out.
“Not long enough,” Raphael disagreed. “We had so much time, Gabriel. Time he hasn’t had.”
On the surface level…sure. He could see that. He glanced at Samael. Ne looked unconvinced.
To the side, Draco and Luna seemed like they were about to gear up to protest.
“What exactly did he say, Raphael?” Gabriel asked. “Wasn’t it you who told us he’s masking?”
“Yes, but I understand that. I went through it myself. He and I – we’re very similar.” On noticing Gabriel still expected the details, Raphael sighed, obliging him. “He said there’s no issue. Pointed out we’re very similar and that he needs time. The same time I needed. He was…reassuring.”
There was a dry laugh from Draco. He rubbed a hand over his face.
“He asked that we trust him,” Raphael continued speaking. “Trust that he knows what he’s doing.”
Gabriel let out a hiss through his teeth, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’d spent some time with Michael here now. Time trying to get him to relax and come out of his shell. Just…anything other than the damn blankness that they were dealing with.
Their own conversation had gone so well, though even then Gabriel knew he was hiding something. Whatever Michael had shown him was true enough but it wasn’t the entire truth. It couldn’t be. Not when it felt so different from his other siblings.
There’d been a glimpse of it with Samael during that disastrous conversation after his friends came here. A glimpse of something Gabriel hadn’t seen since. That exhaustion and that all-too-familiar self-blame. It was a game Gabriel was intimately familiar with.
Gabriel rolled his shoulders, then turned towards Raphael. He tucked himself in, then reached out reassuringly, warmly. “Like this, sister?”
Raphael startled, giving him a wide-eyed look. Samael didn’t look that surprised, more resigned.
“It’s going to be okay, right?” Gabriel said, smiling, keeping his tone gentle, fitting the energy of his Grace. “Hey, I got it handled.” He laughed, giving a quicksilver grin, and shifted once more, bringing out boldness. “It’s all good, yeah? There’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Gabriel—”
And he shifted once more, throwing aside the nervousness of what he was about to do. Tony sharpened his grin. “I got this.”
“This might make things worse,” Raphael cautioned.
Tony glanced at Draco and Luna, both of whom looked faintly bewildered. He gave them a reassuring smile. “Things are already fucked, Raphael. Besides, fixing things is what I do.”
He didn’t wait for a response, taking off to where Michael was. He found him standing in the forest, looking up at the sky and very carefully not feeling. Yeah, no. He landed right by Michael, taking hold of his shoulder. “So! That’s enough of that.”
Michael jolted, startled, even though there was nothing in his Grace. He was satisfyingly wide-eyed, though. He tried to twist away, but Tony held onto him tightly. “Gabriel—”
“If the next words coming out of your mouth are ‘I’m fine’ I will set your pants on fire.”
Michael narrowed his eyes, seeming to consider how serious Tony was. “I wasn’t going to.”
Tony had felt the incoming “I’m fine” coming a mile away. It was ridiculous. “And I’m the king of Asgard. Seriously. Michael.”
“What?”
“Don’t be obtuse.” It was like Samael all over again. Just…less moody. Or at least less moody in the open. “Sure, you can take all the time you want, but I don’t see how that’s actually going to help you when you keep flagellating yourself.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You think I can’t recognize it?” It wasn’t quite the same, but Tony knew what it was like. Of not being good enough, of not being enough. Of needing to leave because no one would ever listen to him and it was all broken anyway. He gave Michael a pained smile. For this to work, he was going to need to share a little. So Michael knew he wasn’t in this alone – that he wasn’t being judged or pitied. “Take it from someone who did a deep dive into identity politics because I couldn’t stand being me.”
There was no response from Michael. He was just staring at Tony, wide-eyed and still so damn blank.
“I’m not going to tell you how I did it,” Tony said, “trade secrets being what they are and all, but it happened. I get it, Michael. I also know that all the time in the world did jack shit with helping me out.” Being Loki hadn’t helped. Being the Trickster hadn’t helped. It had just shoved it down further and further – how he ran from being him. Ran from his responsibilities.
Michael huffed, something like irritation flickering across his features. “And you’re going to tell me what did?”
Tony was hit with a sudden rush of nostalgia for teenage Sam. Down to the irritated little scrunch between the eyebrows. He shrugged. “Talking did. My friends did. My family. It still took time, but it wasn’t quite so painful with company.” He didn’t look away from Michael’s eyes. “You’re not as fine as you’re telling us you are, and you’re not as fine as you think you are.”
There was a flicker there. Something like fear in Michael’s Grace, but it disappeared so quickly Tony almost missed it. But his face did something else, flinching back.
“Don’t give me that look,” Tony said, aware he was pushing but this needed to happen. “I’m just saying. Anyone who went through even half of what you did would be a mess, and you’re claiming you’re just fine? Can handle it on your own?”
Michael looked away, though it seemed to take an effort. He was as stiff as iron under Tony’s grip, trying to move but Tony wasn’t having it. Not now. If he ran now, this wasn’t going to work. Tony was done with this entire affair; he’d had it.
But it seemed like a little of it had gone through. Maybe. He still wasn’t getting anything concrete off Michael beyond the very clear air of do not want to be here.
It seemed fitting that Michael’s vessel was that of a teenager. He certainly behaved like one at times.
Even if he wasn’t one, and Tony knew why Michael was behaving like this, even if it was frustrating. He sighed. “You probably can manage it,” he acknowledged. “Muddle your way through it. It’s what you’ve done all this time, isn’t it? Alone. I’m going to say it again, and this time maybe it’ll sink through your thick skull. We’re here for you.”
“You shouldn’t have to be,” Michael said immediately.
He hadn’t expected the quick answer, not when Michael had seemed to shut down. But this seemed to be something he could use. “There’s no should about it. There’s no ‘should’ about any of this. We are.”
Michael dropped his eyes to the grass.
“What should you do?” Tony asked after a moment, since the “should” seemed to be a sticking point. If Michael thought they shouldn’t help him, then there had to be something Michael thought he should do. He’d mentioned it before back during the argument with Samael.
There was a startled, almost suspicious side-eye from Michael. He seemed to be gauging Tony’s sincerity. Considering Tony was being 100%, bona fide sincere here, Michael wasn’t going to get anything else.
After a long moment of this, Michael slowly responded. “I should protect you.” He paused, then added, “I should have protected you.”
“Okay,” Tony agreed easily. This was expected. Michael had mentioned this before. “What else?”
There was another suspicious side-eye here, like Tony was leading Michael into a trick. “I should be fine.”
Oh, this was new. This was something different. “Ah, acknowledging you’re not?”
“I am—”
“Pants. On. Fire.”
Michael thankfully did not continue that statement, which would have been a blatant lie to anyone who knew him. He also clammed up, no longer looking at Tony and instead staring off into the distance.
But it was a relief that Michael had the awareness that he wasn’t fine, even if he kept insisting he was. And maybe on some level he was really fine, but on so many other levels he wasn’t. That was the issue and that was what Tony was trying to finagle here. “There’s something else as well, isn’t there?” he asked, gentling his tone.
Predictably, there was no response. Tony waited several minutes, counting it down, before realizing Michael had said what he was going to. If there was going to be anything else, Tony would have to push a little more. He’d have to give just a bit more. “Is it… ‘I should be better than this’?”
That did get a reaction, Michael immediately looking up at him.
Tony smiled ruefully. “I’ve thought that, too,” he admitted. “There’s a lot of things I should have done differently. A lot of things I failed at because I wasn’t good enough.” He rubbed the side of his neck with his free hand, shrugging loosely. “You’re not the only one to think that, Michael. Not the first and not the last.”
“Isn’t it different?” Michael asked.
Tony didn’t ask what Michael meant by what should be different. Michael’s intention was clear in their link. They may have been angels, may have been other, but that didn’t mean they were infallible. But he didn’t want to just answer him; he wanted Michael to have his own answer. “Who says it is? Who says you should be fine or better?”
Michael tilted his head, something distant crossing his expression for a moment before he looked back at Tony. “Isn’t it expected?” He gestured vaguely between them.
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Expected? Bro, since when have I ever done what was expected of me?”
Tony didn’t need to read minds to know that Michael was thinking of answers and coming up with nothing.
“So why can’t you do the same?” Tony pressed. “Because you’re the obedient child? How well has that worked out for you?”
There was no response from Michael, but the non-answer was as good as one for him.
Tony nodded, adding, “It hasn’t worked out for any of us. So throw away ‘should,’ Michael. There’s no ‘should’ in free will. Which is a thing we have. I know I mentioned this to you before.”
“And what of our duties, Gabriel? Like it or not, there are things we can’t lightly abandon even with free will.”
Of course it came back to that. It usually did, though this was a question Gabriel had to deal with before. He nodded, then shrugged. “Yeah, sure. But we’ve got all the flexibility in figuring out how we can do those duties. I can do my job just fine here; no reason for me to go back to Heaven to stay. So there’s no reason for you to do whatever you’re doing because you think you should.”
It looked like there was a question on the tip of Michael’s tongue, but what he ended up saying instead was “I don’t know.” He turned away again.
“That’s okay,” Tony said quietly. “You don’t have to. I didn’t either. The only reason I do now is because I’ve been doing this a lot longer.”
A muscle twitched in Michael’s jaw, just about the only sign of frustration Tony could pick up from him. “You’ve had all the time in the world,” he said, no sign of that frustration in his voice. “You don’t seem quite so willing to extend me the same.” It was a very reasonable tone. One which he’d probably used on Raphael.
It would probably have worked on Gabriel before, too, but he had the experience to not believe that tone now.
Tony shot him a sharp look, poking his neck with a finger. “Oh, I know that tone. That’s the whole ‘I’m being very reasonable right now and you better listen to me’ tone.”
“I don’t – I don’t have that tone.”
“You do. It’s also the ‘I’m your big sibling and know better so trust me’ tone.”
There was a frown now, Michael’s lips twisting.
“Unfortunately for you,” Gabriel continued, “that tone stopped working on me a long time ago.”
“Did it.” Michael’s tone was bone dry.
“Oh, it did. You see, I like to be contrary. Tell me one thing, and I’ll do the opposite.”
There was a beat before Michael actually said, “Then don’t go away and don’t give me time.”
