#i need to have war media taken away from me

[cirr0stratus]

“talk to me Goose” in Top Gun: Maverick bears the same weight as “Good, Kat” in All Quiet on the Western Front and No I Will Not Elaborate

[parfaitblogs]

can I ask a blurb of post prison spencer and sunshine reader? She works in the BAU as the media liaison and when she rescues him in the episode 300 he looks at her and is like angel? Am I in Heaven?

spencer reid x sunshine!reader. fluff/hurt/comfort. also angst if you squint. i should’ve just slapped smut in here to make it a quinfecta! 0.5k words. gn!liaison!reader. set during '300'.

a/n: thank you for sending me back into orbit by getting me to rewatch those two episodes. i need spencer reid biblically. unfortunately that's not what this blurb is about. but i was audibly barking every time i pictured him. i am terribly sorry for keeping you on edge about when this was going to be posted </3 i wasn’t sure how happy i was with it for the longest time. thank u for the request ♡

spencer reid who accepted his fate the second he was taken hostage. because honestly, the likelihood of his team finding and rescuing him in time was slim to none, and he had lost wars to hope too many times before.

spencer reid who tried to stall his death with a speech, trying to dull the uncomfortable ache in his chest thinking nobody was coming to save him. maybe he could lie his way into believing his team had found him, and he would picture their faces before he inevitably died.

spencer reid who definitely did not expect the awfully loud gunshot — one, then two — ringing throughout the air, followed by panic and yelling. who wished he could've been relieved to see each face of his team slowly appearing in his view, followed by more gunshots, and the promise that he was safe.

he had already accepted death. 

but, spencer reid who's entire facade changed the second you came into view. no gun in hand, because you never were expected to need one, which was even more horrifying to him than the fact that he had been milliseconds away from his own death.

spencer reid who stared at you like he was but a planet and you were the sun he was orbiting, something he knew he'd get teased for later. but right now you were here and he was watching you attempt to unbuckle each leather strap holding his limbs into place, strained laughter escaping him every time you failed because your hands were shaking so hard.

spencer reid who's face fell when you finally met his gaze to get the leather strap holding his head in place, and he could see the tears brimming your eyes and he could hear the sniffles you were intaking to keep your emotions at bay. an achingly painful contrast to the facade he was used to seeing on you.

spencer reid who asked "what's wrong?" and who's heart ached when your response was "i thought i was going to lose you". spencer reid who's heart probably shouldn't have then stuttered like that in his chest at your admission, and he definitely shouldn't have allowed the rush of hope at your words.

but, worse than that, he realised he had accepted his death without thinking, and if he died, he was leaving you and perhaps that was worse than any situation he has been in before, in all fifteen years he's at the bureau.

and you, who's vision was awful from the tears you were attempting to keep at bay, yet you stared at him for a beat, taking in every graze and bruise on his face the best you could to commit them to memory, before wrapping both arms around him and pulling him into you. spencer reid who sobbed in your arms; a scenario you had never even considered the possibility of because spencer reid did not cry anymore, and prison had fractured him in ways you cannot even begin to comprehend. but he was here, and he was crying again, and sad sight or not, he was feeling.

spencer reid who thanked you over and over again for finding him, because no, he really didn't want to die. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[chibsandchill]

Stolen moments under silk sheets (18+)

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond x AFAB!reader

Summary: Aemond is touch starved. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Kind of. 

Masterlist

My requests are open! 

MDNI NSFW (warnings under the page break). SFW version here!

Warnings: Including but not exclusively slivers of angst sprinkled here and there, fluff, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, creampie, obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, descriptions of metaphorical self-harm, very brief mentions of the dance and the events that happened (some canon divergence), Aemond is his own warning, canon typical themes, the beginning is a bit slow, grammatical and spelling errors (English is not my first language)

I am not responsible for your media consumption 

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

The roses in your garden have begun to wilt. Summer is leaving, and winter claims all, but you remain untouched by the darkness that crept ever closer with each passing cycle. Your roses may have lost their vibrant colors but your face remained as bright and beautiful as ever. You thrive even in desolation – the harsh winds cannot steal the warmth from your cheeks or the spark from your eyes. 

“And you say you do not care for gardening, my love.” 

He’s almost startled by your presence, but since the war very little caught him off guard. But that look in your eyes? The overwhelming affection? That was something Aemond reckoned he would never get used to. And yet he could not get enough, you had awakened a beast inside him that fed and craved all things you. A smile did not satiate him like it used to, a night spent together felt like a fleeting moment spirited away by vengeful gods. 

Aemond hums. “Your passions are my passions.” 

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your face on his shoulder. He felt, in that moment, as if he was standing on jelly, his knees threatening to buckle and his spine like liquid. There was not enough of you pressed against him. He felt burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, his skin crawling with want and desire, his cock half-hard already and his mind buzzing. 

“Clever.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. Aemond shivers as your warm breath hits the sensitive skin there. 

“Did I wake you?”

His words are a whisper. Soft and with underlying guilt. You do not sleep well anymore, not without him. Too much has happened. The death of Jaehaerys proved that there is no sanctuary that cannot be breached, not a lock that cannot be broken, and not a part of you that will not suffer.  

You shake your head. 

“Liar.” 

“I was already awake. I like to…” 

“Hm? There is no judgment here.”

There was not an inch of you that he would part from – not a sliver of you he would not take, and not a piece of you he did not dream of devouring. The opposite was also true, for he craved to be taken, to be devoured and kept more than he ever dreamt of possessing. Aemond would have all of you, had woven that promise into the very fabrics of your marriage, embedded the words as if they were a spell into his vows, and oh, how sweetly you had smiled upon hearing them. He doubted you heard them for what they truly were. Are. 

“I watch you,” you confess, “when you sleep. You look so… so peaceful. The war has yet to poison that.” 

He blinks. Seconds tick by, but Aemond is too busy staving off the greedy blush from turning him red to respond. He is unable to respond, truly, even were he not practically glowing at your words. Words clump together on his tongue. 

“I should speak to the Housekeeper then,” Aemond clears his throat, “ if the room is so lacking you need to resort to staring at me. Though, perhaps I should thank her for her oversight that surely allows you to fall asleep quickly.” 

The corners of your lips fall, barely, but there is nothing about you he does not notice. There is nothing you can hide from his greedy eyes. 

“Twas a compliment, husband.”

“Perhaps a visit to the Maester is needed-”

You press a hand flat against his cheek and he falls silent. Your thumb brushes across his cheekbone to the apple of his cheek, to under his eye. There it rests, caressing him. He wants more. Your touch is only skin-deep, and it is not enough. If he could, he would press himself against your skin until all that remained of him was fading heat. Until he was but a faint whisper on the wind and his memory lived on only in you, for there was not a part of him he did not wish to give you. He would carve a place for him in you – in your heart, so that he would be close always. You would beat as one, breathe as one.  

“Yours is a beauty that the gods go to war for.”

“Perhaps once.” Aemond looks away. 

“Scars are stories of hardships overcome. They are marks of victory, do not think they make you less. They never will. Not to me.”

“Perhaps so, but I am not whole. There is a piece of me that was stolen and I can never get it back. The gods would not even glance at a man such as I for anything other than a feat of greatness.”

“And you have shown them many,” you press a short kiss against his neck. “You claimed the Queen of all Dragons,” another kiss, “you won many battles on dragonback,” another kiss, “you showed mercy to your enemies,” a series of kisses follow that claim, all inching up his neck. “You saved your brother and Sunfyre,” a kiss on his cheek, “you were crowned King by the smallfolk”, this kiss fell on the corner of his lips, “and you have been a most attentive husband.” 

A kiss straight on his lips. Aemond melts into it, pressing himself into you. You pull away too soon and he finds himself chasing after you, desperate for one more touch. 

“The gods give the toughest battles to their strongest soldiers.” You thumb the skin under his eye, “and you have won them all. Take pride in that. Gods know I do.”

“You do?” He asks. 

He did not think himself strong, or a champion of god given battles. His weaknesses tower over the oasis of strength, and so they are hidden to him. But he is not a vain man, that is not why he hates Luke for stealing his eye. 

You smile. “Of course. And I think all the beauty in the world fades compared to yours. Scars and all.”

Aemond is not sure he believes your words, but he believes you. It is a conflicting mess of jumbled thoughts mingling with the words of others. He was never the beauty of the family, his dragon was not the beauty of her kin. His life was one of hiding, of pride hidden beneath compliance, of hatred festering under blushing skin. 

“You flatter me, my love.” He says before his eyes wander back to your roses. “Yours is the only opinion worth hearing. The only one that matters.” 

You hum. “Come back to bed, Aemond.” 

“As my Queen commands.” 

The draping curtains flutter in the soft autumn wind, and from Aemond’s side of the bed he could see out across the Blackwater Bay. Sometimes when the wind is harsh and the rain plenty, Aemond is back in the skies above Storm’s End. He dreams of thousands of ways he could have saved Luke, though he does not wish he lived, not truly. In some dreams he thought of ways he could harm him further – truly punish him for what he took from Aemond that night. 

You can never have all of him. Not anymore. Though he dares not tell you that is why he cannot look at himself in mirrors. He would not show you the twisted being that hid under his skin. The one that would gouge out his other eye without hesitation were you to ask and smile as he did so. 

He could never, would never forgive Luke for what he stole from you. It is a hatred so woven into his very being that he would carry that with him even in all Seven Hells. 

“Come,” you beckon, kneeling on the bed. “If my words alone are not enough, I will prove it to you.” 

“Prove what?” 

His voice is low, filled with desires transcending earthly flesh. His is one of hunger for your very soul. 

“Come here and I will show you.” Your smile is coy, playful even. There are half-wilted petals from your roses on the bed behind you. They form no pattern, haphazardly thrown across the sheets.

He wonders when you put them there. 

Aemond comes to a stop in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, posture ramrod straight. He feels as though he is standing in front of the gods themselves, awaiting judgment. He hopes that he is enough, even if he cannot offer you all of him. There will always be a piece of him enduring the times alone. 

He does not feel worthy of you. No amount of petals carefully gathered off prickly stems will soften the harsh edges of his being. The love he grew up around was conditional, and though he was rarely struck, their words were as sharp as daggers, and left deep scars that will never heal. It left him jagged, bleeding, tearing at the seams with a beast untamed. In the image of you he tried to mend himself, with your love he patched the holes left by cruel words. He tore the flames from his breath so that his wrath could never burn you, the claws from his hands so that his touch would always be gentle. Not a piece of him was worth suffering in the absence of anything you. 

He was a dragon playing at being a lover. 

But he broke his wings for just a glimpse of you, then forced himself to fly when you desired to feel the wind against your face. You could not see the darkness oozing from the cracks of him, of your husband as you knew him. 

If it meant losing you, he would be a dragon no longer. 

He could simply be him. 

Aemond. 

