#DOES THIS PERSON LIVE UNDER A ROCK???

[thelightattheendofthistunnel]

this is my favourite interaction of the evening

[euthymiya]

I love my best friend so much literally want to chew that girl and swallow her so she resides in my intestines like fr

[fudge24-7]

I have a confession to make, I had no idea what eurovision was before I learned about what's happening in palestine, am I the only one?

[jenn-the-mostly-harmless]

I was talking to my therapist about identity and I brought up furries and she...didn't know what a furry was. And I was like, "We don't have time to unpack all of that, but basically it's animal headed people, but there's a sexual component sometimes so be careful if you do a google search."

I desperately hope she googled it.

[greenapplebling]

It's impressive how I spent most of my life on social media yet I have no idea what's going on

[aimeegbbs]

my 60 year old father just asked me if i'm watching barbenheimer this has gotten out of hand

[psyshockdeoxys]

this is what you sound like:

[flagellant]

For the past few years I've been enchanted by the idea of the divine as intrinsically horrific and dehumanizing, but not in the usual assumption (pun intended), where the intrinsic dehumanization and horror comes from something like "A god looked at me and I turned into stone" or "I, a mortal, looked at a god and got turned into a laurel tree".

I've been thinking about it in the opposite direction. Where being a god is intrinsically horrific and dehumanizing.

To put it another way: I've been writing a lot from the perspective of divinity where the god experiences godhood in the way a haunted house experiences househood. You were created by mortals for comfort, for condolence, for safety, for sympathy. You were built with all the care and special attention to ensure that you would last a long time--longer than your inhabitants would live, but that's fine, because they'll leave you descendants.

Except you, unlike the average house, have a brain. Have hands. Have a stomach which can hunger but never starve. You cannot die, but you know what death is. You see humans and raccoons and spiders and trees and rocks and everything else in this whole world die all the time, but it will not touch you.

How many years do you think it takes before your mouth starts to salivate like your gut's gone sour? How many endings do you have to witness before you begin to stop caring when things you paid attention to die? How many times do you hear your name contort and twist under the weight of different empires' languages before you stop recognizing it as yours anymore, and cease answering when they call?

How long does it take before you stop being capable of interacting with the rest of the world in a way that a person can understand, can safely comprehend, would ever want to experience?

And how much of that, do you think, do you let happen on purpose, because the alternatives were all too much to even begin to imagine after one too many mountains turned to sand before your eyes?

[hedgehog-moss]

I volunteered to help the florist with her Mother's Day deliveries today, it was fun! My favourite parts of the experience:

early this morning I delivered flowers to women who were busy with morning farm chores, usually out in the barn; some had forgotten it was Mother's Day and were pleasantly surprised to see me show up holding a bunch of flowers above my head (so it wouldn't get eaten by barn animals on the way)

speaking of: one woman let a cow smell the flowers, then said "they're probably treated with chemicals—better not have a taste" with an apologetic look (at her cow)

a little boy opened the door at one point and I said, flowers for your mum! and he called her and while waiting for her to come downstairs, he said, "I learnt a Mother's Day poem at school", so I said, let's hear it! And apparently he hadn't expected that, and he lit up upon realising he would get higher returns on his poem investment than expected. He thought he'd recited it once and it was over but here was a fresh new audience!

a woman whom I found at the back of her garden hanging out with ducks deplored the fact that she didn't have a coin in her pocket for a tip, then said "Do you want to see my baby pigeons?" Yes of course I want to see your baby pigeons. That's a good tip

I delivered a bouquet to someone and a woman next door, who was in her garden, turned to the open window of her house and said, "[Neighbour's name] got flowers! For MOTHER'S DAY."

I later had to return to that street after a last-minute order was placed to this woman's address. Whomever she was talking to inside the house got the message loud and clear :)

at one point I entered a barn that seemed empty (except for cows), said "Is anyone here?" and a goat SPRUNG UP out of nowhere and poked me with her hoof and gave me a heart attack

I returned to the shop and the florist let me pick a couple of plants as thanks, and we had the usual conversation—"Would this cheerful yellow plant thrive in my house?" "No. Your house is under 10°C. Try this one instead." Me: "This one isn't yellow :( It's more austere" Her: "So is your house" (She entered my non-heated kitchen in December once, and ever since I've been trying to convince her that it's not always like that) (just six months per year)

as I sat in the shop waiting for more bouquets to deliver, a man came in to buy roses and the florist started wrapping a ribbon around the bunch and the man asked, could you put a ribbon around each rose? I said aw they're for several mums? :) And he said yeah—that he was going to visit his mum at the retirement home and he wanted to get something "for all her friends too, why not!" It made everyone smile

admiring the florist's skill as she quickly put together a bouquet for a new order, I said something like "at least AI won't steal your job" and she said "with quantum computing, you don't know... not sure what it is but I read an article and it sounded scary." I said, I heard it's still impractical because the quantum computer particles need to be kept in very cold environments, like close to absolute zero, and she said "Quantum plants would thrive in your house."

Florist: "I'll accompany you for this delivery because the person who filled the form gave a 'turn left after the third mossy rock'-type of address"

I was invited at her house for lunch, and I asked warily "Does your husband still have swans?" She said "No, we only kept the geese. We have just 3. They're evil too but not as bad as the swans"

one of my favourite interactions was when I delivered flowers in a hamlet that could fit in my pocket, and a young girl who came to the door asked me in what village I lived, and I said, it's not a village, just a lone house in the woods, and she sighed "I wish I could live away from civilisation." I looked around us. Asked, how many people live in this village? She said, "Sixty." I said, "That's too many?" She said, "Yeah."

Final stats for today: I was offered a coffee 4 times, Mother's Day chocolates 2 times, and 1 meeting with baby pigeons; was startled by 1 goat and terrorised by 3 geese; petted 2 windowsill cats, and was asked if Pampérigouste was currently in her pasture 4 times.

[shooting-love-arrows]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎'𝐬! 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃

SYNOPSIS: It was a beginning of a new day for 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 and he'd make damn sure it was just as perfect as every other one. PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 x reader (gender not specified) tw. possessive/obessive behaviour, control problems, decieving, yandere tendencies. A/N: It is an Alternative Univerese and based on a scene from a TV series "Amazing Mrs Maisel"

masterlist

He had to be quick and sleek. 

It was early in the morning, just some time before your alarm clock would ring. It was the sunrays that woke 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 up, bringing him back into the heaven on Earth he has come to know by your side. It’s a little trick he does the night before by leaving the curtains slightly open, since he couldn’t set an alarm clock himself.

You can’t know his little secret. 

So with one look filled with tenderness and love thrown at you, under the cloak of the early hours and shielded by you sleeping like a rock, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 sneaked out of your warm, shared bed.

He shivered, feeling cold only wearing his nylon*, frilly nightwear. Goosebumps appeared on his skin which he currently had no time to take care of.

"The winter is coming alright." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 thought, noticing how the windows in their bedroom frosted. He made a mental note to turn on the central heating as soon as go downstairs. But that’s for later, for now he carefully maneuvered his way to the bathroom right by your bedroom. 

The magic happened after he quietly closed the door, for now separating you from him. Left alone, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 began to make himself presentable for you. 

Starting with a cap of strong mouthwash, he then moved on to brushing his teeth so that his breath won’t stink and his teeth will continue to be clean and white. Then, he deeply cleaned his face of any leftover night creams he applied shortly after you fell asleep the previous night and applied a finish lotion. A dash of makeup on his eyelids, cheeks and lips so it’ll look natural. Then he proceeded to free his hair of curlers and brush through them until they laid into a certain hairstyle he always wore. And lastly, a few pumps of the perfume you gave him for his birthday. (He simply adores your choice of scent and never fails to wear it with pride)

Before walking out, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 took a moment to take a look at himself one last time. Anyone would say that his reflection showed a perfect image of the househusband you could often see in the magazines. Yet, the only opinion that mattered to him was yours. 

