#and isn’t that just infuriating for them

[novaursa]

Flames in the West (a sad lion)

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: his rock

- Next part: a marriage and a lannister

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The once-vibrant halls of Casterly Rock seemed unusually quiet—or so Jason Lannister thought as he trudged through them, his boots echoing against the stone floors. He hadn’t seen much of his wife in recent days, and what interactions they did have were… different. She wasn’t throwing her usual sharp jabs or teasing him with that infuriating yet captivating smirk. Instead, she had become polite. Reserved, even.

And Jason hated it.

He leaned against one of the arched windows overlooking the sea, a goblet of wine in hand and a deep frown etched into his features. The waves crashed against the cliffs far below, their rhythmic pounding doing little to soothe his growing paranoia.

Martyn Lannister strolled into the chamber, his easy grin in place as always. “There you are,” he said, plopping down into a nearby chair. “I was starting to think you’d fallen into one of the mine shafts.”

Jason didn’t reply, his frown deepening as he swirled the wine in his goblet.

Martyn raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “You look positively miserable, cousin. What’s wrong? Did the kitchen run out of your favorite vintage, or did Sylveris decide to roast one of your prized banners?”

Jason sighed dramatically, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “It’s Y/N.”

Martyn’s grin widened. “Ah, the dragon. What’s she done this time? Threatened to throw you off the battlements?”

“That would be preferable,” Jason muttered, finally turning to face him. “At least then I’d know she still cared.”

Martyn blinked, then burst into laughter. “She doesn’t care because she hasn’t threatened to kill you? You’ve lost me, Jason.”

Jason groaned, setting his goblet down on the windowsill. “She doesn’t insult me anymore. No jabs, no teasing—nothing. It’s like she’s ignoring me entirely.”

Martyn’s laughter grew louder. “That’s what’s bothering you? The lack of insults?”

“Yes!” Jason snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t you get it? That’s how she shows affection—or at least, that’s how it used to be. Now she’s just… distant. Civil.”

Martyn leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “So, let me get this straight: your wife isn’t yelling at you or calling you names, and you’re upset about it?”

Jason shot him a glare. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Martyn said, smirking. “You’re addicted to her barbs, and now that she’s treating you like an actual lord, you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

Jason sighed again, pacing the room. “What if she’s found someone else?”

That caught Martyn off guard. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

Jason stopped pacing, turning to face his cousin with a look of genuine worry. “Think about it. Why else would she stop paying attention to me? What if there’s another man?”

Martyn stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter so loud it echoed off the walls. “Another man? Jason, you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious!” Jason protested, his voice rising. “She’s barely said a word to me in days, and when she does, it’s all ‘Yes, my lord’ and ‘Of course, my lord.’ That’s not her. She’s up to something.”

Martyn wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “So let me get this straight: your wife, who’s carrying your child, is suddenly so bored with you that she’s taken a lover in the middle of your castle? Do you hear how absurd you sound?”

Jason crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “It’s not impossible.”

“Jason,” Martyn said, his tone still laced with amusement, “you’re not just a lion. You’re a delusional lion. She’s probably just tired, or distracted, or—dare I say it—growing another person inside her.”

Jason hesitated, his resolve wavering slightly. “But what if—”

Martyn cut him off, rising from his chair and clapping a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “If there were another man, Jason, do you really think she’d be subtle about it? She’s a Targaryen. She’d probably introduce him to you just to watch you squirm.”

Jason groaned, running both hands through his hair. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m helping more than you deserve,” Martyn quipped, shaking his head. “Listen, just talk to her. Ask her what’s on her mind. Or, better yet, stop being so insufferable and give her some space.”

Jason frowned, muttering under his breath. “Easy for you to say. You’re not married to a dragon.”

Martyn grinned. “No, but watching you flail around like this is entertainment enough.”

Jason threw him a withering look before turning back to the window, his thoughts still tangled. Martyn clapped him on the shoulder one last time before heading for the door.

“Good luck, cousin,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re going to need it.”

Jason barely acknowledged him, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew Martyn was probably right—probably—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. And until he figured out what it was, he would remain the most miserable lion in all of Westeros.

The halls of Casterly Rock buzzed with quiet speculation as Jason Lannister, Lord of the Rock, embarked on what could only be described as an increasingly dramatic investigation. He’d spent the better part of the day questioning members of the household, demanding answers with the fervor of a knight preparing for battle.

“Have you seen anything unusual?” Jason asked a servant folding linens in the hallway. “Anything at all? A suspicious visitor? A secret meeting?”

The servant blinked at him, bewildered. “No, my lord. Only the usual.”

Jason frowned, muttering to himself as he moved on to his next suspect.

By mid-afternoon, he had interrogated a steward, a stable hand, and even the cook—each more confused than the last. His antics had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the household. By the time he cornered Martyn in the great hall, a small crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle unfold.

Martyn leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, his grin as wide as the Sunset Sea. “Still convinced your wife has a lover, Jason?”

Jason glared at him. “Something’s going on, Martyn. I can feel it.”

“Let me guess,” Martyn drawled, feigning thought. “She smiled at someone in passing, and now you’re ready to start a trial.”

Jason ignored him, pacing in front of the growing audience. “She’s distant, she’s quiet, and she hasn’t insulted me in days. There’s more to this.”

One of the younger cousins piped up, giggling. “Maybe she’s just tired, my lord.”

Jason stopped, turning to face the group. “Tired of what? Of me?”

The crowd erupted into laughter, and Martyn clapped him on the back. “If she’s tired of you, she’d let you know. Trust me.”

Jason sighed dramatically, raking a hand through his hair. “Fine. If none of you have answers, I’ll just have to ask her myself.”

Jason stormed into your chambers with all the subtlety of a lion on the hunt. You were seated by the window, staring out at the sea with a faintly pale complexion. A cup of mint tea sat untouched on the table beside you.

“Y/N,” Jason said, his voice firm. “We need to talk.”

You turned your head slowly, fixing him with a weary stare. “Jason. If this is about you imagining me plotting against you with some mysterious lover, I’ll save you the trouble. There isn’t one.”

Jason hesitated, his righteous determination faltering. “How did you—?”

“You’ve been stomping around the castle like a madman all day,” you said, cutting him off. “It wasn’t hard to guess.”

Jason frowned, stepping closer. “Then what is it? Why have you been so… different?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “If you must know, I’ve been battling the constant urge to vomit.”

Jason froze. “Vomit?”

“Yes, Jason,” you said dryly. “It’s a common occurrence in pregnancy. Did you not read any of those books I had sent to the library?”

Jason blinked, his mind struggling to process this new information. “You’re sick? That’s it?”

“That’s it,” you replied, sipping your tea carefully. “Though at this point, I wish I could throw up on you just to prove it.”

Jason’s reaction was immediate and utterly ridiculous. He sank into the nearest chair, his head in his hands. “Thank the gods,” he muttered. “I thought you hated me.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You thought I hated you because I wasn’t insulting you every five minutes?”

Jason looked up, his expression sheepish. “Well… yes.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Then, you began to laugh—quiet at first, then louder as the absurdity of the situation sank in. “Jason,” you said between breaths, “you’re an idiot.”

The door creaked open, and Martyn poked his head in, grinning like a cat with cream. “I heard shouting. Did he finally figure it out?”

Jason groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, Martyn. She’s not plotting against me. She’s just… nauseous.”

Martyn stepped fully into the room, his grin widening. “That explains a lot. Though I think we all enjoyed watching you spiral.”

“Get out,” Jason muttered, though there was no real malice in his tone.

Martyn chuckled, bowing mockingly before retreating. “As you wish, my lord.”

As the door closed, Jason turned back to you, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve been an idiot.”

“You’re always an idiot,” you replied, though there was no bite in your words. “But you mean well.”

Jason smiled, reaching for your hand. “I’ll make it up to you. Anything you need—anything at all—you just tell me.”

You leaned back in your chair, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “Right now, I need you to stop being so dramatic. Can you manage that?”