But Aemond knew not who he was anymore. He knew who he was forced to become, and who war made him. But war was no longer, and yet the man rising from the ashes of his kin’s pyres remained. 

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go when you get so lost in your head?” 

He does not wish to reveal to you how deep his longing for you goes. It is etched into the walls of his heart, it is a bottomless pit that calls only your name. He can never fill it. It aches and aches, and he longs and longs. His envy knows no bound, it is endless in its hunger for you. He would have all of you if he could, just as he wants you to have all of him. Every thought in your head, every feeling, every sensation. 

“Lost. I get… lost.” He confesses. The words are raw and a piece of his armor is cracked open to reveal mangled flesh of all Aemond’s that has been and will be. His recreation of himself in your image is as endless as his need to please. 

“Oh, my love,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

You reach for the strings on his trousers before you pull them down. He steps out of them easy enough, though he feels awkward standing there with his tunic on. Though you did not leave him to suffer for long before you pulled his shirt off as well. You palm at his chest, touching every divot and lean muscle on his chest. It is overwhelming. He almost feels like crying. 

Your fingers massage, they scratch, they soothe and they burn his feverish skin. Your touch sets him alight. He can feel your love through every pass of your fingers over his skin. You press against the lean muscle, caress the slopes and divots of his flesh. Though you have long since memorized each other’s bodies, you touch him as if it is your first. His mind is dizzy with you, he feels as if he’s falling and drowning at the same time. The pleasure fills his throat, his lungs, and yet it also sweeps him off his feet, knocks the breath out of his chest. He wants more. He wants you to press harder, to mark him. You could press through his skin, through his muscles and ribs, and grasp his very heart, and you would still be so far away he wanted to weep.

His cock stiffens, though you keep touching him. You brush over his right nipple, then the left, then both. It is a strange sensation – one he’s not wholly against. 

Then, 

your fingers brush against his abdomen, trace the outline of his abs, then dips below. You grasp him firm in hand, and Aemond thinks he sees stars. You are so very soft, and he is so very very hard. 

The whore Aegon forced on him at his thirteenth name-day held him tightly, too tightly, then rubbed his skin raw, and still he could not force himself to come. He remained flaccid and cold in her calloused hands, even as Aegon jeered and leered from his place on the dais. 

But you showed none of her cruelty, none of the cold indifference. Just your presence took him halfway to completion, and he doubted it would take much more. Your other hand reaches below to cup his balls. That touch is less gentle, more firm. You start to twist the hand holding his cock, bringing it back and then forth in long, slow movements. You switch between firm, soft, fast, and then slower. But it is never not gentle. And you never look away from his eyes.

Though half-lidded, jaw slack and chest heavy, he stares at you. Pleasure of the flesh is second to the connection he finds in your eyes. 

His eye blinks wide open at the new sensation. Your mouth is warm and soft like silk. It is heaven made flesh, and it makes his knees tremble. You envelop him, tongue hot on his cock. You pay special attention to his head; trace the veins and the weeping slit with extra care. And, oh, is he weeping. 

Aemond needs more. 

He wraps his fingers around your hair, then gently guides you back and forth. A single shake of your head would free you from him, should you wish, but you don’t. Your tear-filled eyes plead with him for a tighter hold, and he complies. A bit. But he is soon lost to the pleasure of your mouth, and so as his eye flutter shut and he shudders, he finds himself guiding you all the way down so that your nose meets the short hairs at his base, and then back up just far enough that your lips wrap around his head. 

The reverence of a septon to the gods are nothing compared to that which he whispers your name.

Though if he finds the most pleasure from your sucking his cock or from knowing that a piece of him was inside you, he would never know. You swallow him down so easily, and with so much enthusiasm he is mournful that there is not more he can give. 

There is a knife on the chest by his feet. He wonders, would you swallow all of him as easily as his seed? If he cut himself would you lap at his wounds? 

Then, you pull away. You crawl up the bed until you fall down on the many pillows at the top of the bed. He follows without thought, kicking off his shoes and socks. His hair tie is next and his pale hair falls down his back. You are not prey, and he is not a predator, but he feels a thrill chasing after you into your marital bed. It sets his blood alight with desire. 

“That was cruel.” He says. “I was close.” 

He wasn’t. Your passions are his passion, your pleasure his pleasure. 

“Then I suppose you should get revenge.” You bite your lip. 

Your nightwear is thin. It is easily swept away from your body and thrown on the floor. 

“Yours is the beauty gods would die for.”

“It is all for you.” You tell him as you lean back against the pillows. 

His eye rove over you. Not an inch of you is not perfect, not an inch he did not love. All of you on display for him; an offering for a vengeful man. You are not unmarred by the war, and there is not a scar he does not kiss. He feels your pain as if it was his, and each wound on your body is his failure. 

“We match,” you told him once. 

He did not have the heart to tell you that this was done in your honor, to take the pain from you and deliver it upon him. He cut himself open for all the gods to see, then demanded they scar him as they did you. 

Aemond runs his hands along your form with the same careful love as you did him. His hands caress the skin on your ribs, dance around your sensitive nipples to lay flat over your heart. It pounds against your skin, calling out to him. His beats in turn. Then, he turns his attention to your breasts. You are most sensitive there. His lips wrap around a nipple, and you gasp. His hand wanders down your stomach, through the hair covering your cunt, and then he presses down on your clit. You jump into his touch, eyes widening at the sudden pleasure. 

“Aemond.” You moan. 

His mouth comes off your nipple with a wet ‘pop’ before he leans down and claims the other. He presses tight circles into your clit, alternating directions, then he moves his index finger to nudge at your entrance. His thumb stays on your clit, but the motions are lazy. He spells his name, then yours, then he stops. 

Aemond pulls away, but not for long. 

He moves down your body, about to put his lips against your cunt, when you pull at his hair. Aemond groans into your flesh. His desire for you is akin to drunkenness. He is dizzy with it, crazed with a need that can never be satisfied. Still, he presses himself against your folds, tongue darting out to lap at the wetness there. 

It trickles down the abyss of his desire, and in turn it grows. The hunger deepens, hollows out his chest. 

His thumb stays on your clit, but only for a moment before his nose replaces it. He grabs your hips and brings you closer to him. His face is all but buried in you, and yet it is not enough. Your wetness covers his lips, his chin, his cheeks. His tongue digs inside you for more, tip of his nose pressing against your clit in that way that makes your head spin. 

Time seems to stop, your pleasure endless, his chase bringing him closer and closer, and deeper. He presses a finger inside your entrance, before you give way and he thrusts it inside. He pumps it when his tongue darts away, so that you are never empty of him. 

Then, just as your hips start to shake, and your moans grow louder, you pull him away. He protests, loudly, but it falls on deaf ears. You pull him up to you, and he is reluctant to follow. Aemond feels cold and lost, but is then altogether found and warm when your hands wrap around his cock again. 

And the next moment he’s burning. 

You guide his cock inside you, and he sputters to life. His lips press down on yours, uncaring of the taste of him inside your mouth. He needs the connection, needs you. Aemond thrusts wildly against you for a few moments, his cock driving in and out of you with filthy wet sounds. 

You hold his face in your hands as you kiss, and his thrusts grow more controlled. Aemond wants it to last. Wants to drag out your connection for as long as he can, but he can feel his orgasm building already. His lower back aches with it, his toes curling against the bedsheets. He moves to slow down but the second he tries, you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing your feet against his buttocks to slam him into you. It is the same when he tries again, until he drives back with the same force as you drive him back in. 

The pace is maddening, your sounds so sweet he feels like he’s drowning. He knows not where he ends and you start, but he would have it no other way. If he pushes into you hard enough would you truly become one? In body as you are in soul? 

“Gods, Aemond,” you gasp at a particularly hard thrust.

Aemond brings his finger back down to thumb at your clit as apology, and you sing even sweeter for it. 

Time means nothing, there is only you and him. And then you’re falling over the cliff of pleasure, and he dives after you, clinging to you with bleeding fingers. Your pleasure is his pleasure, two halves of a whole finally forcing themselves together. There is not a crack in your connection, and Aemond thinks he sees stars as his vision goes white. He gasps and moans into your mouth, your pants and sounds of pleasure drowned by his need to bring himself closer to you. 

He lets himself fall upon you, cock softening inside you. His head spins still, but his heart beats like a drum in his chest at knowing that he’s once again been claimed by you. Even when he pulls himself free (reluctantly) there is still a piece of him in you. A piece that would never blossom into something more, for Aemond would not part with a single part of you, not even for himself. 

“I love you,” you pant into his ear. 

“Not as much as I love you,” he says in return. 

You laugh. “‘Tis not a competition, husband.” 

“No.” He agrees, with an easy smile. It is the truth. 

Aemond had won the war, and he had proven himself. And so he would never part from you again, even were the gods to try and force him from your side. The threads of your destiny are weaved together into one singular past, present, future. 

His beauty may be what gods fought for, 

but Aemond? 

Aemond would fight all the Gods, both old and new, 

for just one more stolen moment under silk sheets. 

[calisources]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences and quotes have been taken from different media about starcrossed lovers or forbidden love, full of angst, some bold words, some nasty ones, possessive nature and letting someone use you as a replacement. So, some toxic energy in this one. Change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.

I love you,and I will love you until I die,and if there's a life after that,I'll love you then.

Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?

And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.

I'm falling in love with you.

I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. I have waited for this for such a long time. Consequences be damned.

These violent delights have violent ends.

 I’m only human. And you are …all-consuming.

Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.

I will never let you go, do you hear me? 

 will keep you safe. And I will find a way for us to be together.

If you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.

If you were any less the man you are, I would beg you to take me with you.

If you were any less the woman you were, I would beg you to come with me.

I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

This is lust.

She’s your very own forbidden fruit.

You said you didn't want this.

We all desire what we cannot have.

Have you noticed how the boy looks at you?

Do you think I didn’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?

You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.

We can’t do this on so many levels.

I can't even whisper her name, my heart would burst out of my chest.

But I would fight against the stars for you.

I have ruined your life.

Some lines you just don't cross. 

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?

The closer we get—the more I let you in…the more dangerous this gets.

Don’t you get it? You’re what everyone wants! But I’m not going to let them win.

Make it so I never have to dream about this again—make it so we can have this…forever.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

We were doomed from the start. 

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. 

You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.

Are you scared of me now?

You loved me - then what right had you to leave me?

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

One moment, you give me everything that I want, and in the next, you snatch all of that away.

It's hopeless. We can never work out.

The world didn’t want us together so I forged a new one where we would.

How could a peacock lust for a lion?

You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.

It's absurd how crazy love can make you...but even more absurd how stupid jealousy can make you.

 That you and I are meant to be together, but never meant to be.

Why does fate seem always to conspire against us? To deny us life's simple pleasures?

We'll meet after this war. I'll certainly find you wherever you'll hide. 

