#Restive

[noosphe-re]

restive (adj.)

early 15c., restif, restyffe, of animals, "not moving forward," from Old French restif "motionless, brought to a standstill" (Modern French rétif), from rester "to remain" (see rest (v.2)).

Rare or archaic in the original sense; the prevailing meaning "refusing to stand still" especially of horses (attested by 1680s) probably is based on the notion of "unmanageable, impatient in restraint" in reference to a horse refusing to go forward (1650s).

But it also is perhaps influenced by rest (v.), an old aphetic form of arrest "to stop, check," and by confusion with restless. Compare resty in the same sense, 1510s of horses, c. 1600 of persons. Related: Restively; restiveness.

Etymonline

[lostguysstuff]

Soon 🖤

[xvocabthiamm]

Restive

Definition: the state of becoming increasingly difficult to control

Sentence: Tim and his friends were becoming increasingly RESTIVE because their chicken nuggets were taking so long to finish

This lady's mind is most definitely restive, we can see all the different things running through

Synonym: restless, fidgety

Antonym: calm, patient

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 43 Glazing

Just. Wow. Where to begin, dear void? It's hard not to post full pages from this absolute gut punch of a chapter... what a perfect way to hit the climax of this arc. I guess it's appropriate to talk about Hakuri and Mr. Proceeder himself before anything else. A bit of irony first... Hakuri gets his dad, but Kyoura didn't get him until it was too late.

I know this is most likely trauma speaking for Shiba and the other war vet, but they're right. Kyoura's in his death throes right now, everything's gone to shit, but...

... they're underestimating him and his fanaticism to the clan's tradition. Everyone is, and I don't blame them- Magatsumi's freaky as fuck even sheathed. Except there's one person who knows just how strong Kyoura's will is...

... and is going to use it to make sure every last person is saved.

Hakuri really is his father's son. And I'm just in fucking awe that Chihiro's insanity is on their level. It takes one crazy person to perfectly harmonize with another after only knowing each other for a week, I guess. I wonder if we'll see that part of their dynamic explored at all... deprogramming Hakuri so he's not just replacing fanatic devotion to the Rakuzaichi/Sazanami Clan with Chihiro's cause or something? I'll keep the Hakuri agendaposting to a minimum (for me) but c'mon, wouldn't it be awesome to hear Chihiro echo his dad's words from Ch. 14 to encourage Hakuri to grow and find his own identity? 'Cause, y'know:

Ch. 1 vs 43

"Your best would have been believing in Hakuri" is recalled for the fourth time for a reason. If you haven't caught on by now, it's not too late: Kyoura was a shitty dad and Chihiro took that personally. And it was the one fatal flaw that doomed a man with a will of adamant. 'Cause holy shit man, even though I'm glad this dude is dead, I respect the fuck out of him. He overcame the influence of the scariest of all the WMDs Kunishige made and died as himself, regrets and ego fully intact. I applaud Hokazono-sensei for making me feel for this guy without redeeming him.

I cannot say this strongly enough: Kyoura was a victim who perpetuated his own abuse. He couldn't break the cycle even though his wife's bitter dying words left him yearning for the family he could have had. It's not clear if it's a true flashback or a vision of what could have been, but the dinner table scene being shattered by the memory of Kyoura's father telling him to lead the clan is art. Another mangaka might have reversed the order so we see him being indoctrinated first and wistful second. Just for those pity points and to twist the knife a little. But no, Kyoura is completely unrepentant to the last. The only thing he yields on is throwing Hakuri away. Not his conviction to put the Rakuzaichi above his family, nor ignoring his wife's final words. His dying regret wasn't even purely being the world's worst dad. It was mixed with the fact that he failed to secure the success of the goddamn auction by misjudging his "worthless" son. To the very end, Kyoura lived as the Sazanami patriarch.

His parting words to Chihiro have me going absolutely insane too. They're an indication that yeah, finally, he gets it. He was a bad father and he reaped the consequences. His other two sons are dead because of him, and the one he mistreated finally surpassed him after all.