Jason chuckled, bringing your hand to his lips. “For you, my lady, I’ll try.”

The rest of the household, of course, was thoroughly entertained when word of Jason’s misunderstanding spread. But for now, the lion and his dragon had found their peace—even if it was only temporary.

The halls of Casterly Rock were bustling with energy right the next day, not because of any pressing matters of state or impending feasts, but because Jason Lannister had declared it his personal mission to ensure his wife’s comfort during her pregnancy. Naturally, his methods were anything but subtle.

It began in the early morning, when Jason burst into your chambers with a tray in hand. The tray was precariously balanced, piled high with everything from honey-glazed bread to a steaming cup of mint tea he saw you drink yesterday. Behind him, two nervous servants trailed, carrying pitchers of juice and an assortment of dried fruits.

“Good morning, my love!” Jason announced, grinning like a man who thought he was about to win a tourney.

You looked up from your seat by the window, arching an eyebrow. “Jason. What is this?”

“Breakfast,” he said proudly, setting the tray down on the small table beside you. “I had the kitchens prepare everything you might crave. If you don’t like what’s here, I’ll have them bring more.”

You stared at the tray, then back at him. “This is enough food for an entire household.”

Jason waved a hand dismissively. “You’re eating for two. You need options.”

“I don’t need options,” you replied dryly. “I need you to stop hovering.”

Jason clutched his chest dramatically. “Hovering? I’m not hovering. I’m attending to your every need, as any devoted husband should.”

Martyn, who had appeared in the doorway just in time to witness the exchange, coughed into his hand to hide his laughter. “Attending or smothering? It’s a fine line, cousin.”

Jason shot him a glare. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Martyn.”

“No, but I’m giving it anyway,” Martyn said, stepping into the room. “This is delightful. Please, carry on.”

Later that afternoon, you decided to take a walk in the gardens, hoping for a moment of peace. Naturally, Jason insisted on accompanying you. He hovered like a mother hen, holding your arm as though the slightest misstep might cause catastrophe.

“Jason,” you said, exasperated, “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

“I’m aware,” he replied, ignoring your tone as he guided you along the path. “But the ground is uneven, and I don’t trust these pebbles.”

You rolled your eyes. “The pebbles are fine. I’m fine. Please stop fussing.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, one of the younger Lannister cousins appeared with a mischievous grin. “My lord, I heard you’ve been quite the nursemaid lately.”

Jason straightened, his tone defensive. “I’m ensuring my wife’s comfort.”

“By hovering?” she teased, earning a snicker from Martyn, who had once again materialized to witness the scene.

Jason huffed, clearly outnumbered. “I’ll have you know, Y/N appreciates my efforts.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Do I?”

Jason blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Of course you do. Don’t you?”

Before you could answer, a gardener approached with a bouquet of golden roses freshly cut from the garden. Jason seized the opportunity to present them to you with a flourish.

“For you,” he said, his grin returning. “To brighten your day.”

You accepted the bouquet, raising an eyebrow. “They’re lovely. Did you cut them yourself?”

Jason hesitated, glancing at the gardener before replying, “I… supervised.”

The group erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t suppress a small smile.

That evening, Jason took his efforts to a new level by commissioning a troupe of performers to entertain you during supper. Among them was a juggler who insisted on incorporating live chickens into his act.

It did not go well.

As the juggler tossed the chickens into the air, one squawked loudly and escaped, flapping wildly around the hall. Guests ducked as the rogue bird swooped low, narrowly avoiding a platter of roasted venison.

Jason leapt to his feet, shouting instructions to the servants. “Catch it! Don’t let it ruin the feast!”

Martyn, sitting across from you, leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying the chaos. “This might be your finest idea yet, Jason.”

Jason ignored him, lunging for the chicken himself. He missed, nearly colliding with a servant carrying a tray of wine goblets. You, meanwhile, sat calmly, eating your cake and watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

When the chicken finally landed in the lap of an elderly aunt, who shrieked loud enough to rival Sylveris, Jason managed to grab it by the legs and hold it aloft like a trophy. The hall erupted into applause and laughter.

“Problem solved,” he declared, slightly out of breath as he handed the bird back to the juggler with a stern glare. “No more chickens.”

As he returned to his seat beside you, you leaned over and murmured, “Very heroic, my lord.”

Jason grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Anything for you, princess.”

By the end of the day, Jason was exhausted but triumphant. He joined you in your chambers, watching as you settled onto the cushioned chaise by the fire.

“Well?” he asked, leaning against the doorway. “Did I succeed in making you more comfortable?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Let’s see. You brought me enough breakfast for an army, made a spectacle of yourself in the gardens, and nearly lost a chicken during supper. I suppose you were… entertaining.”

Jason laughed, crossing the room to sit beside you. “Entertaining? That’s it?”

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Don’t push your luck, Jason.”

He wrapped an arm around you, his grin softening into something more genuine. “As long as you’re smiling, I’ll take it.”

Inside the grand chambers, the fire crackled warmly in the hearth as Jason Lannister sat at the edge of a cushioned chair, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his tongue poked out slightly—his signature thinking face.

You, reclining comfortably on the chaise with your ever-growing belly, watched him with equal parts curiosity and amusement. A plate of various fruits sat beside you, untouched, as you observed your husband’s peculiar intensity.

“Jason,” you finally said, breaking the silence. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t look up, waving the quill dismissively. “Coming up with names.”

“For the child?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For our child,” Jason corrected, glancing up at you with a grin. “You know, the future lion-dragon of Casterly Rock. We can’t just call them ‘the baby.’”

You smirked, folding your hands over your belly. “And have you decided on anything?”

Jason held up the parchment triumphantly. “I’ve got a list!”

“Oh, this should be good,” you muttered, sitting up slightly. “Let’s hear it.”

Jason cleared his throat dramatically, as though preparing for a great performance. “If it’s a boy, I was thinking… Tylander.”

You blinked. “Tylander?”

“Strong, noble, and distinctly Lannister,” Jason said, clearly pleased with himself.

“Jason,” you said slowly, “that sounds like you mashed ‘Tyland’ and ‘Lannister’ together.”

Jason frowned. “Well, maybe. But it works, doesn’t it?”

“No,” you replied flatly. “Next.”

Jason sighed, glancing back at the list. “Alright. What about… Leorick?”

“Leorick?” you repeated, your tone incredulous. “It sounds like a name you’d give to a particularly pompous bard.”

Jason chuckled despite himself. “Fine. You’re a tough critic, my love. Let’s try another. If it’s a girl, I thought… Jasselle.”

You stared at him. “Jasselle.”

“Yes!” Jason said, his grin widening. “It’s elegant and unique.”

“It’s also clearly just your name with a few letters added and rearranged,” you pointed out.

Jason leaned back, his grin turning sheepish. “Well, I wanted to honor myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Jason, we’re naming a child, not commissioning a statue of you.”

“Fair enough,” Jason said, crossing out a few names. “What about something Valyrian? Like… Vezena?”

You tilted your head, considering it. “Not bad. But what does it mean?”

Jason hesitated. “Uh… probably something about fire and greatness.”

You smirked. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Jason admitted, grinning. “But it sounds impressive, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Barely.”

By midday, Jason had dragged a second chair closer to yours, the parchment now covered in scribbles and crossed-out names. Several servants passed through the room, their expressions carefully neutral as they overheard snippets of the increasingly ridiculous discussion.

“What about Caster?” Jason asked, tapping his quill against his chin.

“For a boy?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Or a girl,” Jason said with a shrug. “Unisex names are all the rage in Lannisport.”

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Caster. Of Casterly Rock.”

Jason blinked. “Oh. Right. That might be a bit… redundant.”

“A bit?” you repeated, smirking.

Jason huffed, tossing the quill onto the table. “Fine. Your turn, oh wise one.”

You leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze with a smirk. “How about something simple? Like Aelora, if it’s a girl.”

Jason’s expression softened. “Aelora. That’s… beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling. “And for a boy, maybe… Daeryn.”

