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sebsxphia · 1 year

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Preacher!Rhett first encounter…he tells you how to touch yourself through the confessional booth.. and definitely peeks through the crack to watch you.

ptolemaea. | god knows i tried.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: you find yourself in a confessional booth with preacher rhett abbott as he guides you on the righteous path.

￫ word count: 2.8K.

￫ c/w: heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering (f!receiving), handjobs (m!receiving), mutual masturbation, masturbation (f!), edging, voyerism, corruption and innocence kink, daddy kink, cnc and inappropriate use of confessional booths.

￫ a/n: the first chapter to this series! although as some of you know, this has not been posted in chronological order. however if you’re reading in order, hello! thank you @canarysposts, @castiel-barnes and anon for letting me use your wonderful asks to fuel these sinful thots! and thank you again to @canarysposts for the incredible idea of ‘god knows i tried’ by ldr, which this fic is based off! this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

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His hands were the first thing you noticed. You could run your eyes up and down the numerous veins that protruded on his hands and then ran naturally up to his large forearm. His fingers were slender, but his knuckles and fingertips looked worn, as if they had worked tirelessly day and night. You wondered for a split second if they would feel rough on your far softer skin.

Mentally you kicked yourself for letting your mind wonder to such a sinful place and you re-directed your attention to elsewhere on his tall frame. He had ditched the notion of traditional clothes and wore a plain, soft cotton t-shirt. The sleeves hugged around his biceps perfectly and if he moved in a particular way, you could see his torso under his arms stretch under the fabric.

The jeans, similar to his hands, were worn out. He still managed to uphold a presentable appearance, but right in between his thighs you could see the denim fading. It was as if something or someone, had rubbed away at it mercilessly.

His hair was always tucked perfectly behind his ears, but it was when he squatted down to greet one of the smaller children that attended your Church, that a strand fell out and licked against his forehead. That’s when you thought he looked most beautiful. A gift from God himself. He would be quick to tuck it back, again with those calloused hands of his. The hair that ran along his arms and hands matched the same on his head, although it was slightly lighter and sun kissed.

Before you could register it, said hands reached out to yours and took it as he made his way down the line.

“Father Abbott.” You acknowledged him quickly, as he now stood in front of you and shook your hand. He was gentler with you than the others and his touch lingered as he shook your hand.

“Oh, y’ know to call me Rhett. Y’ come here so often to help, I’d be hurt if we weren’t on a far more personal basis now.”

At Rhett’s words, you thought how could you be so foolish. He was right. Personal basis. Yes. We know each other on a personal basis.

Rhett leaned in closer to you to confess a secret that only the both of you were privy to, “Don’t tell the Youth Pastors who come ‘ere to help, but you’re my favorite.”

The closer proximity to Rhett made your breath hitch suddenly in your throat. You swallowed quick at his words to try and gather some salvia in your now parched throat.

You could smell his aftershave, thick with sandalwood, and notice all the little details on his face. At his confession, his face contorted into a smile you would only ever deem as sly. Small cuts and grazes that were fading in the crease of his eyes and above his lips as he smiled could be seen. There was stubble threatening to peak through along his jaw and you found yourself wondering again, what it would feel like on your soft flesh.

You kicked yourself again and replied sweetly, “thank you, Rhett. I’m honored to hear that.”

You mirrored his smile to show you were grateful, although it wasn’t as sly as Rhett wore. He stayed close in your presence for a handful more seconds and held your gaze, but to you it felt like hours. Rhett had this intoxicating way of drawing you in for prolonged periods of time, especially at his sermons.

Rhett parted his lips to speak and his tongue dipped out to wet his bottom lip. There was something on the tip of his tongue. Something he wanted to get out and ask you, but he pulled back completely as Rhett remembered he was in his Church and speaking to a flurry of civilians after his Sunday sermon.

“Thank you for coming today.”

“Thank you, Rhett. It was a lovely sermon.”

Was it on purpose that you added a flirtatious tone to his name? You weren’t sure. But did you notice how Rhett cocked his head and his teeth grazed over his bottom lip at his name being spoken by you?

You were never so sure of anything in your life.

For the next two hours, you spent it offering your help with the teas and coffees that were being handed out after. You insisted that you would finish everything up and as always, you were first in and last out. But more so you needed this time to scratch the itch that had creeped its way down your spine since Rhett shook your hand.

Everyone had gone home and the Church was empty. In a flurry, you ran to the bathrooms, slammed the cubicle door shut, hitched the skirt of your dress up and over your thighs and dipped your fingers into your underwear. You let out a moan that was mixed with relief as you finally grazed over your aching clit. In turn you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you had been holding in for so long. And with that, came his name.

“F— Fuck, Rhett…”

Your fingers came to a sharp stop as you heard a creak from outside your cubicle, but you reminded yourself this Church was old. You heard it creak and groan many a times, and your clit was throbbing underneath your fingertips so you threw caution to the wind and continued with your movements, letting out more sweet whines and his name over and over, like a prayer.

“Rhett, Rhett, Rhett…”

It was Monday morning when you awoke, the day after you had let your deepest and most sinful thought possess your body and soul. You peeled back your lace crocheted curtains and looked out at the morning sunrise.

A pallet of reds, blues and yellows streaked over the sky. When they mixed together in the middle, it reminded you of the many drinks of tequila you had sometime ago in college. When you would put on Hotel California and dance around, alone in your dorm. It was insane to you that you didn’t realise how free you felt.

Getting out of Wabang was a blessing in disguise that you never truly appreciated until you had to come back home. It was an old wives tale that the kids of Wabang would leave and come back in five years time. You always told yourself that would never be you, but yet here you were. Waking up in your childhood bedroom with fading posters, a cross nailed to your wall that still had the wallpaper in perfect colour behind it, bedsheets that were scratchy and most importantly, returning back to your faith as instructed to by your Mother and Father.

It was a constant battle between yourself that left you tossing and turning most nights. Was what you were doing the right thing? Did you want to return back to your faith? You had shunned it for so long and you begrudgingly returned to please your parents, but now, you had a reason that felt far more personal to you.

“Preacher Abbott.”

“Please, Rhett.” Rhett corrected you through the wall of the confessional booth.

Since the morning, your mind hadn’t stopped racing with thoughts of your return home and your actions of yesterday in the bathroom cubicle, and so you came back to the place where you could feel some sense of control. When you were sat in the confessional booth, you couldn’t see anyone and figuratively speaking, nobody knew your name.

Rhett spoke up again with his voice hushed and contained within these Holy walls, “Tell me, what brings y’ here?”

You breathed in and let the air fill your lungs before you confessed. Your fingers twitched together and jabbed at the corners of your fingernails. It was to distract yourself from the sins that you were about to admit, to the man that had been at the forefront of your mind for weeks on end.

“I— I feel lost, Rhett. Comin’ back here after being away for s’ long—”

“College, wasn’t it?”

It made your heart thrum in your chest that Rhett remembered such a detail.

“Yes. I borrowed everythin’ I could from my parents to live that life. I cried ‘nd begged them on my hands and knees—”

You heard Rhett shift in his seat at your words.

“—not to make me come back. God knows, I was livin’ out there ‘nd God knows I died comin’ back here. I’ve got nothin’ much to live for here. God knows I’ve tried to make it work.”

