#because my gender is too inconsistent

[lilliths-httyd-blog]

I don't identify with the trans label not because I'm cis but because I feel like I haven't made any sort of effort to transition, I'm kind of just vibing with myself and going with the flow. Which is fucking funny because I'm genderfluid so by definition I am

ULTRA TRANS

...yes my neurodivergency does in fact affect my perception of myself how did you know?

[nicosraf]

Hi sorry if this is incredibly weird and feel free to ignore me… but what is between Lucifer’s legs? Because I am imagining a kind of plant anatomy akin to Vash the Stampede’s fanon plussy, based on the interlude in ABM where it says something like “petals here.” And simply I think that would be very cool for an Angel to have— specifically Lucifer with all his flower imagery.

Would you be willing to shed some light on the subject?

Not a weird question! And the short answer is that he has whatever you want him to. All the angels have whatever you want.

I get this ask in different variations a lot, basically since I first published abm. I know Lucifer says "cock and cunt" but I never actually describe what he means when he says that, and as per A&M, u can see that angels understand "he" differently, so there's a huge possibility that they understand those words to mean different things than they would on a human.

There's a lot of intentional ambiguity because 1. i think angel gender/sex is fun to leave completely incomprehensible to the reader, 2. i ascribe to angels not having one gender over the other (this being the answer for the dual creation of gender in genesis, rather than the Lilith answer, which I mentioned recently), 3. Milton made them bi-gender with the use of he/him and I like to follow him, and 4. it created room for it to be a broader "queer retelling" rather than just a gay or sapphic or trans one. (And there are many more reasons).

SO! I like considering that the angels might have genitals that are extremely alien. Sometimes I consider them having normal "male" genitals (and that having no attachment of gender to them). Sometimes I give them varying genitals in my head. It's purposefully inconsistent and contradictory to allow room for the reader and me to imagine whatever. (And not in a lazy "leave it up to interpretation" way, but very intentionally and with relevance to the plot. I mean, would the Watchers be so freaked out about gender if they had regular genitals? The story changes a little depending on the answer.)

I've never seen Vash the Stampede but that sounds pretty cool tbh, and you're free to consider it canon to ABM in the way that imagining Lucifer with a penis or a vulva or both or neither is also canon. Also I really like the use of the flower imagery that way. I always thought that if ABM was in a visual media then a lot of genitals would be covered with flowers to provide the same room for interpretation that the book does.

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[blinkbats]

I love the name jack because it feels like such a good placeholder like they call you john doe if they can't figure out who you are and Jack is like a fun nickname for John. I'm not a John though and my dad was gonna name me Jack if I was a boy but anyway. It's good. Hey I'm Jack how's it going I love how short it is, doesn't take up any of your time, only thing weird about it is to most people I don't look like a Jack when people look at me they go GIRL which is fine but that's not what comes to mind when I look at me. Is just me.

[gray-ace-space]

recently encountered a post where someone said "gender is fluid but sexuality isn't". (they were talking about bi lesbians.)

my first thought was: does that person, like. hear what they're saying? how can you explicitly hold two beliefs that are so logically inconsistent and not see it? how can you simultaneously think gender is this fluid and complex thing, but sexuality, much of which is defined around gender, is simple and stationary and its boundaries need policing?

but like, fuck, why even argue against it, right? there is no internal logic because there is no logical thought behind it. these are not genuine beliefs. this person is repeating what is currently acceptable in their (small) specific social circle. this is the same person who, a few years back, would be excluding nonbinary lesbians, but nonbinary lesbians are cool and normal on queer tumblr now, so they'll exclude bi lesbians instead, and not even pause to reflect on the difference.

oh, and if you read this and thought "these people don't even actually accept nb lesbians either", ding ding ding! because it's not a real, deep belief, that acceptance is extremely shallow and conditional. so as soon as someone is an nb lesbian in a way these people find odd (like being both a man and a lesbian) they will exclude them too and find a way to justify it.

why do we have to endlessly go through this cycle with queer identities. can we not? can we just not. i'm tired.

[alnair-jpg]

Olympics AU Info dump!

First, I am blown away by how much love the series is getting, thank you all so much! I do really enjoy all the comments and reactions in the tags. Know that they all delight me and the only reason I don’t reply to everything is because there are so many! But I read them all 💕

General questions:

Can you draw the designs or concepts? Write fanfic in this AU?

Yes of course! I’d love for you to tag me if you post them so I can see

Do they all know each other?

At first, I would say no- with the exception of Nico and Will (they’re developing a whole backstory in my head that I cannot and will not stop.). But they all meet in the Olympic Village after the opening ceremonies and quickly become friends. They all try their best to attend each other’s events. (Someone please tell me how Percabeth becomes a thing. Please. 🙏 )

Why didn’t Percy win gold?

Percy was an Olympic medalist in swimming before moving to diving. After competing in several swimming events and feeling like they were all just small variations of the same thing, he wanted more of a challenge. He chose diving to stay rooted in to the water, but to add a new dimension to his bodily awareness and control.

What’s Annabeth and Luke’s rivalry?

They most definitely trained together, and it was Luke’s skill that motivated Annabeth to aim for the Olympics. But, she wanted to compete for her home country, Greece, which Luke thought was just a shortcut since there was a clearer path to an Olympic team in a smaller country. Annabeth is constantly trying to prove to him that she would have made it to the top of the sport either way.

Also, apologies to the IRL fencers out there for the inconsistency. I know fencing is a gendered sport, and Annabeth’s gear/style are inconsistent, please forgive the oversight ☺️🫶

Volleyball?

The whole Hunters of Artemis are a volleyball team (that apparently has no country 😅). Thalia ends up the captain. When Reyna moves on from tennis they welcome her with open arms.

Rejected sports

Will as a runner. Canonically, he’s super fast, but just having him as a sprinter didn’t fit with his personality.

Will as a pole vaulter. Specifically the guy that lost because he was ‘blessed a little too much’ and knocked down the bar. I will not explain further.

Will as a gymnast. He was this || close to being a gymnast essentially modeled after Steven Nedoroscik, I had the sketch and everything. (I shared it here!) But when an anyonomous ask clued me into the sick medical team uniforms it all fell into place from there. (Thank you no-longer-anon @helyeahmangocheese !)

Percy in anything equestrian related. I see him not having the patience for all the formality of it all, but he definitely crashes Hazel’s shows and chats up all the competition (the horses.)

Annabeth on a sailing team. Also, related to that, Reyna on a sailing team. It was a fun idea, especially for Reyna and her history with pirates but ultimately it was really hard to capture in a few illustrations.

Nico in several winter sports. For consistency mostly. He could fit for a lot of winter sports - ice skating and snowboarding are my personal favorites.

Leo as a shooter. He would most definitely build his own gear and make tweaks to his weapon. Which would get him immediately disqualified.

Jason in discus. Jason as a basketball player. Golf is just… fitting. 😂

Other Characters I’ve been thinking about

(that may have art in the works… and may not actually be athletes!)

Clarisse

Meg

Grover

Rachel

Lester / Apollo

Mr. D

Chiron

[exorsysm]

people dont talk about how liberating syscovery can be. we didnt see ourselves as a person, we were a loose conglomerate of traits shifting and changing like the tectonic plates. no sexuality because it would change too often, my gender could only be described as vaguely male because it would change too often, couldnt have a music taste either which led us to stick to the same 2 or 3 artists since, even if we didnt like them, we knew them. and because it would change too often. my friends would tell me that i need to get a style and an aesthetic and a way to dress but i couldnt because my clothing preferences would change so often. i would think i had it all figured out one week and then hate it the next. eventually i stopped trying.

its been nice to get to know myself. who i am now even if that might be a different person tomorrow. i like old music from the 60s and 70s. i like dark clothes and long sleeves. im bisexual! i like minecraft. i feel so real. i feel so much better. my friends still all think im weird and inconsistent. but at least now im weird and inconsistent with a purpose.

[venus-haze]

Secret Identity!Homelander x Reader Headcanons

Note: Gender neutral but mildly fem-coded reader, and no descriptors are used. This is inspired by the throwaway line from season 1 where Homelander mentions having a secret identity, but not keeping it for long, so I imagine it’d have been in the 2000s when he was in his 20s. My brain really latched onto the idea, and this is the result. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Voyeurism, relationship under false pretenses, obsessive and disturbing behavior. Do not interact if you're under 18.

• Your new neighbor moves into the apartment next door seemingly overnight, but luckily you have a box of brownie mix and some powdered sugar tucked away in your cupboard and decide to make some as a ‘welcome to the building’ gesture

• His name is John, and he apologizes in advance if he wakes you up with his coming and going since he works odd, inconsistent hours as a crime reporter for a small, independent newspaper

• You notice the Indiana University logo embroidered on his sweatshirt and cheerfully say, “Hey, you’re a Hoosier! I’m sure you’re already working on your March Madness bracket.” He nods along as if he understands what the fuck you’re talking about. The two of you continue small talk until you make your leave back to your place. He goes to his computer, groaning at his choice of Indiana as his home state when he doesn’t know anything about basketball, let alone March Madness and brackets

• Over the next week or so, he realizes just how unprepared he is for living on his own, but luck’s on his side, because he hardly has to worry about doing much cooking or cleaning himself when you’re constantly inviting him over for dinner and offering to bring his clothes over to the laundromat with yours since you “know he’s so busy with work”

• Sometimes he has trouble keeping his backstory straight, though he is at least able to bullshit his way through your questions about college and basketball. That doesn’t faze you at first, as he keeps you enraptured with his inside scoop on crime in the city. You’re none the wiser as to how he knows the intimate details of some of the cases, under the impression that he’s just a great reporter

• He keeps tabs on you from afar, Homelander doing quick fly-bys of the area where you work just to make sure everything’s okay. He was raised to be a hero, after all. When you’re alone in your apartment, however, he has no shame in looking through your walls and listening in on what you’re up to. He knows everything about you, the type of music you listen to, the TV shows you watch, the food you go for when you wake up for a midnight snack, that you call your best friend every Thursday night at nine, no detail is too minute for him

• One evening, he decides to take a closer look at your place while you’re in the shower, until he looks through the bathroom wall and feels his mouth go dry at the sight of you. He slips his hand down his pants, and, well, what you don’t know won’t hurt you. It becomes a habit, his guilty pleasure of getting himself off whenever you’re naked in your apartment

• To you, though, he’s still your hot neighbor-friend John, who your coworkers have been pestering you to make a move on, telling you that it sounds like he’s straight from a Hallmark movie. You’re reluctant, but you start to consider something with John when you mention wanting to get rid of some of your older, worn-out furniture and buy new stuff and lament having to pay a company to move. He volunteers to help you during the weekend

• It’s almost funny how he pretends to struggle to move the furniture when he could rearrange your entire apartment without breaking a sweat. He seems to be a good actor, though, because he notices your forehead creased with worry as you watch him move a couch himself. He likes your eyes on him for a change, and though he flexes his muscles every chance he gets, the concern awakens something in him. It’s nothing less than calculated when he “accidentally” drops the couch, pretending to hurt his arm in the process

• You’re frantic as you rush to his side to inspect the damage. Of course there’s no bruising, a truck would have to land on him for that to happen. Still, you gingerly touch his arm and he pretends to hiss in pain. You disappear into the kitchen, only to return with a bag of frozen vegetables in your hand and guilt etched across your features

• “John, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” you ask, brushing his hair from his face, and it takes everything in him not to lean into your touch as he assures you he’ll be fine. The furniture moving project is over for the night, and you order a pizza and let him pick a movie to watch. Your movie collection is almost foreign to him, having been raised on a carefully curated selection of propaganda and clean American classics. He picks Dirty Dancing on a whim, and it proves to be a good choice as you gush over how much you love the movie

• For the first time in his life, he indulges in greasy junk food and cheesy movies, feeling that pang in his heart again as he watches the romance unfold on screen, the one weakness he could never quite get over, loneliness. He notices how as the movie progresses, you end up curled up against him. He furrows his eyebrows, wondering to himself if it’s actually a date all along, and from the way you keep glancing at his lips, only to bashfully look away when he catches you staring confirms that

• He can hear your erratic heartbeat and decides to just go for it, stealing a kiss from you in the middle of the movie. From then on, you’re dating, and suddenly this persona of his becomes far more complicated than he anticipated. You make him happier than he’s ever been in his life. He wants to keep you incredibly close, both of your respective free time consumed by each other, even while he’s Homelander, unbeknownst to you

