#and my sad capitalism conditioned thought was

[gerudospiriit]

[Late stage capitalism really is just hell, isn't it?]

[kit-kat-katie]

this time, my time

A/N: hey, do you remember me? 0_0 it's been a long few months of school, to put in simply. now I'm off for the summer, and I'm here to slowly finish up my Finnick series and the request decaying in my inbox.

TW: canon violence and other sensitive topics (prostitution and other servitude to the Capitol), reader has a long-term knee injury, main character death, strong deviation from cannon events will start here, quick mentions of knives, past and present trauma for reader, the ending is so sad

Pairing: Finnick x GN! Reader (romantic)

Summary: The rebellion goes strong as you try to find your place in District 13. Things fall in and out of place as the continuous ups and downs of the warzone weigh on your mental and physical condition.

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You stand quietly outside of the meeting room, trying to pretend like you weren’t eavesdropping on the conversation going on inside. Whatever it was, it ended quickly as Katniss burst out of the doors first.

“So you’re going to be the Mockingjay?” You softly ask, which stops Katniss in her tracks.

“What choice do I have? You saw Peeta on TV in the Capital, and we know that the others are there too. I have to get him, them home.” She curtly says before turning and leaving the area.

You slip into the shadows as other members of the meeting leave - some you recognize, some you aren’t quite familiar with.

The last man to leave the room, the one you didn’t know on the air carrier that took you to District 13, is the only one to notice your presence.

“Do you believe Katniss is our Mockingjay?” He solemnly asks as you step into the light.

“She might not be an elegant speaker, or the best role model, but she’s got a lot of fight and energy left in her. If anyone is going to get us out of this mess, it’ll be her.” You hold on to your cane as you limp forward with your injured leg.

“What I said when we rescued you, Finnick, and Katniss, is still on the table. We can arrange to fix-”

“My fighting days are long over.” You gesture to your knee as a small chuckle escapes your throat. “Your doctors are amazing. They can prescribe fantastic painkillers, but they can’t fix this.”

Plutarch simply smiles to himself.

“You should see Beetee when you have the time. He’s made something for you, if you’re interested.” He shrugs before leaving you alone with your thoughts.

This cane is getting on my last nerve. It would be nice to walk with two feet again, or to walk long distances without having to be carried by a child.

~

“I’m assuming Plutarch spoke with you?” Beetee says as you stare in admiration at his room of inventions. 

“You’ve been busy while we’ve been stuck down here.” You marvel at something on his desk, but you know better than to touch.

“I haven’t had much to do, being stuck in a wheelchair and all.” Beetee makes his way over to you with a strange, metal-looking brace on his lap.

“What is that?” You ask as he hands it to you.

“It’s a regenerative knee brace - a special project that I was working on with a few of the medical specialists in Thirteen. I can’t guarantee that it’ll heal all, but you should be able to walk without that cane for hours at a time. Ideally, a few weeks of usage should get you completely healed, but we haven’t tested it on any subjects so the results may be unsure-”

“Beetee, I don’t think I can thank you enough for this.” You sit down on a chair next to him as you put the brace on. 

“Think nothing of it - it’s a favor for a friend.” He offers you a rare smile, and it’s one that you happily return.

When you stand up, the aching of your knee is reduced to a dullness that medication could only hope to achieve. After hobbling around Beetee’s workspace for a bit, you’re able to walk pretty well on your own - without that damn cane.

“It’ll work?” He asks as you brightly smile.

“This will definitely work.”

~

“I see you took Beetee up on his offer.” Finnick remarks as you lay on the bed next to him.

“You knew about this?” You ask as Finnick squeezes your side.

“Prim came to me one day and asked a bunch of weird questions about you and your medical history, and when I pressed her for answers, she told me about Beetee’s project for you. I only knew for two weeks-”

“-two weeks? And you didn’t tell me?!?” You playfully roll your eyes. “You watched me struggle for two weeks, knowing that there was a solution on its way. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d push you off of this bed.”

“You love me, Sunny?”

“Leave me alone.” You gently push him away before he wraps his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He mumbles into your hair before kissing your neck.

With the butterflies lingering in your stomach, you curl into his touch more as you feel your eyes become heavy.

“For the record, I’m still mad at you.” You mumble softly, and his bubbly laughter is the last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep.

~

“How is your knee?” Prim takes a few notes on her notepad as you swing your legs back and forth on the examination table.

“The pain isn't gone, but I can walk for a while without needing to sit down. Standing still can be an issue at times because my knee locks, and the brace is so heavy that it pulls me down with it.” You explain as she nods.

“That’s good progress, especially since you’ve only been wearing it for a week. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Prim stands up and gathers her notes before heading towards the door.

“Wait a minute, you-” You pause before asking, “why did you want to help me recover? You helped Beetee with the brace, but why do so?”

“My sister likes you, as much as she can like anyone,” Prim says, “and I have the same trust in you. We need as many people as we can for the fight ahead of us, and if I can help one person get back on their feet, then it’ll be worth it in the long run.”

“You’re wise for your age, and strong.” You softly bite your lip. “I’m sorry about your home, about everything that’s happened to you.”

“It’s all in the past, and the future is what we make of it.” She nods before leaving the room, and you push yourself off of the bed before heading for the door yourself.

I wonder what Prim was like before all of this happened. I’ll have to ask Katniss sometime, if she’ll ever tell me anything personal about herself.

~

“President Coin has wanted to meet you for a long time, but in-between your recovery from the injury, Katniss becoming the Mockingjay, and then the recent attack, there hasn’t been much time-”

“-It’s alright, Plutarch. I’m just grateful she took us all in.” You shrug as Plutarch opens the door for you. “Thank you.”

President Coin stands up and offers you her hand, which you gladly shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sunny, if I may call you that?” She greets you before letting go of your hand, and you take a seat next to her.

“It’s alright with me. Thank you for your endless hospitality, President Coin, I can’t thank you enough.” You graciously bow your head.

“It’s no issue, but I’m afraid this isn’t a simple greeting. I requested your… unique expertise for a reason. After the attack on District 13, the civilians from this District and District 12 are, understandably, scared. I’m requesting that you offer some of your time and expertise to train them on different fighting tactics.” 

“You want me to teach them? What about Katniss or Finnick?”

“Katniss is an… acquired taste, and Finnick hasn’t connected to the people of this shelter as you have.” Coin explains as Plutarch nods along.

“People look up to you, not as a Victor, but as a person. You might not be the Mockingjay, but your voice and actions carry power. Why not use them for something good?” He adds as you ponder for a moment.

It’s been a while since I’ve held my knives… am I going to be okay with this?

“It might take me a while to get back into fighting, with my knee and all, but I’ll give it a try. I’m sure Beetee will be happy if I can get some more use out of this brace.” You lightly tap your foot on the ground as you feel the brace hum against your leg.

I wonder if it’s going to heal me fully, or if I’ll be stuck with this thing forever.

~

Training the civilians of the two districts didn’t go as poorly as you thought it would. You were worried about injuring yourself further, or worse, accidentally hurting an innocent civilian if your survival instincts kicked in. 

Those who had shown up seemed grateful for your help, and the children that you had grown to care for had come to watch the training. You weren’t going to let them fight, no child should be involved in a warzone, but you didn’t mind them watching.

Especially when they cheered every time you hit your mark or you pinned someone to the ground. It gave you a much-needed ego boost, something that had never really phased you before. All eyes had been on you since you won the Hunger Games those years ago, and it didn’t dawn on you how weird it felt to be left alone.

You were grateful, of course, to not have to look over your shoulder in case someone from the Capitol was spying on you. Things were just… different now. The life you had known since you won the Hunger Games was gone.

Maybe you could get used to the idea of an “after”, one where you can let go of everything that has been eating you alive. One where you and Finnick could…

It’s best not to get my hopes up.

~

“I learned a much more valuable form of payment… secrets.”

You stand next to Katniss, quietly wiping tears from your face as you watch him bare his soul for all to witness. It wasn’t like you were completely clueless to what he was doing in the Capitol, but you never knew it was this bad.

Katniss, on the other hand, is fixated on the small bits of footage of the rescue team. You can’t blame her for doing so - who knows how Peeta, Johanna, and the rest were doing inside of the Capitol? Had they been tortured, killed, or condemned to a fate much like Finnick’s?

“And the biggest secrets are about our President, Coriolanus Snow. Such a young man when he rose to power, such a clever one to keep it. How, you may ask, did he do it?” Finnick stares into the camera, and you stare into his eyes, hoping you can offer some sort of comfort when he can’t even see you. 

“One word: poison. He stopped every mutiny before it even started. There were so many mysterious deaths of his adversaries, even the allies who were threats. Snow would drink from the same cup to deflect suspicion, but antidotes don’t always work, which is why he wears roses as a perfume. It helps cover the scent from sores in his mouth that will never heal.”

Your eyes dart over to the rescue team footage as they get closer to the captives in the Capitol - Finnick just has to distract them for a bit longer. It’s tortuous, for you and for him, to live so vicariously through the trauma and memories that you’ve both carried for all of these years.

“He can’t hide the scent of who he really is. He kills without mercy, he rules with deception and fear. His weapon of choice is the only thing suited for such a man. Poison, the perfect weapon for a snake.”

Suddenly, things go white and you’re pulled out of the weird haze you were in when Katniss calls out to Beetee. Coin attempts to bring the footage back up, but it seems to be too late.

“We have another sixty seconds and then we’ll be cut off.” Beetee says, and someone in the room asks if they should call back the hovercraft.

You would’ve volunteered to go next, to tell them every dirty little detail about being a Victor, but Katniss volunteered first. 

“Are you sure?” You softly ask, and Katniss nods as you step out of the way.

The others in the room do the same as Katniss calls out to President Snow multiple times, and time runs thin before he answers her back.

“What an honor, and I don’t imagine you’re calling me to thank me for the roses.” His face appears through the static, and you physically recoil at the sight of him. 

“I never asked for this. I never asked to be in the games, I never asked to be the Mockingjay. I just wanted to save my sister and keep Peeta alive. Please, just let him go.” The desperation in her answer is evident as she continues. “I will stop being the Mockingjay. I will disappear, you will never have to see me ever again.”

“Ms. Everdeen, you couldn’t run from this anymore than you could’ve run from the games.” Snow coldly says.

“Please, you’ve won. You’ve already beaten me. Release Peeta, and take me instead.” Katniss offers herself up, but Snow shakes his head.

“I couldn’t pass the opportunity for a noble sacrifice.”

“Then tell me what to do. I’ve always kept my promises, haven’t I?”

“You say you didn’t want a war, and that’s just what’s happened. I told you what a fragile thing peace was, and still, like a child, you took pleasure in breaking it. I know what you are, I know you can’t see past your narrow concerns, but please, Ms. Everdeen, I doubt you know what honesty is anymore.”

You’re barely able to focus on the conversation because the sight of President Snow is enough to send you into fight-or-flight. Haymitch has had to pull you back multiple times to prevent you from interfering, and you’re a few seconds from leaving the room entirely.

He’s not even here, and you’re still scared shitless of him. What a fucking nightmare you’ve found yourself in.

“You’ve asked me to convince you that I was in love with Peeta. Haven’t I, at least, done that?”

“Ms. Everdeen, it’s the things we love most that destroy us. I want you to remember that I said that. Don’t you think I know that your friends are in the Tribute Center?” He pauses for a moment as everyone stares in abstract horror. “Cut them off.”