You let out a small, yet defeated sigh after you had confessed. But Rhett didn’t buy it. He clicked his tongue in turn and pushed you for more.

“There must be somethin’, otherwise y’ would’ve left by now. Somethin’ is makin’ you stay.”

You heard Rhett pause and clear his throat on the other side.

“Perhaps, somethin’, sinful?”

You could feel the memory of yesterday punch through your gut and you stopped breathing altogether. You held your breath tightly in your throat and scrunched your hands together within the material of your sundress. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, so hard you felt like it could fall from your ribs.

The thought of Rhett hearing, let alone seeing you, in the bathroom cubicle made something in your stomach flip. It aroused you more than you cared to admit.

“You’re a sinful little one, aren’t you, my sweet Lamb.”

Rhett broke the heavy tension first with his voice an octave lower than before and his Southern drawl coming through.

“Y’ don’t have to say anythin’. Y’ don’t have to fear me. Let there be light and draw t’ me ‘nd into my arms. I can keep y’ safe, I can make you a blessed Daughter of Abbott.”

Your breathing came out in stuttered waves and your eyes fluttered shut at Rhett’s guiding words. For the first time since you’d come home, you had a clear pathway ahead of you. It was running straight into the garden of Eden, with Rhett there to keep you safe.

“Yes, Father.”

Those words slipped from your trembling lips naturally and you had never felt so sure in your life. You felt your life light up and you were bound eternally to the Holy man on the other side of the wall.

“This will prove y’ devotion to me, my sweet Lamb. Touch yourself for me.”

There was no hesitation in both Rhett’s instructions and in your reaction. You knew then and there whatever Preacher Abbott proposed was for the good of God and you would obey. Neither of you would ever waver.

You shuffled back against the hard wood wall, as far as you could to allow your leg to come up and prop against the seat. Instinctively, you angled yourself towards the wall that was separating you both and you spread your thighs. Even through the wooden pattern on the divider, you could see Rhett shift in his seat and his heavy shadow of his face cover all light. The only light you saw was the glint of his eyes through the cracks, watching you like a lamb at the slaughter.

Although your hand was shaking as it ran down the curve of your thigh, as soon as it dipped under your underwear and you pressed your fingertip to your clit, the shaking ceased and you let out a soft moan. You ran calculated circles around your clit before dipping it in between your folds to gather your arousal and spread it around the rest of your cunt. When you dipped down and felt how wet you were already, you let out another small moan.

“Good girl. Pull it back f’ me, I want to see.” He practically purred.

Your other hand reached down and pulled your damp underwear to the side to expose your weeping cunt completely to Rhett. You heard him let out a deep and guttural groan, followed by the clinking of metal and a ruffle of material on his side of the confessional booth.

“Are y’ wet enough?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. I want y’ to push two fingers in, as far as they’ll go.”

You nodded and slipped your middle and ring finger past your lips and deep into your cunt. You whined out in response to your own touch and it was louder this time. The feeling of your two fingers moving along your walls, angling upwards to push against your sweet spot was heavenly. Knowing you were performing this for the good of God and for your Preacher, only made you buck your hips upwards to chase your own fingers.

“Atta’ girl. Don’t forget y’ sweet clit, my Lamb.”

You choked out a, “yes” at Rhett’s instruction and managed to move a pad of your finger around it. Your fingers moved in and out of yourself in rhythmic movements and curled perfectly. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every swipe of your swollen clit and guiding instruction from Rhett on the other side of the wall. Every so often you picked up low grunts from him and the sound of skin slapping against one another.

Your chest was heaving and flushed red as a result. A string of continual moans left your lips. The ache was growing as you moved the pad of your finger in figures of eight over your clit, and in unison grazed over the sweet spot inside of you. You were going to spill over anytime soon.

“Father, Father, Father!” The plea was drawn from your hoarse throat. You were begging Rhett for something, but you didn’t quite know what yet.

You kept yourself teetering on the edge and awaiting his instruction for whatever he wanted to happen next. You were completely drawn to him and he had you like a puppet on strings.

Rhett was heavy in his own breathing and you heard him grunt the final words that you were waiting for.

“That’s it, good girl. Come f’ me, fuck— Come f’ me, m’love.”

At his final guidance, you swiped your finger twice more over your clit and it was all you needed to feel your orgasm wash over you in a warm glow. A sweet sounding moan tore from your throat and a name you had never uttered before.

“Shit, Daddy!”

Your hips bucked up into your own palm and your bore down onto the heel of your hand and rubbed your clit feverishly on your flesh as you rode out the feeling. Your eyebrows were knitted tightly together and your jaw was completely slack. As you hurtled through the euphoric feeling, you had closed your eyes to swim in it completely, but when you opened them again the heavy shadow of Rhett wasn’t next to you anymore.

Your head flicked to the right when the door to your side of the confessional booth was thrown open and Rhett stood in the doorway. The sight of his own cock heavy in his hands, red and aching, made you mewl in response and you turned your bare and slick cunt towards him.

In one stride, Rhett had crossed the threshold into the confessional booth with you. His hand was stretched upwards and planted firmly above you and caged you in completely. His other hand was jerking at his cock over your cunt and his eyes were fixated on the precious sight before him. Rhett’s jaw was set firm, with his own eyebrows mirroring yours and knitted tightly together in concentration. Strands of his hair had fallen to lick at his forehead that had a light sheen of sweat coating his flesh.

Rhett let out a deep groan as he fisted his aching cock twice more, “F— Fuck.”

At his strained words, his release fell onto your cunt and dripped down and into your underwear. He ran his hand up and over his length a couple more times to let the last of his hot cum fall from his tip.

Your breathing matched up with one another’s as you both came down from your own highs. Rhett released his braced hand from against the wall and brought it down to cradle at your flushed cheek. His face had relaxed completely as he bathed in his own afterglow. All he wore was a soft smile.

“Keep my spend in y’ underwear. It’s the seal from God to finalize you as a Daughter of Abbott.”

“Yes, Father.”

Rhett cocked his head and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if he was scolding a child.

“Sorry. Yes, Daddy.”

You corrected yourself instantly and shook your head in response to making such a foolish mistake.

“Better, my sweet Lamb.” Rhett ran his thumb over the baby hairs that lay on your cheek in soothing motions.

Finally, you could feel those calloused fingers on your soft flesh in ways you had only dreamed of. Your heart lurched at his touch and at his final words.

“You’re bound to me forever now.”

His words were sticky honey and you’d fallen right into his guiding embrace. A lost little lamb who had finally found their shepherd.

And this was only the beginning. You were about to travel far out West with your Preacher.

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motherodysseus · 1 year

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Ptolemaea - A Prologue

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Original Stark Female Character (Alysanne Stark)

Warnings: Death, murderous thoughts, but nothing else... yet!

Word Count: ~2700

Summary: Lady Alysanne Stark buries her mother, the Lady Valaena Velaryon Stark. She and her half-brother Cregan, the should-be Lord of Winterfell, find themselves in a precarious position as their Uncle Bennard refuses to cede his regency. Lines are drawn, and plans are made.

Ethel Cain, the woman that you are... inspired me to write my first fanfic!

“And so, we commit to the crypts, the Lady Valaena Velaryon Stark, who leaves behind one trueborn daughter, the lady Alysanne, and one stepson, Cregan. She rests peacefully next to her husband, the late Lord Rickon Stark, and their son, the late Barthogen Stark. The North remembers her sixteen years of service as Lady of Winterfell.”