It took Gabriel several seconds to actually comprehend that Michael had really just said that, like a petulant child, before he burst into laughter. “Ha! Nice try there, buddy.” He leaned an elbow on Michael’s shoulder, pressing him down slightly. He poked Michael’s cheek. “I raised four kids and took care of multiple others. You’ve got nothing on me in terms of pulling the wool over my eyes.”
There was a rueful smile from Michael here, the smallest quirk of his lips, before it disappeared. He didn’t otherwise react.
Tony refocused, breathing slowly. “My point is,” he said firmly, “that might work on Raphael, but it sure as hell won’t work on me. I mean, sure, we can leave you on your own. Give you all the time you’re asking for and more. But what’s that going to do? Leave you to stew in your thoughts?”
“It worked before,” Michael muttered, still sounding like a petulant child.
Tony had to do his level best not to pinch Michael’s cheek, settling for slinging his arm around Michael’s shoulders and poking his cheek. Not pinching. Poking. The goal wasn’t to piss him off. Ideally he’d do this without holding onto him, but he had the strong suspicion that if he let go Michael would just up and flee and having a conversation like this while running didn’t really work. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Before sucked. Before left you alone. Before led to this mess. There are a lot of things we’re doing now, and we’re doing our best not to repeat our past mistakes.”
Michael shot him a glance before turning away. He didn’t say anything, just drawing in a slow breath. He was still, annoyingly, blank. There was nothing Tony could pick up from him.
“Hey.” Tony tugged him in closer, nagging him. “Talk to me.”
There was just a head shake.
“You were doing well before. What happened?”
Michael didn’t even shake his head, eyes fixed on the grass. It wasn’t even that he was looking at something else off in the distance; his gaze was intent. He was also ignoring Tony to the best of his ability.
Again, Tony was hit with the image of a young Sam, downcast and stubborn and terrified of being rejected. None of his other kids had ever had those moments, except for the gods, but even they’d felt comfortable talking to him.
But he’d gotten through to Sam. He could do the same with Michael.
“Michael.” He tapped Michael’s cheek, repeatedly, until he definitely had Michael’s attention. “I can be very annoying. I can be so annoying. You’re not getting out of this.”
There was an instant of stillness before Michael broke, a frisson of anger sparking through his Grace. He spun on his heel, throwing Tony’s arm off with a burst of unexpected strength. “What’s the point?”
There was a moment of almost-panic before Tony got hold of it. He was very used to pissing off people. Michael could join the ranks. “What’s the point?”
“Yes, Gabriel. What’s the point of this? What exactly is this supposed to do?”
Michael wasn’t going to hurt him. He wasn’t. Tony refocused on Michael, on what he was here to do. “The point is to get it through that you’re not alone and you don’t have to deal with things by yourself. You don’t have to bottle it up. You don’t have to hide.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. Think I can’t see it? Think I haven’t seen it on others? I don’t know what you’re hiding there, but I know it’s not anything pleasant. I know that it’s not something you should deal with alone.”
“There’s no should in free will,” Michael said, irritating the fuck out of Tony and eerily sounding exactly like a mulish teenage Sam.
Tony winced, groaning, rubbing a hand over his face. “Of course that’s what you take away from this,” he muttered into his hand. He dragged in a long breath, doing his best to quell the frustration, the grief, because that wasn’t going to be helpful here. They were back to “should.” Fine. He could use that. “Who says you should deal with it alone, Michael?”
There was no verbal response, but Michael’s Grace flickered. It wasn’t steady. Michael’s jaw clenched, and he took in a breath that seemed to steady his Grace.
Tony stepped in closer, only for Michael to take a step back. Tony didn’t take another step but instead leaned in. He wasn’t going to let this go. “Who, Michael?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Michael’s tone was flat.
“Spell it out to me like I’m five.”
Michael’s frown was confused now. “You’re not five.”
Fine, he’d give Michael that. “Irrelevant. Pretend I’m a human kid and need small words.”
Michael swallowed, pulling in another breath that steadied the tell-tale flickering of his Grace.
“No.” Tony just restrained himself from reaching out, thinking that it might actually break something. “No. You’re not hiding.”
“You don’t need to see this,” Michael ground out. “None of you do. This isn’t your responsibility. It’s not your responsibility to deal with my mess.” His Grace flickered but it wasn’t enough for Tony to pick up what Michael was hiding.
They were back to responsibility. Something else Michael had brought up to Samael. “Then this isn’t something dear old Dad told you to do, is it?” he asked softly.
“He told me to protect you,” Michael said. “He told me to protect all of you. You know how well I succeeded with that.”
“And this is protecting us?” Tony gestured to all of Michael.
“My mess is my own. It’s not yours to take on.”
“Then whose is it?” Tony waved around wildly at the trees around them. “Samael? You can’t even stay in the same room as nem. Raphael? You sent her away. Gadreel? Balthazar? Castiel? You can’t even look any of our other siblings in the eye. Just who is supposed to help you take this on?”
“No one is,” Michael snapped.
“Because it’s your weight alone?”
“Yes.”
Oh, fuck it. This was going round in circles. This was so incredibly frustrating that Tony felt bad for Michael’s friends for having had to deal with this for years on end. The even more frustrating piece was that despite Tony’s own aggravation at having to deal with Michael stonewalling, he also got it. That was even more ridiculous.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Tony dragged a hand over his face and through his hair. “Ugh, I hear you and I hear myself and I can’t believe no one punched me in the face.” He was sure Rhodey had come close to it at times. Natasha would have just stabbed him. But he couldn’t just leave this. “Michael. I know your friends wouldn’t have let you keep thinking this. They certainly reamed us out for leaving you alone.”
There was a flicker over Michael’s face now, something resignedly fond.
“It’s not a weight you should bear yourself,” Tony said, gentling his tone slightly. “None of this ever should have been. And I know…I know bridges have been burned that may not be rebuilt. I know what I’m asking you to do isn’t easy. I know that.” This wasn’t pain easy to share; this wasn’t a weight one felt comfortable sharing, not when sharing it made one vulnerable. His throat ached, and he winced, rubbing over it briefly. He didn’t meet Michael’s eyes, struggling with this next piece. He had to – had to if this was going to work. For Michael to even feel comfortable sharing with someone he saw as a little brother. “I…I was so ashamed that I had to rely on Gadreel. That because of my weakness, he had to shoulder my pain and figure out what to do.”
A flicker ran through Michael’s Grace, something darkening it. “That wasn’t…that wasn’t your fault.”
Tony smiled weakly. “Maybe not. My choices led me to that position, and I’d do it again. I would.” That scar still ached, partly phantom, partly actual pain. He rubbed over his throat once more before dropping his hand.
“I wouldn’t.” Michael looked slightly startled at the admission.
Tony’s next smile was a little wry. “But you can’t go back. You can’t go back, can’t change what happened, so what’s the point? You – Michael – everything that happened, it wasn’t just you. I made my choices. Samael made nir own. And Raphael made her bed and lay down in it. We all did. What happened wasn’t just on you. It’s not just your weight, and even if it were, let us share it with you.” Tony extended a hand. “Let me share it. No one else is here; no one else is looking. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? The others watching? Judging? They won’t; they can’t. It’s just us. And, Michael, I’m not. I’ve been there. I get it. I really, really do.” He’d tried to make that clear; he didn’t know how much clearer he could make it. “And if I have to keep you here until it gets through your damn head, I will keep you here because it’s gone on long enough.”
There was no response for a long moment, but Michael wasn’t shutting down. He was studying Tony intently, likely once more gauging his sincerity. It was all he was going to find.
Tony didn’t move, keeping his hand outstretched in that figurative and literal offer to help. He just hoped Michael was going to take it because he was almost out of ideas at this point beyond chucking Samael at his head to see if something blew up.
“And if it’s my choice not to?” Michael asked eventually, quiet. “Would you take that from me?”
Oh, that sucked. Tony twisted his mouth, pulling back slightly. Michael’s face was still unreadable, as was his Grace.
This was the awful piece for free will. That while he could disagree with someone else’s choice, that was still their choice to make. Even if it was a fucking stupid one.
Tony considered his options here, what to say that wouldn’t give Michael a clear out. “If you can tell me honestly, openly, that you’re choosing it because you absolutely want to, and not because you think you should. Only then, Michael.”
Michael wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of that quite so easily as with English. It was the last card he had to play here.
And it seemed to make Michael stop, something else flickering over his face and his Grace. He swallowed, his next breath shaky and loud to Tony’s ears.
“Can you?” Tony asked.
Michael seemed mute, staring blankly at him. There was something else about him now, something that was almost difficult to pin down but seemed…heavy. It was an unbearably long moment later when Michael shook his head.
Oh, thank the universe. He relaxed slightly, stepping closer, relieved when Michael stayed in place. “I’m here, sibling.”
“You don’t want to be,” Michael whispered. “I don’t.”
Wasn’t that a familiar sentiment? Not wanting to be stuck in his own skin – his own Grace? But for all they could jump vessels, they couldn’t stop being themselves. Not really. Gabriel gave Michael a wry smile. “No one can make me do anything I don’t want to. You certainly never could, no matter how much you tried. I’m here because I want to be.”
Michael didn’t respond, but Gabriel hadn’t expected one. He also didn’t move, which was another positive. He hadn’t looked away from Gabriel. That heavy sensation was still around him, just…lingering.
“Trust me,” Gabriel said, half-pleading. He extended his hand once more. “Trust me as your equal.” He wasn’t Samael; he wasn’t even Raphael. He had to hope that just being him would be enough.
Michael didn’t take his hand, but something else shifted as he breathed, his attention moving from Gabriel to something else – something inside him.
There was no physical movement, but they didn’t need to move to see each other. And Michael’s Grace – his true form – was motionless, no change but for something that had Gabriel on the edge because he could tell he was trying.
Tension seeped into Michael, his vessel’s shoulders tightening and his breathing quickening.
“Relax,” Gabriel murmured, keeping his tone as calm and gentle as he could. They had time for this. This wasn’t going to happen quickly, not if Michael had kept himself this tightly controlled for so long. “It’s okay. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Take your time.”
Michael’s next breath was shaky, sharp grief hitting Gabriel with all the force of a spaceship. It was there for a moment before disappearing, Michael hiding it, but there was panic now, too.
