#go back to ace discourse.

[prince--kiriona]

every time someone i follow reblogs something where the punchline is "look at how CRINGE and PURITAN these random asexual people are" i just silently lose about 20% respect for them and continue about my day

[all-seeing-ifer]

at some point in my life i should probablyyyyyy unpack just how badly being on tumblr during peak ace discourse years fucked me up bc i would dearly like to just move on and forget that shit ever happened but unfortunately it's literally Always There. it's the reason i'm Like This on here. and sometimes i'll think to myself "now why do i always feel so uncomfortable and unwelcome and on edge in queer spaces / online spaces / fandom spaces etc etc" and then think about what the answer to that question might Possibly be and go Oh. Yeah. That thing. really this is probably something i should talk about with like a counsellor or something but well how the hell am i even meant to explain any of this to anyone who wasn't a terminally online 16 year old in 2017.

[ipreferfiction]

man the only fan spaces i will ever be in these days are the ones full of people with fucked up nasty reprehensible ships and fondness for the worst characters EVER. everywhere else is a god damn minefield but those bitches? yeah baby this is the freak zone and we are all freaks here

[mens-rights-activia]

I reject the accusation that I am aphobic simply because I find the split-attraction model problematic. Quite frankly I find this accusation to be egregious. In my 2017 post, I clearly stated why I find it problematic, and still asserted that you can use it if it works for you, but I don’t think me making a post criticizing it makes me a “notorious aphobe” and certainly not “the reason why there’s so little left of the a-spec community on tumblr.” I think this is an absolutely ridiculous statement to make and clearly, you only made it for my attention and or that of people who don’t particularly like me, but I won’t stand by and let someone make such an absurd accusation against me. Firstly, get a life, people are allowed to criticize a model and it is not an indictment of who they are as a person, secondly I love and support the asexual community and there’s nothing you can do about it ❤️

If your boyfriend tells you he’s looking into buying podcast equipment, and you do nothing to stop him, when I’m president and I sign an executive order to finally prosecute men with podcasts, you will be charged as an accessory to a crime. Just some food for thought

[beaft]

this website is so funny because every couple years we repeat the discourse of "which marginalised group is it morally okay for us to shit on?" and somehow nobody ever learns from it. we just look back and go, "hey, remember that time when everyone was joking about how ace people should all be put in meat grinders? that was so messed up. we should not have done that. anyway, here's my topical joke about how polyamorous people should all be put in meat grinders."

[sirfrogsworth]

This is one of those things where the discourse is just completely broken. Both of these takes are shit and no one is concerned about the actual problem.

Republicans want to bring back incandescents because they just want to trigger the libs and have decided light bulbs are woke.

And the "LEDs are fine" crowd are throwing people with flicker sensitivities under the bus. And, no, you don't have to be "pretty far on the spectrum" to notice a difference. And even if you did... why in the world is this person so dismissive of the millions of autistic folks?

LEDs, for the most part, are superior to incandescent bulbs. Collectively they save people billions of dollars in energy costs and greatly reduce fossil fuel use. You have more options for color and brightness. You can control them with your phone. LEDs are fantastic.

Unfortunately there is a design flaw that makes LEDs hard to use for certain people. Due to AC power, most LEDs have a 60hz refresh rate. Meaning they turn off and on 60 times per second. With incandescents this didn't matter because the filament didn't have time to lose its glow between cycles.

Most people cannot see this flicker in LEDs. But there are millions of people who are sensitive to it and it can cause migraines and discomfort.

The solution is definitely not to go back to incandescents. There are flicker free LEDs and I think with some regulation we could make sure all LEDs are flicker free or at least make sure flicker free bulbs are easy to find and not priced at a premium.

Thankfully there is a group testing bulbs to find the ones that will most likely cause no discomfort. They call themselves the Flicker Alliance and their website has a pretty decent selection of tested and approved bulbs.

So if you feel like your LED bulbs might be causing you distress, that is a good resource to try. I think there is also something you can do to make sure the LED drivers are using DC power, but I haven't really looked into that.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝓘𝓯 𝓘 𝓦𝓪𝓼 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭…☆━━━━━━━…‥・

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: A little suggestive, nothing too crazy

Tags: Fluff, kind of obsessed, little bit of foot worship lmao

Word Count: 4,695 (got a little carried away - didn't mean for it to be this long lol)

Inspiration: “If I Was Your Girlfriend” – Prince

Synopsis: Mark just needs to be close to you dammit and he can’t stand that you’ll be that way with your girl friends but not him >:(

Mark had never been the jealous type.

When the other kids on his baseball team would hit homeruns as a child, he would just cheer loudly; happy for their success and never once weighing them against his own shortcomings. In school, if his friends aced a test he would smile warmly and give them an encouraging pat to the back – even if he himself had barely managed to pull off a C+. He never viewed others as competition, truly believing there was enough goodness and success in this world to go around.

So why, then, did he so often now find himself leering at your friends?

You all were apart of the same clique in high school, eating lunch together and mingling in the halls between classes. The girls of the group, however, naturally seemed to gravitate toward one another, their conversations often filled with hushed chatter and occasional high-pitched giggles as the sweet smell of candy and flowers lingered in the air around them. It was both intoxicating, and intimidating.

He’d sit with William, only a few feet away but feeling like he might as well have been on the other side of the planet. And to make matters worse, William seemed to have the ability to easily flow between conversations – talking with Mark one minute then turning out of nowhere towards the feminine energy, picking up on something in the girl’s discourse that piqued his interest. They’d welcome his input, it always seeming to inevitably end in a chorus of laughter. How the hell did William do that? And why couldn’t Mark do the same?

Through the muddled noises of the girl’s tittering together, Mark always managed to single out your voice. It called to him like a siren’s song, his eyes lingering on the side of your perfect face as you smiled, lips parted and eyes closed. God, you were so perfect.

Occasionally, he’d find some buried courage within himself to try and join in the laughter – sliding a bit closer in your direction as he chuckled unsurely. And every time, the groups giggles would quickly die away, suddenly everyone seeming to need to clear their throats and look away. But not you. Your smile would linger as you turned your beautiful eyes onto him, leaving Mark struck dumb.

Most days though he would just watch from the outside as you all conversed together, his stare growing heavy as he looked between the other girls. Why were they all so greedy? Wasn’t Mark allowed in on the fun too? He wanted to laugh, dammit, and be in on the joke with you. In fact, he wanted you to laugh at his joke for once, and curl your lips upward because he said something that you liked. Was that really too much to ask for?

His internal struggle only seemed to worsen as he graduated high school and you both moved on to college. He was over the moon when he found out the two of you shared a class – introductory to physical geography. Mark was notoriously bad with this subject, and for once that seemed to work in his favor as study sessions became the new norm between the two of you.

And that brought him to where he sat today, cross-legged on your dorm room floor surrounded by textbooks, maps, and a heap of highlighters.

Your space was cozy, warm with the soft glow of a desk lamp accompanied by the quiet hum of music in the background. You were laid on your stomach across the bed, flipping through notes with a furrowed brow as you lost yourself in the studies.

Mark glanced up from the textbook in his lap, but his eyes didn’t land on the topographic map he was supposed to be memorizing. Instead, they found you.

You were chewing on the end of a pen, brows drawn together as you underlined something in your notebook. You looked tired—but beautiful. God, even the way your foot swung lazily in the air behind you had him captivated. He wasn’t even sure he was blinking anymore.

“You okay?” you asked suddenly, not looking up.

His heart jumped. “Huh? Yeah. Totally. Why?”

You finally lifted your head to look at him, and it took everything in him not to melt under your gaze. “You’ve been staring at the same page for, like, five minutes.”

“Oh.” He chuckled nervously and looked back down at the map, heat rising to his cheeks. “Guess I’m just... zoning out.”

You hummed, rolling onto your side so you could face him properly. “Want me to quiz you on drainage patterns again?”

He groaned theatrically and flopped back onto the floor, covering his eyes with one arm. “Not the drainage patterns…”

You laughed—really laughed—and he felt it bloom inside him like warmth from a sunbeam. It was such a rare sound, at least when he was the cause of it, that it left him stunned for a moment. He peeked out from under his arm to see you smiling, chin resting on your hand.

“What?” he asked, softer this time.

You shrugged, but your gaze didn’t leave his. “Nothing. You’re just funny sometimes.”

“Funny ‘haha’ or funny ‘weird’?”

You pretended to think for a second, then grinned. “A little bit of both.”

He grinned back, because God, that was something, wasn’t it? He could take ‘a little bit of both’ if it meant you were looking at him like that.

For a beat, neither of you said anything. The music in the background shifted to a slower track, something dreamy and low, and Mark let himself imagine—just for a second—what it would be like to move from this floor to your bed, to lay beside you and talk about the constellations or your favorite song or whether you ever thought about kissing someone like him.

And before he could stop himself, he said:

“Can I dress you?”

You blinked. “What?”

His brain practically short-circuited. “I—I mean not like that! I mean—not in a weird way! Not like… dress you-dress you. Just like, clothes. You. I mean—” He groaned and ran a hand down his face. “I heard you’re going to that concert this weekend and I thought… maybe I could help you pick out an outfit?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused but unconvinced. “Mark… what are you even on about?”

He blinked, a little stunned by your reaction—like he’d genuinely expected you to take him seriously. You turned back to your notes, head lowering to refocus on the page.

But Mark didn’t move.

He stared for another second, then leaned forward, brows pulling together as something clenched in his chest.

“Aren’t we friends?” he asked suddenly, voice low and a little sharp around the edges.

You paused, pen halfway to the paper.

“I mean,” he went on, gesturing vaguely toward the room, the books, you, “you go shopping and hang out with your girl friends all the time. You laugh and do all this fun, random stuff with them, and no one thinks it’s weird when they pick out your outfits or tell you what shoes to wear or whatever. But I say one thing—one slightly weird thing—and suddenly it’s like I’m crazy.”