It was cold in the crypts, but Alys could not feel it. Rage at this affront has seeped deep into her veins, which, while convenient for keeping warm, is rather less so for a funeral rite in close quarters.

She watches her Uncle Bennard closely. Pompous prick, she thinks ruefully. A usurper playing at a lord, and does he not look oh so pleased at that prospect. She imagines the many ways she could make him suffer for the continued slights upon her family. Admittedly, she does this most days, and finds it her new favorite way to pass the time. This sham of a funeral is not the first slight, though it is one of the most egregious.

Her mother was Velaryon, and she belongs to the sea. Even her father knew it – he had made provisions within his will to allow for his beloved second wife’s remains to be taken back to her birthplace of Driftmark, once the time came.

Now, that time had come, and much too soon. Taken in the hour of ghosts not a sennight past, a fever made quick work of Alys’s mother. Maester Lymon had done what he could. “It is like no fever I have seen, Lady Alys,” he said, after barring her from her mother’s side. He had written to the Citadel, and pored over all the texts available within the walls of Winterfell. But it did not matter. The fever snatched her away in a day and a half. Alys did not even get to say goodbye.

Her greatest protector and champion, her comfort and her safe harbor, is gone. And, rather than fulfilling her mother’s wishes as she ought, Alys is forced to watch as she is locked beneath the ground in an unmarked grave behind her father’s imposing statue. It looks eerily like him. Her eyes fall shut as imagines her father’s spirit inhabiting the statue, granting it just enough life-giving force so that it may lift his sword and lob Bennard’s head clean off.

Her father always said, “he who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Alys knows that if he were alive to see such treasonous behavior from his own kin, he would make quick work of it. But her father is not here. Nor is her mother, or her little brother. All that remains of their family are her and Creg. Strong, steady Creg, who, despite his age and status, holds her hand tight in his.

He is a good brother, Alys thinks. Mayhaps I could have him nail Bennard to the mound so I may use him for target practice. She suppresses a snort. Nay, he may be a good brother, but he is no kinslayer. It is possible that he could be persuaded, if I swore to not hit the usurper somewhere fatal.

Creg squeezes her hand – in comfort or in remonstration, she cannot say for sure. Perhaps her snort was taken as a repressed sob by others, but she finds it unlikely her brother would not see through it. She schools her face, working to mask the tumult of pain and rage and yes, hilarity at her own violent thoughts, into one of passivity and demure sadness.

“You have the blood of two ancient peoples flowing in your veins,” Alys’s mother had said once after she had landed herself in a spot of trouble – a rather common occurrence. “You are the blood of Old Valyria and the First Men. Your spirit is ruled by your wolf’s blood, 'tis true, but your heart is of the sea. Your wild nature is a gift, though many will seek to punish you for it. You must learn to shield yourself.”

Alys’s mother taught her to play her part, and she would not fail her now.

After several moments of silence, those invited to pay their respects to the late Lady Stark begin to make their way out of the crypts. A sea of faces nod toward Alys and Cregan, and she quietly takes note of each. Karstark, Mormont, the many Flints – are those the ones of Widow's Watch or Flint’s Finger? – Glover, Hornwood, Umber, Manderly, the Boltons of the Dreadfort – a dreadful people, truly, with their flayed men. She shivers, and Cregan squeezes her hand again, and moves to pull him into his shoulder. He thinks me cold, but I have my rage to keep me warm. She lets him hold her, though it does little to quell her growing fury.

No Velaryons are in attendance. Her mother was not only denied her funeral rite, but denied her kin, too, in Bennard’s haste to bury her. “Her illness could be catching,” he had said during the preparations. More likely he wanted to be rid of even the memory of her, Alys thinks, the perpetual thorn in his side and his greatest adversary in his quest to gain Winterfell in full.

Her Velaryon uncles may be the greatest seafarers in all the Seven Kingdoms, but even they could not have made the trip in time. Mayhaps if they had mounted their kin's dragons, but even then, it would be close. She cannot be certain they would have made it at all, what with the recent betrothal and looming wedding of her cousin Laenor to Rhaenyra, the Princess of Dragonstone, but it is yet another slight that they were not even considered. She was forced to write to them herself to inform them of her mother’s passing. There has been no word back, but this is not surprising. Ravens can only move so quickly, no matter how pressing the contents of the missive.

One by one, the guests file out. Nearly all the lords in the North have come to pay their former Lady Stark homage. A testament to her character certainly – though she was an outsider, she did much to earn their respect and ensure their wellbeing. The North prospered under her father and mother’s care. Yet, Alys knows the lords of the North did not make the trip simply to honor her lady mother, nor does she take offense. They are as much here for mourning as they are to take stock of their Lord Paramount. Rather, the man that should be their Lord Paramount, for Cregan turned eight and ten not five moon turns ago. He is a man grown, and well past his age of majority. But their sniveling, spineless wretch of an uncle refuses to cede his regency. “Winter is coming,” he says, “and neither of you have seen one yet.”

Yet, Cregan, like Alys, is a Stark. Winter is Coming; it is always coming. And no Stark worth their salt would be unprepared for it. Winter is Coming, and the North needs a strong lord to lead them through. Winter is coming, and I swear it by the Old Gods, the end of your rapacious power grab is, too, Alys prays silently as she stares daggers into her uncle, putting as much will as she can behind the prayer, so the Old Gods see fit to make it so.

“Come, Cregan,” Bennard says, interrupting her violent thoughts. Yet again. Bastard. “The lords and vassals are only here for a short time, and you must fete them.” He waits for Cregan to fall into step, his nose upturned. Power suits only strong men, Alys muses. 'Tis easy to tell a weak man with power, for when they speak, it looks as if they have smelled sheep dung. She squeezes her brother’s hand, hoping he receives her message to stay behind.

“I will meet you in the hall shortly, Uncle. Alys and I will take a moment ourselves to pay respect to our mother. Then we shall join the mourners at the feast.”

Bennard looks as if he is about to fight him on it. Alys can almost hear him in her mind: “But Cregan, she is naught but your lady stepmother, and the lords are waiting. Come now, you must away.” As if the Lady Valaena did not help raise Cregan, who lost his own mother to the childbed when he was not yet out of the nursery. She loved Cregan as if he were her own, and he loved her the same.

Alys prepares to cut her uncle down with her tongue alone, but, as Bennard’s eyes fall upon her, it seems he decides against crossing her today. Even the village idiot is bound to be right once in a great while, she thinks as he makes his way from the crypt.

The Stark siblings stand side by side for a time. The crypt is quiet now, but Alys finds no peace in it.

“I am sorry, sister. For all of it. This is not how this was supposed to occur,” says Cregan. Alys remains quiet. “I tried to sway him, but he would not be moved.” The silence lingers on, as Alys chooses her words carefully.

“'Tis not a dance, Creg – he cannot be swayed. The time for persuasion is at its end. Every day he remains in power, he grows bolder. You must see this for what it is – a coup.”

“Alys, please. What you are speaking of, it is unthinkable. In front of our dead kin, no less. And I am no kinslayer.”

“No, you are not. Nor am I asking you to be. But you are the Lord of Winterfell. And it is high time you act like it.”