“It’s okay.” Gabriel kept his voice calm, soothing. “I’m here. You can let it out.” He didn’t physically reach out but did send reassurance towards Michael, hoping it would help.
Michael’s flinch was both physical and with his Grace. He reeled back from Gabriel, still panicky, wildly uncontrolled in a way Gabriel had never seen before. And yet, in that brief touch, Gabriel knew it wasn’t something he deserved, it wasn’t okay, why did he need that?
Gabriel stepped in closer, reaching out to try and steady Michael, but Michael took another step back, and this seemed instinctive, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
There was a dull burst of aching pain that hit Gabriel in the chest. He winced, his own Grace aching in sympathetic pain. He couldn’t even fully tell what it was, only there was grief there, before it was gone as Michael clearly attempted to pull it back.
“It’s okay, Michael,” Gabriel murmured, though he wasn’t sure how much Michael was registering or even processing right now. But he could at least make this as reassuring as possible, make sure Michael knew he wasn’t alone. “You’re not alone; I’m here. Let it out; you’re doing great. You’re doing so great.”
He thought he was better prepared this time for reaching out to reassure Michael, but the gut-wrenching grief, loathing, disgust, disappointment that hit him left him almost gasping. And there was more. There was so much more that hadn’t yet come out yet and the grass was browning at Michael’s feet and the earth cracking ominously, the trees shaking and groaning as their bark split.
Asgard was not going to make it if this continued. The only reason Gabriel was still as fine as he was could be attributed to his new position.
Gabriel reached out again, this time to gently take hold of Michael so they could leave Asgard. He met instant resistance (too gentle, too gentle, not for him), Michael flailing and struggling and it was only because Gabriel technically didn’t need to fly anymore that they even made it off Asgard to begin with before he lost his grip and Michael crash-landed on a planet.
Well, he wasn’t about to hurt Michael and with how Michael had struggled, he would have needed to hurt him to restrain him.
Gabriel landed a split-second after Michael did and was hit with blazing anger that felt like a Wolf-Rayet star at its hottest, barely bracing through it before he was choking on acidic and sharp guilt.
It wasn’t anger at others. It was anger at himself, and that was terrifying.
Michael didn’t think he deserved gentleness. He didn’t think he deserved sympathy. He thought he deserved the pain.
And that – that was – no. Fuck it, Gabriel muttered. You’re going to like this and take this.
He reached out again, making sure to keep it as gentle as possible because Michael did deserve that, and this time he held on tightly and didn’t let go. He pulled Michael into him, hugging him physically and wrapping himself around his Grace.
The exhaustion was next, so unbearably heavy and awful that Gabriel really did just feel like lying down and not getting up. He could scarcely find the energy to breathe for air, though that wasn’t altogether bad considering how awful this planet’s air was. It didn’t disappear, magnified by feelings of utter helplessness and hopelessness that he was worthless, wrong, it was all because of him.
The earth around him cracked, but Gabriel wrapped himself around Michael further, making sure it wouldn’t affect the planet. He buffeted the anguished energy from Michael’s Grace, breathing through the slight sparks of pain in his own as the heat scorched him; it was far more bearable than it had been before, and this was manageable.
At least Michael wasn’t pulling away anymore. He was holding Gabriel back tightly, burrowing into his Grace and thankfully no longer rejecting the reassurance. His vessel had also gotten the memo, arms wrapped around Gabriel’s stomach.
The exhaustion still soaked into Gabriel and he had trouble seeing how Michael even had the energy for anything with that always dragging him down. The self-loathing, though… Yeah, that tracked; it was more familiar.
Thankfully that was the last of it. The grief, self-loathing, anger, guilt, disappointment, exhaustion… There wasn’t anything else that came out from behind the discarded mask.
Michael still didn’t seem to entirely have awareness of where he was or who he was with, just clinging and shuddering. It was almost frightening, but Gabriel had asked for this and this was what he wanted. He just stayed still, holding onto him.
A volcano erupted in the distance, the earth rumbling beneath their bodies in a pattern that was solely the planet’s. He was not going to get the stench of sulfur out of his clothing anytime soon unless he cheated.
There was another eruption closer to them and a minor earthquake before Michael jolted back into proper awareness, shuddering and whining in the back of his throat. He was panicking now, Grace writhing against Gabriel’s (too much, too much, hide it).
Hush, Gabriel said quietly, not letting him go. Breathe. It had worked well enough for Michael before. Focus on that.
Michael did breathe, though he struggled and choked on the toxic air of the planet. He didn’t quite seem to have the fine control necessary to breathe and heal the damage to his lungs so clearly gave up and just held his vessel in stasis. He felt vaguely reproachful.
Yeah, that was definitely Gabriel’s bad. Sorry. Not my first choice but you didn’t give me a whole lot of options.
Michael didn’t respond, but Gabriel wasn’t surprised given the level of exhaustion he was still picking up off Michael. But he was so much more open, everything clear for Gabriel to read if he wanted. And like this, pressed close, it wasn’t even an option. It just was.
And the protest from Michael was as clear as day.
Gabriel laughed, then regretted it when the air scraped against his own throat and lungs. Hey, I was all for taking you somewhere else but you ejected early. So…here’s where we’re at.
Michael didn’t physically move but Gabriel could feel him evaluating their surroundings.
He rubbed a hand over Michael’s back, watching the dust wipe off the black fabric of the robes he continued to wear. He did the same with Michael’s Grace, though Michael shrank back from that, radiating shame and guilt.
No, they weren’t going to deal with that. Hey. Look at me. Do you see any pity?
Michael had a similar connection with Gabriel’s Grace given how they were pressed together. He would definitely notice pity, and that was the last thing Gabriel felt for him. There was no pity.
There was a silent negative from Michael, along with a cut off but that Gabriel knew the rest to.
You deserve this, Gabriel said flatly, firm. Get that out of your head. You do.
Michael’s response was to pull back. He didn’t let go of Gabriel, but his Grace withdrew slightly. He seemed to be trying to regain some of the stability he’d shed, though it wasn’t quite working.
Gabriel could feel him shaking where he was lying in his lap. He rubbed over Michael’s back again. You don’t have to hide, he said reassuringly. Not from me. I’ve already seen it all, and I don’t care. Wait, he might take that the wrong way. Well, I do care, but I don’t care that you’re feeling that way. No, shit. No, I do, but not in a way that’s bad. I mean that it’s okay for you to feel that way and I don’t care if you show it. Michael wasn’t laughing but he seemed close to it. Hey, stop laughing!
The sense of laughter didn’t fade, the amusement warm and fond.
It was catching, Gabriel laughing now despite the earlier experience with this planet’s air. Stop it. You know what I mean. There’s no need to hide here. Not from me.
He only knew Michael heard him because of how he no longer attempted to shy away from Gabriel. He just lay there, letting Gabriel hold him.
Which was great. Gabriel didn’t want to disturb him, but this was the wrong sort of planet for something like this. He did let it be for now, until the constant erupting of volcanoes was all he could hear and would likely continue to hear for the foreseeable future. C’mon. Let me take you somewhere better.
It took a while for any kind of answer from Michael, but eventually he had one, and Gabriel shifted them to the planet he’d selected. It was nice and verdant, moist and rich. The sound of water bubbling filled the background, which was nice compared to the last planet.
Gabriel rubbed over Michael’s shoulders. “Try breathing now. Should be decidedly less toxic.”
It took a minute before Michael did start breathing, restarting his body’s biological processes. He otherwise didn’t move, just breathing and existing.
It wasn’t quite so terrifying anymore, seeing Michael like this. It was almost a relief, because this seemed more like Michael than he’d ever been before. And Gabriel wanted him to stay like this, open and not closed off and hurting.
Maybe he could be.
There were a lot of things that seemed possible now.
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A Vow of Blood
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….
Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.
However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.
This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?
After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love.
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.
Chapter 4: The Arrival
AO3 - Masterlist
King’s Landing had become unfamiliar in the years she had been away.
The city itself hadn’t changed all that much. Life, it would seem, to the small folk remained the same. Or perhaps she just didn’t recognize the changes they’d all face, sitting on her high horse in her fine jewels and silks. But the hustle and bustle of the city was the same. Merchants trying to sell their wares, workers moving to and fro, children playing in the streets. And there, deeper and lower, were the beggars and orphans. All fighting to stay alive.
“Are you sure of this, my Lady?” Ser Fenrick questioned once more. He had asked at every turn, from the port on Dragonstone and all the way over the seas to King’s Landing. Her sworn sword sat heavy in his armor, eyes flickering through the crowd for enemies and dangers.
“I am,” Daenera answered once more. The answer to the question remained the same.
“Your mother could have sent for more Maesters.”
“And it would not change a thing. The Maesters can do little to make things grow on Dragonstone. The environment is too harsh and changing. If I am to continue my studies I’d need to actually get my hands dirty.” Maesters could only do so much with books and drawings. If she were to really learn it, she’d have to go where things could grow. Besides, it wasn’t the only reason for her return.
“Your mother wished for you to stay,” Ser Fenrick pointed out, as if it’d change the answer.
“My mother understands my decision.”
In truth, Princess Rhaenyra hadn’t been happy when Daenera broached the subject of returning to King’s Landing. In fact, she was very opposed to it. ‘A den of Vipers’ was what she had called it, ‘Few and far between those who could be trusted’. She hadn’t liked the idea of her daughter returning to the capital with no one to protect her. It had been Daemon that had convinced her in the end.
Her and Daemon had agreed that it would be her that went back. Jacaerys was the next in line to the throne after their mother and Luke was too young to go on his own.
So it was Daenera who went back with the mission of strengthening her mothers claim.
“I should think King Viserys will be happy to see me,” Daenera said. “I am his favorite after all.”
Fenrick didn’t accept the change of subject. “Your return will draw much attention.”
“I’m aware.”
They rode through the city in silence, watching a mere glimpse of the small folks’ lives. Daenera often wondered whether their lives were easier, but then she’d think of all the poor people toiling at work, trying to make ends meet. The struggles may be different, but they struggled all the same.
Still, she quite liked the chaos of the city, even if the smell was absolutely terrible.
They rode through the gates of the Red Keep, riding into one of the smaller courtyards. The walls of the Keep remained red, hence the name. And its towers still stood tall and true. Why she should think it was any different, she didn’t know. The courtyard felt smaller though.
