#i did not claim that this would make sense

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (10)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: as dictated by the results of poll #6, this chapter will include stunt training, clubbing, and an accident. Plus, you've got tub anon to thank for... well... the tub scene :) Oh, and this is kind of 18+. Just a tad.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Matt and the reader eagerly explore the uncharted waters of their budding relationship. Ewan is booked and busy with the preparation for his new franchise. Will Ewan and his darling even find time for each other, or should they just take this opportunity to let go?

The internet, ever so informative, lets you know that Ewan and Jenna’s arrangement is in its initial stages before he even calls to tell you. 

Their first interview with Josh Horowitz is immediately followed by another feature on the movie set, with the two talking about the pre-production, what they liked about the script, and their chemistry, which according to them, came naturally and did not require much work at all. It was practically the thing they had to work on the least. How lucky. 

A lighthearted reprieve came in the form of a meme that started circulating not long after their interview with Josh. In it, Ewan is caught looking like he's either malfunctioning or deep in a philosophical crisis. The internet ran with it, with captions like, ‘When you realise you left the oven on at home’, to comparing him to an NPC glitching out.

When you asked him about it, he quickly stammered that he simply spaced out. Sure. It was hilarious, nonetheless.

Your publicist Mallory had commented that soon Ewan and Jenna would be obliged to go on pap walks, something that would appear casual and separate from the confines of the project that they’re working on. Something that signals that their relationship is making it into the real world.

“That whole casual ‘just friends hanging out’ vibe they’re gonna push? It’s all part of the gig,” Mallory shared. “Next thing you know, they’ll be taking long walks on the beach or grabbing coffee in some trendy LA spot.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. Even just a little. Sure, you know what the business is like. You’ve been on the same end of that deal just recently, with your own film’s PR efforts. But this arrangement that Ewan has doesn’t seem like the usual short-term fling to drum up buzz. It feels… heavy, like something that might actually stick.

“I’d be lying if I say I don’t find it all annoying, darling, but I try to look at it now as part of the job, you know?” he had said, when he phoned you one evening – his afternoon – to let you know that his stay in LA would be much longer than expected. 

You responded with, “Oh, yeah, I completely understand.” What else can you do? You aren’t together – you don’t have a claim to him, and vice versa. You thought that would make things better – easier – but you’re still waiting for that sense of comfort to kick in.

This is for the best, you would remind yourself every time a new headline surfaces. 

It’s only been a month since you last properly saw Ewan, since that night on the rooftop. In the early days, he messaged every day, called whenever he had a spare moment. But slowly, the calls have become shorter, more sporadic – chalked up to his increasingly busy schedule. Your tones have become more dispassionate – he blames it on his exhaustion, profusely swearing that he misses you so fucking much, but something feels different. 

Your job keeps you busy, with your commitments related to the new season of House of the Dragon, event appearances, and gearing up for the release of your film with Jacob. You are even invited to the upcoming Vanity Fair Young Hollywood Ball, an exclusive party to be held in New York.

And Matt is a more than welcome distraction. 

Matt, who has begun spending more time in your apartment after Ewan’s temporary move to LA. Matt, who brings you flowers that are apparently ‘beautiful, but pales in comparison to you’. Matt, who is unfailingly a gentleman, respecting your boundaries and not making a move since that time on your couch after your first date, when you told him to wait. 

He sits with you by your kitchen counter, in a disarmingly tight white shirt that leaves little to the imagination, one sturdy hand nursing a cup of coffee and the other on the small of your back to support you as you sit on the high stool, and you suddenly don’t want him to wait anymore. 

“Have you decided on what you’ll be wearing to the screening tonight, love?” he asks. 

“Why? Does it have to be pre-approved?” you playfully quip, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Ah,” he nods, smiling, playing along, “of course, of course. You think I’m an easy man to date? You’ve got to keep up with my standards, as beautiful as you already are.”

You laugh, playfully mussing his hair, and he catches your wrist before it drops back on the counter. He says, “I ask because I wanted to match you, so to speak. We’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Oh,” you snort softly, “or you know, like Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

“Funny girl,” he muses, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a soft kiss, caffeinated and warm and Matty. You notice that his hand on your back is pressed firmer – he didn’t want you to slip when you leaned in. 

Charming bastard. He isn’t making things any easier… or maybe he is. 

Maybe he’s it. 

But the moment’s broken by a loud, offended-sounding meow. You look down to see Sansa, staring at Matt like he’s personally responsible for all the world’s problems.

“Hey, babygirl,” Matt croons, extending a hand toward her. Sansa, the biggest diva of a kitten, just gives him a slow blink before trotting off, clearly unimpressed.

“Calling her babygirl isn’t going to make her warm up to you,” you tease.

“She already doesn’t seem to like me,” he replies, scoffing. “Which is a shock, pretty much, how can she not?”

“So humble, Matthew.” You smile at his effortless charm, his easy personality. That’s all you seem to be doing nowadays. Matt is like your personal ray of sunshine. 

“I’ll win her over,” he declares confidently, sitting upright. “Anything for my lady.”

You roll your eyes. “How very Daemon of you.”

“Actually,” he laughs, “Daemon would probably feed her to Caraxes for being difficult.”

“Matthew!”

“I’m kidding!”

Sansa meows even louder, bounding away towards your bedroom. 

“Leave my Sansa alone,” you say, pointing at him accusingly.

He gives you a sly grin. “I will… if you come here and give me another kiss.”

Before you can respond, he slides your stool closer to his with a smooth movement, catching you off guard. You find yourself practically in his lap, his thighs pressing against yours as he waits, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, narrowing your eyes, unable to mask the smile that graces your lips. “One kiss, but only for Sansa.”

“Oh, shush and kiss me already, love.”

The film screening had been a private event, by invitation only from those who worked on the film. Edward Bluemel, Matt’s good friend, is a fellow actor marking his directorial debut with this film. For a first go, it was impressive, gripping from start to finish. Almost as much as Matt’s hand resting just above your knee, his thumb absentmindedly tracing soft circles into your skin.

Your cheeks had flushed when a particularly steamy scene came on the screen, and it might have been the nervous gremlins in your mind, but you swore Matt’s hand inched higher up your leg.

Now, on your couch, his hand is even higher. He hovers over you, his breath heavy and uneven as his fingers tease at the warmth between your thighs, so close to where you’re already aching for him. 

Maybe it was all the dirty martinis you drank at the open bar after the screening, or maybe this was a long time coming. Either way, you want him, and from the way his lips move urgently against yours, he wants you too.

It dawns on you that the tension is no longer something you can talk yourself out of.

He pulls away, and you protest with a mewling whine, your body arching into him. He nearly growls in frustration, the unspeakable sound you just made having a direct line to his hardened cock. With a gentle tug at the nape of his neck, you pull him back down to your lips, but he resists. 

“We have to slow down,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Because we’re about to cross a line that I won’t be able to hold back from, love.”

“Matt – ”

“I understand – ” He licks his lips, letting out a slow and controlled breath. “ – that you want to wait – ”

Your confession comes out slow and measured, letting him know that this is what you really want. “Maybe I don’t want… to wait anymore.”

“Say that again,” he says slowly, his eyes darkening in lust. 

“Maybe I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Maybe?” he whispers, his voice rough, practically pleading.

“Oh, just fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to snap.

He undresses you in record time, ripping off every item of clothing from your body with an eagerness that betrays just how hungry he is for you.

Neither of you even bother to travel to your bedroom. At some point, your entwined naked bodies slip off the couch and onto your plush carpet. 

And you have a heated… What was it called again? 

Oh right – a damn good roll in the hay. 

The water is still warm in your deep clawfoot tub, steam rising gently from the surface. You lean back, head resting against the porcelain, that blissful post-sex daze settling over you. 

Matt slides into the water opposite you, his movements slow, deliberate. His eyes haven’t left you since he stepped in, and you can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin. It isn’t just the remnants of your earlier intimacy – though that heat still hummed in the air between you – it’s something more. Something you can’t name and maybe you’re afraid to, but it tugs at you all the same.

A small smile plays on his lips, the kind that made your chest tighten – half teasing, half dangerous.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and smooth.

You exhale a soft laugh, running your fingers lazily through the water, trailing small ripples across the surface. “I’m not exactly complaining, am I?”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts.” His tone is light, but the undercurrent of meaning isn’t lost on you.

You close your eyes, letting the warm water soothe your tired muscles, but even with the comfort of the bath, you can’t quite escape the one person lingering in the back of your mind. 

Matt isn’t Ewan, but he’s here, his presence steady, his charm disarming. He makes you laugh, makes you feel wanted in ways that are simple and uncomplicated, and maybe that’s what you need right now. Maybe it was okay to let yourself enjoy this, to live in this moment without overthinking what it meant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt asks, leaning forward.

You open your eyes, catching the glint of amusement in his. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous territory,” he teases, reaching for your hand.

“Hmm, maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “You’re too charming for your own good, you know that?”

He chuckles deeply. “I’ve been told. But I like to think it’s part of my appeal.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Cocky bastard.”

He grins, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Takes one to know one.” His hand travels to your leg underneath the water, massaging gently.

“I’m serious, though,” he says softly, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “I don’t want you overthinking this. We’re good, yeah?”

You nod, but there is a flicker of something else in your chest. Guilt, maybe? But Matt is right here, and he isn’t asking for anything more than what you could give, and for now, that is more than enough.

“We’re good,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiles against your mouth, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Good,” he whispers back, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, the sound muffled as he kisses you again and positions you on top of him. You shuffle forward and discover a very obvious indication that he’s ready for round two of rolling in the hay. Or in the tub. Whatever works. 

He looks absolutely enraptured when you ride him, your motions causing tremors in the water. 

And in the sheer pleasure he gives you, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the smell of lavender, you allow yourself to let go.

The event has the industry buzzing - an exclusive event by Vanity Fair celebrating the rising stars of Hollywood. A masquerade party, the notion of which excited you to no end. You’d only read about such in books, in its medieval iterations, all poofy skirts and velvet waistcoats, the whole concept full of prestige and mystery. 

You spent days prepping with your team, the anticipation building until it felt like a living thing inside you. Your dress, a beautiful piece from Atelier Versace, fits like a glove, one side made of draped black sequins shimmering like liquid night against your skin. The theme is Midnight Elysium, and you look every bit the part - dangerous and glamourous and untouchable. 