War makes fools of men and women wanton.

What offends you most, Father? That she's Catholic, or that she's poor?

If my father discovers you here, he'd cut off your little nuts and eat them. He can't stand you.

You tempress, I see you once and all I can think of is having you.

Feelings are forbidden, does not mean we cannot enjoy one another.

The more you deny me, the more I desire you. You are a plague in my mind.

Ever since we met, no one else can compare. 

How can I be with someone else, when I’m with them, it’s you I see.

You can have me, think of whoever you love. For tonight.

You can pretend I'm her/him. I don't care. I just want you.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[ABC is Private US Media]

Attacks on the international airport in Port-au-Prince generated headlines worldwide. Coordinated assaults on multiple prisons freed thousands of prisoners over the weekend. But all that could be just the beginning of what an increasing number of Haiti experts are openly referring to as a full-blown rebellion against the country's sitting government.

I was speaking to a senior diplomatic official in Haiti on Monday, a very sober and calculated person not prone to hyperbole. In discussing the situation, I used the word "gangs" and he cut me off.

"I would stop using that term if I were you," he said, arguing that gangs are what you find in American cities. In Haiti, there are multiple large criminal groups with enormous firepower, now unified with the stated goal of toppling the sitting government.

"They are armed rebel groups and this is civil war," the source said.[...]

Some 80% of the capital is under gang control, if not more, according to the UN. Those groups have fought each other and the government for years[...]

But things have fundamentally changed in the last month. We will get to the "why" in a moment, but consider the following:

-Haiti's dozens of gangs, largely grouped into two competing alliances, have seemingly set aside their differences and rather than attack each other, are working together to attack the government.

-The gangs are not hiding their goal. It is a change in government. Gang leadership, most notably a man called Jimmy Chérizier, aka Barbecue, has said the fighting won't stop until the unelected acting Prime Minister Ariel Henry is no longer in power. He's called for Henry's arrest.

-The gangs have launched a series of well-planned, massive attacks against key targets around the city. Nearly 30 police precincts have also come under fire, many completely taken over or destroyed. Government buildings have also been attacked, including one just 500 meters from the U.S. embassy. There is random, sporadic violence constantly around the city, but these attacks are strategic and targeted.

As to the why—gangs have long sought to fill a power vacuum left behind when President Jovenel Moïse was assassinated in July 2021. But an inflection point came last month.

Henry, in charge since just a few weeks after Moïse's death, had said he would step down by early February. But then, he changed course. The U.S.-backed Henry said the security situation needed to improve before he could leave and new elections could take place. Last week, he committed only to holding elections in August of 2025, a full 18 months away.

That appeared to be the final straw.

In a way, this gang-fueled violence is the armed manifestation of widespread popular anger against Henry and his government. Ordinary Haitians are furious over the ever-worsening poverty, hunger, and violence we've seen under Henry. He is a near-universally loathed public figure.

It is not hard to find people in Port-au-Prince who fully support the actions taken by the gangs, even if they are terrified that they themselves or their families could be collateral damage.

It is not that most in Haiti support the gangs or the chaos they cause. Far from it. Most despise the death and destruction they’ve wrought in the country. But for now, some feel the gangs are the only group capable of forcing Henry out.[...]

Remember this staggering fact: in this democratic country, there is not one elected leader serving at any level of government anywhere in the country. No elections have been held since 2016.[...]

So the rebellion, the attempted revolution, has begun--alongside the seemingly never-ending suffering of millions of innocents.

6 Mar 24

[theflagscene]

Let’s talk Jack and Joke’s perceived parental roles -

It’s laid out in plain words in episode ten so that there is absolutely no doubt whatsoever, Jack and Joke have taken Toi Ting in and have no plans on returning her to her deadbeat abusive bio-dad. I believe that it going to stay that way, so we’re going to keep to that assumption of her being adopted or fostered by them legally once everything is sorted.

Note: not looking for arguments about the legitimacy of blood relations verses found/chosen family. An adopted child is that person’s child, you do not need to have carried them in your body for them to be yours.

I adore that YinWar have been pushing back against the stereotypes around gay men and queer media in general about what roles a person takes in the relationship, they’ve mostly been focusing on the sexual aspect because that is the part that people tend to get the most hung up on.

Yet I find it wildly interesting how easily Jack and Joke fall into what would be considered the ‘heteronormative parental roles’ when it comes to Toi Ting. It’s not a bad thing! No, it’s actually quite nice to see. They’re not forcing any ‘husband/wife’ ideals into their relationship, they just naturally fall into the roles that are appropriate for them as a couple and a family unit.

Jack is very much in the ‘father’ role, remember, father does not instantly mean masculine or emotionally stunted. He is the protector, he is a trained martial artist and debt collector, he is physically intimidating. He is firm and chastising but also patient and forgiving, he is the one Toi Ting feels physically safe with the most, she runs to him for help, she learns her bravery and defiance from him. He absolutely will pat her back, smooth down her hair and allow himself be to dragged away by the hand to get ice cream. He is playing the role of not just a father figure, but a daddy. (stop giggling at that word, the internet has ruined us all 😝)

Meanwhile, Joke has one hundred percent filled the ‘mother’ role for Toi Ting. Again, not because he’s femme or whatever - side note, there’s nothing wrong with being femme! Joke is a natural carer, he wears his emotions on his sleeve because he never had anyone care about him before. He is gentle and a listener, both things that serve him well as a thief. When Toi Ting comes running to Jack for physical protection, it is Joke that offers emotional protection. He is the one that takes her into his arms and calms her down, he hugs her, reassures her and speaks with clam and loving words to bring her big scary emotions back down to a more manageable level. Joke can redirect her attention and is the one that sits and paints with her, Jack just ‘supervises’, aka is a big dope that’ll ruin the painting lol. But together Jack and Joke are able to offer Toi Ting what she needs, both a mother figure and a father figure, regardless of their genders.

Which leads me into the absolute heartbreak of a scene at the end of episode ten, where Jack and Joke find themselves in the one place no parent ever wants to find themselves. Stuck on the other side of those damnable white doors, unable to get to your child.

Joke has an emotional response, very much a mother’s response. Again, mothers tend to be the ‘emotional nurturers’ so them being more giving with their emotions is to be expected. And I would just like to point out how exceptional War plays that role, he is a mother waiting in terror to find out if his baby is dying or dead.

The blank horrified stare, the shaking hands and quivering movements, the fact that his legs fail him and he ends up curled up on the floor. Covering his mouth to keep the sobs in, yet unable to stop the silent flow of tears, barely even noticing when Hoy tries to comfort him. Joke doesn’t snap out of his shock until Jack shows up.

Jack on the other hand has a very ‘fatherly’ response, the pacing, the pinched expression, the heavy breathing and muttering before just exploding with anger, swearing loudly and looking for someone to blame. He can’t break down just yet, he’s too angry, too scared, he’s not the emotional support. He’s the protector, the provider and he hates himself for failing. Yin played that so well, how he kept moving to touch his head, putting his hands on his hips, fidgeting as he paced, forcing the camera to keep up with his near frantic movements.

Where Joke froze, Jack found movement.

Where Joke was quiet, Jack exclaimed loudly.

Where Joke allowed tears to flow, Jack held his pain tightly in.

Joke and Jack are Toi Ting’s mother and father, and that final hospital scene just proved it.

[bimobuddy]

Learning to Trust

SFW Hazbin TK fic

Alright people hear me out with this one

Major Spoilers

CW: Brief mention of anxiety disorders, swearing

Lee!Vox, Ler!Alastor

It's kind of a ship? The Aromantic 'Squish' equivalent of a ship. Well not yet anyway, they're still rivals in this, but I might make a part 2 that explores that a little more

It was gonna be Valentino and Vox, but I'm mad at Val so he got his boyfriend privileges taken away >:(

This might get kinda angsty, sorry in advance

Summary: Vox is glitching out and having connection issues, so he bites the bullet and asks help from the only other demon who can help him. Unfortunately with that demon being Alastor, they run into some issues.

It had started happening after the battle between the exterminators and the sinners. The War between Heaven and Hell. Vox had been watching it all happen on his TV, mostly keeping an eye on Alastor. Originally the plan was to watch by himself, but Velvet insisted they all watch together, and he couldn't really think of a good enough lie to tell her no, so he gave in.

He had spent the whole night playing up how much he hated Alastor, which is easy when your entire life and afterlife, you've been a TV Show Host. Many years of acting. At one point he even hoped if he got too obnoxious, the other two might leave, but used to his antics, they stayed.

But inside he was immensely stressed out. Yes he and Alastor were rivals, but there was something about the rivalry he needed. Something about it he liked. He couldn't really explain it himself, and he preferred not to think about it, preferring to tell himself that he just enjoyed hating the Radio Host.

So when he watched Alastor almost get killed by Adam, seeing him actually vulnerable for once... It scared him.

Then started the glitching. He knew it was from stress, the feeling was very familiar to when he was a human with an anxiety disorder. Only instead of a racing heart and suddenly feeling faint and warm, his anxiety came in the form of glitching, as his mind couldn't process everything, and showed it visibly on his screen.

He had tried for hours to make it stop, to try and fix it himself, but he couldn't see the mirror properly through all the glitching. That and the glitching made it hard to think.

He considered going to Velvet, but despite her phone and social media use, she didn't actually know anything about the tech itself. There was one more option, but he really didn't want to even consider it.

Though as he started to glitch out again, he decided to just bite the bullet.

-

Vox found himself scaling up the side of the Hotel, climbing toward Alastor's radio tower.

He'd rather fall to his death than use the doors and ask to see him. As he reached the top, he frantically tapped on the window, feeling another glitch about to happen.

Nothing.

He started tapping again, even faster this time.

Still nothing.

He made a fist and drew his arm back to just break the window in-

*click*

"Well this is quite the predicament." Alastor said, leaning over the windowsill. "Shut up asshole, just let me in." Vox grumbled. Alastor's grin seemed to widen. "And why shouldn't I just give you a little nudge?" The radio host questioned, placing his cane lightly against Vox's screen.

Vox couldn't help but notice that his cane had been seemingly glued back together and.. bandaged up? He didn't have time to think about that. "I uh.." He trailed off, only for Alastor to push his cane a little harder into Vox's screen. He tried to speak again, but he glitched, losing his grip and slipping.

But he didn't fall. Through all the TV static, he felt his wrists being grabbed, as he was pulled upward. He still couldn't focus much, but he recognized that he had dropped to a hardwood floor now.

"My, this certainly is quite a problem.. For you, anyway, I find it entertaining." Alastor chuckled. Vox pressed a palm to the cool floor to try and ground himself. Gradually, the static cleared itself. "You know what I found interesting? That someone as strong and as feared as you got cut down by an angel." He said, glaring.

The room got deadly silent, Alastor's smile much more strained now.

"... I need your help, okay?"