The feed crashes as everyone launches into a panic. Haymitch goes to comfort Katniss as Beetee tries to reach those inside of the Capitol. You’re left staring at the screen, contemplating why he continues to play the same games with Katniss that he did with you.

~

“Sunny, you’ve done excellent work today.” Snow’s eyes remain fixated on his roses as you admire the poppies near the entrance. 

“Thank you, President Snow.” You quietly mumble.

“You can just call me Snow - we are friends, are we not?”

“Of course, my apologies.” You put on a brave smile as you take a cautious step forward.

“No need to apologize, at least not to me.” He pauses for a moment. “I heard from one of my advisors that you had brushed off his attempts at courting you.”

“It won’t happen again.” You bow to him after looking back at the poppies. “I’ll go and make a personal apology before I leave for District Four.”

“Good, it’d be a shame if I had to hurt the family that threw you out after you had won the games. Or maybe I’ll show your new ‘family’ some of the raw footage of your Games, if that would be enough to deter them from speaking with you again.”

“I sincerely apologize for disrespecting you, Snow, and I will make sure that my apology is just as sincere to your advisor.”

“I know you will, you always make great amends. That’s what I like about you, Sunny, you know when you’ve done something wrong, and nothing will stop you from making it right.” Snow picks a rose before making eye contact with you. “The advisor is being housed on the second floor of my home.”

“Thank you for your utmost kindness.” You bow again before scurrying away.

~

“They’re here.”

Nothing could’ve stopped you from rushing into the hospital ward - not even the armed guards that tried to stop you. Your eyes scan around for a familiar face, and you spot Johanna pulling away from guards and doctors alike.

“Leave me alone!” She barks at them before looking at you. “You look like shit.”

“You look much worse, believe me.” You scoff before waving the doctors away. “I’ve got her, I promise.”

“I tried to give them hell, but the Capitol repaid the favor with interest, as they always do.” Johanna reluctantly swings her legs back onto the hospital bed as you arrange some of the medication nearby.

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch what the doctors give you. You won’t have to take anything you don’t need, I promise.” You step aside and gesture for a doctor to come back.

“The knee brace?”

“Talk to Katniss about that one.” You both chuckle to yourselves before Finnick bursts into the ward.

“Annie? Mags?” He calls out as he desperately searches around the area.

When you look back at Johanna, she has a sympathetic look on her face as you cover your mouth with one of your hands.

“I’m sorry-” 

“-I need a minute before I do something I regret.” You back away from Johanna and rush into the hallway as you continue to hear Finnick call out for them.

Hot tears fall down your face as you let your metal knee brace pull you to the ground. After seeing Peeta alive, you had hope for the others… but your hope had now been crushed.

You remember a time when you wished that you and Finnick could have all of the time in the world to be alone together.

Now you want to reach back into the past and slap yourself for saying that.

There wouldn’t be anymore Sunday dinners, small fishing trips, or beach picnics. No more midnight stargazing with Mags when you couldn’t sleep, or baking cookies with Annie as a way to help her relax for a while.

Everything you had gained after losing yourself in the Games was nearly gone.

All that was left was the somber man who just stumbled out of the ward. The look in Finnick’s eyes was distant - he was here with you without being here with you.

You, as quickly as one with a knee brace can, stand up and rush into his arms. You’re sure that your sobs can be heard from the farthest corner of the underground facility.

He doesn’t even respond or move his head in acknowledgment. 

Neither of you move, and time doesn’t either as you grieve together.

You wanted to believe that you were out of your waking nightmare, but maybe the Games were just the beginning of a lifetime of torture.

Only time would tell.

tagging ->  @yokolesbianism , @avoxrising, @honethatty12, @sweetybuzz25, @catvader101, @sollum, @emerald-valkyrie, @randomgurl2326, @caitsymichelle13, @bcbci, @iris1587 (send a request or comment on this fic to be added to the taglist!)

[astraea802]

Merlin Rewatch 2x05

Something interesting I've never caught before about Lady Catrina - the real Lady Catrina, not the troll who impersonated her - is that she had "an incurable bone disorder that affected her joints".

In modern terms, the real Lady Catrina had a chronic illness and seemingly chronic pain, but it wasn't something that was publicly known since Uther, who apparently knew Catrina and the House of Tregor well, had no idea until Gaius, the court physician, told him. Yet Gaius first realized something was off because Troll!Catrina walked normally, so it must have affected her gait enough that a physician would notice but not someone who was unaware of the condition. Then again, perhaps Gaius was expecting the condition to have worsened with age, and when it didn't he became suspicious.

Like with discussion around what disease Tiny Tim might have had in A Christmas Carol, I wondered what disease Lady Catrina might have had. Not a terminal one apparently since Gaius didn't say the disease would kill her, and not one that stopped her from riding, just that made riding uncomfortable.

Some contenders:

Skeletal dysplasia: A category of rare genetic disorders that cause abnormal development of a baby's bones, joints, and cartilage. However, it might have been more physically obvious if this was what she had, so I'm not sure.

A bone or joint infection contracted as a child. Modern treatment involves antibiotics, something that would be unavailable in Catrina's time, so it's likely such an infection would weaken her for the long term.

My first thought was actually Ehlers-Danlo Syndrome, but it only affects the joints, not the bones, so that seems out.

But overall, it does sort of make me sad that, as caught up as we get in the gross troll antics of the "Beauty and the Beast" two-parter, there's this background tragedy about Lady Catrina and the fallen House of Tregor that the troll capitalized on that gets overlooked. You can almost (almost) see why Uther gets so concerned about Camelot maintaining its strong defenses at all costs when stuff like this happens to the kingdoms around them.

[icypolargirl78]

i'm so fucking tired man. i don't normally post on tumblr beyond reblogging and making art occasionally but i cannot think of anywhere else to put these thoughts so whatever

i'm not entirely sure if anyone will read this post and that's okay, i don't have many followers and there are better posts to follow when it comes to supporting palestine and her people. don't give up hope, keep reblogging, keep talking about palestine okay. even if you think it doesn't matter it does. talking about what's happening beats back every bit of propaganda that gets spread about palestine. every bit counts

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA PALESTINE WILL BE FREE

here is a list of resources that you can donate to if you can. and if you can't, please reblog anyways. boost them.

i'm sick and tired of the constant news from palestine. not because i want to remain blissfully ignorant about what's happening there but because with each passing hour i get more and more angry and discouraged regarding what's happening there. i cannot in my mind truly comprehend the level of inhumanity that is required to forcefully remove people from their homes, to deprive them of basic necessities like water, food, and medical care, and then carpet bomb the land that so many families have lived on for literal decades. it's horrific and a disgusting level of evil.

beyond that i have to live with the knowledge that my government is actively funding these atrocities. i don't even want to call it my government because there is no way in my mind that any human could possibly see the deaths caused by israel and want to help them continue in their path of genocide.

these past few months have solidly confirmed in my mind that capitalism is single-handedly one of the worst things to have ever happened to our society because capitalism the thing that's behind my government supporting these atrocities. plain and simple it makes companies more money to help kill literal children who have done nothing wrong than to send aid to those children and to call for a ceasefire. it's sickening that my government is choosing to support this senseless violence simply because it means they can sell more guns and bombs and tanks.

i think about how the world will speak on these events in 20, 30, 50 years from now. i wonder how the history books will recount the brave gazans who survived what happened. i wonder if my country will continue to pump out propaganda regarding their involvement in this disaster. i wonder if the textbooks and worksheets students will read and write on will echo the way that my textbooks talked about native americans or african slaves. i wonder how many lives will get reduced to a statistic on a page.

and it makes me sad. so depressingly sad that so many people will get swept under the rug. that every lost life will never be mourned in the way every human deserves to.

i get conflicted over whether or not i have any right to speak on these events. i live a very privileged life. i never have to worry about when my next meal is coming, i have access to clean and safe drinking water at all hours of the day, i have a roof over my head and 24 hour access to the internet. why should i, someone who has all this, speak about events that are happening across the world. why should i have the right to mourn and speak about people who are now gone when those who are still alive are living in some of the worst conditions known to humankind.

and i realise that that's what the israeli government wants. they want me to stop thinking about gaza and palestine as a whole. they want the world to turn their backs and ignore the atrocities they are committing.

and i don't want that to happen. i'll continue clicking daily for palestine. i'll continue to reblog posts about gaza. i will keep that shred of hope that one day i will wake up and my tumblr dashboard will be filled with posts celebrating a ceasefire, that one day palestine will be free from the occupation of a tyrannical state.

but even knowing that doesn't take away from the guilt that i feel when i see gofundme's and links to aid relief programs. i've donated an esim to gaza and i really do hope that it helps someone but i'm not in a position to do anything more than reblog posts and do my daily clicks.

[olderthannetfic]

https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/737771866482212864/one-thing-i-hate-in-modern-adaptations-is-when-ppl#notes "Medieval fantasy settings where long-distance travel doesn’t exist are already so bad at worldbuilding that it doesn’t matter what else they do." How about the complete opposite, long distance travel exists, but the background of the people doesn't change? I read a Xianxia novel and there was literal 1000 year travel by foot, though the protag managed to find a mythical-travel-bus-bird with a hotel on its back that could do it in a week, and the people were still the same race/ethnicity/creed whatever you want to call it when they arrived at the new destination. I almost felt that this was worse, because nothing changed expect the setting and everyone was snootier.

Also, I've thought about this when writing my own notes on my stories, and to me the pivotal part in the story is if the story is set in setting where long distance travel would become a relevant thing to mention. If the entire story plays in a small podunk town the need for establishing long distance travelling might not be something needed. While if it plays in a big hot spot capital city I would expect at least some world building that alludes to foreign merchants and different lands beyond.

--

Heh. Yeah, that's absurd too.

Honestly, I don't actually care if there's long-distance travel or not. It's just sad how Generic European Fantasy Setting fake Middle Ages shit has conditioned people to be like "Wharrgharbl, there can't be black people! Unpossible!" and other nonsense of this sort instead of just going and looking at who was actually hanging around whatever real world place and time the setting is stealing most heavily from.

Actual history from quite a lot of countries suggests it's entirely possible that even a podunk town will experience some random nerd writing a travel guide or locals going on a gap year religious pilgrimage.

Like, sure, you can write a world in which pilgrimages don't exist. You can do anything you like! But we tend to take this as more plausible just because of decades of writing that ignored most actual history in its fantasy worldbuilding, and that's just silly.

[psychotrenny]

Hello, please forgive me if this ask is uncalled for, I just figured you would be a good person to ask. What exactly in theory do people in communist circles here mean when they besmirch 'idealists'? I find myself agreeing wholeheartedly with most theroy I've read and generally align with most leftist beliefs. But I would still consider myself an idealist because at my core I believe everything I do because I believe in working towards an ideal world. It makes me a bit sad to see the term used so harshly. I do believe that material conditions matter more than ideals , but I still think my beliefs are based on ideals at their core, am I misattributing the label? Misunderstanding something? Thank you for taking the time to read this if you did, I don't want to use you as my personal tutor or anything, I just want to understand something and wasn't sure who to turn to. Have a nice day.

