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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 7 months

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What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting

Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess, Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.

Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.

When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

Now he was returning home – in haste.

He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.

But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.

She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.

It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.

For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…

That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.

She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.

So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.

Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.

Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.

That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.

Aemond was here.

Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.

Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.

“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.

Her smile did not last.

Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.

A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.

Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.

She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.

He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”

She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.

Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”

Still, she did not move.

“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.

He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”

Ever since, he’d been calling her little.

First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.

Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.

Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.

“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.

For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.

Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.

Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.

Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.

Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.

It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.

She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.

Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.

Always little.

Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.

Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.

Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.

She hated him.

She loved him.

She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.

Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She gave no answer.

He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”

“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”

His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.

“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”

Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?

“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.

His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”

She shook her head. “The war is not over.”

“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”

“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”

She wanted him to be the one to say it.

Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”

She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.

But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.

Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.

He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.

It broke something within her.

She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”

Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.

Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.

But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.

“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.

His child.

Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?

Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.

He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.

“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”

“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.

She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.

“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”

With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”

When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.

The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”

She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her. “Will you tell me who else?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.

With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.

She was so tired.

She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.

After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.

“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”

She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.

“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”

He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.

Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.

Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.

It did not fit as well as it used to.

If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”

The world fell silent, and so did she.

If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.

She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.

Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.

All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”

She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”

Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”

She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…

“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”

Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”

It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.

And yet…

“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’

“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”

His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.

“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”

He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.

But it had been half a year for her, too.

Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.

She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.

Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.

“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”

She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”

His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…

He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.

It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.

“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.

Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…

Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.

This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.

He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.

“Did you hold Alys like this?”

Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”

“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”

Silence, then…

“Yes, I did.”

She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.

“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.

Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”

“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”

He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.

Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.

“Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.

Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”

“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.

She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.

Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.

That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”

Then he closed the door, and was gone.

But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.

Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.

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gremlingottoosilly · 12 hours

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Slasher!König who’s amused watching his best friend!/or girlfriend!Reader trying to figure out who’s behind all these recent killings, unaware that it’s him. Imagining Detective!Reader where she’s the one assigned to crack the case to bring him in, completely oblivious to the fact that the killer is closer than she thinks.

Konig is a nice guy next door. A soldier, a veteran - still going to deployments from time to time, surprisingly not spending all of his money on booze and hard drugs. Surprisingly nice to meet you for the first time in some bookshop and help you get the book you wanted from the tallest shelf. It was another dissection of Zodiac's killings - you chuckle nervously, saying it was a hobby of yours. Trying to solve the unsolved cases, always searching for the truth. Konig laughed a bit nervously too - a good boy, a shy boy. Got you coffee after and let you order for the two of you. Listened so intently to your ramblings about recent murder cases, you thought he might actually be interested. You smiled at the thought. There are women going missing. Found out, much later - dissected, thrown into rivers. Bags on their heads and pretty dresses that you thought might be to your tastes if they weren't dressed on a corpse. None of the clothes belonged to them - and you felt ill looking at them. More and more of the girls were looking like you - but no one actually believed you when you tried pointing that out. These were women from other cities, from other provinces. You think some might even be found in Germany - no killer would go as far as to literally drive for hours to snatch a kill. You're just paranoid. Konig tells you so. Buys you a pretty dress because you look too stressed lately. It's easy to fall into his embrace. He is shy, harmless, adorable even. Presses kisses all over your face and smiles when you whine just a tiny bit. Asks you to be his girl and to move in with him - you ramble so much about killing and disappearances, he starts to worry about you. Probably thinks you're crazy and wants to observe you from a safe distance, so his pretty girl wouldn't get hurt. You don't care, can't care when he is hugging you tightly. He smells like bleach and fresh laundry. His house is clean, always smells like detergent and stain remover - you think he might be the first guy to actually know how to clean a house properly. It brings you comfort. Finally found yourself a nice guy. Konig presses kisses on your shoulder as you read about another disappearance. Girl looks like you, almost. Wears almost the same dress. No. Wears your dress. A little stain on the left, your pitiful attempt at being a proper housewife, and remove sauce from the skirt. Konig smells like metal today. Like blood. Tangles with a ring that has some weird stains on it. Kisses your forehead. "There is my smart Schatzen" You can't even scream before he drags you down.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod #slasher!konig #slasher

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 9 months

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Lovesick Alastor headcannons? also can it be slight yandere coded, with a AFAB reader? would also like this to be in the 60’s AU, if that’s okay!!

A/n: 60’s? Alastor? Yandere? The killer is literally having all the cards in his favor rn 😨😨 !! But don’t worry bby I like this thought, AND HE’S LOVESICK??? 10/10 delulu thought bc we all know Alastor wouldn’t be like this ( but yk, I feed into my delusions, so today he’s gonna be a lovesick mf thank you 😝 ) Also, HUMAN ALASTOR BECAUSE THE GIRLIES THAT LOVE HIM JUST AS MUCH AS I DO MUST BE FED !!!!!

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: yandere themes! Unhealthy obsession! NSFW ahead! Reader is headcannoned as AFAB but can be read otherwise! Mentions of race & segregation! Mentions of drinking & smoking!

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝙉𝘼𝙑𝙄𝙂𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *

Songs you can play while listening: We’ll meet Again By Vera Lyn. Lovefool by the Cardigans. Try a Little Tenderness By Otis Redding ( or Frank Sinatra however you see fit ). Come Fly with me by Frank Sinatra. These Arms of Mine by Otis Redding. Are you lonesome tonight by Elvis Presley. Strangers in the night by Frank Sinatra. Cant help falling in love by Elvis Presley.