She felt eyes prickle over her skin and she straightened her spine and held her head high. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of white, like moonlight given life. He moved with agility and speed, avoiding the blade with ease, stepping aside to thrust his own blade back at his opponent. Steel met steel, the sound ricocheting through the courtyard, bouncing off the walls.
Her uncle beat his opponent's sword out of his hands, pressing the tip of the blade to his throat, the man yelding with his hands up and breath quick on his lips. It was then that Aemond’s eye met hers. She felt it slide along her skin like a blade, threatening to sink into her flesh and draw blood.
Daenera turned her attention back on the doors to the Keep and the young queen that had graciously awaited her arrival.
Fenrick was the first one down from horseback, the sworn sword coming up to the reins of Daenera’s horse and taking them as Daenera stepped down from it, her deep purple dress falling heavy around her feet, slightly wrinkled from the time spent on horseback. It was one of her finer dresses, though modest. Her return would cause enough stir and it would have been quite the talk had she arrived in trousers.
Daenera felt the queen's eyes follow her as she approached.
“Princess Daenera, welcome back. I do hope the journey wasn’t too rough on you,” Alicent greeted. “One should think there were many oceans between us and Dragonstone.”
The snide comment didn’t go unnoticed, but it would go unmet. “The journey has been long, your grace, but I found comfort in the thought of returning home.”
Daenera remembered the day they had fled the queens ire and the rumors nipping at their heels. Alicent remained as beautiful as she was then. A shame, Daenera had hoped that the blatant resentment in the queen's heart had poisoned her appearance.
Beauty was always a great weapon.
One she did not wield herself.
“You will find much has changed since you were here last.” The smile on Alicent’s lips didn’t reach her eyes. They were distrustful, uncertain of the princesses intention.
“That tends to happen with the passage of time, your grace.”
“I assume your mother is in good health? And your brothers?” Alicent questioned. The two of them walked into the Keep.
“Yes, my queen,” Daenera answered though her attention was drawn to the changes made in the keep. Most of the Targaryen house symbols and sigils were gone, replaced with religious memorabilia of the Seven Pointed Star. She schooled her expression and swallowed the distaste, feeling the eyes of the Red Keep on her. “She is with child again.”
“What a blessing,” Alicent crooned, though Daenera didn’t believe it. If it stood to the queen, all of Rhaenyra’s heirs would be dead. It would lessen her claim to the throne. Those thoughts would never be spoken though, like so much else.
“May I ask what brings you back from Dragonstone?”
“My studies, your grace. As you can imagine, Dragonstone is a hostile environment. King’s Landing is more agreeable when it comes to plants,” Daenera said, using the prescribed answer she had come up with. It wouldn’t be in her best interest to outright say that she was here to keep an eye on her and the king. “And if I’m being honest, I missed the Keep and my grandsire. He has begged by return for years.”
The queen’s smile got tight. “Yes, the King has always had a soft spot for you, princess.”
“I thought the King may have taken time to welcome me back himself,” Daenera ventured. “I suppose he’s too busy.”
They had stopped on the stairs, the queen a few steps above her, looking down on her. She was the pillar of proprietary, hands clasped in front of her, a righteous look in her eyes and the green modest dress on her form, ordained by a golden, seven pointed star.
“Do not take offense to his absence, princess. The King has not been of good health as of late and he is resting.” The excuse was weak but true enough. Viserys had been ill for some time now, some days were better than others. Daenera kept her expression schooled. “You must be tired from the long journey.”
Now, it was Daenera who got a tightlipped smile. “Yes, a bath and some rest would do me good.”
“Talya,” the queen voiced, bringing forth a rather pretty lady-in-waiting with red hair and sharp features. She bowed respectfully. “Please show the princess to her chambers and make sure she’s well taken care of.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Daenera followed Lady Talya towards what would become Daenera’s private quarters. Behind her were Joyce, Jelissa and Ser Fenrick. The Seven Pointed Star of The Faith was everywhere they turned, edged into stone, replacing the three headed dragon of House Targaryen. Most of the wall hangings had also been replaced, the once sexual tapestries now a bland mirage of forestry. Daenera found it distasteful if not outright disrespectful. It was as if the Hightowers had tried to erase the Targaryen claim to the throne. She severely doubted it was Viserys doing.
Hightower cunts.
Eyes seemed to follow her through the halls as the nobility realized who she was. Daenera took it in strides, a mask of indifference and politeness upon her face as she nodded to them, pretending not to know what they were thinking.
The Hightowers had been surrounding themselves with their people it would seem, and had let their tales spread like an infection through the halls.
By the time she reached her quarters the whole castle was bustling with her arrival. Hushed whispers spoken in shadows, ripping up old rumors to blow dust from them and speak to them anew.
It was those rumors that had made them flee King’s Landing in the first place.
They entered her new quarters. Daenera looked it over with a skeptical eye. The apartment was made of a large sitting area, with the bedroom connected to the right side. The rooms were big and finely decorated, sufficient.
“I will have the maids bring water for the tub, my Lady,” Talya spoke politely.
Daenera smiled. “Thank you.”
“I will also assign some maids to you.”
“That won't be necessary. I’ve brought my own maids Joyce and Jelissa.”
“As you wish.” Talya left the princesses chambers with new information to sell, the door clicking shut behind her.
Daenera breathed a sigh of relief, rolling her neck and rubbing her fingers against her temples, letting go of the mask of politeness and respectfulness.
Fenrick stood by the door, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, looking at the princess with slight concern. “If you’re already exhausted from pretending then perhaps returning was the wrong decision.”
“I’m exhausted from the travels and the ugly seven pointed star everywhere,” Daenera complained, glaring at the small round window that held the star within it. She felt as if she were in the sept and the gods were staring down at her in judgment. They could stare all they wanted.
“The queen honored you with her welcome,” Jelissa said, beginning to unpack one of the huge trunks that had been brought to her chambers, plucking one dress after another from its depths.
“The queen wanted to size the princess up,” Joyce told her younger pupil, the older maid coming up to Daenera to brush her hair away from her shoulders as she began to unlace her dress. “Did you notice what they did to the Keep? It’s nothing but disrespectful.”
“They’re honoring the Faith,” Jelissa countered.
“The Hightowers are erasing everything Targaryen as if their children are Hightowers only,” Joyce raged, pulling the strings loose.
“Be careful,” Fenrick warned. “There are spiders everywhere in the Keep.”
As if to underline his warning the doors opened to let a string of maids in, each one carrying a bucket of hot water, pouring it into the tub standing in front of the fire, seam rising into the air. Daeneras' company fell silent while the maids poured the water.
When they left again it was Daenera who spoke up. “We must be careful of our words. We never know who might listen and as we are now, we are surrounded by vipers waiting to strike.”
“Yes, my Lady,” her company agreed.
Daenera wiggled out of the dress, standing only in her bodice and underdress. Fenrick averted his eyes, staring straight into the room while Joyce helped remove the rest of Daeneras' clothing. Red lines were drawn across her pale skin, marking out where her bodice had pressed in on her. She went to the tub, fingers skimming the hot water, her thoughts turning in her head. “When you move around in the Keep I want you to gather as much information as you can without drawing attention to yourselves. Make friends and connections. And if something happens with the King I wish to know.”
They all agreed.
“You may leave,” Daenera dismissed.
Her room fell silent as her company left. Fenrick stood guard outside the door.
Daenera had often thought how utterly boring the job must be. Most of the time they just stood and stared. How they managed not to go insane she didn’t know. She herself would lose her mind out of boredom.
With a sigh Daenera stepped into the warm waters, letting the heat prickle at her skin reddening it. She sank beneath the surface all the way to her chin, inhaling the lavender and rosemary scent, finding it far better than the smell of horse that clung to her skin. The journey hadn’t been that long. Dragonstone wasn't far from King’s Landing, but Daenera didn’t care much for traveling the sea. It wasn’t because she became greensick like her brother Luke did the moment he stepped onto a boat, the future fleet commander utterly cursed in that regard, it was the boredom of being stuck that bothered her. And perhaps Luke could command the fleet from dragonback instead.
Daenera scrubbed her skin clean and washed her hair twice to get the smell of horse out of it before oiling it. Her lithe fingers ran through her dark curls, the very thing that started the whole fuss about her parentage. She was aware, of course, of why she looked nothing like her Father Laenor Velaryon.
Daenera frowned at the memories her return brought up. Memories she thought best buried. But nothing ever stayed buried, unfortunately, and she’d have to contend with the fact that time may have changed but the rumors would persist.
The princess got up from the water and wrapped herself in a robe, hair dripping down her back as she headed towards the balcony, opening the doors to let in some fresh air. She looked down over the courtyard, watched Prince Aemond move as he continued his sword lessons with none other than Ser Criston Cole. Daenera made a face. How he still managed to have a position in the Kingsguard was beyond her understanding.
No, not beyond it, she understood very much why he still had his position, she just didn’t understand why Vierserys allowed it. The queen's favor should only reach so far. And with a man who murdered someone at a royal wedding's welcome feast should have been punished. And again when he continued to disrespect the children of the crown princess.
Her eyes turned to Aemond again. Daenera hadn’t seen him since that night when he stole Vhagar and lost an eye.
As if sensing her eyes on him, Aemond turned his face towards her, their eyes catching once more. Daenera didn’t school the distaste on her face and was of half a mind to roll her eyes. Aemond smirked at her.
He was going to be a thorn in her side, she just knew it.
Daenera turned and headed towards the bed.
The heavy skirt of her cornflower blue dress swished as she walked up the steps of the Red Keep, heading towards the Kings Chambers. She had specifically chosen the dress for its complement to her eyes and the memory of Viserys telling her that blue suited her.
This was her armor for the day.
Her heels clicked over the stone as she made her way through the Keep and towards the King's chambers, her spine straight and head held high. Behind her followed Fenrick, his armor clanking as he walked.
The last few days the queen had dismissed her before she was able to seek an audience with the King. She would not allow it any longer. The King had sent for her after all. He’d want to see her.
So, she had sent out Jelissa to keep an eye on the King’s Chambers and the queens movement. Word had come not half through the morning that the queen had left his chambers and the king within. Daenera took her chance then. If she had to scheme and sneak around to see the king then she would do just that.