You turned your head slowly to look at him again, this time blinking in surprise.

Mark huffed, crossing his arms. “I just thought it would be fun. Like, something friends do.”

He sounded a little pouty now, and maybe he knew it, but he wasn’t backing down. Not when he’d finally gotten a tiny bit of the closeness he’d wanted for so long. Not when he could almost taste what it’d be like to be on the inside of your world, just a little more than before.

“You never let me in,” he muttered under his breath. “Not really.”

You stared at him, mouth parting like you wanted to say something—but the words didn’t come right away. The moment stretched out between you, thick and awkward and a little bit raw.

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” Mark added quickly, voice softer now, “I just… I don’t know. I wanna know you like they know you.”

You sat up slowly, brow furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of everything he just said.

“Of course we’re friends, Mark,” you said, your voice careful but confused. “But… I mean… girls do that stuff. We help each other pick out outfits, and gossip, and vent about boy problems—”

“Boy problems??” Mark cut in, practically lurching forward.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Are you having boy problems?” he repeated, eyes narrowing with an intensity that would’ve been comical if he didn’t look so genuinely concerned. “Is someone bothering you? Who is it? What’d he do?”

You blinked. “Wait—what? No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Because if a guy is messing with you,” he went on, his voice rising a little, “I swear I’ll—”

“Mark!” you said, loud enough to cut through his minor spiral. He froze mid-sentence, still visibly buzzing with protective energy.

You stared at him, unsure if you were about to laugh or throw a pillow at him. “Oh my god. I meant in general. Like, when girls talk to each other, that’s what we talk about. I wasn’t saying I have some guy hurting my feelings right now.”

“Oh,” he said, deflating slightly. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense. Totally.”

He looked away for a second, rubbing the back of his neck, and muttered under his breath, “...would’ve kicked his ass, though.”

You snorted despite yourself, grabbing a pillow off your bed and tossing it lightly at him. “Mark.”

He caught it with a grin that he tried to hide behind mock indignation. “What? I’m just being a good friend, remember?”

Your expression softened a little, but the confusion didn’t leave your eyes. “You’re a very… intense friend sometimes.”

Mark shrugged, half-smiling. “Guess I just like being around you more than most people.”

There it was again—that earnestness. It clung to his voice like honey. Not quite a confession, not really a joke. Just enough to leave you wondering what exactly he meant.

You gave him a look—equal parts fond and exasperated—but didn’t press the weirdness any further. The moment seemed to settle, the earlier tension dissolving into something more comfortable. You turned back toward your notes, laying flat on your stomach again, chin propped in your hand as your other foot swayed lazily in the air.

Mark watched you for a moment from the floor, half-expecting his heart to settle too. It didn’t.

His eyes drifted to your foot.

It was moving rhythmically, back and forth like it had a mind of its own. He followed it with his gaze, fixated. A quiet little thought popped into his head—uninvited, but not unwelcome.

Before he could question it, Mark stood up and made his way over to the bed. Without thinking, he sat right beside you, staring down at your foot like it had personally challenged him to a duel.

“Maybe I could paint your toenails,” he said.

You didn’t respond at first, clearly thinking you’d misheard him.

“…What?”

Mark’s hand was already around your ankle, gently lifting your foot like it was the most normal thing in the world. He looked at it thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah. I could totally do it. You have good feet for it.”

“Mark!”

He looked at you innocently. “What? I’m serious! I’ve got a steady hand. I could do, like… stripes. Or little flowers. Maybe stars? That’d be cool.”

You stared at him like he’d just offered to build you a rocket ship out of Q-tips.

“I cannot tell if you’re messing with me or having a mental breakdown in real time.”

“Can’t it be both?” he said, smirking now, still cradling your foot like it was the most natural thing ever.

You covered your face with your hands, muffling a laugh into your palms. “Oh my god.”

“What color would you go for, anyway?” he asked, gently wiggling your toes like he was already imagining the polish. “Something bright? Black? Maybe that dusty pink thing you wore last month?”

Your hands slid down your face just enough to peek at him through your fingers. “You noticed my toenail color last month?”

“I notice everything about you,” he said plainly.

And the thing was—he did. He really, truly did.

He noticed the way you scrunched your nose when you were concentrating. The way you flipped your pen between your fingers when you were trying to remember something. The way you always tugged your sleeve over your hand when the AC was too strong in the classroom.

And yeah—he noticed your feet.

It wasn’t like a thing, not really. He didn’t plan to notice them. It just… happened. Like the way your sneakers would dangle from one foot when you were sitting cross-legged, or how your toenails always seemed to be painted in these soft, thoughtful colors. Once, you’d had tiny stars drawn on your big toes, and he hadn’t been able to stop glancing at them the entire group study session.

Now he was actually holding one of those feet.

His thumb moved without him really telling it to, tracing gently along the arch, then rubbing slow circles into your heel. Your skin was soft. Warmer than he expected. And your toes were so... cute. Ridiculously cute. Delicate, even. The kind of detail he wouldn’t normally think twice about, but now it felt like he was touching something private. Sacred.

A weird warmth coiled low in his stomach, catching him off guard. He swallowed hard.

Wait.

No.

No, no, no.

He wasn’t a foot guy. He wasn’t. That wasn’t his thing. That had never been his thing.

So then why was his brain stalling? Why was his heart picking up speed like this? Why was he imagining kissing the tops of your toes and thinking it would be the most intimate thing in the entire universe?

What the hell is wrong with him?

He shifted slightly, trying to hide the rising flush in his cheeks, still absently rubbing your foot as if he hadn’t just mentally broken into an entirely new category of emotional—and maybe physical—confusion.

God. If William ever found out about this, he’d never hear the end of it.

But you weren’t pulling away. You were still laying there, letting him touch you, your shoulders gently rising and falling with your breath.

And somehow that made the heat in his chest worse. Made the moment feel heavier. Like something he wasn’t supposed to have—wasn’t even supposed to want—was suddenly right here in his hands.

Mark’s thumb brushed slowly across the top of your foot again.

You still didn’t move.

He blinked, watching your body for any kind of reaction—any twitch, any hint of discomfort. But all he could see was the slow rise and fall of your back as you laid there, face turned slightly away, quiet and calm.

And still, your foot stayed right there in his hand.

His heart skipped a beat.

Wait... is she into this?

He froze, eyes locked on your ankle like it had suddenly become a sacred object. His brain scrambled—grabbing at signs, trying to piece together the puzzle like it was some kind of test with no answer key. You weren’t pulling away. You weren’t laughing at him. You were letting it happen.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

She’s letting me touch her. She’s letting me hold her like this. Maybe—maybe she wants this?

And in a sudden wave of breathless, clumsy, Mark Grayson confidence, the kind that usually came right before he got punched in the face by a supervillain, he thought:

Just do it.

No more thinking. No more waiting.

Just do it.

He leaned in. No hesitation this time. And without another word—without asking, without explaining—he pressed his lips to your toes. A soft, warm kiss. Tender. Deliberate.

It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t even romantic in the traditional sense. It was something else entirely—quiet and reverent, like he was thanking them for carrying you through the world, for letting him be this close, just for a second.

And when he pulled back, heart thudding in his chest, he didn’t move.

He just looked up at you.

Waiting.

Mark pulled back slowly, eyes wide and searching your face for any sign of… anything, really. He had no idea what was going on right now, but something was happening, and it was either going to go terribly wrong or way better than he had imagined.

The silence between you stretched out longer than he expected. You didn’t move—didn’t say anything—just stayed still, propped up on your arms, your foot still gently in his hand. But the weight of the moment was thick, pressing against him, making his stomach churn.

And then, slowly, like a wave crashing toward him, you turned your head.

Your eyes found his, a flicker of confusion dancing in them as you met his gaze. You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him, your brow furrowing slightly. Then, you parted your lips, exhaling just a little as you said, barely above a whisper, “Mark…”

His heart hammered in his chest. Oh God. Oh God, what the hell was she thinking?

He quickly glanced away, biting his lip nervously. “What? I mean… what’s the big deal? Isn’t this what friends do?”

It came out so much faster than he meant, a forced attempt at nonchalance that was painfully obvious. His eyes were wide, maybe a little too wide, but he couldn’t help it. Oh God, I can’t believe I said that.

“You know, like… helping each other out, right? With stuff. I thought… I thought you might want me to do something nice for you or whatever.” He was spiraling now, digging himself deeper and deeper. “Like, friends help each other pick out outfits or—”

But then he trailed off, realizing how insane he sounded.

Your expression didn’t change much—still that slight confusion, but now something else, too. A spark of humor? A glimmer of something else he couldn’t read?

He swallowed hard. He had no idea what to do next. His whole body was practically vibrating with the intensity of everything he’d just done.

“Well?” he managed, trying to salvage some kind of dignity. “Isn’t that what… what friends do?”

You stared at him for a beat longer, just long enough to let the silence hang heavy between you. Mark was practically sweating, looking anywhere but directly at you, and it was… almost adorable. Almost.

Then, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. Just a hint of mischief, something playful, but not mean. You tilted your head ever so slightly, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them:

“Friends, huh?” You let the word hang in the air, slowly leaning back on your elbows. “So, you’d do this to… oh, I dunno, William?”

Mark froze, his eyes snapping to yours like he’d been slapped with cold water. His mind scrambled to catch up with your teasing tone.

“Wha—what?” he stammered, now visibly flustered. “No, I mean, not William! I—I’m just—look, it’s different with you! You’re my… my friend, and—”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk only widening at his increasing panic. “Different, huh? So you’d kiss William’s toes? Is that what you’re saying?”