⋆˚✿˖° 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑶𝑳 ⋆˚✿˖°

Lovesick Alastor would include….

A large sum of gifts

dancing to elvis

Have a ton of bouquets your not sure what to do

Having to go out of the city to a smaller town so you two can have some sort of privacy

alastor gets into more ‘white’ bars than people expect and only because of his status, it deeply bothers him

Dancing to frank sinatra >>>

he takes you dancing a lot, like a WHOLE LOT

drive ins a are a must, and it’s always so romantic, even if it’s simple you know? he usually parks away from other people to make it more private

make out sessions in his car at said drive in

he really likes getting milk shakes with you

attends elvis shows with you and you both just stand really close to the divider so when it eventually breaks you two are already so close together

having to sneak around at night so you two don’t get caught with one another

adoring his mother and her cooking

ALASTOR WITH A FANCY CAR >>>>>

alastor kills anyone he sees interact with you while you’re at work, or just anyone he doesn’t like near you in general

kills your neighbor because he saw alastor leaving your house ( you will never know )

Alastor likes helping you pick dresses and do your hair, he also learnt a lot from his mother in this aspect

sewing together >>>

you two often sit by the river together sometimes even late at night

he loves when you run to him scared about the killer in the area, he thinks it’s ironic and funny

would do anything and everything for you

helps fix your house, he’s very handy

secretly envies the younger children with fathers that actually talk to them

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #human alastor x reader #human alastor #human au

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what-even-is-thiss · 2 months

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So Daggerfall is the only elder scrolls game where you don’t start out as a prisoner and you’re a friend of the emperor and the emperor is like my friend is haunting his old city for some reason find out why and also while you’re there I lost this letter sent to the queen just a side thing but it’s not a side thing and in fact the whole reason he’s sending you to Daggerfall is to track down that letter that got lost but the king that haunts his old city is there too and he tried to run away with his court wizard but he got killed by some guy trying to get rid of witnesses with getting support for his wife to be the heir of another kingdom instead of his wife’s stepbrother so you go to a witch or something and kill some people to find all this out and get his killer killed to death but that’s not the real reason you’re there because actually the letter got delivered to the wrong queen of Daggerfall because the old king’s son took over and married a royal family of a country they were previously at war with so there’s technically three queens of Daggerfall which is the old king’s grandmother, his wife, and the new queen but the letter wasn’t actually for her it was for one of her handmaidens who’s actually a spy for the blades who are like the emperors body guards and personal spies but anyways it never got to her and a maid stole it and sold it to the thieves guild who sold the letter to an orc king who’s trying to get support to make a kingdom for the orcs and he says he’s gonna sell a copy to everyone in the region but what did the letter say well

There’s a sentient remote control that can control a giant robot and the player character finds it but they can’t control it because they’re a dirty commoner and not a royal so you can decide to give it to

Well there’s also the under king. He’s here. He’s undead because he was betrayed by tiber septim a long time ago and he keeps in contact and there’s also manamarko a big necromancer edge lord who wants to become a god

Everyone wants the magic remote control now. The emperor wants it to keep control of the empire the monarchs of a bunch of kingdoms want it to conquer everyone else the orc guy wants it so he can get his people a kingdom the necromancer dude wants to become a god and the under king wants to finally undo his curse and die

But see all of these things happened because there was a dragon break which means find got all weird and everyone got what they want but also the under king and river septim and this other guy ysmir all turned out to be avatars of this dead god named shor or lorkan or something and the dragon break smushed them all three together and made the god talos who only started existing just now but also always existed at the same time so now there’s none divines instead of eight and there’s a necromancer god that lets you trap human souls in a gem but also since every ending happened he’s also just a guy still so there’s two manamarkos and also I’m skipping over some politics drama here but that’s kind of it I think

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kerubimcrepin · 2 months

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Live-Read: "Dofus Manga" - part 3

+ A big Atcham Analysis

I'll only briefly point out that he has an ear ring, or that Ancestral Z draws him with hair tufts for cuteness' sake. We have to keep moving towards the point where I analyse him.

Atcham seems to be quite famous, — to the point Dodge is chastised for not knowing him, despite being an ecaflip, — and one of his nicknames is "the killer of killers". Very, very interesting...

"You're the one who made a huge mistake, Katar, by stealing the sword I had taken to repair... It belonged to my family for generations."

Obsessed with all the implications this has. You have no idea just how obsessed I am. To Atcham, swords aren't just weapons, — they're objects of sentimental value, a way to protect himself, a tool.

And it turns out that Katar threw his, and I quote Katar, "piece of shit sword" to the moon.

We've discussed Atcham and Kerubim's dead family, lack of support system, and young age when they lost everything plenty here. Same for their irrational hatred for one another.

No need to tell you how awful this must feel for him. Imagine someone throwing your dead father's picture into the river. For fun.

"And the smith was a good friend of mine." Man :(

(He's either not that good at telling that someone is scared of him, which is sad, — or the smith that Katar killed was joking, when he said that he was afraid of Atcham.)

What follows is the most important scene I have for characterizing Atcham:

"The... the six Dofus. You have reunited the six Dofus! And what are you planning to do with them? Do you have an idea already?" "They intend to defeat Cornu Mollu."

