#peasant Matt

[mattisthehottest]

Forbidden Love

Forbidden Love

pairing: princess!readerxpeasent!matt

Summary: When the pressured princess runs into the low peasant boy Matt

word count:372

Warnings: pressuring into marriage, fighting with parents, NOT PROOFREAD, that should be all

a/n: Inspired by a lot of writers on here.

-xoxo akua

"Princes, princess, wake up!" I open my eyes, maids running around my room. this is my normal routine. "Princess, we must hurry. Your father is calling for you." I get rushed out of bed and pulled into the bathroom.

-"Yes, father?" I stand in front of the throne in a long blue gown, with gold lace designs. My father is sitting on the throne in the middle while the throne to his right is empty.The queen, my mother, fell sick to an illness that the royal physicians are still looking for a cure.

"Y/n," my father calls, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look up, seeing his cold demeanor change into one of worry. "Fath-" i start, but I am quickly cut off by him. "You need to marry soon." We've talked about this before, and it always ends the same, in an argument.

"Father, I don't want to marry, plus we haven't loo-" "You dont have a choice!" my father yells. "But it's my life which makes it my choice!" I yell back. Im so angry that I feel my body starts to shake. "You have three months to find a suitable husband." I opened my mouth to respond, but my father dismissed me.

●Matt's pov●

"Matt, come on," I hear Chris complaining. "If you helped, I wouldn't be so slow." I say, carrying a full basket of coal. This Chris guy is actually my brother. We're triplets, but Nick is at home.

We make our way home after going around buying things that are necessary. "We're back!" Chris yells. "Chris, can either you or Matt go out and buy some vegetables and seasoning?" Nick replies, and Chris immediately says, "Matt will go. "

I have one bag in arm searching for the vegetables. As I make my way through the crowd of people, I trip and fall onto a young lady. The position we land in is a bit...intimate. I

look at her face, seeing a slight blush.I quickly stand up to help her up. "I am so sorry, Miss...?" She hesitates before saying, "Y/n." Her name sounds really similar, but before i have time to question, she quickly writes me a note before running away.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Cherrywood

(1-2)

Short story # 19

Gif NOT mine.

Summary - On this night your land experiences the worst storm it's suffered in nearly a hundred years. Amidst the storm came a crashing noise like no other, and curiosity gets the better of you. When you find the source of the commotion, you are stunned to find the Rouge Prince unconscious beneath his fierce dragons wing.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW

Reading time (roughly) - 15 minutes

I haven't watched the show, or read the books. So please excuse any inaccuracies there might be.

"Easy boy, it's just a storm." (Y/n) murmured softly to her sheepdog, who whimpered and growled with every crack of thunder. She pet behind his ear, hoping to console her loyal dog. While still idly tending to her dinner over the hearth. "I hope Zero is okay." She muttered aloud, thinking of her horse sheltered in the barn. With a particularly loud crack of thunder, Leo whimpered and scurried under the nearby table. "Some guard dog you are." (Y/n) teased her pet playfully, felling sorry for him, but trying to make light of the situation. As she herself was afraid of what this storm would bring, and the damage that was bound to occur as it swept over her orchard. Thunder struck once more, but alongside it came a near deafening crash. "Oh no." Afraid the barn might have collapsed, (Y/n) rushed to grab her cloak. "Stay here." She called back to Leo, before rushing out the door of her cottage and into the storm. Lifting her head just enough to spot the barn, she was relieved to find it standing intact. But what had caused such a noise?

An animalistic yowl of sorts emitted from the shore afar, a sound unlike anything she'd heard before. Curiosity getting the better of her, (Y/n) began her treck towards the beach, wondering what sort of creature could make such a sound. The ground was soft and muddy beneath her boots, causing her to slip every so often, though she maintained her balance enough not to fall into the muck. Again the sound emitted from the beach, much louder now that she neared it's source. All that was left between her, and the creature, was a steep hill. With slow meticulous steps, she made her way up the hill, careful not to slip and fall all the way back down. When she reached the top, she cautiously peered over the top, as another deafening roar ripped through the night air. Her eyes immediately landed upon a mighty red dragon, and she was quick to duck her head back down, fear surging through her body at the sight of the beast. Again it roared and it sounded distressed, perhaps even in pain. "Gods protect me." She whispered softly, going against her better judgment, and peering over the hill at the mighty beast.

This time she observed a saddle strapped to the dragon, and when it shifted, she noticed the sigil for house Targaryen. "Not good, definitely not good." She muttered softly, as she scanned the beach for any sign of the rider. Her eyes quickly snapped back to the dragon, when it again shifted, this time lifting its wing just high enough for (Y/n) to spot the silhouette of someone laying in the sand. Assessing the situation (Y/n) concluded that something must be wrong with the rider, and the dragon was trying desperately to wake them with no success. "I must be crazy." She muttered under her breath as she worked up the courage to stand. Despite her body telling her to run for the hills, (Y/n) rose from her spot, and slowly descended down the hill towards the beast. Before she even reached the end of the hill, the dragons attention snapped to her, growling low in warning. "Definitely crazy." She breathed out quietly, holding her hands up in surrender to the beast. With slow steps she began walking towards the dragon, hoping it would understand that she meant no harm.