Everything he did – created and keeps creating – is for you. Only you. And he will gladly continue to do so for as long as you live.

With that, just like he left, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 re-entered your bedroom. Now after his morning routine, looking fresh and all pretty, his appearance was anything but a person who just woke up. He looked beautiful but at the same time, unreal. Unnaturally beautiful...

Swiftly, yet gracefully so that you wouldn't wake up before the alarm clock, he climbed back on your bed. Quickly, he adjusted the sheets around him, laid down on his side so that his back was turned towards you and took a deep breath, before finally closing his eyes.

Riiing! Riiing! Riiing!

The sound of your alarm clock rang precisely at 6:00 A.M. Blaring sound ripped away the peaceful silence and slowly aroused you from your deep sleep. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 had to refrain from smirking, as he felt the bed shift behind him. You were awake! 

And that meant one thing…

Seconds later, just like everyday, he felt your lips plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. A soft smile appeared on his face instead and a soft plush appeared under the blush he had applied. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 ‘woke up’ to your kiss, fluttering his eyes open. Much to his heart's joy, his gaze connected with yours. 

Your face was something he always wanted to wake up to. Your eyes were still sleepy, your face so lovely to look at and your hair all messy. In those mornings, you could just be you. His to admire, to touch, to experience. 

His, his, his…

"Good morning, sweetheart." Your raspy voice broke him out of the daze he fell into. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 eyes burned with love for you, gazing up at you like you were the only person existing in this world. He lifted his perfectly manicured and soft hand, placing it on your cheek and rubbing it affectionately.

"Good morning, darling." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 sent you his signature million dollar worth smile.

"Is it me or are you getting even more devine day after day?"

Yes, it was the beginning of another perfect day.

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[synchodai]

I get this impression that House of the Dragon doesn't get that "named" heirs aren't really the norm in Westeros. If it were that easy for someone to just give everything to their favorite child, Randall Tarly wouldn't have needed to force Sam to go to the Wall and Tywin could have simply chosen Cersei over Tyrion as heir of Casterly Rock.

If we look at the history Westeros borrows from, the concept of "naming" heirs wasn't really a thing in medieval England. Landed gentry didn't have direct say over the order of succession until the Statute of Wills in 1540. Before then, land and subsequent titles could only be inherited through agnatic primogeniture.

Agnatic primogeniture prioritized the living, eldest, trueborn son. Claims can only be passed on patrilineally. This means that a grandaughter can inherit a claim of her grandfather's titles through her father, but a grandson cannot be given the same through his mother. However, if his mother finally does have land and titles under her own name (not under her father's), only then does her son and other children enter the line of succession.

The reason it was like this was because it kept land and titles under one family. Daughters are less preferred because when they are married, they become part of their husband's family — meaning that any titles they receive will be inherited through a new line. This wouldn't be an ideal situation because it gives two families claims to the titles. The more claimants there are, the more unstable the hold the owner has.

In other words, agnatic primogeniture was practiced for stability. Because back in the day, titles weren't just property or land. They came with governorship over a people, so a stable and predictable transfer of titles was necessary to avoid civil conflicts and questions of legitimacy.

A landed lord or lady wasn't given the right to designate heirs for a few reasons:

Most of them were vassals who oversaw the land in the name of someone higher up. It technically isn't even theirs to give away (see: feudal land tenure).

The wishes of a human being are less predictable than having a determined line of succession based on birth order. What if he becomes incapable of declaring an heir either through illness or disability? What if he's captured and a bad actor forces him to name this person heir under threat of violence?

People died unexpectedly all time. This was before germ theory and modern medicine — child mortality was extremely high. With no refrigeration technology, a single poor harvest could mean dying from starvation. Bandits, cutthroats, and raiders were a constant threat. They could not afford to rely on a person choosing a different heir every time the old heir drops dead, because the landed lord/lady could die just as suddenly.

Even 21st century families stab each other in the back over who gets grandma's house — so imagine having an uncertain line of succession in the middle ages over a life-defining lordship and without a modern-day court system to mediate.

Going back to HotD, whenever Targaryens did go against the established line of succession, they could only have done it by consolidating the support of their vassals. Only royalty seemed to have the power to bend agnatic primogeniture, but even then they were beholden to it.

When Jaehaerys I ascended the throne over Aerea, it was mainly because there were those who saw Maegor the Cruel's act of disinheriting Jaehaerys as null and void. This restored Jaehaerys place in the line of succession above Aerea.

And when Rhaenys was passed over for Baelon, Jaehaerys had to convene his lords and offer compelling reasons as to why — her young age, her lack of an heir, her Velaryon last name, etc. It wasn't a given that just because she was a woman that she was ineligible. If he was doing it purely out of misogyny, he still had to legally justify his misogyny in order to strip away her rights.

Even after consolidating support, the book mentions Jaehaerys I and Viserys I's respective hold on the crown was still weakened. Even though their claims were backed by reasons cosigned by a powerful majority, they still had to ensure the security of their rule through other means. There were people who doubted their right to rule, and those people had to be placated with gifts (by Viserys) or intimidated into submission (by Jaehaerys).

So we come to Viserys I who never gave his vassals a reason why Rhaenyra should supercede his three sons other than, "I said so." Had he convened with his lords and maybe made the argument that a first marriage takes precendence over a second one, then maybe he could have set a new precedent and gathered support.

But no, he didn't. He relied on the power of his own words and the lords' personal oaths — oaths that he didn't exactly plan how he would enforce posthumously.

And the Realm did not choose to adopt a different succession law after Jaehaerys's designation of Baelon in 92 AC or the Council of Harrenhal choosing Viserys on 101 AC. If those two events did change anything, it was that now women were exempt from the line of succession for the crown and only the crown. It did not set the precedence that monarchs could freely choose heirs. It did not upend the whole system; it only made a tweak, as most lawful policy-changes do, by carving out at an exception. It was a committee, not a revolution.

Before and after the Dance, no other monarch, lord, or lady "declared" an heir that went against agnatic primogeniture, save for Dornish who have cognatic (equal-gender) primogeniture instead. Ramsay had to get rid of Roose Bolton's living trueborn son AND be legitimized by the crown in order to be recognized as heir (only a crowned monarch can legitimize baseborn children which is another world-building pillar a lot of people miss). Randall basically had to force Sam to abdicate because he wanted his younger brother to inherit instead. And of course, Tywin despite his intense hatred of Tyrion is forced to acknowledge him as his heir.

The rigidity of the line of succession is a major and constant source of conflict in the series, so it baffles me that people really thought that characters could just freely choose their heirs. That's why we have a civil war. It wasn't a misunderstanding. It's the expected consequences of someone carelessly going against a foundational tenent of the society they inhabit.

[incorrectbatfam]

How do u think they all reacted to finding out pieces of Tim’s year abroad?

Concept: he tells one person who tells everyone else, but it's like a game of telephone where the story changes over time

Tim, under his breath: ...so yeah, I lost my spleen and blew up the League of Assassins.

Cassandra: *nods*

[later]

Stephanie, gasping: No way! He sold his spleen to the League of Assassins?!?

Cassandra: *nods*

[later]

Stephanie: *whispers to Barbara*

Barbara: Moldy blue cheese in a pasta salad. No wonder he seemed so out of it.