“Daeryn,” Jason echoed, testing the name on his tongue. “It’s strong. I like it.”

“Well, there we go,” you said, leaning back with a triumphant smile. “Problem solved.”

But Jason wasn’t done yet. “What if we combined them? Aelorick for a boy. Or… Daesselle for a girl?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Jason, stop.”

He laughed, leaning over to kiss the top of your head. “Fine, fine. But you have to admit, this is fun.”

“For you, maybe,” you muttered, though there was a faint smile on your lips. “At this rate, the child will be born before we agree on anything.”

Jason grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Well, we’ve still got time. And until then, I’ll keep working on my list.”

You rolled your eyes, but as you watched him return to his scribbling with boyish enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of affection. For all his dramatics, Jason’s excitement was genuine, and his love for you—and the child you carried—was as clear as the sun over Casterly Rock.

You sat by the window early in the morning, absently stroking the armrest of your chair as a servant placed a silver tray with your morning tea before you. The peace was broken when Jason burst into the room, a sealed parchment in hand and a grin plastered across his face.

“A raven!” he announced dramatically, holding the scroll aloft like a prized trophy.

You raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of your tea. “Jason, ravens come daily. Are we celebrating their flight now?”

“Not just any raven,” Jason said, striding to the table and dropping the scroll in front of you. “It’s from your father, the king.”

Your eyes flicked to the royal seal, and you picked up the parchment, breaking the wax with practiced ease. Jason leaned over your shoulder, reading the words as you did.

“An invitation,” you murmured, skimming the elegant script. “To a royal wedding. Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon.”

Jason clapped his hands together. “A royal wedding! That means feasts, dances, and—”

“Hours of tedious travel,” you interrupted, setting the letter down. “While I’m heavily pregnant, no less.”

Jason waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. We’ll take our time, and I’ll ensure you’re comfortable. We can’t miss this! Think of the grandeur, the spectacle—”

“The politics,” you added pointedly, arching an eyebrow.

Jason ignored you, already pacing as his mind raced with ideas. “We’ll need to start preparations immediately. The finest horses, the best wines to bring as gifts—no, the best gold. Velaryons love their ships, don’t they? I’ll have a golden trident commissioned. It’ll be perfect.”

You sighed, watching as your husband spiraled into a whirlwind of planning. “Jason, it’s a wedding, not a coronation.”

“It’s Rhaenyra’s wedding,” Jason said, spinning on his heel to face you. “Your sister. That makes it doubly important. We must arrive in style.”

The castle hummed with activity by mid-afternoon, thanks to Jason’s orders. Servants scurried about with rolls of fabric, crates of Lannister gold, and lists so long they trailed behind their carriers. Martyn, naturally, was in the thick of it, as he watched the chaos with an amused grin.

“Do you ever tire of creating a spectacle, cousin?” Martyn asked as Jason passed by, barking orders to a servant carrying a bundle of crimson cloaks.

“A spectacle?” Jason repeated, his tone affronted. “This isn’t a spectacle. This is preparation. A royal wedding requires a royal effort.”

Martyn smirked, glancing at the two knights polishing a gilded carriage nearby. “And the golden carriage?”

“For comfort,” Jason said, brushing off the sarcasm. “Y/N deserves nothing less.”

“She’ll love that,” Martyn muttered under his breath. “I’m sure she adores the idea of being paraded through the streets like a queen.”

Jason shot him a look. “She is the Lady of Casterly Rock. It’s only fitting.”

“Is that why you’ve ordered enough supplies to outfit a small army?” Martyn asked, gesturing to the growing pile of crates.

“Provisions,” Jason said firmly. “And gifts. You wouldn’t show up to a royal wedding empty-handed, would you?”

Martyn chuckled. “I’d show up with my sanity intact, which is more than I can say for you.”

By evening, Jason gathered the household in the great hall, standing at the head of the table with his usual flair for dramatics. You sat beside him, your hand resting lightly on your belly as you watched him address the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jason began, raising a goblet. “We’ve been invited to the royal wedding of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon. This is not merely an invitation; it is an opportunity—a chance to remind the realm of the strength and splendor of House Lannister.”

The household exchanged amused glances, accustomed to Jason’s theatrical speeches.

“We will travel with dignity,” Jason continued, his voice rising. “We will bring gifts that reflect our status. And we will leave an impression so grand that even the dragons will be jealous.”

You leaned toward Martyn, whispering, “Do you think he rehearses these speeches in the mirror?”

Martyn grinned. “Absolutely.”

Jason, oblivious to the murmured commentary, finished his toast with a flourish. “To House Lannister and our journey to the royal wedding!”

The room erupted into polite applause, and Jason sat down beside you, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you remarked, smirking.

Jason grinned, raising his goblet. “Of course I am. It’s not every day we get to show your kin how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. For all his dramatics, Jason’s excitement was infectious—and you had to admit, the journey to King’s Landing promised to be anything but dull.

[velvetvexations]

Just some rambles about packers and sexualisation, idk where else to put it and idk if you care, so feel free to ignore me, haha.

A while ago, I saw a post (or video? Not sure) where someone said that "packers shouldn’t be sexual" when talking about realistic looking packers, and there’s two main things I want to talk about here.

First is that realistic looking packers just straight up aren’t sexual. No one would think a cis man walking around with a "realistic looking dick" in his pants is sexual, and it’s no different when the dick is made of silicone.

What pisses me off even more is the trans guys in the comments who were like "yeah I pack with a pair of socks I don’t need that shit" and similar sentiments because like. Good for you? But for some trans men just making it vaguely look like they have a dick isn’t enough. Some trans men do have very bad bottom dysphoria, and using realistic looking packers might help with that, and something like a pair of socks or a jock strap or a crocheted packer isn’t the same! The latter does work for some ofc, but not for everyone, and putting down the guys who want realistic looking packers is just shitty.

And also the disgust at packers that can get hard (like 3-in-1 or pack-and-play) is so fucking infuriating. No one would act like a cis man is sexualising all people around him just because he has a dick in his pants that can get hard, but when a trans man wants that? He’s a perverted piece of shit running around with a "dildo" (yes I saw people call pack-and-play packers that) in his pants.

How about we stop sexualising everything trans people do and stop acting like trans people are disgusting perverts just for wanting sex like most cis people do? How about we stop talking like that about people's genitals, wether they were born with them or chose to put them there (with packers or surgery, bc people say the same type of shit about phallo- or metoidioplasties (and vaginoplasties ofc), too)?

Why do we have to sensationalise every choice trans people make so much? It’s just a dick made of silicone. It looking realistic doesn’t make it sexual? Like. Most people aren’t even going to see it. It’s inside someone’s underwear. Why do some trans people care so much (negatively) about what makes other trans people happy?

And second: Who cares if it is sexual?? Who cares if a trans guy wants a realistic looking pack-and-play or 3-in-1 packer specifically so he can have sex with it? It’s not affecting any one else in any way. They don’t have to have sex with the guy if they don’t want to, they’re aware of that, yes?

And the implied assumption that a trans person is more likely to harass or assault someone is just straight-up transphobic, no matter what is used a "justification" or reason (here being that the guy chose to put on a realistic looking silicone dick that’s capable of penetration).

It’s just some guy. Some guys have dicks. Some guys dicks can get hard. It’s not that deep (insert sex joke here/lh).

Like just. Idk. I wish people would just shut up about other people’s bodies, especially trans people’s bodies, and stop judging trans people for the way they deal with dysphoria or the way they want their body to be. It shouldn’t be that hard to just not do something. But ig people just want to find a kind of trans people it’s okay to accuse of being predators and perverts and packers (esp. packers that can be used for penetration) are an easy target.

It’s just so tiring. I just want to find some guys talking about packing and stuff like that and I immediately have people calling them disgusting rapist-perverts who are sexualising themselves and everything they look at. Just because they want dicks. Or because they want to be able to penetrate someone (oh the horror. Some trans people (want to) have sex, and some may experience dysphoria around sex. We should kill them, right?)