"And why should I help you? Especially after that nice little comment you made."

"Listen, I'm- Ugh. Forget it, I don't know why I even both-øťhəred-" Vox had stood to leave, only for another glitch to have him leaning against the wall for support.

"It appears neither of us are in great shape." Alastor said, begrudgingly lifting Vox by his upper arm and setting him in one of the swivel chairs. He crossed his arms and waited for Vox's glitching to pass.

After a solid minute, Vox groaned, his head starting to hurt. "So what made you think you'd come to someone who famously hates television boxes for help? Especially when that person is a rival, an enemy, someone you've fought in the past?" Alastor asked.

Vox looked up at him, feeling that pit of anxiety in his stomach again. "I didn't know who else to go to. Valentino is useless, Velvet doesn't know shit about tech, and you're the only other demon who has seen me weak before."

Alastor took a moment to process that last part. He considered it. If he helped Vox, he risked being seen as soft. But if he didn't help him, what if it got worse, and he lost his nemesis, the pettiness that kept him going at times, that pushed him to be the best Host?

He sat down in his seat, across from Vox. "Do you trust me?" He asked. Vox thought for a moment. Did he? He must have if he came here. "I have to."

"Good enough." Alastor went to get started... "Wait how the hell do I do this? I'm more familiar with my own equipment."

Oh, right. Vox sighed. "The back of my monitor comes off. Just open it, and I'll instruct you from there." He said, turning around and removing his hat.

Alastor curled his fingers around the back panel of his monitor, causing Vox to jump a little. "If you want me to help you, sit still-" "I am, shut up." Alastor pulled the back panel off and was met with what to him looked like Alien technology.

After Vox had instructed him on what to do, he got to work. Though he didnt like working in silence, it felt a little too intimate, especially with his hands inside someone else's head.

"So what exactly caused this, if I may ask?" He questioned. "Stress. I start to glitch out when things are hard to process and I overload. Sometimes if the glitching gets too bad, I shut down, which I'd rather avoid."

"Shut down," Alastor repeated, "I thought if you 'shut down,' you'd die or something?" "No, no.. I can more closely compare it to burnout but ten times worse. Last time I shut down, it took me a week to recharge."

"Hm. And what caused you to become so stressed this time? Sure I've seen you briefly buffer and glitch during our fights, but never this bad." Alastor asked. Vox noticed the radio filter in his voice seemed to fade out. He was genuinely curious.

He didn't know what to say. More like he didn't know how to say it. How do you tell your rival of all people you were stressed because you saw them get hurt?

"Well? With how close I am to all these wires, I'd answer if I were you." Ah, his filter was back. "I just.. Got overworked." "Need I remind you how easy it would be for me to unplug some of these wires? Hm, this yellow one seems awfully loose-" "I was worried oka- Aha!"

...

"What do we have here?" Alastor asked, a smile evident in his voice. Vox froze. He actually didn't know 'what they had there.' That had never happened before.

"I-I don't know, but Alastor I swear to Satan himself- wahait- grr- Don't!" He gripped the armrests of his seat in a desperate attempt to hold still. He worried if he pulled away too fast, he'd accidentally rip a wire out.

It felt so weird. He could actually feel Alastor messing with the wires in his head, specifically the ones down at the bottom that ran down his neck and into his back. Each time the Radio host rolled one between his fingers, it sent what felt like electricity into his system. Thousands of little shocks that made him want to pull away and- No. He wouldn't, it was dumb, it was weak, and it wasn't like him.

Alastor grinned wider, finding it fun to mess with him. "Why Vox, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were ticklish." He said, rubbing the wires again, watching as Vox gripped the armrests tighter and scrunched his shoulders up. Alastor only grew more amused as he heard the other's fans whir to life as his ventilation system tried to cool him down.

Vox, however, felt like he was fighting for his life. His shoulders were shaking, his chest was spasming, and he felt his screen overheating. He was actively fighting back any noise that tried to escape. He refused to be seen as any weaker than he already was. "T-Tickl-what? The f-fuhuck is that? Thihis isn't a vihirus??"

Alastor paused. "You seriously have never heard of tickling? It's childsplay. Children often have tickle-fights with their siblings and friends. You've never even seen it?" "I never really had any friends."

There was a beat of silence.

"What about the other V's?"

"Gross, you think I'd let Valentino get anywhere near me? You know where his hands have been?"

"Where haven't they been is the real question."

Fuck, that got a laugh out of Vox. A real one too, not the fake rehearsed one he used in public or on TV. It was lighter than Alastor expected, genuine, and almost had a warm sound to it if you can imagine that.

And Alastor found himself wanting to hear it again. "I suppose I should get back to maintenance now shouldn't I?" He said, returning to his work, get making sure his hands brushed over the wires and cables occasionally. More than occasionally.

"A-Alastor- fuhuck- wahahait- *wheeeze* ahahahaha!" Vox found himself stomping the floor a little, since he was unable to pull away. He felt light scritching at the base of his neck, obviously intentional. "Yohohou ohold tihihimey prihick! I'll d-dehehe- dehehehahahaha!"

"Oh I'm sorry, you're going to what now? I can't exactly hear you." Alastor grinned. Both hands, or claws one should say, suddenly scritched at the back of his ribs.

Unable to control himself, Vox tossed his head back and laughed, and slammed backward, pressing his back into the seat. Alastor was quick to pull his hands back with a chuckle.

Vox's fans were whirring loudly. "You ahasshole, just finish fuckin' repairing me." "Oh I finished that ten minutes ago!" Alastor answered cheerfully, popping the back panel back into place in Vox's monitor.

Vox groaned, irritated.

"I still find it hard to believe you've never heard of tickling! Everyone knows about it. I'm even more surprised no one's ever found out by accident. Not even while reparing your monitor?"

"I fix myself, I don't trust anyone to touch me."

"You trusted me."

Vox turned his swivel chair around to face Alastor. "I did, yeah.."

Alastor tilted his head a little in curiosity. "And maybe you could trust me again. You never did tell me what got you so stressed." Vox rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because you started assaulting me before I could."

"Voxius."

"That's not- Did you just assign me a full name?"

"Yes, now quit stalling." Alastor said, latching a hand onto Vox's side. "WAIT-" He shouted before batting at his hand, huffing out chuckles. Alastor only crawled his hands up Vox's ribs before targeting his underarms.

"WAITFUCKTHATSWORSE!" He cackled out, slamming his arms down, trapping Alastor's hands. The Radio demon only chuckled. "You'll learn that when it comes to tickling, much like real fights, you're not supposed to let your opponent know exactly where your weak points are. Now I can do this." He stated before drilling his thumbs into Vox's underarms.

"FAHAHAHACK!" He shouted, kicking a leg out, much like a dog, whilst also trying to curl up in his chair to protect himself. "Thihihis ihihis rihihihidiculohohous!!"

"What's ridiculous is that you still haven't answered the question."

"YOHOU WOHONT LEHEHET MEHEHE!"

"Hm, fine." Alastor stopped and pulled his hands away. Vox tried to kick him but of course a tendril came out and grabbed his leg, as he expected.

Vox muttered something. "I'm sorry?" Alastor asked, leaning closer. Vox sighed. "I was worried." "About?"

"About you."

Alastor's eyes widened ever so slightly. Vox had been violently glitching out over him? "Why is that?" His voice was normal.

"You're my rival, so obviously I tuned in to watch the battle. I wanted to see if you'd get killed. Part of me obviously wanted it to happen, but when I saw that Angel snap your cane and actually hit you-" Alastor flinched at the memory, "Seeing you actually vulnerable like that.. I realized I didn't actually want to lose my one and only rival. As much as I hate ya, you do push me to come up with newer and better shows in order to compete with you."

"I... can't say I haven't thought the same thing. Because of you I have to write better scripts and find the best topics for my broadcast. Even though it's no question that I'm the best," he grinned as Vox frowned, "But I am the best because of you."

Vox wasn't sure what to say to that, having mixed feelings. Before he could overthink it, Alastor held a hand out. He took it, as the other demon helped him up. "Now, it's quite late, and you have a tight schedule, I'm sure." He opened the window, as a large tendril waited outside for Vox.

"I do appreciate you coming to check on me." He said before hurrying Vox out the window, as he sat on the tendril. "If you tell anyone I said that, I just might broadcast this newly discovered sensitivity of yours." He threatened.

There was the Alastor he knew and loved to hate.

"I won't, don't worry. I don't feel like explaining to anyone why I was over at your Radio Tower anyway. You hurry up and heal, Alastor, I want you in top shape for our next fight," He smirked, "Even I'm not low enough to kick someone while he's do-OOOWN-" The tendril suddenly dropped, pulling Vox down with it, where it would drop him off safely on the ground.

Alastor shut his window, and watched the TV show host leave down the hill. Never in a million years did he think Vox would ever trust him, nor did he ever think he'd help his rival.

But he couldn't deny that he had had a little fun that night, not only tickling him, but just talking and getting to know him a little.

This night might have made their rivalry slightly more complicated.

[proxylynn]

Blorbo: Mr Puzzles

{The new boy...Here comes the boy, hello boy, welcome! He is here!}

[I've seen a lot of SMG4 over the years and in the blink I take a break (mostly due to a bunch of life shit that kept me from doing anything) they pump out so many arcs and new characters...even killing beloved ones...RIP Axol, I miss you. Yet then they drop this guy and well...I don't know if I can describe him in words that can come close to covering how perfectly done he is!

Mr. Puzzles is the main antagonist of the SMG4 series, acting as the overarching and true antagonist of Season 13 and the main antagonist of Season 14, being introduced in the PUZZLEVISION story and in the following sub-series. As of WOTFI (War Of The Fat Italians) 2024, Mr. Puzzles has been put into an asylum, but has been stated to return at some point in the future. This is awesome because unlike previous characters (in my opinion, so no get mad) Mr. Puzzles is built with simplicity yet developed heavily. When it came to the early vids, watching new characters come in and kinda drag along episode to episode was a bummer. Granted they gained experience making the show as the years went on and it shows in the evolution of the show now. But that damned those characters to me (like Meggy) who not only felt shoved into so many episodes but then had to get arcs to give them character that wasn't in the beginning where it was needed. They have gotten way better at this, thankfully, and Mr. Puzzles is a good example of this story character being brought in with clear intent. And this is clear with his motivations and background.

"Growing up, Mr. Puzzles dreamed of building his own creations, like an amusement park, and getting appreciation for it, but his father dismissed him for lacking "creative vision." Disheartened, he became obsessed with watching every piece of media, dedicating his life to television. Eventually, he beheaded himself and replaced his head with a cybernetic TV set, somehow surviving the transformation. Now a living embodiment of television, he created Puzzlevision and, after discovering SMG4—the "stupidest show [he's] ever seen"—he began curating its chaotic misadventures, determined to make them more substantial to his taste."