If I speak on Cornu Mollu, this post will devolve into a 5-hour lecture on how much I hate the Twelve gods, — how Oropo "Did Nothing Wrong", — and how Sadida, Iop, and Ecaflip in particular need to be [VIOLENT LANGUAGE OMITTED] for the things they have done. Let's just say that he's a demon guy who rules Brakmar at the time of manga, ok?

"You guys are comedians. PHAHAHA! The guy is stronger than a god... And your Dofus can't change that! And his armies have only continued to expand — they're invincible."

Atcham laughs them out of town like clowns for thinking they can defeat Cornu Mollu. Which is more than understandable. But it is interesting, how he speaks of Brakmar here... Not very patriotic, he.

"I wish you courage in your collective suicide. As for me, I'm going to find myself a little island, hoping to escape all this!"

The thing about Atcham, is that mostly, he just cares about himself, and the things he likes.

He doesn't care about the city he's in, — outside the fact that his brother is on the opposing side. He doesn't care about the world, or saving it, — because the world certainly hasn't cared about him!

And he WILL flee, if it saves his skin from any unnecessary pain or danger.

What he cares about is his own damn self, because nobody else is going to.

For this reason, his personal moral compass is entirely dependent on saving his own skin, because he has only ever had himself to rely upon. He tries not to be too cruel, — yet, if the mood strikes him, he becomes hyperviolent just for the sake of fun.

But the thing about him is that he will leave, if things aren't going well. He won't stay.

This includes fleeing Brakmar at the first sight of trouble. And chances are, it also has, multiple times, included Joris and Kerubim after the movie.

While I will go more in detail on this later, sometime after Leorictus's nightmare reign and Joris's huppermage horror beyond our comprehension, Atcham has left Kerubim and Joris to return to Brakmar's side.

As far as I am aware, it is not because of some deep falling out, — they still seem to love one another. Kerubim has an instance of mentioning Atcham, in a pretty teasing manner, — and in the quest that involves catching him for his crimes, Kerubim comes to bail him out with a defense attorney speech at the ready to explain away why the atrocities are both a misunderstanding and completely justified, — but the thing is that Atcham left them, and began doing weird stuff, like crimes. In Kerubim's own Ecaflipus temple.

My personal thought is that Atcham keeps leaving because he's scared.

He cares a lot, — because they're the first people to ever care about him, and it drives him crazy how little they care for themselves. It hurts seeing them in pain.

Leorictus's reign probably was hard, emotionally speaking, — Joris wasn't even legally allowed to live in Bonta, or anywhere else, as a huppermage, — and yet, in Dofus MMO, judging from NPC dialogue about how Kerubim only moved back to Astrub somewhat recently,

— and Joris's presence in the game before the implementation of Huppermages as a class (I.E. their return from Rok Island), all signs point to the fact that this whole time, as Huppermages fled to Rok Island, — The Trio stayed in Bonta despite the danger, for some insane fucking reason. Probably heroism. Probably trying to save people. (people who have read my fic Fragile will uhh. Recognize this premise. Yeah. I think a lot about this all. To the point of writing a fic about this insane era of their lives.)

I think Atcham hates how responsible he feels for them, and the batshit insane things, — heroism? saving the world?! helping other people?!? self-sacrifice!?!? — they make him want to believe in, and how afraid he is of losing them. It is for him, to agree to do things he would never do before, for them, — and it's scary, just as scary as how dependent he is now, despite being ok with loneliness before them.

And sometimes, it's just too much, and too fast. So, he leaves, again, and again.

But on a positive note, I want to believe he is mostly over leaving them whenever he gets too stressed out, by Wakfu times. Maybe it's the maturity that comes with age, — or realizing how much they need him after Ogrest's Chaos, but I want to believe that he now expresses his frustration in other, more productive ways: herding these two idiots away from danger.

Ranging from: subtly insisting that Joris doesn't go on insane suicide missions all alone just to protect them (Just like Atcham, Joris's anxiety for his family makes him very irrational at times.), and trying to get Kerubim to always be ready for battles, while protecting him because he isn't,

To just plain having the willpower to tell the world's most stupidly self-sacrificial man "Did you consider that the floating eyes in the sky aren't any of our business? :)"

Which is pretty funny.

Anyway, yeah, Joris is not surviving the things Kerubim and Atcham will do to him, after he tells them that he went to something called "The Necroworld", almost got trapped there, and then almost died 20 times.

#ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #dofusmanga #atcham crepin #atcham crepin the leaver of unfortunate situations....