I don’t even want to pack myself. I just like knowing things. But everytime I research personal experiences with packing, I find shit like this and it’d getting on my nerves.

Okay I’m done now. It got a bit longer than anticipated, I’m a bit worked up about this topic. Thank you for reading all this, hope you have a good day.

If it helps any anon, I feel the same way about needing breasts that cartoonishly massive to ease my dysphoria but that's a much bigger problem for me than it is for any of the cis women who have famously gotten breasts that large.

[krisluxxeeempress]

MERCURY CONJUNCT MARS SYNASTRY| ASTRO SYNASTRY SERIES

There appears to be a mirroring of each other with this shared synastry and that’s what is most infuriating to the mars person in particular. The mars person acts how the mercury person thinks and the frustration comes in for the Mars person because usually our mars energy isn’t easily seen by us. Mars is like an extension of our ego and like the ego, we do not see how we come off to others and when we are made aware of it- especially if it’s negative, we go into a state of denial and try justifying our actions. Therefore, the mercury person is a bit triggering for the mars person even in a conjunction.

It’s interesting because the mercury person comes off elusive or misunderstood? ( you may initially not understand the mercury person because your in a state of denial. you may act like you don't know what the mercury person is thinking or why they do what they do, but in reality you do)

Whereas, the mars person is seen, so without getting confusing- the mercury person is the mastermind of this conjunction and able to manipulate or control the dynamic including the actions of the mars person and this becomes annoying and frustrating. Example, let’s say mercury and mars are conjunct in taurus. The mercury person would then be slow to communicate, come off unbothered or surface level and cautious of change. The mars person acts slow in matters that require change in their everyday life. The mars person appears basic and surface level and only has energy for things that are simple and may even be lazy. However, the mars person will usually want more from the mercury person because mars need action/energy but the mercury person doesn’t move at the speed the mars person wants, but the mars person separately doesn’t move quickly either.

I hope I am not being confusing because this synastry can be confusing because the mars person in this example in taurus is slow but cannot stand the mercury person responding slow. It’s like the Mars person wants what they want (like the ego) on their time, but the mercury person thinks the same way. The mercury person will communication how and when they want to.

You, see? If the mars person has evolved or matured, they will understand the mercury person even though it frustrates them, and this frustration is the mirror that the mars person doesn’t want or hasn’t been able to see in themselves with how they act in everyday life. For the sake of the example, Taurus energy is also stubborn and set in their ways therefore, the mercury person thinks this way. It will take a lot of energy from the mars person to change the mind of the mercury person but because the mars person acts the same way the mercury person thinks- the mars person won’t give the energy. The ego is major here and it’s annoying and confusing. it’s like the mars person is challenging themselves dealing with the mercury person.

The mind is the most powerful “tool” and despite mars being strong and powerful, the mercury person has the power of the mind that controls our actions i.e.. the mars person.

I do not like talking about myself especially in my interpretations however, I had this synastry with a man and he frustrated me so much that I had to disconnect from him. The way he thinks, is exactly how I acted, and he made me look at myself and realize how I may come off towards others. My ego (mars) wanted him to move on my time, change for me, commit and be comfortable around me but instead, I’m met with resistance and in reality, I am constantly resisting others and moving at my speed, not theirs. Never theirs. And he does the same thing. I like simple actions; I dress simple and just want a simple life and he thought the same way and communicated in a simple manner, and this made me mad. I couldn’t take it, but my ego (my mars) will not allow me to chase even though I want him to, but his mind (mercury) won’t allow him to chase either.

The mind has the power to bend and or strengthen your will and personally, I felt like I would have had to bend to his mind. (mercury) Things would have to be on his terms and my mars can’t accept that. It’s funny because he claimed I was submissive and I am NOT and have always heard the opposite but because his mercury is conjunct my mars, I became submissive naturally. I wanted what I wanted but my mars bended to his mind. I am still frustrated with him to this day because we aren’t talking because I would have to be the initiator as the mars person and my pride won’t let me and when I do, I get mad. I can't change his mind, his communication style, his thoughts, his beliefs and I refuse to change my actions or bend to his mind, so we had a short-term connection even though our conjunction are in an earth sign. As we know earth signs are more commitment oriented so it makes me mad, I can’t get what I want but my pride won’t allow me to bow down. He’s in control and that kills me, ha-ha.

Not all conjunctions are great in synastry because it comes to a point of power struggles. Which planet has more power? Mercury in this case will always have more power than mars because mercury controls our mars. Mercury controls everything. Mind over matter. The mercury person in this synastry can make the even the strongest or most stubborn mars placements bow tf down especially in a conjunction and mars refuses. Mars rather die, i.e.. end things completely than to be controlled or in bondage because there’s no escaping the mercury person. Think about it like this. Imagine being the mars person and you are an army general. As an army general you know that it’s either kill or be killed. Or, you know as an army general that you cannot let go of hostages because they may come back and kill you. So, imagine being an army general and the tables turn; you find yourself as someone else’s hostage. You already know, they think they way you do (and will act it out) you know they have to kill you because what if they let you loose and you come back to kill them. So again, imagine being in that situation. You understand what your captors have to do with you. You know they have to kill you or keep you locked up; they can’t let you go. This is frustrating because it’s like “living by the sword and dying by the sword”.

The mars person takes orders from the mercury person, just like when we think a thought and act it out. I think I want to go to the gym and then you start physically getting prepared to go to the gym. You think your mad and so, you start physically acting mad. I cannot emphasis enough how powerful the mercury person is in this synastry. What also makes matters worse, is how attracted sexually the mars person is for the mercury person. It’s mutual but the mars person feels it more or shows It more. The mars person wants so badly to dominate the mercury person and really likes/ even loves how the mercury person thinks because how they think is exactly how the mars person acts. So, there is a sapiosexual energy present, despite the signs this conjunction is in. The mars person is turned on because they like/love how the mercury person thinks, and they want to be the dominate one and THE ONLY ONE to change or bend the mind of the mercury person, so the challenge turns the mars person on. As for the mercury person, they are turned on by the mars person because they are able to control the mars person. (it's sexy having someone be submissive, like let's be real)

The mercury person like/loves how the mars person may be dominate in other areas of life but when it comes to them, they are in control. The mercury person has to remain in control, and this is where mind games come into play and those games excite the mars person but infuriates them all the same. It can be a toxic dynamic because there is a controlling, submissive, dominant and bow down energy very present. The mercury person has the power to make the mars person act a damn fool for them. The mars person will combust in more ways than one over the mercury person while getting mad that it’s never enough to make the mercury person surrender. Omg, it’s so frustrating but sexy at the same time. I believe this synastry aspect overpowers any other positive aspects you may share with this person because again, the mind is the most powerful “tool” and mercury is the most powerful planet. It controls all. Without communication and thought, we are nothing, our bodies respond to the signals our mind sends off, not the other way around. Think about being in coma. If your mind is gone, sure the body is functioning but it’s not moving because the mind didn’t tell it to. Hahaha wow!

The mercury person truly has all the power here and if you are the mars person, you will have to accept this fate or die ie. end things. The mercury person cannot be seduced in fact, they get off on it and will still have you (the mars person) on your knees, bowing down. The man I shared this synastry with was the mercury person and he loved foreplay, and it drove me crazy, and he thought it was funny. I don’t really have a high sex drive; therefore, he would come around and entice me and after a little while of his teasing and foreplay I would go feral and then he would deny me, and I’d be so mad and try to seduce him, but he was able to control his urges. Whatever I wanted (as the mars person) he never gave it and if he did, he wasn’t enough, and it was always on his time- never mine. I went crazy and depleted all my energy trying to get him to bend to my will. Grr!!!