Your makeup team did an impeccable job. Your eyeshadow resembles a swirling galaxy, a blend of silver and noir. Your lipstick is a perfect nude shade that matches your skin tone and your features.  

But then there was the mask. The final, necessary touch. Delicate black lace that settles over your eyes, framed with gold filigree and flecks of silver – sharp and ethereal at once. It was a piece of art, something you personally commissioned from a local designer in your hometown.

In a room where everyone claims to know everyone, a mask can be more than just a costume piece. It can be a weapon – giving you the freedom to be both seen and unseen. 

Stepping into the nightclub is like slipping in between worlds. Black velvet drapes line the walls, catching the glow of the minimal lighting – gold and silver chandeliers hanging like constellations. The bass from the music pulses underfoot, sending vibrations through your veins. Faces are obscured by extravagant masks, but you are able to recognise some of them if you look close enough. Milly is speaking to someone by the bar, and you remind yourself to pull her aside for a chat later. Timothee is introducing his date to a small flock of people. And Jacob is bounding right for you the moment you make eye contact. 

“There’s my leading lady,” he greets cheerfully, swooping down to kiss you on both cheeks. He’s wearing a metallic silver vest and trousers, along with a white mask that covers one side of his face like The Phantom.

“Wow,” you say, making a show of appraising him, looking at all 6 foot 5 inches of his figure up and down. “You look like a handsome disco ball.”

He laughs, the sound unmistakable even in the bustling nightclub. “And look at you! What are you, a cyberpunk witch? A sleek dominatrix?” 

“Careful now,” you warn him, “or I might just hex you into getting me a drink.”

“Coming right up,” he says, but his attention is pulled by someone calling his name. “Hold on a sec, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.” You let him lead you further into the room, and you’re swept into the rhythm of it all, moving through the crowd as if you belong – because you do. You’re slowly getting used to the weight of eyes on you, but tonight, it feels as if there’s a shadow you can’t quite shake. 

Your personal shadow in a room full of masked shadows. Your skin prickles, an awareness blooming under your ribs. In all the fuss leading up to this event, you hadn’t really bothered to check the full roster of attendees.

After several rounds of conversation, you excuse yourself for a moment and stand off to the side to take a breather. 

And then you see him.

Ewan stands across the room, a drink in hand, his black leather overcoat tailored to perfection. The mask he wears, a sharp cut of black and gold, adds a dangerous air to him. His effortlessly tousled hair sports a smattering of gold embellishments, like streaks of pale blonde hair. You take him in, every inch of him, that mischievous curve of his lips and the glint of his blue eyes underneath that mask. 

It hits you like a tidal wave, like a fucking hurricane, the longing you’ve tried to suppress for weeks. 

You shouldn’t want him this much, not when you both agreed to the break. To keep some distance. His fake romantic arrangement had made sure of that. And after everything, you knew that some separation was what you both needed. 

But seeing him now, looking at you like he’s starving… it’s enough to unravel every careful thread you’d stitched together since you last touched. You want to look away, pretend that this is just another night, that he’s just another fellow actor among the crowd. But the pull is too strong. It’s as if your legs move on their own volition, and you slowly move through the crowd, almost subconsciously drawn to him. 

He steps deeper into the shadows of the club as you approach, disappearing into one of the more secluded alcoves draped in heavy black velvet. No one will see you there. No one will know any better.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, and the music becomes a distant hum. It’s quieter, darker, and for all the trappings of the Hollywood elite, Ewan is far more intoxicating. 

“You’re here,” you whisper, half in question, half in disbelief.

But he’s already moving towards you, his eyes dark and hungry behind the mask. The air between you crackles with an undeniable need – weeks of distance, of longing, building up to this moment. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his body through your dress, and you so badly want to forget that this is a bad idea.

“I can’t stay away,” he says, his voice low and raw, like it’s costing him to hold back. “Not tonight.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, every rational thought slipping away as his fingers skim the bare skin of your waist through the slits in your dress. “We… we can’t,” you manage to say, but even to your own ears, it sounds weak. Oh, who are you trying to fool?

“How can I not? Fuck, how can you look like that and expect me to just walk away?”

You want to say something, something sensible, something to remind him of the stakes. But nothing comes to mind, not when his hand brushes up your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. His other hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. He dips his head down, breathing against your shoulders and your neck, taking you in like a vice. 

“Ewan,” you finally croak. “We agreed not to – ”

“I don’t bloody care,” he cuts you off, his mouth inches from yours. “We agreed to give it some time, sure, but I never agreed to stop wanting you. Besides, I make good on what’s asked of me. I play the part. I deserve to be rewarded, don’t I? And you’re the only prize I desire.”

His words hit you hard, melting any resistance you’d been clinging to. 

“Oh? So… so I’m just a prize now?”

He only smiles. “The only one worth winning.”

Before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you pull him closer and crash your lips into his. 

The kiss is hard, fierce, his mouth feverishly attacking yours. He tastes bittersweet, all hard bourbon and cigarettes. You’re certain that the lipstick your makeup artist painstakingly applied would be wiped clean off. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough.

You break apart, gasping for breath. His lips are slick, shining in the occasional flicker of neon blue and red lights, his mask casting shadows across his sharp features.

A bright flash from the party's official photographer erupts in the corner, thankfully not pointed in your direction. Still, it momentarily shakes both of you back to reality. 

“Come with me.” His hand slips into yours, fingers curling possessively as he pulls you away from the cacophony of the club. You barely have time to react before you’re being led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He pushes open a door, leading you into a smaller room bathed in that same cold, electric blue. Plush seating is arranged haphazardly in the corners, but the space is mostly empty. The low hum of the bass still thrums in the distance, but it’s reduced to a faint echo. The smell gives off cigarette smoke and spilled liquor.

“Smoking area,” he says with a half-smirk, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “I think.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs, utterly unconcerned. “Who cares? It’s just us in here.”

You shoot him a look, glancing back at the door. “Someone could walk in.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, that familiar heat radiating off him like a furnace. “It’s a party, darling. They’re probably wasted out of their minds. And besides…” He taps the edge of his mask, his eyes glinting mischievously behind the black and gold. “The masks?”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “And if someone does walk in?” you ask, arching a brow. “What then?”

He steps closer, crowding into your space, the tension thick between you. “Then they get a show,” he says, his voice playful and teasing, but laced with something darker. 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“You can still walk away, darling,” he offers, trying to bait you when he knows full well that he already has you hooked. “Or, you can just shut up and kiss me.”

So much for giving it time. Ewan’s lips find yours once more, just as desperate, and you barely notice when he directs you to the seating, your back colliding with its velvet exterior. His low groan sends a wave of heat pooling in your stomach, and you think to yourself, this was a terrible idea. 

Your hands roam, finding the planes of his chest. He smoothly takes off his leather overcoat, revealing his bare torso underneath. The sight of it makes your head spin, and you croak unsteadily, “Ewan… not here, baby, we can’t – ”

“I know, darling,” he croons, his hand cradling your face. “I just wanna kiss you. I just want you… to touch me…” His other hand takes yours and drags it down the firm lines of his stomach, a desperate plea in his eyes. “Please, just – ”

The moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of giggling from the hallway, getting louder. Suddenly, the door opens and in stumbles a pair of girls, one of them you recognise to be Jenna. 

“Oh!” The other girl exclaims, clearly delighted by the situation she’s just walked into. She pulls off her mask, revealing herself as Emma Myers. “We found him! We finally found your date.”

Your heart plummets, right down on the liquor stained carpet.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak, getting to your feet and smoothing down your dress which had ridden scandalously higher up your thighs. “I’m – ”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Jenna says, shaking your hand, not the least bit bothered by the state she found you and Ewan in. “I love your work. I’m Jenna.”

“Oh… thank you – ”

Emma steps in, grinning. “Hi! I’m Emma. I’m such a fan.”

“Oh my god, I should be saying that to you guys!” you blurt, feeling a rush of relief at their easy demeanour. “I love Wednesday.”

They both gasp, and soon the three of you are exchanging compliments like old friends, chatting about each other's work with enthusiasm. Ewan, still seated, watches the scene unfold with barely concealed frustration. He eventually stands, shrugging his leather coat back on, and glances at Jenna.

“One of our producers is here,” Jenna explains cheerfully. “She’d love to chat with both of us.”

Right. Ewan’s her date. The word echoes in your mind, but the jealousy you expected to feel is oddly muted now. 

Ewan speaks, addressing only you, “Darling, will you – ”

“I’ve got her,” Emma declares, looping her arm around yours. “I’ve got so much I want to ask you!” Before you know it, she leads you out of the room like you’ve been best friends for years.

Ewan’s eyes stay on you, full of frustration and yearning, even as he and Jenna follow you out the door.

But you barely see him for the rest of the night.

The party is a blur of celebrities and conversations, but your mind keeps drifting back to that stolen moment in the blue-lit room. Eventually, your social battery runs out, and you slip out of the club early, unnoticed by most. 

Back at your hotel, you peel off your dress and drop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the night replay in your head. The feeling of his hands on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours – it’s all too much.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Ewan One-Eye flashes across the screen.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, but you pick up. His voice is low, almost cautious. “You left early.”

“I was tired,” you reply, voice soft. “The party was great but it was... a lot.” Mainly because of him.

A beat of silence follows, and you wonder if he's wrestling with what to say next. “Are you okay?” You can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, eyes dark with worry. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say, unable to hide the tremble in your voice. 

Another long pause, with only his slow breathing on the other end. 

“I hate this,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, the raw emotion in his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I fucking hate that he gets to have you, and I don’t… and I can’t… ” He cuts himself off, and you hear the snap of his lighter followed by his sharp exhale.

You bite your lip, your throat tight with emotion. You’ve both been so careful, dancing around each other, pretending that you could stay apart.

“I’m flying back to London tomorrow night,” you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. It feels like a confession, like you’re admitting defeat.

“I need to see you before you go.”

“Ewan, we agreed – ”

“Fuck what we agreed!” His sudden outburst takes you by surprise, and you hear the raw need in his voice. “I don’t care about the arrangement, I don’t care about the distance. I just... I need you.”

You want to tell him that you need him too. You want to throw caution to the wind and agree to being together in secret despite the false romance he has to portray to the world. But you can’t. 