• John may as well be your dream boyfriend in the beginning of your relationship, attentive and romantic, bringing you to a nearby park on your first official date for a picnic and to try the famous Dirty Dancing lift scene. “Let’s at least try!” he insists. “I’ll catch you.” Despite your hesitations since he’d hurt his arm moving your furniture just a few days ago, he catches you with an almost unbelievable ease on the first try, to your delight. “I’ve always wanted to do that!” you laugh as he sets you down, pulling him in for a kiss

• He buys you elaborate floral bouquets and increasingly expensive gifts, to the point where you wonder how the hell he has that kind of money as a reporter unless he gets paid off by the same criminals he’s supposed to be reporting on. Sometimes he’s troublingly jealous or says things that unsettle you, but you assume it’s because of the line of work he’s in, being exposed to the worst of people. Besides, whenever you get even the slightest bit nervous by his words or actions, he seems to know just when to swoop in and calm you down

• Definitely has no concept of personal space or normal sleep schedules. You’re the first non-Vought affiliated person he’s ever had any kind of relationship with. It’s intense and things move pretty fast, like "I love you on the third date" fast. He idealizes you a lot. Emotionally you’re stretched thin by having to fill the role of lover, parent, best friend, confidant silly rabbit

• Date nights at your place are comforting and domestic, but going out is always an adventure with him. His lack of knowledge of generally getting around New York is downright strange since he reports on crimes all over the city. Not to mention, people do double-takes when they see him, as if they recognize him from somewhere but then figure otherwise. It happens way too often to be a coincidence, though

• Sex with John can also be unpredictable, passionate and loving to intense and almost painful. He’s into some weird stuff and doesn’t have the best etiquette when it comes to his kinks. Not to mention his stamina is almost inhuman, and when you comment as much after he fucks you the fourth time in under two hours, his response is strange, to say the least. You chalk it up to years of sexual repression that he maybe didn't get out during his college years

• Still, he supports and adores you, so you can deal with the frustration and emotional exhaustion when he knocks on your door at eleven at night, letting out a dramatic sigh as he flops on your couch and you take the cue to ask him how his day was. You know there’s something he’s keeping from you, but you decide not to push it. He’s just as interested in your everyday life, hell, he wants you to bother him with the mundane stuff. That’s what boyfriends are for, anyway. You have no idea of what his true identity is, yet you still love him 

• It can’t last forever, though, because you work late one evening, so he decides to check up on you, just to be safe. The scene he descends on is almost too perfect, the type of scenario he’d seen played out in the Vought-branded Payback cartoons he watched growing up. Still, seeing the man so much as pointing the knife in your direction as he demands you hand over your money and valuables almost makes Homelander lose control

• He lands in between you and the man, who takes a nervous step back. “Not so brave now, huh, buddy?” Homelander scoffs, grabbing the man’s wrist and snapping it, the knife falling to the ground as he screams in pain, clutching his broken wrist

• The situation becomes even more nightmarish as you watch America’s fresh-faced hero push your attempted assailant onto his knees, a cruel gleam in his eyes and sneer on his lips as he grabs the man’s head and twists. You can’t bare to watch, gagging when you hear a distinct snap followed by the crunching of bones

• Homelander turns to you, taking you into his arms for what’s supposed to be a comforting embrace, “It’s alright now. You’re safe with me, babe” 

• Your brain pretty much short circuits as you realize your boyfriend John is actually the most powerful superhero who ever lived, and you just witnessed him break a man’s neck like it was a toothpick

• Naturally, you pass out, right into his blood-covered hands. He presses a kiss to your forehead and takes off for Vought Tower. No need to pretend anymore, right?

[ichorai]

sorry ; daryl dixon.

track three of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; daryl dixon x doctor!reader (gender neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; you were on your knees, and daryl was too. he wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

words ; 7.9k

themes ; heavy angst, mild action, doctor au

warnings / includes ; death and violence, negan at his worst, vulgar language, guns/weapons, descriptions of injury/blood, mentions of maggie's pregnancy, negan goes on long ass monologues, poor rick is going Through it, the walking dead s6-7 spoilers (fic starts right at the season six finale), mild sexual dialogue from negan

main masterlist.

Maggie hummed with discontent when you pressed a cold, damp cloth to her forehead. There was a pallid color to her skin, and her temperature was beginning to rise, despite her violent shivers beneath the blanket. The inconsistent, rocking motions of the RV weren’t doing her any favors, either. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Hilltop real soon,” you said, feeling mildly guilty that you couldn’t help her more, despite being a doctor yourself. Alexandria was completely out of medical supplies and this was urgent—if Maggie didn’t get help soon… you’d never be able to forgive yourself if something bad were to happen to her or the baby. “Hang on for me, okay?”

The brunette slanted her lips in a tired smile, eyelids heavy. 

Rick knelt down beside you, speaking in a low, comforting tone. “We’re gonna get there. Once we get the medicine from Hilltop, Y/N will fix you right up.”

A small sigh fell from her pale, trembling lips. A thin film of tears warbled over her eyes. She was terrified. 

“Oh, Maggie,” you murmured, gently pulling away the short strands of hair sticking to her face. 

“How do you know?” muttered your friend, gaze trained on the ex-cop. 

“Everything we’ve done… we've done it together. We got here together and we’re still here. Things have happened, but it’s always worked out for us, ‘cause it’s always been all of us. That’s how I know. As long as it’s all of us helpin’ you, we can do it.”

A hot tear meandered down Maggie’s cheek. You nodded gratefully at Rick—he’d always had a way with words that you’d never really gotten a grasp of. 

The next hour passed by slowly. You switched between cooling her head, and helping her drink some water, sometimes just holding her hand and telling her that everything was going to be fine. To take her mind off the pain, she’d asked you to tell her about how you and Daryl met, all those years ago long before the dead began to walk. 

“I’m glad Daryl’s not here right now, because he always tells the story differently than I do. Well, how I remember it, he and his dick brother used to come to a small convenience store near their trailer park. That’s where I worked. I was around… nineteen at the time? Almost twenty. I was just working a couple jobs on the side to pay off my growing student debt. Daryl was twenty-three, almost twenty-four. Merle tried to cozy up to me—and I didn’t have any of that. I told him to fuck right off. And later that night, just as I was to close up, Daryl came by and apologized on his brother’s behalf. He was real sweet, so I—”

“What the bitch?” barked Abraham from the driver’s seat, effectively cutting your story short and rolling the RV to a grueling halt. 

“What?” asked Rick, standing up to look out the window. You followed suit, eyes widening upon the sight. 

More than half a dozen Saviors blocking the road with three of their cars—and all of them holding large guns. A lump formed in your throat, and you cast your worried gaze to Rick.

“We goin’ through?” asked Abraham, jaw set. 

Rick gnashed his jaw together in thought. “No,” he said. “We’ll talk to them. C’mon. Y/N, you stay here, watch over Maggie.”

Teeth worrying into your bottom lip, you nodded, stepping to the side to let the rest of them file out of the RV, their own loaded guns at the ready. 

From inside, you couldn’t hear what the Saviors were saying, but from the smug expression of the one in the center with a hideous pornstache, you knew it couldn’t be anything pleasant for your group. 

Three minutes later, they came back in, all looking a bit disgruntled. Rick, most of all.

“What’s going on?” you asked Carl, placing a hand on his forearm. 

The young man that you were so fond of grimaced, shaking his head and lowering his voice to a whisper so that Maggie couldn’t overhear. “They won’t let us through. Want half our stuff.”

Your breath hitched. At this rate, you didn’t know how long Maggie could last without the proper care and medicine. And Alexandria was running low on supplies as it is—taking away half of everything would put the community in a pretty dire situation.

“Alright, thanks kid,” you told him, trying your absolute best not to cry from frustration, your nose burning with the effort. 

The truck began to pull further away from the Saviors, until they were only but little dots against the horizon. 

“Logrun Road’s a straight shot,” said Eugene, repeatedly tapping his finger against the map spread out across the RV’s pull-out table. 

Next to you, Sasha shook her head. “We want visibility.”

You pursed your lips, craning your neck to scan the small, faded texts of the map. “Can we go down Shelton?”

Eugene hummed in agreement, drawling out in his thick Southern accent, “Golf course, country clubs, sloping terrain—no bum rush from the bogeymen. We’d see ‘em from a good piece. It is a longer trip by a third but we’d get the scenic safety of clear-cut dingles and glens.”

Both you and Sasha stared at him blankly. 

“You’re being serious, right?” asked Sasha.

“As coronary thrombosis,” replied the man across from you, stony-faced. Besides, Eugene was never one to joke around.

Sasha rounded her gaze to you expectantly, waiting for you to explain in normal terms. “He’s serious,” you said. “It’s a longer route, but it’ll be well-sheltered and hopefully keep us hidden from the Saviors. I’ll try to keep Maggie steady until then.”

The two nodded at you, and you pushed away from the table, heading further back into the RV where Maggie and Rick were. She was pale and clammy, but still had enough energy to talk to you, so you took that as a good sign. 

Not even ten minutes later, while you were taking measurements of her blood pressure and body temperature, the vehicle came to another rumbling halt. 

“Bitch nuts,” cursed Abraham, loudly for both you and Rick to hear. 

The Saviors were blocking the road. Again.

You could feel panic seize about your chest, constricting your lungs. The situation wasn’t looking good for Maggie, not one bit—but you couldn’t give up hope. Not now, when she needed you the most. You blew out a shaky breath, absentmindedly wishing Daryl was here with you to give you some comfort of mind.

“We making our stand?” asked Sasha, staring out of the window, where more than a dozen saviors were lined up. 

Carl, ever the fiery one, spat out, “Yeah. We end this.”

The blue of his father’s eyes flashed dangerously. “No. Not now. It’s too dangerous for Maggie. They’ve been waiting—they’re ready. We ain’t. With one of us behind the wheel, and Y/N with Maggie, that’d be five on sixteen. We’re gonna play it our way. How we want it.”

Reluctant, Carl nodded. 

Slowly, the RV started backing away. Three successive, warning gunshots were fired into the air. You could feel a sick, twisted rage curl up within your stomach. 

If Maggie died on your watch—her blood would be on the hands of the Saviors.

You fumbled for another map pinned up on the cork board, eyes roaming over the roads, desperate for another available route. Could they possibly have you surrounded? No—the woods were vast, and the roads were winding—there were so many paths left to take to Hilltop. The Saviors simply wouldn’t have the numbers to stop you.

Wouldn’t they?

The RV came to another stop. This time, there were no Saviors blocking the road, but instead, a line of chained-up walkers. Not wanting to risk damaging the RV by driving through them, the rest of the group filed out to check if the coast was clear. You told Maggie you’d be right back, before hopping out of the RV, lingering by the doorway to narrow your gaze at the restrained walkers.

“That’s Michonne’s,” breathed out Carl, his single eye widening. A lock of her hair was stapled against the center walker’s forehead. 

Horror, as black as tar itself, seeped into your chest when you glanced over to the next snarling form, just to see two of Daryl’s arrows embedded into its decaying stomach. Daryl always retrieved his arrows. Which meant… something had happened to him.

“That’s Daryl’s,” you said, loud enough for Rick to hear. “Oh, no, Rick… they did this on purpose. They knew we were coming this way—!”

Just as Rick was about to cleave his axe into the walker’s skull, ricocheting gunfire crackled into the ground, making the dried leaves flutter up with the sudden force, plumes of dust and smoke flying with each bullet. 

“Get back to the RV! Go!” yelled Rick. You scrambled up the steps and ran to a concerned Maggie, trembling as you carefully hovered over her, in case any bullets pierced through the walls and accidentally hit her. Carl and Sasha began shooting blindly into the woods, having not a clue where all the shots were coming from. Rick surged forward and thrust his axe down onto one of the walker’s rotting arms, effectively leaving a gap open for the RV to drive through. 

The rest of the group rushed inside, and Abraham practically threw himself into the driver’s seat to get the RV moving.

The shots died away after a few minutes. With shallow, inconsistent breaths, you slid off of Maggie, slumping down beside her. She croaked out a question, but it fell upon deaf ears, ringing with static and white noise. A warm tear fell from your burning eyes, and you quickly brushed it away with the back of your palm.

Something happened to Daryl. And it was killing you that you couldn’t help him. That you didn’t even know where he was. 

You looked out the window through a watery film of tears, watching the yellow-green fields pass by in a blur. A quick glance at the lowering sun told you that the group was going to lose daylight soon enough, as well. 

A strange, creaking noise was coming from below the RV. 

“What’s that sound?” said Sasha, worried. 

“Undercarriage could’ve caught a bullet,” replied Eugene. “Could be transmission. Could be nothing.”

Agitated, Rick growled out, “They were firing at our feet. They blocked the road, but they weren’t trying to stop us.”

“They want us in this direction,” you murmured, making his wild gaze swivel to you. You gestured to the map. “Rick, they know we’re coming. They know we wanna go North.”