It's such a simple base but executed so well and it only gets better with his personality. He maintains a complex personality rooted in a strong ego and an expectancy for control. He often craves attention, evident from the name of his entertainment company, "Puzzlevision," and his persistent desire to be in the spotlight. He manipulates those around him, including the SMG4 crew, making them obsess over their objectives, and turning them into adversaries for his twisted shows. Despite his friendly façade, Mr. Puzzles has unstable mental tendencies and sociopathic traits, demonstrating a troubling lack of empathy and a talent for exploiting others for his benefit. His unstable mentality can make him have severe breakdowns when something keeps going wrong, and his temper reflects it as seen in "Mr. Puzzles' Incredible Game Show Spectacular!". His dedication to entertainment is so compulsive, that he has transformed into a cyborg with a television set-like appearance, and once he took over Didneyland and replaced it with Puzzle Park, he fused with the engine room of his new amusement park, becoming its power source, all of this symbolizing his obsessive nature. Even though he possesses ruthless ambition and a craving for control over his entertainment platform, Mr. Puzzles is still able to be affable if he wants to, as evidenced by his temporary bond with Leggy. He experiences deep emotional distress when she is taken away, revealing his underlying vulnerability and bit of humanity.

The PUZZLEVISION story is 25 main chapters but 51 overall episodes and the growth of character done with Mr. Puzzles is something I'll praise the team for. They could have just as easily slapped together another shitpost one-off villain like before and called it a day, but they didn't. They cooked. And what came out of their kitchen was a character that makes me WANT to keep watching. So I'm gonna keep watching. I want to see more of this. I want to see how the growth continues. I WANT TO SEE MORE MR. PUZZLES!]

[hotpinkboots]

omg hii!! It's me from your server. I was wondering if you can do Yandere Steven with a reader who actually fights back like for real tries and get away from him like.

~~~~~~~~~~

~Yandere!𝓢𝓽𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮 x Reader Headcanons~

~~~~~~~~~~

HELLO THERE BEAUTIFUL :D I LOOOOVE writing for yandere SU characters!!

~Enjoy~

★★★★

𝓢𝓽𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮

★★★★

~Honestly, Steven is such a good person that he'd ENCOURAGE you to stay away from him, no matter how it hurts.

~Will block your number and try to stay away from you.

~He wants you safe, and if that means keeping you away from him, that's what he'll do.

~He'll do this for as long as he can.

~If anything, you'll have to come to him first because he's ashamed and embarrassed. He doesn't want to approach you.

~But approaching him was a bad idea. Now he needs you even more.

~After feeling like he has to take care of everybody's problems, he doesn't know how to be the one to be taken care of.

~When you make the mistake of encouraging him into relaxing and letting others help, that's when he gets too clingy.

~Because now he know how truly sweet you are. He acted weird, you still came to check on him. He's trying to run around fixing problems, you're encouraging him to try to make time for himself instead of fixing everyone else's life.

~He still tries to stay away from you, but now he finds himself being a creep and trying to find you, or stalking you on social media

~Craving your attention, craving your approval, craving your comfort.

~I highly doubt Steven would try kidnapping you or anything like that, but he would definitely think about it during one of his glowing pink breakdowns, and he might find you while he's in the middle of being buff and pink just to be near you.

~If you freak out, he'll try to calm you down.

~Which only makes it worse.

~He might end up trying to force you to see that he's okay.

~After THAT, he again goes back to trying to stay away from you.

~You're the person he wants to run to and collapse at your doorstep, but he doesn't want to put that on you, so he bottles it all up, only to release it later and somehow snap at you.

~He's at war with himself. He wants you, but he shouldn't have you, or take you, or beg you.

~He feels torn apart inside over it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