It's nostrils flared, as it bellowed smoke at her, halting her in her steps. "I only want to help, let me help please." She called out to the crimson beast, hoping she wouldn't be burned alive. The dragon shook its head, as if to dismiss the idea. "Their hurt, let me help." She tried again, her heart hammering when the dragon spread out it's wings, which covered the span of the beach itself. "I don't mean you harm, I just want to help." She kept her hands held out, bowing her head a little even, in hopes that it would understand her submission to its power. The dragon once more shifted, and turned its head to the side. It's furthest wing tucking back into its side. While the other wing over their rider remained outstretched. She took slow steps, not wanting to spook the beast into aggression, but wanting desperately to help the rider. When she finally reached them, she wasn't surprised to find that the man was definitely a Targaryen. If his clothes and dragon weren't enough to convince her, the long mane of snow white hair definitely was. His hair lay around him like that of a halo, and (Y/n) found herself stunned by how handsome he was, even drenched to the bone with rain.

She felt the dragons eyes on her, and tried to ignore it as she knelt beside the man. Carefully she pat his cheek, in a vain attempt to stir him awake. Though she suspected that if the loud bellowing roars of his dragon couldn't wake him, she would be just as unsuccessful. That is if he was even alive to begin with. Pulling her hood down, (Y/n) pressed her ear against the man's sternum, trying desperately to hear the rhythmic beating of a heart, over the rain pattering noisily on the dragons wing. Closing her eyes to try focusing better, she slowed her breaths, and strained to listen over the storm. "He's alive." She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally heard his heart beating steadily. She looked closely over his body, assisting that he had no major wounds that needed immediate tending to. Only to then realize she needed to get him back to her cottage somehow, and soon lest the cold take him while he sleeps. Looking back at the dragon she worried if it was something the beast would even allow. Though it had allowed her to come this close, perhaps even it knows what needs to be done.

She rose from her spot beside the man, removed her cloak, covering him with it, in an attempt to keep him warm. "I'll be back, I promise." She spoke to the dragon, still hoping it wouldn't lash out at her. It blew air out of its nose in her direction, and remained in place guarding its master. (Y/n) took that as her queue and dashed off towards her orchard. She became drenched in no time, shivering from the cold, but she ignored it and kept running home. Once there she made a beeline for the barn, barging in with enough force to startle her horse Zero. She rushed about, finding what she would need in order to transport the man back to her cottage. And old sled from when she was a child, which was designed to be pulled by a horse, was her go to. She also gathered rope and several blankets, before getting Zero's saddle onto him, along with the harness needed to strap the sled to. Once everything was ready, (Y/n) grabbed the spare cloak in the barn, pulled it on, and led Zero out into the storm. After she'd ensured the sled was secure, she pulled herself up onto the saddle, and set Zero into a trot back to the beach. Praying to the old gods and the new to protect her, to let the man still be alive, and to keep his dragon docile.

As she neared the hill Zero began to snort in discomfort and fear, sensing what was beyond the hill. "Easy buddy, we have to do this. Stay with me." She soothed him before ushering him to climb the hill. He neighed and pounded his hoof, before doing as he was told. When they reached the top of the hill, the dragon looked to them, and Zero reared up a little. "Easy Zero easy, it's okay." (Y/n) soothed him once more, her heart pounding noisily in her ears. The work horse snorted and trot in place for a moment, before slowly calming as the dragon showed no aggression. "Come on." She urged him forward, breathing a sigh of relief when he did so without hesitation. The dragon once more turned its head away when they neared, and Zero snorted in displeasure. "It's okay, we'll be okay." She assured him, hoping she was right about that. Once close enough (Y/n) dismounted Zero, and moved back to the man's side. Quickly and carefully she moved him onto the awaiting sled, covering him with several blankets to try and keep him somewhat dry, and clean from the mud Zeros hooves would kick up.

When she was satisfied with her work, she moved to secure several pieces of rope around him and the sled, to ensure he wouldn't fall off at any point during the trip. Certain that they wouldn't come untied or loose, she rose to her feet, gently patting Zero on the side. "Home Zero, take us home." She instructed the horse, remaining beside him to better watch over the man. Zero huffed once and began walking back towards home, his pace slow and calm. (Y/n) watched the dragon cautiously as they began the treck up the hill, hoping it would remain docile and wouldn't suddenly grow aggressive. However her anxiety didn't calm as the beast moved to follow them on foot. Trailing behind them like some massive winged dog, still loyal to its master and refusing to leave his side. Steadying her breathing she tried to focus on the task at hand, subconsciously wondering how in seven hells this all could have possibly happened. She'd heard the stories of the Targaryens, and they were renowned for their skill at dragon riding. Was it merely the storm that knocked them out of the sky? Or was it the work of something else entirely? What would happen if the man dies? Will the dragon kill her for not saving its master? Would the Targaryens kill her for not saving him?

Shaking her head of those thoughts she kept her eyes forward, as they neared her home. Pushing Zeros side a little to guild him to the barn. The dragon walked the opposite direction, making itself comfortable beside the cottage, though still watching (Y/n)'s every move. Quickly she removed Zeros saddle and harness, ushering him into his stall which she latched behind him. Still utilizing the sled, (Y/n) picked up the straps and began hauling him out herself, closing up the barn, then continuing on to the cottage. Luckily the front door was wide, which allowed her to pull the sled straight into the cottage and out of the rain. "Stay." She warned Leo who was still under the table where she'd left him. He wined but complied to her command. Setting to work (Y/n) removed the ropes and blankets, and even removed the top layers of the riders clothes. Knowing he needed to get warm, and into dry clothes before the cold could set in and make him sick. Thinking momentarily about the things her mother had taught her, she determined that it would be best for his health, if she just removed all of his wet clothes.