I'm going to share an extended excerpt from Philosophy and Class Struggle by an anonymous South African theoretician who went by the pen name "Dialego". The whole thing is a very good read and not super long, and while naturally it focuses most on the South African liberation struggle of the 1970s it communicates a lot of guidelines and principles that are useful for any modern revolutionary movement. In any case the below excerpt is taken from the second chapter What Is Dialectical Materialism? and I think it answers your question most thoroughly:

It is sometimes thought that a “materialist” is a person who simply looks after his own selfish interests whereas an “idealist” is one who is prepared to sacrifice for a worthwhile cause. Yet, if this were so, it would be the conservatives of this world who are the “materialists” and the revolutionaries who are moved by “idealism"! In fact, of course, “materialism” and “idealism” do not refer to vague moral attitudes of this kind. They are terms used in philosophy to describe the only two basic interpretations of the world which can be consistently held. Everyone who studies the world around him has to find the origin of things. What causes things to move, or to act or to behave in the way they do? Are the forces spiritual in origin or are they produced by the material world? Some years ago a Calvinist minister ascribed earth tremors in the western Cape to the growing disquiet of the Almighty towards modern forms of music and dress! Whereas a materialist seeks to explain the world of society and nature according to the material conditions and processes at work, the idealist believes that events take place because of the existence of spiritual forces or “ideas”. An idealist might argue that apartheid in South Africa has been brought about by the “ill-will” or “evil intentions” of white people who don’t wish to face up to reality. For a materialist, on the other hand, this “ill-will” or “evil intention” still needs to be explained, and the real reason for apartheid is not to be found in people’s heads but in their pockets, in that material system of capitalist exploitation which makes apartheid highly profitable for financial investors, factory owners and the giant farms. It is here that the roots of the system lie. We often talk about the way in which for example “anti-communist ideas” weaken our movement by creating divisions in its ranks and this of course is true. But we must never forget that these anti-communist “ideas” don’t simply fall from the skies: they reflect and arise out of the material interests of monopoly capitalism and unless they are firmly rebuffed, they are likely to make an impact on those whose stake in society, however small, makes them vulnerable to anti-communist scare-mongering Thus we can say that whereas idealism looks for an explanation of the world in terms of the “ideas”, “intentions” or “will” of people, materialism considers that the source of all events and actions is to be found in material causes or, as they are sometimes called, “the laws of nature.” It is true that cruder forms of idealism ascribe things in the world to the “will of God” whereas more subtle forms of idealism put the cause down to the ideas which exist in the heads of individuals on earth, but in neither case do idealists seek an explanation in material reality. Whereas idealism believes that the ideas in people’s heads exist outside of and independently of the world of matter, materialism contends that people’s ideas, like all other aspects of their behaviour, are the product of material causes and can only be properly understood when these causes are discovered. Materialists in fact argue that man was neither created by God nor is his origin a sheer mystery. He developed out of the world of nature through a long process of evolution and his ideas are the product of the mental activity of his brain, itself a highly developed and complex form of matter. This does not mean that materialists are not concerned about people’s ideas. On the contrary, materialists are the only people in the world who are able to explain them properly. What materialism rejects are not ideas, or their immense importance in influencing the course of events. Rather it is the idealist theory of ideas which materialists challenge, because this treats ideas as mystical forces that somehow exist independently of material reality.

[stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland]

Hello stuck, hello people

So I've been reading many old camren post on your blog and others blog... I think I had a little camren crisis and I can't help but thinking again about Camila's departure from 5h...

First of let me be clear about one thing: I don't not believe 5h and camila's feud !!! Second, please don't hate me because I'm bringing this back... I love this blog and love sharing my thoughts here with all you

I don't want hurt anybody it was a hard time 5h members and 5h fandom went through and that's what leads to think of what if Camila left in that specific moment because she knew what is coming with outing Lauren plans and she couldn't stand to watch laucy circus while being physically close to her lover ??

I mean she had solos while being there, she and others girls could have done the same while being a group and step by step announcing a hiatus like BTS strategy... Solo could have promoted another album or tour or songs... I mean management could have done rational decisions instead of an emotional scenario that fade away years later

What if when management told them only one of you both can come out and here is the way (a pr show with a woman) and then some way some how Lauren was the chosen one to come out and Camila put the condition of leaving the band as a non negotiable clause to escape pr show premier with her lover in front of her eyes and then !!!! Vile management came with feud plans and put it all on camila's plate not punish her but to make it hard on her like she made it hard on them a non negotiable clause... And it's presented as a consequence of her decision

Think about consequences song... What is the message exactly?? I loved you, you loved me, we had fun time and then hard time and I'm still in love with you and I know you still love me but loving you had consequences 💔

What is she acknowledging her lover about??? A couple is about two person being in a relationship... What is your partner do know/doesn't know about your relationship (you both in) that had consequences you need to acknowledge them about ???

That certain things went out of her (Camila)/their (camren) control ?? And she's subtly acknowledging her lover and her fandom ?? And mostly why this song is so damn important to her when she poured her heart on IHQ and SGG but still the important mention goes only to Consequences

And not to mention Camila agreed all of what happened (since solos, to leaving, to feud scenarios, to laucy show) only to properly free Lauren from the closet (I'll risk it all UTT)

Please don't be sad, it's just my theory (I fell in love with Camila writing this 💖🤭)

Hey buddy, thank you for your long comment.

About everything you mentioned, a few years ago when I joined the fandom, I discovered a post about Camren's long-term plans

Those plans consisted of taking one of the girls out of the closet while the other released her first album, then the one who had to come out of the closet came out and the one who had to release her first album took it out.

The bastards at Sony, along with the tremendous sons of bitches that were the people at Maverick, couldn't think of anything better than to capitalize on both. Fifth Harmony and Camila separately. From there the feud was born.

A feud that punished Camila and the girls of 5H to this day, so no, the feud was never real

I'm sure the girls had their dramas and problems but nothing that has to do with everything that has been seen since they kicked Camila out of the band.

It is more than certain that Camila must have felt bad about the whole Laucy circus, but everything that is happening to Camila now makes me understand that the next step is Camila out of the closet. In the present tense and leaving her heterosexuality intact in the past, that means that Camren does not exist in the past at least in front of the general public. At the fandom level WE KNOW THE TRUTH.

But... as always, they are theories. I don't even know what the hell Camila wants from this era. All I hope is that CC4 is good. I don't care about anything else.

Lastly, regarding Camren having to die, Camila is not making that mission easy for us.

We need Camren to die, but our mija keeps reliving it and like that we can't, folks, we can't 🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️💀

[msmorningstaarr]

Holy and Heathen - Chapter 3 (A true lamb.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn MartellxF!Original Hightower Character

Word count: 8.7k

Chapter warning: sex; religious guilt; depressed oberyn; descriptions of poisoning and stabbing;

ao3 | masterlist

SUMMARY: Lady Melara Hightower is the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower and has a distinct, serious and pious personality. She is sent to serve the Faith as a Septa, but her destiny suddenly changes once she becomes betrothed to the heir of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Martell. She sees herself living in a land far from hers with distinct habits, dealing with many divergences and a husband far more wild than she could ever expect. Would she be capable of lighting the way of her mind and heart?

(Except for Melara Hightower, all characters do not belong to me but to George RR Martin, author of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series.)

Oberyn

Moments rolled Oberyn’s head like a kaleidoscope of memories. Elia was his sweet spot, his strength, his weakness. His emotions were intense, it was only logical that his jealousy and sorrow would be no different.

He was the proudest of the Martells, that day, he wished he were a Targaryen. Elia was gone for good. Her life would be now in King’s Landing, being her husband’s princess and bearing the children he undeniably wished to father. He could not understand where all that feeling came from, knowing how wrong it was to fall in love with your own kin, all he knew was that he felt something else for her and she felt the same way. Feeling Elia so close to him and not being able to touch her was excruciating. He wondered if her lips tasted as sweet as honey and if her slender body would squirm while he licked her cunt until she shed tears of joy while came for him as many times as he wished. He never did such things with her, but liked to do it with other women, imagining that it could be far better with Elia. The warmth inside a woman’s walls was something exquisite, close to a spiritual experience for him. Having a man’s arse to bury his cock inside was also quite interesting, a desire he discovered in the early days of his youth. He had no sides when it comes to lust, he could bury his head between a woman's legs with pleasure while feeling a man sucking his cock with ease, driving him to a high level of bliss. His only condition was to be his way or no way would be done.

On the Street of Silk, Oberyn walked confidently. After that eventful moment between him and his betrothed, he grew bored of lady Melara and jealous of seeing Rhaegar around his sister, being sad once she left to bed him for the first time, but at least got satisfied that she was spared from the bedding ceremony, something he found to be crass and demeaning. Wine had poisoned his head with ill thoughts and a desire to take someone who would not be afraid of some kind of Holy Punishment for a sinful behaviour, so he walked towards the nearest and finest brothel he could find.

The establishment smelled like fresh roses and the walls were filled with moans and laughs from the whores and customers. So far, he was not really excited with his options. 

“Too pale.” he spread his legs while sitting at a chair, looking at the manager of the place, who was presenting him with some options. The girl blushed at Oberyn's words, but he did not seem to care. “Reminds me of my betrothed.” 

“They like them like this in the capital, my lord. To show that they don’t work on the field.” the man said and Oberyn pouted, drinking another sip of his wine. He wondered if Rhaegar would be pleasing Elia that night at least, someone had to be pleased that night, he thought.

“Show me others,” he commanded, plainly. Another sip on his wine. The liquor burned his throat but he did not care. The smell and taste of grapes only made him reiterate that the wine of that city tasted like piss, but he kept drinking and looking at someone to fuck his sadness away. 

A girl, extremely shy, showed up. A virgin, probably. Too young and Oberyn immediately shut her down. He liked them his age and no less. “Too young,” he replied, noticing the fear in the girl’s eyes. Oberyn was no older than twenty years and the girl seemed to be in her four and ten years of age, he wasn’t quite the fan of taking girls that looked like children. The man seemed to get impatient with Oberyn's picky manners. “Don’t like them shy.”

And finally, a feral, wild whore for him to fuck. Beautiful figure, slender and tall with brown skin and long, curly hair. Sitting on another man’s lap dressed with a thin white silk cloth, only covering her teats, ass and cunt. She caught Oberyn’s attention.

“I want her.” he pointed at the brown skinned girl, not caring at all if she was already taken. The manager of the establishment got slightly concerned.

“My lord…” he tried to speak.

“My prince,” Oberyn corrected. The man got confused at his words. “You don’t know 

me? I am prince Oberyn of House Martell, the heir of Dorne.” he said, with a cocky grin. “And I demand that girl.” 

He ignored all the other girls, walking down the hall in the girl’s direction. The manager followed the prince, worried about his future actions. “I beg your pardon, my prince. That girl is already taken, but I am sure I can…”

“Leave.” Oberyn replied, sternly turning his gaze at the man that held the whore he wanted. Then, he turned his eyes to the girl and she faced him. More closely, he could see a bit of Elia in her. “You come with me.” he said, extending his hand for her. The man holding the girl got outraged by the arrogance coming from Oberyn and laughed in mockery.

“You leave, you dornish pig.” and spat on the floor, close to the prince’s feet. Oberyn raised his eyebrows with a bitter laugh, already annoyed by the man’s taunting gestures.

“I believe you are not understanding that she is to be mine now. You may leave now alive or in pieces in some minutes.” he threatened. The man, appearing to be a trader, touched his sword and prepared to attack, but Oberyn quickly got his dagger and stabbed his left hand, attaching the member to the table.