“Meadows would take us East a piece,” said Eugene, “but we can get back on track on Mayhew.”

It would take too long, you thought. Maggie doesn’t have the strength to carry on anymore.

Shaking her head, Sasha said, “We’re down to a third of a tank—we could top off at the next stop, but it’s risky. We can’t have any refills after that.”

A low moan fell from Maggie’s pale lips as a wave of pain washed over her, moving in and out of a hazy unconsciousness. You were quick to check her temperature, blanching at the fact that she was nearly scalding to the touch. You quickly placed the damp cloth to her skin again, trying your best to keep her temperature down.

“Rick, she’s burning up,” you told him, voice thick with worry. 

It was then that the RV came to another stop. 

This time, there were more saviors—around three dozen, maybe even four.

“Go back,” said Rick, eyes wide and stress evidently painted across his strained features. 

Abraham squared his jaw. “We have nowhere to go back to.”

With a shaky breath, you stroked Maggie’s head, your heart shattering into millions of pieces. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” you said, a sob bubbling in your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—I wish I could do something, I’m sorry.”

Disoriented and not having heard a word of your apologetic babbling, Maggie croaked out, “Are we there yet?”

More tears slipped down your cheeks. Rick was by your side, placing one hand on your shoulder and the other on Maggie’s arm. You stifled your sobs with your palm, and Rick replied in your stead.

“Yeah, Maggie. We’re—we’re getting there.”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered lethargically. “Were there… I heard shots.”

Rick’s expression softened. “Yeah, the Saviors—they’re gone now. We’re gonna get you there.”

A ghost of a smile tilted the corner of Maggie’s lips up. “I know.”

“You’ll be okay,” you told her, sniffling. “The baby’s going to be okay. This isn’t the end.”

“There’s more,” agreed Rick. “There’s gonna be more, I promise.”

A beat of silence. 

“I believe in you, Rick,” she hoarsely said. Maggie’s gaze slowly moved from Rick to you. “In both of you.”

Maggie was asleep again. You made sure to give her plenty of water and what was left of the antibiotics you had saved—but that was the very last bit of supply you had. There was little else you could do for her other than getting her to Hilltop for the proper medicine and treatment she needed.

“So what’s the play?” asked Abraham. “They’ve cut us off every turn we made.”

“She needs medicine,” said Rick, desperation lacing each word. “She’ll die without it.”

“We only have two plausible routes North from here. They’ve cornered us,” Sasha whispered, gaze trained on the map.

Hopelessness laid uneasy on all of your shoulders. 

“They’re probably waiting for us right now,” said Aaron.

Eugene gritted his teeth. “So, they’re ahead of us. Heck, probably even behind us. But they’re not waiting on us, per se—they’re waitin’ on this rust bucket. They don’t know the moment-to-moment occupancy of said rust bucket. And the sun sets soon.”

“We need to leave now if we want Maggie to make it to Hilltop,” you said, voice trembling with a myriad of guilt, anger, and frustration. “We carry Maggie, and we go on foot. Through the woods. They can’t block us there.”

Eugene took the RV in hopes of tricking the Saviors. Everybody else in the group set off into the woods, taking turns carrying Maggie on the makeshift stretcher, bundled under two layers of blankets. The sun had long set, and the whispering winds were cold this time of year. 

“Just let me walk it,” she rasped, voice scratchy and throat dry. 

“No,” you were quick to reply. “You’re in no condition to walk right now, Maggie. It’s only a few more miles. Just rest up a bit more, okay?”

Though she didn’t look happy, Maggie didn’t protest any further, letting her tired eyes slip shut once more. 

After a couple more minutes, Aaron stepped in to carry one end of the stretcher for you, telling you that you also needed to rest your arms for a second. With a grateful nod, you reluctantly let go, falling into stride with Carl.

“Are you okay?” the young man asked, his hand brushing yours, his nonverbal way of saying that he was here for you if you needed him. “I’m sure Daryl and Michonne are fine. They’re fighters. Maggie’s going to be fine, too.”

You sent him a fond, but tired smile. “Yeah, I hope so, kiddo,” you told him, cuffing his shoulder affectionately. The thought of Daryl out there, probably worried sick for you as well, made your stomach twist into knots. “I really hope so.”

It was at that moment, a shrill whistle sounded out from the darkness of the forest. The group halted in their tracks. One by one, more whistles were added to the ear-splitting melody. It sounded like there were dozens, if not a hundred voices surrounding you. 

“Go!” yelled Rick. “Go!” 

The rest of you broke out in a sprint, and you grabbed Carl’s hand, winding around tree trunks and hopping over overgrown roots, ignoring the stinging scrapes of twisting branches against your face. 

The whistling only continued, growing louder, louder, louder—

Until you came face to face with the source itself. 

Car lights suddenly flashed open, momentarily blinding you. You drew Carl closer to you, instinctively protecting him, but it was no use. They had your group surrounded. Saviors, hundreds of them, gathered around you with leering expressions. All of them were clutching guns.

Raw fear curled around your lungs when you saw Eugene on his knees not too far from you, tears dripping down his face. 

Rick looked destroyed. Devastated. 

You were shaking so hard that your knees began to buckle beneath you. 

Finally, the whistling began to dwindle away. 

From the crowd, stepped out a familiar face—the man with a hideous pornstache that stopped the RV on the initial route. 

“Good,” he called out. He swept his arms out in a faux inviting gesture. “You made it. Welcome to where you’re going—because you ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we’re done with you. We’ll take your weapons.”

When he pointed a gun straight at Maggie, you immediately did as he said, pulling out the pistol wedged in your belt. There was a knife inside your boot, but you weren’t too keen on giving that up yet. You tossed your pistol on the ground just as Abraham threw down his rifle. The rest of the group followed suit.

Trembling, Rick spat out, “We can talk about this—”

“We’re done talking,” interrupted Pornstache. “Okay. Get her down, and let’s get you all on your knees. Lots to cover.”

“She can’t,” you snarled, stepping in front of Maggie protectively. “She’s sick, she can’t—”

“Oh, she’ll be far worse than just sick if you don’t get her on her knees,” the man easily rebutted, eyes roaming over your protective form. 

Lips trembling, you turned around, and with Abraham on her other side, you helped Maggie limp off the stretcher and gently set her down on her knees. Your eyes glistened and warbled with unshed tears. Maggie could only shake her head, as if telling you that it wasn’t your fault.

Terrified, Rick glanced around at the rest of the group. He’d failed you. All of you. 

“Gonna need you on your knees, sweetheart,” said Pornstache, slowly dragging the end of his gun up your cheek with a salacious grin.

With a withering glare, you sank down beside Maggie, Rick on your left side, breathing haggard and lips quaking. Sasha and Abraham followed suit. Carl was the last, fists clenched by his sides. 

“Dwight!” whistled Pornstache. “Chop chop! Bring out the others!”

A blonde man with half of his face horribly marred by what looked to be a severe burn injury, stepped forward, yanking open the back of a truck. 

And, to your horror, he dragged out your boyfriend, covered in blood—blood that you could only pray wasn’t his, even though you knew deep down that that was only wishful thinking. Following Daryl was Michonne, Rosita, and Glenn, equally distraught. 

Daryl caught your eye for a brief second, pure terror within his irises. He looked over you to make sure that you were alright, and you did the same with him, a tear slipping down your cheek.

I love you, you mouthed to him. He dipped his head once in understanding, before forcing his gaze away, not wanting to give the Saviors anymore reason to torture either of you. 

“Maggie…?” Glenn painfully rasped once he caught sight of his wife in such a state. He tried to make his way to her, but the Saviors grabbed his arms and forced him down, guns digging harshly into his back. 

“Alright!” exclaimed Pornstache. “We got a full boat! Let’s meet the man, eh?”

He knocked twice on the door to the RV you were in not even an hour ago. 

The door slowly swung open, squeaking on its hinges. 

And out strode a tall man clad in a leather jacket, a bat covered in barbed wire hanging off his shoulder. He took his sweet time making his way towards the group, feet languidly dragging along the gravelly dirt, and a smirk accentuating his smug expression. 

“Pissing our pants yet?” he drawled, voice tapering into a light chuckle as he stepped out into the light, smiling down at your group on your knees. “Boy, do I have a feeling we’re gettin’ close. Mm, yeah—it’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon. Now which one of you pricks is the leader?”

Pornstache pointed at Rick. “It’s this one here.”

The man with the bat grinned wider, before stepping right in front of Rick, who craned his neck to glare up at him. “Hi there. You’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killin’ my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people… you killed more of my people. Not cool, man. Not cool. You have… no fuckin’ idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Mmh, yeah. You are so gonna regret crossin’ me in a few minutes. Yes, you are.” A dangerous, wolfish grin flashed across Negan’s face. “You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what—you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you may very well be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes—pay attention.”

He lowered his bat off his shoulder and slotted the barbed end right below Rick’s chin. You held in your breath, your entire body wracking with tremors. Though you knew you needed to stop, you couldn’t help but chance glances at Daryl every so often, your concern for him rapidly growing. Some of that was his blood, it had to be—his eyes were sunken with exhaust and his chest, the very chest you would fall asleep on every night, was rising and falling unevenly, making you believe he was hurt, but you just couldn’t see what was hurting him. 

“Give me your shit… or I will kill you. See? Simple as that.” Negan pulled the bat away from Rick, and began walking around the group as he spoke. “Today was career day. We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow. But swallow it, you most certainly will! You ruled the roost. You built something, Rick. You thought you were safe, I get it. But the word is out. You are not safe. Not even close. In fact, you are pegged—more pegged if you don’t do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. If that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life now. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door… you let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us? And we will knock it down. You understand?”

Rick swallowed heavily. Narrowing his keen eyes, Negan cupped his ear and leaned down closer to the kneeling man. 

“What? No answer? You don’t really think that you were going to get through this without being punished, now, did you? I don’t want to kill you people. I just wanna make that clear from the get go. I want you to work for me—and you can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you? I’m not growin’ a garden. But you killed my people—a whole damn lot of ‘em! More than I’m comfortable with, honestly. And for that… for that you’re gonna pay.”

Your hands curled into fists on your knees. You knew what was coming. And you’d be damned if you were going to let it happen.

“So, now… I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” Negan inhaled sharply, as if he enjoyed prolonging the torture. He bent down once more, showing off the barbed bat. “This right here—this is Lucille. And she is awesome. All this… all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor!”

Negan stopped in front of Abraham, who straightened and glared defiantly at the smirking man. In thought, Negan subconsciously rubbed his bearded jaw with one hand at the sight of Abraham’s own mustache. “Huh. I gotta shave this shit.”

On he strolled, before halting in front of Carl. “You had one of our guns. Hm. You got a lot of our guns.” Carl only scowled at the man. “Shit, kid. Lighten up. At least cry a little.”

Chuckling, Negan moved on. 

You could feel one of your eyes twitch when you saw his shoes stop right in front of you. His bat was beneath your chin in an instant, forcing you to look up. The sharp metal on the bat painfully scratched against your jaw, and fresh tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“My, my, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? What’s your name, darlin’?”

Hatred simmered within your chest, but you forced your expression to remain indifferent.

You quietly told him your name, wincing when his bat dug deeper into your neck and he ordered you to say it louder. You repeated yourself, voice cracking. A single tear meandered down your cheek and slid down your chin, dripping onto Lucille.

Negan hummed, nodding in satisfaction. “Now that’s what I want to see, folks! A little emotion around here—Y/N’s got the gist of it!”

“Kill me,” you gritted out, making the rest of the group’s eyes widen. You could feel Rick’s stare burning holes straight through you, but you refused to meet his gaze, staring straight up at Negan. “You can kill me. Just don’t hurt them. Let them go. Maggie, on my right, she’s real sick and she needs medicine—if she doesn’t get the proper treatment soon, she’ll… she’ll…”

The man in front of you barked out an amused laugh. “She’ll what?”

“She’ll die,” you snarled. “So kill me. Get it over with—and let them go.”

And for a split second, you let your eyes return to Daryl, one last time. He wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that Negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

But it was all futile. He noticed anyway. 

He followed your gaze over to Daryl, lowering his bat to gesture between the two of you. 

“Ah… you two are a thing, ain’t ya? Damn. And here I thought you were available for takin’, sugar.” Negan tossed his head back and chuckled with mild disappointment. “God, look at you bein’ all heroic, offering yourself up for the chopping block! No, no, darlin’, this ain’t a game of who gets to be a martyr and save their friends. You don’t decide what’s happening here. I do. You think I don’t know you’re the doctor of the group? My people have been reporting to me—they know you’ve been the one taking care of Little Miss Sickly over there. No… you’re far too valuable for me to kill. We need more people like you, darlin’. Plus, I wouldn’t want to bash in your pretty little face, now, would I?”

