#i’m not very good at articulating myself

[drdemonprince]

Anon from a while back who had the weird situation with the inexperienced poly guy…

So I’ve got myself into another weird situation with a man. Apparently it’s my thing. Known each other for 8 years, have been into each other on and off for that long but we’ve always either been with other people or it just hasn’t panned out. We’re now both single and he’s borderline obsessed with me. I know this because he tells me. We’re good friends at this point.

I’m thinking of suggesting fwb. But is that cruel knowing he feels more? I think it’s probably morally wrong. But also meeting a need for both of us. If it was made very clear that’s what it was so he could make an informed choice does that make it better?

Usually im the one complaining about emotionally unavailable men so now I do feel like as asshole for being the one physically into someone but not wanting a relationship with them.

Anon, it is not "morally wrong" for you to have your own set of desires and boundaries that are not a 100% reproduction of what this guy wants and to try and negotiate some mutually beneficial arrangement. If he can't handle getting things from you that you are not positioned to give, that is his problem. He can exit the relationship. And so can you, if he attempts to round you up to a romantic partner when you've articulated that's not what you want.

My main concern is not whether you having romantic boundaries will hurt him -- my concern is whether he will actually respect what your boundaries are. Do you think he will? Does he generally show respect for your boundaries? How does he generally treat, and talk about, the people he is involved with sexually or romantically? Has he had casual relationships before?

If you think this arrangement can work, lay out exactly what you are down and not down for. If he acts all forlorn and pitiful about that, he's manipulating you -- whether he means to or not! --- and that's a bad scene. If he tries to argue with your boundaries, convince you to see him romantically, or acts as if there is no incompatibility between your two desires for the sake of like, trying to slowly frog-in-a-pot-of-boiling-water you into a relationship, stop seeing him or speaking to him as frequently until he learns to show you respect, or end the relationship. You might be surprised though. He might consider a friendship where you fuck to his net benefit and something he can work with. Who knows. But either way you gotta tell him.

[crownrots]

last night episode really got me thinking about elsa and rhaenys’ relationship, both when rhaela was alive and after she passed and rhaenys and corlys took her in (bc why wouldn’t they 🤡 … uncle daddy and auntie step mom). It’s such a tumultuous ride tho … rhaenys initially harboring ill will towards her because she’s technically corlys’ first born to being incredibly instrumental in raising her bc she KNEW her sister’s time with her was going to be short.

i ran out of tags to tag spoilers so: h*td spoilers dawgs for last nights hour of torture.

rhaenys, even if she didn’t show it as much, thought of Elsa as her own and Elsa, despite not showing it, always looked to her for the mother she was robbed of far too soon. The two argued like a parent and child might, the flew their dragons together, laughed and drank and mourned with one another.

But there was always a little sting, a little bit of resentment especially after Laena and Laenor passed, because while her only two children perished… Corlys’ child still lived and thrived and she always had to remind herself that Elsa wasn’t privy to her lineage. Only thought Corlys’ treated her as a daughter because that was expected of him as her aunt’s husband.

It’s not until everything is really laid out in the open that she’s able to let go of that little chip on her shoulder, to let it fall away so she can fully remember and realize the promise she had made to her sister on her death bed all those years ago; she has done far more for elsa than even SHE realized.

and then THIS happens … and the fact that they don’t even get to say goodbye. the fact that the last time they saw each other rhaenys was only catching a glimpse of her hauling ass north because something had gone amiss once jace departed from there. she never got to tell her just how much she loved her and loved raising her. that any anger or resentment or callousness she showed her at ANY point of her life had been ill placed and accidental. she never got to REALLY tell her how proud of her she was. how much of a privilege it had been to raise her up into the woman and mother she had become. she definitely does not see her late sister when she looks at her, but rather sees herself.

and when elsa returns, and in her grief goes to the alter by the tide pools that she’s visited far too often in her lifetime she absolutely loses it. while normally she’d have whittled a piece of wood to look like who she had lost, she stands there and just looks at the line of pieces that are already there; her mother, her grandmother, aemma, laena, laenor, viserys, luke, and her own son, rickon…she can’t put rhaneys there, she just can’t.

and in her grief and rage she destroys it, destroys the one place of peace she’s had all those years. destroys her once place of reflection and one place she could grieve uninterrupted. she rips the alter of driftwood and stone apart with her bare hands, knuckles bleeding.

it’s not a place of remembrance or reflection. it’s a glaring reminder of everything and everyone she’s lost. the empty spaces, a place holder for who might have an effigy placed there next; her husband, her daughters, her only remaining son, her nieces, her nephews, her queen and cousin, her father … the list goes on.

and all the while her dragon watches, feeling every ounce of her grief tenfold, and it’s unlike the kind she’s shared with her before. but when it’s all said am done, just like when elsa was fourteen and had lost her mother, frosteye lifts one opal wing, battle scars from them turning the tide in north still healing, and invites her under. and elsa accepts just as she did before, crawling beneath the wing, sand singing her split knuckles, drawing herself into a fetal position and weeping like a babe.

but she knows rhaenys isn’t coming to check on her like before. she knows frosteye won’t chortle and shift at the high valaryian spoken so softly and clearly to calm her upon approach.

she’s surrounded by so many, needed by so many. but she’s never felt so alone in rhaenys’ absence.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me

[gelatinorifice]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY GOOD FRIEND @brine-in-my-eyes!!!!!!!! I hope today treats you well :)

[mcondance]

playing around with druig’s character and watching his scenes and i just had an epiphany

[flippedorbit]

how’s everyones morning going

[jade-kyo]

Mai truly is for us emotionally repressed girlies like

Her whole character arc is like she’s emotionally repressed and was never allowed to express herself so she puts up all these walls and acts like she doesn’t care about anything and is so closed off.

And then her whole arc culminates with her loudly and proudly declaring the love she feels so deeply for Zuko. she expresses just how deep these emotions go, she is willing to die for him. Because she cares so much. Her emotions, her care, her love are so strong that they overpower her fear. Not just her fear of Azula but her fear of expressing herself, of stepping out of line, of standing for what she believes in. Which at this moment is Zuko- she doesn’t even fully understand what he’s doing, but she knows she trusts him more than anyone else. More than the fire nation propaganda and brainwashing, more than Azula, more than her parents. She knows Zuko has a good heart, she loves him for it, and she trusts it.

And that trust and love empowers her to finally express just how deeply she feels.

I don’t know if I’m articulating this very well but as someone who has always struggled to express myself Mai is just so fucking good and powerful to me.

[sassenach77yle]

7x12 “Carnal Knowledge”

His own voice was husky now, and when I turned back to him, I saw that tears stood in his eyes. With an incoherent noise, I flung myself into his arms and clung to him, making foolish hiccuping sobs. He held me tight, his breath warm on the top of my head, and when I stopped at last, he put me away a little and cupped my face in his hands.

“I have loved ye since I saw you, Sassenach,”

he said very quietly, holding my eyes with his own, bloodshot and lined with tiredness but very blue.

“I will love ye forever.

It doesna matter if ye sleep with the whole English army—well, no,” he corrected himself, “it would matter, but it wouldna stop me loving you.” “I didn’t think it would.” I sniffed and he pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and handed it to me. It was worn white cambric and had the initial “P” embroidered awkwardly in one corner in blue thread. I couldn’t imagine where he’d got such a thing but didn’t bother asking, under the circumstances. The bench was not very large, and his knee was within an inch or two of mine. He didn’t touch me again, though, and my heart rate was beginning to speed up noticeably. He meant it, about loving me, but that didn’t mean the next while was going to be pleasant. “It was my impression that he told me because he was sure that you would tell me,” he said carefully. “So I would have,” I said promptly, wiping my nose. “Though I might possibly have waited ’til you’d got home, had a bath, and been fed supper. If there’s one thing I know about men, it’s that you don’t break things like this to them on an empty stomach. When did you last eat?”