Before doing so she pulled the sled closer to the hearth, so he could get warm and dry off faster. Uncomfortable with the thought of a naked man she didn't even know laying unconscious in her home, she found a clean dry cloth and covered his modesty. "Leo come." She called to her sheepdog, who rushed to her side and followed her into her room. Closing the door behind her, (Y/n) quickly shed off her own wet clothes, dried herself with clean linen, and redressed into dry clothes. "Stay." She told Leo before she left the room, closing the door behind her for good measure. Afterwards she made her way to the room her and her brother shared when they were children, finding a decent pair of trousers tucked away in a chest. With those in hand she made her way back to the main part of the cottage, assessing the man to see if he was dry. Determining he was plenty dry, she worked to get him changed into the trousers, relived to find that they fit him just fine. Noticing the bruises on his ribs she retrieved a healing salve she made herself, gently rubbing a generous amount onto all the places she found bruises and scratches. Aside from those he seemed relatively unharmed. Again she walked off to her childhood room, retrieving a loose top from the same chest as before.

And before leaving the room, she assessed the only remaining bed within the room. It was a little dusty, but it would have to do for the night. She pulled the furs from the bed, and replaced them with cleaner furs. Flipping over the pillows she hoped it didn't smell musty, and the man would simply appreciate that she even helped him at all. Satisfied with her work, she grabbed the shirt, and made her way back to the man. Dressing him in the shirt with a gentle touch, she wondered who exactly this man was. Judging by his exquisite clothes he had to be a Targaryen of some importance, although most of them as far as she knew were of great importance. Mustering her strength, and bracing herself, (Y/n) carefully hauled the man up from the sled. And carried him as best she could to the bedroom she intended on letting him use. When she reached the room, she fell backwards onto the bed with an exhausted huff, groaning at the added weight of the man now laying on top of her, with his back against her chest. Carefully she maneuvered her way out from under him, then pulled him the rest of the way onto the bed. Afterwards tucking him under the fur covers, then leaving to rest by the hearth for a while.

After eating her dinner, (Y/n) determined that his clothes would need to be cleaned soon. Securing her cloak around her shoulders, she rushed out into the rain. Her heart jumping at the sight of the sleeping dragon, having forgotten about its presence until now. Swallowing the lump in her throat she made her way to the well, gathering several buckets of water over the span of several minutes. And filling a large cauldron over the hearth to warm the water in order to properly clean the clothes. When the water was sufficiently warm, she transferred the water from the cauldron into the washbasin. Thoroughly cleaning the clothes with care as to not cause them any damage, but get them sufficiently clean and tidy. She worked into the small hours of the morning, cleaning the clothes, and hanging them near the hearth to dry faster. Afterwards she cleaned the mess from doing laundry, and the small mess she'd made earlier in the day while preparing dinner. Lastly she cleaned up the mess made from the muddy sled she'd dragged into her home. By the time she was finished, the sun was beginning to rise, the storm subsiding a short while ago. And in that time she'd accidentally fallen asleep sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall across from the hearth.

While she rest soundly in the main room of the cottage, Daemon began to stir awake. Hissing in discomfort at the stinging pain in his sides, and the dull throb of his head. He felt hungover, and as if he were half on deaths door. Regardless he opened his eyes, blinking away the drowsy need to close them again. Realizing quickly that he didn't know where he was, or how he got there. Clearly it wasn't the castle, and the more he tried remembering the night before, the more confused he was. He remembered arguing with his brother, about something trivial, and then taking Caraxes for a ride. Then he remembered the storm, he remembered flashes of lightning nearly striking them out of the sky. And he remembered falling for what felt like an eternity. He quickly rushed out of the bed, trying to ascertain where he ended up. Barging out of the room, he half expected to be in a tavern or maybe even a brothel. And he was admittedly a tad bit surprised to find himself in a quant cottage instead. He wandered around the room, only realizing he wasn't in his own clothes, when he saw his hanging near the hearth. Peering around the hearth he finally spotted his host, sound asleep and looking exhausted.

He wondered how longs she'd been awake, and if she had been the one to bring him into her home. Caraxes made a noise from outside, startling the woman awake, which made Daemon smirk softly. "You're awake!" She breathed out in near astonishment, quickly standing from her spot on the floor. "Who might you be?" He asked her, committing her face to memory. "(Y/n) Voss, my lord." She bowed her head respectively. "I am no mere lord, sweetling, I am Prince Daemon Targaryen." He held his head high, smirking again at her clear surprise. "My Prince." She bowed more respectively, but Daemon waved it off. "Daemon will suffice." He hummed watching her closely as she relaxed before him. "How did I get here?" He asked with a tilt of his head. "I brought you here, I found you on the beach last night during the storm. Your dragon... It made quite a commotion, and I went to investigate." She looked almost bashful, making the Rouge Prince smile. "And he let you bring me here?" He inquired curiously. "It took some convincing, but he's a smart creature, and I think he knew I only wanted to help you." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You must be a special creature to gain the trust of a dragon so quickly." Daemon mused with a grin, loving the faint blush that dusted her cheeks.

Buy me a coffee sometime? ☕️

(Click the coffee for my Kofi link, IT'S NOT NECESSARY BTW.)