With a hum, Negan stepped away from you, fixing his gaze upon Maggie.

“Jesus. You look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery right now—!”

“NO!” screamed Glenn, scrambling onto his feet and lunging at Negan. Before he could even begin to make contact, Dwight grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, threateningly shoving Daryl’s crossbow into his face. 

Maggie cried out—both from a fresh wave of pain seeping through her bones, and from the sight of her husband being dragged back to his spot like a ragdoll. 

Huffing out a sigh, Negan grunted out, “Nope. Nope, nope, get him back in line.”

Glenn screamed, choking back a sob. “No… don’t. Don’t!”

Negan could only smile. “Alright, alright, listen. Don’t any of you do that again—I will shut that shit down, no exceptions! First one’s free—it’s an emotional moment. I get it. Mmh. Sucks, don’t it? The moment you realize you don’t know shit.”

Rick trembled violently beside you. Tilting his head, Negan glanced between him and Carl, realization dawning upon him when he noticed the physical similarities between the two.

“This is your kid, right? Ohoho, that is definitely your kid!” 

“JUST STOP THIS!” yelled Rick, so sudden that it made you flinch.

Equivalent in volume, Negan bellowed back, “HEY! Do not make me kill your little future serial killer! Don’t make it easy on me! I gotta pick somebody—everybody’s at the table waitin’ for me to order, hm?” 

The man whistled out a shrill tune, one that sent a shiver dance down your spine. 

“I simply cannot decide. But I got an idea.” With that, he pointed the bat at Rick. “Eenie.”

He moved to you, before narrowing his eyes, and skipped over to Maggie. “Meenie.”

Abraham. “Minie.”

Michonne. “Mo.”

Glenn. “Catch.”

Daryl. “A tiger.”

Rosita. “By.”

Eugene. “His toe.”

Sasha. “If.”

Aaron. “He hollers.”

Carl. “Let him go.”

And so on he went. 

My mother told me to pick the very best one. And you… are… it.

Your heart dropped when the end of his bat stopped in front of Abraham. 

No. No… no… no…

“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father, and then we’ll start! You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doin’ that!” 

And with that, he swung the bat back and brought it clean down on Abraham’s head.

Screams erupted from around you. You could feel your vision blur over with your tears, and you closed your eyes shut, not wanting to see such a gruesome sight, curling in on yourself as you listened to the repeated, sickening squelch of Negan’s bat repeatedly hitting your dear friend. Negan gloated and laughed and jeered. You cried and sobbed and flinched with every strike.

His blood—Abraham’s blood—splattered on your face. You could feel it. 

Warm, moist, and thick. Dripping down your cheek. 

“You guys… look at my dirty girl!” proclaimed Negan, jutting out the bloody bat for all to witness. The monster of a man tilted his head at Rosita, whose eyes were horrified and bloodshot, dripping with fat tears. “Sweetheart… lay your eyes on this!”

When Rosita began to cry harder, Negan hummed. “Oh, damn. Were you… were you guys together? That sucks. If you were, you should know—there was a reason for all this. Red—and damn if that isn’t a good name for him—he just took one, or six, or seven for the team! So take… a damn… look.”

Rosita refused to move her gaze from Abraham’s mutilated corpse.

And, much to your horror, Daryl growled out as he surged forward on his feet, landing a clean punch against Negan’s jaw. You screamed out his name when three Saviors grabbed him and beat him back onto the ground, pinning him tightly against the gravel. A sob wracked through your frame and you could feel your stomach twist into itself. Daryl was still struggling against them, clutching his side as he panted out.

“No!” yelled Negan, clearly furious. “Oh, no. That—is a big no-no. The whole thing—not one fucking bit of that shit flies here!”

Terror clutched at your palpitating heart when Negan shoved Lucille right up into Daryl’s face, smearing Abraham’s blood all over him. 

Dwight strode up and pointed Daryl’s own crossbow against the back of your boyfriend’s head. A sob fell from your lips. You couldn’t watch this—you just couldn’t.

“Daryl,” you cried out, hiccupping through your words. “Negan… no. No, please, don’t! I’ll do anything, please! Not him. Please, not him!”

Amused at your pleading, Negan casted a sidelong glance to you, before grabbing at Daryl’s hair and pulling him upright. “See what you did there, Buckaroo? You got your little partner all upset! Look, they’re crying their eyes out, worried for you.” Negan got back up on his feet. “Get him back in line,” he barked, though his eyes were trained on you.

And in two quick strides, he was back in front of you, gripping your face tightly between his gloved hand. “Look at you, darlin’, all covered in blood. Would it be weird if I say it makes my dick hard as fuck?” You scowled, trying your best to pull your face away from his uncomfortably rough grip. “Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart—your boyfriend here didn’t listen to me earlier. I said the first one was free, didn’t I? And what does that mean? Second one’s got a price, hm? I said I’d shut that shit down—no exceptions. I don’t know what kind of lyin’ assholes y’all have been dealing with… but I’m a man of my word. First impressions are important! I need you all to know me. Know that I’m not joking around with this shit. Now, if you weren’t a doctor and you weren’t so fuckin’ hot—I would’ve bashed your head to pieces without battin’ an eye! But, lookie here, I’m faced with another dilemma. I need to kill another one of you to get my point across.” 

A wail bubbled up in your throat and you began to claw at Negan’s fingers now painfully squeezing your jaw. “No… please, please… don’t, please—!”

“And I want you, darlin’, to pick which one of your little friends I kill.” 

“No!” you spat, breathing shallow and panicked. “Me—just kill me, Negan—you don’t have to hurt anyone else, please, please, let them go, you—”

Getting irritated with you, Negan shook your face until you stopped blubbering. “You’re not listenin’ to me. Pick. Someone. Not you, and not your little boyfriend. I want him to live with the fact that one of his friends died because of him. Pick someone. Anyone, sweetheart. You’ll be doin’ em a favor, honestly. They get to save the rest of you from a miserable death! Now, doesn’t that sound appealing?”

A beat of silence. Negan stared you down, and you glared right back.

“Eat my shit,” you snarled out.

Narrowing his eyes, Negan finally relinquished his hold on you. You gasped for breath, chest heaving, stabilizing yourself with your hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you’re feisty! Might have to keep you around after this—holy fuckin’ shit. Mmh, alright… fine, then. Since you won’t pick—I’ll just have to kill your precious patient’s boyfriend, hm?”

Before any of you could react, Negan spun on his heel and arced his bat through the air, right onto Glenn’s head. Again, and again, and again.

A piercing scream echoed across the forest. Maggie’s scream. 

Your mouth dropped open as a silent cry scratched down the sides of your throat. 

Glenn was still alive, somehow, after all those bashes. Blood caked his entire skull and part of his head was caved in—to your nauseating horror, one of his eyes had come out of its socket.

“Buddy, you still there?” exclaimed Negan in astonishment, bending down to inspect his handiwork. “I just don’t know… seems to me like you’re tryin’ to say something! But you just took a hell of a hit! I just cracked your skull so hard, your eyeball popped right out! And it is gross as shit!”

After all that, Glenn managed to slur out, “Maggie… I’ll find you.”

Sobs rang throughout the clearing. The rest of the group cried tears for Glenn—without him, all of you would’ve been dead three times over. 

“Awh, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys,” said Negan. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But I did say… no exceptions!” 

With that, he brought down his bat again. Over, and over, and over.

Maggie cried so hard her voice started to give out. 

Daryl, your beloved Daryl, flinched with every stroke of the bat, his eyes red and puffy with tears. You could see it already—the guilt behind his gaze. He thought it was his fault Glenn was killed.

You shut your eyes again. 

“Lucille is thirsty! She’s a vampire bat!” proudly declared Negan, as he swung one final hit on Glenn’s long-dead body. “What? Was the joke that bad? Tough crowd, huh?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” whispered Rick once Negan was done. Rick had blood splattered all over his face, as well. Abraham’s blood. Glenn’s blood. 

Negan squatted down beside him, tilting his head. His bat was dangerously close to you. “What? I didn’t quite catch that, Rick. You’re gonna have to speak up.”

Squaring his jaw, Rick drew in a sharp inhale. “Not today… not tomorrow… but I’m gonna kill you.”

Negan sucked at his teeth. “Jesus,” he softly said. “Simon. What did he have? A knife?”

Pornstache raised his brows. “He had a hatchet. An axe.”

Snorting, Negan shook his head. “Simon’s my right-hand man. Having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without ‘em? A whole lot of work. You have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing? Oh… or did I…”

The man waved the bloodied bat in front of Rick’s face, taunting him. 

“Sure, yeah. Give me his axe.” Pornstache handed Negan the small weapon and Negan smugly slid it into his belt. Suddenly, Negan grabbed the back of Rick’s jacket and yanked him up, practically dragging him by the scruff towards the RV. Your breath hitched, wanting to stop him, but all the guns trained on the backs of your friends made you freeze. All you could do was lower your head and stave away your raucous sobs. 

“I’ll be right back, folks! Maybe Rick will be with me! And if not… well, we can just turn these people inside out, won’t we? I mean… the ones that are left!”

They were gone for hours.

During those hours, part of you wanted to go to Maggie, comfort her, check if both she and the baby were alright. No doubt she was in a tremendous amount of both emotional and physical pain. The other part of you wanted to go to Daryl, curl up in the safety of his arms and cry into his chest. 

But you couldn’t do either. Not with the Saviors pointing the barrels of their rifles to the back of your skulls. 

The sun was already beginning to rise, tinting the sky a sweet, soft shade of blue. A stark juxtaposition to the dark red blood steadily drying on the rocky ground.

When Rick got back, Negan ruthlessly threw him down in front of the group. He looked exhausted. More than that—he looked dead inside. The light behind his eyes was gone.

“Do you know what that little trip was about?” asked Negan. 

Rick looked around wildly, as if making sure that everyone else was alright. 

“Speak when you’re spoken to,” Negan hissed.

Begrudgingly, Rick bowed his head. “Okay… okay.”

Negan wolfishly grinned, though there was a dark glimmer to his irises that you misliked. “That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you’re still lookin’ at me the same damn way. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not gonna work!” Once again, Negan squatted down beside Rick, that smug expression still plastered across the man’s coarse features. “So… do I give you another chance?”

After a moment’s pause, Rick hacked out, “Yeah. Yes.”

Satisfied, Negan clapped Rick on the back, before getting back up onto his feet. “Alright! Here it is, the grand-prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s last crap day… or just another crap day. Get some more guns to the back of their heads. Level with their noses, so if you have to fire… it’ll be a real fuckin’ mess.” 

You could feel cold metal graze the very top of your temple. 

“Kid, come here,” said Negan, making your heart plummet to your stomach. Rick’s expression shifted to one of pure dread.

Carl didn’t move. 

“Kid… now.” 

With cautious movements, Carl stood up in front of the taller man. 

“You a southpaw?” asked Negan while he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of its loops.

“Am I a what?”

“A lefty,” clarified Negan. 

Carl scowled. “No.”

“Good,” retorted Negan, before grabbing Carl’s left arm and tying the belt around his bicep. “That hurt?”

Gritting his teeth, Carl bit out a negative. 

“It should. It’s supposed to.” Negan smirked, knocking Carl’s cowboy hat off his head. “Alright, get down on the ground next to daddy, kid. Spread them wings!”

Slowly, Carl lowered himself down beside Rick, his cheek pressed flat against the dusty gravel.

“Simon, you got a pen?” 

Pornstache nodded, brandishing a marker from his pocket and tossing it over to Negan. The man uncapped the black pen with his teeth, flashing you a wink and spitting out the cap somewhere to the side. He kneeled down by Carl to draw a straight line just below the junction of his elbow.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “This is gonna be as cold as a warlock’s dick, as if he were hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across your forearm! Gives you a little leverage, don’t it?” 

Stammering, Rick muttered out, “Please… please don’t. Please don’t.”

Negan tilted his head, lightly chuckling. “Me? Oh, I ain’t doin’ shit. Rick… I want you to take your axe and cut your son’s left arm off—right on that line! Now, I know you gotta process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though—I’m gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then your kid dies. Then the people back home die. Then you… eventually. I’d keep you breathing for a few years just so you could stew on it!”

“You… you don’t have to do this,” pleaded Michonne. It was the first time she’d spoken since she got out of the truck. Seeing Carl splayed out in front of her, practically her son, made something inside her snap. “We understand. We get it, we—”

“You might understand! I’m not so sure Rick here does. I’m gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like a salami slice. You remember those, right? Nothin’ messy. I want a clean, forty-five degree cut. Give us somethin’ to fold over. You got Y/N right there to fix him up nice and good. The kid’ll be just fine. Probably.”