[later]

Barbara: *whispers*

Duke: That doesn't sound like him. I'm gonna ask Jason to see if he knows.

[later]

Duke: Apparently Tim spent a year in a treehouse writing classic rock ballads.

Jason: That's the first time I'm hearing about this.

[later]

Dick: What were you and Duke talking about?

Jason: Nothing much, just how Tim went off the grid to live like a caveman for a year.

Dick: He what now—

[later]

Damian: I overheard you and Todd talking about Drake's alternative lifestyle retreat.

Dick: Well, actually—

Damian: Does Father know?

Dick: I don't think so, but—

Damian: I shall inform him.

[later]

Damian: *whispers*

Bruce: Are you sure?

Damian: My intel is never wrong.

Bruce: *barges into the Batcave*

Bruce: Timothy Jackson Drake, since when did you smoke weed?!

[steddielations]

- nsfw, age gap, rockstar Eddie, drummer steve

Eddie should not be wearing a plug here.

It’s stupid. It’s reckless. But that inner voice that led to decades of being stupid and reckless says it’s fine, it’s just for Eddie. Steve doesn’t have to know, unless he wants to find out.

It really is just for Eddie. It’s more for confidence than kink. It’s a trick he learned back when he was still getting comfortable on stage, back when he could still handle the fast life. Started way back when he was a teenager, dear old dad made sure to turn his talent into cold hard cash.

Now here Eddie is, way too many years of coping with drugs and never any therapy later, retired rockstar doing the whole studio owner mentoring baby rockstars thing. Someone’s gotta keep rock and roll alive so long as Eddie’s still kicking.

So the first thing that comes with years of being stone cold sober is realizing he spent too much time on the road and in the closet, not enough time growing roots so he’d have someone to settle down with when he stopped being so afraid of it.

The second thing is a dick that doesn’t work half the time because maybe if someone told him doing drugs would land him limp-dick at 40, he would’ve stopped sooner. The third thing is that he’s going to die alone with his floppy dick and trust issues.

So with the wild life Eddie lives nowadays, it’s no surprise that a couple smiles and smooth words from a good looking young drummer sent him into a spiral.

Steve’s a session musician, an independent guy that looked good on paper and even better in person. He’s got more heart and grit than the last few ‘frontmans’ Eddie tried to get something real out of. Steve knows it too, the way everyone does at 28.

He’s got the same cockiness in his skills as Eddie, but he knows he’s more than just his skills in a way that Eddie wishes he could’ve known at that age. He’s confident enough to make his own suggestions to Eddie, calls him old fashioned and he’s smooth about it, strikes up debates about music and he’s fucking sassy about it.

Eddie’s gotta be under some kinda spell to be considering Springsteen is one of the greats like Steve insists.

It’s not just because Steve’s younger, there’s always been girls much younger than late 20s trying to get with him for his name, status, money. Bless their hearts, maybe if he was still 20 years deep in the closet. It’s not just because Steve’s a guy either, there’s plenty of young guys now that dare to bat their eyes and call him Daddy and want to get fucked.

No, it’s because Steve’s different. The opposite, even.

Eddie slips up and calls him sweetheart once and it’s like Steve was just waiting to open that door and let every babe and handsome and honey slip out from his lips.

He notices Eddie checking out his biceps as he’s banging away on the drums once and sends him a wink that nearly makes him flatline.

He’s not intimidated to get in Eddie’s space. He has no reason to ever be in the control room, but Eddie doesn’t question it when Steve’s close, leaning over him with a warm hand pressed to the small of his back for one second. Eddie’s so hot faced and flustered that he gets his long hair caught in some of the board switches.

“Fuck, fucking, god damn it,” Eddie curses, tangling it even more trying to yank it free and vowing to chop it all off later.

“It’s alright, here, let's get you sorted out.” Steve’s steady hand closes over Eddie’s, gentle and warm as he eases the lock of hair free. Eddie’s breath lodges in his throat when Steve reaches up, fingers brushing Eddie’s face as he combs through his long silver streaked waves and says, “Don’t ever cut your hair. I love it too much.”

God. Steve makes Eddie feel like he’s a pretty young thing getting moves put on him in the kinda club that he was always too famous, too busy and too afraid to go to at that age.

It can’t be real. Steve can’t be serious. Eddie’s mean. Bitter. He talks shit about everyone and everything. He’s nothing without a guitar. He’s got the prickly rind of daddy issues and doesn’t even have Wayne to make it better anymore. The whole world adoring him all his life only fed his ego. He’s worth millions of dollars and feels like nothing most days. His only real friends are his bandmates that he doesn’t call often enough because they love each other, but they’re sick of each other, being stuck together all those years.

Surely, Steve’s just bored and playing with him. Eddie needs a kick of confidence to deal with it until Steve’s contract ends and he’s done playing with Eddie.

So that’s why Eddie’s got a plug up his ass at the studio. At work, technically.

It helps. It gives him all the inner fire he needs to ignore when he feels Steve’s eyes burning into him, and push his hand through his hair that Steve loves, and sway his hips as Steve’s gaze follows him walking out to the bathroom.

Oh yeah, Eddie’s still got it.

And he has to piss. Really bad. His bladder just ain’t what it used to be and when he’s gotta go, he’s gotta go and for whatever reason, he can’t do it with the plug inside him.

Eddie’s locked in a stall so he doesn’t hesitate to undo his belt and reach inside to pull it out. He holds it while he uses the toilet, so distracted sighing in relief like such an old man that he doesn’t realize how lube-slippery the thing is.

It’s too late. He drops his plug and it rolls out from under the stall just as the bathroom door opens and shuts slowly.

Then Eddie feels both relief and panic when it’s Steve’s voice that asks, “Eddie, did you drop something, honey?”

[healer-pop]

blood on my shirt, roses in my hand.

‼️ summary: venture doesn’t know if you realize what seeing you in a fight does to them.

⛔️ warnings: 18+ content! scenes of violence and blood, afab!reader, and explicit sexual content.

🍒 word count: 4.6k

the rush was incomparable.

if this was what it was like all the time, you finally understood why your partner chose to join and stay with the recall.

the way your blood throbbed through your veins, tingling like electricity as it rushed up your arms and down your legs, burning like a stovetop where hands gripped onto you.

you felt the hot and cold all at once, your body sweating, but your insides like ice, struggling against the hard grasp of the person currently hugging you tightly against them, dragging your kicking feet further down the ancient paved streets, further away from safety, from Venture. their gun pressed into your side, a bruising pressure right into your ribs, dark threats mumbled into your ear from a raspy voice, something that was straight out of a horror movie.

they didn't get it wrong, though. you felt manic, tears pouring down your cheeks, pooling on the arm of your captor. that feeling of needing to live.

the ground suddenly shook, teetering them off balance, their arms loosening around you, and you tugged one hand free with a strength you didn't know you had in you, squirming around to face them.

you swung. your palm connecting with your target — the goons nose, crunching under your palm, the ski mask doing little to stop the blow. a wet feeling. a squishy one. blood dripping down your hand, seeping into their fabric mask.

the world beside you a blurry, inconsistent tangle of color, movement, and silence.

was that what drew you in? the quiet? the peace that came with violence? there wasn’t enough time to dwell on it.

talon’s operative staggered back, gun clattering to the floor as they clutched their nose, a yell of frustration erupting from their throat as their black eyes burned into your own. there was nothing. no thoughts, just pure instinct as you kicked the gun away. you brought your leg up. and they realized at the last second what you were about to do — tried to drop their hands from their face to block your foot, but came too short, allowing you free access to their stomach, dropping them to the ground with a quiet groan.

black spots popped in and out of your vision, leaving the area they appear in washed of color; the traveling ones leave white lines that slash your field of view into crystalline, fractured pieces.

it was addicting.

suddenly, an echo. like a voice resounding through a tunnel.

your name—

your name was being called.

you whip around, a bit too quickly for your untrained mind, which was currently dropping from its hyper focused space, making you step in place far too many times than was necessary for a simple turn.