Mark’s eyes widened even further as his brain absolutely went haywire. “I—I—No! No, of course not!” he blurted, hands flailing awkwardly. “I didn’t mean—God, that’s—no, just—look, you’re—you’re different, okay?” He paused, biting his lip like he was trying to hold back an entire speech that he couldn’t quite figure out. “I just… you’re… you. And I…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. You leaned back on your arms, grinning slyly, watching the storm inside his brain, thoroughly enjoying every second of it. Slowly, deliberately, you spread your toes apart—just a little—enough that the movement caught his eye, the stretch of your foot making the room feel even closer.

“Is it my toes you like,” you asked, voice teasing, “or maybe, is it… me?”

Mark froze.

His heart skipped a beat, then pounded loudly in his chest. He blinked rapidly, face flushed as his gaze locked on your foot once again. He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks, a mix of confusion and something else he wasn’t sure he had the courage to face.

“You—you—what—what are you—” His words faltered, his brain scrambling to make sense of your teasing tone and the way your foot had just moved. Were you playing with him? Testing him? Or were you serious?

No. No, no, no, she couldn’t be serious. This was a joke.

But his heart was thudding too loudly in his ears for him to think clearly.

The corner of your mouth twitched upwards as you leaned in just slightly, your playful smirk never fading. “Well, Mark,” you said, your voice low and almost teasing, “are you gonna answer me?”

Mark’s mind went blank. His pulse was racing. His whole body tensed, frozen in a mix of terror and need. He could feel his chest tightening as your words hung in the air, spinning in his head like some impossible puzzle he couldn’t solve.

He was spiraling.

If he didn’t answer—if he didn’t say something now, this moment, this tension, was going to stretch out forever, and it would be so much worse than just admitting it. His palms were sweating, his heart pounding in his throat.

Just say something. Anything.

His eyes flickered between your smirk and the way your foot rested in his hand. Then, without thinking—without considering how ridiculous it sounded—he blurted it out in a single breath:

“You. I like you. All of you.”

He swallowed hard, the words coming out faster than he could stop them. “Not just your toes. I mean, yeah, your toes are cute and all, but... that’s not the point! I—I like you, okay? All of you.”

The confession hung in the air like a heavy weight.

Mark’s face flushed a deep red as he realized what had just tumbled out of his mouth. He opened his mouth again, ready to apologize, or explain, or somehow unsay what he’d just said. But no words came.

Instead, he just sat there, staring at you, his eyes wide with shock and embarrassment, waiting for whatever came next.

The words hung in the air between you like a live wire, crackling with unspoken meaning. Mark was still sitting there, frozen in place, completely vulnerable, his mind still trying to process everything that had just escaped his lips. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might burst.

You didn’t say anything right away. Instead, you just watched him, your gaze intense, studying him like you could see straight through him. Your chest rose and fell, just slightly, and Mark couldn’t help but notice how close the two of you were now, the tension practically vibrating between you.

And then, after what felt like an eternity of silence, you spoke.

Your voice was quieter now, softer—but laced with something Mark couldn’t quite place. Something daring.

“Then prove it.”

Mark blinked, his stomach lurching at the words.

He felt his breath catch in his throat, his pulse spiking again. His eyes widened, and for a moment, it was like everything around him disappeared. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

All he could do was stare at you, completely caught off guard by your response.

You weren’t laughing. You weren’t shying away. You were just looking at him—waiting. Quietly, calmly, but with a certain expectation in your eyes.

The weight of your words pressed down on him like a thousand pounds.

Prove it?

His brain sputtered. What did that mean? How did he even begin to prove something like this? He could barely even comprehend what was happening right now, let alone how to react.

But deep down, he knew. He knew exactly what you were asking. And he knew—knew—there was only one way forward.

Without thinking, without hesitation, Mark leaned in closer, his hand falling away from your foot as his body instinctively moved toward you. His heart was hammering in his chest, clouded eyes never leaving yours as the tension between you both thickened with each passing moment.

He slowly crawled up the bed, inch by inch, as if his body was acting on its own, taking over, moving closer to you with a sense of inevitability. He stopped above you, staring down at the most beautiful thing he had ever seen—your hair fanned out around your head, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips looked so inviting, so right.

He swallowed hard, his arm trembling on either side of your head as he held himself up above you. But then, without thinking about it any longer, Mark leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. The contact was light, hesitant, just a test—an almost unsure kiss. He pulled away quickly, unsure of what he was doing, his heart racing in his chest. Was it too much? Too soon?

But you didn’t pull back. You didn’t shy away.

That was all he needed. His breath hitched, and before he could second-guess himself, Mark dove back into the kiss. This time, it was deeper, firmer, the hesitation melting away as he found himself falling into it, like a man starved. His lips moved against yours with increasing urgency, his hand finding your face, gently cupping it, as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

The kiss was clumsy at first, raw, desperate—Mark couldn’t help himself. He wanted you. Needed you. And you were finally here, pinned beneath him, in this moment. His body pressed against yours, his chest tight, his hands roving across your skin, his fingers trembling as he explored.

His lips parted nervously, but you immediately reciprocated – was this all a dream? His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting you like this for the first time. He couldn’t help the groan that rumbled through his chest, his hips subconsciously pressing down harder into yours. And you, in turn, back immediately painfully aware of the hard length pulsing against your inner thigh.

After a time that felt way to short in Mark’s opinion, you gently pushed him away, just enough to create some distance between you. Mark’s chest heaved as he pulled back slightly, his eyes wide, still clouded with a mix of desperation and shock. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body still buzzing with the intensity of the kiss.

His hands hovered uncertainly in the air as if they didn’t know what to do without you there. “Wait… what—what’s happening?” he gasped, his voice a little shaky, trying to make sense of what just happened.

You smiled softly, teasingly, a playful glint in your eyes as you looked up at him, enjoying the way his expression was still a mix of confusion and urgency. You let your head fall back down into the bed, your posture relaxed, while his body still felt tense, like he was poised to dive right back into it.

“Yeah,” you said with a little shrug, “that’s not what friends do, Mark.” The teasing smirk on your face only deepened, and your voice lowered into something more playful as you added, “You really gonna tell me that friends kiss like that?”

Mark blinked, looking almost flustered by the teasing, but his expression quickly morphed into something more determined—more sincere. He leaned in a little closer, his voice barely above a whisper, his words coming out with a mix of uncertainty and raw honesty.

“If the friend is you?” he said, his gaze intense, “Then God I hope so.”

[pomefioredove]

may I please request Headcanon of the overblot gang + Adeuce when a reader that’s normally very sweet and shy goes absolutely apeshit and TEARS INTO some bully, absolutely roasting the hell out of them please? Thank you :3

of course anon!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ going apeshit!!!!

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, ace, deuce, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

being the magicless newcomer makes you a favorite target for some of Night Raven College's less kindly students.

your loved ones know this, too, so when a group of brutish first years approach, they're ready to defend you. except...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Riddle had seen them coming towards you and already had his hand on his magical pen

how stupid of them to pick on you in his presence

a week or two without their heads would serve them well

but before he can even step between you and the ruffians (very gallantly, I might add; he had it all planned out in his head),

you just...

...oh

even he blushes at the profanity you spew

he didn't even get to scold them

...then you turn back to him with that same sweet smile as if nothing had happened

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ace had actually been the first student to get an earful from you

once at the beginning of the year, and never again

now, he takes great pleasure in watching you verbally eviscerate the other students

it's a... guilty pleasure, we'll say

and Deuce knows not to intervene

he tried... once

after all, he's been in your place before

nothing's better than the feeling of putting some snob in his place

BUT OF COURSE, that's the old Deuce

...he just lets you go on because he knows he can't stop you

...not because he's enjoying it. obviously

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

and here Leona was, thinking you were some helpless little herbivore...

but can you blame him?

you're always so... cute

skipping around Savanaclaw, all happy to be helping out Ruggie and Jack after practice...

you were bound to run into trouble, looking like an easy meal

he almost feels... bad for you...

but before he can step in and tell the freshies to buzz off, you...

damn, you've got a mouth on you

you switch up real quick on them, and they scamper off to go lick their wounds

color him impressed...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul was on his way back to the dorm when he heard you shout

you sounded... upset

and as much as he would like to, he can't just walk by and let you get bullied

damn sympathy...

so, he follows the sound of your voice, ready to intervene... on...

...nothing

a group of embarrassed freshman run past him, scattering in the opposite direction

he steps around the corner

and there you are, perfectly fine, if not a little winded

...of course

and he didn't even get to be your hero... tch

"Always full of surprises, aren't you? Just don't give Floyd any of those new words to use,"

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

it's none of his business... it's none of his business...

until it is his business

Jamil wouldn't have come running to your rescue like some prince

but he is in the middle of a civil conversation with you!

how insulting! honestly!

those freshmen must take him for some kind of witless fool

just this once, he'll teach them not to disrespect him...

of course, he doesn't even get a word in

he's never seen anyone so...

so...

...brutal

your insults are poignant, your tone sharp and dangerous, your usage of puns perfect...

you're like a work of art

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil has no problem with putting others in their place

and he has a particular dislike of the brutish, arrogant students at NRC

he can actually sense their unwashed presence in the hall before he sees them

one little snide comment and...

...oh...

oh, my

you verbally tear them to shreds, insulting everything from their shoes to their posture, their cowardice, even their own insults

...goodness

he's going to have to have a talk with you about your language later

but, for now...

...he's enjoying this little performance of yours

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia starts the most heated discourse over his faves and biases online, but this is different

this is real life

and the second he can feel a shift in the atmosphere, he's hiding behind you

you can handle it yourself, right? you've done it before!

honestly, he has no clue how you deal with the normies at this school

delusion, probably

he'd die if anyone talked to him the way they talk to...

...NEVER MIND!

you're using words he hasn't even heard in real life

even he is freaked out

you can get real scary when you want to, huh?