“This morning. Sausages. Dinna be changing the subject.” His voice was level, but there was a good deal of feeling bubbling under it; he might as well have been a pan of simmering milk. One extra degree of heat and there’d be an eruption and scorched milk all over the stove. “I understand, but I want��I need—to know what happened.” “You understand?” I echoed, sounding surprised even to my own ears. I hoped he did understand, but his manner was more than a little at odds with his words. My hands were no longer cold; they were starting to sweat, and I gripped the skirt over my knees, heedless of mud stains. “Well, I dinna like it,” he said, not quite between clenched teeth. “But I understand it.” “You do?” “I do,” he said, eyeing me. “Ye both thought I was dead. And I ken what ye’re like when you’re drunk, Sassenach.” I slapped him, so fast and so hard that he hadn’t time to duck and lurched back from the impact. “You—you—” I said, unable to articulate anything bad enough to suit the violence of my feelings. “How bloody dare you!” He touched his cheek gingerly. His mouth was twitching. “I . . . uh . . . didna quite mean that the way it sounded, Sassenach,” he said. “Besides, am I no the aggrieved party here?” “No, you bloody aren’t!” I snapped. “You go off and get—get drowned, and leave me all alone in the m-midst of spies and s-soldiers and with children—you and Fergus both, you bastards! Leave me and Marsali to-to—” I was so choked with emotion that I couldn’t go on. I was damned if I’d cry, though, damned if I’d cry any more in front of him. He reached out carefully and took my hand again. I let him, and let him draw me closer, close enough to see the faint dusting of his beard stubble, to smell the road dust and dried sweat in his clothes, to feel the radiant heat from his body. I sat quivering, making small huffing sounds in lieu of speech. He ignored this, spreading my fingers out between his own, gently stroking the palm of my hand with a large, callused thumb. “I didna mean to imply that I think ye a drunkard, Sassenach,” he said, making an obvious effort to be conciliatory. “It’s only that ye think wi’ your body, Claire; ye always have.” With a tremendous effort of my own, I found words. “So I’m a—a—what are you calling me now? A loose woman? A trollop? A strumpet? And you think that’s better than calling me a drunkard?!?” He gave a small snort of what might have been amusement. I yanked at my hand, but he wouldn’t let go. “I said what I meant, Sassenach,” he said, tightening his grip on my hand, and augmenting it with another hand on my forearm, preventing me from rising. “Ye think wi’ your body. It’s what makes ye a surgeon, no?” “I—oh.” Overcoming my dudgeon momentarily, I was obliged to admit that there was something in this observation. “Possibly,” I said stiffly, looking away from him. “But I don’t think that’s what you meant.” “Not entirely, no.” There was a very slight edge to his voice again, but I wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Listen to me.” I sat stubbornly silent for a moment, but he simply held on, and I knew that he was more stubborn by nature than I could be if I worked at it for a hundred years. I was going to hear what he had to say—and I was going to tell him what he wanted to hear—whether I liked it or not. “I’m listening,” I said. He drew breath and relaxed a little but didn’t lessen his grip. “I’ve taken ye to bed a thousand times at least, Sassenach,” he said mildly. “Did ye think I wasna paying attention?” “Two or three thousand at least,” I said, in the interests of strict accuracy, staring at the digging knife I’d dropped on the ground. “And no.” “Well, then. I ken what ye’re like in bed. And I see—all too well,” he added, his mouth compressing momentarily, “—how this likely was.”

“No, you bloody don’t,” I said warmly. He made another Scottish noise, this one indicating hesitation. “I do,” he said, but carefully. “When I lost ye, after Culloden—I kent ye weren’t dead, but that made it all the worse, if ye ask me . . . eh?” I had made a noise of my own but gestured briefly at him to go on. “I told ye about Mary MacNab, aye? How she came to me, in the cave?” “Several years after the fact,” I said rather coldly. “But, yes, you did get round to it eventually.” I gave him a look. “I certainly didn’t blame you for that—and I didn’t ask you for the gory details, either.” “No, ye didn’t,” he admitted. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a knuckle. “Maybe ye weren’t jealous. I am.” He hesitated. “I’d tell ye, though—how it was—if ye wanted to know.” I looked at him, biting my lip dubiously. Did I want to know? If I didn’t—and I wasn’t at all sure whether I did or not—would he take that as evidence that I didn’t care? And I was quite conscious of that brief “I am.” I took a deep breath, accepting the implied bargain. “Tell me,” I said. “How it was.” Now he did look away, and I saw his throat move as he swallowed. “It . . . was tender,” he said quietly, after a moment. “Sad.” “Sad,” I echoed. “How?” He didn’t look up but kept his eyes fixed on the flowers, following the movements of a big black bumblebee among the furled blooms. “Both of us mourning things that were lost,” he said slowly, brows drawn down in thought. “She said she meant to keep ye alive for me, to let me . . . to let me imagine it was you, I suppose she meant.” “Didn’t work quite that way?” “No.” He looked up then, straight on, and his eyes went through me like a rapier through a scarecrow. “There couldna be anyone like you.” It wasn’t said with an air of compliment, more one of flat finality—or, even, of resentment. I lifted a shoulder briefly. There wasn’t much response I could make. “And?” He sighed and looked back at his knotted hands. He was squeezing the fingers of his narrowed right hand with his left, as though to remind himself of the missing finger. “It was quiet,” he said to his thumb. “We didna talk, really, not once we’d . . . begun.” He closed his eyes, and I wondered, with a small twinge of curiosity, just what he saw. I was surprised to realize that curiosity was all I felt—with, perhaps, pity for them. I’d seen the cave in which they’d made love, a cold granite tomb, and I knew how desperate the state of things had been in the Highlands then. Just the promise of a little human warmth . . . “Both of us mourning things that were lost,” he’d said. “It was just the once. It didna last very long; I—it had been a long time,” he said, and a faint flush showed across his cheekbones. “But . . . I needed it, verra much. She held me after, and . . . I needed that more. I fell asleep in her arms; she was gone when I woke. But I carried the warmth of her with me. For a long time,” he said very softly. That gave me a quite unexpected stab of jealousy, and I straightened a little, fighting it back with clenched hands. He sensed it and turned his head toward me. He’d felt that flame ignite—and had one to match it. “And you?” he said, giving me a hard, direct look. “It wasn’t tender,” I said with an edge. “And it wasn’t sad. It should have been. When he came into my room and said he wouldn’t mourn you alone, and we talked, then I got up and went to him, expecting—if I had so much as an expectation; I don’t think I had any conscious thoughts. . . .” “No?” He matched my edge with his own. “Blind drunk, were ye?” “Yes, I bloody was, and so was he.” I knew what he was thinking; he wasn’t making any effort to hide it, and I had a sudden, vivid recollection of sitting with him in the corner of