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Join my Discord Server! There you can talk about my fanfiction, roleplay, chat, watch movies and listen to music with other fandom nerds!:

~~~~~~~~~~

~Love, PinkBoots

[torialefay]

https://youtube.com/shorts/T550Vy5XcPI?si=V0y9B6uaJ2kj91FE

Ok, grass platform, this "you like me more" and recently "I can't fix all your problems" AFTER all his teasing and roleplays on bubble is his character development, trying to fix what he created since his early twenties, results if therapy, OR next stage of his shit because i honestly already can't be aware where I'm delusional and where not

okay in the clip... this man getting cocky 😭😭😂😂😂 the "you like me more" is so moody anr bitchy i love it. he's fed up w everyone baiting him and throwing this shit on him 😂

this may seem out of pocket, and i may be wrong, but he does seem kind of worn down a bit. like he kinda seems like he's got a lot on his plate & is getting fed up w people saying things to him. he's just a person & he can only do so much. like i'm genuinely hoping that all of this isn't putting him in a bad mood.

but people are right when they say that he's online & knows what stays say about him. and i'd be fucking exhausted if i had to handle what he goes through. i think he might be too. people expect the fucking impossible from him when he's literally just a person who happens to have a very vulnerable job.

like genuinely just imagine. in the span of a week, you get all of this shit from people who are supposed to be your fans: (1) from the video, someone baiting you to say you love them more, knowing damn well that they stalk your entire life. (2) someone asking you to literally fix ticket sales and complain to you that they're frustrated and have to travel to see you and that you aren't giving them enough attention in their country. (3) people telling you off for not being asleep when you literally are up at the ass crack of dawn bc you have to wake up FOR THEM and to give THEM content. (4) people yelling at you & boycotting you for not talking about a topic as big as a war. as much as i support palestine, do people genuinely think that chris can talk about that? genuinely? "well other idols have done it so why can't he?" like baby, he got chan's room (which he had been doing for what? 4 years?) taken from him simply for saying that some people were disrespectful. by talking about the war, he would not only be the headline in the media for weeks, but he would also be violating his contract. they already took chan's room so what's next? probably taking away his insta, taking away his insta/tiktok lives, severely limiting his bubble posts, and even more. he'd have to issue a fucking apology statement just like last time- they could even put him on hiatus for all we know. i will never understand how people don't see that. "well he shouldn't compromise his morals." in an idealistic world, that's true, but this shit is his livelihood. i don't want to sound pessimistic, but in the end, the outcome of the war is 100% political. we can & should raise money for people who need it and do what we can to help, but we are at a point in the world that the governments control absolutely everything. do you genuinely think that what we do & say matters to them? the government always wins. it's like people are expecting chris' statement to suddenly overturn the government or smth.

and here's the thing: if he did talk about it & jype ended up taking away all of his shit, then stays are just gonna complain EVEN more, start more drama, start saying to boycot jype, sending trucks to make the kids' lives hell, and just generally put everyone in a bad light from the outside view.

meanwhile, chris is literally working his ass off every single day to the point that his body and mind are probably on the brink of exhaustion. like what more can someone give? i'd be so fucking fed up. and the fact that he hasn't exploded on anyone yet is honestly admirable.

i'm so sorry that this has spiraled into my random thoughts & opinions. i guess it just breaks my heart to see so much unwarranted responsibility on one person. like chris said, "i can't fix all your problems,"... with a little smile afterwards, trying to save face. there's no way that man isn't exhausted & that it isn't affecting him mentally. i hope he can find refuge in the little things like taking care of & decorating his new dorm, cooking with innie, and enjoying some rest when he actually gets the time. he deserves it

[ssaflorencem]

The thrill of killing you| BAU x unsub reader

Warnings: This chapter briefly mentions Spencers drug addiction. Towards the end there is the illusion to smut (that will be the next chapter). This chapter makes it seem the BAU team are just as bad as the reader.

Summary: The reader talks about what they know how the team, and follows them to a bar.

Chapter four: The narcissist

I know I said I wasn’t going to leave anything at the crime scenes, but the FBI are letting me get away with what I am doing far too easily, and I can’t let an innocent person get put away for the crimes I have committed. Also, I’ve heard stories of SSA Aaron Hotchner and Dr Spencer Reid. They aren’t innocent men, are they? I heard what Mr Hotchner did to that man who killed his wife, and well Spencer, he’s spent time in prison, and he’s made friends with someone like me.

 

I knew it wouldn’t be too long till they were on my case, I mean some of my friends had been trying to kill someone on their team. Miss Garcia, the smart, computer nerd. She’s the one who solves the majority of the cases, but everyone else takes credit. I kind of feel bad for her, I mean she was once on the right side of justice, but then she joined the FBI. Miss Prentiss, she once worked with, well actually dated, someone who was once in the IRA, so she doesn’t have the best track record either really. Mrs Jareau, someone who was once a media liaison and then got taken away from the FBI to a war zone. Mr Rossi, the man with so many ex-wives and a racist past, who fought in a war and helped create the BAU, not much to be said about him. And finally, Mr Alvez. He’s my favourite, war veteran, with a love for his dogs. He seems like the nicest out of all of them, I wish he wasn’t in love with Garcia.

 

All of them think they are better than me, what because they work for the law. But how many people have they killed because they have been certain they have committed terrible crimes. They all have troubled pasts, and that’s what led them to join the BAU. But so did I, and so did basically everyone I knew, but none of them joined a government agency and none of us had ever killed someone who was innocent.

 

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that they were all just hypocrites. They were supposed to be the ones upholding the law, but they were just as flawed and twisted as the criminals they were trying to take down.

 

Though I liked paying cat and mouse, I was going to take a break from killing for a while, just so they wouldn’t catch me before I wanted them too. I also wasn’t worried about them trying to connect me about my job, like they did with Cat Adams, because unlike her I thoroughly screen the people asking for my help.

 

For my time off, I went to Washington. I needed to keep a close eye on them, I mean I knew them, but they had no idea who I was. I saw they would visit this bar regularly; it was cute to watch them all sit around a table and drink, share jokes, and laughs like they weren’t all killers.

 

As I observed them, I noticed something interesting. Dr Reid was always the quiet one, the observer, the thinker. He would take in everything that was happening around him, like he was seeing through people's masks and into their true selves.

 

Then, I saw SSA Hotchner enter the bar, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the table where his team sat. He walked over to them, his demeanour serious, and they all seemed to straighten up in their seats. It was like they knew he was the boss, the one who held all the power.

 

But as I watched them, I realized something else. They were a family, dysfunctional and flawed, but a family, nonetheless. They had each other's backs, no matter what. It was nice, sometimes I wished I had a team like that, but I knew I worked better on my own.

 

I continued to watch them, intrigued. They were all so different, yet they worked together seamlessly. They were all intelligent and skilled in their own ways, but Dr Reid stood out to me. There was something about him that drew me to him, something vulnerable, something broken. I wondered what it was that had led him down the path he had taken.

 

I knew his basic history, his troubled mother, his absent father, the bullying he had faced and how he had then lost his only other father figure, Jason Gideon. But I wanted to know about him.

 

I decided to approach Dr Reid. I knew he was smart, but I didn’t expect him to see through my disguise so quickly. He looked at me with his beautiful brown hazel eyes, I knew he was sizing me up.

 

“What can I do for you?” he asked, his voice calm and measured.

 

“Are you Dr Reid, I know this may seem creepy, but I saw you standing here I couldn’t believe it, so I’m just making sure it’s you.” I said with a soft smile.

 

“I am indeed. What’s your name?” He asked in a neutral tone.

 

I hesitated for a moment. I knew I had to be careful. “My name is Emily.”

 

“Well, Emily, what exactly can I do for you?” He asked with a smile, well more like a smirk.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about your work with the BAU. I’ve read some of your papers, and I think you are pretty amazing” I said, hoping to gain his trust.

 

Dr Reid raised an eyebrow in suspicion, but he didn't seem to be hostile towards me. "Thank you. But what do you want to know exactly?" he asked, his gaze never leaving mine.

 

"I'm just curious about the work you do, the cases you solve. I find it fascinating, and I thought it would be great to pick your brain a little," I said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

 

Dr Reid gave me a small smile, and I could see the gears turning in his head. "I see. Well, I can't talk about ongoing cases, but I'm happy to chat about the work we do in general," he said, his tone polite.

 

I nodded eagerly, feeling a rush of excitement. Dr Reid was actually talking to me, and I could feel a strange connection forming between us. "That's great. So, what's the most challenging case you've worked on so far?"

 

Dr Reid's face grew serious as he thought back on his experiences. "There have been many challenging cases, but the ones that stick with me the most are the ones involving children. It's heart-breaking to see the amount of suffering they go through and the pain it causes their families," he said, his eyes filled with sadness.

 

I nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for him. "That must be tough," I said, my voice soft.

 

He looked at me, his expression curious. "Why are you interested in this? Are you a student of some kind?"

 

I shook my head, trying to keep my composure. "No, I just find it fascinating. The human mind and what drives people to do the things they do," I said, hoping he wouldn't see through my lies.

 

Dr Reid continued to study me, his gaze piercing as he tried to determine my true intentions. I could feel my heart racing in my chest, wondering if he could sense my true nature.

 

Finally, he seemed to relax slightly, nodding in understanding. "I can certainly understand the fascination. It's a complex and often troubling field, but one that can also be incredibly rewarding," he said, his tone thoughtful.

 

I smiled, relieved that he didn't seem to suspect anything. "Exactly. I've always been drawn to the darker side of things, I suppose," I said, trying to sound casual.

 

Dr Reid's expression grew more serious, and he leaned in slightly. "Be careful with that kind of fascination. It's easy to get lost in the darkness, and it can be hard to find your way back," he said, his voice low.

 

I couldn't help but be intrigued by Dr Reid's warning. It was like he knew something about me that even I didn't know.

 

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

 

Dr Reid nodded and leaned back, seeming to relax once again. We continued to chat for a while, discussing various cases and theories about criminal behaviour. I found myself drawn to his intelligence and passion for his work. It was like he could see right through me, like he knew my every thought and desire.

 

As we talked, I couldn't help but feel a growing attraction towards him. There was something about his vulnerability and his intelligence that made me want to know him more intimately. I knew I should be careful, but the pull was too strong. I had to have him.

 

 

I could see the desire in his eyes as he spoke, the way he looked at me with a mix of curiosity and intensity. It was like he was trying to figure me out, to understand me on a deeper level.

 

I knew I had to make my move. "Hey, do you want to get out of here?" I asked, my voice low and seductive.

 

Dr Reid looked at me, his expression unreadable. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice cautious.

 

"I mean, do you want to come back to my hotel room with me?" I said, my hand reaching out to touch his arm.

 

Dr Reid pulled back slightly; his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I hardly know you," he said, his voice hesitant.

 

I leaned in closer, my lips almost touching his ear. "You know me enough. Trust me, it'll be worth it," I whispered, my hand sliding down his arm.

 

Dr Reid hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between my face and my hand on his arm. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the desire warring with caution.

 

Finally, he made his decision. "Alright," he said, his voice low.

 

I grinned triumphantly, leading him out of the bar and towards my hotel room. As we walked, I could feel his eyes on me, studying me intently. It was like he was trying to figure me out, to understand the darkness that lay within me.

————————————————————————–

Taglist:

@marvelwoman-sugarbaby

@ellieslver

[sgiandubh]

The 28th Amendment?

After a long silence, Sleeping Beauty's social media seems to be (somewhat) back to life, with this story:

This is part of a national public awareness and lobby campaign organized by a US NGO, Equal means Equal, aiming to promote the formal inclusion of a 28th Amendment (the Equal Rights Amendment) in the US Constitution.

This is the current state of play: what is needed, according to Equal means Equal, is a final push, in order to make something started in 1972 a reality. This state of play is unthinkable, to an European, by the way: gender equality became effective on our ravaged, postwar continent for many reasons, including the most practical you could think of. Those are usually related to voting rights, the acknowledgement of women's contribution to the war effort, the economic and social reconstruction process and even a faux-equalitarian ideology, like in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union (loudly promote gender equality, but at the same time, take away any legal guarantee and protection of private ownership of anything, from houses to shops to banks).

The final push for success is a public appeal to POTUS to act on it, launched as a side event at the New York FOCUS Art Fair, a contemporary art rendezvous' with a strong Gen Z flair:

C is a part to this event with a signed copy of Reserved, an independent media outlet with a clear progressive flair and all the bells and whistles of a Gen Z future icon:

I was particularly intrigued by this: 'Once a magazine, Reserved has evolved into an annual hardcover print edition collector’s item'. It immediately made me think of one of my favorite things in the art world, Franco Maria Ricci's FMR Magazine (https://www.francomariaricci.com/en). A mythical thing, the stuff of legend - to each generation its own, I suppose.

Time to make an important point, though: the Reserved copy up for silent auction was not donated by C herself, but by Jules Wood:

Meet Jules Wood, editor-in-chief of Reserved and fashion director of Ellen von Unwerth's VON Magazine :

Pretty much sure this is an old acquaintance, too.

In the couple of hours since I began writing this post, bidding started from 500 USD and has now risen to 2000 USD, thanks to a generous soul, who wishes to remain Anonymous:

You don't say. Anonymous, huh?