Chapter 39 vs. 43

[screaming softly] aaaaaaaaahhhhh

The whole world disappears as Hakuri is finally the only worthy person in his view. His greatest shame looks down on him taking his last breaths and only now does he feel the magnitude of his mistakes. Because Hakuri never did anything wrong to begin with; Kyoura himself failed the family and the clan. He lays down the sword, choosing to die as himself rather than keep fighting the Magatsumi's wielder to the bitter end. It's time to admit he was wrong.

And thus the cycle is broken at last.

Smaller Observations

More food imagery yay!

We never see Mrs. Sazanami's face. I wonder if there's going to be a Lost Mother arc for Hakuri in addition to Chihiro's. We know she's dead, but I saw a theory floating around that maybe she was more affectionate to Hakuri than his siblings to compensate for the abuse he was enduring. Soya's obsession with him "staying lovable" would have started from this. I think Soya was just irredeemably broken and cruel, but it's interesting to think about!

She's not even close to eating at the table, looks like she might have just sat down after putting out all the dishes or something. A caretaker who didn't participate in the family's joy is my guess (based on her monologue in the hospital flashback).

Soya can't let Hakuri have nice things even in this happy vision of the family

Braidbro and Sazasis aren't here, so I think there's a "core" family that Hakuri et. al. were part of and branch families that still carried the Sazanami genes but weren't in contention for running the show. The nameless kids that greeted Kyoura upon his return to the estate in chapter 22 also called him "father" so is it a title thing, or maybe Kyoura just had a bunch of concubines and one main wife? Inquiring minds want to know.

Speaking of Chapter 22, actually...

The auction house is in Tokyo but the actual Sazanami estate is somewhere remote and secluded. The backgrounds in the table scene are more reminiscent of an apartment in an urban setting:

So I'm gonna lean on this particular scene being a "what if" rather than a true flashback. But it's still vague enough to be open to interpretation. Now I'm super curious about how Hakuri ended up in the city to meet his fated samurai though... another thing to headcanon a scenario for I suppose.

Arraigned marriage... to ensure that Isou was passed on? A business relations agreement with another family? A deal to let her avoid being sold as merchandise? Why are there so many dead/missing moms in Kagurabachi anyway?

I think I have a slightly different interpretation of events here than most will, but I'll try to explain. The subspace collapsed into nothingness as Chihiro reached for the last person, so no one could be yeeted out any more. They managed to pull everyone out in time yay! Chihiro's safe too, yay! But while Hakuri put all the other people outside of the auction house, Chihiro ended up on the stage. I believe this is by Hakuri's design rather than Chihiro being placed at random. This is a huge moment for all three characters involved and it's absolutely enhanced by the understatement of the art. Kyoura finally admitting Chihiro was right is immensely powerful catharsis for us and our samurai, and that's definitely the perspective we're meant to see it from first But my boy Hakuri put him there to hear it. He violated the sanctity of the auction instead of bringing Chihiro out closer to himself and Shiba for the getaway. Fuck this family and it's tradition. It's DONE. The Rakuzaichi and Sazanami legacy are tarnished for good; Hakuri made sure of it. Maximum feels for our boy finally eradicating this loathsome event at every level!

And finally, last but certainly not least:

Hiyuki continues to be best girl, as expected. She's put off by the insanity on display from Chihiro, Kyoura, and Hakuri but it it also grounds her a bit. She can't let innocents die, so she chooses to protect Hakuri. I love her so much and I hope she can give him shit about threatening to leave her in the storehouse forever one day.

As an aside, after learning that Hokazono-sensei is a fan of Arcane I can't help but think of Hiyuki as a Vi expy. If she is, I hope she's pan, bi, or a lesbian. I love strong, badass hot-headed women who love women. I don't mind her being endgame with Chihiro either but the idea of seeing her get flustered over Hinao in a swimsuit lives rent free in my head, y'know? Her personality archetype begs to be lightly teased by seeing a hot girl and instantly losing 70 IQ.