“I...” Your voice falters. “We’ll see each other soon.” It doesn’t feel like enough. With a soft sigh, you add on a lighter note, “Alyna still has to kick Aemond’s ass, you know.”

A beat passes, and then you hear his tired laugh on the other end. “Right,” he chuckles softly, the sound both comforting and heartbreaking. “Wouldn’t want to keep the fans waiting for that.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying for casual, trying not to let your voice crack, “someone’s got to put Aemond in his place.”

“Hmm, well if that place happens to be right in Alyna’s arms, I doubt you’ll hear any complaints about the script from me this time.”

You can’t help but smile at his teasing, but it only deepens the ache in your heart.

“Ewan…” you begin, but the words hang in the air, unspoken. 

“I know, darling,” he replies, his tone resigned yet gentle. “I miss you too.”

The training room is alive with the sounds of clashing swords and laughter, but you can’t help but feel a different kind of electricity buzzing in the air. Maybe it’s just the way Matt looks at you, as you rehearse a scene where Daemon helps Alyna brush up on her sword fighting. 

You lunge forward, initiating the first move with confidence, and he counters effortlessly, the blades clashing in a symphony of steel. The practice moves are intense, each swing bringing you closer. His eyes darken with focus as he follows your movements, and for a moment, it becomes easy to forget the rest of the stunt crew in the room. 

“Nice footwork,” Matt compliments, stepping in closer. His body brushes against yours, sending a rush of heat through you. Ever since your night together, he has only been more brazen with his affections. “But you’re leaving yourself open here.” He demonstrates, his sword brushing against your side as he adjusts your stance.

“There,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “feel that?” You swallow nervously, grateful that the stunt coordinator had moved on to Harry in the far side of the room.

“I think I might be too open,” you manage to say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Maybe,” Matt murmurs, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “But I can’t help but want to close the distance.”

As you move through the choreography, you both fall into a rhythm, and almost inevitably, the fight turns into something more playful. You circle each other, exchanging faux blows and laughter, the distracting banter causing the stunt director to approach and get you both back on track. 

Next up, you have to train for Alyna’s pivotal scene where she attempts to mount Caraxes as per Daemon’s command. 

As you practice the mounting technique on the mechanical dragon, you’re hyper-aware of every movement. The crew watches closely, ready to offer guidance. You grip the handles tightly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, and for a brief moment, you lose yourself in the character, feeling the thrill of the scene.

But then it happens. The Buck jolts unexpectedly, throwing you off balance. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself slipping. You try to brace for impact, but it’s too late. You land hard, the pain shooting through your ankle as it twists at an unnatural angle.

There is a stinging sensation too, by the side of your head, and all you think is – oh fuck. The world around you fades to a blur, just as chaos erupts.

When you finally regain consciousness, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. Your surroundings come into focus slowly, and your heart races when you realise you’re in a hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor is the only sound, punctuated by the faint rustle of fabric.

You feel his hand on yours before your eyes even land on his figure, slumped on a chair beside your bed. His head rests on his shoulder, his grip still lightly holding your hand. His brow is furrowed in worry, even in sleep. 

You feel lightheaded, and for a moment you worry that your concussion might be worse than it is, but no. It's just him. 

Then, the sound of your movement catches his attention. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and when he meets your gaze, relief instantly washes over his features. 

“Love… you’re awake.”

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Some notes in the margins...

Well, well, well. Yous were convinced that Matty would get the clubbing scene, helped by the red herring of his dancing video. Alas!

Is that Matty at the end there? Or a certain Mitchelly man? Hmm... one wonders. 💖

Complaints? Refund requests? Please direct your thoughts in the comments section below. I can 100% guarantee a satisfying solution. Or 70%.

Or, you know, bugger it. We're all in this together, better or worse ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[maximumqueer]

Ok, so I got to (and past) ep. 26 of Witchlight, where Gideon is hit with a fey love curse which has him be head over heels in love with Kremy. And it just has me thinking about how vastly different the two of them reacted to being fey cursed to be in love with the other (though we all know they are in love without the fey curse) and what that says about them as people, as well as the way that they view relationships.

When Kremy was under the effects of the fey curse, he was dead set on making sure Gideon (or anybody really) did not find out about him being in love. He, for all intents and purposes, did not act all that differently that he would have other than being more outwardly jealous of the fact that Gideon was marrying other people. (Richie saying "I know" with that smug look in his face will live rent free in my mind forever). This says a lot about Kremy, and the way he views romantic (or even just more intimate) relationships. He is so full of shame and insecurity at the prospect of being in love of Gideon that it all has to be done through a false lens of irony. And I think that is because Kremy, at the end of the day, is a conniving conman. He views relationships as advantageous. He is so clearly afraid of vulnerably that, even when under the effect of a love curse, is still trying his best to not let on that he is in love. (I also think this points to him actually being in love with Gideon, as it does not completely alter his behavior). He needs to maintain control on his feelings in order to be in control of every situation he is in, so that he can exploit the people he needs to, as well as make himself as un-exploitable as possible. Obviously he is friends with Gideon, Gricko, and Frost, but I can't help but believe that the trust we see him have in them was built slowly over years. Just look at the way he views Torbek earlier on. And as such, admitting that the relationship he has with Gideon goes deeper, and is more intimate that just friends and business partners, is a (nearly) impossible task for Kremy, as he does not want to feel or be viewed as vulnerable.

With Gideon, the second he gets cursed, he immediately goes all in. He says that he loves Kremy, that he is happy they are married, and goes out of his way to touch him, be close to him, compliment him. Now, this is more distinctly different from how Gideon usually behaves around Kremy, but I don't necessarily think that means that his love is completely fake. I do think, however, that it means that Gideon is unaware of the full extent of his feelings when it comes to Kremy. Because, while it was said in a joking manner, I believe that there is some truth to the claim that Gideon has commitment issues. Not in the sense that he is or ever would be unfaithful in a more committed relationship, but rather that some wires got crossed in his head (thanks to the years and years of trauma from the fucking train) and that he now views being 'tied down' to one individual in a romantic sense in a similar way as being imprisoned. He wants freedom, he doesn't want to feel beholden to a single person. And obviously this is an unhealthy way to view relationships, as a healthy one will not make you feel like you are being caged. But this does not seem to be based off of experience for Gideon, as all of his 'romantic' exploits seem to have been causal hookups that may end in him getting shotgun married and then immediately cutting town, but nothing more. It is the concept of romantic commitment that Gideon does not like, not the actual act of commitment itself. Because he IS committed to Kremy, and he has no qualms with being 'tied down' to Kremy in this way. As such, he doesn't view his feelings as being anything other than platonic, as he expects romance to feel like a cage. Until he gets slapped with fey magic, and those feelings about commitment temporarily go away.

Basically this is a really long way of saying that I LOVE how Richie and Mace both decided to play their characters being (explicitly) in love with the other. It makes for beautiful (and very funny) character work and gives us, the audience, a bit more insight into the dumbass minds (affectionate) of Kremy and Gideon.

[causesciencethatswhy]

When AYS started out there was question on mind which my more delulu side wanted an answer to but didn't want to get my hopes up on receiving.

How did jikook come to the realisation that the needed to enlist as companion soldiers ?

I honestly didn't expect them to broach the topic until Sapporo so when they begun talking about going together in Jeju, to say I was surprised, was an understatement.

They openly talked about what they're hoping their experience will be like and how they'll be glad to support one another while joking about getting to see the other comforting bald heads each morning. It was all really sweet but it felt like edging, almost?? Like they were almost on the brink of telling us why they decided to go together cause it is obviously a decision they've carefully thought about and is something none of the other members had even considered so naturally a simple explanation should go along with it right?

Yet instead we're left with jikook just casually displaying how confident they are in their bond to know they'll be fine no matter what the military throws at them.

And then comes Sapporo and it's like the undercurrent melancholy of their impending enlistment is attached to every experience they're having in Sapporo. The soft, gentle moments like the train rides or the late night snacks or the long drives all feel heavier even when it's light hearted fun.

And you feel.... surely now ? Surely now they'll finally divulge why it was so important for them to enlist together?

Except the series ends on the bittersweet note of us, quiet literally, sending off the two of the them to the military after spending the latter half of the last episode watching them try and fail to lift their spirits up, knowing their trip was coming to an end.

It was definitely the bluest episode yet.

Yet my annoying brain wouldn't shut up? Cause narratively it didn’t make sense right? They've somehow broached the subject of military enlistment without giving us a solid explanation of how that decision came to be ??

And then as the credits rolled and I sat there rolling in melancholy too it hits me.

AYS is the answer.

Watching the two of them co exist around one another in perfect haphazard harmony for the past 8 episodes is all the reasonable explanations one would need to know to come to a conclusion on how buddy enlistment came into the picture.

Because it was a given.

Connecticut was a reaffirmation for themselves and also perhaps army's who'd gotten too comfortable dismissing their bond in chapter 2 that jimin and jungkook are well,, jimin and jungkook.

Jeju and Sapporo were a display of just how well the duo embodied 'the you are me, I am you' they've claimed for themselves years ago.

If you're still asking why jikook would enlist together when there were 20 other better alternatives, you've not been paying attention.

Cause once jikook were back in tandem, they were never not going to enlist together.

[mmaarrzz]

Sweet Freedom (NSFW)

After finally getting out of jail, Vi gets a taste of something sweet.

Tags/Warnings: Vi x Caitlyn, Basically the brothel scene but they fuck.

—

The stench of incense thickened the air of the brothel. To most, the sights of masked figures and dim lights filled them with excitement, but for Vi, it brought about a sense of nostalgia. For Caitlyn, however, this new environment was a shock to her system. A straight-edged enforcer wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.

Vi put a hand on Caitlyn's back and pushed her into the building, noting the way the lights glittered off her eyes as she took in the sights, a bright blush growing across her cheeks as the sounds of pleasure erupted from behind not-so-closed curtains.

"Vi, how exactly are we supposed to be going about this?" Caitlyn asked, not quite understanding what kind of benefit a place like this would be to their cause.

"Pretend like you work here." Vi said with a shrug.

"I would never!"

Vi slowly spun around, hands still in the pockets of her jacket. She ran her eyes up and down the blue haired woman, making her feel almost naked. "You know what your problem is?" She said, walking around Caitlyn, spending a moment too long staring at her bottom that did not go unnoticed. "You expect everyone to give you what you want. If you really want people to talk to you, you need them to think that you have what they want."