For the mars person, you can’t hate the mercury person because in reality, you’d be admitting to hating yourself. The mercury person infuriates the mars person but it’s mainly a reflection of how others view you, as the mars person. You frustrate others and may not have been aware or maybe you have and didn’t care, ha- until now. Until the mercury person came in and showed you that you cannot and will not always have your way or win. If you're wondering, if this is a compatible synastry or if it’ll work . . . it depends on you as the mars person. Can you as the mars person handle or accept being submissive and always being the initiator? As a woman and being the mars person in my case, I cannot. I think a man should be the initiator and show more desire and chase for women. My pride and ego cannot accept that I’ll have to be the one bowing down and chasing. So, it depends on you, the mercury person is attracted and wants the mars person, but they are in control and can’t lose control.

Think of it like this, when our mind loses control what happens? Usually people get medicated, put in psyche wards and or just go bat shit crazy. Our minds have to be in control otherwise the quality of our health and life go downhill.

I suppose trust may be a huge factor in this synastry as well because the mercury person is the leader, and they can make you act out in such a negative way where you need to be medicated anyway lol. Or they can lead you in the right way.

Some kidnappers are kind to whomever they kidnapped whereas, others are cruel. This is a kidnapping/ mental hijacking synastry. The mercury person changes your entire direction. You may think you act unbothered, but the mercury person has the power to change that and have you acting CRAZY!!! now, this may be a good thing for the mars person especially if you've been set in your ways to your detriment. If the mercury person has good intentions, they will be able to change how you act for the better.

[archduchessofnowhere]

The tropification of Elisabeth of Austria and the perils of historical dramas without history: A review of Die Kaiserin season 1

Back in 2022 Netflix long awaited (by me at least) new historical drama about Empress Elisabeth of Austria premiered. And to my great disappointment, the series had little to nothing to do with history. Now, two years later, we are on the eve of the premiere of the series’ second season. Since I’d forgotten most of the story, I decided to do a rewatch of season 1, despite my deep dislike of it back in the day. I usually don’t do this, I truly believe that (unless you’re a paid reviewer and it’s your literal job) the only reason for watching a series should be that you like it. If it wasn’t because of my completionist drive to finish every piece of media relating to Elisabeth and analyze the hell out of it, I would’ve dropped it two episodes in. But I promised a review in 2022, and I still feel bad for not finishing writing it then. So at last, here is my review of Die Kaiserin.

Revisiting Die Kaiserin was an interesting experience, if just as frustrating as my first watch was. The character assassination of literally every real person depicted in this series is still infuriating, the costumes and hairstyles are dreadful, and the portrayal of the few historical events is so bad it makes any person with some knowledge of the time period roll their eyes and wish the series had gotten canceled in pre-production. And yet, looking at it from the outside, trying to watch it as if I were an spectator who doesn’t know nor cares about the time period and only wants to kill time with Netflix’s shine new period drama series, Die Kaiserin reveals itself exactly for what it is: a mediocre soap opera set in a half-assed court setting. Upon this rewatch I realized that the biggest crime of this series isn’t that it’s inaccurate, but how boringly predictable it truly is. It’s not that the characters are nothing like their historical counterparts, it’s that they are not characters at all. They are stereotypes, walking tropes crashed against each other like dolls in the hands of a child. And the entire plot of this series is built around serving these tropes.

Although we are not given a clear year at any point on-screen, the story begins in 1853 as it always does when it comes to Sisi media: with a young and rebellious Elisabeth learning that her elder sister Helene is going to be the emperor of Austria’s future bride. The first episode proceeds to re-imagine the fated encounter of the Duchesses in Bavaria with Franz Josef and his family, finishing with the climatic moment in which the emperor reveals that he will marry the younger Elisabeth instead of her sister, shocking everyone present (in fiction, for in real life the entire family realized right away that he had fallen in love with his cousin at first sight).

So far, the typical beginning of every piece of media about young Elisabeth under the sun. But then the series makes the bizarre choice of setting the entire season in an atemporal space in which nothing of note happens. The episodes usually take place during a brief period of time (from a couple of hours to a single day at most), yet it is uncertain how much time passes between them: days? months? Who even knows. The timeline is fuzzy, bending to the whims of the script.

You now may wonder: why does that matter? Plenty of good series don’t have clear timelines. And I agree, there are indeed good series which don’t need a clear timeline. I just don’t believe historical series about real people whose lives are well documented are one of them. Why am I tuning in the history based series and finding no history at all? Why can’t I even guess in which month are we supposed to be in?

In the later years there has been a boom of period dramas which are historical satires, historical fantasies and/or alternative history. These series take history and throw it out of the window for the sake of their plot (whether it’s romance or comedy or both). And I don’t hate them, in fact I thoroughly enjoyed plenty of them. But Die Kaiserin doesn’t belong to this genre. Die Kaiserin is supposed to be a serious historical drama. I still remember that before the series premiered the screenwriters talked about how they wanted to follow the steps of The Crown. Yet the quality of the script is far more reminiscent of the alternative history teen drama Reign. If Reign thought it was The Crown.

What is the point of taking these real people, ignoring the entire context in which they lived, and throwing them into completely fictional settings, while still claiming you’re adapting their lives? If Die Kaiserin had owned what it was, if it had not pretended to be a serious historical drama, I don’t think I would’ve been as upset as I was when the series was released. 

I realize this is a personal frustration since I know and care for the real history, and that someone who doesn’t probably didn’t notice the dozens of inaccuracies that plague this series. That’s okay. But I can’t help but feeling a deep disappointment in the fact that I’m not the target audience of a series about one of my favorite women from history. Which also makes me wonder: if not us, the people with a genuine interest in history, then who is the audience for this series?

I don’t have an answer. Not only “the general public” is as vague as it gets, time and time again “the general public” has shown they can and will love historical dramas more grounded in fact. I wholly disagree on this notion that you must “dumb down” history in order to make it more palatable. Again, audiences have shown they can enjoy complex writing - a memo I wish the screenwriters of Die Kaiserin had received. 

Because even putting the inaccuracies aside, I ultimately just don’t think the writing of this series is good. Going back to the beginning of the review, upon my rewatch I realized something: this series is almost entirely made up of well defined but poorly developed tropes. This series feels written as if it was one of those viral Tiktok books whose entire plot is just a list of popular tropes. “Love triangle with a villain”, “fierce FMC”, “betrayal”, “falls first/falls harder”; and I could go on. Any complexity is simplified in order to create an easy to watch story, every character is made into a one-dimensional caricature. It is also ironic that, despite the screenwriters’ clear attempts to distance their series from every previous portrayal of the empress - to the point of having Elisabeth disdain her nickname “Sisi”, which is never be used after the first episode - they fall into almost every already existing stereotype on Sisi media anyways. Elisabeth as a humble country girl deemed the “troublemaker” of the family? Check. Sophie as an evil mother-in-law who manipulates her son and daughter-in-law? Check. The empress reconciling the discontent masses of the empire with her kindness alone? Check check check. 

I highly doubt I’ll ever watch this season again. I simply do not like it, and I know it may not seem like it given how much I’ve been talking about this series lately, but I don’t enjoy being a hater. It’s just that I’ve been following this series since the project was first announced years ago, and I’m still mad about how much it missed the mark. Will there ever be an Elisabeth - or just 19th century Habsburg/Wittelsbach - historical series with actual history in it? As of now, sadly, it still feels like an impossible dream.

[shaykai]

Okay okay okay consider Durgetash tether AU

Gortash & Durge are messing around with an artifact (from Mephistopheles’ vault?) and it ends up tethering them together (like Legend of Spyro- they can only move so far away from each other and the tether isn’t visible unless it’s actively being strained or interacted with)

They can’t figure out how to deactivate it, antics ensue (they can’t hurt each other while it’s active?)

Gortash has to put up with Durge being present in all of his meetings and just praying to god they behave themselves and don’t try to maim anybody/that nobody takes too much interest in their presence

There’s also the Urge- Gortash knows about it but now he actively has to help in dealing with it- whether that be going on murder sprees far too often for his liking or finding out the unfortunate consequences of neglecting it

Them getting weirdly close and open because they kind of have to be to function

Neither of them have easy access into their respective cult spaces/temples anymore- bringing a Banite into Bhaal’s temple is basically a heresy.