...Anyway.

What happens from here on out is anyone's guess. We knew about the Rakuzaichi auction as early as chapter 7 but there's nothing set up for the future as of now. Whether or not Team Goldfish manage to recover the Shinuchi (betting they won't), I think we will take a bit of a break after the next chapter. We definitely need a lull to let the characters heal and breathe before building up the next arc.

My best guess is that we'll have downtime for a chapter or so before a lead for another sword is found to set up the next mission. So far we've explored Death of the Author and Generational Trauma... what's going to be next? I can't wait! I never expected themes like this to be explored so thoughtfully and thoroughly in a WSJ series...! For the first time in a long time I'm not just reading an action manga with some mature themes. I'm reading some really insightful commentary on the nature of legacy, trauma, and family dynamics that happens to have the best fight choreography I've ever seen. Truly tenoi.

[communist-ojou-sama]

Genuinely incredible to me that the zionists have become so stupid that they've lost the ability to do counterinsurgency

[radiophd]

restive planggona -- no longer by my side

[swan-orpheus]

Thank you for feeding us with this incredible reminder of just how stunningly proficient and kickass Echo is. Also WHAT T HE HELL WITH THAT ENDING. HOLY. Thanks for l;eaving the jump etc to the last second so I could fall off the edge of my chair!!!!!

I cant wait til next week, folks. It is going to kill me. 🤣🔪🔥

[frxm-anothertime]

Uhhhhh skjfkajss shoot. Maybe…

1. Whichever one of mine you think would make a cool fusion with yours, bc I am indecisive </3

3. Cal + Everett bc I know they have beef with each other and I think it’s funny skfjskfjsk

july ((pronounced julie!) she/they) and calett (they/them or he/him)

july to me is a chaos gremlin of sorts! jules' resting :3 face overrules lily's rbf, so she gives off an overall more friendly vibe! however!! they are Not Afraid to call you out and/or vibe check you for rancid vibes. now you've got not one kid with little tolerance for jerks, but... bofa them. overall a stable fusion! i think they'd be good at chillin out.

calett is NOT a stable fusion (at this point in time). their individual voices are very loud in their head. they argue a LOT, and get frequent headaches as a result! world's worst get along jumper. 0/10. would be more stable if they actually TALKED, but it's mostly "why do you have to be the smartest person in the room?" "we're the same person now, dickhead." "i would not fucking say that."

[punkrockmixtapes]

Listen/purchase: Restive Summer by Buddie

[random-racehorses]

Random Real Thoroughbred: RESTIVE MINORITY

RESTIVE MINORITY is a chesnut horse born in The United States in 1978. By WAJIMA out of MELLOW MARSH. Link to their pedigreequery page: https://www.pedigreequery.com/restive+minority

[lostguysstuff]

Noch ein Monat 🖤

[wonderlesch]

Can’t Miss September 2023 Events

Travel with me and discover Can't Miss September 2023 Events. Explore GalaxyCon Austin, Blue Ridge Rock Festival, Bourbon & Beyond, Spa-Con and so much more. Get your planner out, Sweptember 2023 is going to be busy!

Hello and welcome to my Blog Post Can’t Miss September 2023 Events. Here I share travel destination events being held throughout the United States during the month of September. Discover where special celebrity guests from the TV series Star Trek, the movie Galaxy Quest, X-Files TV series and movie franchise will be appearing. If your preference is live music events read on to explore Bumbershoot…

[writers-potion]

I’ve seen your kiss scene and fight scene vocab posts and was wondering if you could do one about some things characters may do when they are nervous, or there is awkward tension — not necessarily romantic but just awkward.