...maybe he'll just stick with you for now...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

poor Malleus

he actually kinda sorta wanted to defend your honor...

he could be your fairytale prince!!! he could!!

it's the gentlemanly thing to do, anyway

and, better yet, he wouldn't even have to say anything! just one glare from him and the perpetrators would run screaming

...the one benefit to his reputation

but, of course,

you are not as innocent and weak as you seem

and he can't help but feel... impressed? with your ability to defend yourself

after this is all over, he'll have to joke that you should join his guard

[twisted-lemy]

✨EVIL✨ (but mostly silly) Heartslabyul headcanons~

Riddle’s hair has been graying since he was in elementary school due to his mother’s… uh, intense parenting style. He hides it with a weak illusion spell but occasionally he slips up and his gray streaks are visible—Ace caught him without his illusion up once and called him “gramps…”Never again did he make the same mistake.

Trey has a horrible immune system. He hides it well, using his unique magic, but more often than not he’s suffering from a cold or fever of some kind. No one’s found out about it yet but he suspects that one Rook Hunt and Jade Leech are onto him…

Cater had the twst equivalent of a tumblr account back in his middle school days and used his platform SOLEY for starting flame wars and shipping discourse. He’s since changed his ways and deactivated it out of shame but traces of his villainy online still remains to this day… Ask Idia.

Ace has been chronically stealing clothes from his friends all year. Deuce’s bomber jacket? Ace took it when he went to go do stuff with Leona that one time. Jack’s sleep cardigan? Ace had that since Yuu overthrew Azul. Yuu’s pinstripe pajama pants? Ace stole them when he stayed over after Riddle collared him the first time. Ace makes it both a habit and his duty to steal from people he likes well enough, and so far, he hasn’t be found out. Somehow.

Deuce knows almost fifty effective ways to knock someone out in a street fight in three hits or less. …What? This boy was apart of a gang in middle school and was one of their top fighters at that—is it any surprise that he’s an amazing and efficient fighter? His only real flaw is that he kinda sucks at magic combat by comparison.

Extra!

Chenya spends more time at Night Raven than at Royal Sword. He honestly believes that him being picked to be a Royal Sword student was a mistake because compared to most of his classmates he isn’t as pure intentioned as they are as he would rather spend his time causing chaos and watching the fallout than sitting in dull monotony.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (6)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I hope you all have found ways to cope after the breakup, but here all your questions will be answered on what went down pre-August! Special shoutout to @just-fics-station @thepurplecrown @clarkysblog @hotdismylife and @sprinklesprinkle888 for sharing your ideas and indulging me with the lovely, crazy discourse!

To everyone, I am so chuffed at how this has become OUR story - our lil self-indulgent Ewan Nation production. You all are aces <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

In the aftermath of the breakup, the reader and Ewan throw themselves into their work, trying (and failing) to avoid any trace of the other. Will they remain this way - former lovers doomed to drift in each other's orbit?

Some time before August

New York City

The lush office was laden with expensive wooden antiques, one side with built-in shelves displaying film awards and plaques of varying degrees of prestige. A full glass minibar occupied the other side.

The casting director introduced himself as Bruce, insisting that Ewan call him by his first name and not any of that "sir or similar stick-up-the-ass names". Ewan can see him as a mentor or maybe even a friend, Bruce insisted.

After all, they were going to help each other out a lot.

The discussion was straightforward enough, never mind the saccharine tone Bruce seemed to be so good at. Aimed at making Ewan feel welcome, coddling him, remarking with awe at his projects thus far. But there was a fakeness to it. Ewan steeled himself, trying to adapt to the style of conversation. After all, if he is in this for the long haul, then he would have to get used to these situations.

Bruce appraised him, leaning back on his leather swivel chair. "How are you with the fantasy genre? All that YA, lovesick stuff the kids eat up so eagerly nowadays? Personally, I haven't got the taste for it, but it always makes bank, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, well, I'm a fan of all movies. I definitely see why the fantasy genre has made such an impact on audiences, especially with the romance element, you know, I get the appeal."

"Well, son, we've got a solid franchise in our hands here. Some adaptation of an elf-human love story, mind you, it sound ridiculous, but you know how it is. And the team seems to be in agreement - you fit the bill for the male lead. The male elf lead - " he almost guffawed at the thought, then collected himself " - hope you don't mind my saying that you've got elvish features yourself. Long nose, long jaw, lanky. The teens are going to eat you up."

"Ah," Ewan smiled curtly, nodding. There was a backhanded compliment if he ever heard one. "Well, sir, I've read the script - at least, the bit that was sent to me - and it looks quite promising. I'd be honoured to - "

"Of course, of course!" Bruce exclaimed in pleasure, cutting Ewan off mid-sentence. "And there's the case of your leading lady, and this all boils down to chemistry as you know. Our top contender is that Jenna Ortega girl from the Netflix show, you know her?"

Ewan nodded, well aware. He's seen her work, and thinks that she is a top actress of her generation, but leave it to Bruce to reduce her to being that girl from the Netflix show.

"Yes, she's a very talented actress," Ewan replied.

Bruce hums in agreement, head bobbing as a smirk materialises on his face. "Think she's a looker?" he said openly, without shame.

Ewan laughed nervously, his words caught in his throat.

Bruce, characteriscally oblivious to the discomfort of others, carried on. "I only ask because we're going to need you two to be pretty chummy with each other when you jump on this project. It's kind of a condition of the whole thing, but really nothing to concern yourself with." He waved a hand in the air, his proposition barely carrying any weight in his mind. But Ewan was catching on, and he started to develop a dislike about the whole deal.

"What do you mean?" Ewan asked.

"It's pretty common in this business, son. There's a reason why young, new actors like yourself opt to remain unattached so to speak, so they're always open to a PR arrangement or, you know, just so their - your - hoards of fans would think they got a chance with you," Bruce explains lazily. "In this case, since you and Ortega are, as I said, unattached, getting you two together would fuckin' do wonders for our movie."

Our movie, he said, convinced that Ewan was all in, because why would any young actor refuse such a golden opportunity? Franchises like this can set up an entire mainstream Hollywood career.

Ewan thought that he wasn't unattached. Granted, his date with you was yet to happen, but he already felt bound to you. He wished you were the one tapped to be his love interest. Very little acting would be needed there. Maybe he might even be inclined to go along with the idea of selling the relationship, using it for publicity for the film, but even that made him uneasy.

The industry offered a lot of privileges, but more often than not, they come at a cost.

"Sir, I - "

"Bruce."

"Right, sorry. Bruce, I have to tell you that I'm not exactly unattached."

"Got a partner?"

Ewan actually found himself smiling at the thought of you being called his partner. His first easy smile since entering this office. "Yes, she's an actress herself," he agreed.

"I heard of her?" Bruce asked with obvious disinterest. You were but a wedge in his flawless plan.

"She's kind of a new talent like me, but she's brilliant. She plays Alyna Rivers in our show."

"Ah her," Bruce loosened up a little. "I get it, she's a piece."

Ewan cleared his throat loudly, his jaw clenching on instinct. "So, like I said, I'm with her. I'm sorry but this whole PR arrangement with Jenna wouldn't work."

"Look, kid, I want my movie to do well, alright? I got a lot invested here. This PR thing has proven to be highly bankable time and time again. If you don't trust me, I can ask the team to show you the data on all that. It's a lot of boring numbers, but shit, the numbers are never wrong."

"I don't need to see - "

"If you wanna be with your girl, you can, but you just gotta learn to hide it. Sweep it under the rug, you know. Don't canoodle in public, you crazy kids," Bruce offered, like that made things any better.

"You want me to hide my relationship?"

"Hey, now, come on. Word gets around. Isn't your girl also doing this exact same thing with Jacob Elordi?"

"Not anymore, I don't think," Ewan clarifies, "and that was... that was hardly anything. They weren't obligated to do it. It just worked by chance because they were both single for a time."

"Po-ta-to, po-tah-to." Bruce clicked his tongue before making his next point. "So you see how it works, your thing with Ortega won't be any different."

"Do I have a choice?" There it is, the defining factor.

Bruce smiled slowly. The calculating and menacing air about him intensified, and it was obvious he was not there to be Ewan's friend.

"It would be stupid to refuse something like this, kid."

Ewan's blue eyes flashed in return. None of this was ideal, but his nan raised him well, and he knew better than to falter on his values in times of trial.

"Sir, what's stupid is if you ask me to hide my real relationship for the sake of mere publicity for a film."

"Stupid you say?" Bruce sneered, having already discarded Ewan in his mind, his fragile ego bruised. "What a shame."

There wasn't much to say after that. Bruce was clearly not disinclined to reveal the ice that settled in his veins, and it dawned on Ewan that it had always been the case. There was no true hospitality here.

For bigwig casting director-slash-execs like Bruce, this was a transaction. And Ewan was not about to put what he has, or what he could have, with you on the line.

There has to be another way to advance his career. If not bigger productions, then at least those with less domineering producers.

"That is a shame," Ewan said, getting up from his seat. "I won't waste any more of your time, sir. Thank you for considering me."

Bruce's eyes darkened even further. "You're actually refusing me? For some girl?"

Another genuine smile formed on Ewan's face at the thought of you. Some girl.

But you're not just some girl. He nodded without a trace of doubt in his mind, before reaching out to shake Bruce's hand. "If you don't mind, sir... I have to go and see my darling."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Near the end of August

Los Angeles

The modern space sported a minimalist yet rustic feel, the interiors a blend of sterile white and sleek wooden surfaces. Very LA, as they say. The windowed walls offered plenty of light, as well as precious views of the valley below.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Donna," you greeted Ewan's publicist as she ushered you in her LA office.

"No problem at all, sweetheart," she said. "Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea? Ewan always has his coffee with way, way too much sugar. Mind you, if that kid wasn't active and boxing all the time, I'd be worried for his health."

