#so i figured i should write it down so i can point at it if readers want to know wtf they are talking about

[capitalismwasamistake]

Alright, you're contradicting yourself*, so how about we go over how an argument is made and then hopefully we can move forward.

When building an argument, it's a good idea to have your conclusion figured out beforehand. Your conclusion jumps all over the place. First it was that people shouldn't get certain medical interventions you personally find unnecessary (and/or unaesthetic), then it was that people should do whatever they want so long as they cover the costs, and now it's back to that first point. Figure this out first, then proceed.

Once you have your conclusion, decide how you want to support it. Usually you can give several arguments for the same conclusion, and you must pick one depending on what is appropriate for the discussion. If your mode of argumentation fluctuates wildly your individual points will each be weaker instead of supporting each other. You started with aesthetics, switched to practicality (invalid given that you're arguing against a normative claim), doubled down on the practicality, then concluded with paternalism. Given that op and me are arguing about rights in a normative context, not aesthetics or cost efficiency, the paternalism angle is the only one that could be relevant, so out of these, this is the only viable one. However, I would suggest a different approach, because paternalism in general is very hard to defend.

There was an interesting point in the middle there about what is and isn't oppression. I have defined oppression as restriction to people's freedoms to achieve certain states of being. Particularly relevantly, I have argued that control over one's own body (and freedom to reach any desired state of being related thereto) is essential to freedom from oppression, and therefore should be guaranteed. If you want to continue your angle about oppression, you can try to argue that control over one's own body is not relevant to oppression. You can go about it paternalistically, or via some other route. I'm honestly curious to see what the options are on this one. Please note that your attempt to challenge my definition of oppression is unsuccessful, because it does not actually disprove it. All you're saying is that there are gendered stereotypes which are restricting some individuals' freedom to achieve a state of being such as "being a masculine woman" or "being a feminine man" - this does not defeat my definition, so if you want your argument to start with establishing a different definition of oppression, you should do it more systematically. If my definition is unclear, I'll happily give more detail.

Or you could triple down on the practicality, I guess. But that does not work, because you need to give me a normative argument. Just saying something would be expensive is not a normative argument, you have to prove why something being expensive should make it an undesirable goal. To be fair, you did kinda try it with the line "taxpayer money that should be going to people who need help to LIVE", but that's weak. Healthcare is not zero sum, there's enough resources to go around. If you were trying to say those cases should be given priority, that is completely compatible with my argumentation and is therefore not an argument against my position. If, on the other hand, you're arguing that healthcare should only be covered in life-threatening emergencies then ... well, that's very counterintuitive. I think it's not controversial to say a functioning healthcare system would cover prevention, to give one example, which is not a life-threatening emergency. But I digress.

All this to say, think about it some more, formulate your argument clearly in your head before you write it down, then go at it again once more, with feeling. I believe we can reach a coherent point together. If both sides have a well-structured, sound, clear argument, we can finally go somewhere with this.

*Proof: above you talked about how anyone above the age of 18 can do whatever they want with their bodies as long as they consent, which implies an anti-paternalism position. But just now you changed your mind to saying we should pivot to doing other interventions to treat dysphoria, implying that you want to paternalistically tell people what they need or need not do with themselves. This lack of consistency on the paternalism point suggests to me that you've not thought your position through enough, which I why I want to help you with it.

Anyone should be able to get bottom surgery for any reason, and it should be free.

Cis guy wants a vaginoplasty but nothing else, and still identifies as a cis guy? ABSOLUTELY.

Cis girl wants phalloplasty? WITHOUT QUESTION.

People should be allowed to have whatever relationship with their bodies and identities makes sense for them.

(this post MUST be reblogged by EVERYONE)

[andy-15-07]

Can you write a fic about Joel miller comforting a reader while she is having cramps? Or comforting Ellie on her period?

Blood, Chocolate and Joel

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 928 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The cabin is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the occasional groan from you or Ellie.

You’re curled up on the couch, a blanket over your lap and a lukewarm heating pad clutched to your stomach. Ellie’s stretched out on the rug in front of the fire, an open book beside her that she’s not reading. Every few minutes, she mutters something under her breath or lets out a dramatic sigh.

Joel steps into the room, holding two mugs.

“Alright, I brought tea,” he says, voice warm and calm. “Chamomile. Didn’t have the fancy stuff, but it’s supposed to help.”

He hands you one mug first, then bends down to give the other to Ellie.

“You’re an angel,” you whisper, taking a sip.

Ellie eyes her mug with suspicion. “What if I wanted coffee?”

Joel raises a brow. “You said your stomach was a mess. Coffee’ll make it worse.”

She narrows her eyes. “You been googling period stuff?”

Joel shrugs, a little too casually. “Maybe I asked Tommy’s wife a few questions.”

You smirk into your mug. “You’re sweet.”

Joel sits beside you on the couch and gently places his hand on your knee, rubbing small circles with his thumb. “You alright, baby?”

You shake your head. “Cramping like hell.”

Ellie groans from the floor. “We’re dying, Joel. Literally. This is what the end feels like.”

“You say that every time,” Joel mutters.

“Because it’s true every time.”

You smile weakly. “She’s not wrong.”

Joel runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how you both do this every month and survive.”

“We don’t,” Ellie says, rolling onto her back. “We suffer. In silence. Well, not so silent.”

“Clearly,” Joel says, and you elbow him lightly.

“You love us anyway.”

Joel leans over and kisses your temple. “I do.”

Ellie lets out another long, drawn-out sigh. “I want chocolate. And a heating pad that doesn’t suck. And maybe a new uterus.”