That being said, Durge can only stay away for so long before it’s problematic- it looks bad when they’ve been missing for a week and the last time they were seen was with Gortash.

Jump cut to Durge forcing Gortash to wear normal cultist attire and telling him to keep his mouth shut lest somebody recognize his voice.

Something about Orin cornering Durge and asking where they’ve been before realizing there’s a ‘cultist’ just. Standing there. Djdjdjjdjdjd Naturally she threatens to kill him if he doesn’t leave and Durge has to hurry up and make excuses and then probably run away with Gortash before Orin can clock that it’s him

Sceleritas is one of the only people who knows the situation and is tirelessly searching for a solution so that his “beloved Durge can be free of their greasy leach”

Something something people clocking that it’s weird that they’re always so close to each other (gonna say they can’t be more than 10 feet apart)- more so at places like Moonrise where nobody knows who Durge really is and want to know who it is that’s following Gortash around

Gortash having to deal with the gnolls because Durge refuses to leave them alone

Also Durge getting somewhat familiarized with mechanics and learning how they work

Ketheric genuinely not knowing that they’re tethered together for entirely too long

Balthazar being a problem if he ever finds out because he wants to do science

Also them having to learn how to fight while being stuck together

Something about their walk speeds being different- Gortash has a cane for a reason and it takes Durge a while to stop speed walking everywhere. (Gortash can match their pace, but after a while it does take a toll)

Messy sleeping arrangements

Them having to deal with each other’s triggers/really bad days TM

[yay-depression]

hello! quick reminder that as all the media surrounding demi lovato’s interview where they said they were “tired” of using they/them pronouns show misleading headlines about how demi was “exhausted from using they/them” what actually happened is that demi lovato said it was exhausting having to constantly explain themselves and constantly educate people on they/them pronouns.

[pearlcaddy]

My kingdom for people to stop trash talking/generally being rude about fics in public fandom spaces. If you're analyzing a general trend, fine. But if you don't like a specific fic, find a friend's DMs to vent in. Stop putting this stuff on tumblr, Twitter, Discord servers, etc. where 1) many people in the fandom, and 2) the GODDAMN AUTHOR can see it.

[eggs-can-draw]

Kokichi physical therapy arc real

[bitter-sweet-coffee]

when will people cough north americans stop generalizing the entirety of continents as one entity? europe is culturally diverse, so is south america, and asia, and africa, and all the little places inbetween like countries in the caucasus?

i’m sure it’s real easy to generalize a whole lot of culturally rich places to make your point, buddy

[whimsyprinx]

i cannot stress how upset being ignored makes me feel btw, it is quite honestly one of the worst things anyone could do to me and the thing I will stay upset about the longest

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads // twitter thread  

Never Been Kissed

adult demi mm romance

a film studies graduate managing his town’s dying drive in theatre is desperate to save it, and tries to convince a reclusive local director to show her lost media film

also his ex crush/best friend is the new social media manger there

[citizen-zero]

It strikes me that the “ruined” images are a lot more visually interesting than the unaffected ones. They remind me of like, the surreal stuff people were making with Dall-e.

I think machine image generation could be useful as a tool just like any other digital art tool. It’s just that the way capitalists and tech bros want to use it to replace and perfectly mimic human creation is insidious and also fucking boring. I don’t want machine-made art that looks like something a human could’ve done; that feels like going on vacation to a foreign country and spending the entire trip watching TV in your hotel room and ordering takeout. It reminds me of video game studios bragging about how realistic and lifelike the graphics are and meanwhile the story sucks and the mechanics aren’t fun. It’s wasted potential and opportunities.

I think that this sort of technology could be great if used by people who were interested in actually exploring artistic possibilities and pushing the limits and getting creative with it. I know this isn’t relevant to the actual point of this post, but the images produced with 100 and 250 poisoned concepts excited me and it makes me mad that so many of the people who are really gung-ho for AI are people who just want to lower their operating costs and speed up their production timelines.

Good news, fellow artists! Nightshade has finally been released by the UChicago team! If you aren't aware of what Nightshade is, it's a tool that helps poison AI datasets so that the model "sees" something different from what an image actually depicts. It's the same team that released Glaze, which helps protect art against style mimicry (aka those finetuned models that try to rip off a specific artist). As they show in their paper, even a hundred poisoned concepts make a huge difference.

(Reminder that glazing your art is more important than nighshading it, as they mention in their tweets above, so when you're uploading your art, try to glaze it at the very least.)

[shatterthefragments]

We were having a pleasant dinner mum. All you do is complain. And make yourself the victim when hey- maybe after a long day at work I don’t want to just be your vent buddy!?

“So why don’t I just shut up. I won’t talk to you then. I know deep down you kids would’ve preferred a different mother anyway.”

Yeah. A mother that got treatment for your mental health issues. And wouldn’t take it as an utter failure of yourself if you found out that both your children have mental health issues too. (Which. Yeah. Maybe the dream is to have a mother who took care of their mental health and maybe informed the children of how stuff might feel and how it’ll get better. Because as roller coaster-y as I am still. And the lows are always crashing straight o the bottom. Like. CHOOSING to go for walks and go outside and do things that I enjoy has been so beneficial for me. Making new friends here and talking to them and interacting has been so beneficial for me. I have a will to live that actually makes me a little scared to die. Despite how it feels in the moment (oh how fucking easy it would be to scream back WOULD IT BE EASIER TO HAVE HAD CHILDREN WHO WERENT SO SCARED TO SPEAK UP INSTEAD? WOULD IT BE EASIER IF I WERE DEAD? YOU ALWAYS SAY YOU THINK OF US MORE AS FRIENDS THAN AS MOTHER-CHILD. AND GUESS WHAT BITCH? IF MY FRIEND HADNT LEFT THE HOUSE IN AS LONG AS YOU I WOULD THROW THEM ON MY BACK AND TAKE THEM FOR A DRIVE TO SOME NATURE PLACE.) I. I want to want to live. I want to live. (But shiiiit I can’t live here forever like this.)

[draemers]

why do i have to compete with my boyfriend’s siblings to. see him over the holidays

[roanofarcc]

LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER

pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader - part 2!

summary. you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knacked for knowing just what the storm’s thinking a little infuriating and incredibly impressive.

 warnings. fem!reader, reader gets injured, mentions of blood and injuries, probably inaccurate meteorological info & medical info, angst & fluff, some hurt/comfort on this fine Tuesday night.

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

a/n. twister has been my favorite movie FOREVER so here's a little homage to the og storm chasers <3

You were ten when you went storm chasing for the first time. Growing up, you’d heard your parents' stories every time there was a shift in the weather. Instead of the typical childhood fear of storms, you had always been fascinated by them; your dad, Bill Harding often joked it was in your genes, the lack of fear. With some light convincing of your mom, Dr. Jo Haring, she agreed to take you storm chasing for your tenth birthday. 

The twister had been small, barely an EF1, but it was wondrous. There was something dangerously beautiful about it that drew you in just as it had your parents when they were younger. From that point on, you knew you wanted to be just like them, chasing storms up and down Tornado Alley. 

And with the stubbornness passed down by your mom, that is exactly what you did. You were damn good at it to. 

“It’s lookin’ like a big one to the southeast,” a member of your team said, slugging an arm around your shoulder as she looked up at the sky, squinting slightly at the sun. “But the radar says we’ve got another brewin’ west. She's pickin’ up speed but it’s still developing.” 

You hummed in response, gazing up at the sky too, judging which one was your best bet by observing the clouds in either direction. “Let’s hang back and go for the one to the west, I like her chances better.” Your teammate, Frankie, grinned as she nodded and headed off toward the other three members of your small, but mighty team. 

As you waited for the storm to flesh out a little more, you sat on the bed of your truck, dangling your legs off of the tailgate. The fresh air filled your lungs and the faint smell of incoming rain brought a smile to your lips. Every time you got ready for a chase, you felt ten years old again, giddy and excited for the thrill of the storm. You thought back to the photo albums you’d looked at a hundred times over of your parents and their numerous storm-chasing adventures. They never pushed you into storm chasing, as it was a dangerous line of work, but from a very young age, it was clear that your fascination with storms wouldn’t be quelled with a simple meteorology degree and a job behind a desk. 