“Alys –”

“Hear me, Cregan, and heed me, too. If Bennard is bold enough to go against Father’s wishes, wishes he laid out plain upon his death, what is to stop him from continuing to do so? From undoing everything he built? If the words of his Lord, his own brother, mean nothing to him, then we must call him what he is. He is a man without honor. He is a leech and –,” Alys manages to stop herself before the word usurper leaves her lips; she knows her brother would not appreciate it, as true as it may be.

“– he cannot be trusted to act in the best interests of House Stark, nor can he be entrusted with the care of the North. Maester Lymon says the days are growing colder and longer, not that we cannot feel it for ourselves. And now, fevers and sickness –” she sucks in a breath, looking toward her mother’s unmarked tomb. Gone, gone, they are all gone, we are all that is left, we cannot fracture.

“He says all the signs are there to make for a truly terrible winter. Yet Bennard does not act, nor does he yield his power,” Alys’s rage is growing, but she cares not. If there is anyone she can share this with, it is her brother. “He and his sons prance about as if they are the lords of this keep. They are not. And if he will not bend, he must be broken.” Her voice cracks, as her emotions finally overcome her.

Cregan reaches for her, and pulls her into his arms, hugging her close. He may have grown into a fine warrior – the finest the North has ever seen, they all say so – but, like all wolves, he has a soft underbelly, one he only exposes to his family. Consisting of only me now, and it is at this bitter thought that her anger dissipates, and the tears finally flow. The last true wolves in Winterfell stand under the eyes of their lord father’s watchful statue, surrounded by the quiet ghosts of the many Lords and Kings of Winter and all their assorted kin.

“You are right, Alys. By the gods, it is almost vexing how right you always seem to be,” Creg mumbles into her hair. Alys lets out a watery chuckle, and she can feel Creg smile as he pulls away. He holds her shoulders and looks down at her. “Are you sure you would not like to be the Lord of Winterfell?”

“Nay, I would not,” Alys says, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. “The job requires far too much paperwork for my taste.”

“But you are the strongest student Maester Lymon has ever had, as he tells all and sundry.”

“Yes, but a great many do not listen, and those that do would find that the Maester has plenty of notes to give on the sorry state of my figures. He says I ought to marry a rich lord, for if I do not, I will surely render him destitute.” They laugh for a moment, before silence lapses again. Cregan hands drop to his sides as Alys turns back toward the statue of their father.

“He means to sell me, Creg,” Alys whispers.

“He will not. I will not allow it. 'Tis written in Father’s will, you are to choose your lord husband. And I mean to uphold it.”

“Yes, and it was written in his will that Mother’s remains were to be taken to Driftmark. Bennard made his position clear today; he cares not for Father's wishes. Furthermore, it is as you said, he will not be swayed by you. He will sell me to the highest bidder, and gladly. You know he cares not for me. And once I am made into a broodmare –”

“Alys, please –” Cregan turns from his sister and begins to pace like a caged beast. A habit of his since he was small, let loose when frustration overcomes him.

“And once I am made into a broodmare for some faraway poncey prick of a lord,” Alys continues, “he will come for you. ‘When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.’ Is this not what father taught us? And what his father taught him? Bennard may be an idiot, but he is still a Stark; he knows this, just as well as you and I,” Alys watches Cregan tense, but pushes on. The time to mince words is at an end.

“We have never been more vulnerable, Cregan. Mother commanded much respect as the dowager Lady of Winterfell, and championed your cause. Her and the Maester worked to shore up your claim and secure fealty from the great houses. We must continue her work, and we cannot afford to fail. Bennard did utter something of value this day – the great lords of the North and their vassals are here, and they are looking to you. We must rally them to your side.”

“Enough, Alys. It is enough.” Cregan stops his pacing. Alys watches his hand squeeze Ice’s pummel, and his head drop.

“Brother –”

“Yes, you are right. You are always bloody right,” he says, consternation coloring his tone. He turns back to her. “You are a wolf, there is no denying this, but you are so like Mother. I imagine she would be proud to hear such wise counsel from her daughter. But must we plot in front of the dead? Does it not seem…I don’t know, unseemly?”

More gifted with the longsword than with words, my brother, Alys smirks. “It is more scheme than plot, Creg. But your point is sound. Come, let us make haste. We have much to do if this scheme is to properly hatch into a plot, anyhow.”

Alys grabs hold of her brother's arm. As they make their way from the crypts, she glances over her shoulder. She yearns to throw herself at her mother’s grave, and beg her to return from the Merling King to her side. Though she did not get her rite, and the Old Gods may have her remains, her soul is with the sea. It always will be.

Alys wishes desperately to hold her mother close one last time, to feel her hands card through her hair, and even to hide herself in her skirts as she did when she was naught but a child at her hip. “So that I may go everywhere with you, Muña!”

But the time of childish fantasies is at an end. Winter is Coming, and there is much to be done.

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barrenclan · 9 months

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for your next music recs post i got a few:

1. “rabbit heart (raise it up)” by florence + the machine is a good one for rainhaze imo. it might work a little better if he was a girl just bc the singer refers to herself as such in the song but other than that it’s a pretty good fit

for the next two, i remember someone tried to recommend an ethel cain song for corm that ended up not being a good fit, BUT i feel like her music in general does match up with the vibes so here’s a couple songs off that same album (preacher’s daughter, def give it a listen if you get the chance) that i feel would fit:

2. “thoroughfare” would be a good one for hush puppy, wild rose, or even slugpelt depending on the context you take it in; lyrically it’s about a girl who falls in love with a smooth-talking guy and they plan to go on the run together. however, if you take it in the greater context of the album (bc it’s a concept album), the guy later turns out to be a serial killer/cult leader sooo you can imagine how that turns out

3. “ptolemaea,” which is a couple songs after the previous one, and sort of serves as the climax of the album; while i’m not sure if there’s a specific character it fits, it ABSOLUTELY fits the overall mood/themes of the story. i wish there was more i could say about it, but this is one of those songs where it’s best if you go in blind. trust me

Eh, I never care too much about the gender of lyrics unless it's actually relevant to the character's meaning. I like it with Redpelt, too, though! Since Rainhaze and Redpelt did have a relationship to each other, maybe they can both be singing the song.

"Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl Frozen in the headlights It seems I've made the final sacrifice" (Redpelt)

"This is a gift, it comes with a price Who is the lamb and who is the knife? Midas is king and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight" (Rainhaze)

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2. I did listen to a bit of the Ethel Cain album, though it's not really my taste.

The specific song sounds really great to work with Wild Rose, in the context of the rest of the album. I have described her as a character with wanderlust before, so I imagine she'd want to leave Defiance with Deepdark.

"I met you there in Texas, somewhere on the thoroughfare On the side of the road in some torn up clothes with a pistol in my pocket I didn't trust no one but you said, "Baby, don't run, I'll take you anywhere"

"And then you turned to me and stared into me deep And said, "Well, maybe not, 'cause look at what I've got You might not be my love, but baby, I doubt it"

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3. Oh, what an intersting song this is. If I had to assign a character to it I'd say Deepdark, with certain other lyrics in the song as victims of his throughout the years. Specifically the phrasing of "I am the white light" and "[the] wolf, crawling to thee" are very relevant to some imagery surrounding him.

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Good old The Moss! I like this song.