“AH!” The man screamed in pain 

“A dornish pig knows better than you that in a small distance a sword is a bad choice.”

“Fucking cunt!” he screamed while groaning in pain. The whores looked in absolute horror at the scene and Oberyn twisted the weapon that crossed through his hand, increasing his pain while the other men bled and yelled in pain. 

“Prince Oberyn.” a man spoke softly, making Oberyn turn his back while holding the dagger that pierced the man’s hand. The dornish prince narrowed his eyes, trying to recognise who called him.

“Who addresses me?” he asked, holding firmly his weapon.

“I imagined you did not know me, my Prince. Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, slowly approaching Oberyn. “I am Benji, the owner of this establishment.”

Oberyn did not let go of the dagger, still pressuring it on the coarse man who screamed in pain like a pig about to get butchered. He took some enjoyment of making a man he considered to be stupid suffer, though. The prince looked at Benji and raised his eyebrows at the man. 

“Let go of the dagger, my prince. I am sure nothing will happen to either of you.” The man tried to reason with Oberyn, calmly. In the room was only Oberyn, Benji, the whore and the bleeding man who was already losing his strength to feel his pain by now.

“If I take this dagger from his hand, he shall bleed to death and it will spill on my attire. It is so beautiful, I made it just for my sister’s wedding, Princess Elia.” he said, with a fake proud tone of voice. Wine had drunk his head truly, for he was lying about the happiness of giving his beloved sister to a melancholic silver prince, something he was not fond of doing. “I don’t want to get covered in this dying pig’s blood, so my dagger remains here for now.”

“Come with me, I am sure I can manage for you to have the best treatment. It’s not every day we are in the company of a prince, brother to our future Queen,” the man said, courteously. “Val, prepare our best room for Our Highness and get ready yourself. Pour our prince some Dornish Red so he can feel at home.” Benji commanded and the girl obeyed, leaving after bowing at Oberyn

“That was the whore I paid for!” the man exclaimed. Oberyn twisted the dagger a bit more deeper and opened even more his wound, making him scream once more.

“I am sure I shall find another one worthy of your company. A curtsy of the house, my lord.” Benji negotiated.

The reputation that followed Oberyn was quite ruthless. After some time having scholars from Essos teaching him the arts of poisoning, he used it for his own benefit while fighting, creating a dreadful narrative around him. Even though not many in King’s Landing have seen him in person, the words spoke for themselves. His name had reached The Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Speaking ill or praising the man, he was Prince Oberyn of House Martell, inspiring fear and respect, with no cares to give about other people’s opinions. He knew that people knew his name and the things he did, this prospect made him feel quite comfortable.

“Scream once more and my dagger will cut your throat.” Oberyn menaced. The man was outraged but he was shitting his pants afraid of dying and in terrible pain. He would die anyway due to the poison he spread all over the blade, but Oberyn didn’t give too much importance to this fact at point of telling him this. “You,” he turned his gaze at the owner of the pleasure house. “Take this screaming pig out of my face. And bring me the lustiest of men you have here.” Finally, the salty prince would take his dagger off the man’s hand, making him groan in relief and pain. Blood sprayed everywhere, even on Oberyn’s face and the orange garments he had on. Some minutes passed, and the man died on that chair as he predicted.

“Your wish is my command, my prince. Come with me and I shall lead you personally to the chambers prepared for you.” Benji responded with a soft smile, while Oberyn cleaned his dagger on his own robe, leaving another big mark of blood on the cloth. He looked at the injured man for a last time and smirked at him, a way to ensure to himself that power was power. The prince walked towards Benji and left the dead man behind, moving to a beautiful chamber, with a large bed, orange walls and pieces of silk giving a sultry climate to the ambient, lightened by the moon from the window. The beautiful girl awaited him, sitting at the edge of the bed fully naked with a mischievous smile.

“I shall leave you two. There is dornish wine, fruits and the best meal, fit for a prince.” The owner said, politely.

“I am hungry for other things.” Oberyn replied, brushing his own lips and looking intensely at the lady.

Before he could leave, Oberyn held his arm, not letting him go. “Bring me the manager as well.” The enticing prince commanded. The owner swallowed his own spit.

“Of course. I shall prepare him for you, my prince.” Benji obeyed and smiled, leaving him with the whore alone. 

The dornishmen walked towards a small table, surrounding the girl as if she was a prey and he was a hunter, furtively looking at her. He served himself some wine and finally tasted some good wine. “I heard your name is Val,” he said, emphasising his accent. The whore stood up and approached him graciously.

“Yes, my prince.” she replied, eagerly. He smiled and handed her a cup of wine, which she drank with pleasure. Oberyn was extremely charming even under the influence, with deep brown eyes and a widowed look, mischievous and arrogant, he burned desire for the girl. In his mind, she had to be one of the goods, because since he laid his glances on her, no thought of Elia or Melara came to his mind.

“Then answer me a question, Val,” His hand cupped her breast, pinching her nipple. She closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure. Her nipples easily hardened, giving signs of indulgence. His lips reached her ear. “Have you ever fucked a prince?” 

“Can’t say I have. We have so few princes in this city.” Val replied, shuddering with his closeness and giggling.

“This is what makes us royals so rare, Val.” Oberyn said, reaching her waist and drinking a sip of her wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “It is not usual to see us among the commoners. But mind you that you live in a city that disposes of a high count of princes, compared to the other five kingdoms.” He coos, kissing her neck, squeezing her breast while placing the cup at the table. His arms involved Val and squeezed her rear, smirking all the time. Val gave him a kiss on his neck this time, making his body grow hot and his cock twitch inside his trousers. Her soft hands reached his hands and led him to the bed, grinning and lustfully facing him.

“Lay in bed and spread your legs for your prince.” he commanded and so Val did, eagerly. He kissed her foot while her legs spread open for him very carefully, like a viper involving its prey. With the tip of his middle finger, he slowly rubbed her clit, making the girl squirm in the bed. “Look at you… who was about to get fucked by a pink pig with a tiny cock who could barely appreciate that beautiful cunt of yours, having your night saved by me, who wants to make you reach your peak so much it’ll make you cry.” 

With two fingers inside of her, Val moaned loudly while he pleased her. Oberyn questioned himself if Melara could ever like to be fucked with his fingers, something he would be very tempted to try. “Then I feel ready to be filled up… m-my prince…” She said, faintly.

“Seems like I arrived at the perfect time.” A blonde man said entering the room. “Or perhaps I am late and missed all the fun.” Oberyn and Val look at the manager, who slowly walks in the direction of the bed and lays in the mattress on Oberyn’s side, kissing Val’s thigh briefly and then coming closer to Oberyn, rubbing noses.

“Nonsense, for the fun has just begun.” Oberyn replied, pulling the boy for a kiss.

********

The Seven must have cast a curse upon Oberyn. His head felt like it exploded and was shattered in pieces. The amount of wine he drank the day before was a true record indeed, and now he was paying the price for the consequences of his actions. He woke up alone in the large bed of the brothel. Val and the manager, who he did not bother to ask his name, probably left the bed the moment he fell asleep. Although being covered in blood, his attire was perfectly folded over a chair close to the mattress, waiting for him. There were new fruits, breads, bacon, honey and more wine for him to break his fast. He wanted nothing of that, since he needed to be for a last time with Elia before he would leave with his mother and betrothed.

“Good morning, my prince.” said Val, standing at the door. Now, she wore a simple dress made of pink silk but yet revealing and Oberyn smirked at her.

“Good morning to you, Val.” he replied, covering his eyes from clarity.

He had not given too much thought to lady Melara. All he could remember about her was that she was beautiful. Her skin was soft and creamy, but her hands callused. The prince found it to be odd at first, since she was a highborn lady, coming from a very wealthy family having hard working hands, but he remembered that she served the Faith. While other men would find displeasing the fact that Melara had an abnormal silence and lack of interest for socialisation, somehow he could have some sort of empathy for her. Although always knowing what to reply, she seemed oblivious to the arts of curtsying a man. Beautiful face and body, undeniably, however, something about her turned her presence… tough. 

“Does the sunlight burn your eyes, my prince? Perhaps I should ease your morning uneasiness.” she said, walking mischievously towards his bed and sitting at the edge of the mattress.

Oberyn looked at her with a grin on his face and got silent for a few seconds before speaking. “As much as I would be delighted to fuck you once more, I need to go back to the Red Keep. I am going back home to Dorne today.”

Val caressed his chin with a charming smile. “That is a shame, my Prince.” 

He stretched and yawned. “I should take you with me to Dorne. Perhaps to teach one or two things for my future bride.” he mocked, smirking at her while she put a berry inside his mouth. 

“And how do you know that she doesn’t know about such things? You took your bride’s maidenhood before the marriage, salty prince?” she teased and Oberyn laughed.

“Not yet . But I am afraid she is not very keen on the sensual arts.” he teased back and licked the honey left on her fingers after having a bite of strawberry covered in the sweet liquid.

Every man likes a shy woman, well behaved and extremely feminine, with a secret sexual appetite that would only be discovered by them. Anyhow, Melara was a dreadfully quiet person. Even when she experienced a heated kiss, all she could release was guilt, uneasiness. He expected to discover a secret and more loose part of Melara the moment they were alone, however, her responses were short and objective, not  engaged in conversation and no smile rose from her face, atitudes worthy of a Septa. 

He was not excited to have her as his wife either, but his mother caught him on a web of duty and his destiny was attached to hers, so he wanted her to feel good around his company, perhaps even grow love for her in his way, at least. 

“Such a droll tragedy, my prince.” the girl replied, serving him a cup of wine and giving it to his mouth. “Perhaps you should have a last breath of freedom, then.” Val mounted Oberyn eagerly, lifting her dress and slowly rubbing the wetness between her thighs on Oberyn’s cock, which quickly got hard for the whore. A large smile rose on his face while he prepared to undo his trousers. 

“A last breath of freedom shall you give me, then.” he replied, revealing his cock out of his pants.

Swiftly, Oberyn grabbed her by her thin waist and turned her body, throwing Val on the mattress and staying on top of her. Her lips went straight to his neck, where she would leave a big, purple mark. Oberyn groaned and easily took off the rest of her dress, revealing her bare body. He crooked his head on her shoulder and left his own mark there, before slapping the side of her ass and squeezing it strongly. Her hands reached his cock and stroked it, but Oberyn stopped her, blocking her hand to keep doing its moves.

“So eager… let me taste you first.” She laughed and he strongly held her fists biting, licking and sucking her upper body. Slowly, he let go off her arms to spread Val’s legs, hungrily kissing her inner thighs and edging her.

“Please, my prince…” She panted and giggled.

“Please what?” He teased, inserting two fingers inside of her, resulting in a loud moan.

“I need your lips…”

“Where?” He asked, spreading the transparent lubrification on her clit with his thumb while the other two fingers fucked her.

“My cunt, please…” She begged, moaning.

“Ask nicely.” He demanded

“Please, my prince…” She begged once more, loudly screaming.

“Your wish will be granted.” And he proceeded to swallow her clit, taking some tears of joy from the whore. His tongue invaded her slit with full desire, hands squeezing her thighs while desperate sounds let go her lips. 