Rick was just about losing his mind, rocking back and forth, murmuring incoherently beneath his breath. Sweat dripped down his bloodied face, his hair, mixing with the salty tears leaking from his crazed eyes. 

“Rick. This needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Before I crush the little fella’s skull myself.” 

Swallowing down his sobs, Rick choked, “It can—it can… it can be me. It can be me. Wh… you… you could do it to me. I c-can go with—with you.”

Negan smiled at his desperation. “No. This is the only way. Pick up the axe, Rick. Not making a decision is a big decision, let me tell you that. You really wanna see all these people die? Because you will—if you don’t PICK UP THE FUCKING AXE!”

Rick began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, my God,” said Negan, pulling at his face wearily. “You gonna make me count? Okay, Rick—you win. I’ll start counting. Three!”

“PLEASE!” screamed Rick. “IT CAN BE ME. PLEASE!”

“Two!” Negan kneeled down and slapped a sobbing Rick across the face, before grabbing his cheeks, not unlike he did with you hours before. “This is it, Rick. Make a decision. One!”

With a gut wrenching scream, Rick’s trembling fingers curled around the handle of his axe.

“Dad…” whispered Carl. A tear slipped down your cheek as the events unfolded in front of you. “Just do it.”

Rick cocked his arm back, seconds away from bringing it down to cleave Carl’s hand off. 

But Negan grabbed Rick’s wrist at the very last second, stopping him.

The man smirked, pleased with himself. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?”

Frantically, Rick nodded his head. 

“SPEAK WHEN YOU’RE SPOKEN TO! You answer to me. You provide for me!”

“I’ll provide for you!” cried Rick.

“You belong to me! Right?” hollered Negan.

Hiccuping a sob, Rick bobbed his head. “Right.”

“Now that… that is the look I wanted to see.” Negan grabbed Rick’s axe from him and stepped away. “We did it. All of us, together. Even the dead guys on the ground! Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure! Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope for all your sake… that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you before… that is over now.”

Negan clapped his hands together, sighing out in relief. 

And strangely, you were slightly relieved, as well. Maybe he was done. He wasn’t going to kill any more of you. This was all over for now. 

Right?

“Dwight,” said Negan. “Load him up.”

To your shock, Negan pointed Lucille straight at Daryl.

“See, he’s got guts. Not a little bitch like someone I know,” Negan told Rick. “I like him. He’s mine now. You still wanna try something? Not today, not tomorrow? I will cut pieces off of… what’s his name?” 

“Daryl,” said Pornstache.

“Wow. That actually sounds just about right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep! Or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me.”

“No…” you croaked out, when Dwight grabbed your boyfriend and dragged him back to the truck as if he were a wild animal, crossbow pointed at his chest. Maggie sobbed from beside you. “No, Daryl… please, no, don’t—please don’t take him from me!” you cried. “Please, I need him… Daryl!”

Negan smiled down at you. “Mmh. Alrighty, then. I’ll take you, too. Come on.” 

A gasp lodged in your throat when he suddenly grabbed your arm and yanked you upwards. 

“No, wait, I’m the only doctor they have, they need—Maggie needs m—!”

“I don’t give a rat’s flying blue ass,” growled Negan, shoving you in the direction of the truck, where Daryl watched you with wide, scared eyes. You craned your neck around to look at Rick and Maggie and the rest of the group—your family—one last time, unsure of when, if ever, you’d see them again. “You’re mine now. Got a whole lot of shit you can do for me, that’s for sure, darlin’. Load ‘em up!” 

One of the Saviors pushed you into the truck just as Negan yelled out, “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits! I’ll leave you a truck. Keep it—use it to cart all the crap you’re gonna find me. We’ll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then… ta-fuckin’-ta.”

You collapsed straight into Daryl once you were inside, thundering sobs spilling from your lungs. He wrapped his burly arms around you, smelling of dirt and blood and motor oil. No words needed to be said. No words could be said.

The both of you had lost so much today. 

And now… you’d lost your freedom, as well.

Daryl began crying into your shoulder, and you could only hold him all the tighter. 

[rabbitbandit05]

Head-canon: Mizu/Reader while on their Period

First official post for BES fandom, thats exciting!

I have recieved a few requests and have started working on them, so those will be posted very very soon! Reminder that if you have a request to please either comment or to submit an ask on my page (anonymous is on if that matters).

Ok, now getting into the actual post: Im not sure why I wrote this, could be because I was on my own period and it seemed like a fun topic to cover since it isn’t always talked about. These are all my own personal head-canons and may differ from what others think, so take all of this with a grain of salt.

I feel like Im also not sure weather to use You when refering to you, the reader, or to use Y/N, so for my first post I kept it very general (I use reader in this post isntead of 'you' or 'Y/N'. please give me feedback on this and weather you would prefer me to use something different.)

Warnings: Mentions of Blood (duh), Mensuration, and NSFW

🚫Minors DNI!🚫

Mizu on her period: 

Her periods are irregular, mainly due to her inconsistent diet and stress she is usually under

But when they do come, she can usually handle them pretty well. She doesn’t mind the blood and the pain isn’t terrible either (considering the pain she has felt before)

It does bother her though that she is slightly limited in movement and has to wrap herself either 1.) very very well so that she doesn’t bleed through or 2.) rewrap herself every other hour, which is annoying and costly of time

She also hates that it’s an indicator of her gender and one wrong move could expose her

During the worse days of it, might just stay at an inn for the night rather than staying outside (if that’s an option)

Reader is particularly attentive during this time for Mizu and is doing anything to comfort her (even if on the outside she doesn’t show that she is in pain, reader still knows she must be) 

Reader heats up water, messages her tense shoulders, ect. Really anything to ease the pain (reader usually does this, but does it more so while Mizu is on her cycle)

Reader also helps to clean her wraps, since it would look suspicious if Mizu did it herself and wasn't injured. 

Reader on Their period:

Not gonna write too much for this section since everyone's periods are different and don't wanna generalize

When reader is on their period, Mizu is more attentive for sure, and more affectionate since she understands reader is struggling a bit

Might make sure to take longer breaks while traveling, so that reader has more time to gather and situate themselves 

Mizu gives lots of hugs and cuddles while reader is on their period, especially at night when everyone else is asleep

NSFW: 

depending on weather reader is inclined to sex while on their period or not is up to readers interpretation 

If yes, then Mizu doesn’t mind fingering her partner while they are on their cycle

In fact, I think she rather likes it, considering the only other time there is blood on her hands is when someone has been killed or injured, or it’s her own blood- 

She finds it almost ironic that the same hands that have shed so much blood can also be covered in readers blood (for a good reason)-

I don’t think she would mind eating out reader either, not finding it disgusting at all

When Mizu is on her period, she doesn't mind being touched, but also doesn’t exactly initiate it 

She still views it as something to be ashamed of 

And just generally wants to ride it out before being sexual/ sexually involved with reader again (at least on her part) 

But I’d reader initiates it, then Mizu is happy to go along with it, though it’s still limited and mainly just cuddles 

Suggestions and feedback is appreciated! Thank you for reading!

-Rabbittea🐰

[olenvasynyt]

Top 3 most controversial acotar takes/opinions, now☄️

Uh nooooo only my top three? Alrighty. These are going to be very harsh:

1. I have read the ACOTAR series at least 3 times since 2021 and I very often skim chapters every week for posts and videos. And I will be fully honest, I never want to reread the series ever again because of Feyre. I dislike her biases, her hypocrisy, her habit of ignoring other people’s POVs and the mistakes she’s made. I hate her excuses and her blindness and selfishness and how she treats everyone who is not in the IC. I hate how she treats Tamlin and Lucien. I physically cannot reread ACOWAR without flinching at all of the stuff she does, ESPECIALLY her taking down Spring out of revenge. I do not like her as an FMC and I’m glad we have moved past her story and onto other characters.

2. I think the fanbase’s hatred for Tamlin is so extreme and it is heavily influenced by Feyre’s own biases, as well as stupid memes on tiktok. If you take a second to look at the story from Tamlin’s perspective, you can easily understand his actions. With Hybern, EVERYONE FORGETS THAT 1. He was not part of the Archeron Sister’s kidnapping, that was Ianthe. It’s literally explained by Hybern in the book. And 2. He was playing as a double agent, which is hinted at many many times and it is something we later discover. I would go into it more but I feel like that’s its own post that many people have made before.

3. I don’t think SJM is the best writer. I know writers can retcon, especially in huge series like this, but she uses retconning as a crutch, and it’s very frustrating. She has so many inconsistencies and plot holes and inconveniences that personally bother me. I think her world building in ACOTAR is so flat and not thought out at all, and her magic system is even worse. Most of her villains, not just in ACOTAR but in her other series, are not that good idk. She also has a habit of the typical villain monologue that I am getting so sick of and I literally skip the part of the human queen during the Blood Rite because I think it’s so badly written 😭😂

And here’s some random ones just for fun with no to little explanation (I couldn’t do just 3 LMAO sorry)

4. ACOTAR would be better in 3rd POV limited and we can still get the mystery of the world, Feyre’s biases, etc. A lot of problems I have would be solved if we got the POVs of other characters

5. I would like Rhys so much more if he was revealed to be a villain

6. Lucien is one of the only characters I genuinely enjoy, and I’m holding out for him. If he did not exist, I would not be reading ACOTAR at all

7. The IC are awful for how they treat Nesta and I DESPISE THE “intervention” they put her through. It was not a real intervention and readers should not try to defend it in that way

8. This fanbase is filled with too many straight normies who have never experienced a fanbase before and refuse to broaden their minds and think beyond canon. Tamsand would be the most popular ship in any other fanbase. There would be more sexuality and gender headcanons. Trans headcanons, trans fanfics, m-preg fanfics, etc etc. But I guess this is a very popular fantasy romance so I get why those aren’t popular but I should not have to explain why it’s okay to ship ships that aren’t canon, and why people often insert their heteronormative fantasies in queer ships (looking at you Azris)

[vigilskeep]

since we’re heading to minrathous in veilguard i’ve been thinking abt a tevinter rook - do u have any thoughts on tevinter’s gender roles? i was wondering abt the male chantry structure + dorian’s talk of the magister/altus class being obsessed w bloodlines and heirs… ik dragon age gender lore is inconsistent lol but i’d love to hear your opinions anyway 🙏 i absolutely trust u more than i trust bioware

i DO have thoughts!!

i think the most sensible reason for tevinter to have its more patriarchal structure is religious. in the south, andraste is venerated above all else, and this is (canonically) the given reason that women are looked to for spiritual guidance, whereas men are considered vulnerable to the dangerous passions of maferath. however, in the tevinter chantry, they like to put another male figure front and centre: archon hessarian, the tevinter leader who mercifully(ish) slew andraste on the pyre rather than let her suffer, and later converted both himself and the imperium as a whole to andrastianism.

everyone andrastian likes this guy; it’s his blade of mercy on the templar uniform, and so on. but the tevinters like him even more so (again, canonically) and consider him the most important of andraste’s disciples. (because he’s the tevinter one, obviously.) ergo, more important than maferath. so my line of thought would be a) they do not have the aversion to male spiritual guidance that the south does, because their leading man is hessarian not maferath, and b) hessarian was an archon of the imperium and the leader of andrastianism in tevinter in his day, so of course all future archons and tevinter divines should follow in his footsteps.

i can see how that would cause a serious religious divide in the early schism days. from the southern perspective, spiritual leadership is being handed over to the untrustworthy, and hessarian is being falsely idolised. from the northern perspective, perhaps the female leaders of the southern chantry are going too far by assuming themselves as heir to andraste herself, which i can see being considered blasphemous compared to simply following in the example of one andraste’s disciples. we do know canonically that one of the big pre-schism issues was the sunburst throne refusing to recognise tevinter’s male grand clerics. (which is why another big reason for initially choosing a male divine when the schism began would have simply been defiance. i’m trying to think through why that decision lasted aside from dorian’s comment that they’re still doing it just because it’s the done thing.)

anyway, it for sure makes sense for that to filter into culture more broadly, especially given that it affects who gets into the top seats of power in such a status-driven society. and as soon as that’s true of a group, the people who do have access to those seats are rarely quick to open them up to more competitors. i can see altus women instead taking political roles where their primary ambition is to push their husbands, sons, brothers, etc. into these positions. classic scheming mother historical archetype

the altus obsession with bloodlines makes perfect sense to me, it’s kind of the natural progression of venerating something that can apparently be inherited by blood, and seeing that thing as a sign of literal divine favour that puts you into a special class above the rest. the only thing i would dislike narratively is any implication that this actually works to increase ability, lmao. tevinter may produce more powerful mages because the study of magic is so much more supported there, and because they’re not, you know, preventing the mages having families and thereby decimating the natural population, but let’s not start acting like fantasy eugenics actually makes mages from these mage families inherently more powerful, because that would be incredibly stupid writing. they’re just more likely to be mages because their family are all mages, and then they have far more training resources at hand. and less religious hangups. (luckily all the evidence so far supports dragon age for once not taking a weird angle. it’s not like any of our randomly born mages are somehow not a match for dorian or danarius or whatever other altus we’ve seen in a fight.)

that got a bit distracted but those are some thoughts :)

[watcherintheweyr]

Can they make a post with their opinion on young alicent please? (English is not my first language, I hope I used the pronouns correctly. If not, I apologize)

Hello! I’m sorry this took me so long, I had written out this entire response and somehow tumblr fucking ate it.