"And what do I have?"

Vi spun around and pushed Caitlyn against the wall, trapping her between her arms. "You're hot, cupcake.”

Vi grabbed Caitlyn’s chin with her hands, moving her face around to get a better look. “You know, we don’t have any sweet things like you in Stillwater, I miss the taste.”

Caitlyn shied away from Vi’s piercing gaze. “I don’t think we have many in Piltover either.”

Vi chuckled at that, “I’m sure they do, Cupcake, you just gotta look a little harder.” Their faces were centimeters apart, warm breath heating the others lips. “You wanna try?” She asked as she ran her thumb across Caitlyn’s soft lips.

The slightest of nod was all she needed before she attacked the girl's lips with her own, savoring how another woman felt for the first time in years. She moved her hand from the wall down to the taller woman's waist, pinning her hips to the wall with her own.

Shockingly, it was Caitlyn who opened her mouth first, her tongue darting out to explore. It was all the permission Vi needed to take things further, shoving a knee between Caitlyn's legs to push upon the heat growing between them. With her strong arms, she pushed the blue haired woman down on her leg, the pressure of her thigh making Caitlyn gasp.

Caitlyn tangled her fingers in Vi's pink hair, finally remembering she had hands to use as well. She moaned quietly as Vi grinded her thigh into her crotch, the shock causing her to pull on Vi's hair, ripping their lips apart.

"Oh, I'm gonna make you regret that, Cupcake," They locked eyes as Vi kissed her way down Caitlyn's neck, stopping to lick up the length of her pulse before biting down. At the same time, she slid her hand down from her waist and up her dress to fondle her ass, feeling the lace of her panties. Vi unlocked her lips from the woman's throat with a small pop, stopping to admire the bright red mark that would soon be her dark purple claim on the woman. "Why don't we get a little more comfortable?" She asked, nodding to the curtained room next to them. She didn't wait for an answer, instead peeled herself off of Caitlyn and sauntering over, peeling off her jacket to reveal her muscular arms exposed through ripped-off sleeves. Caitlyn just stood there, taking a moment to process everything. She had never been with a woman before, and she had never been this turned on in her life. There was a small part of her, in the back of her mind, trying to remind her of her duty, of her purpose for being here. But when Vi whistled impatiently to get her attention, and she drew her eyes to the purple cushioned bed surrounded by candle light she squashed that small part and walked forward, letting Vi drop the curtains behind them.

Caitlyn sat on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed, hands gripping the hem of her dress as she tried to inconspicuously rub her thighs together. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman in front of her. Her strong muscular frame, pink hair, the small tattoo underneath her eye, it all drove her insane. She noted the piercings that decorated her ears, and wondered if she had anymore she was going to find out about.

It didn't take long for her question to be answered, as Vi peeled off her shirt to reveal herself. Caitlyn traced the soft line of pink hair peeking out from her waist band up to the metal in her naval, admiring the intricate tattoos that adorned her sides leading up to her breasts. One nipple had a small bar in it, the other surrounded by thick lines of ink.

Vi laughed as she was ogled, and pushed Caitlyn down on the bed as she straddled her waist. She grabbed one of Caitlyn's hands and brought it to her pierced breast, pushing her chest forward ever so slightly as she filled her palm. She leaded down to kiss her once more, gentler this time, as the woman gave her breast a light squeeze, testing the waters. Their tongues danced with each other, Vi letting out small sighs as Caitlyn now fondled both of her breasts.

Caitlyn lightly rolled the pierced nipple between her fingers, causing Vi to let out a breathy moan. She pulled a little harder, enjoying how the pink haired woman ground herself down on her as she did so. Caitlyn sat up, bring her head down to give small kisses on the woman's chest. She left a light kiss on the tattooed breast, then one on the other. Vi was panting with anticipation before Caitlyn gave small licks to the nipple, circling it with her tongue before bringing it into her mouth. The taste of metal was strange, but not unwelcome as she sucked, massaging the other with her hand.

Vi moaned loudly as she brought her hands up to return the favor, pulling the top of Caitlyn's dress down to expose her supple breasts. They fit perfectly into Vi's large hands, and the warmth of them traveled down between her legs and filled her with a hunger she hadn't felt in a long time.

She couldn't take the teasing any longer, and she pushed Caitlyn back down onto the bed. She sat up on her knees and spread Caitlyn's legs in order to situate herself between them. She rode her hand up the blue haired woman's thigh, stopping at the edge of her dress to look up into her bright blues eyes. Caitlyn gave a gentle nod and lifted her hips to allow her to push the dress up, exposing the black lace panties she wore beneath. They were already soaked through, the candle light flickering on the slickness now coating her inner thighs.

"Aw, did you wear these just for me?" Vi quipped, snapping the elastic on her hip into her skin.

Caitlyn sucked a quick breath between her teeth, "Remind me to show you my collection sometime."

"Oh, I'll make sure you won't forget. Now, let's see if you taste as sweet as you look."

Vi lightly traced her thumb up and down the middle of her underwear, the slickness leaving almost no friction of the fabric. She pressed down slightly at the nub on the top, rolling her thumb in a gentle circular motion as Caitlyn began to squirm beneath her.

"Tell me how much you want it," Vi demanded, "Tell me how much you want me."

"Please, Vi. I need you. I want your touch and your mouth. It's all I've thought about since I met you. I want to feel your strong hands inside of me."

"I think I can make that happen, Cupcake," she replied as she pressed a gentle kiss to her clothed center, taking the time to rake the tip of her tongue all the way up, stopping to add a little more pressure once she reached the top. She didn't have the patience to be a tease. She pulled the panties to the side to expose her dripping pussy, wasting no time to get a taste of the sweetness she oh-so craved.

She ran long stipes of her tongue up and down Caitlyn's center, relishing in the gasps and sighs let out whenever her tongue flicked her clit before moving down to her entrance once again. She quickly picked up the pace, lapping at the wetness and feeling her clit somehow get even bigger against her tongue.

She took the pearl into the mouth and sucked, enjoying the way Caitlyn's back arched just so to push herself even further into the other woman's mouth. She tortured the bud, rubbing her tongue against her clit as she sucked.

Vi traced Caitlyn's entrance with her finger, spreading her slickness on her fingers. She didn't push in, instead opting to trace up and down between her folds once more.

"P-Please..." Caitlyn moaned, and it was all the begging Vi needed to push one of her thick fingers into the other woman, feeling her tighten around her as she pulled out slightly, curling her finger as she went.

She set a gentle, slow pace to start as she continued to lap at Caitlyn's clit, who was all but screaming in pleasure at this point. After she relaxed around her, Vi added another, bending them up to rub gentle circles inside her.

Caitlyn threw her head back in wanton moans, brining one hand to grip at Vi's hair and the other to massage her own breasts.

Despite the grip Caitlyn had on her hair, she pulled her mouth away as she pumped into her pussy, watching as she lost herself to pleasure. The image in front of her was almost enough to set her off herself, but she was completely focused on the pleasure of the other. There was a prize to be won, and she was going to stop at nothing to have it.

Vi brought her other hand down to put pressure right above Caitlyn's crotch, reaching her thumb down to rub steady and firm circles around her clit. Caitlyn was almost fucking herself on Vi's hand at this point, the pink-haired woman now taking care to speed up her pace, pushing her fingers all the way into the other before slowly pulling them out with a curl, staring into her piercing blue eyes all the while.

"Vi... I-I'm getting closer..." Caitlyn gasped as the hand that was once tangle in pink hair was now tangled in the sheets, trying to ground herself to reality as she lost her mind to pleasure.

Vi sped up the pace of her fingers once more, making sure to maintain steady pressure on the top of her walls as they squeezed her tighter and tighter. She heard the beautiful sounds of Caitlyn's wetness around her growing, and it wasn't long before they exploded out of her as she came around Vi's fingers. The pink-haired woman dipping her head down to lick up every drop of Caitlyn's cum as she fucked her through her orgasm.

Vi fucked her until she had nothing left to give, and was simply a quivering, whining mess beneath her. She gently removed her hands from inside her, taking care to lick the rest of her cum off before moving up her body, peppering small kisses' against her fucked-out face.

"Vi... I-" She was cut off with a gentle kiss. "That was amazing..."

Vi chuckled, "Thanks Cupcake, I'm glad to know I still got it after all this time." With one more kiss she peeled herself up from atop her, moving to clean herself up before dressing once more. "Wait here while I go have a quick chat."

As much as Vi wanted to stay, to hold Caitlyn and deal with the throbbing between her own legs, she had come here for a reason. She pulled open the curtains and walked down the hall, she still had a job to do.

[matrixbearer2024]

"Lean left! Hard right! Hold tightly to her helm, she'll try to drown you just for spite!"

"Heave, ho! 'Til first light! She'll give a fight to all who try to claim 'The Shadow'!"

"None can tame the one the sailors call: 'The Shadow'!"

Cuz I was working on something pretty angsty with this guy and realized how sad the reunion of this AU would technically be have Aeschylus(Max) being a sailor post-weirdmaggedon joining his father and uncle on their sea adventures. The song that this post is referencing is a sea shanty by Sail North; 'Tale of The Shadow'.

As always, more lore below the cut!

Of the triplets, Aeschylus is the oldest. He came out 20 minutes before Alexander and 35 minutes before Athena. He's the one most like his father in terms of mannerism and hubris, this guy was the one I mentioned being Ford's mini-me always seeking him out whenever the old man's not around.

Aeschylus is also the most adventurous of the triplets since he's curious to a fault, again- very much like Sixer. He's also very trigger-happy and often defaults to violence when being civil with the other party is no longer working or worthwhile, no Stan didn't teach him that. It's just something that developed over time as he grew up an emotionally constipated mess.

"Violence is the language we speak when words no longer suffice."

Sometimes it makes sense he was named after a Greek dramatist, even if Ford had to pick the most ODD poet to name his eldest(technically) after-

That is how his hair normally falls(mostly, he has bangs but he swipes them up because he finds them distracting) if he's not busy slicking it back to avoid looking like Ford, there's a reason why he only starts allowing his hair to fall into it's natural state after Bill's defeat and post-Weirdmaggedon. He doesn't stop wearing contacts though since they're just more convenient than glasses, but he does have glasses and carries them on his person in case of emergency.