Part two ->

[hobohobgoblim]

[babsaros]

its soooo funny that the ceo of this site put out a flop post lmao

[gentlefangz]

is quickly brought back to health by a piece of crunchy bread dipped in olive oil with seasoning

[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, part one

a small collection of the times skater!matt and overachiever!reader realised they'd never be friends.

vibe check: flashbacks to childhood and high school, general loathing

1.2k words

A/N: i had this idea and couldn't get it out my head...i was trying to think of ways to establish the bad vibes and this was my best option.

introduction

love and cigs, merc

the first day of middle school

It was just gone 8, and you were walking down the beige path towards your new school, books tucked in your arms, hair tucked behind your ears and your cream sweater tucked into your pleated plaid skirt. You looked perfect, as always, and had spent hours making sure of it. This was a new beginning for you, the start of your real academic career (you were a very intense kid) , and you were taking it very seriously, despite being only eleven years old.

Your brogues splashed in the little puddles that had formed on the concrete, the shiny leather being undisturbed by the water as it rolled off its surface. From behind you, the sound of skateboard wheels rolled against the beige floor, broken up by periodical slaps of a van shoe against the ground.

The sound got closer, and you thought nothing of it, along with thinking nothing of the giant puddle that you were absentmindedly walking closer and closer to. A boy with messy brown hair, an ACDC t-shirt on over a white long sleeve and work trousers he definitely took from his dad was fast approaching behind you, headphones in and not a care in the world.

You approached the puddle at the same time, and just as you did, the boy sped through it, splashing dirty brown puddle water all over you, and partially himself.

you screamed in shock, it was everywhere, and you were filthy.

"oh, crap, I'm so sorry" Matt said as he halted his speed, the sound of your scream pulling him from his daze as he jumped off his board and ran back towards you.

"what is wrong with you" you screamed, looking down at your now filthy outfit.

"it was an accident, I didn't me-" Matt began to speak, brows furrowed like a sad puppy.

"get away from me" you spat, shooing him away as he attempted to pat out the brown stains with the sleeve of his top.

Matts face screwed up in annoyance, he placed his board back on the floor, and was gone in a flash.

8th grade History class

"The French and American revolutions were one and the same, they ran parallel to each other and were reflections of the worlds desperation to be free from British rule" Matt said, answering the teachers question.

your brows furrowed in disagreement, "thats not right" everyone in the class turned from Matt, to you.

"and why's that, y/n" Your teacher spoke up.

"because the french revolution started in 1789, ours happened over a decade earlier, so they couldn't have been parallel" You said, your teacher grinning at you "and the french revolution wasn't about the British, it was about peasant revolt, and the abolishment of the French monarchy" your cadence was thick with pride.

Everyone in the class turned to the teacher, waiting for them to confirm who was wrong and who was right.

"very good, y/n" She nodded, continuing with her slides on world revolutions.

Matt was glaring at you over his shoulder, face riddled with irritation, you simply smiled, raising your brows for a split second before looking away. Matt rolled his eyes, and turned his attentions back to the board.

Lunch, Sophomore year of high school

You were sat just behind the resident table of skaters, not your first choice but it was the only table left where you could sit alone and read without having to sit next to anyone.

They were being idiots, as usual, throwing stuff at each other and making awful jokes. One said something about how they wish food fights were still a thing, and another agreed, picking up their mash potato and humming it at Matts head. The whole able erupted into laughter, Matt included.

He took a hand full of his spaghetti, and pulled his arm back in preparation to throw it at his friend. Just as Matt let go of the wet, red noodles, his friend ducked out the way, and Matts handful of food was launched directly at you.

It splatted on your face, covering your clothes and book in red bolognese sauce. The whole cafeteria gasped, laughs erupting from every corner as Matts face was riddled with a shocked smile, trying his best to hold back his laughter.

"Matt!" You screamed, taking your fingers and raking them down your face, pulling the pasta off.

Matt chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender, "sorry, y/l/n, my bad"

You clenched your jaw, slamming your book shut, squishing the spaghetti and got to your feet.

"you are the most insufferable, idiotic, stupid, worthless boy, I have ever known" you borderline screamed, picking up your bags and storming out the cafeteria.

All his friends turned back to face him with looks of 'oh shit' spread across their faces, all holding back laughs.

Matt smiled through the sting of your words, trying to play it cool and act like he didn't want to run after you and apologise. Who cares, he hated you anyway.

In the hall, Freshman year of college

Matt was leant up against the wall, talking to a girl he barely knew about skateboarding, or something else that you really didn't care about. He was obviously flirting with her, and she was relishing in it, peppering his arm with touches and twirling her hair round her delicate fingers.

You and Matt had somehow ended up in the same college, and you despised him for it. He never even had to try, he was effortlessly good at things, being handed your dream life on a silver platter with a smug smile and a nonchalant attitude. From a distance, your distaste for the sight ahead of you would look like jealousy, it obviously wasn't, it was pure hatred, and despite your better judgement, you found yourself walking over to them.

"what're you doin' here, y/l/n" Matt said, annoyed at the sight of you.

You ignored him, placing your arm round the girls shoulder and talking directly to her.

"I wouldn't waste your time, girl, I heard he gave half the volleyball team chlamydia" You said, the lie rolling off your tongue effortlessly as you tried to hold back your smile.