“Venture…?”

this would never get boring.

Venture absolutely thrived on adrenaline. the reverb from the drill shook their hands, yet they themselves were rock-solid. it was the purest form of clarity they ever felt. dirt and rock flew past their face as the drilled into the ground, no doubt lacerating their face, but Venture felt nothing.

talon’s sentry was slow, slowed by the weight of their armor, too slow to turn around fast enough and defend themselves as Venture quickly reemerged from the ground, dashing forward with the drill angled perfectly at their abdomen, piercing metal and fabric and flesh. they stumbled backwards, into their partner, both of them tumbling to the ground, guns flying beyond their reach, shield tech flashing an alarming blue then white.

Venture stood above them, the dry wind of the desert whipping their coat around them, taking the moment to slide the button on their excavator backwards.

“next time… don’t interrupt my date.”

Venture clicked the button forward, the weapon giving off a satisfying shink! — as it informed its user that it was reloaded, the curved metal lighting up as Venture raised it above their head, a blossoming, blue vortex appearing, bright as a star, as its teeth opened.

two pairs of eyes widen, realizing what was about to come. they tried to scramble to their feet. not quick enough. Venture smirked.

“Excavation Initiation!”

the sands flew up around them from the cracks in the pavement as Venture slammed the drill down. Once. Twice. And a third, just for good measure.

their breath heaved. chest rising and falling in time with the dusty air, scanning for any sign of the enemies. nothing. nothing but red hot sand, melting from the laser hot electrical-plasma into small, weak crystals of glass. no… the sand was already cooled. It was stained red. a small puddle of blood was all that was left, mixing with the glowing crystals. it would make a nice keepsake. maybe they could make something out of it for you.

You.

where were you?

Three… there were three operatives that confronted the two of you. the tank and the two gun men. The tank and the rifleman was with them… that left…

It was a cold realization, sending chills down Venture’s spine, their arms sprouting with goosebumps as it contrasted the scorching air.

they yelled your name, spinning around helplessly as they looked for you. a grunt bounced off the ruins, somewhere in the distance and it shook their very being. Venture tossed the excavator to the ground, sprinting towards the sound, hoping that they were wrong. hoping you had managed to get out of range when they… how could they have been so careless!

another sound. pain. Venture could feel the burn in their legs as they pushed their body to go faster, their feet exploding with pain as they collided with the uneven stone beneath them.

a figure appeared in the foreground. another, splayed on the ground and for a second, Venture felt their heart stop. their feet followed with. the icy grasp of fear and panic, their mind exploded into an overwhelming static, ears ringing.

then the grief. the absolute worst thoughts coming to head as they felt their lungs begin to pound. every single worst scenario screaming in their head as they forced themselves forward, eyes wide in sheer terror.

I wasn’t quick enough!

What did Talon do to them?! When I get my hands on them...

What if… what if I…

but… but you hadn’t been wearing those shoes. Or those black military pants. and as Venture’s eyes raised on the down figure’s body, the glaring icon of Talon, stitched onto the upper thigh, yet again stopped all processing in their brain. it felt like an entire system reboot. Off. On. Rewind. Restart.

as they came to their senses, they turned their eyes to the other figure, less than a meter away. You. safe, but blood dripped down your fingertips. your perfect, beautiful, plush lips parted as weighted breaths escaped them. oh good. you were breathing. that was always good.

their voice trembled as they called for you, a weak whisper barely audible to even their own ears (or was that the tinnitus?). your face was unreadable, seemingly caught on the unconscious figure before you. Venture swallowed, throat burning as saliva traveled down. they ignored it. the pain didn’t matter. You did. Only you. they took a step forward and tried again. it came out much louder this time. and it snapped you out of whatever haze held you hostage. you stumbled as you looked around, and Venture was running towards you before either you knew what was going on.

“Venture…?”

they grabbed you, the sudden movement catching you off guard, and tugged you into their warm, sweaty embrace. you had no choice but to fall into them. “Oh, baby… Baby, baby, baby, I’m so sorry. I am so so so SO sorry- I didn’t realize- I didn’t mean to leave you alone.” their arms clutched you like a coffin, sized just for you, firm, yet so gentle and sweet. they stammered out more apologies, for what, you weren’t sure of, but you slowly raised your arms, as weak as they felt and held them back with all the might you could muster — which wasn’t much.

“— you with me? I mean, it’s ok if you aren’t, I know, I know it was a lot. I didn’t know — I mean, of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I knew they were here, of all places. I just- I was so worried. Are you ok?” Their voice broke through your exhausted brain, you barely could catch all of what they were saying, but you managed a tired laugh, pulling back from their hug.

“Sloane, Sloane, I’m.. I’m ok. Better than ok, actually. I feel… good. Tired but… but clear.”

They smiled back, but it didn’t quite meet their eyes, and they kept glancing downwards to scan you over, but were trying not to be obvious about it. Your grin turned mischievous and you lifted a bloodied fist, drying blood flaking off the rest of you arm as your skin moved. It badly shook, but you relished how their eyes widened. Splaying your fingers, you then wiggling them, showing they were all fully functional.

“You should see the other guy.”

and it was that moment they realized that maybe they were a bit fucked in the head. the moment Venture realized how downright sexy you looked, all covered in dirt and someone else’s blood, the dazed look you still wore hooding your eyes like the ones you gave them in the bedroom, still grinning as you sent a playful, but sleepy, wink their way. and by all the gods in the world, they needed you under them. now.

despite your protests, Venture insisted on taking a heli-taxi back to the hotel. it wasn’t that far of a walk, but the moment you sat on the bouncy leather seat, you were more than thankful they did. your head immediately dropped back, eyes rolling the same way, in absolute bliss at the small comfort.

you missed the way the omnic taxi driver grimaced at your dirty state, but Venture wasted no time in shutting your door and bounding over to their side, quietly promising a good tip if they kept quiet about it and were discreet. a quick nod and Venture soon joined you in the back, but you were quick to tell that something was off.

Venture kept themselves pressed to the far side of the taxi, fidgeting in their seat, shifting this way and that. you wouldn’t have noticed, but the way the leather seats squeaked as they did was unmistakable. let alone they barely mumbled one word to you after making sure you were ok. that in itself was downright bizarre behavior for your usually chatty lover. as it crossed your mind, you tiredly opened one eye, watching their fingers play with each other as they seem to nervously watch the moving sites outside the window, purposely avoiding your side of the car.

“Sl-… Venture,” you called, and it made them jump.

“Mhm?”

“Everything alright?”

“Mhm! Yep! Everything’s fine over here!”

“Venture." You tilted your head to try and peer at their face. "You aren’t looking at me.”

their eyes dropped to the taxi’s floor, trailing over the carpet, then quickly jumped up at you, then back down. a nervous, toothy smile jumped onto their face, despite their avoidance, before they turned back to the window.

“Venture.” this time, they didn’t respond. You sat up fully and reached over to grasp one of their hands. “Venture, I’m not mad.”

“I- I know.”