There are times he hides Ford's glasses when he's just messing with his old man, he and Stan sometimes have a good laugh about Poindexter being blind as a bat.

Also! The biggest reason why I can see him tagging along with the Sea Stans is due to the biggest fact that very much like Ford, once his huge objective is over and done with– he's at a loss of what to do. His dad on the other hand, wanting to make amends with his brother– suggested the Stan O' War like in canon. Ford's trying to fix his relationships one at a time to get it right. It was Stan who nudged Ford to drag Max along with them as well since he knew inherently those two needed to spend time with each other just as much as he did with his brother.

Yes Stan practically raised the triplets alongside Ford's sweetheart for the entire 30 years yours truly was in the nightmare realm. He's not their dad but he's the dad that stepped the fuck UP- even if it kinda is partially his fault that their dad ended up in that realm in the first place LOLOLOL

Sketchy for this doodle pile is here!

[adastra121]

Doran the Doomed Harbinger

I redesigned the travelling mage from my Touchstarved Unnamed MC’s backstory!

Pronouns: He/They Birthday: December 21 Height: 173 cm (5’8) Personality: Troublesome Contrarian Likes: Dancing, poetry, sweets, really bad erotica (the cringier the better), puzzles, animals that tend to disgust or frighten people Dislikes: Coconut, dogs (he has severe cynophobia from their traumatic experience with a hellhound), rules, boredom, tight clothing Fatal flaw: Lacks a sense of self which makes them turn to external influences for direction Other: Enjoys his tea with a startling amount of sugar. So yeah, they drink slightly tea-flavoured sugar every morning. With the occasional splash of milk. Quote: “We are vessels of unimaginable power, made to be forever contained — molded — into whatever the world says we should be…haven’t you ever wished to let go?”

More about them below:

Doran was a magic prodigy, born gifted and powerful and unfortunately for them, that caught the Senobium’s attention.

When Doran was young, he was attacked by a hellhound. He used his magic intending to kill it, but being an untrained magical powerhouse, he ended up absorbing the creature’s heart instead.

Now they’re a walking bomb. A roaring firestorm lives inside of them and they are being burned alive every waking moment. They keep it under wraps with their magic. They’ve become so practised with restraining the hellfire inside of him that it’s become as natural as breathing to them. He does it subconsciously. Unconsciously.

For most of his life, he had trained under the Senobium to be their perfect mage. He did anything they asked of him, even if the tasks they gave him were dangerous or cruel. He took pride in them, even found humour in the cruelty where most others would only find horror. But he understood, even as a child, that the Senobium was in control — although he played the part of their puppet well, if he ever stepped out of line, they would destroy him.

With the hellfire burning inside them and the Senobium’s control, all they’ve ever known is restraint. Eventually, they had enough of the Senobium’s influence over their life and fled Eridia.

For a while, he travelled around the world, searching for a new purpose after leaving the Senobium. He worked as a magic mercenary, providing magical assistance to anyone that paid — sometimes to those who didn’t, if the mood struck.

He tries their hand at being a hero for a while due to being bored. They’ve never felt the automatic urge to be heroic out of the goodness of their heart, but after leaving the Senobium, he didn’t really have much else to do, and they couldn’t find a good reason not to.

His moral code is whatever they find more interesting at the moment.

“I don’t understand. Why would you risk your life for a bunch of strangers?” *shrug* “Why not?”

Also, villain types are genuinely so much more fun to piss off. Because you get the sense that they’ve already passed the point of no return, and once you pass that certain threshold, you lose much of your restraint. And that makes for interesting adversaries and interesting fights.

…You can kind of see how they wound up half-dead when Luneth found them.

Luneth views them as a mess of contradictions. They are as sincere as they are mysterious. As considerate as they are selfish. As kind as they are cruel. Nihilistic as optimistic. With an open heart and innumerable secrets behind their smile. The one thing about them that makes sense? They are lost. And they are wandering the world, searching for their destiny, even as they claim they don’t believe in it.

Doran is a curious spirit. He loves to question everything. Especially if it results in annoying someone.

They enjoy and collect puzzle toys. They especially like the puzzle boxes which you need to solve in order to open. They gifted one of their favourites to Luneth during their time together.

You know the manic pixie dream girl trope? He’s a manic demon nightmare guy — I don’t know how else to describe a character who self-ascribes the role of the inciting incident for someone else’s journey of growth and decides to incite the incident by any means necessary.

They have a soft spot for “creepy” or “scary” animals like bats, rats, snakes, spiders, bugs, and deep-sea marine animals. Barreleye fish, my beloved.

They wandered without purpose for most of their life. They found their purpose in Luneth. He sees themself in her, but more than that, he sees her potential to be greater than him, than her temple, fate, destiny, all of it. They finally understand faith for having known her. 

Zodiac sign is Sagittarius

MBTI type is ENTP

Enneagram is 5w4

Like Luneth, this character was inspired by a song I was listening to. Doran’s is “Arsonist’s Lullaby” by Hozier.

I think another character theme of theirs could be “Dance Monkey” by Tones and I.

And here's their full character redesign!

[velvetvexations]

Even putting aside what a ridiculous comparison that is, I need it understood that the primary way transradfems engage with "material reality" is through movies from the previous century.

It's hypervisibility vs. invisibility. Trans women were openly mocked and trans men were ignored or just subsumed into a range of experiences for cis women. That's changing now that trans men are getting more spotlight than they had before, although it's still tilted in those directions.

But there was genuinely nothing transphobic about Chihiro's story and to say there was you have to prove his model was trans women and transitioning children when there is an extremely well-established category of AMAB people who present as girls in Japanese culture that is infinitely more talked about in pop culture over there. You have to insist upon the fact that he was ever connected to people who sincerely identify as girls in the first place. If this was America, it'd make more sense, but it is actually just genuinely racist to be told all that and still be like "well, but it makes me think of trans women."

This is why transradfems hate me, too. A trans woman disagreeing with them breaks their rules.

Especially the person who cannot stop fucking bypassing my block to screenshot my blog and then justifying it by claiming I do it, even though I fucking deleted those posts after she complained and have not mentioned her a single time since unless she did first. I didn't screenshot her screenshot calling me a pro-American because I think memes are funny but am not literally unironically in favor of 9/11, but fuck it:

This fucking idiot. Here's the thing: I DON'T THINK NOT WANTING TO ASSOCIATE WITH AGAB LANGUAGE IS UNREASONABLE AT ALL! But it's fucking projecting as fuck to say that people who don't like TMA/TME language must simply want to cling to AGAB. I mean, holy fuck, right? That's not what's being argued dumbass - but she can't think of any other way to divide trans people based on AGAB without referencing it in some way, so her ideal replacement is TMA/TME, that's the two kinds of trans people that exist, you're not AMAB or AFAB you're TMA or TME, this is so fucking masks off it's wild that other transradfems aren't mortified by her saying the quiet part out loud. This should just completely obliterate every trace of protest when someone points out TME is in practice exclusively used to refer to AFAB trans people and no one else ever, unless what she's actually saying is that AFAB trans people are so close to cis women that they might as well just by default be called the same thing and have no other way of identifying themselves when you talk about categories of trans people and their experiences.

But it's so intensely psychologically revealing. I don't think she's ever been misgendered a single time in her life. I don't think she's ever had even the slightest actual barrier to hop in her quest to live as a woman, because this oversensitivity where someone acknowledging transphobes see us as our assigned sex counts as them misgendering you? That's just not the behavior of someone who actually deals with these things in the real world. Or even online. Again, I get pedojacketed and threatened with actual cancelation from my actual career because I engage with actual TERFs. These people never do anything but moan about tee-em-ees misgendering them by discussing how the enemy perceives us. And she in particular is the most desperate to shut that out, because that is the only reminder there could ever possibly be a hypothetical obstacle to her claiming her girl card. I have zero doubt she lives in the queerest city on the planet and if she didn't have internet she would literally be unable to even conceive of transphobia as a concept. And she fucking hates me for not just being a trans woman who agrees with the transandrobros, but also personally identifies with my AGAB. The implication that it's possible for a trans woman to be okay with the term "male" shatters her self-esteem. That is the extent of "misgendering" she has ever faced and ever will face. Me identifying the way I do terrifies her, I have to be objectively wrong about claiming identification with my AGAB because she copes with insecurity by imagining a world where TERFs are right but instead of biology everyone's soul is either Male and Female and you can only be one or the other. Gender can't just be people figuring out who they are and the ways they want to express themselves and live their lives, that's not real enough for her, she has to be Trve Fymyle the way TERFs go on about, except instead of centering around wombs it's this weird vaguely spiritual concept that she forces everyone else to fit into because if they don't it implies her framework isn't the tangible reality she so desperately needs to feel valid.

And that's why she "needs" TMA/TME, because she reasonably wants to talk about the experiences of people who share her category but doesn't want to identify as anything that references what those experiences fucking are (e.g. having been assigned male at birth). And again, that's FINE. I GET THAT. THAT'S UNDERSTANDABLE. I CAN SEE HOW THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. But that doesn't mean TMA/TME doesn't also have issues and I'm sorry if she's having a hard time coming up with something else because it's difficult to navigate the inherent paradox of wanting to associate with something that unfortunately makes her feel bad to associate with it, but she needs to pick something else, and not say "weh the TMEs are making us change our language" as though (a) transradfems aren't telling trans men what language they can use for themselves and (b) it's impossible to come up with terms that don't explicitly make claims about the experiences of others and 100% defines them by suffering less.

And isn't it strange how other transradfems are insisting they have to call themselves CAMAB and CAFAB, but THEY aren't clinging to AGAB language? Weird, right? I mean there is a group of people insistently arguing that it is simply paramount that we use AGAB language, but they're perisex trans women stealing it from intersex people so I guess it's fine?

But I don't CARE. I don't like her and I don't want to look at her stupid blog and I sure as fuck don't want to report on it. I just wish she'd stop talking about me. I literally just want her to stop block evading me and telling people my identity revolves around wanting to suck up to TERFs*. I do not talk about her except when she talks about me. AND I'M STILL NOT EVEN NAMING HER.

When she complained about me screenshotting her posts, I deleted them. They got zero notes. Her screenshots of me have hundreds and she keeps taking them because she's fucking obsessed because she can't feel like a girl if someone else identifies a little differently than she does. I don't even screenshot other people if they have me blocked but I see other people debating their takes, I make a post that references no one with unspecified prompting. And I've never done even done that with her, not only because she keeps baselessly accusing me of harassment, but because she infuriates me on a level where I just sincerely do not like seeing her fucking content in any way for any reason.