Nervous Tension Vocab

Physical Reactions

have sweat beading/breaking out on one's forehead

have one's heart in one's mouth (or throat)

have one's heart pounding (or pulse racing)

butterflies in one's stomach

hand feeling clammy

knees bouncing

pacing back and forth

tearing up due to embarassment (wanting to cry)

Shift their weight from one foot to the other

Sway slightly where they are standing

Fidget with their hair, clothes, nails, or something they’re holding

Glance around the room or refuse to make eye contact with someone

Chew on their lips or nails

Hum quietly to themself

Tap their fingers on their arm, the wall, or a table

Wrap their arms around themself

Cross their arms or legs while seated

Pick at their lips or cover their mouth

Rub their own neck or shoulder

Sigh often

Sit with their knees up near their chest, or lay in the fetal position

Look stiff and uncomfortable

Check over their shoulder often, or glance around the room

Cough or clear their throat often

A pounding heartbeat, or the feeling that their heartbeat is in their head

Accelerated or heavy breathing

A tingling sensation in their fingers, hands, or legs

A rush of energy (which would suddenly leave them afterward, making them even more tired than usual)

Dizziness

Tightened muscles

Descriptors

fumbled

blushed

winced

fidgeted

cringed

stuttered

giggled

afluttered

agitated

robotic

hesitant

bothered

distracted

edgy

clumsily

awkwardly

distractedly

flustered

frantically

frayed

hypertense

nervy

jittery

jumpy

intimidated

paranoid

perturbed

rattled

queasiness

restive

restless

skittery

shudder

skittish

strung up

tenterhooks

tight

stressy

uneasy

unquiet

twitchy

unsettled

uptight

unrelaxed

Idioms

be at your wit's ends

be bricking it

be ill at ease

be on pins and needles

be under the gun

get in a sweat

have all the cares of the world on your shoulders

have kittens

like a cat on a hot tin roof

sweat bullets

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Burn with Me

Pairing: Viserys III Targaryen (Game of Thrones) x f!reader Warnings: Smut, imbalanced power dynamics, abuse of power. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Viserys shares a piece of his ancestry with his concubine.

Author's note: Day one of Smuffmas - candlelight and collaring. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She steps into the tent that has been erected to serve as Viserys’ personal bathhouse and is immediately enveloped in humidity that clings to her skin like a shroud, as the opening falls closed behind her. True to his Targaryen nature, he favours the heat and, as such, always demands that the water be scalding before it fills the wooden tub, with as many candles lit as the surrounding space will allow, to ensure that it retains its heat.

The atmosphere within the canvas walls is one of resplendence; the rounded tub that sits in the far corner wafts viscous steam up into the air. The water’s surface reflects the vibrant orange glow of more candles than she can possibly count, all casting flickering shadows that dance upon the ceiling. The heady fragrance of Myrish oils lingers in the air, a potent aroma of cinnamon and ginger. Viserys refuses the use of Dothraki spiceflower in his bathwater, despite it being in abundance, and far less costly than oils and spices from the Free Cities.

“It is insult enough that I must exist among these savages,” he had once told her, “I will not smell like them too. See that my command is heeded, or you shall wake the dragon.”

He stands beside the bathtub, spine rigid and eyes narrowed in annoyance. She had come to him the moment she was summoned, yet she can tell from the subtle flare of his nostrils that he is impatient already.

Despite the gossamer fabric of the dress that drapes over her body, she can feel sweat prickling the back of her neck, dampening the hairs that rest at the base of it. She knows this is due to the stifling heat of the bathing tent, but the fearful hammering of her heart as Viserys eyes her in displeasure only serves to exacerbate it.

“About time,” he snaps irritably, beckoning her closer with a restive click of his fingers.

“Your grace,” she greets courteously, before he has the chance to scold her further, “allow me to help you.”

She steps in front of him, deft fingers moving over the forest green wool of the tunic that covers his lithe frame. It is a wildly impractical choice of fabric, considering the climate of Vaes Dothrak, but Viserys shuns more traditional garb in favour of wool and silk. One by one she pulls open the clasps, revealing the creamy, white flesh beneath.