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 2 months

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Cleveland Torso Murderer

The official number of murders attributed to the Cleveland Torso Murderer is twelve, although recent research has shown there could have been as many as twenty or more The twelve known victims were killed between 1935 and 1938. Some investigators, including lead detective Peter Merylo, believed that there may have been thirteen or more victims in the Cleveland, Youngstown and Pittsburgh areas between the 1920s and 1950s. Two strong candidates for addition to the "official" list are the unknown victim nicknamed the "Lady of the Lake," found on September 5, 1934, and Robert Robertson, found on July 22, 1950. The victims of the Torso Murderer were usually drifters whose identities were never determined, although there were a few exceptions. Victims numbers 2, 3 and 8 were identified as Edward Andrassy, Florence Polillo and possibly Rose Wallace, respectively.[6] Andrassy and Polillo were both identified by their fingerprints, while Wallace was tentatively identified via her dental records. The victims appeared to be lower class individuals–easy prey during the Great Depression. Many were known as "working poor", who had nowhere else to live but the ramshackle shanty towns, or "Hoovervilles", in the area known as the Cleveland Flats. The Torso Murderer always beheaded and often dismembered their victims, occasionally severing the victim's torso in half or severing their appendages.[8] In many cases the cause of death was the decapitation or dismemberment itself. Most of the male victims were castrated. Some victims showed evidence of chemical treatment being applied to their bodies, which caused the skin to become red, tough and leathery. Many were found after a considerable period of time following their deaths, occasionally in excess of a year. In an era when forensic science was largely in its infancy, these factors further complicated identification, especially since the heads were often undiscovered. During the time of the "official" murders, Eliot Ness, leader of The Untouchables, was serving as Cleveland's Public Safety Director, a position with authority over the police department and ancillary services, including the fire department. Ness contributed to the arrest and interrogation of one of the prime suspects, Dr. Francis Sweeney, and personally conducted raids into shantytowns and eventually burned them down. Ness's reasoning for doing so was to catalogue fingerprints to easily identify any new victims, and to get possible victims out of the area in an attempt to stop the murders. Four days after the burning, on August 22, 1938, Ness launched an equally draconian operation where he personally dispatched six two-man search teams on a large area of Cleveland, stretching from the Cuyahoga River to East 55th Street to Prospect Avenue, under the guise of conducting city fire inspections. While the search never turned up any new or incriminating information that could lead to the arrest and conviction of the Torso Murderer, it did serve to focus renewed public attention on the inadequate and unsanitary living conditions in the downtown area. Teams uncovered hundreds of families living in hazardous fire traps without toilets or running water. The interests of social reform did ultimately come to light even if those of law enforcement did not. At one point in time, the Torso Murderer taunted Ness by placing the remains of two victims in full view of his office in City Hall. The man who Ness believed to be the killer would later also provoke him by sending postcards.

#Cleveland Torso Murderer #true crime #cold cases #unsolved mysteries #unsolved

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downstairsbar · 11 months

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Which college did reformation claudia go to?

Not sure yet… ivy+ consortium so somewhere on the east coast or vanderbilt or emory… or spelman but I think she’d want to go somewhere completely unfamiliar. I don’t think she’d do west coast unless she did legacy at Berkeley but I don’t think she’d want to risk anyone recognizing her last name and knowing she’s Lestat’s daughter literally her worst nightmare omg. Maybe Brown where well off kids who feel bad about being rich and read the communist manifesto and combahee river pamphlet during their formative years and do spring break voluntourism go OR a total flip side of uchicago where serial killers are formed which is all we need to know to know it’s perfect for her. wasn’t she in vanderbilt in e5???????????? i think Louis wants her to go to Rice in Houston or Vanderbilt bc they’re within driving distance but he stops suggesting it when they get into a fight and she’s like I’ll just go to school in fucking FRANCE! which lestat finds delightful until Louis sends him the look and he switches gears to being like Darling you would hate París… it is a city of me everywhere, accent and all…💔💔 and then he glances at Louis to see if he’s regained deepthroat privileges 🫣 and then Claudia is like no offense but you’re pathetic. And lestat is like you will understand when u have a wife. And then Louis is like lestat don’t assume her sexuality and then Claudia is like it’s fine I’m a febfem and her dads look at like like wtf is that and she’s like female exclusive bisexual female and lestat is like So a lesbian? And Claudia is like no I CAN feel attraction towards men I just choose not to. And lestat is like so… a closeted lesbian? And then that becomes another fight where Claudia says he’s so freaking backwards and insensitive, it’s a POLITICAL ORIENTATION and Louis is like to be fair when we were growing up that was still just political lesbian and then Claudia is like you two are why I’ll kill myself before marrying a man. And then lestat is like watch out there’s still the chance you’ll meet a girl like ur grandmothers. 🤭🤣 And then Louis is like wait. Baby are you coming out to us ? and Claudia is like I’m going to KILL MYSELF! And lestat is like in this political climate? We’ll have the Trevor project at our door 🤦🏼 and then Claudia’s mouth twitches. And lestat is like maybe even Al-jazeera🤦🏼🤦🏼 and then Louis breaks into laughter first and Claudia throws pillow at lestat to distract from her laughing too. What was the question

#qs

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red-hemlock · 2 days

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Picrew

(Yoinked from @dogtccth like the filthy thief that I am.)

#Kill City Killer ( Riverisms )#(FINALLY. ONE THAT HAD OPTIONS THAT WERE REALLY CLOSE TO HER ACTUAL HAIRSTYLE.)#(Someday I'll find one that matches the scars too. Somedaaaaay. 8'D)#(Riv always looks like she's on her way to a hipster coffeeshop tbh and I love it. <3)

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glitch-the-artist · 2 months

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DEAD BY DAYLIGHT X BENLE THE RABBIT CONCEPT.

NEW KILLER: the leviathan (experiment 89)

LORE:

A being with nothing but envy that fills his actions, once made by oxel entertainment inc as a way to create living cartoon characters, but after the unknown “outbreak of 2017”, it escaped its containment and soon became the most feared mold of the now abandoned city, using mechanical machinery and torn off body parts or skeletons of humans and molds alike to make itself look more like the being it never was able to be.