a tavern in Cross Creek, his taking my face suddenly between his hands and kissing me, and the warm sweetness of wine passing from his mouth to mine. I sprang to my feet and slapped my hand on the bench. “Yes, I bloody was!” I said again, furious. “I was drunk every damned day since I heard you were dead.” He drew a deep, deep breath, and I saw his eyes fix on his hands, clenched on his knees. He let it out very slowly. “And what did he give ye, then?” “Something to hit,” I said. “At least to begin with.” He looked up at me, startled. “Ye hit him?” “No, I hit you,” I snapped. My fist had curled, without my realization, clenched against my thigh. I remembered that first blow, a blind, frenzied punch into unwary flesh, all the force of my grief behind it. The flex of recoil that took away the sensation of warmth for an instant, brought it back with a smash that flung me onto the dressing table, borne down by a man’s weight, his grip tight on my wrists, and me screaming in fury. I didn’t remember the specifics of what came next—or, rather, I recalled certain things very vividly but had no idea of the order in which they happened. “It was a blur,” people say. What they really mean is the impossibility of anyone truly entering such an experience from outside, the futility of explanation. “Mary MacNab,” I said abruptly. “She gave you . . . tenderness, you said. There should be a word for what this was, what John gave me, but I haven’t thought of it yet.” I needed a word that might convey, encapsulate. “Violence,” I said. “That was part of it.” Jamie stiffened and gave me a narrow look. I knew what he was thinking and shook my head. “Not that. I was numb—deliberately numb, because I couldn’t bear to feel. He could; he had more courage than I did. And he made me feel it, too. That’s why I hit him.” I’d been numb, and John had ripped off the dressing of denial, the wrappings of the small daily necessities that kept me upright and functioning; his physical presence had torn away the bandages of grief and showed what lay below: myself, bloody and unhealed. I felt the air thick in my throat, damp and hot and itching on my skin. And finally I found the word. “Triage,” I said abruptly. “Under the numbness, I was . . . raw. Bloody. Skinned. You do triage, you . . . stop the bleeding first. You stop it. You stop it, or the patient dies. He stopped it.” He’d stopped it by slapping his own grief, his own fury, over the welling blood of mine. Two wounds, pressed together, blood still flowing freely—but no longer lost and draining, flowing instead into another body, and the other’s blood into mine, hot, searing, not welcome—but life. Jamie said something under his breath in Gaelic. I didn’t catch most of the words. He sat with his head bent, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, and breathed audibly. After a moment, I sat back down beside him and breathed, too. The cicadas grew louder, an urgent buzz that drowned out the rush of water and the rustling of leaves, humming in my bones.

24 WELCOME COOLNESS IN THE HEAT, COMFORT IN THE MIDST OF WOE ~ Written in My Own Heart's Blood

[lunar-years]

Reblogging to shout out a few of the many amazing tags on this poll which i think deserve to be seen—

@goodmorninglovelies42

@eluvion

@jamietxrtt

I agree with all of this so so much and especially what all of you are saying about how the lines between platonic and romantic love are so often blurred and that reality is simply much more complex than a tumblr poll can address. He loves her period is RIGHT. And at least for me I think i also can’t separate these confessions from the intent I see behind them which is like, love without expectation. I don’t think Jamie is confessing he loves her in s2 thinking they’re going to actually get back together or to even propose that happening in any way. It’s more that he just wants her to know what she means to him (whether it be platonic or romantic or a bit of BothAnd) and that he’s thankful for her role in his life. At the end of the day he loves her, that love is something special, and it’s something he wants to be forever, I think. It doesn’t matter so much what form that takes, whether it means friendship or a relationship or what have you. After all, Jamie does know that isn’t only his choice to make. Most of all he just wants her to always be a part of his life and i think that’s what so beautiful about the two of them. <3

*the confessions I'm referring to are the funeral scene in s2 and the finale scene with Roy in s3

[erinlindsayy]

professor || carol danvers

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ . ┊ You're Carol's designated note taker, and usually the one teaching her a few things. What happens when you give her the wrong set of notes?

➺  warnings: dirty talk, spanking, edging, violent use of straps, carol danvers tops (but I fully believe she's a switch now), umm... general unholiness, bratting, etc.

✧   a/n: surprise... I'm back... more content coming soon... I promise I've got a val/carol/r fic coming soon, but this popped into my head and I couldn't resist... JOCK COLLEGE CAROL, OK? JOCK RUGBY COLLEGE CAROL.

↬ like this work? let me know! comments help encourage writers to write more and let them know that you liked what they wrote :)

★ requests are open–I write for a number of fandoms! just ask :)

☆ comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated ☆

“Can any of you attempt to discern meaning from this week’s assigned reading? Why might I have selected this particular work for you all?” asks Professor Valkyrie, starting class for the day. Your hand immediately raises, and she nods in your direction. 

“Well, was not Beckett’s entire point to find meaning in the absence of conventional meaning?” 

Professor Valkyrie, nods. 

‘Interesting thought,” she says. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” you begin. “Beckett created a landscape for us that is so alien and foreign, and unlike what we know. The play does not include any symbolic elements, and it does not really go anywhere. You might try to make meaning out of the carrot that Didi and Gogo share, or the leaves appearing on the tree, but they literally mean nothing. At the end of the play--we, as well as Vladimir and Estragon, are all still waiting for Godot. So, in a sense, there is no meaning, but perhaps there is meaning in the fact that there is no intended meaning.” 

“Good,” replies Professor Valkyrie. “As always, a carefully articulated and thoroughly crafted response. Excellent work as usual.” 

You smile politely, and fall back into your seat as Professor Valkyrie continues to lecture about Samuel Beckett and the wonderful nature and reality of Waiting for Godot. 

Meanwhile, you’ve jotted at the top of your notes, in big bold letters ‘I hate this play!’ 

After all, the ability to just to understand and converse about a work of literature does not mean that one has to enjoy it. 

After class, you’re stopped, as usual, by the one and only  Carol Danvers. Resident jock, captain of the division one team, aspiring pilot, rumored sex god extrodinare, Carol Danvers. She’s quite the legend around campus, but not exactly for her work ethic as it pertains to academic pursuits, which are... lacking, to put it politely. 

“Do you have my notes for me,” she asks, holding her hand out. “I need to at least act like I’m going to study tonight, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “Carol, why do you ask for my notes if you never use them? You do realize that mere possession of the notes will not translate into you understanding the material, yes? You have to actually read them in order for the information to enter your head.” 

Your reply is snarky, short and snappy, but you’re fed up with Carol at this point. She asks you for notes in all the classes you share together (which, granted, is not many,) but never seems to read them or take any of her classes very seriously. Carol narrows her eyes at the response. 

“I’ll just sleep on them? Os--” 

You cut her off, finishing her sentence. 

“--mosis does not apply, Carol. You know that. You cannot absorb the material through the pores of your skin. Read the notes, and actually try for once, or stop bothering me. I could be taking notes for myself, rather than focusing on summarizing all of the lectures so that you can stuff them into your bag, never to see the light of day again. Don’t ask me for notes again unless you’re ready to be serious.” 

With that, you hastily pull out a few papers from your bag, not bothering to double check if they were the correct ones or not. You shove the papers into Carol’s and turn away sharply, not bothering to look back. Granted, you were headed in the completely wrong direction, but you weren’t about to give Carol the satisfaction of seeing your face again. 

Of course, Carol knows that you hardly need notes for your own purposes. Summarizing the lectures for her provides you with the information you need to keep your own mind sharp, with years of literary study and reading filling in the blanks to broader context for you. But still, you love to hassle her. Carol does feel guilty occasionally, knowing how much work you put into the notes you take for her. They’re always organized, and you write important little tidbits down in the margins. She always glances at them, but can never bring herself to actually study the notes. 

Tonight is different. Carol is inspired, reenergized by your scathing talk. She sits down at her desk, and finally pulls out the notes you gave her. She reads the first line, and laughs to herself. 

These definitely weren’t the notes she meant to give me, she thinks to herself. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re startled out of your evening study session by a loud ding from your phone. Normally, you wouldn’t check your phone in the middle of studying, but you’re intrigued. 

Your jaw drops slightly when you notice that the text is from Carol. 

8:57 hey. I’ve got a question about the notes

You’re shocked. Carol actually... read the notes? 

9:00 Shoot for it. How can I help? 

9:01 Well. The notes weren’t really on Waiting for Godot

9:04 Oh. Did I give you a repeat copy of last weeks’?

9:05 Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that they’re standard academic notes

You roll your eyes at her comment, typing out a harsh response before deleting it and sending a far more cordial reply. 

9:06 Oh? 

9:07 Well, for starters, I don’t think that Waiting for Godot has anything to do with sex. 

Attached to her text is a picture of your recent exploration of the things that turned you on, or as you aptly named it “An empirical study of the things that make me wet.” 

You’d never meant for anyone to see it, ever. It was purely a list of the things that you desperately wanted to try, things you enjoyed watching and reading, various things that interested you. 

You’d written the list mostly as a joke, as a way to get the ideas out of your head. You wondered how it even found your way into your backpack, and you’re ready to curl up into a ball and cry when Carol texts you again. 