Cue in the Stans who will surely bitch it's 'just her US friends' (primarily BIF barking and/or Anon being dropped in Fascist inboxes in 3, 2, 1...) But hey, we have a different view, don't we?

And it's quite alright.

PS: Pics in that Reserved copy are taken from C's photoshoot for Ellen von Unwerth , sometime before June 2021:

[chibsandchill]

Stolen moments under silk sheets (SFW version)

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond x AFAB!reader

Summary: Aemond is touch starved. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Kind of. 

Masterlist

My requests are open! 

NSFW version here!

Warnings: Including but not exclusively slivers of angst sprinkled here and there, fluff, obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, descriptions of metaphorical self-harm, very brief mentions of the dance and the events that happened (some canon divergence), Aemond is his own warning, canon typical themes, the beginning is a bit slow, grammatical and spelling errors (English is not my first language)

I am not responsible for your media consumption 

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

The roses in your garden have begun to wilt. Summer is leaving, and winter claims all, but you remain untouched by the darkness that crept ever closer with each passing cycle. Your roses may have lost their vibrant colors but your face remained as bright and beautiful as ever. You thrive even in desolation – the harsh winds cannot steal the warmth from your cheeks or the spark from your eyes. 

“And you say you do not care for gardening, my love.” 

He’s almost startled by your presence, but since the war very little caught him off guard. But that look in your eyes? The overwhelming affection? That was something Aemond reckoned he would never get used to. And yet he could not get enough, you had awakened a beast inside him that fed and craved all things you. A smile did not satiate him like it used to, a night spent together felt like a fleeting moment spirited away by vengeful gods. 

Aemond hums. “Your passions are my passions.” 

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your face on his shoulder. He felt, in that moment, as if he was standing on jelly, his knees threatening to buckle and his spine like liquid. There was not enough of you pressed against him. He felt burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, his skin crawling with want and desire. 

“Clever.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. Aemond shivers as your warm breath hits the sensitive skin there. 

“Did I wake you?”

His words are a whisper. Soft and with underlying guilt. You do not sleep well anymore, not without him. Too much has happened. The death of Jaehaerys proved that there is no sanctuary that cannot be breached, not a lock that cannot be broken, and not a part of you that will not suffer.  

You shake your head. 

“Liar.” 

“I was already awake. I like to…” 

“Hm? There is no judgment here.”

There was not an inch of you that he would part from – not a sliver of you he would not take, and not a piece of you he did not dream of devouring. The opposite was also true, for he craved to be taken, to be devoured and kept more than he ever dreamt of possessing. Aemond would have all of you, had woven that promise into the very fabrics of your marriage, embedded the words as if they were a spell into his vows, and oh, how sweetly you had smiled upon hearing them. He doubted you heard them for what they truly were. Are. 

“I watch you,” you confess, “when you sleep. You look so… so peaceful. The war has yet to poison that.” 

He blinks. Seconds tick by, but Aemond is too busy staving off the greedy blush from turning him red to respond. He is unable to respond, truly, even were he not practically glowing at your words. Words clump together on his tongue. 

“I should speak to the Housekeeper then,” Aemond clears his throat, “ if the room is so lacking you need to resort to staring at me. Though, perhaps I should thank her for her oversight that surely allows you to fall asleep quickly.” 

The corners of your lips fall, barely, but there is nothing about you he does not notice. There is nothing you can hide from his greedy eyes. 

“Twas a compliment, husband.”

“Perhaps a visit to the Maester is needed-”

You press a hand flat against his cheek and he falls silent. Your thumb brushes across his cheekbone to the apple of his cheek, to under his eye. There it rests, caressing him. He wants more. Your touch is only skin-deep, and it is not enough. If he could, he would press himself against your skin until all that remained of him was fading heat. Until he was but a faint whisper on the wind and his memory lived on only in you, for there was not a part of him he did not wish to give you. He would carve a place for him in you – in your heart, so that he would be close always. You would beat as one, breathe as one.  

“Yours is a beauty that the gods go to war for.”

“Perhaps once.” Aemond looks away. 

“Scars are stories of hardships overcome. They are marks of victory, do not think they make you less. They never will. Not to me.”

“Perhaps so, but I am not whole. There is a piece of me that was stolen and I can never get it back. The gods would not even glance at a man such as I for anything other than a feat of greatness.”

“And you have shown them many,” you press a short kiss against his neck. “You claimed the Queen of all Dragons,” another kiss, “you won many battles on dragonback,” another kiss, “you showed mercy to your enemies,” a series of kisses follow that claim, all inching up his neck. “You saved your brother and Sunfyre,” a kiss on his cheek, “you were crowned King by the smallfolk”, this kiss fell on the corner of his lips, “and you have been a most attentive husband.” 

A kiss straight on his lips. Aemond melts into it, pressing himself into you. You pull away too soon and he finds himself chasing after you, desperate for one more touch. 

“The gods give the toughest battles to their strongest soldiers.” You thumb the skin under his eye, “and you have won them all. Take pride in that. Gods know I do.”

“You do?” He asks. 

He did not think himself strong, or a champion of god given battles. His weaknesses tower over the oasis of strength, and so they are hidden to him. But he is not a vain man, that is not why he hates Luke for stealing his eye. 

You smile. “Of course. And I think all the beauty in the world fades compared to yours. Scars and all.”

Aemond is not sure he believes your words, but he believes you. It is a conflicting mess of jumbled thoughts mingling with the words of others. He was never the beauty of the family, his dragon was not the beauty of her kin. His life was one of hiding, of pride hidden beneath compliance, of hatred festering under blushing skin. 

“You flatter me, my love.” He says before his eyes wander back to your roses. “Yours is the only opinion worth hearing. The only one that matters.” 

You hum. “Come back to bed, Aemond.” 

“As my Queen commands.” 

The draping curtains flutter in the soft autumn wind, and from Aemond’s side of the bed he could see out across the Blackwater Bay. Sometimes when the wind is harsh and the rain plenty, Aemond is back in the skies above Storm’s End. He dreams of thousands of ways he could have saved Luke, though he does not wish he lived, not truly. In some dreams he thought of ways he could harm him further – truly punish him for what he took from Aemond that night. 

You can never have all of him. Not anymore. Though he dares not tell you that is why he cannot look at himself in mirrors. He would not show you the twisted being that hid under his skin. The one that would gouge out his other eye without hesitation were you to ask and smile as he did so. 

He could never, would never forgive Luke for what he stole from you. It is a hatred so woven into his very being that he would carry that with him even in all Seven Hells. 

“Come,” you beckon, kneeling on the bed. “If my words alone are not enough, I will prove it to you.” 

“Prove what?” 

His voice is low, filled with desires transcending earthly flesh. His is one of hunger for your very soul. 

“Come here and I will show you.” Your smile is coy, playful even. There are half-wilted petals from your roses on the bed behind you. They form no pattern, haphazardly thrown across the sheets.

He wonders when you put them there. 

Aemond comes to a stop in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, posture ramrod straight. He feels as though he is standing in front of the gods themselves, awaiting judgment. He hopes that he is enough, even if he cannot offer you all of him. There will always be a piece of him enduring the times alone. 

He does not feel worthy of you. No amount of petals carefully gathered off prickly stems will soften the harsh edges of his being. The love he grew up around was conditional, and though he was rarely struck, their words were as sharp as daggers, and left deep scars that will never heal. It left him jagged, bleeding, tearing at the seams with a beast untamed. In the image of you he tried to mend himself, with your love he patched the holes left by cruel words. He tore the flames from his breath so that his wrath could never burn you, the claws from his hands so that his touch would always be gentle. Not a piece of him was worth suffering in the absence of anything you. 

He was a dragon playing at being a lover. 

But he broke his wings for just a glimpse of you, then forced himself to fly when you desired to feel the wind against your face. You could not see the darkness oozing from the cracks of him, of your husband as you knew him. 

If it meant losing you, he would be a dragon no longer. 

He could simply be him. 

Aemond. 

But Aemond knew not who he was anymore. He knew who he was forced to become, and who war made him. But war was no longer, and yet the man rising from the ashes of his kin’s pyres remained. 

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go when you get so lost in your head?” 

He does not wish to reveal to you how deep his longing for you goes. It is etched into the walls of his heart, it is a bottomless pit that calls only your name. He can never fill it. It aches and aches, and he longs and longs. His envy knows no bound, it is endless in its hunger for you. He would have all of you if he could, just as he wants you to have all of him. Every thought in your head, every feeling, every sensation. 

“Lost. I get… lost.” He confesses. The words are raw and a piece of his armor is cracked open to reveal mangled flesh of all Aemond’s that has been and will be. His recreation of himself in your image is as endless as his need to please. 

“Oh, my love,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

You reach towards him, pressing your hands flat against his pecs. His heart beats like a drum against your touch, as if calling out for you. Your fingers massage, they scratch, they soothe and they burn his feverish skin. You palm at his chest, touching every divot and lean muscle on his chest. It is overwhelming. He almost feels like crying. Your touch sets him alight and Aemond thinks he sees stars. You are so very soft. He can feel your love through every pass of your fingers over his skin. Though half-lidded, jaw slack and chest heavy, he stares at you. Pleasure of the flesh is second to the connection he finds in your eyes. The reverence of a septon to the gods are nothing compared to that which he whispers your name. You are a goddess to him. 

You press against the lean muscle, caress the slopes and divots of his flesh. Though you have long since memorized each other’s bodies, you touch him as if it is your first. His mind is dizzy with you, he feels as if he’s falling and drowning at the same time. The pleasure fills his throat, his lungs, and yet it also sweeps him off his feet, knocks the breath out of his chest. He wants more. He wants you to press harder, to mark him. You could press through his skin, through his muscles and ribs, and grasp his very heart, and you would still be so far away he wanted to weep. 

Then, you pull away. You crawl up the bed until you fall down on the many pillows at the top of the bed. He follows without thought, kicking off his shoes and socks. His hair tie is next and his pale hair falls down his back. You are not prey, and he is not a predator, but he feels a thrill chasing after you into your marital bed. It sets his blood alight.

“Yours is the beauty gods would die for.”

His eyes rove over you. Not an inch of you is not perfect, not an inch he did not love. All of you on display for him; an offering for a vengeful man. You are not unmarred by the war, and there is not a scar he does not kiss. He feels your pain as if it was his, and each wound on your body is his failure. 

“We match,” you told him once. 

He did not have the heart to tell you that this was done in your honor, to take the pain from you and deliver it upon him. He cut himself open for all the gods to see, then demanded they scar him as they did you. 

Aemond runs his hands along your form with the same careful love as you did him. His hands caress the skin on your ribs, before laying flat over your heart. It pounds against your skin, calling out to him. His beats in turn. 

It trickles down the abyss of his desire, and in turn it grows. The hunger deepens, hollows out his chest. 

Aemond falls down next to you, pulling you into his arms. Your head rests in the crook of his neck. 

“I love you,” you whisper into his ear. 

“Not as much as I love you,” he says in return. 

You laugh. “‘Tis not a competition, husband.” 

“No.” He agrees, with an easy smile. It is the truth. 

Aemond had won the war, and he had proven himself. And so he would never part from you again, even were the gods to try and force him from your side. The threads of your destiny are weaved together into one singular past, present, future. 

His beauty may be what gods fought for, 

but Aemond? 

Aemond would fight all the Gods, both old and new, 

for just one more stolen moment under silk sheets. 

[calisources]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒

All sentences has been taken from different media and soruces about life in the royal court, involving the introgue of succession, war, marriage, kings and queens and tournaments. Most of this are acceptable for all audience except one with some foul language. Chance names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

Ten years of shadows, but no longer. Light up the darkness, Majesty.

You don't know a woman until you've met her in court.

A queen keeps a court that is spoken about. A goddess keeps a court that is never forgotten.

And you, lady? Are you a woman of conscience or of ambition?

That's a question rarely asked here at court.

Court games aren't fair. They don't judge men by their worth, and they aren't about what's just.

We know all men are not created equal in the sense some people would make us believe .

Either you break the law, or the law breaks you.

There is no playacting in this court. If you stay your hand, they will cut it off.

Power does not pardon, power punishes.

Listen! The court jester's cap and bells. The King is coming!

He was a man with a vision- and an extraordinary vision it was.

The cat who lived in the Palace had been awarded the head-dress of nobility and was called Lady Myobu.

In every reign there comes one night of greatest blackness, when a King must send away his court of flatterers and servants, and sit alone in the dark with the beast called truth.

It is important to refuse to be intimidated.

They all come innocent in court.

Is that how you get propositioned at the court? 'Mylady, would you be so kind as to allow me to put my manhood in your vagina'?

They used to say that, in a battle between the lion and the tiger, the winner was the monkey, who watched from a distance.

Men love those creatures that need to be taken care of.

 If you want to tame a lioness you need to become a lion, not a goat. 

 A doe is easier to keep.

The woman did not care for empty compliments; to get such a woman, one needed to put forth effort.

I’m a terrible prince. I should put my kingdom first and everything else second, but your first. I want you by my side every second . . .

Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia.

She calls herself the Queen of Narnia thought she has no right to be queen at all.

Plenty of people have told me you are not my father.

It is necessary for a prince to have the people friendly.”

Royalty is not a right, Captain. The willingness of the people to follow a ruler is what gives her power.