God I fucking hate radfems.

*which she happily admits to knowing is a lie but is like "yeah well I say she's mean so I'm going to keep deliberately fabricating falsehoods about her"

Thank you. <3

I have enlightened another soul!

If you asked these people, ten times out of ten they would say detransition and rape are the worst things that can possibly happen to someone and murder is no comparison, but they'll see trans men talking about their sexual abuse to be like "wow so lucky you guys just have to LARP The Handmaid's Tale, but we get KILLED."

And it's like. Okay. But fuck off, though? It's fine to personally see murder as worse and to grieve more over that, ig, it's like, whatever, but to openly state that it's a PRIVILEGE to be raped and detransitioned makes my brain melt. It's like they are physically incapable of not putting down other trans people. It is the one single area of activism they engage in. That is the war they are waging. They don't give a fuck about trans rights because they live in privileged areas with supportive families. Their battle is with the TME trans people on social media.

lolllll

"I hate how misogynistic Velvet is, she's everyone's cumrag"

^actual thing actually said and believed by the TMA/TME tankies

Before anyone accuses this anon of saying transradfems are engaging in male behavior or whatever, I'll note as I always have that they're just as sexually predatory and entitled to the bodies of others as TERFs are. That is the actual comparison being made. The worst trans women are identical to the worst cis women. Diversity win.

[vickyvicarious]

So... Masters and Men, eh? There are several different perspectives at play in this chapter:

Mrs. Thornton

"[Workers strike] For the mastership and ownership of other people’s property [...] they are a pack of ungrateful hounds [...] they want to be masters, and make the masters into slaves on their own ground. They are always trying at it; they always have it in their minds".

Mrs. Thornton speaks very harshly of the workers, and she seems to explicitly view the situation as opposing sides, with the 'lesser' one being the aggressor. Part of the pride she takes in her lifestyle is linked to being brave enough to face them and 'fight' against them. In fact, the quote about that is really interesting to me, because she claims they're "a people who are always owing their betters a grudge, and only waiting for an opportunity to pay it off," but in some ways, she could be seen that way as well. At least in the sense of family history/social status, the Hales are supposedly the Thornton's superiors, right? And Mrs. Thornton is very prickly about being seen as inferior herself. A lot of it seems to be genuine pride and dislike of their (Southern) priorities, but some is definitely defensive. And I could see some nasty high society person using similar wording about Mrs. Thornton herself having a grudge against her betters. Certainly, as someone who herself had to struggle tremendously to climb to the point she's at now, I find it easier to see her believing others will want to do the same (though she attributes more malevolence to their actions).

Mr. Hale

"I should say that the masses were already passing rapidly into the troublesome stage which intervenes between childhood and manhood, in the life of the multitude as well as that of the individual. Now, the error which many parents commit in the treatment of the individual at this time is, insisting on the same unreasoning obedience as when all he had to do in the way of duty was, to obey the simple laws of ‘Come when you’re called,’ and ‘Do as you’re bid!’ But a wise parent humours the desire for independent action, so as to become the friend and adviser when his absolute rule shall cease."

Mr. Hale doesn't attempt to dispute the idea that the workers are inferiors, and he's clearly not willing to go too far because he wants to keep the peace. But he tries to suggest that Mr. Thornton look upon them as growing and learning, and be indulged of their 'mistakes' or 'outbursts', so to speak. When talk again turns to the two sides as being opposed to one another, Mr. Hale says, "is not that because there has been none of the equality of friendship between the adviser and advised classes?" He's certainly in favor of mending relations, and he doesn't believe that opposition is inherent/necessary, but his approach is sort of benevolently condescending. This too fits well with his background and the kind of thing Margaret was used to before they move here.

Nicholas Higgins

...it were the interest of the employers to keep them from acquiring money—that it would make them too independent if they had a sum in the savings’ bank. [...] I heard, moreover, that it was considered to the advantage of the masters to have ignorant workmen... [...] But he—that is my informant—spoke as if the masters would like their hands to be merely tall, large children—living in the present moment—with a blind unreasoning kind of obedience.

Higgins (who isn't here and whose words are being relayed second-hand) is the one who first brought up the workers-to-children comparison, but he did so in a distinctly scathing way. He's very bitter about the 'masters' and is definitely displeased at being looked down on. But it's not just resentment. He recognizes the balance of power that is at least in many cases being deliberately maintained. The workers aren't allowed to be too independent because then they can't as easily be used however the masters want. His views are sort of a reverse of Mrs. Thornton's... the employers are the aggressors constantly shoving the workers back down. Wanting them to be ignorant, never to think for themselves, to be dependent and unquestioning. As someone who has very few options even when it comes to helping his daughter dying due to a factory-related illness, his bitterness is fully understandable.

John Thornton

"But because we don’t explain our reasons, they won’t believe we’re acting reasonably. We must give them line and letter for the way we choose to spend or save our money." [...] "I agree with Miss Hale so far as to consider our people in the condition of children, while I deny that we, the masters, have anything to do with the making or keeping them so. I maintain that despotism is the best kind of government for them; so that in the hours in which I come in contact with them I must necessarily be an autocrat." [...] "And I say, that the masters would be trenching on the independence of their hands, in a way that I, for one, should not feel justified in doing, if we interfered too much with the life they lead out of the mills. Because they labour ten hours a-day for us, I do not see that we have any right to impose leading-strings upon them for the rest of their time. I value my own independence so highly that I can fancy no degradation greater than that of having another man perpetually directing and advising and lecturing me, or even planning too closely in any way about my actions."

Mr. Thornton has quite an interesting mix of views here. He claims that it is necessary for him to be a despot; but he feels he has no right to interfere with their personal lives. He talks scornfully of their strikes and says if they knew why he's taken his stance, then they would act differently, but he refuses to tell them why. He agrees that they're like children, but then says he respects their independence and is treating them like he'd want to be treated. Thornton does seem to have a better understanding of the independent nature of the people here, but he uses that reasoning to justify remaining completely uninvolved in bettering the situation. He asks if he has any right to impose his own views on them just because he's their boss - and that's a fair point, but also, he's kind of doing that regardless? It's his belief that an honest and straightforward, if demanding 'master' is both more respectable and incurs loyalty/becomes an example to follow. It's his belief that the workers should blindly obey him because he's in charge, and that this is better for them. And as someone with so much power over their livelihoods, he can operate based on these views. If they feel otherwise, they don't have the power to change that. When they try with strikes, he's willing to get into a power struggle that he admits will hurt him as well as them, rather than let them 'win' even just enough to make him admit his reasons why. Even though he claims their interests align with his, he seems to feel that they don't or can't understand this, and thus conflict is inevitable. In fact, I think he was the first one to call it a "battle of the classes." Thornton's backstory is very much a "pulled myself up by my own bootstraps" success story, and because he did it by working really hard and practicing lots of self-discipline, he seems to think anyone else who fails to succeed is at fault for not working hard enough. He didn't question his bosses, he just put the work in! And so on. Of course, pretty sure he was always of a higher class, and that's going to be a factor for all of these people regardless, but still, I can easily see him thinking that it's their fault for not knowing how to save their money carefully enough. And thus dismissing their complaints.

Margaret Hale

All I meant to say is, that there is no human law to prevent the employers from utterly wasting or throwing away all their money, if they choose; but that there are passages in the Bible which would rather imply—to me at least—that they neglected their duties as stewards if they did so. [...] ...I see two classes dependent on each other in every possible way, yet each evidently regarding the interests of the other as opposed to their own: I never lived in a place before where there were two sets of people always running each other down. [...] ...you are a man, dealing with a set of men over whom you have, whether you reject the use of it or not, immense power, just because your lives and your welfare are so constantly and intimately interwoven. God has made us so that we must be mutually dependent. We may ignore our own dependence, or refuse to acknowledge that others depend upon us in more respects than the payment of weekly wages; but the thing must be, nevertheless.

Margaret relays Higgins' words, and speaks on his behalf. She seems to have a position closest to her father, in the sense that she feels it is Mr. Thornton's duty to aid the people under his rulership. She seems guided ultimately by religious ideals of the relationship between people, but also recognizes that the situation involves an inherent power imbalance and thus responsibility on the part of the one who is at the top. As much as Thornton might deny it, he does have incredible power over the people. But he is also dependent upon them. Her talk about dependence is really interesting because she's the first person to portray it as extending in both directions. They are dependent upon him to employ them; but he is equally dependent upon them to work for him. In this way, she goes a step further than Mr. Hale seemed to, and recognizes both sides as at least closer to equals. She clearly isn't suggesting that every worker should be seen as having the same rights and roles as Thornton, but neither does she view them as either entirely isolated in their independence, or entirely subservient in their dependence. It's a complicated web in which everyone plays a valuable part. Fighting against one another is by necessity acting against your own interests, in a way. Once again, I think her having these beliefs fits very well with her background as someone who did operate in a more noblesse oblige way and clearly felt she was better than certain other classes, but also experienced being the social lesser/supported one when taken in by her Aunt.

[waterfae]

Apodyopis

- (n.) the act of mentally undressing someone

Pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Reader

Warnings: !MDNI! implied sexual content, house-neutral fem!reader, no use of Y/N, double drabble

Word Count: 200

That top of yours needed to come off.

It was the only thought that went through Benjicot’s lecherous mind as he watched you spar with one of the Blackwood men. He refused to take accountability for any unwholesome conduct that may befall you once he got you alone, mentally claiming it to be your fault with your tunic saturated with perspiration and clinging to your skin; it did not leave very much to the imagination as your perky bosom bounced with your movements. Gods, he thought desperately, I just want the bare feeling of them in my hands. If only he could steal you away, just for a moment. He could take it off himself and he was sure you would allow him to do so, just as you did many times before.

“You degenerate.” Alysanne stepped into his view, bow in hand and a frown on her lips, “You’re suppose to be training. Do you really need to be doing that right now? Drooling at whatever it is you’re imagining?”