“You know? Then what’s wrong?”

the speed at which they turned around almost alarmed you. you almost forgot that this person, your lover, was now an overwatch operative, with instincts and reactions far faster than yours ever could be, they trained them over and over, countlessly, every day of their life now. their eyes, deep and dark, burned as they caught yours; an endless void, furthered by their furrowed brow. Venture’s hands twisted yours around, so they now held your wrist, gently tugging you forward like a kid in grade school who wished to bestow upon you a great secret. noses nearly touching, you recognized the way your partner’s voice dropped, a husky whisper, a razor blade caressing the skin of your face, “the way you look right now… I want to fuck you so hard you can’t think of anything else but screaming my name.” their hot breath fanning your now overly sensitive lips. you feel your body heat up in response to their words. “if I keep my eyes on you for one more second…” they punctuated this by raking their heavy gaze over your body, “i’m gonna take you in this taxi without caring who’s watching.”

with that, they released you, but the flush on their cheeks was unmistakable, and they strained against their own instincts as they leaned back into their seat, firmly locking their gaze on the taxi driver’s headrest. you were frozen, still hunched over the center seat, hand frozen in midair, body unable to catch up with the sudden wave of arousal now coursing through your body like a tidal wave.

ah. now you got it. not only did the violence bring peace. but as your pulse quickened, all you could think about was how much fighting felt like this. a shot of pure ecstasy to the brain. you sat back. your eyes slide over to glance at Venture, who had closed theirs. they went to slide back but caught on the rearview mirror. the glowing light of six pin-point dots reflected back at you but then disappeared. you swallowed. fuck.

Sloane’s tongue felt like it was wrapped around yours. wet lips, smacking together as your back hit the door. it covered your teeth, and your own tongue pushed back, darting into their mouth and catching on their chipped tooth. for once, you didn’t care if it cut you. you welcomed it. you wanted to taste the iron in their mouth, wanted it to further slick the slide of your connected mouths.

one of your hands reached for the doorknob grasping at air as you tried to locate it. the other, the blood-covered one, was currently busy, tangling itself in Sloane’s hair. was it pushing them closer into you or away? neither of you were sure. Sloane was too busy groping at anything they could feel, your ass, your tits, your hips and you could feel the gears of your brain grind to a halt at their rough touch. both of their hands traveled around your body, the catch of the calluses you knew too well unmistakable, finding their way into your pants, squeezing your panty-covered ass. it was the moment they began to unbutton them that you tugged your face away, looking upwards to try and get a word in, but the moment you started, Sloane latched onto your neck, suckling what would be, no doubt, a deep bruise into your throat.

“Ssssslone. Sloane! I gotta- ah!- gotta get the keycard!”

stubbornly, they shook their head, digging their hands deeper into the flesh of your ass. a breathless laugh escaped you and they moaned. you could feel it vibrate against your collar as they popped off your skin, staring back at you with a love-drunk smile, lips bruised and wet from your earlier make-out session. their eyes traveled down, lip disappearing between their teeth, letting you catch of glimpse of a lusty twinkle as they pulled back slightly to take all of you in. before they could act on any of those desires, however, you twisted around to deny them the access to your body, but it didn’t quite work as planned, especially when they were on you in an instant, pushing their hips forward, into your ass, pinning you against the door. oh, yeah. they literally react for a living. how could you forget (again). you, unfortunately, did not, and as punishment, you had managed to get your hands trapped with you, between you and the hardwood.

"S-Sloane," you squeaked, in protest at the capture. but you knew it was a futile pled, no more than a selfish desire to hear their name fall off your lips.

“you’re so pretty like this, babe… need to see you in this position more often…” the slow grind of their hips they used to drive this in had you seeing stars. you felt drunk off their attention and changed your course of action, now using your hands as a base in which you leaned your weight against, rubbing your ass back, against Venture’s warm body. “yesssss… yes, just like that, baby. I’ll take care of you. take care of you so good. make you cum so hard.”

and suddenly, a beep.

you went flying forward as the door swung open, but Sloane was faster, catching you around the waist with one, strong arm. you glanced back, wondering what just happened. the other was lifted in the air, keycard to the hotel room slotted between two fingers. the smile they flashed you could be potentially described as, ‘shit-eating.’

“I told you, babe. I gotcha.”

“if I wasn’t so horny for you right now, I would hit you.”

“I like a little fight.”

you huffed at them, pulling yourself free, but that only lasted a second. you intended to make your way to the bed, yearning for its clean, linen smelling sheets, but Sloane redirected you to their shoulder with one easy lift, the door slamming shut behind them. “Uhn-uh. Has estado bastante lejos de mí, pajarito.”

“Sloane! Let me go already!” smacking their back with a open hand, you tried to at least act like you didn’t enjoy their man-handling. when truly, you marveled at their strength. the way they could toss you around like a pillow, yet they never managed to injure you. the self-control they had was a feat that didn’t seem to make it to their mouth. and you wanted to absolutely destroy it. watching them lose themself in you was your greatest weakness, winning over their touch by only a small amount.

Sloane plopped you down onto the bed with no effort, standing above you with the same loving smile as before. Their hand trailed down your cheek, lifting your chin to face them. “Hi, beautiful.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You sure you want me here?” the bed was one of those modern ones. low to the floor and had you at crotch level.

the smile they had dropped. slowly, a confused look took its place. “Why wouldn’t Iiiii- oh my god.”

they might have been quick on their feet on the battlefield, but the bedroom was your domain. in an instant, you had their pants and shorts on the floor, kissing the top of their cunt before they could even finish their sentence. you rested the top your chin on their groin, batting your eyes at the shocked look they handed down to you. “that’s why. now come here.” you tug them forward by their thighs, mouth open, tongue out, thirsting for a lick of their sweet juices.

“I- you weren’t supposed to—”

“Mmm?” you purred, tongue occupying itself with a long lick up their slit that left them gasping. “Wasn’t supposed to… what? I can have my own fun too.”

The noise they made was completely garbled. With a laugh, you went back to kitten-soft licks to their labia, only deepening them a couple of times, every so often, twirling their slick around with your tongue. they couldn’t seem to form a word with their sharp tongue, not with your silver one buried in them. as you started downward, you tapped their shaking calf, indicating them to shake the clothing off their leg and raise it onto the bed beside you, opening up their cunt to you — a sight that made your mouth water. their hole was leaking, drips that you caught with your mouth, leading with your tongue.

you plunged it into them, using your hands to open their legs even more and letting Sloane use them for balance as they rocked against your face, allowing you to penetrate them over and over again. they grasped the sides of your face, saccharine pet names now flowing from their lips as you fucked them on your tongue.

“cariño, my love, you’re so fucking good. beyond my wildest dreams — oh god, you’re so perfect. just incomparable. fuck, just- just- just keep- yes!”

with all the lubrication, it was easy to slide back and forth between their hole and their clit. you mimicked their move in the hallway, suckling on the nub with swift slurps, releasing it to trace their lips back down to their hole, diving in to remind them what it was like to be filled by you again.

“please- fuck! i’m so close! so, so close!” their voice raised in pitch as you continue your wet exploration of their cave, hands moving to grab at your hair, gripping it closer, shoving your nose into their cunt, you did the same to the back of their thighs, pulling them into your face, letting Sloane grind against you, and as you sucked in a shaky breath, all hot and musky scent, they keened, letting out the loudest moan you’ve ever pulled from their throat as they came, soaking your tongue, your mouth, your face in their juices.

“oh, oh—.” Sloane’s legs shook in your grasp, sighing out their held breath as they released themself, released your hair with trembling fingers. you pulled back, face shiny and wet with come, glistening on your lips as you stared up with them. they were so gorgeous like this, mouth parted, huffing out your name under their breath. you admired the sight, holding them as they shook with the aftershocks of their orgasm.