9:13 I could help you, you know

9:14 I have a few things that I could teach you

9:15 What do you say we make a deal? 

You swallow thickly, intrigued. 

9:17 What sort of deal? 

9:19 You teach me literature. 

9:21 I’ll fulfill your deepest fantasies. (And take you out on a date ;) )

You blink slowly, unable to process the words appearing on your screen. A date? Lessons in sex? It all seems to be far too much to handle, and you’re not sure if Carol is serious. The prospect is alluring, however, and you can’t help but admit that you’ve had the tiniest (largest) of crushes on Carol ever since you saw her in that signature leather jacket of hers, kicking her legs up against the desk in front of her, even if your feelings were against your better judgment. You knew she was aware of this fact, and the way you were always angry around him for some odd reason. 

9:24 If this is a joke, it isn’t funny, Carol. 

9:30 I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. Be ready. We’re getting pasta.  

__________________________________________________________________________

“So. You want to be a pilot, but now you’re here playing rugby and studying literature?”

Carol shrugs. 

“My best friend Maria and I were supposed to enlist together, but some shit happened and he needed me to stick around. I’ve always been good at rugby even though my dad hated that I played sports, and so I stuck around here. Got a full scholarship for rugby, and put the dream of flying aside. The academy will always be there. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s what Maria needed. I couldn’t just leave her when she needed me most.” 

You smile softly at Carol, shocked by her sudden display of emotion. She’s clearly conflicted, and her eyes drift up to the sky, staring wistfully at the dimming horizon. 

“I think that’s very brave of you, Carol. You’re a really good friend,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop hers in a sudden burst of confidence. The evening had been oddly pleasant, and conversation flowed between the two of you. Granted, Carol was still somewhat of an egotistical jerk, but she was obviously emotionally conflicted, and she had sacrificed her biggest dream to help her closest friend when she needed it most.  

Carol looks down at your hand, tensing up for a second before flipping her palm to meet yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. 

“I’m alright, ok? I don’t want you worrying about me.” 

You nod. Carol smiles, and moves to stand up. 

“What do you say we get out of here, and head back to my place? Maybe watch a movie?” 

You smile, nodding at Carol. “I’d like that a lot,” you whisper. “I’d like that.” 

Carol holds her hand out to you, helping you up out of your chair. You move to pull your hand out of hers, assuming she meant to just assist you up, but she holds on firmly as the two of you walk back to her vintage red Mustang. 

The drive back to her apartment is filled with throwbacks from the 90s, widows open and hair wild. You’re both singing the words of the songs obnoxiously, relishing in the sweet freedom of the open night. 

When you finally reach her apartment, your eyes are bright and your hair is messy. You look over at Carol, messy hair strewn about. You begin to laugh uncontrollably, with Carol joining shortly after upon seeing your own windblown look. 

When the laughter finally succeeds, you look over at Carol to find her gazing at you intently. You laugh apprehensively, but Carol’s gaze does not falter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful,” she asks. 

You nod your head slowly. “Not really, no.” 

“But you had a boyfriend?” 

You nod. “It wasn’t really the best of situations. I’ve since come to many realizations about myself since then.” 

Carol smiles. “Well, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you as many times as I possibly can to make up for the lack of times you’ve been told that.” 

“Carol, I don’t even know how to respond to that,” you sputter out. 

“So don’t.” 

Carol leans in over the middle of the car, hesitantly pressing her lips against yours in a tender kiss. You’re surprised at first, but you lean into the kiss, melting against her mouth. Your hands tangle in her already messy hair, and you smile against her lips. The kiss intensifies as your hands begin to roam down Carol’s back, fingers itching to explore. She pulls her hands off of you, smiling softly. 

“Let’s head inside, Princess. We can have a lot more fun in my bedroom than we ever will out here.” 

You nod your head, eagerly anticipating the next steps. 

When you reach her apartment, he leads you past the kitchen, flipping on various light switches as she heads through the living room, finally reaching her bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, with framed photos of her and a woman that you guessed was her friend Maria. There’s a small pin shaped like a sort of star resting atop her desk, with a framed photo of an adorable orange kitten. Her bed is neatly made, and the room is incredibly put together. 

“You like it, huh?” 

You jump, startled by Carol’s voice. 

“Yeah. Um, it’s very nice,” you reply. “Super neat.” 

Carol laughs. 

“Yeah, for all my disorganization at school, I do like to keep my apartment pretty tidy.” 

Carol walks over to her desk and picks up your list. 

“I think this belongs to you, my darling. We don’t have to do anything with it, or even speak of it again should you so wish that to be the case.” 

You bite your lip, considering your options. 

“Were you really serious, Carol?” 

Your heart is beating fast, and your palms are beginning to grow clammy. 

She laughs. 

“Of course I was serious, Princess. Why would I offer if I wasn’t?” 

You look down, mumbling your answer out. 

“I didn’t really think someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me, honestly.” 

Carol laughs, walking over to you. She gently tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. 

“Hey. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you drive me up a wall when you’re yelling at me to fucking finally read your notes, as you so kindly put it in your own words. Of course I would be interested in a girl like you. You’re incredible.” 

She kisses you softly, slipping hers hands underneath your sweater. Breaking away for a second, she whispers to stop her if anything is too much. Green for go, she says. Red for stop. 

Her hands roam up your body, making their way up to your neck. She gently squeezes at the column of your throat, whispering in your ear. 

“I noticed you had this on your list, Princess. I did read your notes this time, and I did study up. I know all the things that could make you tick. And yet, I still want to hear you tell me what you want. You want me to choke you? Squeeze your throat till you’re begging me to stop?” 

“Yes, please,” you moan out. 

“Then use your words, Princess. Mmm... and what else should we do today? What other things from your little list do you want to try? I know you don’t want to start off simple... You even said so yourself. Tell me with your words, Princess. Tell me what you want.” 

You gasp, head tipping back as Carol’s hands resume their exploration of your body. 

“Cat got your tongue, Princess? Normally you’re so vocal during class... Why change now?” 

You moan again, unable to speak properly as Carol’s fingers find your nipples, gently pinching. He pinches harder when you are unable to answer her question. 

Moving hers hand to cup your jaw, he harshly tilts your face to look at him. 

“Answer me, Princess. I’m growing impatient and I don’t have all day. Normally you’re so quick to answer. What a shame.” 

“Put me in my place, please,” you gasp out, voice breaking. “I want you to edge me and spank me and punish me and tell me what a naughty little girl I’ve been, touching myself to the thought of you. I want to eat you out while I’m forced to touch myself, unable to cum without your permission. I want you to choke me as you pound me into the mattress with your cock, reminding me of my place. I want to be your good little girl, moaning only your name as you show me who I belong to.” 

Carol smirks. 

“I’ll be honest—I always knew you had a thing for me. You weren’t exactly discreet. The secret is, I had a thing for you too. I wasn’t expecting you to write about me in your notes, though. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to write something like that ever. Our little teacher’s pet, our good little girl, the smartest girl in class—and such filthy thoughts! Didn’t take me long to figure out who the mysterious blonde figure was. You wrote some pretty explicit stuff in there, Princess. You’re such a filthy little whore... So many dirty thoughts! Imagine if those notes had fallen into the wrong hands...” 

Carol’s hands dip to the edge of your sweater, swiftly pulling it off of your body. She cocks an eyebrow at you upon seeing the lacy navy blue bodysuit underneath that you’d specifically selected for tonight. 

“Did you wear this just for me?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl. I like the way you think. Now, take off those pants for me. While you’re at it, get rid of that lacey little thing. It’s pretty, but you’re prettier.” 

You obey her quickly, shedding every stitch of clothing from your body. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation, and you’re nervous as Carol’s eyes rake up and down your body. 

“Stunning,” she says, never taking her eyes off of your body. “You’re absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to teach you how to be a good little slut for me... you’re such a good learner. Wonder if that translates in the bedroom?” 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you shut up and find out already?” 