“Lord Commander, I wish to see the King,” Daenera said, armed with a kind smile on her face.
“The queen has just left the King's side, princess,” Ser Harrold Westerling told her.
“Does the queen need to be present when I visit the King, Ser Harrold?”
Behind his battle worn exterior the lord commander smiled. “No, princess.”
Ser Harrold knocked on the wooden door before opening it for the princess, who smiled appreciatively at him as she passed, walking into the King's chamber to find the King sitting in a chair propped up on pillows, a thick blanket wrapped around his lower half. Daenera felt her heart sink at the sight of her grandsire, finding that age had come at him hard and unforgiving. He had lost much of his hair, having only a few brittle strings of it left. At his side sat a young stone mason, carving details into a stone figure as the King told him about the building being made, voice low and rumbling with age. Viserys one good eye lifted from his stone map of old Valyria to his grandchild, lightning up at the sight.
“Daenera,” he greeted as loudly as he could.
Daenera hid her pity and concern beneath a smile. She would not show him anything else than what he deserved. “Grandsire!”
Her feet hurried over the floor, dress swissing around her feet, dark curls tumbling over her shoulders as she leaned down to press a kiss on the King's cheek. He smelled of old age and the illness that was slowly killing him. He had lost his left arm years ago, even before the incident that made them flee to Dragonstone, the sleeve empty.
And from the look of it, an infection had taken the sight of one of his eyes, the skin beneath it hollowed out and irritated. Daenera wondered how she’d tell her mother about how bad it had gotten.
“It is so good to see you, my sweetling,” the King said, waving away the stone mason. Viserys tried to stand, his knees buckling and his breath alluding him as he forced himself to his feet. Daenera was quick to wrap an arm around him, supporting him as they made their way towards more comfortable seats in front of the fire. “Have you brought your mother and siblings with you?”
“No, unfortunately not, my king,” Daenera answered softly, trying to lessen the blow. “I hope I do not disappoint you, your grace.”
“You could never disappoint me, Daenera,” Viseryes told her, pinching the apple of her cheek as she wrapped the blanket around his legs once more. “I just wish we could all be together.”
“Perhaps soon we will,” Daenera said.
“How are my daughter and brothers?” Viserys asked. Daenera sat down in the chair opposite him, finding the seat uncomfortably hard. Her hand reached for her grandsires, holding his thin and bony hand, cold with age despite the warmth of the room.
“They are good, your grace. My mother is pregnant with her and Daemon’s second child. I’m sad to miss the birth of my sibling but I suppose that is the price to pay if I wish to further my education,” Daenera said. In truth her education came second as to why she was here. Her concern for the King and what was happening in King's Landing was the main reason for her presence.
“You’re still buried in books and plants?” Viserys smiled.
“Yes. Dragonstone is a fine place but there’s not a lot of… green.” In the regard for nature it was bad, but it was a blessed place to avoid the Hightowers. “And of course I missed my grandsire.”
“You’re too kind. I fear I’m not much these days,” the king said sadly.
Daenera squeezed his hand as much as she dared. “And yet it is enough. You’re still the King and you are blood. I could not wish for a greater grandsire than you.”
“Flatter will get you far,” Viserys chuckled. “And how’s my other grandchildren?”
“Jacaerys is as hot-tempered as ever, I hope age will teach him to control it. He is a fine swordsman and dragonrider. You’ll find that he’s very educated in most subjects but he’s having trouble with Valyrian. And Lucerys follows his big brother around like a puppy. I’ve never seen anyone with as great of a love for their brother as him… well, perhaps between you and Daemon.”
“Is Luceryes as big of a pain in the ass for his big brother as Daemon has been in mine?”
Daenera tried and failed to hold back a laugh. “No, not yet. He’s still in the obey every word age, mayhaps when he’s older.”
“I hope not.”
“Joffrey is still very young. Growing every day,” Daenera finished.
They sat in content silence for a while before Daenera decided to break it with an inquiry about the changes to the Keep and by extension who was making the decisions. She had a feeling she already knew but the answer was still as cutting as it would have been had she not expected it.
“Ah, Alicent and Otto are the ones taking care of such matters. I’m not particularly fond of the changes, but it honors the Faith and keeps the peace.”
“You can honor the Faith and still keep some of the house symbols, your grace,” Daenera said. She knew Viseryes would avoid conflict at most cost, but she would never understand why he let the Hightowers run rampant and desecrate everything Targaryen as if he wasn’t still king. It was disrespectful. Daenera was about to press further when the door opened and the Queen swept in, her brown locks waving down her back, crown jutting from the curls, eyes finding the princess immediately and narrowing a little. Daenera got up and bowed as customary. If it wouldn’t have consequences she’d have remained seated, but alas her mother had raised her well.
“How nice to see you again, Princess Daenera,” the queen greeted, coming up to the side of her lord husband, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her green dress gleamed in the light from the fire. Daenera wished for the flames to lick a little closer to the dress.
“You as well, your grace.”
“I think we should hold a feast for the princesses return to King's Landing, don’t you think, Alicent?” The King asked, his frail hand reaching to pat Alicent’s hand on his shoulder. She withdrew it immediately, clasping her hands together in front of her.
“A feast is a big affair, my king. It would take time to prepare and it would cost-,”
“I think it’s worth it for my granddaughter's return. We would have held one upon your arrival, had we known you’d have come sooner,” the king cut her off.
Daenera pressed her lips together. They had known of her return for a fortnight. It was plenty of time to not only prepare her a proper welcome with lords and ladies present but also with the king, it would also have been enough time to prepare a feast. The queen's lips had turned into a line having been cornered. Would she refuse it would be perceived as an insult.
“Of course, your grace.” Alicent looked anything but happy, which pleased Daenera immensely. Alicent schooled her expression and stepped forward, reaching out to take Daeneras’ hand in hers. “Forgive us for our unpreparedness. We will hold a feast in your honor.”
“I understand, running the kingdom is a grand task that requires great attention.”
“Thank you for your understanding, princess, and I hope you will understand that I need to speak with the king about private matters.”
“Of course,” Daenera smiled sharply. It was a pretty way of throwing her out of the King's chambers. Daenera passed the queen and knelt down in front of the King, taking his frail hand in hers, trying to pass some of her warmth onto him. Their eyes met and Viseryes gave her an apologetic look that Daenera dismissed with a quirk of her lips and an understanding nod. She kissed the king on his cheek before rising. “I will come visit you soon, my king.”
“I will look forward to it, Daenera.”
Daenera gave one final bow before exiting the chambers. Fenrick fell into step behind her, though she didn’t not hear the clanking of his armor, her mind elsewhere. How was she going to tell her mother how bad it had gotten? She doubted her letters would leave unread by others. And how do you tell the daughter that her father was ailing and in pain, overrun by Hightowers and powerseekers. She feared for the king and his health. Most of all she feared the time when Viserys would pass.
“Joyce has confirmed that Lord Caswell will take lunch in one of the groves of the garden at noon.”
A small smile formed on Daenera’s lips. “Perfect.”
Daenera decided to head to the library in the meantime.
The smell of dust and old books were familiar to her, having spent a lot of her childhood buried in books, soaking up all that she could while her brothers trained with their dragons. Of course, she had also had dragon training. But there wasn’t much improvement nor need if one did not have a dragon. So instead, Daenera found fulfillment elsewhere.
The book she plucked from the shelves were of dark binding, with golden but crackled writing on the front. It was one of the old tales about a prince and a princess at odds, a tale of treachery and betrayal, of love and honor. Contented with her pick she headed towards the small sitting area by the fire, sinking into one of the chairs, fingers flipping to the first page.
“Why have you come back?” Aemond’s smoothe voice interrupted Daenera’s concentration, though her eyes never moved from the page. She hadn’t expected him to approach her. Out of the corner of her eye, above the focus on the pages, she saw him move in front of her, back to the fireplace, a pillar of cold shadows.
“Nice to see you too, uncle,” Daenera acknowledged, voice light and unbothered.
“Why have you come back?”
Daenera sighed, finally laying eyes upon him, noting the intense glare in his eye, lips sharp and set in a cold smirk, that left little to interpretation. He didn’t want her here. “Would you believe me if I said I missed King’s Landing?”
“No.”
Her head tilted to the side, a bothered and thoughtful expression upon her face. “I came back to further my studies in herbal medicine and such.”
His eye darted across her features, like a knife seeking purchase. It slid along her skin, threatening to draw blood. Daenera let him glare.
“Liar,” he hummed.
“Oh, I’m a liar now, am I?” Daenera responded to the accurate accusation. “Tell me then, why else would I be back? To bother you specifically? Or are you implying some other nefarious reason?”
“You should go back to Dragonstone. You’re not welcome nor wanted here,” Aemond disclosed shortly.
Daenera rolled her eyes, lifting the book back into position in front of her, to continue reading from where she left off. “Hmm… It seems that the King quite enjoys my presence, and he is the only one that matters is he not?”
Aemond stepped closer to her, snapping the book right out of her hands, her eyes widening in surprise at the sudden incursion. He held the book out of her reach, one hand on the tall back of the chair, back curved as he half leaned over her. His hair of pure moonlight fell smoothly over his shoulders, a stark contrast to her own dark, common locks. “Why are you really here?”
Daenera glared up at him, eyes as sharp as his own. He didn’t believe her lie about her education, which wasn’t as surprising as it was annoying. Alicent might not have believed it either, but she at least knew how impolite and disrespectful it was to flat out question her like this.
“What would you like my answer to be, since all of the option’s I’ve provided do not seem to hit the mark? Would you like me to admit I’m here to find a husband? That my mother doesn’t hold court on Dragonstone and has therefore made it impossible for me to do so? That King’s Landing provides a much better place in my search? Is that honest enough for you?”
It wasn’t a lie. Not only had she come in search of allies and to keep an eye on the Hightowers, she came to find a husband. They had gotten many a letter the day she came of age, asking for her hand in marriage, but her mother had kept the hounds at bay. Coming back to King’s Landing in search of a husband created the perfect cover and with the addition of her wishing to further her studies, no one could really question her reasoning. No one, but Aemond apparently.
“Hm…” Aemond hummed, releasing the back of her chair to stretch to his full hight again. He gave her a once over, then turned and walked away, heading to the doors.