“You… you’re so gonna get it,” they breathed. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

“All talk and no- mMPH-!” your mouth was covered by their own as they tackled you backwards, down onto the bed, licking off their own slick from you. they practically were devouring you, teeth clashing as they pressed their naked lower half into you. the heat never left Sloane’s eyes, you noticed, as they pulled away to reach under the bed for their suitcase. you attempted to sit up, but one hand pushed you back down, holding you in place on the bed as they rummaged around underneath.

“No. Stay there. My turn.” You recognized the black nylon straps they pulled out, buckles clinking as they fiddled with the orientation. Even with one hand, they were able to untangle the mess of rope, without ever letting you go. And god, why didn’t anyone mention how sexy it was to watch your partner put on their strap with one hand? Like they were sent just to do this to you? Like they knew every button to press just to get you indescribably horny?

the only time Sloane’s hand left you was to clasp the back of the contraption shut, but even then, you were held firm by their strong legs, squeezing your sides and arms together. you wouldn’t have even thought to break free, not with the rate your brain turned to mush. then their hands were back, under your thighs, hoisting them open and up onto their shoulders as they aligned themself with your entrance. but ever a tease, Sloane didn’t just push in. no, this was payback, wasn’t it? their fingers danced along your cunt, rough tips spread your most private area open as they watched. it was almost embarrassing, how much they liked to just look at your sopping wet cunt, toying with your hole, running their fingers along the rim.

“Sloane,” you pleaded, “please, please fuck me… it’s embarrassing.”

“nah… this is pretty. your little cunt wants me so bad! doesn’t it?” you bit your lip. they wanted to embarrass you. even with no one around, you felt like you should close your legs, to stop their gaze, but they refused to let you, holding your thigh open. “what’s wrong, baby? I thought you liked it when I complemented you?”

“not… not that way, Venture…. Sloane. please just fuck me…”

“well, when you ask so nicely…” and the stretch was almost instantaneous. you gasp, a mix of their name and air, flooding your lungs, your brain with utter pleasure at the entrance of the hard silicone. your hands, still filthy, clutched at anything you could reach; bed, sheets, shoulders. Sloane hums as you rake them down, somewhat regretful they haven’t shrugged off their coat, so that you could see the pink lines you leave all over their arms.

“so pretty under me… love when you’re so fucked out like this.” fucking Sloane Cameron was an all encompassing experience, so intimate and dirty all at once. they whispered to you about how good you felt wrapped around them, fucking into you with the strap at a pace only they could manage to keep up, all while brushing hair out of your face, leaning down to kiss the tears from your cheeks.

“such a warm, wet pussy, god, I love it. made for me and my cock. weren’t you? all mine. mi amor. por siempre mio. ah… you’re soaking the bed. you feel it? feel how wet you make my cock?”

their pace was punishing, right off the bat. pushing the air from your lungs with every thrust. was it the air denial that made your head spin? or was it just Sloane? the way they kissed you like they loved you, fucked you like they hated you. they knew you could take it. they loved to test your limits. tested you would be, as their hand dropped to your clit, flicking it with a gentle fingertip every time they pushed into you.

“Sloane! no more, no more! i can’t- can’t take it!”

“Yeah, you can. you got it, got me all wrapped up in your cunt. you can take it. come on, cariño, you can do it.”

you toss your head back, displaying your bruised neck to them, a black pearl necklace of Sloane’s own design, something that belonged straight in the finest museum in the world, in their opinion.

“can’t… I can’t! I- i’m gonna cum!”

they lean in. “yes, baby. that’s it. cum. cum on my cock. show me how good I make you feel.” the sound of their voice. the slap of their thighs on yours. the overstimulation had you trying to push their face away, but they grabbed them, shoving them over your head and burying themself as deep as they could in you. you could feel it push against your pummeled cervix, making you cry out. making you jolt as the hand on your clit moved faster, it was inescapable. it was intoxicating. it- it was making you cum. your fingers came down on the hand holding them, the only thing they could manage as all the muscles in your body tightened, your cunt squeezing the dildo inside you like a vise as you squirting around it, soaking Sloane’s legs, crying out their name as you came.

“h- holy shit…” they whispered to themself, watching you squirm on their cock. you came every where. all over the bed, over them. they wanted so badly to lean down and lick the droplets off your lower lips, but the way you shook made them decide you had had enough for the time being. your eyes still clenched shut, chest rising and falling as you came down.

it was only when you opened them, that they decided to speak.

“good enough for you, cariño?” your eyes, lidded with desire were enhanced tenfold by the grin you gave them.

“not even close. take me to the shower. i’ll show you something else you’ve never seen before.”

[tritoch]

Have you got any thoughts to share about Sphene? I saw your post about how misrepresented FFXIV’s female characters are, and I’ve been hoping to see anything more than the typical “Evil AI colonizer etc.” or “Tragic woman who can never change ever” or “Wuk Lamat’s girlfriend”. Maybe our interpretations will differ but I’ll be happy if you can provide anything more complex than those.

Sure! Throwing all this under a read-more for anyone who hasn't finished 7.0 yet. I think I'll probably expand on this more later but wanted to get initial thoughts down. (Note after writing: I meant this to be brief but uhhhh brevity is not my strong suit sorry. This take just sort of ends abruptly because I realize I'm rambling.) Again, spoilers through the end of 7.0 MSQ.

I think Sphene is the sharpest work the game has done yet in casting the antagonist as the noble double of the protagonist (a well it returns to a lot with Emet, and Zenos, and Golbez, and...). But because the protagonist here is Wuk Lamat and not the Warrior of Light, that's also a much more defined and interesting role. To me, Wuk Lamat is, above all, the Righteous Queen, who rules thoughtfully, wisely, and justly, and whose claim to the throne is justified by her moral clarity. Sphene, in turn, is also a wise and good queen, one who undertakes all her actions with her people first in her hearts, a sense of compassion towards all, and a clear eye for the consequences and costs of her intended course of action. And it leads to utter disaster, for her, her people, and the people of Tural. That rocks!

The first half of 7.0 is about justifying the fact that Wuk Lamat's going to be Dawnservant. Wuk Lamat is compassionate, curious, wise, and open-minded. She wins over rebels and malcontents not by asserting her authority or by strength of force, but by taking her obligations to them (as her subjects) seriously. She knows many of her subjects personally and takes a great interest in their lives, and she respects even those who openly oppose her.

And everything Wuk Lamat does, Sphene does to 11. Wuk Lamat respects her subject peoples and is curious about their cultures? Sphene forcibly annexes Yyasulani, but goes out of her way and expends Alexandria's limited resources to enable the remaining Xak Turali to live in their accustomed way if desired (…to the extent allowed by the new permanent lightning storms and the internal conflicts caused by regulator adoption). Wuk Lamat cares about her people not just in the abstract but as individuals? Sphene visits sick kids, knows them by name! Wuk Lamat understands the burden of rulership is too great and cedes half her power to her brother? Sphene recognizes her own weaknesses and makes a deal with the devil to keep Alexandria's culture alive! Wuk Lamat is willing to die for her people? Sphene will forcibly traumatize herself into being a better queen, if that's what rulership demands.

For an expansion that spends the first half being like "wow isn't this perfect candidate for the crown so likable and humble? wouldn't it be nice to be ruled by a good king?," it sure is funny that the final boss is THE QUEEN ETERNAL and she hits you with attacks like LEGITIMATE FORCE and ABSOLUTE AUTHORITY and ROYAL DOMAIN. This, to me, is Sphene's role: she complicates and questions the themes we've developed in the first half. Most importantly to me, she makes us ask: what is devotion to a people or culture even worth?