Carol laughs condescendingly. 

“You sure you want to mouth off like that, Princess?” 

You nod. “You seem to be all talk right now, and no action.” 

Carol growls. “We can change that. I don’t tolerate brats around here. Brats get punished. If you’re a good girl, you get rewarded. Which is it going to be tonight, Princess. I need an answer.” 

You roll your eyes without even thinking. “Just fuck me already, Carol.” 

Carol tangles her hand in your hair, pulling your head back. “I told you that brats get punished. It looks like you've selected the brat role tonight. Get on your fucking hands and knees. I’m not going to ask you a second time.” 

You quickly obey, scrambling onto your hands and knees. You wiggle your ass slightly, but Carol firmly holds it in place. 

“Stop. Now, since this is your first time, I’m going to take it easy on you. We are only going to do ten, but mark my words, if you pull this sort of bratting on me again, I can and will increase that number. Now, I want you to count.”

The first strike comes faster than you were expecting, but it does not hurt as much as you thought it would. 

“One,” you gasp out.

Carol strikes again, harder this time. 

“Two,” you gasp out again.

He continues, hitting a bit harder each time, and your ass is red by the finish. 

“Good girl,” she whispers in the shell of your ear. “You took your first punishment so well for me—it is almost like you were made to do this...” 

She ghosts her fingers lightly over your neck, drifting down to your collarbone before moving her hands to gently massage the soft tissue of your breasts. 

With a gentle slap to your aching ass, she gives you a new set of instructions. 

“Now. For our next lesson, you’re going to suck me off. The better you do, the less edges I’ll give you tonight. I hope you’ve been studying, Princess. Either that, or you just better wish that this comes naturally for you.” 

Carol swiftly pulls her pants and boxers down and throws her shirt to the side, revealing her toned abs and muscled back. You can see her muscles ripple as she stretches her arms above her head to take her shirt off. Your jaw goes slightly slack at the sight of her perfect nude figure.

“Close your mouth, Princess. You’ll catch flies.” 

You blush. “Sorry, Carol. You’re just so beautiful.” 

Carol winks. “I can tell, Princess. Your eyes haven’t left my torso.” 

You giggle, but quickly stop when Carol moves directly in front of you. 

“Test time, Princess. Hope you’ve studied. But, if you haven’t, I’ll allow for retakes. Think of this one as a pretext, if you will. How much do I need to teach you when it comes to this particular subject?” 

You moan at her words, mouth salivating. You’re desperate to touch her, to run your tongue over her strap. Carol leans down to press a quick kiss upon your lips, immediately guiding your face to her strap after. You’re unsure of what to do at first, the feeling foreign upon your tongue. Eventually, you begin to find your rhythm, head bobbing as you introduce a hand to match your rhythm. You continue your tiny kitten licks, timing them with the thrust of your fingers. Carol is silent for the most part, but every so often she breaks her stoic silence with a loud moan or gasp when you hit a particularly sensitive spot against her body. You grind against the pillow that Carol has placed between your legs, annoyed with the lack of friction you got, but thankful to have anything at all. Your tongue continues its way along Carol’s strap, body quivering with pleasure. 

It isn’t long before she’s moaning continuously.

After all, you have always been a very quick learner. 

Carol pulls away, and you whimper at the loss of contact. She messily kisses you, groaning at the taste of herself on your tongue. 

“For your first time, that was surprisingly good.”

You beam in satisfaction.

“However, I’m still going to edge you at least five times.”

You whimper. 

“But Carol—“

“No buts, pretty girl. It’s for your own pleasure, alright? It’s good to practice delayed gratification. Now, get over there on the back of the bed for me. Spread those legs as wide as you can. I want that dripping cunt of yours on display.”

You move off of your pillow, following her instructions. Carol walks over to you, hovering over you on the bed as she cages your body with her arms. 

“I want to hear every moan you make,” she growls. “Don’t hold back on me, Princess.” 

You nod. 

“Yes, Carol.” 

Carol smiles and strokes a single finger through your dripping folds. You shudder. The feeling of her soft fingertips against your throbbing core is heavenly, and you’re unable to hide from the breathless moan that escapes your mouth. 

Carol continues to slide her fingers through the folds of your cunt, relishing in the puffy texture as she explores. Her fingers trace small circles here and there, dipping into your soaking hole when she feels like doing so, pinching your clit, edging you into oblivion. 

You ask her to cum numerous times, but she always pulls away. Finally, she pulls away for the last time. 

“You can cum this time, Princess. But I want to cum on my cock for me like a good little slut, alright? I want you to scream my name for me. Let the whole world know you’re mine now.” 

You nod, moaning at her filthy words. She carefully lines up with you and thrusts in quickly, giving you a chance to adjust to the size and foreign feeling of the cock inside of you. 

When you nod at her, she begins to thrust her hips at an ungodly pace, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. She moves one hand to your clit, rubbing tight little circles over the throbbing organ, and her other hand moves to your throat, lightly pressing down. She’s pushing you into the mattress, firmly grinning the column of your neck as her hips thrust faster and faster. 

“You like it when I choke you? When your brain starts to go a little bit foggy and you can’t tell if it’s from the sex or lack of air? You like it when I tell you what a good little slut you are, taking my cock like such a good little Princess, showing how well you learn and how well you take instruction?”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out in between moans. “Please, fuck me harder.” 

Although it seemed humanly impossible, Carol managed to fuck you harder. The relentless snap of her hips grew faster, thrusts hitting further and further inside of you each time. The hand rubbing your clit runs faster, harder, and just before you’re about to rip over the edge, Carol whispers in your ear. 

“Cum  for me, Princess. Cum like the good little girl you are.” 

You scream out in ecstasy as you tip over the edge, collapsing against the mattress. Carol pulls out, falling into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you as she presses kisses to your neck and collarbone, drifting up to your forehead. 

“You did so well, Princess. You’re such a good learner. Looks like you’re just as good in here as you are in a classroom.” 

You smile. 

“I try my best. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do.”

Carol smiles. 

“A good attitude to have. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

A few snacks, some water, and one blissful shower later, you’re dressed in Carol’s old sweatpants and sweatshirt as you climb into bed beside him. She’d invited you to stay the night, and you hadn’t been able to resist. Carol flips the lights off, pressing a delicate, featherlight kiss to your forehead. 

As you lay in bed however, you remember an important fact. 

“I still have to teach you all of literature,” you mumble. 

Carol laughs softly. 

“And I have many things to teach you still, darling. But for now, sleep.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you feel Carol’s grip on you grow stronger. 

Literature could wait until tomorrow.

[communistkenobi]

Different anon but I've been feeling horrible about being unable to focus on reading capital for a while now. What are other stuff you'd recommend to read if I want to build up my knowledge to get more involved and better articulate myself?

do not feel bad at all lol like truly give yourself a break. If I didn’t have to read it for an exam I wouldn’t be reading it at all.

Engels is a great place to start if you want to read like “classic” theory - I recommend reading Wage Labour and Capital, but specifically starting with his introduction because he explains the development of the concept of labour-power that comes out of Capital. Principles of Communism is also very good, it’s structured as a series of questions and answers. I have seen people often recommend Mao’s work as pretty accessible (Combat Liberalism usually) but have not read much of his work so I can’t really give recommendations outside of that.

I also have posted a bunch of additional reading lists on other subjects (colonialism, white supremacy, feminism etc) if you want more recommendations, and I’m sure there are more buried in this tag

[sanspuppet]

MDNI - smut

professor!Mingi x afab!reader

W/T: University AU, unprotected sex, breeding, public sex, quick dick sucking, reader’s first time, pet names (pretty, lovely, darling)

A/O: @ahimhere here’s your request for the prompt “Shush, we can’t have anyone hearing this”, i figured some professor Mingi, hope you can enjoy hehe <3

When the bell rang, and all the people that frequented your course left the classroom, the professor called your name once you walked next to his desk.