You smiled fondly at her genuine concern. "Don't even mention the cigarettes."

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed, settling down on the chair across from you. She could have sat down at her desk, making the meeting more official, but Donna's always had a friendly and open way about her. "So, my sweet, how's your new movie coming up?"

You respond eagerly. The dialogue flowed freely, talking about your film and the lukewarm reception of season 2 of House of The Dragon. And finally, Ewan.

"I really thought he would get the Greta Gerwig film," you said. "Everyone said he was perfect for it. I think Greta herself had nothing but praises for him when they met on Zoom."

She sighed thoughtfully, "I thought so too. And, theoretically, he did have that one almost booked up. But there was an issue with one of the producers, which - I don't even want to get into that."

You shook your head, catching on whom she hinted at. "Donna, I heard... well, it didn't go too well in New York, didn't it? Ewan told me about it but... if you can tell me more, I just want to understand why - "

"Sweetheart," she offered a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes, "you should talk about this with Ewan."

"I tried. But he wouldn't budge. Mallory told me... that it might have been because of me that he didn't get the role? And also why he's struggling to get roles now? Donna, I... I can't have that."

It took some time for her to formulate a response. She didn't want to step in something that's none of her business. Your relationship with Ewan is yours. But when his career is on the line, she supposed that she needed to have some say in that.

"He met with this top producer in New York. This real old money Hollywood guy. For decades, he's built careers for the greats, you know - Pitt, DiCaprio, Theron, and whatnot. There was a franchise project practically offered to him on a plate, but Ewan refused, because a non-negotiable was that he would have to hide you in favour of a PR arrangement with his leading lady."

You swallowed, the weight of the truth making itself clear. "Couldn't he have just done the movie without that?"

"You would think," she grimaced, "but some producers... when they want something, they have to get it. And well, Bruce wasn't lying, that would have sold the movie well."

"I thought we were past this," you expressed sadly. "I understand how PR relationships work. Just recently, I found myself kind of in the middle of one. But there was no pressure, it wasn't forced on us, and it was meant to be all in good fun."

"I know, sweetheart," she insisted, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "Bruce is an outlier now. Most of the time you do get lucky, with an all-around supportive production team, just like with your project with Elordi."

You hummed in agreement on that positive note, but your mind kept drifting back to Ewan.

Donna continued, wrapping up her story, "but Bruce is still here, and he still has a lot of power. But you know, it'll be fine. Ewan's got such a huge fanbase and so much talent that it'll only be a matter of time before something else knocks on his door."

You wanted to share her sense of optimism, but something ate at you. What else will Ewan have to sacrifice just to be with you? This was his dream, his one dream, and you were standing in the way. How much longer before he is offered another project but he refuses to take it for your sake? Your thoughts blurred together, bordering on irrational, but you couldn't help it.

All you could picture was the unabashed sincerity on his face, that sense of wonder, when he told you that acting had always been his dream.

Being tied down to you, this early in his career, would surely only hurt him. And you don't think you're worth it.

"Ewan loves you, sweetheart. Anyone with eyes can see that," Donna said after a while, heeding the storm brewing in your expression.

He loves you. It was true.

Less than a month in, and you've already found yourself with a love that you've never felt before. And perhaps never will again.

And that was the problem.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Late September

The podcast moderators are overly welcoming, if not a little loud for Ewan's taste.

The BBC podcast is called Loose Ends, and it's one of the first things Ewan agreed to take on upon returning to England.

He had wanted to head straight home to Derby, to bury himself in his heartache and bitterness, but the team for the show tapped him for a couple more promotional stints, riding on the high of the season finale. And who better than Ewan to offer to the media, the undeniable fan favourite.

Clad in an old gray shirt and blue jeans, people would think he just rolled right out of bed. He didn't really have the motivation to put in more effort. The only striking thing about him is his newly bleached head of hair, supervised by his stylist for a photoshoot a few days ago.

It was ironic, the timing of such a change. Ewan knew that if word got out that you dumped him, he would never hear the end of the joke of that being the reason for his hairstyle change, typical of all heartbroken sods.

Everyone bursts into laughter when he tells them about his mum's reaction to his nude scene. It feels like going through the motions, and he must have been so out of it, so forlorn, that his team prepared an outline for him prior to the interview. The questions and answers all pre-agreed.

Make them laugh. React as required. Remember to speak when spoken to. The mantra goes on in his head.

And don't think about her.

An impossible task, worsened when a moderator goes off script and asks, "Now it wasn't me who saw this, as I'm not on social media myself, but one of our interns did mention that you ventured into Instagram recently? Is that true?"

Oh fuck.

"Mmm, yeah, I guess," Ewan laughs nervously, his hand massaging the back of his neck in a self-soothing motion.

"And your first post went viral? What can you tell us about that? Our listeners would love to know."

"Uhhhm - " He remembers that the broadcast is live, and he can't exactly ask them to edit this part out, so he quickly settles for something indirect. Inconclusive. Safe. " - did it go viral? I'm not too sure how that thing works. I haven't used any kind of social media before."

"Apparently it did! And it had to do with the subject featured in that photo, Ewan. Your costar - "

"Mmm," Ewan stops him there, "didn't you say that you don't use Instagram?"

"No, I think I'm too old!" The moderator laughs.

"It's insane, that whole thing," Ewan shakes his head. "I don't know how to handle it. I'm logged off most of the time."

"Oh, you log off?"

"Yeah, yeah, helps me keep my focus, you know. Keep calm and all that."

"It can get frivolous, can't it?"

Ewan hums in agreement, and thankfully, the moderator moves on to his last question. One that does not breach the subject of you.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Another day means yet another media stint for Ewan, this time for Now TV.

Still in London, his stylist Davey and the rest of the team prepare him for a day of brief interview clips, to be posted on the social media pages of the company.

Davey had half-joked about Ewan needing even more concealer than usual, the shadows under his eyes having significantly deepened after the breakup.

Some of his team have gotten wind of what happened. They would curiously ask about you, how often Ewan keeps in touch with you while you're on set...

You must be on FaceTime everyday!

Is it hard to be doing long-distance so soon?

Do you miss her? Is that why you're not getting any rest?

...but Ewan would only laugh uncomfortably, dismiss it by bringing up another topic or shifting the attention to someone else, or excuse himself to go for a smoke.

He'd been drowning himself in cigarettes and caffeine during the day, pint after pint in the nighttime. Aimless.

He is coping. He knows how it must look, but he deserves this. He deserves to drift for a while. It's the only thing he can do to keep himself from jumping on the next flight to Atlanta and begging for your hand back.

You said you love him. You did. He hangs on to it like a beacon in a storm. No matter how pointless it may seem, with you choosing someone else over him.

Work is becoming something of an anchor, something that keeps him from spiralling. He's an actor, and he has always wanted to be an actor. People now have expectations of him, and he will answer the call.

The interview session begins with generic questioning, stuff he's answered before on several occasions.

How special is the bond between dragon and rider?

What is a funny moment from set that you can share?

How similar are Aemond and Daemon?

All safe. He's proud of himself for not breaking mental clarity thus far. You're in the back of his mind, dormant as a memory, and not something looming darkly over him. For a while, at least.

But then he is asked, If you could invite any 5 people to a Ewan Mitchell dinner party, who would you pick?

"Matthew McConaughey - "

You.

" - Bruce Lee. I think they could strike up an interesting conversation - "

Your name echoes in his mind, and he can't control it.

" - Andrea Riseborough. She's just a chameleon, like in any role she undertakes -

You have great taste. Even if you would make him eat spicy food again, he'll take it. He'll endure anything for you.

He's stumped for a second, lump in his throat, and his effort in avoiding you leads him to mention someone who will always be a comfort to him.

" - Maybe my nan, because I miss her -

Your name. He has to say your name. Who else? Think of someone else.. but who else? Who would be better?

" - and then, another person. Let's make it from the show... it would be Alyna Rivers."

"Oh really?" The interviewer asks. She's not really meant to respond in this instance, but she knows that the fans would go crazy about any mention of you or your character, so why not jump on this opportunity? "Can you tell us why you chose her?"

"Uhhm, well, she's just an amazing character, you know, fiercely loyal, beautiful, tenacious," Ewan replies easily, "so yeah, she would make for good company."

It is obvious that he is describing you just as much as he does Alyna Rivers, and no doubt, the fans will catch on to this detail.

Later, he's asked about his favourite part about season two, and he duly answers, "Seeing more of Aemond and Vhagar's bond and how that perhaps have gotten stronger. Aemond has definitely reined her in, after the accident at Storm's End."

Then, "There are some new additions to the show. Do you have a particular favourite?"

Another obvious piece of bait. And he takes it, he doesn't care anymore. What's the use of denying the truth?

"A favourite new character? Oh, well, uhmm... I really do like Alyna, and I think I've said before that Aemond and her are quite similar in a sense that they both know what they want and how to achieve it. It's just a shame they're on opposing sides, because if those two get together... " he trails off, leaving it up to the audiences to fill in the rest of the thought.

And they eagerly do. The clips where Ewan mentions Alyna get the most traction, flooded with comments that more or less talk of the same thing -

We know why you chose Alyna, Ewan. We know your ways.

He could have said Alys. Or Gwayne. Or even the ghost of Daeron ffs. But nooooo.... it's Alyna Alyna Alyna 😮‍💨

I wonder if she's there behind the scenes

yeah shes definitely lurking in the background!

Aemond and Alyna better have at least a scene together in season 3!!!!!

Someone kidnap Ryan Condal and make him write this

Ewan doesn't see any of it. Not that he's missing out, because he soon feels the need to call his younger cousin to ask her how to turn off his notifications on Instagram.