Storm chasing was in your blood, and your knack for it was known among other storm chasers. 

“Well, if it isn’t the doctor herself,” a familiar voice filled your ears, belonging to the one and only Tyler Owens. He approached your truck, hands on his hips and a certain cockiness that excited you. You liked a challenge, and you loved showing cowboys up. Tyler was good at what he did, but you were just a little bit better, and it both irritated and impressed him. 

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” you said, earning a light chuckle from him. 

“You don’t look in a hurry. That storm to the southeast won’t last forever.” You shrugged and he narrowed his gaze just slightly. “You’re not going after that one, are you?” 

“Damn,” you sighed. “You’re getting harder to trick, Owens.”

He laughed, light and sweet. It was easy to see how he garnered such a large online audience. Tyler was easy on the eyes, drove straight into tornados with a grin on his lips, and had the knowledge of storms to back up his insane behavior. You’d never admit it aloud, but he did impress you, even if you thought some of his actions were reckless even for a storm chaser.

The two of you had an interesting rapport. It toes the line between rivals and friends, the odd territory in between. You loved teasing him, and he tried to outsmart you even if it never worked. 

“Maybe you’re getting too predictable,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“Och.” You faked hurt, placing a hand over your heart. “What is it you always say? If you feel it, chase it. If you think the one to the southeast is gonna show her face, go for it.” 

Tyler studied you for a moment, contemplating what kind of game you were playing with him. All you did was smile at him in return, which led him to roll his eyes. “Unfortunately, you’re rarely wrong,” he sighed. 

“It’s a blessing and curse.” 

“You’re impossible,” he said. “But the west it is. It better not let me down, Dr. Harding.” You only used that title in more professional settings. That had been a condition of your mother. She had gotten her PhD and believed you could too. It was tough, but you earned it; only, you didn’t expect some cowboy to use it to lightly mock you when you proved him wrong.

“You have my word,” you said. 

And you were right. The storm to the west produced a beautiful tornado. You and Frankie got close while the rest of your team hung back. Rain pelted the windshield as you grew closer, watching the dark funnel tear through the expanse of fields, picking up speed on the ground. Somewhere along the way, Tyler’s unmistakable red truck ripped past you, heading into the heart of the twister, which you rolled your eyes at. 

“She’s a beauty!” Frankie hollered, holding her camera at the ready. 

It was a great chase, but the thing about tornados that was both thrilling and dangerous was their unpredictability. You knew the storm would be big, and the closer you grew the more power you saw that it had. The other truck carrying the rest of your team had communicated the growing intensity of the storm via the radio. But it looked to be on a steady path west, so you saw no issue tailing it while Frankie snapped pictures.

The rain only grew heavier and heavier, almost completely obstructing your view. It wasn’t until a tree crash landed directly in the middle of the road did you realize the tornado had changed directions suddenly. A startled scream torn from Frankie lips and you slammed on the breaks, narrowly missing the tree. 

“Holy shit,” she whispered, leaning up against the dash and trying to see through the rain wrap. “It’s right there. It’s right there! We gotta go!” 

You quickly threw your truck in reverse and backed up, but you didn’t get far. A lone semi that had been traveling skidded to a stop just a couple hundred feet behind you. The way they had stopped at the sight of the tornado left its trailer sideways across the road before it was abandoned by the figure hunkering down in the ditch that lined the backroad. 

You hissed under your breath, trapped between two objects and a tornado that shook your truck. There wasn’t enough space to fly around the semi. The ditches on either side of the road were too deep to take quickly and another minute trying to maneuver around the semi would only lead to your truck getting swallowed by the storm, picked up, and tossed around like a rag doll. 

Your parents had prepared you for a kind of situation like that, but that didn’t shake your panic. With a rapidly beating heart, you put the truck in park and yelled at Frankie to get out. You both stepped out into the storm as the tornado loomed closer and closer. Wind whipped all around you along with debris. You grabbed Frankie’s hand and together you sprinted toward the ditch. 

Frankie lay on her stomach, and you lay beside her, covering her head the best that you could. Whatever happened, you had always told yourself your teammates' safety came first. You were the one who talked them into storm chasing with you. So, when danger arose, you felt the responsibility of keeping them safe. 

The screeching of winds was so loud in your ears that it almost disoriented you enough to miss the sharp piece of debris that swooped down at the tornado that passed along the field just opposite of the ditch, not directly over top of you but much too close for comfort. Something smacked against the back of your head, but you closed your eyes and held onto Frankie in hope of shielding her from any other flying objects. 

You weren’t sure how long you two lied there, but it felt like a lifetime until the tornado traveled further away. The winds died down but your heart beat stayed quickly pounding against your chest. 

Sitting up, you felt the sharp sting settling in the back of your head, but you ignored it at the sight of Frankie’s cut leg. 

“Shit,” you muttered, grabbing her knee to examine the clean slice down the back of her shin. 

She wiped back the wet pieces of her hair and let out a shuttered breath. “Holy shit, that was crazy.” You pulled off your sweatshirt and wrapped the wet fabric around her shin. “What’re you doing?” 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to brush it off, but you heard the pain in her voice, along with the tremble of lingering fear at your close call. You knew the dangers of storm chasing and the possibilities of injuries, but it always felt different to you when it was a member of your team, one of your friends. 

A couple minutes after you tied your sweatshirt around her shin and helped her up from the ditch, the truck carrying the rest of your teammates rolled up, hooting and hollering at the size of the storm until they saw the state the two of you were in. 

“Take her back to the motel. If the bleeding doesn’t stop take her to the hospital.” Frankie opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. “I’m serious.” 

“What about you?” another member of your team asked. 

You looked down the road at your overturned truck, sighing sadly to yourself as the pain in the back of your head throbbed. “I’ve gotta call someone for my truck. I’ll meet you back at the motel later.” 

They were hesitant to leave you but eventually agreed. Down the debris-littered road, you hobbled back to your truck. It had been a gift from your parents after you graduated college; it was special to you, but it was totaled thanks to the tornado. 

With a groan, you heaved open the door and tried to gather your belongings, but a wave of dizziness washed over you. You staggered backward, reaching up to touch the tender spot on the back of your head. Something wet coated your fingers and when you pulled your hand back, it was painted red. Frustrated, you tried to take a deep breath and calm yourself down enough to find your cell phone. Unfortunately, the cut was a little worse than you wanted to admit, and you felt blood drip down the back of your neck. 

Dizzily, you sat down on the road, blinking back the pain and wooziness. A slow creep of panic started to take hold as the pain intensified and the world started to spin just slightly. 

With one hand placed firmly on the back of your head, you rubbed your temple with your other, trying to think clearly but it became increasingly more difficult. You missed the hum of an engine nearby, but a slam of a door startled you. 

“Harding!” Someone yelled and you blinked slowly, keeping a hold on the back of your head as you looked up to see Tyler Owens bee-lining right toward you. He kneeled in front of you, brows furrowed and lips pulled in a small frown. “Hey, are you all right?” 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, once again trying to push away the dizziness that plagued you. “I’m, uh, just looking for my phone. I gotta call someone for my truck.” The words felt heavy in your mouth, which couldn’t be a good sign. Whatever struck the back of your head hit it hard and the blood that leaked from the wound wasn’t helping. 

He studied you for a moment, his gaze landing on your hand pressed against the back of your head. “You hurt?” You started to shake your head, but that only caused little black dots to temporarily pepper your vision. Tyler wasn’t an idiot; he reached up and carefully pushed your hand back, stopping when he saw the blood that started to drip down your arm. He cursed under his breath and yelled something at whoever sat in the passenger seat of his truck. 

“Hey.” His voice became soft, comforting even. “We’ve gotta get you to a hospital.” 