“Y/n, Miss. Can you please come over to my office? We need to talk about something.” Your body blocked, hearing his low voice demanding you. You couldn’t deny that he’s the finest, the most handsome man that you’ve ever seen, and the classes you had with him were always hard to focus on, as you were completely infatuated by his hot look. You shook your head to turn again to reality, pressing hard your books against your breast due to nervousness: why would he want to talk with you?

“Oh… Yes, surely Sir” you headed to his personal office, after walking over the class door. Your gaze was locked down your shoes, your cheeks felt burning at the thought of being alone with him.

You turned around to see him walking behind you, he reached the door and opened it with one of the keys he hold in his pocket pants. The man nodded to you as he sat on his chair. You walked over him and sat shyly on one of the two other chairs in front of the huge desk.

“So…” he opened a drawer, where he placed his books before closing it back. “You’re seriously a model student” his eyes were locked on yours, he had his fingers crossed when he continued: “You still have great grades, even though you seem very distracted during my lessons”

“Oh, uhm…” you blinked while staring at the floor, your mind was elaborating a good excuse, but the man beat you on time: “I’ve started to think that the reason you can’t focus properly is because of me, do i bother you?” You were confused as you saw a slight smirk diving onto his face, waiting silently for you to reply him.

“Yes- i mean… kind, of. I’m sorry.”

The man nodded, shaking slowly his hand to you. “You don’t have to be, i only need you to explain why you’re being distracted by me, so maybe we can work on this together.”

You played with your hands nervously, chuckling shyly and shaking your head before articulating the dumbest thing you could have said: “Oh no, no i shouldn’t.”

He raised an eyebrow, standing up to get closer to you. He held on his knee with a hand as the other lifted your chin. “Why shouldn’t you? Miss, i have already figured out why. But i want you to say it, so i can be sure of that”

Your heartbeat accelerated at the idea of him knowing that you use to fantasize about him during his classes, mixed with the sight of his face close to yours enough to feel his warm breath.

“I dream of… you, during lessons” you weren’t actually going to say what you daydreamed of him, right? It’d be so shameful, for your imagine of perfect student, but you couldn’t do anything about being a fucking pervert when it came to that professor.

“About? Keep going.” His hand never left your chin as he kept trying to make eye contact with you, despite your eyes were forcefully locked on the floor.

“H-having…” you gulped before continuing. “sex, here.”

He pulled back, murmuring a long: “Ooh~” with his arms crossed. “Just as i thought” He supported himself with the desk top. “I still don’t blame you, every student has his specific distraction… what i am asking to myself and obviously you, is… What should we do about it?”

Your mouth hung open waiting for your mind to elaborate anything, but the only thing that left your mouth was a simple: “i don’t know Sir…”

He scratched his chin, widened his eyes once he chose the best option: “Tell me y/n, if i fuck you and consequently fulfill your needs, will you focus better during my classes?” He got closer to you again.

The air inside the room felt heavy, you were struggling to breathe, and you could feel drops of sweat resting on your forehead as soon you realized how hot it was there. You were fatigued by some unknown reason before, but now the heat between you and your professor seemed uncontrollable to you, so couldn’t do anything but nod.

“Yeah, i think.” you murmured, finally looking at him. The man was loosening the knot of the tie to breathe better, you watched him unbuttoning his shirt, every movement of his got you wetter as reaction. You stood up and bent over his desk, your skirt was already on the floor when you dragged down your panties, a string of arousal connecting them to your pussy.

He groaned once he turned to see you prepared to take him. His hands were caressing your hips, his eyes inspecting every detail of your bare skin, even though you were one of his students, he couldn’t deny that you’re a hot yet pretty girl.

“I know i shouldn’t make preferences, but you’re my favorite student y/n, such a beautiful and smart girl.” You shyly chuckled, but the slight laughter quickly turned into a needy moan as soon as you felt his fingers slicking against your sticky cunt. “Shush, we can’t have anyone hearing this” You obeyed him, biting your lower lip to muffle any sound that could have escaped your mouth.

“Unfortunately i don’t have any condoms here with me, i will have to breed you, if it isn’t a problem.” You nodded, turning your head to try to look at him while he unzipped his pants. “You can”

In less than a minute he was already buried inside you, pumping as fast as he could without making any sound of skin slamming against skin. His hands were gripping your waist to hold better, your suffocated moans made him even hornier. “Fuck it’s so tight, is this your first time lovely?” his pace slowed down to help you reply easier.

“Y-yes” you layed on your elbows, your face was pressing against the wood of the desk.

“Oh so bad, your boyfriend should have been your first.” He was already tired of the sleepy pace, so he started to hammer again roughly into your pussy. You breathed deeply before talking back:

“It’s o-okey—fuck, i- i’m in love with you” you were so embarrassed to say it, even though it was the truth.

“We’ll se what we can do about it, but for now, let’s focus on orgasming, got it pretty?”

In effect, you found yourself really close to your high, but you still wanted to fuck with him more. The nasty and squelching sound was too loud that there was no fucking way it couldn’t have been heard from ourside, but even if people were probably thinking the professor was having a quicky with the sexy English teacher, he was actually fucking “the sexy student” as how he used to call you for himself. You could notice that the thrust became sloppier at some point, warning you that he was close to climax soon.

“God, i’d like to fuck you all day long but we have other classes in five minutes” He slammed his big cock inside your throbbing cunt enough to make your clit red from how he was balls deep in you. The heat turned into pure desperation of cumming as you two kept fucking.

“Sir… i’m close” you whined with your face squeezed into your arm to muffle the occasional loud noises.

“Gonna spurt my cum into you very soon lovely, get ready” he couldn’t hold back his groans, too.

You came the same second you felt a hot liquid releasing into your pussy, mixing it with your own. The man behind you groped your ass, spreading your ass cheeks to admire the mess leaking slowly out of you.

“Does it bother you if you keep it inside until you get home, darling?” he asked you, dragging your panties up to put them in place again. “it’s fine”

Once you were fully clothed, you turned around to look at him. Quite to your surprise he pointed at his still leaked crotch.

“Could you please clean it up, quickly?”

You immediately kneeled, licking down on all his length until all the cum on it was in your stomach. You took him out of your mouth with a pop, he didn’t wait any longer before putting back on his pants along with the boxers.

“I had a great time y/n. About what you said to me, maybe we can give us a chance, don’t you think? Let me give you my number, when you’re completely sure about that, we can hang out together.” he smiled at you, after asking for you phone where he could type his phone number.

After a minute, when the bell rang again, he opened the door holding it for you to leave his office first.

“Thank you, Sir” you cooed, a genuine smile popping out your face.

“You can call me Mingi, now go, maths is waiting for you” he chuckled back.

[pallastronomy]

YOU. YOU GET ME

(I uh. May have gone autistic about my problems with Revue Frontier + Misc. Aruru thoughts in the tags. Oops.)

Every day I wake up and think about how irreversibly Arcana Arcadia has altered my brain chemistry. They did not have to go that hard for an arc exclusively in the mobile game and yet

[the-fiction-witch]

I Like Him P6

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - (OC) Jaerra Targaryen [Daughter of Daemon Targaryen & Rhea Royce] Rating - 15 + Word Count - 1635

Jaerra strolled through the ancient, decaying godswoods of Harrenhal, surrounded by towering, gnarled trees. She was clad in one of her simple, small grey gowns, the fabric gently swaying as she moved. The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows on the ground, and the air was filled with the earthy scents of moss and fallen leaves. Despite the daily influx of men joining Daemon's army and the ceaseless construction efforts at Harrenhal, Jaerra sought relief in her solitary walk, hoping to find respite from the chaos and noise of the ongoing work. Unbeknownst to her, Oscar had quietly followed.