It has came into the trials due to an unfortunate accident by the entity when it was bringing the only perfect mold, Benle Rivers, into its world. The leviathan was chasing the survivor before the entity took him, causing the leviathan to follow them into the trials. Even though that this was a mistake for this being to be brought into this world, the entity soon thought that this being would be a perfect contender in the trials, so the entity kept them within its world as a new threat to the survivors.

POWER:

HANDS OF ENVY.

Your different than the rest, you live for the hunt, you live for the reward, you live to become whole.

The leviathan might be nothing but a blob holding itself together, but don’t underestimate them. They are a much more dangerous threat than the other killers, due to their knowledge and experience on hunting prey.

FAST PRESSURED

They, unlike any other killer, are able to vault over obstacles as fast as a the survivor can. But this does increase the range of when a barricade stuns them, and increases the time of breaking barricades and breakable walls.

ENRAGED DASH

When you spot a survivor, you start to become enraged. The longer you pursue them, the greater your rage becomes. When you rage is at its peak, you will be able to dash towards a survivor, damaging them in the process. Your rage will decrease slowly when you lose a survivor, and will continue to increase if you find the same, or another one.

FEAR THE RAIN

during the trial, it will rain for a small amount of time. If this happens while you’re outside, you will melt and be send to an indoor area of the map. You must wait till the rain clears to continue your hunt.

THE REMAINS

thanks to your great hunting, you have been gifted by the entity one of the limbs of the person you have killed. When a survivor dies during the Match, the entity will grant the leviathan one of the limbs of the survivor, giving you either a small increase in speed, or increase in the speed of your rage.

PERKS:

BROKEN HOPES

Sometimes, you need to get your hands a bit dirty to gain what you desire.

when a generator is running fully, you will be able to break it. Causing it to become deactivated and needed to be repaired a bit by the survivors. You are only able to do this once, so be careful.

“We’re…. Not… done Y.. yet…..” -89

RAGE OF THE BLIND

They shall pay for giving you nothing but pain and misery.

when blinded by a flashlight or another possible item that could blind you, you gain a increase speed boost for 45 second when unblinded. If playing as the leviathan, then you gain even more rage when blinded as well.

“When can they just give up already!?” -benle rivers.

STATIC SCENT

Your awareness is key, they won’t get away so easily.

During a start of a match, or when a generator is complete, or when someone opens the gate, all survivors will be highlighted for 6 seconds.

“That… thing, its nothing but a predator. It’s fast, it’s smart, hell it can even smell you from miles away.” -Wilson

welp that was long, ngl this was actually kinda fun to make. Might do another, idk.

btw this concept chapter is called “city of reruns”

#dead by deadlight #dead by daylight killer #dead by daylight concept #experiment 89 #89 #Benle the rabbit

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 9 months

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What is Broken (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) SNEAK PEEK

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, maybe smut in the future idk

Author's note: Ok well since Studious came out of me trying to power through my writer's block, hopefully this'll not only be as good, but also work as well for kicking writer's block's ass. Idk how long it's gonna be. It's based on a convo I had with the Aemond AI (made by @foxyanon ) on a day when I just didn't feel like being happy at all. Coming soon (I hope)!

What is Broken Sneak Peek

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess,

Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

#What is Broken #aemond #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #ewan mitchell

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 9 months

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Agrippa

A companion to Thurinus, in more ways than one.

I They say you were born Caesarean Foot-first, a breach birth, Cut from your mother's corpse. They say the doctor gripped Your leg wrong, poor Agrippa, That's why you cannot run.

Your sister steps in—Vipsania— To raise what your father won't. Your brother tells you legends Of Carthage and Corinth crushed. So you better learn your Latin To work in a Roman world.

II At eight, you meet Octavius Frail and fatherless, mother missing A useless youngest, like you. But he appreciates your assistance And an ugly impulse is proud That for once, you aren't the weakest.

You doodle in your downtime Of buildings long abandoned. All roads lead to Rome, and so flows The wealth. Octavius asks, Listens, looks actually upset. "If I were ruler of the world—"

III Years pass, and your classmates Cluster cluelessly round Octavius. Something about a "Caesar," Their fathers said. You flirt with Him for a laugh, and he shoves You into the river, ears red.

At twelve Octavius is taken To his relatives in Rome. In his letters he lets out His heart, his hate, how much He masks for his stepfather's sake, How much he misses you.

IV Dark clouds drape the country As Caesar and Pompey splinter. At your father's insistence, Your brother joins the legions Representing the republic. As usual, you're ignored.

Octavius sides with Caesar And your father forbids you write. You confess in your final missive Your families have become foes, But forgo your father's name Leaving merely Marcus Agrippa.

Your classmates are conscripted, and for once, You feel grateful to be lame.

V You can't fathom who'd follow Caesar And march on Rome, removing Their opponents piece by piece. You know nothing of your brother Till his body returns home Bruised, bandaged—and breathing.

To thank the conqueror's kindness You attend his triumph: a moment Of gold amid the masses in rags. Octavius rides beside him, A sun-kissed vision at seventeen. You walk in different worlds.

VI Two weeks later, a letter: Octavius is gravely ill, And he wants no one but you. Though you can't run, you can ride, Arrive to find him feverish, And he asks you for a favor.

Caesar sailed for Spain without him Because Octavius was weak. You've felt that same fire To prove people wrong, see his hope Of rekindling a connection. You can't help saying yes.