“My book,” Daenera chided.
Aemond didn’t look back at her, he simply held the book up, waving it in the air before releasing his grip, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud and then he was gone. It was such a childish and petty move that Daenera couldn’t help but stare a burning hole into the space he had preoccupied mere moments before.
It was Fenrick who picked up the book, a thick brow raised in question. Daenera just shook her head, waving his question off.
#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#prince aemond#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#A Vow of Blood
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Argh my Tumblr Peeps🏴☠️🦜 Today I have a treat for you😃👍I just have been requested to work on Captain Hook from Peter Pan🦜🏴☠️😁👍Since I'm open to try writing about Disney characters anyways, Captain Hook will be the 1st Disney character I will be writing about🦜🏴☠️😁👍And there will be smut in this particular fanfic🏴☠️🦜😁👍 So enjoy🦜🏴☠️😁👍Argh🦜🏴☠️🦜🏴☠️🦜🏴☠️
💎🦪💰You Are Captain Hook's Most Favorite Gem, Sea Pearl, And Treasure, In The Whole World💰🦪💎(Captain Hook x Female Reader)
Genres: Smut (And a brief mention of pregnancy in the end) (Warning +18⚠️: sexual contact (that includes cream pies, fingering,oral sex (female receiving and Hook recieving), breast kink(s), dirty talk, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, and Dom! (Hook is Dom!)) nudity, and Language)
Eversince the day Captain Hook met you, you became part of his pirate crew and you pretty much fell in love with him after you heard of him (which was sometime before he met you). Before meeting Captain Hook, you had a roommate who made you do everything she told you to do. You felt there was no escape, until that very day Captain Hook invaded your village. Once you saw him through your window, you finally realized that you can finally get out of the life, your roommate forced you to feel obligated to do for all those years you lived with her.
Once you decided to make your escape, you ran outside of your roommate's house, to catch up to Captain Hook. After both you spoke to him, you explained that he is your idol, why you feel you would be a great pirate crew member to him, why you wanted to join his crew, and why you wanted to leave your village to come with him. He felt bad and was angered about the treatment your roommate gave you, so he accepted your plead to take you with him. Before your roommate (who is no longer your roommate) was able to make an attempt to demand for you to get back in her house, you were willingly gone with Captain Hook.
Your life was so much better after joining Captain Hook's crew, as if it was the best decision of your life. Captain Hook, also has a soft spot for you, so he is much nicer to you than he is anyone else. You're just his favorite person, ever.
One night, you decided to visit Captain Hook's room to (office or room since his office might be his room), to check on him, considering he has been stressed, depressed, frustrated, and beside himself due to his, your, and the rest of his crew's most recent defeat against his arch nemesis, Peter Pan. You felt sad for him that he hasn't felt like his self, as of late. You will do anything to makesure he is his usual self, again.
When you entered Captain Hook's (office or room), as you expected, he was trying to cry himself to sleep, as he has been having a hard time sleeping. You then went up to Captain Hook to massage shoulders, as you then ask him, "What's been troubling you, Captain Hook? Is there something I can help you with?". He then vented his frustrations, as he said, "Well, (Female Reader Name)... I tried and tried to execute my plans... Sadly most of my plans have failed... Thanks to that, meddling, Peter Pan, especially the last time I battled him in a sword fight! I've been defeated countless times by that meddling, Peter Pan and sometimes the brats he has with him definitely didn't benefit with my plans one bit... I'm so beside myself to the point where I'm down, depressed, overwhelmed, and frustrated with the fact that I keep being defeated by Peter Pan and that same pest ruining most of my plans... I've been even getting nightmares about him to the point where I'm not sure, if I should even bother trying to sleep, anymore...", as he continued to sob and only you knew what to do about it.
"Well Captain Hook, I definitely know how to make you all better...", you cooed, as you stopped massaging his back. Captain Hook stopped sobbing, as he was surprised you said this to him. He then replied, "You... Make me... All better? Now how could you possibly get me to feel better?". You then got off the bed, as you then moved in front of him, touching his shoulders with both of your hands, as you then answered, "Well... You can always take your stress out on me...". "Huh?", Hook said confusingly, as he then finally realized the fact that you're completely naked.
This was Captain Hook's first time seeing you naked, as he then stares at your naked body, including your breasts, as your breasts are the best breasts he has ever seen. You even squatted with your legs apart to let him look at your pussy. Seeing your naked body as a whole has definitely made his cock feel, so hard where he realized, your idea would definitely make him feel much better and this definitely has given him alot of devilish ideas on what to do with you, as he smiled in, such a naughty way.
You then cooed to Captian Hook, "Well, Captain... When life gets you down... Whenever you're stressed or overwhelmed or both... Whenever you're depressed and frustrated... Or maybe possibly aggravated... You can take it all out on me, as much as you want...". He gently pinched and pulled your nipples separately with his right hand, then he went to grab your boobs (left boob before the right boob), as he replied, "I get to everything out on you by doing naughty things with you? Well, as much as I don't want to resort to taking anything out on you, my treasure... However, if taking my frustrations and sadness out on you is all those naughty things to you and with you, then I love this idea of taking it all out on you this way, my gem.", before he started fingering you, as he started to suck on your nipples, as you started to moan.
Once Captain Hook finished sucking on both nipples (and fingering your pussy), you decided to sit on the floor, as your legs got tired from squatting. Captain Hook then praised, "My, my... You have such an incredible pussy to play with, while your boobs are also amazing, as a whole, especially your beautiful nipples, which boobs are a kink of mine, and your breasts are so perfect for me, including your nipples...", you begun to lay on the floor as he continued, "The fun has only begun... Since I don't eat often, I might as well taste your pearl, considering you are my sea pearl after all...", while he smirked. They way he was licking and sucking on your pussy, was so amazing to the point where you had to cover your mouth, inorder to prevent anyone else to hear you moan, as you then finally cummed. Captain Hook, looked at you, as he was eating your cum, as he couldn't help, but notice that you covered your mouth, so stopped sucking on you as then he cooed to you, "Please, uncover your mouth, my gem... I don't care if the rest of my crew nor anyone else hears you moan, because I would like to hear you moan... And since I caught you covering your mouth, I might as well feed you, too.", as he decided to stand up and pull his pants (and boxers ofcourse) down to have his hard cock dangling down, as he then continue, "And when I get done feeding you, don't think that i will be done with you, yet... When I say I'm done taking my stress out on you, I will let you know, my sea pearl...".
You then got on your knees to start sucking on Captain Hook's cock, as he already used his right hand to push your head to get his cock deeper into your throat, to makesure to he is feeding you well and to show you that is the dominant one of the two, when it comes to anything sexual both you and Captian Hook do together. As he was giving you deep throat, he then praised, "I'm so glad that you're taking, my cock well, my dear... At this rate I'm about to cum inside your throat soon... It's not where the fun ends, like I said, my treasure...", as he then came inside your throat like he said he was gonna do. Once he finished cumming in your throat, he knew he was still gonna be hard, as you then laid on your front side. You laying on his front side, definitely gave him an other naughty and devilish idea.
Captain proceeded to grab both of your hands with his right hand inorder for him to have his hook around both of your wrists (which was part of his left arm), as he began to insert his cock inside your pussy. As you're still on your knees, he began to thrust into your pussy. As, he was thrusting inside of your pussy, you began to realize that he managed to put his Hook around your wrists. He did this to show dominance and so you don't cover your mouth. "You have such a tight pussy I see, my sea pearl... My cock is starting to feel warm inside of your pussy already... No matter how much more you cum I will keep my cock inside you until I say I'm done...", he praised, while feeling more relaxed, and ensuring your moans are heard. You tried holding your moans in, as he then praised you again, " C'mon, my favorite treasure, gem, sea pearl... Don't hold yourself back, if you need to moan, my dear...", as he trying to encourage you, as he kept thrusting faster.
You couldn't hold back any longer as you then started to moan in a whimpering sense, "Oh Captain Hook! Your cock feels, so amazing! Don't stop, please! Cum inside me! So warm!", as you started to get cock drunk to the point where you don't care who hears your moans and whimpers. Captain Hook then continued praising, "That's it, my dear, sea pearl... Forget about anyone else... The only things you need to focus is me, you, your pussy, and my cock...", as he kept thrusting faster, while you kept moaning loudly. The more (and faster) he thrusts, the more (and louder), you moaned and whimpered, no matter who else heard you. It lasted for an hour or so before he managed to empty his load into your now sore pussy, considering that your pussy ended up being sore for quite sometime before he came right inside of you.
Once Captain Hook, letted you know he is finished, he decided to carry you to his bed, so he can cuddle with you for the rest of the night. He then rubbed your tummy, as he knew you will be having his child. After that night, he is no longer stressed, nor beside himself, nor depressed, nor frustrated, as he is finally his old self and that's all thanks to you, especially letting him take every issue he has out on you sexually...
The End
I hope you enjoyed this Captain Hook smut my Tumblr Peeps🏴☠️🦜😁👍And as for you @disney-girl67, I hope you enjoyed this fanfic most of all🏴☠️🦜😃👍 It did took me alot of time to think on how to write this before and during the smut parts of this fanfic, however I did managed to complete this fanfic 🏴☠️🦜😃👍I hope you have a good day and/or night🌅🌌🌊⛵😁👍
#disney#peter pan disney series#captian hook#captian hook x female reader#captian hook x reader#captian hook smut#smut#captian hook imagines#fanfic written by rose riot johnson#rose riot writings#rose riot johnson
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Uncertain future’s
John price x GN reader
Warnings: angst, crying, use of nickname, did I mention heavy angst, grieving, loss (no death), Price It’s a hypocrite
!No beta reader we die like soap!
(Reader is former Military!! )
A/N: I have a love/hate relationship with writing angst and this one made me rlly upset just imagining it. Despite everything I’m not surprised that the first thing a write to get back into writing is angst. Anyways be merciful it’s been awhile since I’ve written and fanfics or one shots so I’m probably super rusty, don’t expect amazing work. Also I would recommend listening to the song while reading it’s what gave me inspo.
There’s like little to no usage of Y/n in this I kinda just stuck with You.
Word count: 734
Rain fell down in sheets.
The heavy pelting of water against the window soft compared to the noise of the tv.