Oscar had caught a glimpse of Jaerra as she walked away and had impulsively decided to follow her, eager to engage her in conversation. However, as he shadowed her, he found himself unable to find the right words to call out or announce his presence, still feeling the warmth of the kiss she had planted on his cheek just days before. He struggled to articulate his emotions and remained silent, trailing her like a lost puppy or a fledgling dragon. Positioning himself discreetly by the stairs leading to the godswoods, he couldn't help but continue to observe her as she strolled, feeling somewhat intrusive but unable to tear himself away.

“Jaerra,” He confidently made himself known by speaking up and stepping into view. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, stood with an air of determination, and subtly puffed out his chest, exuding an aura of bravery.

“Afternoon Oscar,” As she turned to see him, a warm smile lit up her face. She couldn't help but chuckle softly as she noticed how he was trying to stand brave and tall for her. Walking over to him, she pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, enjoying the sight of the blush that spread across his skin. “How can I help you, Lord Tully?” she asked,

“I was just well, I wanted to make sure to accompany you. Lots of very rough soldiers around the castle now, I wanted to make sure you’re safe.”

“I can take care of myself, Oscar,” She chuckled, “But your company is appreciated none the less,”

“I’m glad,” he smiled offering his hand,

She softly took his hand and gently intertwined their fingers,

He led her softly on a small stroll of the godswood, chatting quietly with each other about the work going on and the plans being made until Oscar turned the topic.

“I- I don’t often see you and his grace together?”

“No, I suppose not,” she softly sighed, “Daemon and I often don’t spend time together let alone speak, outside of the essential,”

“May I ask… why not?”

Jaerra gently sat herself down on one of the many fallen rocks, Oscar sat down beside her his knee brushing hers as their hands remained locked together, “I suppose it’s sort of always been that way,” she said, “What about your father?” She asked,

“Oh I-”

“It’s alright, forgive me. I shouldn’t have been so bold.”

“No, no it’s alright,” he smiled squeezing her hand softly, “I… didn’t know the man all that well,” he began, “He died a young man,”

“I’m sorry Oscar,” she softly squeezed his hand and did her best to be of comfort,

“I was merely a boy,”

“You’re still a boy,” she gently teased him,

He scoffed in mock offence, “My lady, I am Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and Lord of Riverrun,” he joked, “I assure you, I am a big, strong, man. Well skilled to protect you,”

“I’m sure you are Oscar,” She laughed,

“My grandsire… he was a good man, I loved him like a father. I suppose I had more time with him,” he softly smiled, “But I do cherish what little time I had with my father,”

“I don’t, I tend to dread most of the time with my father,” she replied,

“I understand,” he nodded, “I can’t say I blame you for such feelings Jaerra.”

“Would you tell me? About your father.”

“Of course,” Oscar smiled, “My father was a very kind man, he often tried to advise my grandsire on matters in Riverrun,” He softly smiled, “He would often tell tales about my mother, about Riverrun’s history, about our family,” He chuckled, “I remember, being scared one night. During a harsh storm with the rain pouring, the wind howling like a dire wolf, the trident’s waves tackling the walls of Riverrun… So I climbed down from my bed and scurried around the halls like a little mouse until I found my father's room. I crawled up into his bed and hid under his covers… but he tucked me in and told me stories until I fell asleep,”

Jaerra smiled softly, imagining little Oscar all frightened and wide-eyed like a little cute Tully fish.

“I wish I had him for longer…” He said sadly, “But I had my grandsire and he was kind to me, stern but kind all the same. He wanted me to grow up into a leader but… never stopped me being myself. The older I get the more I thank him for that,” He smiled, “Sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“No, no it’s so sweet.” She cooed, “I’m happy you have such nice memories of him, and of your Grandsire.”

“Don’t you have nice memories of Daemon? Anything at all?” He asked,

It took Jaerra a while to answer which only made Oscar feel worse for her, “I do have one… When Iēdar lilagon was first big enough to be ridden. Daemon came from Pentos to visit me on Caraxes. He took me out onto the Moores and taught me everything I needed to know, how to sit, how to chain myself into a saddle, how to control him, how to fly and spark fires it… it was nice,” she explained, “He didn’t have to do it, and I am grateful he took the time to.”

“Do you ever wish he’d spent more time with you, when you were young?”

“No, I think even if he tried I wouldn’t have been receptive to it. I don’t think he’d have made my childhood any better,” she answered,

He softly squeezed her hand in his and gave her a tender smile, “I’m so sorry, it breaks my heart to hear of the struggles and pain of your past my lady, and I know with the coming war, the days before us are not to be easy either. But if I make an offer?”

“An offer, My lord Tully?” she asked, her eyebrow slightly raised,

“When this war is over, and peace is restored to the kingdom and our lives…” He hesitated for a brief moment, feeling unable to hold her gaze. However, he summoned his courage and finally met her eyes with a determined look. “Come to Riverrun with me,” he offered,

Jaerra gasped, her eyes a little wide not having been expecting such an offer,

“Please do not think I’m imposing, but… Riverrun is my home and I promise you as long as I breathe and even beyond, you will have a home in my keep. Always a seat beside my hearth, always a warm bed under my roof I swear this to you. By the old gods and the new.” He told her, “You and Iēdar lilagon, both. I will happily take care of you both, and keep you safe, and if you wish never to see Daemon again I will mount a thousand scorpion bolts to the walls of Riverrun and bring down Caraxes the moment he so much as flies over my lands. You will never fear his words, never shudder under the glances of people, and every day I will tell you of all the things that make you so beautiful, and so priceless beyond your blood, your hair and your gender.” he cooed,

Jaerra sat for a second her chest slowly heaving unable to break contact with his eyes, processing all he had just come tumbling from his lips,

“Forgive me I -” He tried to correct himself and apologize,

Jaerra’s fingers softly gripped the edges of armour and without word or hesitation she cut him off with a soft press of her lips to his, her warm tender lips met his own in a quick but full kiss that.

Oscar’s eyes went wide, all the air left his lungs, and his heart stopped suddenly his whole body reeling from his first kiss, as his smooth lips met her own slightly chapped lips, he was screaming at the top of his lungs but outside merely silence.

She pulled back enough to have their eyes meet, “Sorry I just-” she began,

But Oscar pulled her own trick back on her, closing his eyes and meeting their lips once more, his hands moving to settle on her waist,

Jaerra kissed him back, her eyes fluttering shut, her hands relaxing to slide softly against the leather he wore, both slowly adjusting and finding the best ways to breathe while trying to keep their hearts at a decent pace, even if their minds filled with utter love and devotion.

They shared the kiss for what could have been hours, their lips gliding against one another treading the line before the kiss became more intimate.

Jaerra was the first to pull back, her eyes met Oscar’s and she couldn’t hold back a simple but warm smile almost laughing after the rush of emotions, heat flooding her face,

Oscar smiled back unable to break staring into her eyes with his own half-lidded eyes almost drunk on the adrenaline of their kiss, his hands slowly slid from her waist to take both her hands in his,

“Do- do you mean this?” She whispered,

“With all my heart Jaerra,” He smiled,

“… Then I gladly, accept your offer.” She nodded almost tearful,

He began to shed a small tear of joy too before he softly pulled her into another sweet and joyful kiss.

[les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques]

An Unorthodox Fic Recommendation

Hey, everyone.

So I’d been wanting to write this post for a while, but I’d had a hard time finding the words to articulate my exact feelings for a good long while now. But in the spirit of the holidays, goodwill towards all, and so on and so forth, I’ve somehow managed to catch my breath.

I dipped pretty suddenly from fandom earlier this year for multiple reasons, most of which fell under the umbrella of a very real and very unfortunate truth: I was sick. Stupid sick. And fandom, while obviously not the only thing contributing to this by a long mile, was not conducive to me getting better.

My drinking, you see, had gotten bad in a way that is honestly humbling to think about now; it was at levels that were both physically and mentally dangerous and unsustainable. Moreover, it was beginning to affect the people I love most in this world. And, unfortunately, pounding back a glass, a bottle, two bottles of wine, hey maybe I can run to the gas station for a few mini bottles of whiskey to end the night went hand-in-hand with writing and my fandom experience in general.