There's a thing I kept thinking of constantly during Dawntrail, not because I think it directly influenced the game in any way but because the parallels were so stark and startling. It's Jonathan Hickman's New Avengers #18 (2014). Truthfully, I'm not a big comics guy; I only know this sequence because Ta-Nehisi Coates cited it as inspiration for his Black Panther run on Twitter once (I also didn't read TNC's run, I was following him for politics talk). Forgive me, comics people, if I get any details wrong. The parallels are almost comical, though. It goes like this:

A superhuman secret society formed of some of the smartest heroes (and villains) in the land re-forms to oppose an existential threat caused by incursions from other dimensions that threaten to cause literal collisions between Earth and its alternate dimension counterparts. Seeing no other alternatives, they undertake work on a weapon to destroy these other worlds. T'challa—king of a fictional hyperadvanced nation called Wakanda, and also the superhuman Black Panther—meets with his ghostly predecessors, the previous Black Panthers/kings, for he fears the moral stain on his soul and the souls of the people of Wakanda, if they survive explicitly by killing their alternate counterparts, will be too heavy to bear. His ancestors are not impressed.

To them, there is no question at all. A king's duty may be complex in the execution, but it is simple in its conception. Your people come before all others. Always. This is, must be, the fundamental ethic of a good king. To do otherwise would be a betrayal of the social order on which this imagined good monarchy is built. In a situation like this, the only option is to do what you must to protect them. "Will there be a cost? Yes. Might the universe burn? Let it. . . . You will kill them all if it means Wakanda stands. The golden city must never fall."

"I will do what I must" is Sphene's guiding principle. It is so important to her that when she recognizes that her sentimental attachments are making her waver in her duty, she severs them entirely, sacrificing her whole identity to the throne. It is also implicitly Wuk Lamat's position: she has no choice but to fight Sphene because to do otherwise would be to fail to protect her people. In fact, it's briefly even sort of the Warrior of Light's position, as when you tell Sphene before her trial that you understand what you must do, which is shut her down to protect others.

(One quick thought about the Warrior of Light: one cool thing about the antagonist this time being a double in a more exact way than Emet or Zenos is that it means other characters get a chance to relate to her differently than Wuk Lamat. The Warrior of Light, for example, is pressed into her service immediately upon your first meeting as the Queen's Champion, there to defend her if need be against all evil. This role is further affirmed by both robot Otis and Endless Otis, who essentially hand off their role as her knight to you, and reinforced when you flash back to the "might I call upon your aid" moment right before the end. Except, of course, you are loyal not just to her, but to the principles she represents, which her own acts betray, and so your ultimate act of aid is to essentially pass judgment on her and execute her. In a sense, you become the internal safeguard that a political system is supposed to have to protect against this very issue, and which Alexandria explicitly lost when it cast out/forgot Otis. Very Voeburt/ShB tank quests, it owns.)

But really, it's Sphene who embodies this sort of grim logic best. Aside from her transformation into the Queen Eternal, it's also why she suggests you simply become Alexandrians. It's the only way for her to reconcile her values and worldview, which have backed her into a corner where preserving Alexandria has come to mean a maximalist declaration of war on all life outside its borders because the kind of absolutely pain-free life she envisions for her citizens is completely unsustainable.

In this reading, one of Sphene's main beats is to unsettle what has preceded her in MSQ. In nearly all respects, she shares your values. She prizes life, is curious about other cultures, believes in the greatest good for the greatest possible number. But she is also a queen, and therefore irrevocably (in her eyes) tied to her state. Gulool Ja Ja and Wuk Lamat (and Koana) are the mythical wise rulers, thank god--but what if Wuk had inherited a Turali state that wasn't desperately in need of cross-cultural understanding, but one in a state of war? What value would her deep love for the people of Tural have held then? Sphene says, it would have held no value. If the survival of your people means harming the innocent, you harm the innocent. Kingship allows for no alternatives.

But she also concedes, in the very next breath, that she is still kind of wrong. Because what happened here was not inevitable, despite her programming (a brief note: to me Sphene being programmed is exactly the same as Emet being maybe-tempered, it's a fantasy gloss on the idea of social and cultural education. "I was programmed for this" is really no different from "I was trained and educated for this"), because the truth is that this kind of thoughtful, principled devotion to the state and its people is also a form of sentimental attachment, in the end. One that is maintained not because it is natural, and necessary, but because the monarch, too, likes it, and gets something from it.

In so many ways, in so many senses, the monarch is the state. Kings and queens may fancy themselves merely a reflection of their people's needs and desires, but of course even a cursory glance at history will tell you that far more often, states reflect their rulers. Sphene and Wuk Lamat both suggest that their conflict was inevitable, but was it? Or is the truth, as Sphene glancingly acknowledges here, that she turned her own fears and desires into the same policy goals that led to this tragedy? And if so...what does that say of our Good Queen, Wuk Lamat? Perhaps this could be different if they met earlier, says Wuk Lamat. But when? When did Wuk Lamat ever not love her people so dearly that she would not have sacrificed herself for them, or caused mass death for the sake of their survival? When did Sphene not believe the Endless to be people, or the preservation of Alexandria to be the most important thing? Maybe she means "had we met before you met Zoraal Ja," but of course, we the player actually saw their meeting. And we know that Sphene even then was not the hapless naif she'd like to pretend. She always knew exactly what she was doing.

We know the price of this kind of thinking, this Hobbesian view that states are engaged in a struggle of all against all. Living Memory lets you walk through it. To preserve Tural, we exterminate the Endless. We befriend them, learn about their lives, promise to remember them, and then we destroy them and their homes, leaving nothing but a bleak blank landscape and the sound of wind. This is what Sphene would have done to Tural and Eorzea. Indeed, it's what she's already doing to the people of Yyasulani, because no amount of well-intentioned aid can make up for trapping people under the dome for 30 years and systematically eroding their culture through the resonators.

To me, this is what makes Sphene really work, that way she has of forcing Wuk Lamat and the player to commit the same kinds of sins she has. We'd like to think ourselves better than her, but of course, we've already reconciled with and integrated Mamook's brutal eugenicist regime back into Turali society well before we ever met Sphene. At the end of our long "wow isn't having a wise queen cool???" expansion, we are met with "Legitimate Force" and "Absolute Authority" and see them for what they truly are: nothing but tools of violence. No longer does the idea of the Warrior of Light hanging around Tural as Wuk Lamat's advisor have the same attraction, now that we have been reminded of the way the putatively unquestionable logic of kingship can ultimately lock even the wisest and kindest rulers into a path of war and exploitation and destruction.

I think Sphene is FFXIV's most interesting and nuanced depiction yet of a leader. She really, truly, wants nothing more than to save her people and protect them from pain. But even seemingly loving and compassionate goals like these can readily lead us down dark paths. She's a "hard men make hard choices"-type character, a noble but misguided opponent, but as a loving and elegant fairy queen instead of a grizzled knight or extremely sad man. She fucking rocks.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

will you please give us examples of resources to look at if we want to learn more about the concept of gender and maybe even transness in Medieval Europe? thanks!

whooooo boy right, there's a lot! I wanna start this by saying that I am very much not an expert, and I only have access to stuff I can find for free and the handful of books I can afford to buy second hand. Most of my research has been around gender as it relates to transness and GNC people. I am absolutely missing stuff, or have forgotten stuff, or simply lack the know-how to find stuff.