John sat in his recliner unable to sleep. His eyes glazed with exhaustion and he mindlessly watched whatever was playing this late.
He perked up at the sound of his phones ringtone.
You had gotten up from bed after realizing John hadn’t come to bed and crept into the living room where he was sitting.
He was in the phone so you stayed quiet as you walked in.
A sinking feeling filled your stomach as you heard him speak.
After noticing your present John gave a knowing look and sat up in his recliner.
“I understand, I’ll be in my way.” He sighed hanging up the phone before looking back over to you.
“I swear to god John if it’s another job…” you began earning a groan from John.
“Y’know it my Job birdie.” He huffed getting up from his seat.
“I feel like I’ve heard that line a million times.” You said sharply.
“Don’t do this. Not now, please.” He pleaded rubbing his tired eyes.
“Don’t do what John ask you time and time again to not leave?” You snapped crossing your arms.
“I can’t just not go if I was called in.” John argued taking on a similar stance.
“You almost died on your last mission John! Am I just gonna sit here and wait for you to show up after weeks? Months? Hell you might not even come back!” As your anger rose you felt tears well up.
“That’s a risk we’ll just have to take. Besides you know I’ll come back birdie, I always do.” John sighed pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
“Do you know how much of a fucking hypocrite you are John price?! My last mission in Russia John when I came back practically on my death bed you basically demanded I quit!” You started feeling your fist clench.
“When you where in damn near the same condition and I ask you to at least take a break you didn’t even listen to that!’ Just as much as you don’t want me to die I don’t want you to die John! I need you here, what would I do without you now?”
Your cheeks felt wet as tears started to slip past.
“I live for you John you made me choose between work and you and when I ask you to do the same you can’t!’ Why is the answer not fucking clear to you?’ I wait and I wait and you keep telling me is your job it’s your obligation but it was my job and obligation too!”
A this point you’d begun yelling at him the tears flowing freely down your cheeks.
John’s head was hung low in shame at your words.
“Y/n I’m sorry,” he took a step towards you pulling you into his chest.
“I need you. I want to keep you safe and happy-“
“You’d make me happy if you stopped this.” You interrupted feeling numb in his arms.
John let out conflicted sigh resting his chin on you’re head.
“I can’t do this anymore John I don’t have it in me.” You sobbed into his chest as he squeezed you tighter.
“I know birdie I’ll do this last one and we can be just us, I promise.” Price said pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
That wasn’t the answer you needed or wanted. Those words solidified the fate of your relationship.
Price left that night unknowing to the lie he’d promised you with.
Months later, he returned with predicted bad news to an empty house. Your wedding band lay on the coffee table and your things gone.
Price felt a wave of nausea roll over him as he realized what happened.
He dropped his bags then sat on the couch and picked up the ring he’d gotten you. Everything felt off balance, as if the world had just tipped over.
He stomach turned as he felt the cold metal in his hand. Price didn’t even realize he’d been crying till a choked sob left his lips.
He clenched the ring in his fist dropping his head into his hand.
Price remained hunched over on the couch as he cried.
He’d never regret anything more than leaving you, Ignoring your please, forcing you out of your lifestyle for him just so he could hurt you more than any bullet or knife could.
He felt so stupid.
#angst#john price x reader#john price#angst fic#fanfic#one shot#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty fanfic#john price cod#john price call of duty#first fic#Spotify
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Salty meme! 😏 ❣ How salty are you feeling right now? (as a preface, you know) ✧ Do you agree with reblog karma or is it forced interaction? ☢ What fads/trends are you so over? ☀ What’s your rp pet peeve? ♒ Thoughts on the fandom you’re currently rping in?
Salt Meme :D
❣ How salty are you feeling right now? (as a preface, you know)
A solid 4/10! Also this turned out quite long so I am putting it under a cut! :D
✧ Do you agree with reblog karma or is it forced interaction?
I like the idea of karma as a general concept - I do think if you are doing nice things, you are more likely to receive nice things, but not out of a magical cosmic reason. It just puts you in people's mind in a positive light when you put yourself out there in a positive manner. That's simple psychology. If you look at it from an rp perspective it happens in the sense of: you send things, which makes you more visible to your mutuals and their followers which might cause some momentum that leads to more overall interaction, etc. etc. Also if you engage actively it motivates others to engage with you in return - sometimes.
That said, I do also think it's forced if people insist on it. I don't want someone to send in memes just to have sent in memes to "earn the right to reblog something from me". Me reblogging memes is an offer to my mutuals in case they want to start interactions, and these memes might not always work for every character. Sometimes there's just no sentence that fits. I don't want anyone to feel obligated to bend their character into saying something unfitting just so they can send something in that they're not even enthusiastic about receiving an answer for. And if they end up reblogging the meme from me, I don't know why I should see that as a bad thing. Best case scenario there might be a sentence in there that works for MY muse(s) to send to theirs!
Tl;dr when we look at reblog karma in the sense of engagement with mutuals to maintain interactions and staying in each other's minds, I approve of it. If it turns into forced interactions that neither party cares about, I don't want it. Reblog whatever you want from me, I expect/demand nobody to send me anything. It's just an offer and a reminder that the opportunity for interactions is open if you're interested.
☢ What fads/trends are you so over?
The attitude towards shipping and nsf/w writing some people have. If you don't want to write nsf/w content, you are fine. If you want to write nsf/w content, you are also fine. Let's just respect each other's interests, boundaries and ways of writing. Having a preference for love stories and/or erot/ica does not make you less of a writer than someone who only writes platonic things and vice versa. To each their own!
Cancel / callout culture. I know some callouts are made by people who had serious issues with someone, but many callouts are also made over petty disagreements about ships, characters or other minor things. I firmly believe that nothing positive comes from cancel culture and I reject it wholeheartedly. I've been rping for over 15 years now and I know how much nicer and more welcoming the rp community as a whole was when this was not a thing. I guarantee you all of us have things we don't want to see/read and that is valid. But publicly shitting all over someone because of it and turning entire fandoms against one person with sometimes deliberately exaggerated claims and one-sided "evidence" is equal to a witch hunt and creates a negative anxiety-inducing atmosphere for everyone sharing this space, to the point where people are too afraid to approach new followers, suggest ideas or get into ships with new writing partners. I've seen people get shit for not reblogging a callout for someone they never even spoke to, getting berated for "agreeing with what happened" because they didn't interact with the post. Please stop doing that.
Not to mention that many callouts end in vile harassment of the people in question, sometimes to an extent that grossly outweighs the "crime" the person in question is accused of. (Remember, you never know who reads your callouts and what they decide to do with that!) Especially with the thought in mind that callouts often aren't necessarily fair or true, they can seriously damage people's reputation and in some cases this has real life consequences you cannot predict. As a community we must strive to find better ways of dealing with issues than raising a shitstorm each time we disagree over something.
☀ What’s your rp pet peeve?
People who obviously never looked at my rules and then come at me because they suddenly have an issue with something that my rules would have told them in advance.
When I'm trying to plot with someone and they are "cool with everything and anything", especially if I am already giving specific choices to pick from. We all lack ideas sometimes, it happens, but please don't make me decide everything on my own. Everyone has preferences.
People who can't distinguish between a villain character and the human being who writes them. In the same vein, people who think writers of villain muses are obligated to let their "good muse" win if they foolishly attack them since "they would win in canon". That's not how that works; canon cannot save you here.
♒ Thoughts on the fandom you’re currently rping in?
There are some incredibly nice and talented/skilled writers and artists in this fandom and I am happy I've had the pleasure of meeting some of them! No further comment <.<
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This game starfield set up a bank robbery situation obviously expecting you to intervene in some way. I don't feel obligated to at all, my character says get that bag. It reminded me of a moment in gta5 where I couldn't shop at a certain store until I dealt with the burglars robbing it. They would respawn over and over again. Firstly I see no moral conundrum here, you can steal from these institutions everyday and come nowhere near the amount of theft committed against the working class. Secondly I am putting myself in danger for what exactly? Feel good points for the local corrupt authorities? And 3rd, my character is a career criminal. Who am I to judge someone in this position? In my gta5 game, I as trevor just hit the big score, securing gold bars from the federal reserve, this dude is stealing from a cash register in a clothing outlet store to feed his family. I have 98 million dollars in my bank account. If anything the moral choice would be to give him enough money to keep him from needing to commit crimes in the first place. Instead the game demand I brutally murder them, which I eventually did, I used a flare gun and it was funny.
This entire galaxy and this dirty colony exists because of robbery, the bourgeoisie stripped the planet clean, destroyed its biosphere, and stolen the future for billions. Here I am being asked to stop a bank robbery, I say absolutely not, I'm a space pirate I know what I am, barret is very mad at me, I talked him down but I have the feeling that this game doesn't let you make permanent decisions regarding teammates much like fallout 4 so it really doesn't matter much. I guess my character is a nihilist in this world. She's being tasked with a ridiculous mission she'd never seek out on her own with a prestigious organization that was out of it's mind for letting her join.
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(obm rant ahead it's long)
kinda really pisses me off when people dismiss the demand for good writing in dating sims by simply saying "it's a dating sim what do you expect." (and yes this is about a stupid take i saw about obey me specifically on twitter how did you guess.)
like, maybe this is a me thing but if a game is heavily driven by gacha then i am even more obligated to be critical of it. and if i'm going to be investing that much time (and money) into it, i think i deserve Something out of it???
i've complained about this on here so many times but it's genuinely so hard to actually keep progressing in the story (normal mode at least), especially if you're a new player - unless you whale a whole lot, or get extremely unbelievably lucky. and when you get past like, lesson 20 i think? the struggle just seems... meaningless.
why am i waiting four whole days just to level up one card by ONE level, just so that i can get past this one really annoying dance battle, only for the next story to be just... plain bad? and then i have to do it all over again?
like okay, maybe the story does get better in fucking season 3 which is like twenty more chapters away (btw from what i've heard, it kind of just doesn't get better) but as a new player it is just so hard to keep that level of commitment especially if all you're rewarded with is horrible writing and negative character development.
i've played free dating sims with better played out plots and stories than this and it just pisses me off so much because the general "idea" of obey me is SO good and so fun! and the characters you meet are genuinely interesting. although some jokes were objectively cringe i can live with that (i am playing a dating sim, after all...) like spoilers for lesson 16 and above i guess but in my opinion the execution of the whole belphie hating humans and quite literally killing MC was done in a pretty nice way! as well as the backstory cards regarding the brothers (and everyone else other than the MC) and their relationships with each other! for example anytime i think about satan and lucifer's strained relationship i get a little bit emotional - and yes of course sometimes satan's almost childish annoyance towards him can be pretty funny, it's almost always treated as a running gag (even after they "sort it out") - to the point where it's one of satan's defining characteristics (the other is his love for cats and books). and that's it! that's all there is to his presence in the main story for the most part.
the events are somehow even more annoying - (those i can actually play without being frustrated about my level) and the stories always try so hard to squeeze every single dateable character in one scenario. and this ends with all of them feeling like caricatures of themselves and i hate it! so much! because again - these are genuinely really fun characters and they have so much potential! even if the devs want to make MC your typical harem protagonist, they can still do it well but they just aren't and it makes me so mad 😭😭😭
"well raaz stop playing the game then!" i did do that actually for a good amount of time and i came back because solomon birth (fire emoji), also anniversary. but also i feel like the players kinda deserve better. especially given the gacha aspect.
although i do think that the anime and music are genuinely pretty good - it's just kinda frustrating that they're not improving their main product first.