The girl scoffed in disgust, looking Matt up and down as she walked away. Matt tried to defend himself, shouting out that you were lying and that he swore it wasn't true. His efforts failed and he turned to you with a clenched jaw.

You couldn't help but smile, your tongue pressed to your teeth as he glared at you.

"what the fuck is your problem" matt spat

you shrugged, "I was bored"

Matt scoffed, "you were bored, so you told the only girl who's shown interest in me in months that I have chlamydia?"

You giggled, and with another shrug, you walked away.

Matts whole face tensed, and he stuck both his middle fingers up at the back of your head. You turned back, knowing exactly what he was like and returned the favour, flashing your perfectly manicured middle finger at him with a smug smile.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch

[detectivebambam]

how the foxes act when they're sick in honor of me being insanely ill

Andrew: i feel like he gets sick a lot, like immune disorder type. he catches anything that goes around. he's used to it so it doesn't bother him too much, but the worse illnesses can get him pretty bad. when covid hit Neil watched him like a hawk to make sure he didn't catch it

Aaron: bro is the definition of "victorian peasant" when he's sick. he is almost completely useless when he catches a cold. i mean like straight man cold he is completely helpless

Kevin: he doesn't get sick all too often but even when he is he just pretends he's not. he's willing to grind until he collapses and even then he'll deny everything and tell doctor's orders to go fuck themselves

Neil: never gets sick. immune system like a brick. if he does he kinds freaks out because being sick on the run slowed them down, and he never quite gets over that fear

Alison: very similar to Aaron. unless it's game day, she uses illness as an excuse to not do anything

Renee: she's so chill about it. lets people know she's not feeling well, but doesn't let it affect her. she does, however, refuse to take medicine, because she wants to see how long she can power through

Matt: will cough on Dan so they can be sick together. very cuddly when he's not feeling well. eats soup, takes medicine, the whole shabang

Dan: very grumpy when she's sick, usually because it's Matt's fault. doesn't want to be around anybody, speak to anybody, etc.

Nicky: oh so dramatic. acts like he's dying, starts planning his funeral, setting up the playlist for his wake, calls Erik to let him know that he will be getting his insurance, all that

[fatehbaz]

Goldstein and Mahmoudi point to what, on appearance, is a relatively new phenomenon: namely the use of digital technologies in contemporary forms of surveillance and policing, and the way in which they turn the body into the border. [...] [T]he datafication of human life becomes an industry in its own right [...] [with the concept of] “surveillance capitalism” - a system based on capturing behavioral data and using it for commercial purposes [...] [which] emerged in the early 2000s [...].

In contrast, scholarship on colonialism, slavery, and plantation capitalism enables us to understand how racial surveillance capitalism has existed since the grid cities of sixteenth-century Spanish Mexico (Mirzoeff 2020). In short, and as Simone Browne (2015, 10) has shown, “surveillance is nothing new to black folks.” [...]

[S]urveillance in the service of racial capitalism has historically aided three interconnected goals: (1) the control of movement of certain - predominantly racialized - bodies through means of identification; (2) the control of labor to increase productivity and output; and (3) the generation of knowledge about the colony and its native inhabitants in order to “maintain” the colonies [...].

---

Identification documents and practices can, like so many other surveillance technologies, be traced back to the Middle Passage [...]. [T]he movement of captives was controlled through [...] slave passes, slave patrols [...]. Similar strategies of using wanted posters and passes were put in place to control the movement of indentured white laborers from England and Ireland. [...]

Fingerprinting, for example, was developed in India because colonial officials could not tell people apart [...].

In Algeria, the French dominated the colonized population by issuing internal passports, creating internal limits on movement for certain groups, and establishing camps for landless peasants [...]. In South Africa, meanwhile, the movement of the Black population was controlled through the “pass laws”: an internal passport system designed to confine Black South Africans into Bantustans and ensure a steady supply of super-exploitable labor [...].

On the plantation itself, two forms of surveillance emerged - both with the underlying aim of increasing productivity and output. One was in the form of daily notetaking by plantation and slave owners. [...] Second, [...] a combination of surveillance, accounting, and violence was used to make slave labor in the cotton fields more “efficient.” [...] [S]imilar logics of quotas and surveillance still reverberate in today's labor management systems. Finally, surveillance was also essential to the management of the colonies. It occurred through [...] practices like fingerprinting and the passport [...]. [P]hotographs were used after colonial rebellions, in 1857 in India and in 1865 in Jamaica, to better identify the local population and identify “racial types.” To control different Indian communities deemed criminal and vagrant, the British instituted a system of registration where [...] [particular people] were not allowed to sleep away from their villages without prior permission [...].

---

In sum, when thinking about so-called surveillance capitalism today, it is essential to recognize that the logics that underpin these technologies are not new, but were developed and tested in the management of racialized minorities during the colonial era with a similar end goal, namely to control, order, and undermine the poor, colonized, enslaved, and indentured; to create a vulnerable and super-exploitable workforce; and to increase efficiency in production and foster accumulation. Consequently, while the (digital) technologies used for surveillance might have changed, the logics underpinning them have not.

---

All text above by: Sabrina Axster and Ida Danewid. In a section from an article co-authored by Sabrina Axster, Ida Danewid, Asher Goldstein, Matt Mahmoudi, Cemal Burak Tansel, and Lauren Wilcox. "Colonial Lives of the Carceral Archipelago: Rethinking the Neoliberal Security State". International Political Sociology Volume 15, Issue 3, pp. 415-439. September 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[thottie777]

punishment.