So for starters, you didn’t quite get the pronoun use right, but that’s totally fine and I really appreciate you trying! Pronouns and the english language are a bitch to learn. So when someone’s pronouns are ‘they/them’ those pronouns only replace gendered pronouns- (he/his/he’s/she/her/hers/she’s). Non gendered pronouns (you/your/you’re/yours) are entirely fine. So this would’ve been ‘Can you make a post with your opinion on young Alicent?’. If you were then to talk about me, it’d be ‘I asked watcherintheweyr to make a post about their opinion on young Alicent’ or ‘Watcherintheweyr made a post explaining their thoughts on young Alicent because I asked them.’

Don’t feel bad pls- the English language is a total bitch, and genuinely you put more effort into trying to get it right than a lot of native english speakers who I interact with. And I really do appreciate it.

anyways, on to your question!

So while I have a lot of sympathy for young Alicent in a lot of ways- I don’t like her, and I never did. For starters, I absolutely despise that the show isolated Rhaenyra and made Alicent her only friend and companion, which was untrue in the books and also makes no sense for how royalty works. Rhaenyra, as the only princess, would’ve have a sizeable ‘household’ of young ladies around her age. Those girls would’ve been essentially her helpers and her companions- she would’ve been in lessons alongside them, and they would’ve worked together in matters of court, politics, and events. Canonically she had a gaggle of young girls she was very close to- to the point that when (SPOILERS) Rhaenyra is murdered by Aegon, her ‘youngest and gentlest’ lady, Elinda Massey, purportedly gouges out her eyes from the trauma and horror.

Also, I despise that Laena Velaryon’s story and importance in Rhaenyra’s life was sacrificed for Alicent Hightower- including their deeply hinted romantic connection.

Anyways, moving on. Alicent Hightower.

Ultimately, I think that Alicent is a tragic example of what happens when you buy into oppressive regimes- further and enable them because you think you’ll be rewarded for sacrificing others to those regimes, and realize far too late that you won’t. She has 100% bought into the Faith of the Seven and Otto and Westeros’ sexism, and she serves that system in the hope that she’ll be rewarded for it, for playing by the rules and sabotaging the power and autonomy of other women- especially Rhaenyra. And all the seeds and groundwork are THERE from episode one if you pay attention. Alicent is a self-righteous hypocrite and not nearly as intelligent as she thinks she is- and she is also a victim of Otto, Viserys, and the patriarchy. I also think she was never a good friend to Rhaenyra- and that she never really knew Rhaenyra.

(This post is going to be VERY long, so buckle up)

In episode one, we see very quickly that Alicent doesn’t understand Rhaenyra well, if at all. She makes the comment that Rhaenyra is ‘disagreeable’ when she’s worried- and is promptly baffled that Rhaenyra’s worry is not her position or about being ‘overshadowed’ for a son- that Rhaenyra genuinely hopes her father will get the son he’s wanted for her entire life, and that her only true worry is her mother. Emma D’Arcy and Milly Alcock both press that Rhaenyra is fully aware that due to her gender that she isn’t ‘enough’ for her parents or the realm, that she’s seen as lacking or deficient. Alicent doesn’t seem at all aware of this. Furthermore, Alicent’s question is… Odd. At this point in the story, Rhaenyra is only ‘a’ princess. She isn’t the heir- Daemon is. The only ‘overshadowing’ that could occur is Viserys’ already fleeting and inconsistent ‘love’ becoming even less present. And Rhaenyra is already expecting this; but Alicent presses more of Rhaenyra’s ‘position’.

Now bear in mind- in the past 10 years, 14 year old Rhaenyra has had to watch her father insist on and continually risk her mother’s life and health, and she’s had to mourn 5 siblings- some born, others not. So Rhaenyra being ‘disagreeable’ when she’s worried makes sense. But when she doesn’t budge on not wanting to talk about/prioritize her ‘position’, Alicent gets huffy and makes to leave. She then appears to be entirely stunned when Rhaenyra verbatim recites the current passage of history that they are learning from their Septa. This piece of information is given to us to set up and establish Rhaenyra’s clever mind and interest in learning- of the 5 episodes we have of Young!Rhaenyra, she is shown to be actively listening to and learning from her superiors in just about all of them, reading and learning from books in 3 of them, and utilizing courtly intrigue, manners, and speak in 3 of them to shut down opponents or disrespect. And yet Alicent is entirely taken aback by Rhaenyra doing this; which again lends itself to the idea that she doesn’t actually know Rhaenyra very well. In the script, at the end of the episode, it’s also expressed that Alicent doesn’t seem to understand Rhaenyra being stressed/worried about her investiture as heir- in her eyes, Rhaenyra now has everything anyone could want. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra has now been revealed the truth of why Aegon conquered the seven kingdoms- and has now been entrusted with learning to rule and govern the kingdoms, and to nurture and protect the legacy meant to fulfill this prophecy- and she is shown to be very aware of and affected by the weight of this.

Alicent, meanwhile, has become a pawn in her father’s bid for power, and a victim to his ambitions, and to Viserys’ sexism and passivity.

In episode 2, Alicent has been seeing Viserys in secret for six months- and notably, it’s 6 months into their meetings that Viserys expresses that he wishes for her not to tell Rhaenyra, as he doesn’t think she would ‘understand’. We see that she is harming herself and Otto doesn’t appear to care about it in any way more meaningful than why she would do so when she’s the most beautiful girl at court- a thing to be envied and admired. We also in this episode see how fully she has bought into the realm and the Faith’s sexism. When Rhaenyra comes to Alicent about her fears of the plots of the lords to marry her father off again now that his period of mourning is coming to an end, and as such they would be plotting to supplant her. She is struggling, because it’s shown that she is trying to act as heir, to learn and participate- because she WANTS this, wants to be heir, wants to do it and do it well- but Otto undermines and humiliates her, and Viserys simply lets it happen- practically enables it. She expresses her fears of these plots and her frustrations and desire to be the heir, to be more and grasp for more than she would’ve ever been allowed as ‘Viserys’ little girl’.

And Alicent’s response is to dismiss Rhaenyra’s fears- to tell her friend and the named heir to the throne that it ‘isnt their place to question the plots of kings and men’. Because Alicent does not believe women can or should hold genuine power- like she says in episode 9, women are meant to ‘gently guide those who [rule]’. And she does this while she is actively a part of one of those very plots that Rhaenyra fears. Now, bear in mind; I am fully aware that Alicent is a victim to her father’s ambitions, and Viserys’ complicity. It’s not Alicent’s fault what these men do to her. And it’s understandable why Alicent wouldn’t want to tell Rhaenyra, in a lot of ways.

That doesn’t change that both Alicent AND Viserys broke Rhaenyra’s trust and hurt her- and she is shown later to be trying to create distance from them- because they have both shown that Rhaenyra cannot trust them. Viserys because he’s self-serving and blind, and Alicent because her ultimate loyalty and obeisance will always be to her father, not Rhaenyra. And Rhaenyra is keenly aware of this after the reveal, even though it is never made clear to Rhaenyra that Alicent wasn’t seeing Viserys in secret of her own volition. That doesn’t change that for six months, since the *night* of Aemma’s funeral, Alicent was seeing Viserys in secret, whilst dismissing Rhaenyra’s fears of that exact sort of plot to her face. That doesn’t change the fact that Rhaenyra has every right to feel hurt, feel betrayed, and not want anything to do with Alicent- or Viserys, beyond what she cannot avoid.

On a note that’s entirely personal, while I know that Alicent was attempting to share something important to her with Rhaenyra in an attempt to help her feel better, to me, Alicent having Rhaenyra partake of her faith felt… strange. Rhaenyra, who named the dragon she shared a cradle with after a goddess of Old Valyria and who has no idea how to pray in a Sept to the Seven, clearly either is not religious or follows Valyrian faiths- and considering her Valyrian marriage to Daemon, it’s likely the latter. Personally- I would not want a friend of mine to try and have me participate in their religion, and I wouldn’t push them to participate in mine either. For me, that was just uncomfortable; but again that’s a purely personal issue.

In episode 3, we see these traits of Alicent’s repeat, as well as her inability to introspect or consider someone else’s feelings. Immediately in the Godswood she uses her ‘weight’ as queen to disregard Rhaenyra attempting create space and distance between them. And while yes it was on command from the King- the way Alicent does it is almost… Smug. She then attempts to tell Rhaenyra that ‘things need not be this way’- as Rhaenyra, upset, goes to change and ready herself for the hunt, despite the fact that this is the last place she wishes to be. Alicent is upset at the loss of her friend, and likely lonely- but she disregards Rhaenyra’s feelings entirely. This is further compounded by the scene in the carriage.

Despite the fact that she and Alicent are not friends, nor truly even speaking, Rhaenyra, who watched her mother struggle and suffer pregnancies, and lose multiple babes and her life, expresses concern that Alicent is traveling in her condition. In an incredibly clumsy attempt to soothe her concerns, Alicent makes the comment that ‘Aegon came quickly and without fuss.’ Again; i understand that this was a very clumsy attempt to ease Rhaenyra’s worry, however everyone in that carriage sees how poorly the comment lands, and Alicent makes no attempt at apology. ‘Aegon came quickly and without fuss’ is.. very insensitive to say to the girl that lost her mother to the childbed, and especially when you are quite literally sitting in that mother’s place- when you’ve replaced her because her last child killed her and died alongside her. If she had made any attempt at apology (the way Rhaenyra did when she saw a comment she made while expressing her frustrations hurt Alicent in e.4), that would be one thing; but she doesn’t.

Rhaenyra is heir- and canonically the only duty she has balked at is marriage. She is currently desperately holding on to being ‘the heir’ with everything she has- because it is all she has, the only thing that doesn’t make her replaceable with the new family that Viserys is building with Alicent- and as such it’s understandable that she doesn’t wish to go to Aegon’s second Name-day celebration, as she is keenly aware of the thing Viserys is blind to and that Alicent is passive to; the realm considers a 2 year old boy child more valuable and more worthy than the 17 year old princess who has actively been learning to be and acting as heir for three years at this point. Alicent’s uncle, Hobart Hightower, welcomes them by crying out ‘All Hail Aegon the Conqueror-Babe, second of his name!’ and neither Viserys nor Alicent does anything. Hobart is not corrected, nor taken to task, and the crown is rabidly enamored with the two year old child all because his genitalia makes him more ‘valuable’ than Rhaenyra. By calling Aegon ‘second of his name’ Hobart is saying the quiet part out loud- the realm all expects and wants for Aegon to be heir, for Rhaenyra to be set aside. Alicent is the queen- but she doesn’t care enough to correct her uncle, either because she does already think her son should be heir or because she doesn’t think it’s a woman’s place to correct a man.

Later in this same episode, she gives an incredibly half-hearted defense of Rhaenyra when Otto begins to speak literal treason- but she does bend to his will yet again, and goes to Viserys with the intent of pushing Aegon’s claim. She is aware in *episode 3* that her father is conspiring against Rhaenyra’s ascension, and she never says a word of it to Viserys or Rhaenyra, because she is Otto’s creature first, and because she agrees- Rhaenyra is a woman, and thus cannot and should not rule.

Episode 4 and 5 really bring Alicent’s hypocrisy and self-centeredness to a head and set the stage for the cruel abuser that she becomes. She is the story of a victim-turned abuser, in the end.