During her time in the pleasure houses of Lys, she had lain with many men and grown accustomed to the sight of skin marred by battle scars and hardened by the ravages of hard labour. Viserys bears no such afflictions. He is thin, an unfortunate consequence of a life lived in squalor, but he has never known battle, he is soft and smooth, unblemished by conflict. She has silently wondered on many occasions how he could possibly ever hope to rule as king of Westeros if he is not competent with a sword, a musing she will never give voice to, lest she pay with her life for it. She has no doubt he will take no issue in wetting his blade with her blood, if provoked into doing so.

Despite his rakish appearance and short temper, she cannot help the appreciative gaze she casts upon him as she strips him of the remnants of his clothing. For all his flaws, Viserys is a handsome man; soft, silver waves of hair frame the hard lines of his face, a strong nose and chin accentuate the pierce of his gaze. His eyes carry madness within them, enticing with dangerous allure.

“Careful with that,” he commands, nodding to the tunic which she has picked back up to fold, “what’s in the pocket is worth at least five times more than what I paid for you.”

“Of course, your grace,” she replies simply, noticing the subtle weight the garment has to it that isn’t usually there.

“Bring it here,” he says to her, stepping into the tub and sitting down. The motion causes steamy water to slop over the sides, soaking into the clay coloured earth of the ground below, as he leans back, resting his elbows behind him on the edge.

“Not the tunic, stupid girl,” he spits, scowling as she steps forward with it, “just what’s in the pocket.”

She blinks rapidly, bowing her head, a fruitless attempt to will away the humiliation that burns hotly at her skin. Reaching into the pocket, she wraps her fingers around something hard, that feels cold against her skin despite the heat that hangs heavy in the air.

Pulling it free, she can see that it is a steel choker. Thick silver plates inlaid with large rubies make up the bulk of it, with a dainty chain that fastens it at the back. She has never held anything so valuable in her hands before, the very weight of it feels representative of its significance.

“I don’t suppose you have ever seen such opulence before,” Viserys tells her, drawing her attention back to him, to where he reclines in the bath, a smug smirk upon his face as he regards her pridefully.

She places the choker in his upturned, waiting palm. “Won’t it rust if you get it wet?”

Viserys grins, the gesture lighting up his face in a way that seems almost unnatural, as the ever present madness dances within the lilac of his eyes. “It is Valyrian steel, forged in dragon fire, it won’t rust, it can’t. Now disrobe and join me.”

He plays idly with the choker, running the chain through his fingers and holding the rubies up to the candlelight as she undresses, though it does not take her long. The near translucent dress is the only item of clothing that he will allow her to wear when tending to him, and it is rare that it stays on for long.

She hisses quietly at the burn of the water against her flesh as she climbs into the tub, the all encompassing heat making her legs tingle. She does not understand how Viserys can stand it, but then there is blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, so she supposes he barely notices it.

“Turn around,” he instructs, and she does as she’s told, presenting her back to him as she faces away. She can hear the splash of the water as he advances upon her within the small space, feel the water moving with him.

Dampened hands scoop her hair away from her neck, before he places the choker around it, carefully fastening it. It chills her skin, a strange juxtaposition to the clamminess that their surroundings elicit. It feels heavy and tight around her throat, more like a collar than a necklace, and as Viserys turns her roughly to face him, sending yet more water cascading over the sides of the bath, she can see that that was precisely his intent.

His eyes are wild as he appraises her, lips slightly parted. “This is hundreds of years old, it would have been worn by a Targaryen princess from the days of Old Valyria,” he tells her, his voice lowering, taking on the seductive timbre that he affects only when aroused. He hooks two fingers beneath the centre ruby, giving it a tug. “How does it make you feel?”

She swallows thickly, considering her answer, wanting to offer words that will please him. “It makes me feel…fortunate…to have the opportunity to wear something of such significance.”

He hums, clearly satisfied with her answer, giving a slight nod as he grasps her hips beneath the water and manhandles her into his lap. She can feel his hardened cock prodding insistently at her most intimate area as she settles into the position of straddling him, winding her arms around his neck, as his hands keep a firm grip of her.