I won’t go into the details of my actual rock bottom, besides that it hit in March of this year and that I’m grateful it was relatively minor compared to many of the stories I’ve heard in my recovery journey. But suffice to say, I checked into rehab and everything had to go on the back burner from that point on. I’m lucky that I had the unwavering love and support of my husband, my family, my work, and my friends (including a bunch of people I’ve met through this fandom specifically--put a pin in that) to start down that path, because all the same, it has often been a very lonely, very dark, and very isolating place to be. But so is addiction.

So here I am, hours and hours of group counseling, enough EMDR therapy to relive every childhood trauma in the book, countless tweakings of my meds, endless bottles of Coke Zero later, and I’m almost ten months sober.

And I find myself asking now what?

One of the biggest challenges in early sobriety, you learn quickly, is redefining fun for yourself in a world without your substance of choice, without the very thing that feeds your ego and silences your self-criticisms, without what feels like the only thing propelling you from one bleak day to the next. And for a long time, I worried that fandom had stopped being fun. That the joy of writing had been permanently ruined by the associations I’d made with drinking and negative related experiences.

But, back to my fandom friends. I worried so much they would lose interest in me as a person--that I’d become too boring or depressing or unfun in this next leg of life to want to stick around. I’ve found the opposite to be true--from the countless yapping sessions up and down 8th Avenue and booze-free hangouts, to the endless DMs of advice and memes, to the long heart-to-hearts over pots of tea, to… watching whatever the fuck is going on in the David Staller version and having a good long laugh. I didn’t expect this coming into 2024--I don’t know what I expected, honestly, besides maybe the hospital and divorce papers and more loneliness--and leaving this year behind me knowing I’ve got that means the world to me.

So all this is to say, one of the other things that helped me pull through this challenging period of life has been, surprisingly enough, fan fiction.

Particularly Battered Dove by BattyDings.

Modern AUs are always really hard to pull off, at least to me, in a way that feels satisfying. (This is why I am a coward and don’t write them lol.) More often than not, there’s a tendency for the story to get caught up in retrofitting the more melodramatic, antiquated elements (I say this with love) into a world where they can’t really exist with a straight face, and often at the cost of the characterizations and plot. The best modern AUs, for me, lean into the framework of what is there thematically: the ideas of loneliness, manipulation, dependency (themselves all negative aspects of addiction) balanced against the possibility of redemption, love, and making amends.

And in Battered Dove, BattyDings has rather brilliantly transposed these things into the context of substance abuse and addiction. If Phantom is a story about two lonely broken people getting caught up in a shared passion that brings out the best and worst in each other (particularly Erik lol), then Battered Dove sees our dynamic duo thrown together by a mutual past in drugs and hopefully redeemed by the music they make together.

It’s often a hard and unflinching read, and one that in other hands could easily come off as crass or edgelord-y. But in Batty’s hands, Battered Dove is a thoughtful, sensitive, tender unraveling of the Erik and Christine dynamic that keeps me coming back: that is, the only way they can “get well” is by going through something that is arguably more painful and terrifying than the present reality they live in: giving up what they think they love most.

I’ve read this story multiple times over the years and was always tremendously moved by the simple but powerful interpretation laid out in this fic; in pre-contemplation, when I’d be crawling into bed drunk every night and wondering if this was how I was going to die, bits and pieces of it would come to me. Me in bed, on the verge of blacking out, thinking about Phantom of the Opera fan fiction, wondering if I could do better (nah, no, I couldn’t. Not me.) Rereading Battered Dove for the first time after starting rehab and getting well into this journey was all the more astounding.

Phantom of the Opera, for me, is not the story of a monster who brutalizes women and we’re somehow supposed to feel bad or glean some larger, cynical message about the world from it; for me, it is a story of bittersweet hope--a slow, sad hope that the ones we love and that the ones we’ve hurt will feel peace and sunshine, without the guaranteed promise or reward we will feel it for ourselves. But that, in our selfless kindnesses born out of real love and care for others, we can at least begin to see a better version of ourselves staring back at us--no matter how broken, how lonely, how downright used and ugly we feel.

To me, that is recovery. That is what the last ten months have been. There is no guarantee who I will be in a year--what wrongs I will right, what truths I will uncover, or even if I'll have managed to maintained my sobriety (though I feel hopeful). I am promised nothing but the day in front of me and the little, powerful joy I get in doing right by the universe with each passing hour.

And Battered Dove captures that perfectly. Can’t recommend that enough.

Thank you for being a friend and source of light through this hard time, @battydings. Pls accept this humble doodle and biggest thank you for writing such a wonderful, heartfelt story.

[nateconnolly]

What Does the Lion Turtle Chant Mean?

A podcast episode about the spirituality of Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Transcript Preview:

Many people have told me they struggle to take Sozin’s Comet seriously because they would have killed the Fire Lord without hesitation. And, look, as far as I’m concerned — if you’re willing to kill a genocidal colonizer, good for you! Many blessings upon your journey! And the show isn’t trying to dissuade you. 

Aang is not the only voice of wisdom in Avatar. He’s not a puppet through which the text articulates its meaning. Avatar is about cultural exchange. When one character says what they think is true, that isn’t necessarily the moral of a story. That’s one voice, and the story is a conversation. So, I don’t think that Sozin’s Comet is using Aang to say “Hey, you, you, looking at the TV, you personally should never support violent revolution!” Water Tribe culture doesn’t seem to have any problem with killing on the battlefield. 

When Sokka lops off the Melon Lord’s head, there’s some very clear indications that we’re supposed to be troubled. The musical cue, Momo eating the melon, he lingering focus on Aang’s reaction … But I don’t think this scene is meant to communicate that Sokka is a bad guy. Or that soldiers are inherently bad people. I assume that Hakoda, Bato, and Tyro killed people. These figures are portrayed as admirable, and even as mentors. 

The scene in which Sokka kills the Melon Lord is there to illustrate the difference between Southern Water Tribe culture and Air Nomad culture. Sokka’s journey is about embracing and reclaiming all the parts of his culture that the Fire Nation tried to destroy. He wasn’t able to go ice dodging or to train as a wolf warrior, but he has found a way to become a strong, protective man anyways. And that does mean that he’s willing to kill or die for a cause he believes in. This scene doesn’t communicate that Sokka is a bad person. It communicates that Sokka is walking his own path, and that Aang is walking a different path. But the show doesn’t try to tell you one of them is wrong and the other is right. 

At the same time, I think we need to remember that Aang is saying something he believes. It’s not just an emotional problem for him. 

Aang gives multiple related, but different reasons not to kill the Fire Lord.

“I didn’t feel like myself.” 

The Fire Lord “is still a human being.”

Killing goes against “everything the monks taught me.”

“All life is sacred.”

In Southern Raiders, he also makes a more general claim that “violence is never the answer,” but I think that the writers had to use the word “violence” as a euphemism. In our normal usage of the word, punching somebody would be a “violent” act. Aang clearly has no problem whacking people over the head or shooting wind at them. I think this is a way of making the show more kid friendly, and that what Aang actually means is 

“[Killing] is never the answer.”

Some of these claims are about Aang as an individual. He’s saying he doesn’t feel like he, specifically, can kill someone. That it goes against the values of his culture. And some of these are universal claims. He’s saying no one should kill, not ever. 

But he also believes in a separate ethical mandate. As the Avatar, he has to protect the world. In this lifetime, that means preventing the Fire Lord from burning the Earth Kingdom. 

This is a story about moral standards, and they seem impossible to live up to. There’s no easy answer. If you believe that murder is wrong, and you believe in the duties of the Avatar, then you have a conflict of values, not just emotions. In order to understand the Buddhist themes of Sozin’s Comet, we have to understand Buddhist ideas of morality. 

This podcast episode

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Nate's short story about Buddhism

Transcript with Citations