It starts out more positively, with Alicent and Rhaenyra attempting to rekindle their friendship, and discussing Rhaenyra’s tour. Alicent expresses an almost childish lack of understanding of the truth of Rhaenyra’s courtship tour- calling it romantic, seeing it as something dreamlike. Rhaenyra exposes the cold truth of it- after we had earlier seen that none of the options she’s offered (that we see) are actually suitable. She uses courtly manners and speak to have Lord Dondarrion essentially take himself out of the running, by getting him to speak of his age and simply agreeing with him- and is then presented with a literal child. She is fully aware that every man ‘courting’ her doesn’t love her, doesn’t want HER. They want her valyrian blood. They want their children to be dragonriders. They want proximity to the throne and power. Rhaenyra has to choose a consort; and the consequences if she chooses wrong are disastrous. She could choose a man who turns her into what Viserys did to Alicent and Aemma, she could choose a man who utilizes Westerosi patriarchal views and values and turns her into a puppet queen so that he has the actual power, or she could choose a man who is, ultimately, weak- and thus would not be able to support her claim, would not be able to support or defend her when she ascends. She expresses these frustrations- but when she sees one of her comments hurts Alicent, she immediately holds her hand and squeezes in an attempt at comfort and apology.

Alicent expresses that she has found that she has few friends, lately; and this comment is.. Interesting, in what it says of Alicent. That even at the height of female power in the realm, she cannot inspire loyalty or affection in those around her, that the only prospect she has for a friend is her childhood companion. Rhaenyra expresses a hope to grow closer again as well; but well.

Immediately we shift to the scene in the Godswood where Alicent confronts Rhaenyra with her father’s accusations. She comes into the confrontation immediately condescending and judgemental, looking down on Rhaenyra’s rebellious and adventurous nature, as well as her ‘queer Targaryen customs’, and the ‘crimes’ of which she is accused. Because remember; at this point, Alicent has bought entirely into the way the realm and the Faith views women; women who follow the rules, subservient and obedient, never reaching for more, sacrificing and doing their duty, are good, should be rewarded. Anything else is morally deficient, wrong, lesser. Given this and how she approaches the conversation; it is entirely understandable that Rhaenyra doesn’t trust Alicent, and relies on misdirection and her mother’s memory as well as their former closeness to protect herself, because through this entire conversation, it is obvious that if she knew the truth, Alicent *would not protect Rhaenyra.*

Now remember, Alicent speaks with Viserys in ‘defense’ of Rhaenyra- and she knows FULLY well that Viserys doesn’t believe that nothing happened, that Rhaenyra is restless, chaotic, and willful, and that she would have done as she pleases. (Made worse by Viserys bemoaning that Rhaenyra is ‘just a girl’ when 5 years ago he married Alicent and has had 2 children by her at this point and will have 2 more- plus he has been pushing and pressuring for Rhaenyra to marry for at least 3 of those years.)

Later, when Otto is dismissed, Alicent states what we all know to be true; he got himself into this position, because he kept pushing for Aegon to be made heir, to the point of committing treason and spying on the princess, salivating for a moment where she misbehaves that he can use against her. Here we see Alicent begin to believe the seeds Otto has been planting; that Rhaenyra would kill her siblings to secure her ascension. (Remember, the whole reason of the juxtaposition between the boar and the white stag in episode.3 is to directly contradict this. Rhaenyra attacks and kills the boar only because it harmed her and her knight. Killing the white stag would have helped her- it would have made the lords of Westeros see her as chosen, especially since she caught and killed it the day AFTER Aegon’s name day, and it revealed itself to HER [symbolizing that yes, Rhaenyra is the rightful heir and the RIGHT heir]. Killing it would have given her legitimacy beyond legitimacy and silenced MANY of the tongues that are conspiring against her. However she shows it mercy- despite the fact that its’ death would have served her) Despite having once ‘loved’ Rhaenyra, and ‘known’ her, somehow these lies make sense to Alicent and she believes them. (Furthermore, she somehow is shocked in ep.9 that the reverse is true- that to secure Aegon’s ascension, the easiest and most acceptable route to all the men around her who wield the true power, is to kill Rhaenyra and all of her children).

When later Larys mentions the delivery of a tea to Rhaenyra’s chambers on orders of the king (despite, again, her KNOWING that Viserys doesn’t believe nothing happened) she decides to look further into the matter; even though clearly Viserys wishes it dead and buried, left behind in the dust of her father’s departure of the capitol.

In ep.5, when Alicent discovers that Criston Cole slept with Rhaenyra, it all comes to a head. Despite the fact that Rhaenyra didn’t ‘lie’ (she did not sleep with Daemon), in this moment, Rhaenyra has solidified herself in Alicent’s mind as morally deficient, as less, and it infuriates her. The fact that Rhaenyra has taken charge of ehr body and autonomy in a way that Alicent would never have dared infuriates her; because a part of her had always accepted and even wished for what she assumed would be the order of things. That Rhaenyra would ‘sacrifice and do her duty’ and lay down to suffer the whims and wills of the men around them at Alicent’s side. That they would be united in that suffering. That they would be defanged and declawed the way the Faith extolls women must be, to ‘gently guide’ the men in power alongside them. (Ironic considering how later Alicent utterly fails in ‘guiding’ every man in power around her.)

Alicent has followed every rule and every tradition, does her duty no matter the discomfort, and the fact that Rhaenyra is daring to grasp for more, for power of her own, for happiness and autonomy, and isn’t being punished for it infuriates her. Infuriates her to the point that only Rhaenyra’s trasngression matters. To her, it doesn’t matter that Criston Cole broke his vows and slept with the princess because he valued desire over duty (as explicitly stated by Fabien and by ep.4’s directors)- he is a man. Only Rhaenyra must be punished. It doesn’t matter to her that Rhaenyra has bowed to her father’s will and that the choice of who she will be marry has been taken away from her so that he can use her to fix the political wounds he has caused; from this point forward, nothing Rhaenyra ever does will be enough for Alicent. Supplying heirs to the throne and Driftmark? Not enough- especially since Rhaenyra doesn’t assault her gay husband to do so. Acting as heir and putting forth wise, responsible suggestions in politics and problem-solving in the small council? Absolutely not, especially since in Alicent’s mind Rhaenyra has no business ruling over the men in the Small Council. Ruling from the heir’s seat of Dragonstone in preparation for the throne? Not enough. Offering apology when the poison that Alicent has been feeding her children about Rhaenyra and her children causes a fight between the children where her son is injured after throwing around death threats and claimed a dragon without the King’s leave (which IS established to be necessary in Jaehaerys’ reign) Not enough- she must have Lucerys’ eye as well. From this point on, *nothing Rhaenyra can or will do will ever be enough.*

And the irony is that her own hypocrisy never takes herself into account. She uses a dress to declare war at a wedding; insulting the Velaryons and her stepdaughter, and she faces no consequences for doing so, nothing for the disrespect- but only Rhaenyra ‘never’ faces consequences, right? Criston Cole murders a knight of the kingdoms and strikes the future king-consort to the Kingdoms- and Alicent protects him from every consequence, brings him into her own household as her own sworn knight.

In essence; young Alicent is a victim of the Faith, the Patriarchy and the men around her; but all of the seeds for the abuser that she becomes are there. She’s a hypocrite, blind to anything that doesn’t fit the narrative she wishes for, and to a degree, very narcissistic, and not as clever or as powerful as she thinks she is.

Mind you her being self-serving or self-absorbed isn’t some unforgivable crime; but in juxtaposition to how Rhaenyra expresses concern and care for her at multiple points, it just sits very poorly, for me.

Moving on;

Alicent, when younger is… Deeply interesting, deeply flawed, and incredibly tragic. Her younger self sets the stage for how her story ends; (SPOILERS) with her outliving all her children and grandchildren, all of them dead for her grudges and ambition, with her mad and alone.

She’s also, in some ways, very clever; she’s observant, knowing much of the court gossip, even potentially dangerous secrets in e.1 (speaking of that one Lady’s ‘swollen belly’ aka suspected pregnancy). She’s very duty-oriented, though mostly because she wants to be rewarded for how dutiful she is. She’s subservient to the men around her due to how Otto uses her, and short-sighted. I don’t think she’s a particularly kind individual, but I think she did have the POTENTIAL to be kind. She’s a little boy-obsessed- she was confirmed to have had a crush on Daemon and on Criston, plus how she viewed the courtship tour as ‘romantic’, but she’s also so obsessed with Rhaenyra that it blinds her to the truth both of herself and of Rhaenyra- obsessed with an image of Rhaenyra that isn’t actually the truth. She takes solace in her Faith, it seems, more than anything else, and she struggles to connect to people around her in meaningful ways. She has moments of deep insight- such as how she told Rhaenyra that any effort in hers and Viserys’ relationship would have to come from Rhaenyra, as Viserys, a man, is useless to ‘the language of girls’. She doesn’t like risks (no interest in flying with Rhaenyra) or adrenaline, and likely pursues only more ‘feminine’ pursuits- canonically we know Rhaenyra loves to ride horses and to fly Syrax, to hawk and hunt, loves fashion- even in the book I’d say Rhaenyra is a ‘fashionable’ tomboy in a lot of ways. But we don’t really know.. ANY hobbies of Alicent’s. We don’t know her passions, we don’t know her interests outside of the Faith and the ambitions of her family.

We don’t know her relationships with her children or motherhood- though we know she’s jealous of what a good mother Rhaenyra is.

Honestly it’s a shame. S1 really needed to be 20 eps- 10 with the younger versions of Alicent and Rhaenyra, and 10 with the older. It would’ve let us KNOW the characters more and get far more invested in their fates.

Anyways this… is a novel. But I hope I answered your question alright lmao. I think Alicent as a character is very interesting- but good lord I don’t like her, and yeah I didn’t like her younger version either.

[heavenlymorals]

How a Modern Perspective Skews Historical Characters: A Mini Rant on the Hatred of Female Characters in RDR2

This isn't that organized cuz it's more a rant than a retrospective but fuck it it's my blog, I do what I want-

There are so many people who have actual hatred, not criticisms, for Abigail, Molly, Grimshaw, Mary, and other female characters in the Red Dead universe.

And honestly? I find it very interesting. Sure, men will probably always find a reason to hate a female character, but what I find interesting is how many women also hate these wonderfully crafted characters.

It could be so many reasons as to why this may be the case but honestly? I think it's because people forget that they CANNOT analyze this game authentically through the modern lens of morals and behaviors. This game takes place in 1899 America. Let me say it again. This game takes place in 1899 America.

One more time, just for good measure- this game takes place in FUCKING 1899 America. Women had to be dependent on men because otherwise? They'll either be in poverty, exploited, killed, or all three. There was also the honor system. When had to be the moral high ground for their family so them messing up has consequences on their fathers, mothers, siblings, cousins, and anyone connected to their family name.

Abigail getting pissy at John for getting in trouble all the time? If course it'd feel annoying if you're looking at it through the modern perspective but when you don't, it's a woman telling her man to act like a man and be careful because if he doesn't, she and her son will be destitute and destroyed.

Mary not getting with Arthur but using him? What's the likely hood that the law would bother to help Mary when the two people she needs help with are her father and brother- two grown men who can make their own choices that she literally can do nothing about because as a woman, it wasn't her place to dictate what they do. Arthur was her only option. "Girl, what her family thinks doesn't matter, she still should've gotten with him" girl no, because it's much harder and difficult than that- it's like tearing away an entire identity that you depend on to fucking survive.

"but what about Sadie? She was also living during this time period and she isn't drowned by societal expectations-"

Seriously. Do some research, read a book, expand your knowledge of gender roles and what that entails for people because it explains so many things about these characters in such a human way. They aren't "bitches", they are women of their time and people have to understand that.

No. Sadie isn't a part of this discussion because though she is a fun character and an amazing character, she is a mishmash of historical women who did masculine things to survive at one point but then went back to traditional roles, even if they did occasionally go back to to those old activities for sport sometimes, like Anne Oakley or Calamity Jane. Sadie's entire character is basically "but what if they didn't and committed to the nontraditional lifestyle". There are many inconsistencies that Rockstar did regarding the time period that they established earlier to accommodate Sadie's character better. Sadie is a great character but she doesn't belong in this discussion.

Edit: Ok, since this was a rant, as mentioned previously, I was a bit too rushed with the Sadie aspect of this post and ignored some crucial details. I'm not gonna change the post besides just this though. @hillbillyhipster84 made some great points that Sadie was a reference to Appalachian women and real outlaw women who did run and were accomplices in men's crimes, that I was too ignorant to mention prior beforehand because I didn't do much research. I still don't believe that People should use Sadie to bash the other women though, because those women mentioned above were not the status quo and thus were more trivialized because of it.

So many cultures still operate like this too so if anything, you're just learning something new about another culture.