A loud noise came from the door. The door was broken down and the noise of heavy metal garments took care of the room, replacing the singing of Val’s sweet moans. Annoyed, Oberyn stopped sucking her sensitive bound of nerves and looked behind, already putting his hand on his dagger. 

Two tall knights stood still behind him, the whore sat on the bed and closed her legs, shrinking her body to cover her nudity to the white cloak men. Another salty dornishmen looked at Oberyn sternly. Oberyn let down his guard once he noticed that one of them was his uncle, Prince Lewyn Martell. The knight had figures very similar to Oberyn’s traits. The other man, however, was not recognised by the younger prince.

“Your mother has been searching for you since last night,” He said sternly.

Oberyn giggled and, noticing that his intimacy was on display to the knights of the Kingsguard after the other man scoffed, Oberyn set his trousers back on.  

“My apologies, uncle,” Oberyn said, effortless. “My sister’s wedding was rather dull, and so was my betrothed.”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” the other man said, walking slowly with a plain expression. “This is my niece you are talking about.” The other man in question was Ser Gerold Hightower, his uncle's companion. Also known as White Bull, being tall, grey, and although being quite the old man, was still full active and was a legend on the battlefield, making justice to his title of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

“My apologies, Ser…?” Oberyn asked, finishing to dress himself.

“Ser Gerold Hightower.” he replied, trying to hold his annoyance.

“Ah!” He exclaimed, with a wide smile. “How could I ever forget? I believe your nephew, my future father by marriage, introduced me to you at my sister’s wedding. That makes it a family reunion!” he laughed, making fun of the situation. The prince served himself a glass of wine and kept looking at the knights. “Do you want some wine?” He asked. “This is Dornish Red, much better than that piss you drink in the Red Keep.”

Lewyn and Gerold remained serious, both outraged with Oberyn’s lack of care he was giving to his reputation and to his bride to be’s honour. “The Queen requests for you to return home, Prince Oberyn.” Gerold said, ignoring his last statements.

“And if I say I have no desire to leave now? As you saw, I was in the middle of a very important deal with my dear Val.”

The girl was quiet the whole time, scared something would happen to her. “Your Queen commands you to return.” Lewyn replied, still serious.

“Then you should have said it before,” He said, his cup over the small table after finishing his drink. “I could never deny my Queen’s commands. I am so sorry, sweetling.” Oberyn turned his gaze at Val, who didn’t dare to open her mouth in the company of the knights. He left some gold dragons over the table. “I hope it pays for everything.” The dornish prince put his dagger on his bayonet and left besides Lewyn and Gerold.

Leaving the brothel, Oberyn was escorted by the two guards and the trio left the place in silence. No one would dare to speak to the Kingsguard or the prince. Oberyn was preparing himself to listen to berating and complaining about his ‘out of line’ behaviour at court. It didn’t matter for him if in the end he could get to spend one last moment with Elia, longing to touch her, embrace her and look into her eyes. His mind recollected Lady Hightower. He broke her honour and as much as he could not care less about it, the little lady had no fault in anything that was happening. Nevertheless, she was nothing like Elia. Elia was cunning, endearing, delightful. Oberyn was deeply attached to his sister, he could not bear the idea of staying away from her and that made his heart ache. Now that the wine was gone, his mind tortured him, making him contemplate that Elia belonged to Rhaegar, she would smile to him and she could be carrying his child, a bright babe-dragon. 

“Stop.” Oberyn ordered once they made their way to the Street of Steel. He saw a jewellery merchant at a small place, yet beautiful, worthy of royalty. “I want to take a gift for Lady Melara.” The prince looked at Gerold and beamed. The knights agreed to it and Oberyn moved forward to see the gems. There were rubies, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts and many other precious stones. The blacksmith looked at Oberyn suspiciously, due to his clothes covered in blood and accompanied by two white cloaks.

“How can I help you?” The man asked.

“I want to buy some gifts for my lady bride.” Oberyn said and the smith examined the prince from head to toes, noticing the remarkable blue and bruises the whore left on his neck. 

“Are you sure you can afford it?” The man replied and Oberyn tried to pull his dagger to intimidate the man, but Lewyn prevented his nephew quickly.

“This is a prince of Dorne and you shall address him with respect.” The knight said and the jewel maker quickly stopped his job and bowed to the prince.

“My apologies, Your Highness. I had no idea I…” 

Oberyn cut his words. “I don’t care.” He rolled his eyes and the man eagerly started to put on display some of his works. 

“I have many pieces ready to be selled, my Prince. These are forged in Valyrian steel with rubies carved in it.” He showed the rare set to the prince, who was instantly in awe with the necklace and earrings.

“That is rare.” Oberyn replied, lingering his eyes with scrutiny at the set.

“Indeed, my prince. It was very hard to find the steel to do it.” He replied, with sympathy.

“He makes the jewellery of the Royal Family.” Once Gerold spoke that sentence, his eyes lit up and an idea came to his mind.

“How long does it take for you to make those pieces?” The Prince asked.

“For you, it can be done within a day.” The smith replies.

“I will take the set made of Valyrian steel for my betrothed, but I also want a set of jewellery for my sister, Princess Elia. She loves diamonds and gold and I want you to make a necklace for her with the largest diamonds you have to be carved in the brightest gold. When you deliver it, tell her it was a gift from her beloved brother. Is that understood?” He said, placing a small bag of gold on the counter that separated the blacksmith from Oberyn, Lewyn and Gerold.

The man accepted the payment and smiled, putting the present involved in a cloth and lace. “Once more, my apologies…”

“No need for apologies.” Oberyn cut the man’s words once more and left with the Kingsguard back to the castle.

The three men arrived in the Red Keep and were led to the Queen’s garden, where his family, the Queen, Prince Rhaegar and the Hightowers were waiting for him. King Aerys was nowhere to be seen. Melara looked apprehensive, anxious. Her eyes narrowed and she appeared to be flabbergasted once she saw Oberyn covered in blood. The Hightowers and Queen Rhaella seemed to be extremely worried about his whereabouts and Ysilla was fuming with his absence. Elia was the only one who was truly calm, for she was the only one who trusted her brother’s instinct of adventure.

“Thank Gods!” Queen Rhaella said, relieved. 

“Brother!” Elia ran into his arms and embraced him, calmly and more discreet than she is used to. A very quick hug as well. “Where have you been? Why are you covered in blood?” 

“I was having fun, sister.” Oberyn replied and kissed his sister’s forehead. “My Queen.” And bowed at Rhaella, as a sign of respect for His Grace. “I insist on apologising for my sudden departure from the feast.”

“No need to apologise. We were worried about your absence, Prince Oberyn. But the Gods are good and you are safe and well… I hope.” She replied, noticing the blood all over his robe. “It is only a shame you lost our eventful morning here. You would be delighted to spend the morning with us.”

He darted his eyes on the sad Queen and smiled. “I am sure I would be amused to be in my family’s company.” Ysilla approached him and cupped his face, disguising her rage in front of the others with a polite smile and a false sensation of relief, but Oberyn knew too well that his mother wanted to cut him to pieces for doing what he did.

“You almost killed me with worry!” She exclaimed, noticing the marks on his neck and trying to cover it. Gently, Oberyn took her hands off his neck and kissed her hands. 

“I am fine, mother. No reason for all of this fuss.” The prince tried to argue, but he saw how exasperated his mother’s gaze was.

“As much as we would like to celebrate your return, I believe the prince should rest. He must be tired.” A sweet, low voice spoke. Lady Melara was quiet, watching the whole scene until she chose to defend him, an attitude that made Oberyn get surprised with her in a positive way. 

“Wise words, sister .” Elia replied with a smile on her face. He could see now with clarity her features. Her face was nearly ethereal. Pink, small lips, blue sharped eyes and a perfect nose. Her hair was all hidden in a lilac veil and her dress left a lot to imagination. With long sleeves and no cleavage, all he could see clearly was her face and a small necklace with sapphires carved in it. But her facial expression was indecipherable. 

“I can assure you all I am in no need to rest. Where I was, I had plenty of time to rest.” Oberyn smirked and Ysilla pouted her lips cautiously. Melara narrowed her eyes and the air tensed, but the dornish prince was unbothered with his words. 

“That is true, daughter. I imagine how thrilled you must be to leave with your future husband, but I believe that now we should give the Martells some space, perhaps.” Leyton said, trying to ease the tension.

“Lord Leyton speaks truthfully. I must insist that you extend your stay in King’s Landing for a day, Princess Ysilla. You too, Lord and Lady Hightower, I would be most glad to have you a day longer.” Rhaella said, gently squeezing her friend’s hands with a soft smile. Ysilla was hesitant, but accepted the invitation the Queen made.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.” Oberyn replied, bowing once more and faced his betrothed.

“We also thank you for giving us a last opportunity to say our goodbyes to our girl, Your Grace.” Lady Rhea replied, curling her lips on a smile and lady Melara just nodded her head. Something about her made Oberyn not like lady Rhea too much. He felt that Melara was uncomfortable around her family and he ruminated if that was a reason for her to be so closed. He wanted to give her the gift he bought for her but that moment just felt inappropriate. 

“No need to thank, my lords,” Queen Rhaella said in curtsy. “Now that everything is in order, I need to excuse myself, farewell, my lords, my ladies,” She said with a gentle smile, leaving as the Septas had arrived to escort her. Oberyn found queer the fact she would be always escorted by them and noticed the eminent melancholy in her eyes. Everyone bowed at her before she would leave and Rhaegar, Elia, the Hightowers and his mother remained at that garden. Rhaegar watched everything as quiet as Melara, he seemed to be an observer, just as his bride-to-be was. 

“Prince Oberyn.” Rhaegar finally said.

“Prince Rhaegar.” He replied. 

“I am glad you are back to the Red Keep safely. Thanks to our Kingsguard,” That triggered something inside of Oberyn, noticing some petulancy in Rhaegar’s voice tone. 

“I am afraid I can survive quite well without a Kingsguard, my Prince.” Oberyn replied.

“Of course you can,” He replied, making it obvious. “But for now, I believe I must entertain my beloved wife.” Rhaegar emphasised the fact Elia was his now, marking his territory. 

“Take good care of my sister.” He said, cautiously caressing his dagger while looking at the silver prince. Elia approached him once more and hugged him, not caring about his smell or dirty clothes.

“I wish we could spend more time together.” Elia said, giving a reassuring look to her sibling. “I wish it too. But now you must go with your husband and enjoy your time. Perhaps keep trying for your heir” He whispered the last part and the two Martells laughed together. “Go, sister.” He pleaded with a strange anxiety and sadness of watching her leave with her husband after paying her farewells to the rest of the people in that garden. Oberyn could only stick with what was left for him now.

Oberyn walked towards his betrothed and bowed in front of her. “My lady,” And he kissed her hands gently. Any woman in her instead would be melting to the warmth of his lips brushing against the skin of her hands, she endured calm and expressionless. 

“My prince.” Melara replied, plainly.

“You and your family deserve my apologies.” He started. “I dishonoured you, I am aware of it. But I want to make amends, so allow me to have a moment with you, just you and I having supper tonight. I have a surprise for you.”

He thought Melara would express any happy face. Instead, he received a worried expression and a clumsy lip biting. “Of course, my prince. I shall have supper with you. Your well being makes me happy.” She replied, apathetically. Her lack of emotions was a huge bothersome to Oberyn.