VII You get seasick, shipwrecked, Lost at the edge of the earth, But find your bearings by the stars Astride stolen horses. Octavius Takes his turn scanning for Spaniards. You learn to hunt, to hide, to kill.

Over a hundred miles, he wonders Where you'd lay down walls, Build bridges, start cities. Five years, and he never forgot Your scribbles, as if someday They might be more than daydreams.

VIII You embarked from Rome as boys, And meet Caesar's camp as men. He gives you a dozen duties: It's a compliment, coming from him. Later, you learn Octavius Petitioned your brother's pardon.

Why didn't he reveal it? Embarrassed, he explains, He didn't want you indebted. You aren't a follower, but a friend. No sooner the word is spoken Than you know it's not enough.

Caesar sends you both to Macedonia, only months Before he is murdered.

IX It's dangerous to know Octavius. He could be on the killers' list. He hopes he can protect you By going back to Rome. But you were broken once, And won't abandon him again.

Together you enter Italy, are Detained by the dictator's men. He's left Octavius everything, Not least his famous name. And as your friend affirms Agrippa, You're the first to style him Caesar.

X In Rome you fight to rescue Your friend's rightful fortune. But Antony's embezzled, and Insinuates young Caesar Only earned it through incest. Caesar stops you from strangling him.

The dictator's dead, but Antony Breaks bread with his butchers Indifferent to injustice, and The legions' grief for their leader. Cicero assesses, assures his support Against your common enemy.

XI It's only a matter of months Before Antony and the assassins Wreak havoc across the country. You and Caesar swear allegiance To the Senate, raise a legion While Cicero wars with words.

It's easier than expected To kill your countrymen. You're reborn in the blood of battle And secure Italy's safety At Caesar's side. Cicero Stabs you both in the back.

XII Step aside, he says. A whisper Of his real thoughts reaches you. The saviors of the Senate must be Praised, raised, and erased. Caesar's irate, would rather Demand his due. And you?

Submit to the republic That never respected you? Or risk everything for a vision Of a city worth calling a capital And what the world could be If you purged the opposition? You will follow your Caesar faithfully, And march on Rome.

#agrippa is an extremely biased narrator #his views don't reflect my own #but it was fun trying to capture his vibes #marcus agrippa #octavian #poetry #jlrrt scribbles #octagrippa

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your-absent-father · 11 months

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~WIP INTRODUCTION~

All the great love stories

Progress: drafting

Genre: darkish romance, kind of everything also

Themes: love, the act of love, who is deserving of love, sacrifice, what is destiny, death, meaningness of death

Tropes: unhinged women, sun and moon couple, himbo male lead, unhappy ending

Content warning: gore, body modification, murder

All the great love stories is a six short story collection about love, tragic love to be exact. The settings change, characters motivations change but the end will always stay the same. You cannot change it. Even if you wanted to.

The short stories:

Villain of the kingdom

Lila Cane was going to die in two days. She was quite fine with that. She had had a good life with highest of highs and lowest of lows. She had experienced power no woman before her had experienced. With that power, she had had enemies more powerful than any man could ever get. Maybe there was a fascination to defeat the woman that killed the king and put so many of the most powerful men to her mercy. She had put up a good fight, one that bards would sing about for next few centuries. Now, as a captured woman of those who bested her, she can now die a villain’s death, like she had always meant to die.

Lila Cane, also known as the "mistress of the night", was the most powerful witch of the kingdom, killing dozens by just one swoop. Now, after the king's youngest daughter defeated her, she awaits for her death in a cage similar where she escaped years before, a castle a king put her in. She was ready to die, and give the new queen, her own half sister, the villain to kill off, until she meets a mysteriously kind guard who takes Lila by suprise.

The sound of gunshots

Someone shot the owner. That was the rumour going around town. Someone shot the owner of the local cabaret club. Just two bullets to the head and chest and he was gone. All of it felt like a Tuesday morning. There were more murders in the town than there were people coming in. Most people wondered why they left the body just to lay there in the sofa that became his resting place. More sensible killers would have gotten rid of the body. Only explanation was that the killer had been alone, and the heavy owner was too much to carry alone. That’s why everyone had come to the same conclusion: The killer was one of the performers.

The cabaret club Mistress is under inverstigation. The owner, sleezy guy whose hands never left a beautiful woman, had been found dead with three bullets trough his head. Every single person had been sure that one of the perfomers, miss Cane, the best singer of that side of the river, being one of the prime suspects. Everyone was sure, except a rookie cop Silas Altman, who has grown fond of Miss Cane. Some might even say that the fondness could lead Mister Altman too far in the world of jazz and vices.

Worst luck of the century

The letter sat on the doorstep with blood on the envelope. It was addressed to the king pin, the biggest the town had seen in centuries. Everyone was sure that it was a warning from the rival gang, warning that they were fighting to take over the city. The king pin already tried to attack them, but the men from the operation were nowhere to be seen. Maybe the war was already starting. People rushed to the kingpin’s office in panic. They feared the future, the war that would happen if the letter was what they feared.

One day, a bloody letter arrives to the most powerful man's office, after a missioin of espionage in his rivals party. Four men and his daughter were suppose to infiltrate into the society, kidnapping the rivals son being the goal. The letter recounts how it all went wrong, resulting to only one of the men being alive, waiting in terror and writing the last warning to his crime family back at home; do not let the daughter back into the family.