"Well, we can all learn things, both many and a-few From that old hunched-up woman who lived inside a shoe Or the girl that sang by day and by night she ate tear soup Or the man who drank too much and he got the brewers' droop"

"Come listen, all ye fair maids, to how the moral goes Nobody knew and nobody knows"

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If that song's not on Rainhaze Hell, it prolly should be. He's got a couple of NIN there already I believe. Any angry, edgy, upset song is very Rainhaze. I like the motif of the days feeling like a constant endless drag in this one.

"I think I used to have a purpose Then again, that might have been a dream"

"I can feel their eyes are watching In case I lose myself again Sometimes, I think I'm happy here Sometimes, yet I still pretend"

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Never Love an Anchor is actually Slugpelt's theme song, which you can find on the official PATFW playlist! It fits her terribly well.

I could see I Bet on Losing Dogs as a representation of her and Cashew's relationship, where she's continually convincing herself that he'll stay despite knowing in her heart he won't.

"Will you let me, baby, lose On losing dogs I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place"

"My baby, my baby You're my baby, say it to me Baby, my baby Tell your baby that I'm your baby"

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Aw, yeah, good call.

"If the rashes sprang to life, would you just let me down? Would you leave those kids again and kick 'em outta town? I guess we'll never know, I'll just be here wondering What made you choose to go? The day you went down to Mexico"

"Now there's time to mend, every broken heart that you left In your gust of wind, no more little ghost I keep around"

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#ask #anon #music #slugpelt #cashew #deepdark #wild rose #rainhaze #redpelt

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figsandphiltatos · 9 days

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tagged by @deadchannelradio! thanks!! i'll always take the opportunity to talk ad nauseam about music i'm listening to lol

shuffle your on repeat playlist (on spotify) and list the first 10 songs and then tag 10 people

1. Pigs is Pigs by Mannequin Pussy — what an incredible first pull. uhm. sorry for the screamo ass punk music but also consider that i literally JUST saw them in concert and this song goes so hard. it's not sung by their front woman (who totally deserves her flowers), but i LOVE colins' vocals. not a lyric in the song, but what he said at the concert was 'we don't need police, we need community' and fuck yes. this is such a good band if you have an opportunity to see them in concert do it holy fuck they're so good haha 😬👍

2. American Teenager by Ethel Cain — i know exactly two (2) ethel cain songs but this one goes hard what can i say. peak speeding down the highway singing at the top of your lungs music (don't speed, dive safe kids)

3. Control by Mannequin Pussy — it's gonna be a lot of mannequin pussy on here,,,,,,, lmao. this song is great tho!

4. Too Sweet by Hozier — there's probably gonna be a lot of hozier on here too lol. he released new music which always makes me ill, but also unreal unearth unheard has been sooo good for the oc's i've recently been throwing around like ragdolls in my head lol

5. I Got Heaven by Mannequin Pussy — 'and what if jesus himself ate my fucking snatch?' need i say more? this is maybe one of their best songs lol

6. Smog by Indigo De Souza — everyone go listen to all of indigo de souza's music RIGHT. NOW. thanks :)

7. Clean Slate by The Mountain Goats — this is another band that released a new album recently(ish) and i've just been a bit ill about some of the songs. the trumpets are especially fun in this one lol

8. Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain — okay so stick with me on this one. it's a great song first of all (insane that it's on the same album as american teenager lmao but go off ethel) but i've mostly been listening to it for oc purposes. this oc is kinda a vessel for working through feelings about gods and faith, and the way that both gods and the faithful need each other and shape each other. essentially,,, in a universe where gods are sustained by the faith of their followers, what happens when all but one of their followers is wiped out. in what ways do those two entities change and warp and love and destroy each other. ya know. just coping with senior year of college things tbh. anyway it's a great song :3

9. Apollo by Momma — this song has fun instrumentation, makes brain go brr. also!!! very on theme for the previously mentioned oc and thinking about gods and the weird relationships you can have with them.

10. Same as Cash by The Mountain Goats —IN YOUR CAR WITH YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS AT THE FAR END OF THE WALMART PARKING LOT, TRYING NOT TO BUCKLE UNDER THE STRAIN, STRIKING A BARGAIN WITH THE IMP IN YOUR BRAIN, PREPAIRED TO TAKE ANOTHER KNOCK FOR THE SHORT GANG, BUT YOU CAN ASK ANY VETERAN RUNNING BACK, EVENTUALLY YOUR JOINTS COMPLAIN. this song is so special to me no one will ever understand it like i do (only bitches who have worked long hours at an understaffed walmart during the pandemic while couch surfing bc you just left your shitty home situation will ever understand what john is trying to say here like i do tbh. entirely possible john doesn't even understand it like i do [this is a joke. art is personal and always ripe for meaningful and individual interpretation. pls don't shoot me]). but everyone should listen to it anyway, the violins and piano are so so fun and good

hahaaaa i told you i could talk soo much about the music i like, unfortunately for y'all

@darkravenstag @thrustin-timberlake @mitebitmurderous @johaerys-writes @sabrirene @sarcasticbeanie @seethestarsalittlecloser @sleeperagentclone @notacluedo @alive-ontheinside

(no pressure ofc!!! and if you don't have spotify i say just go hog wild and talk about songs you've been enjoying no one can stop you)

#also shout out to moth tower who doesn't have their music on spotify but has absolutely been getting me thru this trying time #it's dungeon synth music which is an insane rabbit hole i could go down on its own but if you're looking for music without lyrics #i would highly recommend giving them a try #figs sillies

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henrysglock · 1 year

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Stranger Things: The Upside Down and The Divine Comedy

Okay, as you all know I'm not a religious nut. However, I did enjoy Dante's Divine Comedy when I read it for school.

That is to say...I don't call the UD "The Hell Dimension/Super-Hell" for nothing.

I think I can prove which crimes Henry actually committed, and what was a setup, using Dante's Inferno as a framework. I can also feasibly explain the existence, aesthetics, and chronological order of appearance of the different versions of the Upside Down that we see in the show.

To kick this off, I want to talk a little bit about the areas involved:

Paradise: A place of goodness, light, and truth. Many who reside here are concerned with worldly injustices.

Purgatory: A place of change, a crossroads, a holding space to decide whether one goes to heaven or hell.

The 7th Circle of Hell: Violence. The 7th circle has 3 rings: Outer is violence against people/property (murder/pillaging/rape), and filled with fire and blood. Middle is violence against the self (suicide), and those there are eaten by harpies. Inner is blasphemy, or violence against God and nature (including sodomy and usury), and those there are made to wander in burning sands.

The 9th Circle of Hell: Treachery. This circle is a frozen hell split into 4 sections, where sinners are frozen in an icy lake: Caina, Antenora, Ptolemaea, and Judecca. Caina is for betrayal of family. Antenora is for betrayal of one's nation. Ptolemaea is for betrayal of guests/those one has entered into a willing relationship with. Judecca is for betrayal of benefactors/masters.

The Pit of Hell: The very depths of Hell, where Satan, depicted as a three headed beast, feasts upon Judas, Brutus, and Cassius.

Cool. What does that have to do with anything?

It. Is. Everything.

Henry exists in five different settings at four different times chronologically:

First: He is physically and mentally in the Creel house, which is initially described as a fairytale. It's the place where Henry develops his abilities and begins to obsess over the injustices in the world.

Second: Hawkins National Lab, which is his turning point, the fork in the road between returning to Paradise or proceeding to Hell. He does not get a choice, here. By his nature, his hand is forced. It's a tragedy.