Oberyn smiled and caressed her face gently and soon after faced Leyton and Rhea. “My lord, my lady, I truly hope you apologise for my behaviour.”

“We trust your honour, Your Highness. A wedding was promised, and a wedding we shall receive.” Leyton said, solemnly. Oberyn’s lips pouted. 

“I never break an oath, Lord Leyton. Especially when it comes to wed a lady who is to be my princess and not run away from it.” The prince would not let them get away with it, not even when it was Oberyn who put the ideas of running away on Lady Lynesse’s mind. Ysilla narrowed her eyes from afar.

Leyton and Rhea approached Oberyn. “We were concerned with you, Prince Oberyn. But we trusted your bravery and we are in full joy that you are safe.” Rhea replied. “Melara will be more than happy to have supper with you.” Leyton looked at his daughter, who only agreed in silence and lowered her head. Her passivity was extremely uncomfortable, Oberyn could see clearly that lady Melara was displeased with all the situation. 

“You are right, lady Rhea,” Ysilla said. “Oberyn is a fierce man, but he is willing to be devoted to your lady daughter. I know my son more than well.” She defended him. Ysilla could have all the struggle to tame Oberyn, but he knew that no one would dare to try insulting him or her house, by extent. That was one of the traits Oberyn loved the most about his mother: she was the bravest and smartest of the women. Growing up, watching her and Father ruling was his favourite moment, his most endearing memories of childhood. 

“It is a shame we barely had time to spend time here. Everything happened so quickly!” Rhea exclaimed, gracefully joining her hands and smiling. Suddenly, the subject changed and the two women started talking joyfully. He glanced at Melara, quietly heard everything the two older women had to say, paid his goodbyes and left for his chambers. Ysilla looked at her son discreetly and winked at him, with a smirk before they could leave.

**********

Oberyn took a long bath after the maids prepared it for him. His clothes were properly changed, now wearing an ivory and grey attire with golden suns embroidered. He wanted to see Elia, to spend time with her before supper with Melara, but she was with Rhaegar and he needed to give his sister space to bond with her husband. In nearly a month he would be married. He would be lying if he did not say he would be scared. However, fear was like wildfire consuming and exploding all the right triggers inside of him to discover new things and face whatever was destined to his future. His mind was convinced that Melara was a wolf in a lamb skin, hiding her game under the cloak of her innocence, enticing and teasing his mind with the thoughts of undressing her, bedding her, taking her maidenhood - if existent. His head denied the idea of someone so absent of feelings of pleasure at a breaking point of taking a vow of poverty, especially being this someone as rich as their overlords, who grew up covered in gold, expensive dresses and the most sophisticated of food. 

Someone knocked on his door. “Prince Oberyn.” It was her. Oberyn decided he would not let his sadness consume him, he would leave it for the days Elia would no longer be around in Dorne, because once he turned sad, he grew angry and Melara deserved no rage from him so far. He opened the door and saw her, fidgeting her fingers and looking intensely into his eyes after slightly curving her upper body in curtsy. Oberyn found her to be celestially beautiful in that dress. Its fabric consisted mostly of a yellow velvet with no volume on its skirt, a golden vest with an orange pattern made of silk, so tight her breasts were almost on display, extending to the long and loose sleeves also made of it and a golden belt on her waist. Oberyn’s lips examined her body and smiled in awe. Lady Lynesse could be far more interesting than her lady sister, but in terms of beauty, Oberyn found Melara to be ethereal, there was no denial in it. When he looked at Elia, he looked at the beauty he saw in himself, he saw her as his equal, his true love. Melara was new, mysterious and although tough, it was a challenge he gladly accepted.

The prince caressed her thick, golden curls and passed his fingertips over the soft skin of her jawline. “Lady Melara. I must say you look beautiful in this colour.” 

“Thank you, my prince.” Oberyn noticed she carried a book in her hands and he looked intrigued at it.

“Please, come inside.” He invited, and Melara got into his room, carefully carrying the book whilst walking alongside him. “I see you carry a book with you.”

Melara stopped in front of him and showed the book cover. It was old, but well cared. “It is a gift,” She started, quietly. “The history of your ancestor, Princess Nymeria. It comes from the Citadel and it is a relic, I want you to have it.” 

Oberyn looked stunned at the book he held. The book was very antique, yellowed pages due to the time it was published and certainly something rare, since it was probably hidden in the Citadel. A true treasure.

“I have no words to thank you, Lady Melara. I must admit that my present compared to yours seems to be dull, simple and unworthy.” He replied, getting the small velvet bag, showing her the set of jewellery.  

“Valyrian steel.” She said, caressing the necklace slowly. “Thank you, my prince.”

“I see you have a good eye for it.” He said, with a small grin. “Turn around,” He commanded gently and so she did, allowing him to come closer and lean his breath close to her neck, which made her skin go goose. He involved her throat in the icy metal, bringing another element to her beauty. A piece of him encrusted on her. Oberyn also put the earrings on her ears, even if it went invisible in the immensity of her golden cascades of hair.

“I will cherish this gift for life, Prince Oberyn.” She replied, turning around and facing him once more. The prince caressed her chin and slightly caressed the skin of her collarbones, making her eyes close for a while. That filled his heart with the possibility of tasting her maidenhood a bit earlier than expected.

“And I will cherish mine. It will be in our private chambers and I will expect to read it as soon as possible with you. Is that acceptable?” Melara nodded her head and turned her gaze to the table in silence.

Oberyn walked towards the table and served two cups of wine, delivering one for her and one for him. “Drink with me.” Melara nodded and took the cup to drink the liquid slowly. A silence reigned between them, but Oberyn already realised he would have to make the effort to make her speak. 

“Do you drink wine regularly?” He asked and Melara shook her head.

“My father only allows me and my sisters to drink one cup in festivities. My step mother says it is unladylike to drink too much wine.” She replied, walking with him to the table.

“You belong to me now, you can have as much wine as you desire.” He replied, expecting at least a smile. Nothing happened, she just nodded and accepted while the maids served their dinner. Oberyn felt a grieving energy surrounding her, perhaps for the life she lost and the new prospects she received. He questioned himself if the youngest Hightower actually wanted to stay serving as a Septa, since she seemed so sad around him. Silence reigned around them once more and it was discomforting, suffocating for Oberyn. 

“Do I displease you?” He asked, bluntly. Her eyes lit up to face him and confusion was placed on her face while she looked for the right words.

“You do not.” She replied, after swallowing a piece of her food.

“I told you once, and I will repeat myself. Do not lie to me.” He replied, sternly. Oberyn expected her to at least be scared of him, but she did not hide her face and kept staring at him.

“I speak the truth.” Melara replied.

“Then why do you do so little to show interest in this marriage?”

Melara lowered her head and had no response. “Tell me the truth, my lady. Do you even wish to be here? Do you have a lover you had to leave behind once you were to wed me?”

“Just as you said to me, we are tied to each other, my prince. I understand how… displeasing I can be with my odd behaviour, but I wish to be submissive and try my best to be a fit lady for your household.” Oberyn furrowed his brows, curious about the ‘submissive’ deal.

“So you agree on the supposed role a woman has in a household?” He asked and she agreed in silence. “Use your words.” He demanded.

“Yes.” He wanted to push her to the edge. It was impossible for him for someone to be so shaped to serve and conform with anything.

“So if I take a paramour, will you accept it?” 

She lowered her head and accepted. “Yes.” 

“You know I have two daughters, I imagine. I hope you raise them alongside me and our children.” No reaction came from her face, except for a nodding while both ate their foods. 

“If this is what you wish, then I shall raise them. But not amongst our trueborn.” His eyebrows raised.

“Do you see any difference between trueborns and bastards?” Oberyn asked, looking for a way to access any other emotion on Melara.

“You see no difference in them?” She asked back, exposing the obvious truth in her statement. 

“Bastards are born from passion, trueborn from duty.”

“Duty is what keeps us in line.” Oberyn noticed how eloquent she was with her words. 

“You have a fair point, my lady.” And with a small line, Melara let Oberyn with no words to reply back. He had to admit it was impressive for a lady said to be a socially abnormal woman. They ate in silence until their meal and dessert was finished. Oberyn noticed how her chest was swollen in that dress and he stared at them for two or three times, imagining how they would look like with nothing to cover them. Her short responses made her even more attractive, mysterious.  He couldn’t take it anymore.

His hand reached hers over the table.“You have no idea of how much I have been yearning to touch you since you arrived in my bedchambers.” Melara blushed and tried to take her hand off his, but he held faster. “You look so beautiful in this dress,” He stood up and gently took her by the hand, making her stand up as well.

“Thank you, my prince.” She said, lowering her eyes, but he quickly raised it by her chin.

“Look at me,” Oberyn demanded, looking deeply at her in a dangerous distance. His grip went straight to her waist, bringing her closer and she nervously faced him. “You smell like fresh roses.” He coos, she sighed heavily. “Do you wish to kiss me again?” He teased the lady. He finally was taking her to the edge. 

Their noses rubbed against each other. Silently, their lips brushed and a kiss began. Her hands involved his neck and his arms were around her waist, squeezing her delicately. Once the kiss was broken apart, he smirked once more, facing her anxious expression. 

“You taste so sweetly.” Oberyn kissed her cheek, gently. She closed her eyes, feeling the sensation of his body so close to hers. His hands reached her breasts over the thick fabric of the velvet and he could hear the sigh she released once he touched her more intimately.

“Do you feel aroused, my future princess?” He asked, trying to tease her. Her eyes were burning desire, no matter how hard she tried to hide. “Use your words. Just say yes or no.”

“Y-yes.” Melara muttered, which made his smile grow largely playful. 

He sat back on the chair. “Sit here.” Oberyn commanded, tapping his lap for her to sit. Melara swallowed her own spit. “Don’t fret, I just want to ease your tension.” The salty prince pulled her to his lap, making her arse rub against his groin. “I am not a religious man, but I know for a fact that the Gods have a blind spot for a girl’s maidenhood.”

Naively, Melara looked at him. “What is it?” Over her dress, Oberyn’s hand reached between her thighs, which made her moan softly. That sweet sound went straight to his cock, already hard inside his trousers.

“Open your legs for me.” He asked, whispering in her ear. She obeyed and the prince lifted her dress, touching her intimacy over the thin fabric of her underwear. Her ashamed moans whilst he made circular moves over her clit were driving him crazy. “Has anyone touched you this way, my lady?”

Melara shook her head. “N-never.” Oberyn kissed her neck and with his free hand, he put his cock out of his pants, displaying how hard it was. The Hightower seemed anxious and aroused, so Oberyn led her hand to touch it, guiding her on what she should do. His own hand kept moving on her clit over her under trousers, making her body squirm on his lap and low groans leave her mouth, while she kept touching him. 

“You are so wet, my lady. I can feel it over the cloth.” His words made her blush even more and Melara tried to close her legs, but Oberyn opened it again. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, my lady.” He quickly said. “Tell me how it feels, my lady.”

“I feel it t-tingling.” She replied, bouncing her hips to feel more of his moves.

“Is it a good feeling?”

“Y-yes.” Melara was ashamed, but the arousal was bigger than any other sensation at the moment.

“Good.” He replied, also groaning while her hands massaged his cock.

Oberyn grabbed her by the waist and flipped her body so she could face him, making her sit with her cunt press against his thigh. A loud moan came from her lips, but she covered it immediately. “Do not hide those moans from me.” He ordered, controlling the moves she was doing on her thigh, riding him eagerly.