Benjicot cocked up an eyebrow and smirked, “I don’t need to imagine.” He took two fingers and tapped the side of his head twice, “I simply have to remember.”

a/n: Yeah, I’m procrastinating on editing chapter three of KMLH. I just wanted to chill on my day off with some light and easy prompts/challenges. I don’t know if this ending actually makes sense, but in my head it does. I couldn't do 100 like the last one, so this one turned into a double drabble.

[smolandweirdwriter]

oh let me tell u i am so normal about adaine so here have a collection of some of my headcanons (that i can remember)

adaine starts dressing more "punk" in a sense because she lives with fig (totally not cause shes trying to remove herself from her goody two shoes appearance that her parents knew)

I also think this comes out of necessity as she doesnt have the money to buy new clothes if they get damaged so ends up sowing patches onto her clothes.

Adaine is the second tallest bad kid (after gorgug) at 5'11 simply because fabian is 5'10 and claims hes 6'0 (adaine is having none of it)

Adaine and tracker are still really close even after kristens breakup

She also has chronic fatigue which did not help her anxiety attacks. for most of her life she just believed she was lazy and not trying hard enough due to her parents thinking she was making excuses

Fig realizes at the beginning of Sophomore year that she really, really likes fun colors. She’s sick of all black. She wears bright red skirts and t-shirts of all colors and she smokes her cigarettes and dyes her hair and paints her nails pale pink and is uniquely, wildly, entirely herself. She doesn’t limit herself to a “rocker aesthetic”. Isn’t the whole point of rebellion to be you? 

Adaine’s style has changed so much. Partway through freshman year, she begins dressing as defiantly as possible. Whatever her parents would hate the most, Adaine wears. She borrows Fig’s clothes, which tend to be a bit too short and tight on her, but it’s all black with a leather skirt and ripped fishnets and her mother calls her a slut and her father forces her to go back to her room and change. Aelwyn mocks her for it over breakfast and Adaine stares at her food and doesn't wear fishnets or crop tops again.

(Aelwyn sneaks out that night wearing a similar outfit because she knows what her parents would say and the idea of the look on her mother's face being pointed at her is enough to terrify her to the point of nausea, and she drinks and drinks and drinks until she forgets to be afraid.)

Still, Adaine's style keeps changing. Sophomore Year it's mostly her Jacket of Useful things, t-shirts, and jeans. But as much as she hated being forced to wear the Hudol uniform, she really likes nice clothes. Junior Year she begins exploring more elven clothing: long skirts, vests with collared shirts, pleated blouses, breeches, tall boots, et cetera. She, Ayda, and Gorgug work together combining Wizardry and Artificing on her Jacket of Useful Things so that it can effectively transform into any coat/jacket/vest/etc to go with her outfit. It's perfect as her style is constantly shifting on a daily basis. 

This is just my thought on all of their heights, but here we go:

Riz is shortest, obviously. He’s actually average-height for a goblin, resting at about 3’6’’. 

Fig gives severe Tall Vibes, so much so that people forget she’s actually only 5’3’’. She wears boots that bring her up to about 5’5’’, but she’s still the second-shortest bad kid.

No one will let Fabian let down how short he is. He’s tried changing his diet, stretching, everything he can imagine—he’s still 5’4’’. It’s mortifying. Fig fits into his clothes perfectly.

Kristen has always felt somewhat ungainly, her limbs at different shapes and sizes, and she’d crash into things a lot. She’s always felt too much: too tall, too wide, too much, too much, too much. Junior Year she starts working out and begins getting comfortable with her body. Still, she’s tall, almost 5’10’’.

Adaine is quite tall, but her parents and sister are taller than her, and she’s spent her life feeling inescapably small. Her posture is good, but there’s something to the way she tilts her head, the general way she carries herself, hunching around a too-big orb and clutching books to her chest, that makes her look short and small. Sophomore Year, her confidence grows, she becomes more stable, and most importantly, she eats much more. She uncurls herself, and by the time she finds Aelwyn again, Aelwyn is horrified to see that her little sister looms over her. Adaine is 5’11.

Gorgug hunches over a lot, and it’s actually after becoming an Artificer that he gets better with his posture, because he’s sitting a lot more now and his back hurts if he hunches too much. His actual height is 6’5’’. He’s the tallest bad kid.

My personal headcanon is that Tracker also has anxiety and used to “wolf out” whenever she got overwhelmed. So she understands Adaine very well, perhaps better than anyone else. She understands the way Adaine’s anger stems from her fear, from her lack of control. Tracker helps her find the right anxiety meds and teaches her methods of working through and handling feeling overwhelmed.

When the bad kids see Nara and Tracker again in Fallinel, she introduces them all to Nara. “Ah,” Nara says as she and Adaine are introduced, and Adaine tenses for oracle, the daughter who killed Angwyn Abernant, the oracle who ran away, but what she’s met with was: “Tracker’s little sister.”

Adaine never tells Tracker how much it means. She loves Aelwyn, and Aelwyn loves her, but that love is something that has been asked for by both parties. Adaine never realized before that she shouldn't have to ask. 

[ahwritings]

harwin x oc story excerpt/blurb/idk

this is an idea for a fic that has been rattling around in my head for a while. I've always wanted to be a writer, but procrastination and low self-esteem is a hell of a combination of personality traits to have.

but i have finally started to actually write all the story ideas and plots that I have daydreamed up. this is an incredibly self serving OC x Harwin idea that I have had. I wanted to put it out there as a sort of beta test to see if anyone would actually be interested in it and to see if I actually have any potential at writing lmfao.

basically i think Harwin got done dirty and i dreamed up an au where he doesn't lol. if that sounds appealing please keep reading and tell me what you think

She spoke. “Will you deny the invitation again?”

The question hung in the air. He stilled as he heard the words leave her mouth. The rise and fall of his chest paused. His twitching fingers stilled, the taught pained grimace that had been twisting his features smoothed out.

This pause continued until he finally opened his eyes to what was in front of him. Her, crouched there, in front of him. Their eyes immediately met and held each other’s stare. He knew what the “invitation” she spoke of meant. It was not the first time she had asked this of him, though he knew this time was different. The prompt posed in the open, no obfuscation, not under cover of shadow and night, hidden away. The same way he had been before.

He knew what the “invitation” entailed. From his time living on this foreign land and living amongst the people, he knew exactly what was being offered to him.

To be invited was to be found. To be seen. To be wanted. It was the chance to be recognized. It was the ultimate offer in this society. One that promised so many things all wrapped into one simple word.

He had been adrift for what felt like an ever-creeping eon. Some lost and wandering mongrel that had nothing of importance to him. The days held no significance, so he let them slip from his grasp. The nights were cursed so he ran from them. Food had no taste, no enjoyment or satisfaction. He was unmoored, any ties that bound him to this plane of existence had been forcibly snapped despite the fervor with which he had wanted to hold onto them. His senses had been dulled for years, colors muted, touch numbed, vision hazed over.

Everything that he used to know and everything he might have once defined himself by had been taken from him. His name, overwritten since the moment he awoke in those tainted shackles. His land served as the burial site for his past. His title, the respect it garnered, as well as his cloak, a paltry piece of fabric that he once held in high regard, are all gone. His family—his father reduced to little more than burnt ashes in the wind. His sisters, wedded off, known by new surnames and their days occupied by caring for their new families. His boys, all their life flames extinguished well before they were able to reach their prime. His love, left behind in a place he could never reach. His parting words, now etched in his memory as a self-fulfilled vex. He was a stranger to them.

He had been a stranger to even himself, for far too long.

The old him was lost in that fire.

This thought rang in his ears as he continued to stare at her. Tears welled in his eyes as these memories and feelings turned over in his head. His lips pressed together tightly, a pursed and pale solemn line on his face. He made his decision.

“Ask me one last time, properly.” His rough voice answered.

Though she had been waiting for it, it seemed his response startled her. She briefly twitched, her lips parting, hanging open slightly. Her eyes narrowed, as she stared at him. Her lips slowly melted into a pleased smile. One small and personal between the two of them. She shifted closer, sitting cross-legged before him now. Her hands, dirty and bloodied, reached for his. Her grip was firm. It was grounding in this moment.

Her eyes shined and his mirrored hers as they knew what he meant.

“Harwin, who has been lost, stranger from a far away land, I have found you. No longer shall you have to wander, no longer shall you be without a home, without a community, without a purpose." Her eyes roved over his face, her expression pulling into one of sadness and sympathy as she spoke.

"Let me take on your troubles, your sorrows, your defeats as my own. Share in this existence I offer you. Partake in all I can give and share in the beauty of my world. These lands, whose fertile soils have grown such bountiful harvests. These waters which will cleanse you anew.”

Throughout her speech her hands clasped his ever tighter, shifting their fingers to be threaded together—palms pressed close. Her words came out quickly, she didn’t stumble but her excited impatience bled through.

“I wish to share my sky, my stars, my home and hearth with you. I wish to bring you into the embrace of my people, make you one with our way of life so that living this new life comes as natural to you as drawing breath. I will show you all there is to see, teach you all that I know and hope in turn you are teach me what I do not. All that I am, all that has shaped me, I invite you to nourish yourself with.”

Harwin’s heart thrummed in his chest. Pulling her into him by their conjoined hands, he moved her to be sat on his lap, her plush thighs constricting around his hips and midsection. He gazed up at her in this elevated position, the glow of the fading sunset wrapped around her through the open ceiling above them. He looked upon her with a worshipful gaze and waited for the final question.

His eyes zeroed in on her lips as she spoke again.

“Do you accept that which I offer?”

…

[easilyentertained99]

chat, i need to be honest. that was not good

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

Op… you make a lot of interesting claims in this post. To get the facts straight before I go on a rant… 1) George claims that Rhaegar was a love struck prince 2) the books don’t mention anything about any marriages being annulled/anyone being set aside 3) seems like Dorne has no issue with Rhaegar and 4) Ned literally never thinks anything bad about Rhaegar… but thinks ill of Robert.

First off, a man trapped in a duty bound marriage and finding love outside that marriage is completely different from a whoremonger shouting about his love while visiting brothels whenever he could. And guess what… Ned straight up thinks that Rhaegar didn’t seem like someone who’d visit brothels. Robert and Rhaegar couldn’t be any more different.

And when did Lyanna want to be wild and free? When is it ever said that Rhaegar locked her in the tower of joy and that Lyanna was a prisoner?