“Ser Jorah came by this on his travels,” he tells her, eyes fixated upon her throat, “he was going to give it as a gift to my sister, but I have taken it for myself. I do not see why she should lay claim to such a valuable piece of our shared ancestry, just for spreading her legs and siring a whelp for that savage, Drogo.”

The tone of his voice drips with jealousy, and it makes her uncomfortable to be faced with his arousal, not for the first time, while he speaks of Daenerys. She knows that the Targaryens existed on a foundation of bloodline purity, however, those customs are queer to her and to be faced with the reality of their incestuous nature makes her stomach churn.

All thoughts leave her mind, however, as he tugs her downwards to meet his upward thrust, spearing her open on his cock with a grunt elicited through gritted teeth. She moans at the exquisite stretch, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as she clings tightly to him, her breaths hot against his wet skin.

Viserys keeps his hands upon her hips, helping to guide her movements as she rolls her pelvis against his, bouncing herself upon his aching length. Though he is often cruel to her, when he holds her close like this, and it is just the sounds of their mingling pants for breath and the slap of their skin, it is easy for her to forget that she was purchased for his pleasure, a means to distract him from the want to defile his sister.

When he holds her close, his harsh features contorted in ecstasy, the madness that dances within his eyes conveying only lust, she can allow herself to believe that she is special, that he chose her alone to travel with him and warm his bed because he wanted only her, not because the Beggar King could not afford more than one concubine. 

In her own foolish heart, she has allowed gratitude to be misplaced for love. The fondness she feels towards him for him having taken her from the pleasure houses of Lys, and rescuing her from the life of a common whore, in her mind, is romantic. 

So when he takes one of the stiffened peaks of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinches harshly, she mewls wantonly as the sensation causes her sensitive walls to clench around him, wanting him to know just how good he makes her feel, how eager she is to please him.

If he did not return her affection, why else would he allow her to wear the choker that currently sits snug against her throat?

She speeds up her movements, the bathwater undulating around them with more intensity. The head of his cock bullies relentlessly at a spot inside of her that, coupled with the lightheadedness she feels from the heat of the water, makes her forget herself entirely. Before she can stop them, the words tumble carelessly from her lips.

“I love you.”

He halts all movements, and she freezes, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage as she realises what she has just said. She opens her mouth, wanting to apologise, to take it back, to beg for forgiveness, but before she can he’s grasping her jaw, forcing her to meet the intensity of his stare.

“Say it again,” he orders quietly, leaving no room for argument.

She is hesitant at first, but he tangles his fingers into the back of her hair, not allowing her to look away, so she relents. “I–I love you.”

He snarls, tugging harshly at her hair as he resumes his brutal thrusts up into her. “That’s right, you fucking do.”

For the briefest of moments, she had allowed herself to believe he might say it back, and is not even given the respite to experience disappointment, as he chases his release within her. Her confession of love having been enough to stroke his ego to the point of climax, evidenced by the insistent pulsating of his member as he pumps it in and out of her with renewed vigour.

He holds her tightly against himself, pushing himself as far up into her as he can go as he peaks, spilling inside of her with a shameless groan, before settling back down, her body pliant against his as they both catch their breath.

“I’m finished with you for tonight. Leave me,” he says despondently, as his rapidly softening cock slips free of her.

She offers a curt nod, disentangling herself from him and climbing on shaky legs from the tub, bathwater and Viserys’ seed both dripping down her thighs, as she reaches for her dress, clutching it to herself to protect what little remains of her modesty.

“Wait,” he snaps, and for a moment she believes he will tell her he has changed his mind, that he longs for her company. Instead he snaps his fingers, gesturing to her neck. “The necklace.”

Her heart sinks, but she forces her expression to remain stoic, unclasping it and depositing it back into his outstretched palm. Her neck feels immediately lighter, having been freed from the weight of it. However, as she walks from the tent, it is replaced with a heaviness upon her heart that reminds her irrevocably of her place - or lack thereof - in the world of Viserys Targaryen.

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[radiophd]

restive plaggona -- kruna versam