*you and matt are secretly fwb and were hanging out with some friends in the evening, one the girls got a bit too touchy with him and you became very jealous, dragging him upstairs and punishing him.

-

“do you wanna fuck her?” you asked looking down at him. he shook his head vigorously, desperation in his eyes as he gazed up at you, you planted your fingers on his chin and lifted his face up a little, making heavy eye contact. “i don’t believe you” you continued, with a sultry tone, rubbing your thumb across the round of his chin, back and forth.

his expression was pathetic, he had panic in his eyes and held a distressed disposition as he submissively stared up at you. your jealousy overcame you as your mind raced images of him inside her, moaning her name instead of yours. you knew he would never touch her but you couldn’t shake the thoughts from your mind, the way she pushed his arm every time he made her laugh and kept her eyes on his lips when he spoke drove you crazy.

“did you see the way she was looking at you all evening matt? she wanted you to fuck her” you murmured, observing his soft features as he sat beneath you like a peasant, on his knees, desperately attempting to ignore the ache in your stomach that this jealousy had provoked into your body.

even though you would be secretly furious if he ever got with someone else, you couldn’t help but get turned on by the idea of him absolutely destroying another girl. you didn’t understand why it made you so wet but it did, the warmth between your legs became moist as he kneeled between them. he broke eye contact and started to trail kisses along the insides of your thighs, momentarily distracting you from the power you knew you had in this situation. his fluffy hair tickled your skin as he dragged his lips across it, your breath became slightly hitched so you quickly let out a quiet cough and cleared your throat, not letting him win in this moment.

“are you imagining her right now matt?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows down at him as his eyes were fluttered shut. he looked up briefly, breaking the union from his lips “no baby” he whispered, bringing his mouth back to your thighs as he peppered kisses in a gentle trail, keeping eye contact with you.

“i’ll” *kiss* “only” *kiss* “ever” *kiss* “want” *kiss* “you” *kiss*, he mumbled against your skin, making your core throb for him even harder. you knew he was telling the truth, but kind of enjoyed torturing him with your dominance and defiance.

“prove it”, you demanded, pulling his face up with your hands as they gripped into the back of his hair. he nodded, still possessing those submissive eyes that made you melt. you had to remain strong.

he placed his hands on you, tugging at the material that sat on your hips. you presumed it would be him requesting help so that he could pull your shorts down, you complied.

as the article of clothing fell down to your ankles, he quickly grabbed it and threw it to the other side of the room, knowing you wouldn’t be needing them back anytime soon.

his pretty face travelled back between your thighs, immediately pressing a kiss against your core. he closed his eyes and used the tip of his nose to make one stroke up your cunt, from entrance to clit, breathing you in. he nuzzled his face into your pussy, dotting pecks across its surface and leaving kitten licks across your lips. he then reached his tongue out, laying it flat against your soaked core, licking up and down to taste your sweet juices, your head lolled back from pleasure as you let out a soft moan from the orgasmic sensation of his mouth being exactly where you needed it to be.

after getting a good taste of you he pointed his tongue so that it was slightly sharper and flicked it against your clit repeatedly until he felt your hands quickly travel to his hair, gripping at his curls and pushing him further into your cunt. one of his hands laid on your supple thigh, the other being 3 fingers deep inside of you, pumping in and out as your groans and whimpers grew louder and your breaths became shorter.

he sped up his motions, fingers soaked in the moisture from your pussy, tongue dancing circles around your pulsing clit. you couldn’t take anymore and had screamed his name so many times it felt like it was the only word you knew. your stomach tightened and cunt began to twitch from sensitivity as you reached your climax, you squeezed your thighs around either side of his head as you began to tremble, sat on the edge of the bed with your legs spread. you let out a harsh groan and came on his pretty face, releasing quickly and laying your back against the bed from overstimulation.

matt got up from his knees and climbed on top of you, kissing down your cleavage. “you fucking wish” you said through a soft yet mocking laugh, flipping him over and straddling his waist. you started to grind on top of him, your bare pussy rubbing against his baggy jeans, you could immediately feel his hard on poke your warmth but ignored it, he didn’t deserve the satisfaction of being inside you after entertaining another girl all night.

he groaned as you continued to roll your hips back and forth “fuckkkkk” he let out, wincing from how hard his cock was getting. “stop teasing baby” matt whined, sitting up slightly, grabbing your waist and forcing your body downwards so that you would help relieve his hard on, you quickly slapped his hands away “you need to learn your lesson” you said, looking deep into his eyes with a smirk on your face. you raised a hand up and placed it against his chest, pushing him back down so that he was once again fully laid down on the bed beneath you, desperate and needy.

you lifted yourself so that you were positioned on top of his left thigh, straddling it. you pulled off your top, revealing your large bare tits that hung above his face, and rubbed them, tweaking your own nipples as matt just stared up in awe. you continued to grind and this time felt deep pleasure from it as the smaller surface area rubbed against your clit better, you moaned and began to rock faster.