Her hand stroking his cock increased its pace, making Oberyn pant while she looked in his eyes. Her breathing got irregular and he felt her legs quivering. “W-what I… what is happening?” she asked, confused and Oberyn laughed with her innocence. 

“We are close.” He replied simply, panting. Melara’s face turned confused.

She could not understand why she couldn’t breathe properly and the pleasure increased in a ridiculous amount. That made her whole body shake and her upper body arch back, making her release a scream out of her final pleasure, provoking Oberyn to release his seed on her hand. She was shaking and numb on his lap, leaning her head on his shoulder and Oberyn breathed heavily, smiling and patting her back. 

“We climaxed, my lady.” He murmured and her face was burning red, unease and angst came back to her face once more. Melara saw the white liquid all over her face and took her hands off his cock and stood up, fixing her dress quickly. She could not bear looking into his eyes with embarrassment. 

Oberyn stood up and looked at her, cupping her face. "You did nothing wrong, my lady. The Gods are merciful and as you heard from their septons and faith, marriage is supposed to bring happiness to each of the partners."

“But we are not married yet.” Melara replied, trying to step away from him.

“But we will.” Oberyn replied, brushing her hair. 

“This is why the Gods will punish me! I should not enjoy this kind of thing you did to me!” Melara looked exasperated and Oberyn took a deep breath, fixing his trousers and standing up, handing her a handkerchief to clean her hands.

"Why would the Gods create a body that can feel pleasure and not meant to enjoy it?" Oberyn tried to argue with his bride-to-be, watching her cleaning her hand.

“This is wrong, this is wrong…” Melara walked impatiently from one side to the other. Oberyn felt bad to put her over this turmoil and tried to approach her.

“Look at me.” He said, making her stop walking. “You are still a maiden, remember? What we did was to ease your tension my lady. You will not be punished, do you understand?” Oberyn cupped her face once more and looked into her eyes. Melara nodded her head and shed some tears and strangely, Oberyn felt some sort of proud for taking any other reaction from her besides apathy. 

“Good.” He replied, smiling. His hands gently caressed her hips. “A secret that not even the Gods will know.”

“Not even the Gods will know.” She replied, muttering at Oberyn.

Oberyn kissed her lips once more and embraced his betrothed, while she silently cried with guilt. Her mask fell, but no wolf howled at his face, a true lamb she was. Her reaction was odd and a bit annoying, but he did not want her to feel more guilty for something he provoked on her. Still, it felt like it was a small victory with Melara. The wedding prospect was showing to be much more challenging than it seemed to be, but a light on his head made him feel eager to take all her innocence during this marriage.

[incanata]

I’ve been basking in the post-watch glow of the conclusion of this season, and the delight I have for the sheer quality of its construction. There’s a lot of things bouncing around in my head: Lestat and how much I love him and all of his toxic, petulant nonsense. The tragedy of Claudia flipped on its head as they’ve granted her the ability to fight back, and try to take what is hers. Armand and the weight of the knowledge of his motivations in the novels. Our Boy Malloy who is scared but beautifully, brashly defiant, and seems to have decided that if he’s going to be swallowed up by this shit, he sure as hell is lighting a fire in the belly of this beast (I have so much admiration for Eric’s Daniel, he’s absolutely killing it). 

Amongst all the other thoughts I have about family, race, relationships, love (so many thoughts about love in all of its myriad forms), there’s a paragraph or two clinging to the back of my throat about Jacob Anderson’s arresting portrayal of Louis - and not just the beauty that he obviously brings to the character, but the disconcerting darkness that clings to the edges of his take on this role.

And yes, we can talk about darkness in the form of vampirism, but I’m talking about the humanity that still stalks around like a creature caged behind his eyes. If you, like me, have been hungrily drinking down anything you can find tangentially related to these actors, you would have come across Jacob’s interviews, social media accounts and other forms of commentary surrounding Louis. His Instagram bio is cheekily adorned with the words ‘PhD in sadboi’, and I believe it. 

Louis is Depressed with a capital D and in the eternity that he sits at the altar of that church, Lestat’s fangs in his neck and then later, his own mouth filling up with blood, I think he hopes (prays, perhaps, haha), that this offer of acceptance will cure him of the melancholy that dogs his soul. 

He’s wrong of course. Much like most of us who wander the numbing, grey plains of chronic depression, seeking something to shock us back into seeing colour again, the next big event, outing, adventure, romance. It’s not just Lestat either, through his ineptitude of managing something as complexly human as mental illness that exacerbates Louis’ most dark and troubled thoughts (though he certainly plays a big hand in it), but everything - all of the minute details, all of the huge incidents - accumulating, amalgamating into the monstrous profile of a man teetering constantly on the edge of the void, having listened to its call for so long that he can hear the music in its cry.

It is the pressure of being the eldest, the caregiver, the provider, the manager, where your parents have either abandoned or failed you. It is the sorrow of your own mother’s rejection of the person you are. It is the frustration of seeing your sibling deteriorate and not knowing how to save them, even though you love them painfully. It is the despair of your one remaining tie to your family finally severed, the threads slipping through your fingers even though you meant well and you will regret every second you spent uttering words you cannot take back. It is the heart crushing sickness of realising that your partner, who you have chosen for life, is not the salvation you had been promised, is not enough to understand, or alleviate the suffocating sadness that consumes you, even though he loves you wholly, fiercely and without judgement. It is the primal and visceral fear of failing your child. Of being unworthy of either happiness or love, because you know you have failed. And of experiencing that failure first hand as you step from one phase of your life into another and being drowned in the disappointment of finding that it does not get better, and you lack the skill to do well at neither of the things you claim to be.

And so you self-destruct. You impose conditions on your being. You punish yourself for the things you hate about your own reflection, blindly carrying out commands like a doll on a string. Louis is not only defeated by Lestat’s persistence, he has already defeated himself long before this toxic relationship could drain away what remained of his will to survive. By the time he finds himself on that park bench in Jackson Square contemplating the end of his existence, even the pain is gone. He is just a husk, holding only in his hands, his lingering obligation to Claudia, but unable to make one last move into annihilation out of guilt.

Jacob Anderson is not just an incredible actor, he really understands what it means to be a survivor of the darkness, and he does it all with such tender fragility, such painstaking nuance that I cannot help but love and appreciate him for what he has brought to the character. Yes, I know we’re all flipping our shit (no one as much as I) because Sam Reid really did just sit down in the middle of a summoning circle and allow Lestat to possess his mind, but I really want to just say how grateful I am that such a masterful demonstration of character portrayal from Jacob was given to us, in a campy, wonderful show about insane vampires in love, of all the places in the world.

[shippingcontacts]

Love in the air ep 8

Prapai is capital H horny.

I knew even before their episodes started that prapaisky where gonna get some heads turning (understandably I guess?) but moving on.

They didn't have to be so good at their jobs🤧 prapai is living his enemies to lovers, slow burn, self insert fan fic. Remember when I said this show was just full of all my fictional turn ons? Yeahhhh

He's so smitten it makes him look stupid. Sex with sky broke his brain now he's all he can think about. (three months mr playboy?) That's so very rich pain in the ass™ of him.

I'm not ready for the pain and angst that is probably going to be skys backstory 😔 I can't bare to watch best boy sad.

He's cute. Not quite golden retrieve but close enough.

He's already so tired of him 😂

Prapai liked that a little TOO much. He's so smug. Sky my boy you've got your hands full. But also it's gonna be so nice to see such a self assured, smarmy playboy fall completely and utterly in love with sky.

Now to close this off. Rain was still too adorable for his own good. I shouldn't have enjoyed seeing him pleading on his knees as much as I did but I no longer go to therapy so im not gonna open that can of worms🤠

Secondly if I see one more reused scene from the first 2 episodes I may loose my mind.

And lastly if anyone would like I could give my thoughts on the conditions leading to prapaiskys roll in the sheets. (in a tagged and tw post of course)

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 148

Chapter 148: "I'm Coming"

Ngl I would love if there was an actual TPN themed chess set that we could buy with one side being modeled after the demons and the other of the humans. There could be different kinds too, like one version covering Goldy Pond, another featuring the capital battle arc like Norman's here and maybe even the Grace Field raid (with you know who as that set's queen, teehee).

How brave of Don & Gilda to venture into the demon capital without their demon disguises. I'm sure they didn't originally plan to come here at all but still. If the town wasn't in total chaos right now it would be so much harder to move around without being noticed.

I'm so sad we couldn't even get this wholesome hug between Emma & Mujika in the anime. Our girl is so overcome with emotion from seeing Sonju & Mujika again that she's rendered speechless.

Unfortunate the GP kids couldn't help out more during the actual battle. They really only knocked off one day of travel time since it still takes Ray & Emma two days to reach the capital by running, but it was more than enough. At least the duo arrived right after Norman wiped out all the royals instead of miss the attack on the city completely by a couple days.

I understand the need for Oliver & them to return to the base in order to warn everyone about the several hundred soldiers snooping around for them though. We definitely don't want a repeat of the shelter ambush. Losing Yuugo, Lucas, and those few kids (whom I'll never remember the names of) is bad enough already.

I dunno how common or uncommon this opinion is, but I can't say I'm a fan of Oliver's vest. It gives off some Yuugo vibes that I don't think fit him very well. I still prefer the jacket he had GP and while I know that kinda got destroyed as a result of Bayon's attack, the younger GF kiddos could've made him a new one like they did with Gillian's new outfit.

Don & Gilda didn't have the time or knowledge to prepare their demon disguises for the capital city and yet they thought to bring extra cloaks for Ayshe's dogs? That's adorable.

Sonju seriously has too much fun scaring the hell out of Hayato by acting all close and friendly. I do like how the transmitter becomes a literal life saver in the future when its original purpose was to summon backup to kill Sonju & Mujika.

Of course I love how often morse code is used in this series too. Thrills me even more when it's Emma who eventually sends out the signal for help. Makes me wonder if our demon friends know morse code as well since the arrival shortly after, or perhaps Don or Gilda heard it first and just passed the message along to them.

How the flashback of Norman sick in bed (since that's when he used the cup phones) serves as a nice, subtle hint at Norman's condition right now.

Favorite panel/moment:

Absolutely in love with Ray's shocked expression when the GF kids reunite. Makes me sad though that the panel of Ayshe being introduced to Emma is like the one moment these two ever interact.

My boy is so darn happy to see the demon parents again aaahhh!!

[janspar]

After the Liberation

Muzhits,

I trust the lapse in our discourse requires no explanation or forgiveness, old friend; we are but recently able to send letters beyond the city once more, after the insurrection that struck my district. I understand Mirsvr has not gone without similar agitation and suffering. I regret this sincerely for your fine city, and I rejoice that the greater terror that held Lansk is yet a stranger to you. I hope to hear gladder news of your affairs than the sad tale I give you today. I won't inflict upon you further accounts of the agitators' occupation; I cannot tell you anything that has not been printed in broadsheets, though I counsel you to doubt the more lurid stories. Since the district's liberation however, our business has not returned to its previous condition.