Here, in this place, by this people, I have been chosen. 

These men are tired of being told whom to follow. Now they have a choice, and they use that choice to call me Princess.

I am a princess. All girls are. Even if they live in tiny old attics. 

A prince ought also to show himself a patron of ability, and to honour the proficient in every art.

You should never have been only a little girl, you should have always been a crown princess.

You knew you would be sending me away?

A born king is a very rare being.

The world will need to know that I’m the last royal left. Their queen.

There’s royalty in me, but stronger than that there is adventure.

My life is the Crown and yours is politics, and I will not trade one prison for another.

Dignity is trained into royal children before they can toddle.

The first year of marriage is not always easy, especially within the Royal Family.

The real intelligence in the royal family comes through my parents .

The interpretation of dreams is the royal road to a knowledge of the unconscious activities of the mind.

The royal road to a man's heart is to talk to him about the things he treasures most.

The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.

The winner will marry the prince.

You want to marry my daughter? Prove yourself worthy.

That is acceptable. A king is a martyr to their ideals.

f I rule the nation as king, I cannot ask to live as a person.

A wise king never seeks out war, but... he must always be ready for it.

All men need something greater than themselves to look up to and worship. They must be able to touch the divine here on earth

I am the First Imperial Princess of the Misurugi Empire! 

You can tell she's a princess, she doesn't need a crown.

You, sir, are the most uncharming prince I have ever met! In fact, the only thing royal about you is that you are a royal pain.

No one ever told her "no." 

 In no time at flat, she'll get herself established as his official mistress, with her own rooms at the palace.

These men are my bodyguards, their lives forfeit to the guarantee of my physical safety. Of their loyalty to me, there shall be no question nor doubt.

Some balls are held for charity And some for fancy dress, But when they're held for pleasure They're the balls that I like best.

Be careful of what women with gowns plan, specially in a ballroom. 

The art of husband seeking is something every woman has been trained since birth.

Many wives and consorts, of course.

Who is to rule when I am gone? You are a princess. I have no son.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Did I not mention there was another?

A king must always have an heir and a spare.

He was born to be a king... He rules men just by breathing. When he walks into a room, he commands it. People love him.

Two knights off to rescue a princess. Sounds like a great song.

As the king's brother, you should've been first in line!

 I was first in line. Until the little hairball was born.

That "hairball" is my son, and your future king.

My parents were... rather traditional. They wanted the heir and the spare, and I was left in the cold.

It cannot be easy being the youngest prince. To have others expect nothing from you, yet still shake their heads in disapproval.

 If my uncle attacks King's Landing I'll ride out to meet him.

You are in need of serious princess lessons.

 You're the new ruler of Mechanicsburg. You need to act like it.

Every princess needs a battle axe. Here. Use this one until we find you something more impressive.

You know what they used to write on cannons? The last argument of kings. I guess you could say magic is the last argument of queens.

A tournament has been arranged in your name, so you must attend and make yourself presentable.

They hope to find me a husband here. They said I am already a woman bled.

[carmen-berzattos]

Thoughts on that ceasefire statement?

So I have several people asking me about this. I do have some thoughts, but you'll have to forgive me, I am only able to engage with this passingly.

I want to make a few things clear: I'm originally from Iraq. I do live in the U.S. now, but I grew up in Iraq. And like most Arabs, the Free Palestine movement is unquestionable for me. I have been an uneqovical supporter of Palestine my whole life. Which means the past couple of weeks have been excruciatingly painful. And the horrifying circumstances of it have taken over almost my every waking moment. That, coupled with my own childhood of living through a war which the past two weeks have been triggered again and again, have really tanked my mental health. I mention this to make clear that I will speak to this question just this once, to articulate some of my thoughts around it. In order for me to do the work for Palestine sustainably which I fully plan on doing, I need space to step away from it. I'm choosing this website with the pretty images to be said online space. So I will not engage in any further discourse after this. Even now, I will engage only as far as my mental capacity will allow. As I'm sure you can understand, I am utterly exhausted, and what little energy I have left is better expended elsewhere. I thank you for your understanding.

I want to start by pointing out something that I unquestionably liked about his statement, because I think it's important and a lot of people won't read this whole thing: His mention of the West Bank. The media attention has focused a lot on Gaza, and rightly so. But Palestinians in the West Bank have been suffering gravely for the past two weeks under the tyrannical rule of the settler colonial Israeli government. You should all go read about this and learn more. Palestinians are getting arrested, kicked out of their homes, being brutalised, harrassed, and murdered. It's starting to get *some* coverage now, but still not enough. This would also be my time to remind you that the West Bank is not at all controlled by H*m*s so like, bitch what's your excuse now?

the gist of my thoughts: Is Hozier a Palestinian freedom rebel? No, absolutely not. Is he a hateful supporter of genocide? Also, no, absolutely not. I think Hozier is a well-intentioned celebrity with passing knowledge of what's happening, a publicity team that curtails his words for better or worse, and who has a lot to lose if he missteps in any direction. Whatever we may think of his actual politics that we can glean from his music is not quite the same as coming out with a very clear statement that could put him, and a lot of the people around him at risk. And I mean that both physical safety and otherwise. I think saying something very overtly pro-Palestine could very well put a target not just on him and his team, but possibly on fans attending his concerts in droves right now, especially since he's in the U.S. right now which is a) not his country and b) the country that's primarily funding this war so like fuck me the pro-zionist sentiments here are still STRONG (I just got egged yesterday at a protest and wearing the keffiyah has genuinely made me fear for my life for the past couple of weeks). This may be disappointing (it is), but I frankly have very little energy left to truly feel disappointed. More than anyone, I would have loved for him to come out, blazing fires in his eyes, carrying the Palestinian flag. But alas, I knew that wouldn't happen except in my wildest dreams. I understand that people want to hold him accountable. But it does feel to me like expending this level of energy on a celebrity whose statement was frankly more nuanced than what even media outlets have said is just not where I'm at. I understand if that's where you're at. But it's not something that I can currently engage with.

This is the extent to which I am able to speak to this at the moment. I am sorry if it's not good enough or extensive enough. There's so much that you can pick at, the framing of it, the specific wording that he used. Again, for better or worse, but I just do not think this conversation is where my currently very limited supply of energy should go to. It is up to you whether this is where you'd like your energy to go <3

I hope you're all well. Sending you all so much love.

[thewebcomicsreview]

Anonymous said:

do you have any advice on writing character motives and backstories? all of my characters either have motivations that are too extreme when their stories are taken into view, or their backstories feel laughable and it makes their motives look ridiculous

My snap answer is “Lean into the extreme-ness and have it be part of the character”. My more detailed answer is thus:

A character’s motivation is the most important aspect about them, because a character that is not motivated is a character that doesn't want to do anything and it's hard to write a character who doesn't want to do anything.

Making Comics, by Scott McCloud

So, while I suppose it's possible there are excesses, I would say that giving your character a strong motivation is worth giving them an outsized backstory to fit. If you're writing a series about solving mysteries and your main character doesn't want to solve mysteries, then you'll have to keep coming up with excuses to make the plot happen. So, one way of writing character motivations is "I want the character to do X and if the character also wants to do X it'll be easier to write".

When I wrote Legend of the Hare, the idea was that Jill would join up with the rabbits right away and we'd be off into Magical Girl Adventures, but when I was actually writing the pages (which I was doing as the chapter was being written, which is a terrible habit), I realized that I couldn't come up with a good reason for Jill to agree to join the rabbit war, so....she didn't. I got her super drunk and sent her home with a weird new tattoo and basically had to start the comic over until she had a reason to sign up and we could start the plot. I think I did an okay job of making it all look planned, but I basically threw out my entire outline for the entire comic because my protagonist wouldn't go along with it.

In Saffron and Sage, which is in many ways a reaction to Legend of the Hare, Saffron's motivation is clear from literally the first panel of the first page. I have thus never, in nearly 200 pages, sat around trying to figure out what Saffron would do. But this created its own problems, which is that Saffron's entire motivation wasn't really "established" so much as "thrown out offhandedly" for the sake of having a cool in media res opening chapter. It wasn't clear why Saffron was so invested in rescuing Faunus, and I got enough feedback that I eventually did a flashback chapter that I'm not super happy with but c'est la vie.

So those are the two lessons I've learned. Your character should want to do the thing you want them to be doing, and there should be some definition for why they want that. Sometimes the "why" is pretty obvious

And sometimes it needs a bit more meat.

(Another aspect that's important, though, is that motivations often drift over the course of a character's arc. Indeed, the most famous kind of character arc out there is the Pixar "want vs need" style, where a character's initial motivation is "bad" and they get a "better" one after they grow as a person, but the initial motivation is the one driving most of the plot)

And it's sort of difficult for me to answer your question of "how to establish backstories for motivations" when I don't know what your characters' motivations are meant to be, but lets use the example of a high school romantic love quadrangle, since those are often kind of silly. Here's a basic setup

Sweet Dear Innocent Melody, the protagonist, is in love with Chad Footbalman, the quarterback. But Chad is in a somewhat dramatic and troubled relationship with That Skank Felicity, who is way hotter than Melody and also the villain. Meanwhile, local nerd The Virgin Simp keeps flirting with Melody, who rejects him. Melody will do the generic teen movie makeover thing to get Chad's attention but eventually he'll realize he loves her for who she is. Our planned endgame is that Melody and Chad get together, and Simp improbably hooks up with Felicity, so everyone ends up happy. Very generic teen movie plot. (It's also a very straight one, but shh)

Just from this setup of point A to point B, some potential motivations start to come out of the void. Felicity is hotter than Melody, and we know that Simp's happy ending is getting with Felicity. So Simp's motivation can be "wants to touch boobs". He's kind of a creep and a big part of why he's harassing Melody is that he thinks she's "achievable". We want him to be unlikable (so that Melody doesn't look bad for rejecting his advances), but not so much that the audience wants him dead or anything. We don't wanna go full Mineta here. He can also be the one who gives Melody the fashion tips to get a proper makeover, since he's been studying hot girls enthusiastically.

....Actually, having the dude who's super about wanting to have sex with women also inexplicably being an expert in women's fashion is a very stereotypical "closeted gay dude pair" of traits, which is a possible different ending. Hm. Lets table that thought for a minute.

So Melody wants Chad. That's easy enough, you don't even necessarily need to explain it in more detail than that. Why does Melody want Chad? Is it because he's a handsome jock and she has more in common with Simp that she wants to admit? Well, the story is "She tries to get a makeover and Chad loves her as she is", so Melody's character arc is learning to believe in herself. It's not a story about learning to see the inner beauty of other people. She knows that Chad's actually a cool dude and not just a handsome jock, she sees the real Chad etc. She saw Chad, like, pet a bird or something and now she's head-over-heels for him. We don't need an elaborate backstory here.

Chad wants Melody but he doesn't know it yet, so he starts off wishing his girlfriend was [character trait here], which just so happens to describe Melody. He really wants to start a ska band and wishes he knew a trumpet player who shared his love of ska, which just so happens to describe Melody, sure. The ska obsession doesn't have to be revealed early on, it can be a twist that's revealed around the point he and Melody start connecting.

Chad's basically just Sami Zayn

So, when I started writing this, my idea was that That Skank Felicity wanted someone to wait on her hand and foot, which is an "evil" motivation that'd make Simp the perfect boyfriend for her in a Meghan Trainor's "Dear Future Husband" kind of way, but then I decided that Simp's aggressively horny because he doesn't want to admit something about himself, so the planned ending doesn't fit the motivation I came up with. I could change Simp's motivation to have him be straight, or change the planned ending, but let's see if we can't come up with a way to square the two ideas...hm...

Okay, got it. Felicity is super into the tradwife aesthetic. She wants to look and live a certain way, and she doesn't care about Chad as a person at all, she just wants to have a quarterback boyfriend because it's part of The Aesthetic and she cares about The Aesthetic to an extreme degree. She's the villain in a cheesy rom-com, she's allowed to be kind of ludicrous like that. Plus it fits into our theme of "looks aren't important it's what's inside that counts" to have a villain who's obsessed with looking a certain way. And then she can be catty about the makeover outfit Simp made for Melody, and Simp and Felicity can have like an entire enemies-to-lovers arc in five minutes. Boom. Okay. And then Simp realizes she's trans and Felicity's all "The only thing better than ONE hot 1950s housewife..." and they start dating.

Now we have our motivations:

Melody wants Chad (and needs to learn the self-confidence to get him) Chad wants a ska enthusiast Felicity wants to live the aesthetic of a stereotypical hot girl So does Simp, who is a trans girl spending most of the story as an in-denial egg, which is a bit of representation I wasn't actually planning to put into this story (Maybe, um, we change the name) but it fits all the needs of what the character has to do.

And that very long tangent is kind of how the thought process works. What needs to happen in the story? What motivations get me there? Are there any unexpected details of the motivations and do I like them enough to put them in the story? Those kinds of questions can be really helpful, especially early on when all you've got is a doodle of your OC and a dream.

Off to visit their girlfriends