Third: He is in the Yellow UD both physically and mentally.

Fourth: He is physically in the Blue UD and mentally in the Red Mindscape in varying degrees. He never physically exists in the Red Mindscape.

(The five vs four will be important later when we talk about what Henry is by nature, and how that affects his location)

I think these different settings can be fit into the framework of the Divine Comedy

That is to say:

Paradise: The Creel House

Purgatory: Hawkins National Lab

The 7th Circle, Blasphemy Ring: Yellow UD

The 7th Circle, Murder Ring: Red Mindscape

The 9th Circle...multiple sections: Blue UD

The Pit of Hell: We have not seen this yet, but given the painting of the three-headed dragon and Nancy's beast with a gaping mouth...I think we will in ST5.

Based on this, I also think I can prove that a) Henry didn't kill his family, b) the 1979 Massacre was something Brenner planned out, and c) the 1979 Massacre was staged.

So...let's map this out from Henry's banishment to current day.

We're told during the 1979 massacre, which is painted as a betrayal of Brenner, that Henry killed his family. Point blank. That should land him square in the frozen 9th Circle, in Judecca or Caina. He...doesn't end up there, and we know there's a lot of shit about his backstory that doesn't line up.

Our first clue into this is where Henry initially ends up.

El pushes him, covered in blood, into the hell dimension. There, he's burnt and scarred before ending up in a rocky, yellow version of the UD which we have not seen until this point.

You would think he'd end up in the Blue UD, since that's the one we're most familiar with, but it seems that the Blue UD doesn't exist yet.

Either that, or Henry does not have access to it.

Why? Because Henry has not committed the deserving sins yet.

Henry arguable passes through the Outer 7th Ring, where he is briefly burned, likely for the murders in the lab regardless of their status as self-defense.

It's still murder in the eyes of the church, because it did not strictly require lethal force due to there being no deadly weapons present, as per St. Thomas:

"Someone who defends his life is not guilty of murder even if he is forced to deal his aggressor a lethal blow: If a man in self-defense uses more than necessary violence, it will be unlawful: whereas if he repels force with moderation, his defense will be lawful...Nor is it necessary for salvation that a man omit the act of moderate self-defense to avoid killing the other man, since one is bound to take more care of one’s own life than of another’s."

Essentially: St. Thomas says: "Don't bring a gun to a knife fight, man. That's uncool."

Henry brought a nuclear bomb to a knife fight. He has to get zapped a little for it.

However, he does not stay burning. He is only spattered in blood. There is no sea of blood. Henry ends up in and stays in the rocky, yellow UD. Why wouldn't he stay in the Murder Ring...unless he hasn't actually killed anyone unnecessarily yet?

This ties into the Creel Massacre fuckery re: Virginia and Alice. Henry could not have killed Alice. Point Blank. Period. It's also highly unlikely that he actually killed Virginia. Even if he did, it was self defense. No betrayal of family. No Caina.

(Although: I'd argue that's where Virginia is ending up for that shit she pulled on Henry re: Brenner and the lab)

No Murder Ring...No murders. Self defense, plus a good bit of zapping for unnecessary roughness, but no sin worthy of the Murder Ring.

You'd think, though, that Henry would at least end up in Judecca, though, right? He'd end up there for betraying Brenner, his "master"...unless there was no betrayal. Unless it was Brenner's plan to incite the massacre, Henry was actually doing exactly as his "master" bid, killing the guards/orderlies was self-defense at its base, and he may or may not have murdered the numbers. It may very well have been staged.

This lack of Murder Ring and 9th Circle imagery majorly ties into the fuckery with the bloodstains, bodies, and perspective fuckery in NINA. It's possible Henry only killed guards/orderlies and 002. We don't even know why he was killing 002, or why 002 was in there in the first place. We don't know why bodies show up in places they shouldn't, or why bloodstains show up in completely different patterns, or even disappear entirely. We don't know why the actors playing the dead numbers switch between child and adult, and why they shift position so often. (All of this is Aemiron's baby, and he has way more to say about it, so I'm going to leave that there.)

Either way...Henry ends up in the Blasphemy Ring.

And what is one thing we know about Henry, based on his parallels to Will? He's gay.

Sodomy. Blasphemy.

("Fruit on pizza? That's blasphemy")

Anyway, the most heinous crime this man has actually committed at this point is homosexuality. Homosexuality is a sin of both body and mind...for the Original Henry (NOT something that happened due to the absorption or due to his hive-mind status. That will come into play later), thus Henry ends up in the Blasphemy Ring in both body and mind.

So...Yellow UD: Blasphemy Ring.

In conclusion: It's likely that Henry was set up...for all of it, pre-1983, and his worst sins were homosexuality and being excessive with his self defense actions. However, he ended up absorbing horrible people, which condemned him to deeper parts of Hell in the future.

Okay, neat. So...what about the Blue UD and Red Mindscape?

What's interesting about both of these settings is that we only see them after the events of 1983 (the Gate, the killings, Will). Up until 1983, Henry wasn't physically able to commit any other sins. It's likely that we only see those two realms after 1983 because Henry didn't have reason to exist there yet.

He hadn't done anything worthy of the 9th circle.

So...why 1983? Wasn't that murder, rape, sodomy, and property destruction? Shouldn't that keep him firmly in the 7th circle?

Not necessarily.

Let's think about the 9th circle, and about what Henry encounters in the Yellow UD.

Henry encounters the Shadow Monster and we see at least one demogorgon, which were relatively docile at that point...but which we know go on to be the vessels for Henry's major crimes of the series. We see him enter a willing symbiotic relationship with the creatures of the Yellow UD via the Shadow Monster, which changes/shapes it.

And then, in 1983, when El opens the gate, everything changes. A "demogorgon" (likely, if not definitely, Henry) takes Will.

The Blue UD was, presumably, created and frozen on that date.

So what does that have to do with the 9th Circle?

The demogorgon and Shadow Monster were non-aggressive pre-Henry. Henry, in a betrayal of a willing relationship, corrupts the creatures to continuously harm Will. Ptolemaea.

It is also a betrayal of a benefactor. Judecca.

It is also a betrayal of his nation, as he attacks the citizens and government officials of Hawkins. (This concept becomes even more relevant in ST3, when Henry uses the Russian gate to enter Hawkins.) Antenora.

All the creatures involved physically end up in the 9th circle/Blue UD with Henry because they are a symbiotic hive mind, regardless of whether the Yellow UD even exists anymore or not. The sins of one (Haha...001) become the sins of all.

That's great, but what about the Red Mindscape?

This is where absorption comes in...and where I bring back our five settings at four times.

Everything we've talked about so far has been physical and mental, or solely physical. We haven't touched on Original Henry vs Henry et. al vs Henry the Super-Organism.

Henry is not alone in his body. Henry's body is a super-organism. He's many people in one, many beings in one. What the body commits, the original mind may or may not. Due to the fact that he literally contains multitudes, being part of the hive mind, Henry the Mind is somewhat separate from Henry the Body.

That is what the Red Mindscape is for.

The Red Mindscape, where Henry mentally commits his murders from in his bids for freedom, is distinctly wet...and red...like blood. That is to say...like the Murder Ring of the 7th Circle.