“I’m fine,” you inisted, even though every thing you felt inside your body proved that to be untrue. You just hated not being able to do something yourself; you hated needing help. Your father said you interited that from your mother, while she said you got it from your father. Truth was, they both had their air of stubbornness and you was born with double. 

Tyler shook his head. “No, you’re not.” He stood to his feet and gently tugged on your arm in an attempt to help you stand. Begrudgingly, you let him help you. Standing up, the world spun faster and you felt panic swell uncomfortably in your chest. You swayed catching yourself on Tyler’s arms as they grabbed your shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he said. Maybe it was your slightly disoriented state, but his assurance and hands firmly holding onto your arms made some of your panic recoil. As much as you wanted to be okay, you knew that was not the case. 

He knew that too, and helped you into the passenger seat of his truck before he instructed one of his fellow Wranglers to keep pressure on the back of your head with whatever they could find in the backseat. You winced as a crumbled up shirt was held against your head, but the moving truck overwhelmed you with dizziness that made the physical pain of your wound the least of your worries. You didn’t want to pass out but your eyes felt heavy. 

Tyler noticed it too, and placed a hand on your knee, giving it a squeeze and a shake. “You gotta stay with me, okay? You gotta stay awake.” 

“M’trying,” you muttered. 

“You were right about the storm,” he said. “But aren’t you always?” 

A pained smile fell across your lips. “Was that a compliment?” 

He laughed, driving quickly down the road with one hand gripping the wheel tightly. “Yeah. You’re hard to say something bad about. You know your stuff, better than me, that’s for sure.” 

“My parents taught me,” you said, desperately trying to keep yourself consciousness, but it grew more difficult by the minute. 

“Do they still chase?” he asked. 

“Not much anymore. Sometimes if a storm’s close, they’ll take a drive. But they always say they’ve had their fun.” They also said they shared enough close calls to know it was time to hang it up. You know they worried you’d find yourself in one too, but you’d always been careful and rarely got yourself into a situation you couldn’t get out of, until now, that was. 

Darkness encroached on your vision, threatening to force your eyes closed. Some the backseat, you heard one of the Wrangles call Tyler’s name. He turned his head, but you couldn’t see the concerningly red-soaked shirt that made his stomach churn and caused him to press down on the gas harder. Your head lulled to the side and your eyes fluttered close. Vaguely, you heard Tyler call your name and felt him shake your knee, but you couldn’t open your eyes or open your mouth. Everything fell dark. 

-- 

Tyler had spent his fair share of time in hospitals. He’d been bucked off a bull more than once, resulting in his mother dragging him to the hospital and threatening to make him quit. Eventually she held to her threat when he shattered his nose and gained a nasty concussion. 

Being at the hospital for himself was one thing, being there for you made him realize why his mother used to be drenched in worry. He nervously drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair in the hospital room. You were asleep, a fresh bandage wrapped around your head and with a minor concussion. The cut on the back of your head required a couple stitches; you were lucky, all things considered, but Tyler really hated seeing you like that. 

To him, you’d always been unreal. A second generation storm chaser so accomplished. Not only did you know your stuff, it was clear how much you enjoyed it. You lit up at the sight of storms, and Tyler couldn’t help but be in awe. There was a competitive nature to storm chasing and as much as he wanted to be annoyed by you always being two steps ahead of him, he couldn’t. He was just impressed. 

Tyler wasn’t sure how or when that admiration turned into something that teetered on affection, but it felt more than it had been before seated at your hospital bedside. He’d never felt his stomach drop like that before, when you passed out in his truck, Boone holding a bloodied shirt to you head. Even after the doctor said you’d be just fine, he felt on edge. 

The door to your room was pushed open by a nurse who led in two more people, who he instantly recognized: The Hardings. 

He stood up quickly and watched as your mom rushed to your side, brushing a hand across your cheek with a deep frown. “Oh, baby girl,” she sighed.  

The nurse offered your concerned parents a polite smile. “As the doctor said, the concussion was minor so all she need is some rest for the couple of days to a week. She should wake up soon and we'll see how she’s doing, then the doctor will let you know when she can be discharged.” 

You dad rubbed your mom’s back like he was trying to ease the heavy worry that shined in her face, but he too looked just as worried with a crease across his forehead. 

Tyler lightly cleared his throat, gaining your parents’ attention. "Hello, ma'am, sir," he greeted them.

“You must be the one who brought her in,” Jo said, and Tyler nodded in response. “Thank you. We’d been trying to call her, after we saw that storm, but she never answered and I…I just had a bad feeling.” 

Bill rubbed the light stubble on his chin. “No wonder she’s knocked out; I don’t think you’d get here otherwise. Stubborn, that kid.” 

A found smile spread across Tyler’s lips. “She kept saying she was fine until she nearly passed out on me. We only got a couple miles before she did pass out; scared the life out of me,” he said, running a stressed hand through his hair freed from his hat. The second you passed out in his truck, he nearly broke every traffic law. He wasn’t sure he’d never been quiet that scared, which was something he wasn't sure how to feel about.

Your mom furrowed her brows at Tyler’s words, something glinting behind her eyes until it shined in recognition. “You’re that storm chaser she’s always talkin’ about,” Jo said. “The one online.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bill said, nodding in Tyler’s direction. He couldn’t tell if it was disdain or indifference in the man’s voice, but Tyler was too hung up on the fact that you talked about him to care much. He didn’t know that filled him with an odd sense of pride and warmth. You two weren’t exactly friends but you were more than acquaintances. It was more like a nice, workplace rivalry that he enjoyed a lot more than he’d admit. 

A small groan sounded from the bed, and everyone turned as your eyes fluttered open. Your mom was quick to your side, speaking quietly under the hum of fluorescent lights. 

You started to mumble something about your truck that Tyler couldn’t quite make out, but your dad seemed to understand immediately. He said he’d take care of it, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he headed out into the hall with his cell phone in hand. 

Tyler felt like he overstayed his welcome; you were in better hands with your parents there. He collected his things from the chair, garnering your attention. 

“Tyler,” you said, pushing yourself to sit upright. “Thank you.” 

He smiled. “No problem, doctor. I couldn’t let one of the best chasers be out of the game, now could I?” 

“So you admit it? I’ve got you beat.” 

“I said one of,” he joked. “But you may have one or two legs up on me. Not for long though. I’ll catch up.” 

Something in your smile made him want to sigh in relief, but he held it back. “Not a chance.” 

“Then you better rest up; I’ll see you back out there.” 

Bonus!

It took a little longer for you to bounce back, but the second you felt like yourself again, you were right back at it. Morning was supposed to bright a slew of storms to Kansas, so you and your team hightailed it to the state, finding a cozy little motel already occupied by other storm chasers. You spotted Tyler’s truck instantly, followed by a strange turn of your stomach. 

You hadn’t seen him since you woke up in the hospital, slightly surprised that he stayed with you until your parents arrived. Since then, your mom had managed to bring him up at every opportunity, not so subtly hint at what a pair the two of you would be. You brushed her off, but a small part of you wondered what would happen if you hung around the cowboy a little more. 

“Look who’s back!” Tyler’s voice sounded the second you hopped out of Frankie’s beat-up but sturdy truck; you were saving up for a new one, something even nicer that you could doctor up for chasing. 

He approached you with a beaming smile, flashing his teeth. “I just couldn’t stay away,” you replied. “I didn’t miss anything too crazy, did I?” 

Tyler shook his head. “It seemed like mother nature saved the good ones for you. They’re talkin’ some big ones tomorrow.” The giddy feeling that accompanied storm filled your chest, and the company of Tyler heightened it, strange and new but not completely unwelcome. Maybe it was time you gave into his charm a little more.

[sinterblackwell]

yes, i’ve been in a bit of a selective reading slump, i will admit. yes, it is very likely that because of that, it’s played a part in my brain’s disinterest in reading a majority of books, including lily mayne.

but so help me god, my waning ability to finish any other work by this author that isn’t her monstrous series or folk trilogy needs to be studied.