“film me baby” you ordered, through a soft moan, cupping your tits with your hands, “wh-what?” he asked with a puzzled expression on his face, “i said film me” you continued, “film me so that you can remember what it feels like to learn a lesson”, he nodded heavily, instantly grabbing his phone from the bedside table and opening up his snapchat, pressing start.

you smiled back at the camera and began grinding faster and faster, eyes rolling to back of your head from pleasure, clit throbbing against the material on his thigh, you knew you were gonna leave a wet patch on his jeans the second you departed from his leg. “y/n i’m so fucking hard i have to cum”, you laughed at him and squeezed his mouth, squishing his cheeks together and shaking them between your fingers “what a shame baby” you replied, bringing one hand down to palm his dick through his clothes.

he groaned and squeezed your tits so that the camera could see, plucking at your nipples and rubbing them in circular motions. you were ready to cum for the second time, hips rolling, clit beating and within seconds you were crying out his name as he followed suit seconds later, releasing a large load in his boxers and whimpering from the pleasure.

he put his phone down to the side and looked up at you, “that’ll fucking teach you” you murmured, placing a singular soft kiss on his lips before getting up and pulling your clothes back on. he laid on the bed still shaking from his climax, “i’m sorry” he stated through heavy breaths, “apology accepted”, you laughed, knowing that’d be the last time he ever talked to that girl ever again.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I think one of the most meta? Ironic? moments I've ever heard of is when during WW1 a group of Canadian soldiers (alongside other imperial forces) accidentally stumbled across a pre-Roman mass grave of Celtic warriors while digging up French bodies to try and make their trenches more hygienic.

Like can you imagine being some illiterate shitty frozen french peasant that got stuck fighting for the British empire gagging your way through digging up bodies only to finally get to some clean dirt and find more bones? Of warriors who died in battle much the same way? Who lived and died in the same place your ancestors lived for tens of centuries only to be dumped across an ocean and returned only to die on that exact same patch of dirt? The pure striated irony in that soil around Arras.

I need to research this further because the source was a drunk history nerd session that got pretty trippy but goddamn. Also Matt shoveling through the bullshit muttering about cleaning up after his dead beat dad Napoleon Blown Apart and coming face to face with grandpa's? Grandma's? Old gaulish bones like "great, another layer to the daddy's issues imperial mille-feuille. Wonderful. Can I go scrub the brains off my shovel now? Thanks." Because everyone's been disassociating for like 3 years. It's great.

[sunnysideaeggs]

thoughts about episode 4! i’m literally in shambles 😭😭😭

fuuuuuucckkkk alicent. she deliberately put aegon in an awful situation and then blames him for her annoyance when he’s trying his best. she sure is rhaenyra’s soulmate because she can’t take accountability for shit.

i love larys’ scheming did i told you?

matt cosplaying aemond is so funny 😭

alicent can eat shit. aemond can eat shit. every single person in the council can eat shit.

sunfyre’s little calls <3 he’s a singing dragon and i love him. i wanna see aegon singing to sunfyre, that’s how they show their love.

aegon as always being the best one in the show. i watch it solely for him tbh. he’s the archetype of the blessed king who fights for his people, it’s the shit world he lives in that fucks everything up.

rhaenyra acting as if she can disappear for a week and it’s all fine and dandy because she pinky promise was doing something important 🙄 (she wasn’t)

rhaenys died doing what she loved: killing peasants.

aemond has become my enemy #1 and i will cheer when that one eyed bitch dies. kinslayer and turncloak, the worst of the worst.

sunfyre is a physical representation of everything the targaryen dynasty could be, golden, beautiful and powerful, if they hadn’t been such ambitious fools ready to set it all aflame. vhagar, the living embodiment of this warlike and bloodthirsty urge, burns sunfyre and cripples the dynasty of ever achieving its full glory.

kinslaying is the worst crime ever. aemond has a debt that he must pay.

[katakankollector]

DARK FAIRY-TALES SENTENCE STARTERS Sentences were taken from two wonderful songs by Lilith Max ( Peasant’s Throne & Big Bad Wolf ) and shall suit such topics as betrayal, royalty, intrigues, murder, temptation, shapeshifting, monster, werewolf, survival, fairy-tale, folktale, downfall. Slight changes occurred for rp needs. Change names and pronouns further as you see fitting.   [ art credit: "The Beauty and The Beast " by Matt Mahurin ]

I don't need a sword

You've come to take my skin

You've come to make some coin

My hunger still roars

It's just a whisper, I breathe in [ his ] ear

I came upon you so sudden

I watch [ his ] eyes, as they roam through the crowd

Yet your hunger roars more

I clean the stains of their fine blood

I wondered how I would catch you

I sit above while the peasants bow below

Only the forest will know

Little nightmare, you have beautiful eyes

Bow down and swear servility

I'm the bad wolf of fables 

I can see all the stories where beast go to die

The forest hides the truth

Now suddenly I see, why they call you a monster and not me

Come, feast upon all that is yours

Should I play with my prey

I can see all the stories where I'll go to die

[ He ] cannot see the world, from below like I do

[ His ] thoughts veil his view

You've come to wrap my teeth round your throat

Let me feast upon all that is yours

Little did I see the hunter in you

I fear there are traitors in our midst

From the highest tower, [ we ] watch the fight begin

And then it is too late

The one that stands before [ him ], is the one who stole [ his ] throne

I am the king

The rest is history

The smirk on your face is  far crueler than mine

I should have seen it all come close

Not noticing my hands on [ his ] crown, bringing it all down

I failed to notice the glint of your knife

A blade cuts through the air

There's one tale that begins deep, deep in the forest

I don't need advisors

[ He ] wonders who it is

[misskattylashes]

Is it me or is there something Shakespearian about this whole drama. Maybe it is because I am a writer, but I see Alex like some naïve, foolish king who is surrounded by courtiers telling him things they want him to hear because they enjoy the lifestyle being associated with him brings. Miles is the sweet ordinary girl he is in love with and wants to marry, but to do so he would need to give up the throne. But his closest friend Matthew enjoys the money and fame King Alexander pretending to be straight brings him, so him and his shrill wife encourage him to be with the scheming French princess who wants nothing more than to be queen.