But I swear, anytime someone talks shit about these characters, y'all got me looking like this-

[hegoeshardasfuck]

dogs like praise too

wordcount: 0.9K

tags: sub Sebastian, dom reader/player, praise kink, outdoor sex, handjobs, whimpering for the win, gender neutral reader/player, no petplay

synopsis: Sebastian only figured out he wanted to be used and fucked after he married you, thankfullly 'making love' was a tenderness that didn't appeal to either of you

note: my beautiful swagless emoboy billiards player husband should get dominated and i wrote this in one hour after my friend mistook his wrench for handcuffs in the winter sprites. hope ya'll enjoyed and if ya did consider dropping a like or checking the Ao3 port.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54598753

You learned really fast that Sebastian would whimper in bed, unapolagetically so. He'd even say 'nya' if you wanted him to, which he was grateful wasn't that often. Not unless you really wanted to get to him at least, really wanted to get under his skin and force him closer to the edge with words and demands instead of touch.

It worked too, and maybe the fact he enjoyed it was what got to him the most. The fact that despite all odds he enjoyed being put in his place got to him when he'd never even considered it.

Sam always wanted to take it slow, never further than the simplest of sex between friends, he was scared of parts that he kept locked up. Abigail always wanted to be used in the same way he's learning to love, she liked it rough and so did he. But only now is he learning he likes it rough better when hands are tangled in his hair.

That he likes it fast and hard in the dead of night or broad daylight on the ground or on the bed. He likes gasping for words and choking on spit and holding on for dear life when he didn't know sex could whip him into such a state. It left his brain numb as you called him a good boy and he whimpered and moaned and just took it. He found a perverse pleasure in being used, whether it was his mouth you were monopolizing or his ass, he liked it. An unsteady gait or a sore jaw he'd willingly take both as consequence for being yours as long as you needed.

"You're such a good boy," You murmured against his ear, he was pressed up against a fence this time. Your breath was hot on his skin and waged war with the cooling autumn air.

Sebastian can only nod, eyes shut and lips sealed as to not be too loud so soon. You'd barely touched him yet. His grip tightens on the fence nearly to the point his knuckles turn white. He whines wantonly as you nip at the column of his throat, knees shaking as your hands dip past the hem of his boxers.

You give a humming sort of laugh, "You're so sensitive." He squirms as you tease him, words snaking through him and sinking into him. They feel good. He registers them as a sharp pleasure, prickling across the expanse of pale skin.

"I am?" Sebastian managed, voice cracking with a type of lust he'd ensnared a very long time ago. A type of lust he was never allowed to explore with his friends or his dates because they wanted him to do the work in sex. He feels a slight discomfort as you press him further against the bars of the fence.

"So sensitive, shocked you haven't already cum." One hand rests across his chest, slid up under his jacket and popping each individual button. The other keeps a steady pace that keeps his knees weak and his struggle for balance strong. "But despite that, even though you're trying to put on a show and impress me by being so quiet and having so much stamina, you're still such a good boy."

A wrecked and untrained semblance of his voice spills our with a desperate, "Oh god." He slumps against the fence, knees rested on a bar and your front flush to his back. He's panting, breaths catching and inconsistent as he still tries not to moan.

"Go on," You urge like you're the devil on his shoulder, devious and sinister with sadistic charms to your speech.

Sebastian whimpers and mewls and even moans, he bit his inner cheek until it nearly bled to be a show off. To prove he can dominate, to prove he can have control, to prove a lie that you can see through. He's seeing stars now, they crowd out the corners of his vision as he lurches to the edge with a blend of words and touches.

You grip at his shoulder from under his shirt, nails digging into flesh and fabric rising past his midriff. He shudders at the sharpness in his flesh as you speak, "Cum for me."

And he does exactly as told. You can feel his breath hitch the moment before and then he's breathing harsh and desperate. Your name filters out between moans and breaths as he crumbles a bit more in your grip. It'd be a pathetic display if he were anyone else, dropping the reigns and handing them over so easily.

But you like it, someone so sure of himself breaking apart for you. Defiant at moments and with the physical strength for mechanical work. Sharp and distant and attempting to be mysterious with a dart always on hand. A billiards player whose never heard of defeat and is no condition to learn the concept. Yet he comes undone in your fingers so easily, like frayed fabric.

"Good boy," You murmur.

"Yours, your good boy." It's all his frazzled mind can come up with at the moment as he nods and shakes. He presses against you as you raise your hand to rest at his hip for support, "Oh god, Y/N."

You step back and help him not sway and tumble with his steps, "Aftercare time." You say it lightly, almost teasingly, but more out of care for Sebastian. You can't have your husband walking around in such a state, you gotta take good care of him, especially after making it known who makes him feel the best. Who caters to his needs and keeps him satisfied romantically and sexually in ways no one else has yet.

Sebastian groans softly as he follows you precisely, "Okay." He wants to curl up against you but he knows you have farm duty firsthand. Knowing that won't make him turn down whatever aftercare you have planned for him.

[tree-obsession]

Gold and Red Text in Penacony

So, for some reason, I have decided to torture myself by creating a theory that will likely have some plot relevance??? but not totally sure. it has popped up a bunch of times and seems to confuse a lot of people, so I'm just putting together what I know! feel free to tell me if I missed something, as I haven't done many of the side quests yet...

Anyway, spoiler warning for 2.0 trailblaze mission and possibly some of the side quests?? idk proceed with caution! I don't read many leaks so I doubt there's spoilers for that but tell me right away if there are any!

Alright, so the first time we see different-colored text in this mission is during Acheron's first meeting with the Trailblazer. According to this twitter thread (credits to user mobnermal, NOT me) Acheron's dialogue will change, depending on the gender of the tb and how we respond to her queries. She also says towards the end of the convo something along the lines of "It feels like multiple different versions of you were talking to me, saying a different thing each time".

So, I'm not entirely sure why she's lying, or even if she's doing it intetionally. It does seem like there's some aspect of "different possibilities within the Dreamscape" happening- almost like the Dreamscape itself is changing the tb's answers/Acheron's questions. But again, we'll get a bit into the dreamscape later.

2. Aventurine's final convo with the tb, and then Black Swan later.

My screenshots were failing me so hard in this quest lol.

Anyway, as far as I know, these two are the only ones in this mission who use gold text. It's mostly used to highlight the word "truth", and according to the wiki and playthroughs I have watched this dialogue doesn't change- only Acheron's red seems inconsistent. I find it interesting Black Swan put quotations around it, and I have no idea what this could imply. I assume she knows something we and Aventurine don't about Robin's death, which seems to be what they were referring to during this part.

As to how that "upends everything"... I don't know what the implications of her death are. It's implied by the npc who raised Robin (can't find any screenshots- I didn't take any, but it's dialogue from an npc in the Golden Hour) and Sunday and Robin's dialogue in the very beginning- the one where they were "shades"- that Robin's voice may have some special quality that could mind-control/ brainwash people to some extent. This is a bit of a tangent, but may point out why the gold test is so important- the new Harmony trace mats match Robin's design very well, and are part of the Order. The Order's- Ena's- symbol is an eyeball, which can be found in a lot of places on Penacony, but most importantly Sunday's clothes. Judging from what we know of Sunday's control-freak-esque personality (sorry dude ):) it's possible he or someone else in The Family is using Robin's potential powers to brainwash the people of different factions. If you choose the alternate ending, everything wraps up a bit too nicely, and nobody seems to want to leave Penacony after that. Tb never finds out about Robin's death in that ending, either. There's a lot of implications there that I don't want to get into for this post, but basically- The Family is orchestrating something, probs pinned the blame on the IPC in the bad ending (since otherwise why would hoyo tell us that?) and then brainwashed everyone to never leave. Why? No idea! But it does explain why Robin's "truth" (in quotations, because Black Swan's dialogue does imply Robin's not dead) is so important to the plot.

That was a bit of a tangent, lol. Going back to the first sc, I find it interesting Aventurine is the one to tell us this, and if we're going with the idea that gold=truth, that just tells us Acheron's most certainly an Emanator, no matter what the Dreamscape does. Why they choose to have Aventurine reveal this, especially with the first instance of golden text- that's still up in the air. However, something I want to throw in is that there was a theory floating around Twitter comparing his eyes to the eye behind Ena in their official art. They are identical- even the gold outline on Ena's eye matches his eyeliner. Since it's implied in his conversation with Sparkle his eyes are a defining feature of his race, Sigonian, and that their civilization has been taken over (I'm not clear on details) or fallen apart somehow- akin to how civilizations under Ena's rule fell apart after their death- there may be some relation. Also, Aventurine was sent to Penacony specifically, which Topaz questioned- this may be why Diamond sent him. It implies a lot of plot relevance for him later, certainly!

3. The really, really ominous text you can get from a side quest.

If you go to the Reverie(Dreamscape) VIP lounge teleport beacon and head to the wall, you find a broken Clockie surrounded by purple bubbles. If you haven't done this quest yet- do it now, I really can't explain all this! search up a guide- there's a couple good ones on youtube. you do get a sticker!

anyway, some screenshots of the tape's text (cw for slight gore, explosions, screams, overall very ominous and vague tour-guidey stuff):

sorry for the text overlap lol, this was very inconveniently sized for screenshots.

anyway, yeah! possibly the most unnerving thing in the game so far (aside from those lost text stickers...). but, as you can tell, I'm gonna focus on the gold and red text. fair warning, I don't really know what to make of this, but I think there's some connection...

first, gold. this is, if we go off what I previously thought, the "truth". My current theory is that this gold is true of within or outside dreamscape- in other words, the dreamscape cannot alter that thing in the gold text. It's there, regardless of how the dreamscape screws other things up. The "truth" in the dreamscape isn't necessarily reliable, since dreamscape seems to fuck with everything, but gold is apparently truth, so we're sticking to that. That means that bloodshed, mind-opening (?), and pressure-releasing (???) is... true? It's kind of interesting- the other things in gold we've seen are statements with meaning, and this... kinda isn't. However, it could imply this is actually what's happening in the Dreamscape. Some kind of deranged, creepy thing that the dreamscape/ the Family is doing while everyone else is on this cool-looking vacation. I have no idea why that line, of all the lines, is gold, but it's certainly not something someone trying to make Penacony look good would say! That's all I know.

Not much I know about why the red one, specifically, is red either. Are the instruments/music fake? That's certainly a recurring motif in Penacony, between bands in the Golden Hour and Robin being a songstress, plus Ena's "Beyond the Sky Choir", their exclusive faction, which fell apart upon their death. Something about Ena being swallowed by XIpe will certainly be brought up later, I'm almost totally sure. It's also interesting it gets cut off by static, without even finishing the statement(I think). I have no idea what to make of these- I just needed to point out the similarities between this tape and the dialogue.

Also, the tape itself is suspicious. According to Woolesley, there are multiple, appearing all over the Reverie (Dreamscape) and sometimes even messing with the Dreamscape.

First of all, why the hell is he telling us this very classified-sounding info? Also, he literally might pop up next to you- it's inevitable that you give him the tape at some point, really showing how The Family is cracking down on these.

Also, who's making these tapes? Why are they leaving them around the Dreamscape if they know it'll be taken? What's with these side effects/corrupting? And what's the relation between the tapes, Acheron, and Aventurine/Black Swan- are those things revealed in the tapes things only those three are aware of, or care to tell tb? It's really weird, especially since they're apparently in Clockie statues? Also, why tapes even- the tapes themselves seem corrupted(or censored?) weirdly, judging from the lines, and also just... why would anyone make these? Someone against the Family presumably wouldn't do rebellion in such a way, and someone within would have no reason to create this at all- is the Dreamscape itself making it? it's the only thing using both red and gold text...

there's probably some connection to Clockie, since that's who is most likely talking in the tape... and that's the statue we found it in too. Clockie is sus in a whole host of ways- don't even get me started, but I'm not sure how they relate to this theory just yet.

I have no idea. The tape is super creepy, but things probably will clear up a bit in 2.1!

tldr/clarification(sry for rambling so much): red text = lie/subjective/ easily changeable, to the dreamscape at least

gold text= "truth", dreamscape is unable to change it(?)

ena probs will have some lore relevance along with Robin, who seems to be the center of this "truth" for the moment

the bizarre tape is very mysterious and questionable, with nothing solid that we know about it- however, it uses both red and gold text, which automatically makes it suspicious even beyond what it's saying directly

what the hell is the family cooking up? i don't know, but it's probably not good! (for us, at least)

thank you for reading this lightly-proofread, very rambling theory/speculation- you are an angel for making it this long!

edit: so number one- I've added a reblog to this post- plz check it out, it has some other details from the Chadwick quest. and also, there's this Youtube video that mentions the red text in the beginning! It has a very similar idea to mine, but the thing it mentions is not an option I made (I accepted Acheron right away lol, so I didn't grab this detail). And the entire vid is pretty cool, so you should see it!