Last moment of color

Soulmates have always been real. It was just a normal fact you were taught at school or mentioned at a dinner table. One day you will find your soulmate and you had all the time in the world together, bonded together till their final breath. Lila Cane had always waited for those moments to start, looking at the red string she, like everyone else, had in their finger, that would lead her towards her soulmate. She had been happy, till a timer appeared to her arm.

Lila Cane always loved an idea of soulmates, especially the fact there was someone to her too. All of it changed when a timer appeared to her arm, that quickly became Lila's obsession. She needed to find her soulmate before the clock stopped ticking and she would stop at nothing to do so. Nothing.

Life beyond

People were starving, in every corner of the planet that was left sill holding on to the place that only wished for their death. The areas people could live were getting smaller and smaller, now with too many people to feed, even tough the population had been dropping since ever before. People needed solutions, someone to help in the doom that was waiting for them. The needed someone like the witch in the maze.

While all of earth seems to die, one place in the most deserted place in the earth, looks like nothing has happened. After a group of survivors come to ask for help, they come to see a maze made to keep everyone else out, and a cyborg more than happy to help to help them in.

Hero of the story

Lila Cane couldn't die.

Lila Cane has been locked away in her castle for years. She has been abandoned there for years now, but even without food or nothing else necessary, she is unable to die. So, she is rotting inside her tower, refusing to leave but being unable to die. Luckly, or unlucky to Lila, a young travaller, a bard named Silas Altman, accidently finds the tower and seems not be affected by the spells Lila throws at him.

Tag: WIP: atgls

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lansplaining · 1 year

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So we have JGY dying early before Chiefing is concluded as Bad. We have him living a long life and that is Good. But a third possible divergence: What if JGY had died just before WWX was resurrected in a suitably martyrdomy way? Say Xue Yang snapped and started a zombie apocalypse, or Wen Ruhoan got resurrected by a deranged demonic cultivator, or some Kaiju got awakened by some dumbass Jiang disciple and rampaged up the Yunmeng River, and JGY died heroically stopping said threat in front of countless people. Jin Ling is now in charge of the Jin Clan, supported by an aunt Qin Su, and backed by Jiang Cheng and Su She, all of them terribly grieving. None of them are in the mood to hear anything bad about their beloved dead yao yao, along with Xichen. How will Huasiang try and ruin his name now?

I think there is one question that determines whether or not Nie Huaisang even can: does Jin Guangyao have clean-up plans in place? And knowing him, how could he not? So let’s imagine that Su She spends the days/weeks/months after JGY’s death enacting their pre-planned “do not make these things Jin Ling’s problem” list and frees SiSi, attempts to kill Xue Yang, and clears out the treasure room. If we assume NHS knew for sure where he was leading WWX and LWJ, and I don’t see how he possibly could have, key pieces both of evidence and the puzzle of ruining his name are now gone. I don’t think there’s any hope of definitely proving JGY killed NMJ and JGS, much less of persuading anyone else, nor do I think that NHS could assemble enough proof of the incest (and why would Bicao and Mme Qin EVER tell now? the problem is solved!), and he doesn’t have the fake assault on the Burial Mounds to have everyone already primed against him.

If for some reason JGY’s clean-up contingency plans don’t work, and we’ve got a head and some evil music in the treasure room and SiSi locked away somewhere and Xue Yang wandering Yi City… well, then it’s a question of who gets to it first. It’s probably Jin Ling, but he also almost certainly isn’t alone… and the thing is, whether he’s accompanied by some Jin advisors or by Jiang Cheng, there’s… not a strong motivation on either part to undermine Jin Ling’s position and the clan as a whole by not just getting rid of the evidence and pretending it never happened. Jiang Cheng, documented “it’s fine if my family does it” believer is not going to go on some righteous quest that will ruin Jin Ling’s life. Even if Xue Yang pops back up and for some reason starts making claims about all the work he did with/for JGY, it will be easy to make him sound like an insane killer who’s bitter that he had a cushy life at Koi Tower until righteous JGY came to power and kicked him out. Once again, NHS wouldn’t have the accumulated pressure and suspicion needed to make the accusations really stick.

NHS doesn’t actually have a lot of evidence. He doesn’t even know where the head is, and that’s a smoking gun that no one but Wei Wuxian even sees. What he relies on in the end is the accumulation of suspicious actions taken in panic, and then carefully deployed rumors that have nothing to do with exposing the actual crime he cares about and are only about tearing JGY down. But without that initial foundation of hasty choices, even with SiSi and Xue Yang and the evil music, I don’t think NHS can make the smear campaign stick.

#ask answered

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fatehbaz · 2 years

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So even though the Tsavo Man-Eater story has clearly been mythologized and thoroughly corrupted by and for European and United States audiences, I think that I understand why you could still half-sincerely consider the infamous lion attacks as a sort of supernatural vengeance against British imperialism and the global expansion of industrial-scale resource extraction and finance capital.

Maybe, if only the victims had not been local African laborers and subjugated South Asian workers.

However, supernatural implications aside, all of this mass death in Africa -- death from both the Tsavo lion attacks and the mass death from famine following the 1890s rinderpest plague -- can still be attributed to European and US imperialism.

There is clear cause-and-effect, you can clearly see how death was caused by European industry, even if the agents enacting the killing happen to manifest as a Tsavo lion or a tsetse fly or a microscopic rinderpest virus.