"what was the point of saying all of this?" there was no point at all. im just annoyed that i actually spent time and money on this game. though i will say that i do love the fan creations and people kinda treating the characters like their OCs and giving them the plot and development they deserve.
"this is a really long post why do you complain so much?" at this point im just criticising myself for no reason but also idk! i play a couple of gacha games other than obey me and i've honestly realised that it's the worst and shittiest way to monetise your game. and gacha games deserve at LEAST twice the amount of critical analysis because it could literally be the reason for someone's fucking gambling addiction. idk
good night it is almost three am and i have a road trip to be on tomorrow
#sorry i will calm down#also i'm a huge hypocrite because i'm still gonna log in tomorrow and try to upgrade my cards and stuff but#well. yeah#long post#zzz#obey me#obey me shall we date#i will attempt to be positive from now on Good Fucking Night
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WIP Weekend
Thanks to @theartofblossoming for the tag!
Tagging fellow creatives (no obligations here either!): @druidgroves @fallout-new-mudkip @galaxycunt @just-another-wasteland-merc @maccreadysbaby @perfectlypreservedpie @sassenashsworld @sirmanmister @willinglyghoulified
As for me? My Dudes, she's been writing! (and procrastinating said writing by playing fo4 and making screenshots!)
So here's an update on MacBeth!
Been smoothing out the timeline! Trying to take my time to get the pacing right! [I'm excited because it's getting meaty and falling into place...it's getting chonky!!]
Coming up:
Enter Mayor MacCready (Sim Settlements 2 makes this a reality, btw!)
Mac's past as a Gunner comes back to bite him. (Featuring Quincy and Sunglasses)
A wee bit o romance to fix up (and bewilder) a lonesome merc
Mac steps up big-time (MM stuff, SS2 cast come in, and I love 'em!)
Some more angst (okay, most of it is probably angst.)
Winter is Coming...and it bringeth the Feral Hordes (I apologize in advance, Mac!)
Thar be an imposter among us...
Responsibility weighs heavily...Guilt be crippling!
(Oh look, this is roughly where I originally started this fic like a rookie!)
To follow: A bunch of other stuff I've been cooking up over the year (Expect Reunions, Lamplighters all grown up, more bad jokes, heartache, and (I hope) big reveals.)
For Now:
Here's a scene from an upcoming 3 chapter story arc.
Since Duncan was featured in my posts this week, I found myself revisiting the flashback that leads to the moment Mac makes the promise to his son. The full rewrite will now reveal the identity of 'The Stanger.'
The Promise
Awakening to Duncan’s demands for attention, he’s alone, and RJ bristles, the faint smell of newborn mingling with the antiseptic of the surgery overwhelming. After a minute of psyching himself up, he bundled the screeching infant into his arms and moved for the door, hoping to find some bleeding heart to ease his headache—he didn't get that far.
Goddammit, the little shit had to stop crying, didn’t he? Trying to ignore the feel of Duncan's small fingers curling around his, he shrugs off the comforting pull of the bundle of warmth in his shaking arms and cradles his son close, sinking back into the chair, the fingers on his free hand clinging to Lucy’s. It's the first moment of peace in days, a fleeting respite, and it’s too much. His steely exterior cracks, and the quiet, simmering tears spill over.
RJ cleared his throat as the airlock opened, and a nurse walked in—about dang time! She’s young and smiley. Her brown hair was neatly braided underneath a funny hat with a green cross. He wondered if Lucy would wear one if she became a nurse. "You okay, love?" She looked him over, sweetly, caring like—handing him a rag.
Oh, fuck off! He was not crying! "Yeah—Just the damn dust!" his nose wrinkled, and MacCready hoped his smile was convincing.
"You want to have a go, or shall I take him?" She held up a bottle.
"I can do it!" he said a little too enthusiastically. “I don't want him to start crying again. My head is already splitting."
He took the bottle she handed him—that stuff gets expensive. There was no point in letting it get cold, sitting and arguing about it.
"Need me to show you?" the nurse said with a hand on her hip and a smug glint in her eye.
She probably thought he'd need help because he's a guy or something—he was feeding his son to spite her! "I can manage...thanks," he grumbled. "Not my first time feeding a Little.”
He hated himself for smiling at how Duncan enthusiastically gripped that bottle. He was supposed to be angry at him, but as he suckled the bottle, RJ looked—really looked at him, those warm browns blinking back—the little bastard, that was all it took.
"Kid has her eyes," RJ sputtered, wiping his nose. "Damn, dust—don't you guys have cleaning robots around here?"
He accepted the rag this time, laughing through the tears seeping through. The nurse gave his shoulder a light squeeze and a knowing look, and she grinned all toothy at him before disappearing back through the airlock.
"You see how she looked at us, kid?" he scoffed, brows pinching as he wiped the tears from his face.
"You know, I bet your mumma is gonna freak the fu–agh—" MacCready furrowed his brows as he looked over the innocent bundle in his arms. "Freak the frick out when she meets you." The stranger's voice was a dull drone, a gnawing Rad Rat in the back of his mind.
"I didn't mean to yell at you, a'right?" his head shook, smiling. “She is the one that keeps me level-headed. She'd kick my ass—for fuck…nope....uh-uh—"
MacCready cleared his throat, steeling himself before continuing. "She'd beat my butt if she heard me talk to you like that. So, how about we don't tell her, huh? Do you promise to keep this between us, two MacCready boys?
Duncan fidgeted through his swaddle. Big eyes focused on him. "Yeah?" MacCready chuckled, playing with his son's feet beneath the blanket. "Then, I promise to get my shit–oh, for fuck sake!" he took another deep breath that exhaled as a laugh.
"Maybe I should start with a swear jar..."
#Who else writes a ton of stuff and hates filling in the gaps?#fallout 4#fallout maccready#fo4#fallout fanfic#fallout WIP#writing wip#wip weekend#wip tag#fallout companions
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Hello hello my love, may I please ask about 21, 73 and 76? x
Hello my beloved 💕 I'm so sorry for the late response. I've started answering you multiple times but irl things kept getting in the way and I took a small break from here! Really, I just wanted to give you a serious answer that I took my time with instead of something rushed and not very well thought out. I hope you can forgive me darling.
21 - Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?
I don't have very many chaptered fics but as I've been growing and evolving in my writing style I think I've begun to gravitate towords chaptered fics. I find a lot of joy in developing plotlines and characters through multiple chapters. It's an interesting and fun challenge to face, but one-shots will always hold a special place in my heart.
73 - What do you tend to get complimented on the most about your writing?
Hmm, this was interesting to disect but I think I get complemented on my aestetics the most lol.
76 - How do you deal with writing pressure, whether internal or external?
Fyi, I've written the response to this question like five different times now. I think I've settled on an okay respose, but I wanted to take the time to get this right. I know so many fic writers and creators deal with stress, and not all of us come out the other side as creators still. While I'm unsure if my insights will be helpful to you, I hope you can find something valuable in my perspective.
(Full answer under the cut bc it's long.)
We've previously discussed the unique frustrations that fic writers face, particularly on this website. The constant barrage of anonymous asks, only inquiring about more content or the release date of the next chapter, the likes without comments or reblogs, and the limited interactions can wear you down over time. I know that I've felt the weight of these pressures and so have so many countless others. There are numerous other aspects I could complain about, but I am actively working on letting go and trying to move past these things.
It can be difficult when, at one point, fic writing felt like an avenue to engage in commentary, discussions, and the social aspects of the community, rather than merely producing content for others to enjoy. The stress and perceived pressure to consistently create began to erode my love for writing, prompting me to step away. I needed to distance myself from everything, and surprisingly, it turned out to be a positive decision. During my break, I created a side blog using a completely different email address, allowing me to enjoy things without feeling the need to hold myself to any standards or obligations. I granted myself permission to consume instead of constantly create, and to enjoy without worry. Taking that break was a significant step for me, enabling me to establish boundaries, which was exactly what I needed. I realized I had been giving too much, rushing through writing instead of savoring the process.
Now, with a story that I hold dear to my heart, I find myself in a place where I can dedicate myself to it and genuinely enjoy the journey. I am completing the story for myself because I genuinely want to, without the burden of writing other fics or constantly trying to entertain followers. Even with this mindset, I must admit that I don't have a comprehensive answer for you. After being away for over a year, gaining a fresh perspective on things helped immensely. Additionally, the words of a cherished mutual we share had a profound impact on me. They expressed, in their own way, that my fics are already complete the moment I posted them. Regardless of any future chapters promised. It's perfectly acceptable if I never post an ending because the audience is not entitled to one.
Dealing with writing pressure, whether it stems from internal expectations or external demands, requires a conscious effort to set boundaries and prioritize personal enjoyment and fulfillment. Taking breaks, gaining perspective, and finding solace in the fact that your creations are already complete can all contribute to a healthier and more enjoyable writing experience. Remember, your writing journey should ultimately be driven by your own passion and desire, rather than solely catering to the expectations of others. I know that this is easier said than done. I know. But hopefully you can take a piece of this and apply it to your own stess.
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