Ned never even alludes to there being any truth in any of these claims. What we do know is that Lyanna greatly resembles Arya in looks and personality… and Arya wants to be a high septon and kings counselor, meaning Arya wants to have a position of power and not be reduced to a baby making machine. Going off of that… it seems like Lyanna didn’t want to be “wild and free,” she just wanted to be treated with respect. The only reason Arya is even treated like she’s wild is because she doesn’t conform to the Westerosi standards for highborn women.

And of course she’d feel miserable when she heard Aerys killed her brother and father. Aerys. Not Rhaegar. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she felt guilt about what happened, but in the end it was Aerys who brutally killed them. And then Rhaegar goes to protect his family and dies, and then Rhaegar’s family is brutally killed and then Lyanna dies. George did claim that the greatest love stories are the tragedies (i may be misremembering but i know he said something along the lines of that lmao).

Op, you claim that Rhaelyas love would’ve died after getting news of the Starks deaths, and then you try to suggest that Rhaegar may have been keeping Lyanna isolated from news in Dorne… like please pick a story to go with! And Rhaelyas love dying or Lyanna not being kept updated on what was going on outside of Dorne just doesn’t seem to be true. When reading Neds chapters, it seems like Lyanna was fully aware of what happened to Rhaegar’s children and Elia… as Lyanna pleaded with Ned like how Sansa pleaded with Ned to not kill Lady (hope i’m not misremembering here lol). And Rhaegar dying with a woman’s name on his lips (likely Lyanna’s name) and Lyanna clutching a winter rose (this may just be symbolism for baby Jon tbh) until she passed away seems to contradict your belief that their love died.

Also, where are you getting the “Rhaegar would suggest to set aside his kids and wife to marry Lyanna” from? The show? You mention how Lyanna would not be okay with this, and I agree that Lyanna would never be fine with setting Elia and Elia’s children aside. But even thinking that Rhaegar would ever even suggest setting aside Elia and his children is bonkers. Like seriously… there was so much tension between Aerys and Rhaegar that the Royal court was said to have begun looking like the situation before the Dance of the Dragons. And Dorne was Rhaegar’s greatest support! Why would it make any sense for him to annul his marriage with Elia? And please remember that during the sack Rhaenys hid under her fathers bed. The text supports him loving his kids/his child who wasn’t a baby seeking to be protected by him so why would he endanger them and their positions? (and no, disappearing with Lyanna for awhile isn’t him endangering his family. Aerys was the one who endangered his family (hot take brandon was the one who endangered the starks like wth was he thinking???). and tbh it seems like Aerys knew exactly where to find Rhaegar so did Rhaegar and Lyanna even disappear? or were they just keeping their location a secret from the rebels? the rebels who ended up killing Rhaegar’s family?)

I will say that how op first started to characterize Lyanna is something I agree with, her being principled, noble, honorable, and just with a sensitive side seems to be true, but then op goes on to continue to claim that Lyanna was wild and that she had little regard as to how other people perceived her. There’s no reason for us to believe that she didn’t care about what others thought of her or that she was wild and wanted freedom more than anything, it just seems like she dared to tread away from what was expected of Westerosi highborn women and that she didn’t want to be married to Robert. And guess what… Robert ended up being an abuser! *gasp* Lyanna dear… you clocked Robert right away.

And seriously… how does any of what op mentioned back up their claim that Lyanna would never resign herself to the position of a mistress? Is being a mistress/paramour really that bad? Does it truly seem like Lyanna would look down on those women? Her mini me Arya doesn’t look down on the courtesans of Braavos who occupy a similar position as mistresses in society. And it seems like plenty of noblewomen have been mistresses in the past and they are still as respected as a woman can be in Westerosi society. Missy Blackwood and Elaena Targaryen are right there. And Op, if Lyanna was Rhaegar’s mistress, why would you think that Lyanna couldn’t have been happy? Are we going to doubt Ellarias happiness and her love of Oberyn because they weren’t married? Should I doubt Rhaenyra and Harwins happiness because Rhaenyra was married to Laenor? Rhaegar and Elias marriage was not a love match. And if Rhaegar and Lyanna did marry… ever wonder if polygamy was introduced as a Valyrian practice by George to hint at Rhaegar taking a second wife? Should I now doubt Rhaenys and Aegons happiness and love because Rhaenys was Aegons second wife?

Now can we please stop acting like two people married due to duty have any reason to love each other? Nedcat seems to be an exception in Westeros. Lyanna and Rhaegar falling in love isn’t ruining Elia and Rhaegar’s marriage when love wasn’t there in the first place.

haha my whole post is a bit messy i just wanted to get my thoughts out :)

fuckkkk i want to tag more (my tags are a mess lmao no i’ve not gone through them and no they will not make any sense)

[wonder-worker]

During [the spring and summer of 1141], a number of contemporary narrative sources agreed that Matilda’s sudden and unexpected success went straight to her head. Matilda’s most renowned modern biographer has suggested that “conduct acceptable in a powerful king . . . was not acceptable in a ‘Lady of the English’. This line of reasoning can be taken quite a bit further. It is clear that contemporaries expected Matilda to emulate the behavior of those women who had previously held the rank of regina, and act like a queen consort while performing the office of king. Most queens consort, however, did not have to consolidate recognition of their position as Matilda was constrained to do. Nearly all the chroniclers who had marveled at her assumption of power turned on her immediately. Not surprisingly, the Gesta Stephani took the greatest exception:

She at once put on an extremely arrogant demeanor instead of the modest gait and bearing proper to the gentle sex, began to walk and speak and do all things more stiffly and more haughtily than she had been wont.

But other more sympathetic chroniclers also joined this chorus of disapproval: Henry of Huntington described her as “elated with insufferable pride” while the Worcester chronicler noted her “hard heart” as she strove to consolidate her position. Had she been a man, Matilda’s decidedly authoritarian style might have passed for a regal show of strength. Indeed, Matilda probably felt that if she was to hold on to her newly acquired status, she needed to behave like a king. Thus, Matilda’s forward movement from recognition of her status to the execution of her office was fraught with gendered difficulties concerning how a woman ought to conduct herself.

...As she anticipated her crowning, Matilda strove to consolidate her dynastic claims and establish her authority. It seems reasonable to suppose that Matilda looked to her father and her first husband for examples of successful kingship as she did for representational purposes. Both Emperor Henry V and King Henry I were suspicious, uncompromising, relentless, and ruthless in the pursuit of their aims. Probably both would have advised Matilda to follow their example. This was exactly what St. Bernard told Queen Melisende of Jerusalem following the death of her husband: “show the man in the woman; order all things . . . so that those who see you will judge your works to be those of a king rather than a queen.” Much of Matilda’s behavior during the spring and summer of 1141 can be explained as the emulation of male gendered kingship. But kings had the built-in advantage of female consorts to soften the more hardboiled aspects of their rule; Matilda had played that very role herself for her first husband. Nevertheless, in 1141, Matilda eschewed the feminine aspects of queenship completely, in effect negating what could have been useful symbolism to bolster the construction of her authority. But for Matilda to be perceived as a soft, forgiving, and gentle woman at the one moment she needed to consolidate her position at the top of a male dominant political society would not have been practical.

But by constructing herself as a female feudal lord, and emulating male gendered kingship, Matilda annoyed contemporary observers. The chroniclers’ hostility may have been due to the fact that Matilda was claiming kingly sovereignty for herself alone, and not in association with either her husband or her eldest son. The Gesta Stephani described Matilda as not only arrogant, but also spurning the advice of her chief advisors, the earl of Gloucester, her uncle King David of Scotland, and the “kingmaker” himself, the Bishop of Winchester. The Gesta implied that if Matilda had behaved as a deferential woman, and heeded the counsel of her male advisors, she could have devised a means to permanently depose Stephen, and be crowned and anointed in his place. The Gesta placed Matilda’s ultimate failure at her own door, blaming it on her arrogant reliance on her inferior, womanly intellect and emotions.

Matilda’s hard-line stance, acceptable in a male king, bothered the authors of the Worcester chronicle and the Gesta, suggesting that contemporaries were confused by what they wanted the “Lady of the English” to do, indicating that, as a woman and a domina, she should behave gently like a queen rather than forcefully like a king. Combined, all the chroniclers, with the exception of Malmesbury, suggested that Matilda should have used the intercessory powers of queenship to set Stephen free, moderated the harsher aspects of her father’s rule, and excused the Londoners from financial support. Although a more diplomatic approach might have helped, freeing Stephen at that moment in time would have realistically served no practical purpose in establishing Matilda’s authority. And, in denying Eustace his inheritance, Matilda was only imitating the efforts of her father, Henry I, who also dealt harshly with challengers to his throne. Henry I kept his elder brother Robert Curthose in prison until he died, and prevented his nephew, William Clito, Curthose’s heir, from gaining any aspect of the Anglo-Norman inheritance. Matilda wished to convince her contemporaries that she was quite capable of being a king, but their reactions betrayed hostility toward her as a woman presuming to establish kingly authority.

-Charles Beem, "Empress Matilda and Female Lordship", The Lioness Roared: The Problems of Female Rule in English History"

[sonknuxadow]

ive noticed when people make crossover stuff between the different sonic continuities they tend to refer to the different sonics as just. the continuity theyre from. like boom sonic movie sonic game sonic etc. which makes sense but realistically if the characters themselves decided to go by nicknames so they werent all going by sonic and confusing eachother they wouldnt be coming up with the nicknames we as fans are giving them. game sonic doesnt know hes from a game. boom sonic doesnt know hes from a spinoff called sonic boom. movie sonic doesnt know hes from a movie. archie sonic doesnt know hes from the comic series published by archie. etc. so i wonder what they would Actually call themselves if this ever happened...

[drinkingdeadpeopletea]

i think what's really getting me about kozma claiming to have blown up the moon and also claiming to "be" the breach and basically equating "breach collaborators" and "my allies" in the same speech is that. the breach operative we've known since season one, the person who "is" the breach as far the story's concerned, is saskia. and midst is saskia's HOME! she built the black candle with her own two hands (metaphorically, at the very least), she LOVES it there and she loves those people :( and if we take kozma's story at face value, she just threw the "centerpoint" (according to imelda) of her own operation entirely under the bus and endangered the lives not only of innocent people but also of a bunch of her own operatives without their knowledge just to destabilize the trust and frankly that makes me kind of hope she IS telling the truth simply because that's the kind of betrayal i find absolutely delicious,