Henry's mind, which contains multitudes of other people influencing his original self, is usually in the Outer/Blood-Sea Ring of the 7th circle, and not always in the 9th circle with his body. When he is in his body, when he is with the multitudes of creatures and people, he is in the 9th Circle because the post-absorption, post-hive-mind body committed 9th circle sins. When Henry leaves his body, when he commits the murders with his mental powers...he ends up in the Outer 7th...the Murder Ring...because that is the worst sin that Henry alone, as the composite human mind, has committed, regardless of the influence on him by others within his mind.

This is why we no longer see the Yellow UD for any form of Henry post-1983, regardless of whether we think the Red Mindscape/Blue UD replaced the Yellow UD or we think Henry was moved and split into the different realms. Whatever the case may be, he has progressed into a different level of hell. Homosexuality is no longer his worst sin as a whole super-organism or as a composite mind.

We don't know what Original Henry's setting is as a single person, or if he exists distinguishably. He may exist solely in the Red Mindscape. He may be along for the ride with the composite mind. We haven't seen Original Henry outside of pre-massacre NINA, and even that was debatable at best due to Brenner's influence.

I hate to make a Shrek reference...but by God the man is an ONION. He has so many layers, and we've only actually seen two of them...maximum.

A note just in case anyone asks: Dante traveled through all these different places without having committed any of the sins. Thus, he was only educated, not punished. Hence why everyone who comes and goes from the UD without having committed the deserving sin, can come and go without receiving punishment.

So what about Barb and Will? The ST4 victims? What did they do?

Well. That depends on your point of view and how extreme you take betrayals/sins.

It could very well go like this:

9th circle: Blue UD

Ptolemaea. Betrayal of a willingly entered relationship.

Barb betrays Nancy by not supporting her with Steve...but it's also implied that Barb is into Nancy. This could be perceived, by some, as a betrayal of Nancy's trust in a platonic relationship. Ptolemaea.

Will betrays Dustin immediately before he is taken. He cheats in the race home. He also, as we know now, is into Mike. Another betrayal of a platonic relationship. Ptolemaea.

Max mentally betrays Billy by wishing he was dead. Thus, her mindscape is the Blue UD graveyard. Caina.

7th Circle: Murder Ring

Red Mindscape

Chrissy betrays Jason by turning to Eddie for help/drugs, which is what spirals the situation into Jason's death. Murder.

Fred betrays the victim of the car accident by not getting help. Murder.

Max wishes death on Billy and stands by while he dies. Murder.

Patrick aids Jason in his attempt to murder Eddie, which spirals into Eddie's death later on. Murder.

Interesting to note here: Both Barb and Will get slugged by Henry...but not in the Blasphemy Ring/Yellow UD. It clearly has something to do with sodomy, homosexuality, and betrayal...but not on the level of setting/location. This is Henry-specific behavior, not realm behavior. They're in the Blue UD/9th circle on the basis of the betrayal, but the slugging? That's pure Henry. I want to visit this on a Creelarke basis re: my DALDOM thoughts from earlier. I think Henry is projecting himself onto others the same way he does when he chooses his victims in ST4. Local man punishes the new round of gays using sodomy-type behavior because he a) was not permitted to have a healthy relationship with homosexuality in his formative years, b) perceived his nature as a betrayal or was made to perceive it that way, and c) was then abused using his own sexuality against him for two decades afterward in the form of MKULTRA.

Or we can see them as the objects of Henry's sins.

Barb and Will are the objects of Henry's sins, his crimes in the pursuit of freedom, and they exist as the reason Henry is in the Blue UD, not necessarily that they did anything wrong. Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Max exist as the objects of Henry's sins, while not having actually done anything wrong.

I also have some supporting evidence for this framework outside of Henry's narrative re: the Upside Down:

Dante's Divine Comedy is his progression from doubt to faith via revelation of truths re: the afterlife. Henry's story almost exactly maps it in reverse: He starts out happy and normal in his fairytale home, but then begins to doubt and distrust the world. After experiencing untold abuses, he ends up in Hell.

Henry's story very much feels like a Lucifer tale: God's favorite angel, a creative, intelligent boy with incredible abilities, ending up cast into Hell by the inevitability of his circumstances and his own inevitable, inborn fatal flaw.

Henry comes from what is at least a somewhat religious family: Victor speaks of demons and angels readily, and even hired a priest/had an exorcism done.

Henry encounters all sorts of creatures in the Yellow UD. He encounters the Shadow Monster, the demogorgons, and arguably demodogs and demobats: Demobats, like harpies...which go on to eat Steve and Eddie, who are both self-sacrificial to a fault. It's also implied that the 1979 Massacre may have been a suicide-by-cop/"I'll take out as many as I can before they kill me, because there's no saving me anyway" type deal, given that Henry does not request El's assistance once he realizes he's absorbing the lead guard. He goes it alone, without knowing what effect years of Soteria had on his abilities. He had no way of knowing his limits. He would have been expecting them to use lethal force...but then there was no one left to kill him. On top of that, it's implied via Henry's monologue that he's at least passively suicidal regardless. Hence, demobats in the 9th circle hive-mind functioning as harpies from the Suicide Ring of the 7th circle.

Brenner "dies" in the burning sands of Nevada: This happens after decades of harming children, namely...three-legged Papa. Sodomy is defined as any non-reproductive sexual intercourse. Three. Legged. Papa.

In the Blasphemy Ring of the 7th circle, Dante meets his late teacher...and speaks to him kindly: Brenner "dies" in the burning sands of Nevada, much like the burning sands of the Blasphemy Ring...and El speaks to him kindly. She doesn't rant at him in anger while he "dies". She holds his hand, and says goodbye.

Will's S2 Visions: Will sees the Blue UD multiple times throughout early S2. He's seeing visions of the 9th circle without actually being in it...but why? Well. He then goes on to (while possessed) indirectly kill Bob, a father figure, and directly strangle his mother. Caina.

All the religious/spiritual imagery in ST4: The Russian church, the Binghams, "Running Up That Hill (A Deal With GOD)", Victor's demons and angels, "[Spiders] are the gods of this world", Henry's Christ pose while El disintegrates him, Hellfire club, the article Eddie reads at lunch about D&D being linked to sodomy, suicide, and murder.

#I've never said ''sodomy'' so many times. I think I've said it enough for a lifetime. Makes me deeply uncomfortable to use that word but...#it's the only one I /can/ use y'know?#tw for what could be considered homophobic language #I am not homophobic but calling it sodomy sure feels homophobic to me #religious themes #tw csa #tw rape #tw suicide #henry creel #henry/vecna/001 #stranger things #henry creel analysis #stranger things analysis #stranger things theory

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star4daisy · 9 months

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Hey babe, it's me, wifie 😎

I'm curious to know about the 8, 11, 14, and 20, please.

oh I thought u looked familiar hsdadhsaua performing ur wifely duties I see 🩷

8. If all of your fics were in a horror movie which one would die first?

THIS IS SO HARD they are all kinda darkish, Addicted to You is the only one without murder or blood so probably that one but it's rosekiller so not really, Power Over Me is the one where they're more tame so maybe that one

11. If you had to give an album to each of your fics which album would you choose?

I DO NOT LISTEN TO ALBUMS and the ones I have listened do not fit at all so I'll choose songs that inspired me in each one or that I listened to while writing lol my taste in music does not reflect my fics at all this is very random (I listened to Ludovico Einaudi while writing most of these too)