There's a few bits I've got on a TBR but haven't read yet - some I've included and some I haven't, depending on the source and how established it is.

Also: this is medieval Europe. The way pronouns are used to describe people don't really align with modern views of sex and gender. Also be aware of old-fashioned language use (for example, some texts talk about "hermaphrodites"). Remember that the way we talk about gender and trans identities is far different to how we even spoke about it 20 years ago.

So with that out of the way... I am chucking this under a read more, because it's long:

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GENDER

Medieval ideas around gender were different to how we now think about it. The Hippocratic view of gender saw gender as a sort of wet/dry, cold/hot spectrum upon which men were at one end and women the other (and in the middle were intersex people). The male body was seen as hot and dry, and the female as cold and wet. The cold, wetness is what made women try to seek out heat from guys. A lot comes down to humors rather than genitals - if you're hot and dry, that innately means you grow a penis, because the heat sorta forces it out. So the marker is that penis = man, but you only have that penis in the first place because of your hot, dry humor.

Some people believed the vagina was an inverted penis - as in, the penis turned outside in. Some schools of thought believed that both men and women produced "seed", and that both were needed for conception. These thoughts and ideas shifted around a lot.

The Hippocratic view shifted towards Aristotelian ideas around the 12th Century, where the male/female divide was a lot stronger. There were also surgeons throughout all these periods who sought to "correct" intersex genitalia with surgery (how little things change).

This podcast (I've linked to a transcript, because I have more time to read than listen to things) with Dr Eleanor Janega is super interesting. In fact, I'd recommend reading her whole blog, which is fascinating. She also has a book out (but I've not read it so I can't give a yay or nay on that one)

The Meanings of Sex Difference in the Middle Ages by Joan Cadden seems to be a good source on this, but I've not read it so I can't vouch for it 100%.

I've listed below some real people who could fit into our modern interpretation of transness, and the fact that all of these people were only "outed" when arrested or at their death makes me think that there were probably a lot more people at the time who would also fit into this category. It does feel (to me, a layman) that you could rock up in a new town and go "hello I'm Jeff the Man" and people would just accept that.

It's also important to note that the majority of sources I've found are about people we could define as trans men (FTM). I've only found one person who could be described as a trans woman. If anyone out there has more sources for trans women, I'd love to hear them - specifically in medieval Europe/England.

There's also a big discussion to be had around the idea of women dressing as men to achieve a goal. People love getting into arguments about it. My general rule is that if someone lived as X gender, and was forcibly outed against their will or at death, then I feel we can more safely assume that their experience maps more closely onto a trans narrative than it does one of a woman taking on the "disguise" of a man.

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TRANS & GNC ACADEMIA

Here's some of the sources I've been using that examine medievalism through a trans or trans-adjacent lens.

Trans and Genderqueer Subjects in Medieval Hagiography, Alicia Spencer-Hall & Blake Gutt - a deep dive/collection of essays about medieval religious figures/saints through a trans lens, specifically about cross-dressing figures. Really fascinating, and available on open access.

How to be a Man, Though Female: Changing Sex in Medieval Romance, Angela Jane Weisl - goes into detail about medieval texts in which characters change their sex.

Transgender Genealogy in Tristan de Nanteuil, Blake Gutt - trans theory in the story Tristan de Nanteuil.

Trans Historical: Gender Plurality before the Modern, edited by Greta LaFleur, Masha Raskolnikov & Anna Kłosowska - A great big examination into trans history/gender. I desperately want this book.

Clothes Make the Man, Female Cross Dressing in Medieval Europe, Valerie R. Hotchkiss (book, no online source available) - Another look into women dressing as men and gender inversion.

The Shape of Sex, Leah DeVun (book) - A history of nonbinary sex, 200 - 1400BC. Not read this one yet but it's on my TBR.

In fact, I'd recommend all of Leah DeVun's work, which I'm currently making my way through. I'm currently reading Mapping the Borders of Sex.

The Third Gender and Aelfric's Lives of Saints, Rhonda L. McDaniel - An examination into the idea of a "third gender" in monastic life based around chastity and spiritualism

Erecting Sex: Hermaphrodites and the Medieval Science of Surgery, Leah DeVun - an essay about "corrective" surgery on intersex individuals in the 13th/14th centuries. (I've not fully read this one yet but the topic is relevant)

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TRANS FIGURES

Joseph/Hildegund (died 1188) - A monk who, upon his death, was discovered to have a vagina/breasts.

Eleanor Rykener (1394) - A (likely) trans sex worker arrested in 1394 (and another source that isn't wiki)

Katherina Hetzeldorfer (killed 1477) - An early record of a "woman" being executed for female sodomy. Katherina dressed and presented as a man, and some scholars read them as a trans man.

Marinos/Marina the Monk (5th Cent) - A monk who was born a woman and lived as a man in a monastery. Marinos was accused of getting a local innkeeper's daughter pregnant. Their "true sex" was discovered upon their death.

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ROMANCES* & GENDER

If you're interested in the idea of gender presentation and trans-adjacent stories, I very much recommend taking a look at some contemporary sources. I've tried to take a sort of neutral approach to pronouns for these descriptions, but it's hard to marry the medieval and modern ideas of sex and gender! The titles are all links.

*Romances here means Chivalric Romances: prose/verse narratives about chivalry, often with fantastic elements. Not, like, falling in love Romances.

Le Roman de Silence (13th Cent) - in order to ensure inheritance, a couple raise their daughter as a boy. The baby is called Silence/Silentius/Silentia. The poem features the forces of Nature and Nurture, who argue about Silence's "true" gender - Nature claims they're a girl, and Nurture claims they're a boy. Silence has a variety of adventures, largely referred to in the text as a man with he/him pronouns, and at the end their "true gender" is discovered and, as a woman, they marry the king.

Yde et Olive (15th Cent) - to avoid being married to their own father, Yde, a woman, disguises themselves as a man and becomes a knight. They end up in Rome, where the king marries them to their daughter, Olive. After a couple of weeks, Yde tells Olive about their "true gender", but the conversation is overheard. The King demands Yde bathe with him to prove they are a man. An angel intervenes and transforms Yde's body into that of a man.

Iphis and Ianthe (Greek/Roman myth, but also in Ovid's Metamorphois, which first came to England in the 15th Cent) - Telethusa is due to give birth, but her husband tells her that if the baby is a girl he'll have it killed. When she gives birth to a girl, she disguises the baby as a boy. Eventually, Iphis is engaged to Ianthe. (Incidentally, this is also a really early example of same-sex romance, as Iphis struggles with their love for Ianthe "as a woman"). Before the wedding, Iphis and Telethusa pray at the temple of Isis, who transforms Iphis into a man.

Tristan de Nanteuil (11th/12th Cent) - from the Chanson de geste, after his alleged death, Tristan's wife, Blanchandin/e, disguises themselves as a Knight. Clarinde, a sultan's daughter, falls in love with them. Blanchandin manages to hide their "true sex", but when Clarinde demands they bathe with her to prove they are a man they flee into the woods. There, they meet an angel who asks if they want to be transformed into a man. Blanchandin accepts and he is turned into a man for the rest of the poem. (Incidentally the angel gives him a giant cock. Yes, the text specifies this).

Le Livre de la mutation de fortune (1403) - written in the first person by Christine de Pizan, the poem describes how the narrator is transformed by Fortune into a man after the death of their husband during a storm at sea. They maintain that 13 years after the event, they are still living as a man. (They also mention Tiresias, a Greek mythological figure who was a man transformed into a woman for seven years).

Okay, for now - that's about all I can think of. Happy reading!