The Tsavo Man-Eater story is such an interesting and eerily appropriate encapsulation of how European and US imperialism incite death, it’s almost too on-the-nose.

Radios, electric lighting, motor vehicles, convenient refrigerated food. And soon, in the near future, airplanes and motion pictures. In the 1890s, as the Gilded Age and Edwardian era brought wealth and “progress” to Europe and the United States, at a time when London and New York City and Berlin were experiencing a sort of golden age of prosperity, mass death swept across the rest of the planet.

And it wasn’t a coincidence.

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The story was made famous across the planet after publication of the book The Man-Eaters of Tsavo (1907), authored by John Henry Patterson, the “hero” who killed the two voracious lion villains. Patterson was a British Army soldier, an adventurer, and a big-game hunter. His book later inspired multiple major Hollywood productions, including Killers of Kilimanjaro (1959) and The Ghost and the Darkness (1996). For those unfamiliar, British colonialist/imperialist military officers and engineers were constructing a railway bridge over the Tsavo River of Kenya as part of the major Kenya-Uganda Railway system to connect East African coastal ports with the interior of the continent to consolidate British imperial power at the height of the Scramble for Africa. Several thousand construction workers lived near the site in camps, and the British imported many workers from colonial territory in India and South Asia. The Uganda Railway contracted Patterson to oversee the construction of the bridge. Patterson was also the one who oversaw the response to the many lion attacks. (After service as an officer in the First World War, Patterson would become known, in Bi/bi Netan/yahu’s words, as “the godfather of the I/sraeli army.”)

Between March 1898 and December 1898, at least 28 workers were attacked and killed by lions. Probably two especially-cunning male lions, without manes. In his reports and book, Patterson himself claimed that at least 135 men were killed by these lions in 1898. (The 28-death estimate was reached by isotopic analysis of presumed human signatures in the preserved remains of the lions, but this estimate would be an approximation of how many humans were fully consumed and doesn’t account for humans that might otherwise have been killed but not entirely consumed.) We don’t know how many people were killed during this period, because many “missing” workers may have absconded, left the site. Records are also unreliable probably because British officers didn’t care too much for the well-being of African and South Asian workers. In December 1898, Patterson finally shot and killed the two maneless lions now on display at the esteemed Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago.

The British Empire moves in to consolidate power, to conquer Africa, and even in these initial stages of building railways and roadways, the empire sacrifices the lives of African and South Asian laborers.

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Why would the lions specialize in hunting humans?

Another way to phrase the question: How can human injustice and institutionalized violence contribute to death from “natural” causes?

In Tsavo, specifically, it’s been proposed that the centuries of slave-trading in the Indian Ocean contributed to the lions’ preference for hunting humans. The local area around the Tsavo bridge/crossing was traversed by slave-trading caravans en route eastward to Zanzibar. For years, bodies of those enslaved people who didn’t survive the caravan were probably left behind in the Tsavo landscape, allowing -- in this proposal -- the lions to get used to the taste of humans. Hard to determine for sure.

But there’s more violence at work.

Italian colonialists brought imported cattle to East Africa in 1887 to feed their forces in war against Somalia.

It is thought that these cattle were the source of the rinderpest epidemic/epizootic plague which devastated Africa throughout the 1890s.

Rinderpest doesn’t just affect domesticated cattle and its attendant “modernized” agricultural industries. The 1890s rinderpest plague also devastated native ungulates, including gazelles, antelope, and wildebeest.

So millions of domesticated cattle died, leading to mass starvation across the African continent. And millions of native African ungulates died, leading to ecological upheaval.

In the 1890s, it is estimated that one-third of Ethiopian people and two-thirds of the Maasai people died due to this rinderpest-plague-induced famine.

Then, alongside this famine, global drought emerged in response to an El Nino event in 1897 (unfortunately quickly followed by more El Nino events in 1899 and 1902). The drought pummeled sub-Saharan Africa.

Because the rinderpest plague killed herds of native ungulates simultaneously as the famine killed humans, former grazing grounds in grasslands were colonized by thornbush. And thornbush is perfect habitat for tsetse flies.

These tsetse flies then spread sleeping sickness to humans, leading to more plague, misery, mass death.

The thornbush expansion also functions as part of a feedback loop: Ungulate herds diminsh, so thornbush expands, and the “new” thornbush habitat is undesirable for ungulate grazing, so the herds don’t return.

The mass death of cattle and native ungulates in the mid and late 1890s has also been proposed by some to be part of the reason why Tsavo’s lions resorted to apparently specialize in hunting and killing humans in the absences of ungulates to feed upon.

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In the 1890s, the famines and plagues in sub-Saharan Africa coincided with the Third Plague Pandemic devastating Asia; catastrophic food shortages in Indonesia, the Philippines, and mainland Southeast Asia; smallpox epidemics in Brazil; cholera epidemics in China. Millions of people, from Korea across Asia and Africa to the ranches and mines of Latin America, died from famine alone.

Meanwhile, aristocrats played in parlors of London and New York, gazing from balconies upon new factories, new electric lights, new motor vehicles, new radios, new copper wiring, new technologies, and a new century.

Fin de siecle, indeed. How’d they pay for it? How did civilization purchase this prosperity?

Blame it on the lions, a tsetse fly, a rinderpest virus, “natural” El Nino events, whatever. Misery at this scale doesn’t just happen.

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