I was in the unenviable position of providing a necessary product to the citizens of the district, and so I was forced to deal with the Executive and the self-appointed tyrants of the Supply Committe. I had no wish to support or validate their actions, but had less wish for the innocent population to starve! Thus, with no small distaste, I continued to produce bread with grain supplied by the Executive, to be distributed by the Executive, even at times relying on workers assigned by the Executive. Collaboration it was not, Muzhits, as it was performed under duress and only out of necessity.

Regardless, when the bailiffs and the Companies took back the District, I could easily have been accused of treachery, were it not for my bakery being shut down for lack of material. A scarce two days prior, I had a cart of grains stolen from my yard, the very last in the city that I could secure. I could not prove the author of this outrage, though I know it to have been on behalf of Pivan. That scoundrel has not been seen since the night of the battle, when his brewery was destroyed. The loss of that brew is a sore blow to Lansk; the man shall not be mourned so deeply. Nevertheless, this theft proved fortunate, as I had to suspend operation and thus the Company had no basis to accuse me of collaboration with agitators on that first day, a day of brutal reprisal.

I said, however, circumstances have not improved. Supply is still disrupted, as despite the collapse of the barricades, the Erthani no longer trade here and the Companies are struggling to deliver supplies sufficient to our needs. Many of my workers have fled or been arrested – good dependable men and women, who I never suspected of agitation in years of employment, are nowhere to be found. Those who remain are often without homes, or grievously injured, or seeking better employment than the wages I can promise on such meager trade. A new Temari agent has been deployed to distribute capital in aid of reconstruction, but I like her not. It's said she was a Licence-Prospector, and a brute. Whether this is true I cannot confirm, but despite abundant rumours of her rough conduct, she has taken on many clients and partners among my fellow business owners. I hope I will not need to resort to her aid.

You no doubt heard of the slaying of Chief Bailiff te Eintov, your fellow son of Mirsvr. I never thought to ask, did you know him? I can only hope the new appointee Akhirin Sarta will not repeat te Eintov's mistakes. The zeal he has shown in the first days of his office exceeds what is required – raids of businesses and homes are commonplace, carried out upon the least suspicion, and far more brutal than is wise. Though I have not been subjected to Sarta's attentions yet I fear that any day he may come, he and his bailiffs backed by Temari marines.

As you see, Muzhits, my siutation is dire, perhaps as dire as ever it was beneath the agitators. I know not of your situation, owing to our isolation from business matters, but I ask you – any spare capital you may have to lend me, or other assistance you could render, would be a great boon to an old friend in need. A stake in my business is forthcoming, should this be favourable, and my gratitude will be a surer bond still. I await your reply, and hope to hear of your continued success and prosperity.

Your friend,

Khlen Khalev

[wellntruly]

M*A*S*H - Viewguide, S8

Are you interested in the long-running anti-war situation tragicomedy M*A*S*H (1972-1983), but there are simply so many asterisks and so many episodes?

Well I can’t help you with the asterisks, but nor can I help myself: I started watching all 11 seasons of M*A*S*H, and bringing back for you my viewing selections, chosen for The Qualities.

— — —

Season 8: Klinger stops wearing dresses and it immediately sets this whole edifice on the fucking wobble.

Maybe this season more than any set I’ve put together yet I’m aware could give an entirely different impression if I’d picked even just a couple different episodes than I did. As is, I made my selections by asking the following questions: Is it good? Is it interesting? And, Does it make me want to slap it up on the x-ray illuminator, point at it, and yell, “What!!?” If you (an episode) reach two of these criteria, you’re in!

Enjoy this more petite but dare I say piquant collection:

M*A*S*H - Season 8 Recommended sequence

8x04-05 ‘Goodbye To Radar, Parts 1 & 2’ - Although they, curiously, did not, we gotta start here. M*A*S*H has finally figured out how to do a farewell episode for a departing cast member, and it’s for my ridiculous sincere little buddy Radar. 💔 Ohh man, if you wanna talk end of an era!! Gary Burghoff as Corporal O’Reilly has been with this show from when it was a Robert Altman movie, almost just fucking molecularly, he IS M*A*S*H, and it’s only through a neat bit of acting Gary pulls that I was able to find a little bit of peace with it: here at long last, Radar O’Reilly finally feels like he’s grown up. It’s time for him to leave home. But I’m gonna miss him!!

8x06 ‘Period of Adjustment’ - Incredibly, we had this chat, and then the very next episode I watch is this one. LOL. This episode looked me straight in the eye and said “‘I could fix him’ well I could make him worse <3,” and then left my ass in pieces. Just, come here, be here with me. Pull up a patch of floor. We’ve got this one on the light box. 

8x09 ‘Mr. and Mrs. Who’ - And now for something completely different: something so familiar. Remember years ago when like half of M*A*S*H episodes were about goofy half-forgotten drunken escapades on R&R interwoven with a sticky little medical problem the doctors are trying to solve under adverse conditions? For one night only, we’re bringing that back! Get your tix.

8x11 ‘Life Time’ - Honk honk! EXPERIMENTATION STATION. Alan Alda co-writes a 25 minute real-time surgical episode with their medical consultant, actual doctor Walter Dishell, M.D. When that little ticking clock face chyron got tossed up in the corner, oh girlie, absolutely. Also notable for BJ fully transporting back to his first season thoughtful sad sweetie register (??) (!), and, since it’s not otherwise a cold episode, Alda coming up with a localized reason for at least him personally to still get to pretend to be cold.

8x15 ‘Yessir, That’s Our Baby’ - A baby is left at the MASH, and every man in camp is immediately like, (tenderly) I AM MOM. Unmissable. Unbelievable. I am torn between laughing, cooing, and the I GUESS!!! guy.

8x23 ‘War Co-Respondent’ - After his very rewarding directorial debut last season, Mike Farrell returns to the chair with a script of his own this time, and it’s a jewel! Witty and referential, from Cole Porter lyrics to how in Charles’s first season his and BJ’s great war was Massachusetts vs. California. And that’s not all Farrell hearkens to in M*A*S*H past: Hawkeye as an incorrigible yet endearing flirt (it’s the shamelessness), and how whenever BJ has struck a Romantic figure, capital R, it’s always been so rooted in his quietness. Mike...!

8x22 ‘Dreams’ - Everyone’s SO COLD and been working for two sleepless days straight, and as it finally eases just enough for them to start covering for each other’s naps, said naps are all strange nightmares about war surgery. That’s right, it’s Alda again (could you tell by the overcoats? and TRAUMA?) and god, he really effectively renders the way dreams can seem kind of banal and then just bend at the wrong angles. Of course my favorite of the season, and your unusual, haunting finale.

Season 1 • Season 2 • Season 3 • Season 4 • Season 5 • Season 6 • Season 7 • Season 8 • To be continued

#M*A*S*H hours

[tofixtheshadows]

I finished A Day of Fallen Night, the prequel to Priory of the Orange Tree. I’m really glad I read it right after the Scholomance trilogy, because they both made me cry just from an abundance of passionate feelings about the human condition described in it. That sounds, I don’t know, melodramatic? But lots of people talk about crying over a sad book, a character death, but I don’t really see anyone saying that a book made them weep even if nobody died because its depiction of humanity was powerful and beautiful. I think I’m getting more sentimental as I get older.

It also reinforced my fond feelings over the fantasy genre as a vehicle for processing real-life, mundane problems through the lens of the fantastic. The Scholomance used its magic system to talk about the crushing horror of capitalism and its resulting climate change. Priory and Fallen Night are more straightforward fantasy epics, but the prequel was very preoccupied with pregnancy- something that was a major subplot in the first book too! But the only character expected to be pregnant in that book never got her own POV chapters.

I’m sure it’s significant that Priory came out pre-pandemic and Fallen Night came out this February. At least some of this monster tome had to have been written after the fall of Roe v Wade. In this climate, its discussion around forced birth was even more poignant. Coming at the institution of hereditary monarchy from the personal angle of its perpetuation falling on the shoulders of young women was very effective, I think. We didn’t need a character to look directly at the camera and remind the modern day viewer that royalty is evil. I have a lot of thoughts. I cried for twenty minutes straight.

[3dsmall]

I do disability caregiving and i think trash hoarding is almost literally universally the result of people not having the amount of disability support they need. Someone who lives like that needs more help than theyre getting. People can have very uneven skills. Any mental health condition can cause that kind of functional impairment and come with uneven skills where someone can function in one sphere but not another. Someone with high social awareness but messed up executive function may prioritize seeming normal over their actual physical safety or just be able to meet expectation in some spheres but not others. Fetal alcohol spectrum disorders (many people with fetal alcohol are normal or high iq but have the degree of executive function issues as someone who is dd may have), autism, adhd are other reasons someone might be able to function in some environments but not at home. It's horrible youve had to deal with this and take on so much, it sounds like youve put a lot in and its very understandable to resent the people who have put this on you, but it isn't a moral failing at all when people have this problem. Its the behavior of someone who cannot handle the demands of their life. Doing disability support for people who do this when they dont have care, basically everyone does want to live better, if they can get the amount of help they need to do it . Its sad people dont get the disability support they need and its really horrible it all falls to you to clean up

good things to keep in mind. i don't really quite understand how something gets identified as an executive functioning issue or how executive function is defined.

you sound like a very empathetic person who has done a lot to help people and to understand people and i commend you for that.

i think describing anyone's irl behaviors as moral failure is inherently deficient. in my head i call it 'insufficiently descriptive' bc, as you've pointed out, a multitude of factors can contribute to behavior we see as 'bad'. identifying and understanding these factors can help improve the world in ways that mere moral judgments cannot.

i feel frustrated though, somehow, with how the disability category seems to be expanding along with 'mental illness'. it's hard to say why! i guess i think that under capitalism, doctors and health aides can be paid either to help people with significant functional impairments/needs OR people with behavioral issues that can only be attributed to non-ontological unprovable un-test-for-able psychological conditions. both categories of person deserve safety and respect, both need help, and neither are culpable. However, only one category can be helped via behavioral intervention, addressing skill deficits and developing habits. there is much to learn, but i kind of question how these categories get collapsed.

i might not be making any sense and i get hung up on how things are defined. nothing wrong w/ yr ask, i am just getting some thoughts out.

[dk-thrive]

I haven’t escaped. With every step, one word echoes in my head: Broken. Broken. Broken.

I’ve suffered from anxiety and depression since I was twelve years old. The pain is a fanged beast that I’ve battled a hundred times throughout the years, and every time I think I’ve cut it down for good, it reanimates and launches itself at my throat again. But in recent years, I’d convinced myself that this battle was completely pedestrian. I mean, twentysomething millennials are all really stressed out, aren’t they? Isn’t depression just shorthand for the human condition? Who isn’t anxious here in New York, the capital of neuroticism? That is, until I turned thirty. One by one, I’d watched my erratic friends hit thirty and quickly become adults. They reported that they had less energy, so they stopped caring as much about what other people thought and settled into themselves. Then they bought beige linen pants and had babies. I’ve waited for that mature, elevated calm, but my thirtieth birthday was months ago, and if anything, I care more than ever. I care about shopping cart placement and plastic in the oceans and being a good listener. I care about how I seem to fuck everything up all the time. I care and I care, and I hate myself for it. My friends got one thing right, though: I’m so tired now. Thirty years on this earth, and I’ve been sad at least half that time...I grab my coat and rush out of the building, into the cold air, but even outside, I haven’t escaped. With every step, one word echoes in my head: Broken. Broken. Broken.

— Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma (Ballantine Books, February 22, 2022)