Day in and day out, his one single post gets dozens of new comments and likes, a brutal reminder of what he's lost. He could just delete it, and get rid of his profile entirely, but he hates to imagine the discourse that would follow.

All the invasive allegations and rumours. So he leaves it be. It makes no difference to him now. Let people believe what they want.

To his chagrin, he finds himself scrolling on his home page once in a while. The addictive element to it was true, and for him, it's exacerbated because the things he sees are often related to you.

Photos of you from fanpages and news accounts. Ones where your friends have tagged you. It's a toxic habit, looking through it all, but he can't help himself.

Then one day, as he's slouched on the seat in his London apartment, phone propped on his knees, he sees a cutout photo of his face on the corner of the screen. He clicks on it, and it's an image of him interposed among different posts. Posts which he apparently liked.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he cusses at himself, reading the caption.

Boyfriend lurking? - Ewan Mitchell may play a formidable TV villain, but in real life, he's just like us. Click on the link in bio to see his series of liked posts!

Dread takes root in him, followed by self-loathing. Why couldn't he just keep off this bloody thing? He takes to the comments to see what he has allegedly liked on accident and it's predictably photos of you - you at a premiere, stills of you as Alyna, and even, heavens fucking forbid, a behind the scenes shot of you getting pretty close with Jacob Elordi on the set of your film.

He vividly remembers seeing that last one, because he went on a bender after coming across it.

Cursing himself and his wayward, sticky fingers, he exits the app and deletes it from his phone.

Whatever goes on there, whatever people might leave on his profile, he washes his hands of it.

He calls up several of his mates, asking them if they want to come over for a few drinks.

"Again, Ewan?" one of them exclaims. "C'mon, you gotta take a breather, mate."

"I don't need a breather." I need her.

"Ewan - "

His composure breaks, all his damned frustrations rising to the surface, and he confesses, "I wonder if she thinks about me."

"Hang in there, mate. We're coming over."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

October

The director finally yells a satisfied, "Cut!"

It's only taken a good twenty-something takes for you and Jacob to nail a challenging scene. You had been on a roll since the beginning of the shoot, the last few weeks seemingly a breeze on paper, though it's a constant struggle to keep it together.

You've had to quell your internal dialogue so it does not stray to him. His smile. The feel of his skin against yours. His way of subtly picking up on details, and doing sweet things that surprise you as a result.

But you received word just before the scene that a few of your friends have come to visit, waiting back at your trailer - Phia, Fabien and his girlfriend, Bella.

And so, as if on instinct, Ewan is all you can focus on, every repressed memory of him rushing in like a tidal wave.

Do they know? What could you possibly say to justify what you did? You can only hope he took on that project, to give you a bitter sense of vindication.

It's the only thing that keeps it all the bay, the only thing that keeps you from jumping on the next flight to England and grovelling at his door.

Phia has her arms wrapped around you the moment you open the door to your trailer, loudly squealing, "I missed you!"

You sink into the hug, comforted by her presence.

As well as the fact that she represents some connection to Ewan.

Phia, Helaena. Helaena, Aemond. Aemond, Ewan.

It's a sick game to play, but it's what you have.

"Hey, yous," you hug Fabien and Bella in turn. Not long after, you're all lounging on director's chairs right outside your trailer, enjoying a bit of sun.

"How's our big Hollywood star?" Phia quips, her lips curling in her trademark pleasant upturn.

"Hardly a star," you shake your head fondly. "More of an indie darling."

"Of course, of course," she relents, before going on a monologue about how she's been keeping tabs on your project, how she just adores the costume designer whom she spoke to at length while you were working, and how the rest of the cast is rooting for you.

The rest of the cast.

"Ah, are they?" you ask, making a conscious effort to not simply blurt out his name. What does he think? Has he mentioned you at all?

Do they know?

Do they secretly hate you for what you did?

"Mhmm, right Fabs?" she says.

"Oh, definitely." Fabien agrees right away.

"How's your film? Are you done shooting in Philly?" you ask him.

"Just about done, but I think we're doing some final reshoots next week. I'm just glad my girl's here to visit," he slings an arm around Bella, who smiles and leans closer to him.

You smile at the sight, but it visibly falters. Ewan could be visiting you on set right now, just like Bella with Fabien, if you hadn't fucked it all up.

They notice.

"Love," Phia sighs, her tone softening. "I just want you know - we want you know - we're here for you, okay? No matter what you went through with... " A pause. Like saying his name would open up the floodgates.

Your gaze falls to your lap in shame. You pick on invisible lint on your trousers. Bite your lip. Breathe deeply.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"So you guys know, huh?"

"Well, more or less," Phia says. "I just spoke with... Ewan... recently. He's back in Derby for the time being, and he's - "

"He's a bit rough," Fabien says firmly. He's not taking sides here, but he's heard from Ewan, and he feels the need to have his mate's back. "Look, I don't want to pry, but what happened? It seemed like you guys were doing so well together!"

"You don't have to tell us," Phia adds, shooting Fabien a look. "But if you want to, we're here to listen. We love you both and we just want to help, love."

You feel your eyes welling up. Leave it to Phia to be oh so sweet. You can't lie to them, you don't want to. Even if you did, they would see right through it.

Your friends know you too well.

"I... I miss him."

Phia squeezes your hand, and the whole story is about to spill out of you when you hear your name being called.

It's your assistant Clara, letting you know you're needed back on set.

You swallow back tears, standing on your feet, trying to maintain enough composure so you can grant yourself access back to your character.

"Go do your thing, superstar," Phia smiles comfortingly. "We'll be here when you're ready."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

November

"I'd like to propose a toast," Tom declares out loud in the empty pub, "to Ewan, Hollywood's new elf... Lord? Prince? Ah sod it, cheers!"

Round the table, Ewan, Fabien, Luke and Elliott all raise their pints with a collective, "Hear, hear!"

The pub has been cleared out for the lads, thanks to a favour called in by the twins, with the owner being their gym buddy and good friend.

"Thank you," Ewan replies, smirking. "I am your new elf prince, address me as such."

"Your ears have never been pointier, mate," Luke quips.

After a month of moping back home in Derby, or recovering as Ewan prefers to put it, he got a call from his manager telling him that the offer from Bruce still stands.

Apparently, the production team for the movie still had him tapped as the prime choice for the lead. After observing his audience metrics and overall viability, they decided that the movie would fare the best with him in it.

They had planted some half-baked announcements in the media, stating that it was Ewan against Joseph Quinn and Manny Jacinto for the role, and the fan reaction veered in Ewan's favour by a landslide.

Even though Bruce had an unsavoury word or two to say about him, he was willing to work past it, so long as Ewan would be more amenable to his demands.

After careful deliberation, Ewan chose to throw caution to the wind, and accept the role. So what if he has to pretend to have a real-life romance with Jenna? This is what you wanted.

"I'm glad you finally came out to see us, mate," Fabien says. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, fuck's sake. Remind us never to break your heart! That was tough to witness, you hunkerin' down out there all mopey and whatnot," Elliott laughs.

"Mmm." Ewan takes a swig of his beer to hide the wince he couldn't hold back. His friends, and most of the cast know by now, not in too much detail, of what went down between the two of you.

A typical short-lived romance of two actors. A summer fling. Most of them would look back and only see it as that.

Even though it was so much more. Even though Ewan still recalls how warm and soft and beautiful you felt as you whimpered underneath him, the loss of you as painful as getting hit by a freight train.

The liquor helps. Burying himself in work helps. Denial... well, that certainly helps the most.

When he goes out to the back garden for a smoke break with Fabien, he tricks himself into believing it's mere curiosity that compels him to say, "Phia mentioned that you guys went to Atlanta."

Fabien is rendered off guard, because he knows what's coming. "Yeah, we did. Bella came with us too. She was visiting me on set," he says, measuredly.

"Mmm." A long drag, a flick of ash towards the ground, an unaffected shrug - and eventually, with as impassive of a tone as he can muster, Ewan asks, "So how is she?"

Fabien smiles knowingly. "She's doing great. Her film's looking pretty good." He's privy to the truth, after he and Phia managed to gently coax it out of you over several martinis at a hotel bar in Atlanta. But he doesn't think it up to him to reveal that to Ewan, out of respect for your privacy.

While he might not share your sentiment, he thinks it's not in his place to tell Ewan that you basically lied for his sake.

But that doesn't mean he won't drop a helpful nugget or two.

"You know, I don't exactly know what's going on... but her and Jacob came across as nothing more than friends."

Ewan's hand freezes mid-air, the cigarette inches from his lips. He loathes the sense of hope that immediately bloomed in his chest. He's so bloody easy. One miniscule hint, and his delusions break through the wall of indifference he worked so hard to build.

"She said she has feelings for him," Ewan stresses, trying to convince himself. What was the fucking point of all this... this pain... if you never did?

"Hey, mate, I dunno," Fabien puts his hands up, "just telling you what I saw."

"It doesn't matter." It does. "She ended it." He wants you back, he will always want you back. "It's better this way."

"Is it?"

Ewan doesn't answer. He doesn't know how to, without grossly embellishing the truth.

Fabien watches his friend, sensing his hesitation as he averts his gaze. One thing becomes clear to him - you and Ewan are far from being over.

So he says, "She misses you, you know."

Ewan regards him with a stony look, one that slowly softens to reveal the broken boy inside. For but a moment, before he clears his throat and throws the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

"Let's head back inside."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

December

You're back in London, as production for your film is paused for the upcoming holiday season.

Work is supposed to be the last thing on your mind, but it just so happens that your manager has you booked for a chemistry read for a yet undisclosed film.

Phia came over to your apartment, insisting that she help you get ready. When you asked how she found out about your audition, she was quick to say that she was up for the role as well but didn't think it was right for her.

"Why not?" you ask, as she hovers over you, patting blush on the apples of your cheeks.

"Oh, you just get a feel for these things."