But Matthew is very clever, he plays the part of the jolly fool who everyone loves and doesn’t suspect him of anything. He seems like King Alexander’s best friend, and the person who has his back, and foolish King Alexander listens to him more than anything. He sees him so much like a brother, he even dedicates a song to his honorary ‘niece’. The same niece the shrill wife and French Princess use to garner sympathy points when the peasants start revolting.

So, what happens next? Does King Alexander listen to Matthew and carry on living a lie or does he realise he is being taken for a fool and leave the Kingdom for the sweet, ordinary girl?

Seriously….Matt is part of the PR machine and has proven this now. See how in the interview above, Alex is about to admit that Mr Schwartz is connected the poet Delmore Schwartz (a repressed homosexual man who was greatly admired by Lou Reed) and Matt interrupts, telling him it was a coincidence. Prompting Alex to stick to the script.

I’ve been saying this about Matt for ages and people called me stupid, well maybe they’ll start to realise I had a point.

[rhaenin-time]

Still can't believe I made this stupid username as an ironic appreciation crossover joke because of the Matt Smith connection and the stupidity of Ep 9.

At the time, Morbius jokes were already out of date but still almost acceptable. And now... now my hatred of change means I'm stuck with it. All because of one stupid micro-fic:

The crowd was crowded. The trumpets had been played. The coronation — it was witnessed. The cheers — they were shouted. And the sword — it was sure raised.

"Aegon the King!" Otto proclaimed.

And the new king said, "It's reigning time!"

But then it rained all over those guys; it rained rubble and stone and dust. The dust settled to reveal Rhaenys: The Queen-Who-Never-Was, atop Meleys. "No," she said. "It's Rhaenin time." And rhaend all over those guys.

Oh well. I've decided to embrace it. Come at me, peasants.

Masterlist in progress

Depictions of Colonization

Defining and Discerning Colonization, Imperialism, and Conquest

Colonization in ASoIaF

The Targaryens as "Colonizers"

A Song of Ice and Fire

Colonization, Imperialism, and Conquest

Colonization vs Imperialism vs Conquest

Colonization and Imperialism

Colonization vs Imperialism

Valyrians as Colonizers

Andals as Colonizers

First Men as Colonizers

The Starks as Colonizers

Cultures/Peoples

Andals

First Men

Westeros

Essos

Valyrians

Families

House Targaryen

House Stark

Characters I rant about

Daenerys Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Culture

Politics

Gender

HotD

HotD Critical

ASoIaF Critical

Fandom

Characterization

Other Media I Discuss (Good and Bad)

The Hunger Games

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Star Trek

Magnificent Century

Literary/Media Analysis

General

Personal

Political

Writing

Fluff

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 45, 10 novembre 1894, Paris. No. 18. — Toilette de deuil. No. 19. — dos du no. 18. No. 21. — Dos du no. 22. No. 22. — Toilette de deuil pour dame âgée. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 18. — Toilette de deuil, en lainage noir. Corsage plat, en crêpe anglais, avec dessus de bras remontants en lainage.

Ce corsage est décolleté en rond sur une chemisette de soie, à col uni, montant, en crêpe anglais.

Manches flottantes, à hauts poignets de crêpe, surmontées par des jockeys semblables, garnis de crêpe.

Jupe à tablier, mise sur le corsage, garnie, sur chaque côté, par trois petits biais de crêpe.

No. 18. — Mourning toilet, in black wool. Flat bodice, in English crepe, with raised woolen upper arms.

This bodice has a round neckline over a silk shirt, with a plain, high collar, in English crepe.

Floating sleeves, with high crepe cuffs, topped by similar jockeys, trimmed with crepe.

Apron skirt, placed over the bodice, trimmed on each side with three small crepe trims.

Métrage: 10 mètres lainage, grande largeur; 3 mètres crêpe anglais.

—

No. 19. — Dos du no. 18, garni de crêpe anglais comme le devant.

No. 19. — Back of no. 18, topped with English crepe like the front.

—

No. 21. — Dos du no. 22.

—

No. 22. — Toilette de deuil, pour dame âgée, en cachemire noir. Corsage plat, avec bande droite dessus, recouvert par un figaro brodé en soie mate. Ceinture de crêpe anglais, nouée en chou derrière. Manches flottantes, à hauts poignets brodés de soie mate.

Jupe paysanne, légèrement froncée tout autour et très plissée derrière.

No. 22. — Mourning toilet, for elderly ladies, in black cashmere. Flat bodice, with straight band on it, covered by an embroidered figaro in matte silk. English crepe belt, tied in a cabbage at the back. Floating sleeves, with high cuffs embroidered in matte silk.

Peasant skirt, slightly gathered all around and very pleated behind.

Métrage: 10 mètres lainage, grande largeur; 2 mètres crêpe anglais.

[birdofmay]

I'm not sure if it's a general trend or a swiftie trend, but in case it's a swiftie trend we should *make* it a general trend. So...