Arsonist's Lullabye: obviously Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier, Mother Mother - Hayloft II, Angel of Small Death and The Codeine Scene by Hozier and I listened to ptolemaea by ethel cain while writing it ever since I heard it for the first time

The Devil in your eyes: Me and The Devil by Soap&Skin (I listened to this on a loop), The Monster by Eminem ft Rihanna and Hail Mary by 2pac (it's actualy very fitting ok)

You Hold My Heart in Your Hands: Animals by Maroon 5, Sucker For Pain by Lil Wayne, Heartless by Kanye West, I Can't Go On Without You by Kaleo

Power Over Me: Power by Isak Danielson, Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy, Way Down We Go by Kaleo and Cinematic Fairy Tale Music with ASMR Ambience lol

Addicted to You: Toxic by Britney Spears, Woo by Rihanna, Him and I by Halsey and G-Eazy, Drunk In Love by Beyonce, The Hills by The Weeknd

THIS IS WHY I DON'T DO PLAYLISTS FOR MY FICS LOL people would be wondering what I was on while writing it (I did write most of YHMHIYH while drunk so there's that)

14. Assign each of your fics a season.

They are all autumn to me but Addicted to You and You Hold My Heart in Your Hands could be winter

20. If you had to pick a fic to make a sequel of which fic would you choose?

I already answered this here ;) but I forgot about Power Over Me so there's that

Thanks babe this was hard but fun ❤️

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twochildreninamoteldemo · 10 months

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happy wincest wednesday! prompting you this week to share your fav underrated wincest content. an underrated fic, art, unexplored dynamic, anything!

happy wincest wednesday anon!

some of my favorite work comes from @blindswandive and i don't think they get enough love for it (at least from the wider fandom, outside of the bang/event atmosphere). i worked with lulu on the first fic in the ptolemaea 'verse--that art is her art, and they do lots of genderfuckery sam pieces, including this amazing burlesque!chesters one. also check out his ao3 profile bc lulu has a LOT of masquerade fills and they're delicious. i feel like we have very similar tastes in samdean dynamics and kink so if you like my blog and you don't know their stuff, please go look at all of it now. it's wonderful<3

& the second rec i have is wincest in the wider sense (+john), but tradwifesam's samjohn & samdeanjohn fics are really worth reading. they're simultaneously disturbing and arousing, a potent combo. mina also writes a lot of transfem!sam which i love<33

#wincest wednesday #wincest #samjohn #fic recs #letters #anon

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sebsxphia · 4 months

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okay bear with me babe…but have we thought about preacher!rhett watching little lamb pray??

like this??? there’s something so intimate about it that I can’t explain

￫ a/n: a short drabble for the ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ universe.

￫ c/w: heavy religious themes and preacher!rhett abbott.

it was some days after the confessional booth and you found yourself being drawn to his church, more and more at any time of the day, and for any excuse.

you didn’t know what you wanted. all you felt is the pounding in your heart and the heat bloom between your slick thighs, as you opened the church doors and sat down on a pew.

you prayed. you prayed for what was, what was to come, what happened. you needed guidance and you chewed on your lips as you mumbled to yourself in prayer, knowing that that guidance was to come from preacher abbott.

you weren’t aware that preacher abbott himself, the very man who you sought said guidance from, would watch you every day that you came.

the church was rickety and old, which meant secret doors and hide away storage closets from where he could watch you from. it was the highest form of intimacy for him. nothing else and no one else prior, had come close to the draw that you had on him. you were drawing each other in, on one, long, withering noose.

sometimes he would sketch you from his hiding position. when he wasn’t doing that, he was scribbling down notes and passages that resembled you. on other days, he just watched. silent and un-moving. his eyes tracked every shift of your body and how you moved. he was a wolf watching his little lamb, and how he longed to feel his dog teeth sink into your tender, innocent flesh.

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motherodysseus · 1 year

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Ptolemaea - A Chapter One Preview

Note: I am hard at work on this next chapter! There's a lot to set up, and it is shaping up to be a bit of a behemoth (potentially around 9-10k words). I'm close to halfway there... I think, lol. But I thought I'd whet your appetites with a dialogue-heavy sneak peek. Enjoy!

“Is there not a chance that they might be impressed by me?” Alys asks after righting herself. “For winning back mine own hand, which was already supposed to be mine by rights?” She knows the answer, in truth, but feels desperate enough to ask.

“I suppose a small one,” Lymon considers. “Several houses have, or have had, ladies lead them, both in battle and as heads of house. And nearly all the Great Houses still recognize your father’s word as, if not law, then bond. But – whether we agree with them or not – most still see a lady’s place as in the home. Wedded, producing heirs, keeping house; not besting boys in the art of war. Or, one of the arts, at least. We will have to count ourselves lucky if they perceive it as a rebellion against your uncle –”

“Which it is,” she counters.

“Aye, but it is as likely, if not more so, that they will take offense, viewing it as a rejection of their house. We can’t presume that they will see it for what it truly is: a disavowal of your Uncle’s grasp for power,” he concludes.

Frustrated, Alys drops her head into her hands, fingers digging into her scalp. She wishes to growl, to scream, to rip at her hair or slam her fists on the table. To do anything to act upon her feelings. Instead, she takes a deep breath, then another, working to calm the tumult in her mind. Perhaps one more breath would do. Once she collects herself, she sets her hands back on the table, folding them together as her fingers continue to twist the signet. “Is there any other option?” she asks. “Any possibility of getting through this unscathed?” And unwed?

“There is one. You will not like it,” says the Maester, lips drawn thin.

“Tell me.”

“You run. No, do not interrupt. I know you have been in near constant contact with your Velaryon kin, the Lady Laena and your Aunt, the Princess Rhaenys, since your mother’s passing. I am the one who sends your letters, after all,” he says. “I took the liberty of sending a raven to your Uncle, Lord Corlys, making him aware of your plight – something you neglected to share with him, or any of them, it would seem.”

Aye, because until this moment, I assumed that I had this in hand. Arrogant, mayhaps, but it is the truth. Lymon takes her silence as encouragement to continue.

“He and the Princess Rhaenys have agreed to take you in as their ward. It is not customary, I know, but they are one of the most powerful houses in the Seven Kingdoms; soon to be made even more so with the wedding of your cousin Laenor to the Princess of Dragonstone a moon’s turn from now. They will have the security of the Crown behind them, and they can protect you until Cregan secures his seat. You may even be able to advocate for aid, if not from the Crown, then from your Uncles. Docking the Velaryon fleet at White Harbor would be a show of force, and could serve to discourage the lords that back Bennard against this coup.”

Alys quietly absorbs Lymon’s counsel. My Maester has been hard at work, it seems. It is a clever, nay, brilliant plan; but it is an unacceptable one.

“If I abandon my house, and my brother, what message does that send? And, should I run, as you suggest, what is to stop Bennard from closing the gates to us? A few hundred men can hold Winterfell, even if ten thousand set upon its gates. Winter is Coming, and all he’ll need to do is wait us out.” Alys sighs. “It is tempting to call upon the Velaryons for aid, I admit; but to ask for interference from a Southern house, kin or no, is tantamount to admitting Creg cannot hold the North. It would bolster Bennard’s claim that he is untried, unfit, unready. My brother would never allow it, nor can I. No, Maester. I cannot leave; for there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, a true one.”

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