"Phi, it's just a chemistry read," you say, when she reaches for the mascara. "I don't need to get all dolled up for this."

She gasps, "Oh, but this is showbiz, darling. We always have to put a face on."

"Fine," you relent. "Do your worst."

The makeup she ends up doing on you is minimal, but it enhances your features just the right amount. You rush through your final preparations, folding up the script sample you were given and stuffing it in your purse.

Phia stands out on your balcony, in the middle of a call. The window screen is slightly open, so you hear snippets of the conversation as you walk by.

"Is he ready?" she asks. Who's he? You assume it's the guy you are doing the read with.

You don't know about him, but you are ready, so you stick your head out to say, "I gotta go, Phi."

"Oh!" She startles a little, angling her phone away. "Already?"

"Yeah, the read's at 4, I believe. Just lock the door when you leave, 'kay?"

She hurriedly whispers something to her phone, presumably ending her call. "I'll actually head out with you," she grins. "My work here is done anyway."

"Any plans for the night?"

She shrugs, "Might meet with Tom and Martha."

"Oh, why don't I meet you guys after my thing?"

"Uhhhm," she chews on her lip, thinking. Under her breath, you barely hear her mumble, "... hoping you'd be busy."

"What?" A restrained chuckle escapes you, confused as to why she's being so coy.

"Nothing," she tilts her head. "We can meet if you'd like."

The weird exchange is out of your mind when you arrive at the casting agency. You run the scene through in your head as you walk in the building, up the elevator, down the long hallway.

It's a heartfelt scene, if not a little tense, a dialogue between reunited ex-lovers.

Your manager Polina and publicist Mallory greet you at the doors, swiftly briefing you before directing you in.

"They're waiting, just walk right in, doll," Polina says.

"Okay, wish me luck!" You have your hand on the door handle when Mallory strangely remarks, "Don't hate us, sweetheart!"

"Why would I - "

"Go, go," Polina guides you in, then shuts the door behind you.

The office sports an spacious and open layout, with plenty of natural light streaming through large windows. The primary workstation is partially hidden behind a subtle partition. You see silhouettes of a few people behind it, so you walk down that way.

The figures reveal themselves soon enough - the casting agents you recognise as Patrick and Amie, sitting in front of the actor you're meant to read with.

A range of emotion washes over you, but you don't even have time to reckon with them. The casting agents divert your attention from Ewan, as they approach you with wide smiles in greeting.

"So nice to finally meet you!" Amie croons. "Take a seat. You two already know each other, of course. Between us, there won't really be a question of chemistry here."

"Right?" Patrick adds, looking between you and Ewan. "The fans sure think so, and we have to say we already agree."

"So just give us a minute to set up," Amie says. "Then we'll start."

You smile stiffly, settling down on the opposite end of the couch. You keep your gaze straight, trying to keep your attention on Patrick as he sets up the camera. Your heartbeat races the entire time, and you feel your hands getting clammy.

"They're all in on it," you hear Ewan say, prompting you to finally look at him directly. You take him in hungrily, admiring his outline, ever so handsome with his Targaryen-blonde hair and black leather jacket.

A weak "Mmm?" is all you can muster.

"Our teams, Tom, Phia... they set us up. Tom came over and I overheard him on the phone with Phia."

"Oh," you mumble. He doesn't even spare you a glance, leaning on the armrest on his side of the couch. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, next to you, and it hurts.

It's what you deserve.

"Is this not a real chemistry read?" you ask meekly.

"I suppose it is," he laughs humourlessly, "but it's not a coincidence that you and I just happen to be the only ones scheduled for today." He turns to you, giving you a critical sideways glance. "Didn't see that coming, did you?"

"I... I can leave if you want - "

"Mmm," his brows furrow, "you do seem to be good at that."

You look away. He is not being fair, but you weren't neither, that wretched night back in September.

And he is making you pay for it now.

But then you hear him speak in a softer tone, "Stay."

Stay. When you look at him once more, his attention is entirely on you, arm outstretched on the couch like he just tried to reach for you but decided against it.

Stay, he asked. So you do.

It's what you should have done, months ago.

"Okay, guys. Whenever you're ready," Amie says. She and Patrick take their seats in front of you, with the camera on a stand between them.

The script crinkles on your lap as you hold it with shaky fingers. "It's been a while," you read out your opening line.

The dialogue plays out twisted and ironic, now that you know who your scene partner is.

"Hardly," Ewan responds in character. "I feel like no time as passed."

"Feels like a lifetime."

He pauses, then sighs, "Do you even miss me?"

"How... how can you even ask me that?"

"How can I - "

"Why didn't you... why didn't you fight for me?" your voice breaks, the lines hitting a bit too close to home.

"You're a fucking hypocrite," he spits with venom. "You weren't exactly giving me anything to fight for."

"I did it for us. I did it all for us." If you didn't feel like crying at the weight of the scene, you would have rolled your eyes at the similarities.

"Like I said - nothing to fight for."

"Nothing? So you're telling me I was nothing to you."

"No," he levels you with an icy look, "you were everything to me. Everything. But you left me behind, and for what? So you can run off with the rebel sect?"

"The mission needed me. You wouldn't understand." You feel a sense of relief when the sci-fi elements roll in, otherwise you might have given in to your emotions and sobbed right there on the damn couch.

"I needed you," Ewan says, eyes not leaving yours. "I needed you and you abandoned me, just like that."

"And are you not better for it? When I left, did they not make you General?"

"See, that is the difference between you and I," he says coldly. "I wouldn't have traded what we had for anything - no position, no amount of wealth, no glory... I would have chosen us every time."

"Aaand cut!" Patrick jokes, effectively breaking the tension.

The two of you have unconsciously drifted closer, now only a foot part. Ewan does not drop your gaze, watching you closely. You see his eyes flit down to your parted lips, and he leans in almost imperceptibly.

"Alright, how about we go one more time?" Amie says, diverting your attention. "Give us a different take, and then that's it!"

Ewan settles back on his end of the couch. When he reads his lines again, his tone is harsher and he no longer meets your eyes.

Patrick and Amie commend you both afterward, singing praises about your acting abilities. Ewan is polite as always, blushing and grateful, but he practically dashes out of the door when the meeting finishes.

You're left standing with Amie, as Patrick has taken to his laptop to file the footage.

"The way he looks at you," she sighs dreamily, referring to Ewan. "You'd think the sun shone out your arse, doll."

"He... he was just in character," you disagree. "He's a good actor, as you know."

"Yeah, I mean, he nailed the part's rancour perfectly. But his eyes - oof - you've got a good one there."

Oh. Of course they would still assume you and him are together.

How desperately you want it to be true.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An hour later, you've just sent Phia a text saying - You owe me. Where do I meet you guys?

But you hear a knock on your apartment door. If you didn't buzz anyone in, it can only be a neighbour or someone the doorman recognised.

Someone familiar to you.

And it's him.

"Ewan?"

"I need to speak with you."

You step aside so he doesn't linger at your doorway. He walks past you, a welcome if not unexpected presence in the room.

You can't decipher his expression, his gaze angled downward as he leans against your kitchen counter.

When the silence becomes almost deafening, you laugh awkwardly, about to make some silly remark on whether he is still in character. But he doesn't let you diffuse the tension.

"I want you," he blurts out without warning. "God help me, I still want you. I think I might have a fucking problem because how can I... after what you did - " A momentary glance of betrayal, but you see the spite clear in his eyes. " - but I do. I can't get you out of my system."

"I'm sorry - "

"I don't need that," he says sharply. "I don't need your sorry. I need you. I need to have you, and maybe this way, I'll satisfy whatever pointless desire I still have in me."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying - I'm asking - will you let me have you?"

"Ewan, I don't under - "

"I'm saying that we should sleep together," he says bluntly, and it feels like the rug has been pulled from under your feet, "but only just. You won't be mine, and I won't be yours."

"You're kidding."

He shakes his head, before adding, "Don't worry. It'll be our little secret. To the rest of the world, I'll have a different girlfriend anyway."

His words register, along with the bitter ache at his words, that you won't be his, he won't be yours. This is purely for pleasure. There used to be love here, and now he just craves the comfort your body allows.

You'll be using each other.

You should refuse. This is not healthy; this is not how you move on. Can you even go back to being good friends after this? But also - what have you got to lose?

What, except for him, and for good this time?

What, except everything?

"So what do you say - " He closes in on you, and with every bit of malice intended, the name no longer possessing the sweetness it once held, he sneers, "- darling?"

💌 next chapter

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @onlyrealjoy (continued ... )

Some notes in the margins...

Well well well... the transition from friends to lovers to strangers to angsty FWBs sure is a slippery slope!

The time jumps are so we get through the moping quicker! It's mostly back to the regular shenanigans in the next part. Only, you know, angst-ridden. But you hurt Ewan, reader. *wags finger* Don't say you didn't expect this switch! Tsktsk

So what now - will you accept this arrangement? Will things ever be truly okay? Part 7 is going to be hot and hilarious and stupid and messy, just as the doctor ordered.

Let's hash it out in the comments, shall we? 🗡💕

[blkaroculture]

Controversial take but I think it’s such a disservice to the aro (also aspec at large but this aro focused) community that we focus on more representation rather dismantilin and healin deeply from amatonormativity as well as helpin others do the same. Cause that’s how you get discourse like “dont tag as ace!”, the “why do you headcannon (insert character) as aroace/ace when they’re just aro!” and the 100th “(insert aro identity) is valid!” post on my timeline. The current focus the community has right now feel so individualistic, focusin all on “see me! see me!” and not going into depth about the underlyin social concepts and structures hidden under our current world. It takes so much more than just “amatonormativity is when people thinks that romantic relationships are the most important!” girl this is aromanticism 101 we’s way past that now let’s move on please n ty

It’s also weird seeing this push for representation as an African American. My community is overrepresented to the max yet we is still one of the most discriminated against. Knowing how I’m treated despite being so represented makes me feel so weird seein any discourse here. Imma need yall to step back and ask yourself what is you actually fightin for? Fightin to be seen, or fightin to live life comfortably? I know nuance exist, but yall will this answer this at light speed and not even give the time of day for nuance to even form so imma ask again, do you want to be repped, or do you want to make your life easier?

If we never start dismantilin amatonormativity and actively help others in the aspec community do the same, whatever happens in fandom or on someone’s post at the end of the day mean nothin. And that’s on period.

[alovelyfrenchworld]

Your Neigborly Orc Part 1

Meeting an orc was not something that anyone from your village ever expected. Even with your village being the closest human civilization near the river orc territories, it was still considered strange.

Half-orcs were proof of the interracial relations, but they were rare in your part of the country. A half-orc hadn't been spotted for around 50 years. You never thought you would be one to compete with the discourse of your people.

You met your warlord lover perchance after hunting one day. THe border between the orc territory and the human territory was divided by a small river in the forest. Few ever ventured that close.

There was knowledge that other orc territories had blurred with the humans in other regions, but yours had yet to do so. The overall interactions with orcs had increased across the lands and it was becoming a small shadow in the thoughts of the human civilizations of what these interactions could mean.

Regardless of their opinions, you tried to stay near to your homestead you had established in the blissful wood. You decided a change of pace to create a space for yourself was beneficial. You lived close to the river that divided the territories as it gave you a water source, but when hunting and foraging, you tried to stay as close as possible. If one was not paying attention, it was easy to cross the borders between territories. Even in your land did the borders begin to blur.

You had begun to make a living from selling animals meats and forage herbs in your village. Living in the wood gave you access to many resources and a source for profit. Living solitarily was not as lonely as many thought.

**********

The winter was growing harsher as the weeks went by, making it all the more pertinent to stay stocked on supplies. Primarily, that meant firewood was in constant need.

After enjoying a humble breakfast and attending to your minimal, but helpful, livestock, you set out into the nearby wood to refill your kindling.

Supplied with your rucksack, simple ace, and rope for bundling, you set out for the day. The weather had killed off many of the berry bushes and herbs you often used, so meat and wood had become the primary subjects of your searches.

After finding a decent spot, you chopped away at some smaller trees that would be easier for you to carry. Carrying everything by hand was not your usual method, but your wagon was not properly equipped for travelling in the snow, so you you could only bring home what you could carry. That fateful day, you were not the only one who decided to go out deeper into the woods.

Some distance away, across the river, was a big, burly, orc chopping away at a large log. Methodically and skillfully, he was chopping the wood and bundling it together.

You were mesmerized. You had never seen an orc in person before. He fascinated you.

Having noticed your staring, you went back to chopping wood. The noise must have alerted the orc, who then took his turn to take note of you when you were looking away.

You, unknowingly being watched in return, bundled the bits of ash tree you had chopped and readied yourself to go back home.

"It won't be enough," spoke a gravelly voice.

You turned to see the orc standing closer to the river, his kindling hanging from one arm.

"I'm sorry?" you hadn't expected him to speak to you.

"A few more bits of wood will help you. It's an awfully freezing winter." He was right, but you wouldn't admit that to a stranger.

"I appreciate your input, but I can handle my own. Have a good day, sir." At that, you turned around to head back home.

Regardless of whether or not the orc was right, you wanted to be self-sufficient. You had all you could carry and that was more that what many could do, so either way, you were proud.

[moltengoldveins]

op is completely correct if your techno has not casually conquered the world for Phil because of what is objectively a trivial reason and Phil has not gutted a man with his talons bc he called techno a ‘glory hog’ you are not writing these men insane enough. Nobody has time for casual devotion, least of all two immortals. Make them hold one another forehead-to-forehead in the middle of battle, bloody and torn, and then turn around and rip someone limb from limb. Give them wedding rings they got on a drunken dare and then never got rid of ‘for tax fraud purposes.’ When ppl confront Mumza about her husband’s boyfriend she shouldn’t even register that something is weird ok she is just as unhinged as these two idiots the only difference is she’s carrying the braincell. “There is no platonic explanation for this” there is if you’re not a coward. “Friends shouldn’t ________, that’s weird.” Not as weird as your face is gonna look after I smash it to a fine mist. Make room in your mind for the unexpected. Let emduo be weird about one another.

More people need to write c!Emerald duo weird and intense. Too many people write them as normal friends. I want them to be so committed that others think it's weird. I want people to ask if they're married. I want them to do deranged things for each other casually and with barely any prompting. I want them to commit atrocities because someone lightly insulted the other. Make them weirder about eachother I am begging!

[arodabi]

Just to say it one more time: I’m aro and that makes me queer!!!

I will never let that go. Back when the first round of ace discourse was kicking up, i remember the first debate i saw wasn’t “aces aren’t lgbt” or “aces aren’t oppressed” it was specifically that aros and aces couldn’t reclaim the slur word queer because it was never used against us. And i saw that argument used as a wedge to further and further separate aspecs from the queer community. Eventually they just came for the word itself, that’s how the “queer is a slur” bullshit popped up at the same time. “Queer was a horrible horrible slur that nobody, least of all weirdo straights aros/aces, could reclaim.”

And that showed that the people behind spreading ace discourse, namely terfs and all the other exclusionary assholes, were the same people trying to squeeze the freaks out of the lgbt community. We know terfs used as discourse as a gateway to get people to hate trans people and trans women specifically. If you can convince someone that one group of queer people are horrible straight invaders who only want to destroy gay culture, then you can convince them that another group is too. So many of the common arguments against aspec ppl at the time stemmed from old school homophobia even. “Ace people are just mentally ill and need to be fixed” “ace people are pedophiles who want to make the children like them” “ace is a new fad that popped up, not something with any history” who benefits from that except terfs and their alt right sympathizers.

If you really want the community safe then why the fuck are you fighting those ppls battles? The same people who would kick you to the curb as soon as they finish with their current targets?

We can’t do another aspec discourse. We need to remember that the last one wasn’t just “ace ppl are cringe” it was an attempt to silence and destroy a whole group of queer people. And if they do it to aspecs, they can do it to any other group.

[intheholler]

classist discourse is getting a lot of traffic to the blog, and so i wanna make something clear:

this blog is for the river rats. for the rural dwellers who go to "town" for what they need; it's 45 minutes away and everyone calls it "town" because it has the closest food lion.

it's for the box fans and the ceiling fans and pipe dreams of central AC in july. for the "it's not the heat, it's the humidity" and the resulting wild, untameable hair.

this blog is for the patchwork quilt your mama made you and the one her mama made her and the one you wished you learned how to make for you and yours. same goes for them buttermilk biscuits your mamaw made that you kick yourself for never watching her make closely enough.

it's for those who know the difference between "sweet tea" and "tea with sugar in it." this blog is for the pintos and biscuits, for kids whose dads would pull the tobacco from their cigarettes to place on the wasp sting you got running barefoot in the fields.

it's for the banjos and the folklore and the folk songs, for that gorgeous mountain drawl that colors the lyrics. it's for every monosyllabic word that you speak with two syllables and it's for every time you've ever been insulted for it.

this blog is for anyone from appalachia or the south who ever hated themselves for where they were born, and especially those who tried to hide it.

it's for the ignorance of our youth, for the hate and racism we were taught, but now fight loudly against.

it's for every queer person who grew up in the hollers violently hating themselves because they thought they had to. everyone else did.

it's for the ones who left that church one day and never walked back into it, and it's especially for the ones who still secretly worry they're going to a hell they don't even believe in for it.

it's for the southerners who have ever been insulted or invalidated just because there are no Gs on the ends of any of your words.

it's for every appalachian who has been failed by the education system and it is especially for the high school dropouts.

this space is for yall. it's not for who they think we are.

[genderqueerdykes]

I see so many people getting so upset about syscource and I have to wonder how many of them are even systems themselves. Numbers alone it seems like a lot of these people really should be minding their own business.

you hit the nail on the head, most of them are not. most people who engage in this behavior are doing it strictly to be assholes and to try to prove a point and look like they're more accepting of neurodivergence. it's like how the anti-ace discourse that's been going on on this website for a literal decade at this point is being perpetuated by people who don't identify as aspectrum at all. like most people who argue about syscourse literally just are not systems, and if they are, they're heavily misguided.

generally speaking i hear the most anti endogenic sentiments from non plurals. and to me it feels like people attempting to suck up to plurals for brownie points. as if people with dissociative plurality asked them, personally, to attack endogenic people because they're somehow a "threat" to us. i cannot stress enough that in the early days of the internet, dissociative plurals and non dissociative plurals existed alongside one another in the exact same communities with no issues.

this is just ONE example of plural spaces i was in at the time, but i was part of a forum called healthy multiplicity for years and they accepted any and all plurals, without question. i did NOT see ANY of these conversations happening at all in the various plural communities i joined before tumblr. NOBODY was concerned about origin labels. NOBODY was asking other systems to divulge their trauma. none of this was happening. literally none. like i cannot stress that this just was not happening back then.

like idk who told these people that dissociative and traumagenic systems need to be stood up for against endogenic and natural plurals but we literally don't. we're not being hurt or attacked or offended by endogenic plurals. the human brain is way too complicated for us to ever fully understand. we can't claim that we know every single mental experience that can exist. there are always going to have experiences that we can't define or haven't seen before and it's fine.

dissociative & traumagenic plurals never asked anyone to start attacking other plurals on our behalf. never. this doesn't benefit us, it just divides the plural community, which makes us weaker. dissociative and endogenic systems getting along will not be the end of the world. it will make us stronger as a community and help us understand how broad the experience of plurality really is