Joel stands. “I got chocolate. Found some at the trading post. Let me warm up another water bottle.”

Ellie lifts her head dramatically. “Joel Miller, you legend.”

He gives her a pointed look. “Don’t get too excited. It’s one of those fancy dark ones with the weird sea salt in it.”

You gasp. “I love those.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He disappears into the kitchen.

Ellie looks over at you. “You really hit the jackpot with him.”

“I know,” you sigh, smiling into your tea.

Joel returns a few minutes later with a warm water bottle wrapped in a soft towel and a slightly squished bar of dark chocolate.

“God bless,” Ellie says, taking both and sinking back onto the floor. “You should open a period care center or something.”

Joel laughs, settling back next to you and draping his arm over your shoulders. “Think I’ll stick to takin’ care of just the two of you.”

You lean into his side, grateful for his warmth, his steadiness.

“Y’know,” Ellie says through a mouthful of chocolate, “this would be way worse without you.”

Joel raises a brow. “That a compliment?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

You chuckle. “She means thank you.”

Joel squeezes your shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

You sigh softly, letting yourself relax into him. The cramping is still there, dull and persistent, but the comfort of Joel beside you makes it a little more bearable.

He shifts to look at you. “You need anything else? Blanket? Massage?”

You tilt your head. “Massage?”

He nods. “Tommy’s wife said that helps. Back rubs. Stomach rubs.”

You raise a brow. “You’re full of surprises.”

Joel shrugs again, but he’s blushing slightly. “Just wanna help, sweetheart.”

You stretch out a little and roll onto your side. “Alright then, cowboy. Have at it.”

He chuckles and moves behind you, gently resting his hands on your lower back. He starts to massage in slow, careful circles.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “That’s incredible.”

Ellie looks over. “What the hell? I want one!”

Joel snorts. “You got the chocolate. Let her have the back rub.”

“I’m the child!” Ellie protests.

“You’re also not my girlfriend,” Joel says.

You burst out laughing and Joel grins at you.

“I mean, fair,” Ellie says. “Still rude.”

Joel shakes his head. “When your cramps get this bad, I’ll think about it.”

“They are this bad!”

He glances at you and leans down. “Should I be worried about offending a teenage girl with PMS?”

You murmur, “You should always be worried about that.”

Ellie throws a pillow at him, and it bounces off his shoulder.

Joel laughs, unbothered. “Y’all are tough as nails. Both of you.”

You melt into his touch. “Don’t stop.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

After a while, you feel the tension in your muscles easing, your breathing slowing. Ellie’s dozed off on the floor, the chocolate bar half-eaten beside her, the water bottle balanced on her stomach.

Joel’s fingers trace gentle patterns along your back.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod sleepily. “Much.”

He presses another kiss to your temple. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You make it easier.”

“I’d do anything for you. Both of you.”

You glance at him. “Even if that means buying pads and Midol in bulk?”

He smirks. “Already did.”

You snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I love you.”

Your smile softens. “I love you, too.”

The fire crackles, Ellie snores lightly, and Joel’s arms keep you grounded.

Even through the pain, you feel safe. Loved. Held.

And really, that’s all you need.

[pnutjlly]

can't sleep?

john walker x fem!reader

summary: You go to the kitchen for a drink to quench your 2 A.M. thirst. Only when Walker walks in do you realize you're in your panties and a black tank top. cw: nsfw, slightly smutty, sexual tension, kissing, he calls you princess wc: 1.6k a/n: i was listening to "I Want You" by Marvin Gaye while writing this down. i recommend you guys do the same while reading this LMAO. also a lil funny how i wrote a similar oneshot for wolverine..

Your eyelids gradually become heavier from exhaust and sweat from both training with Walker and thoughts about training with Walker. You've thought about getting with Walker before, but you never took it seriously since you thought he was out of your league.

The one-on-one training with him today brought some of his lingering eye contact and subtle bicep flex around you to the point of realization. You don't think it'd be normal for a friend to stare at you longer than one should when you take gulps of ice-cold water during a break as sweat drips down your neck, all the way down to between your boobs. You also don't think it'd be normal for a friend to be where you are 99% of the time, coincidentally.

It's been hours of contemplating whether or not to knock on Walker's door. You assume that a cold drink from the kitchen could wash away that thought. You sigh as you sit up on your mattress and let your feet touch the cold floor. You take a few steps to the door.

The door releases a creak as you slowly swing it open. Your bedroom is right in front of Walker's. You stare at his bedroom door, hoping he'll come out of his bedroom and kiss you, but that's just a thought— one you've been daydreaming about for weeks.

"God, please. Make it stop, make it stop..." you curse as you hurriedly make your way to the kitchen. The mess from the game night session from a while ago remains. You predicted no one would clean up when alcohol makes a special appearance in little events like this. Yelena and Alexei had to beg Bucky together to involve a "little" alcohol for a "little change," after weeks of persuasion, he finally said yes. You bet he'll regret saying yes when he sees this crime scene tomorrow.

Cold air gently strokes your face as you open the refrigerator, looking for the can of Zero Sugar Vanilla Coke you hid from your housemates. When you can't see the can where you last placed it, your heart drops a little, so you look in other areas of the fridge. You whisper-scream "Yes!" when you find the can in a different spot. You grab and press it against your warm cheek, making your way down to your neck, successfully relieving some stress from all the yearning.

The sound you've been craving, besides Walker's moans, finally echoes throughout the kitchen: the popping and crackling from opening a soda can. The fizz flows right out of the can, the dark liquid dripping over your fingers. You immediately bring the can's opening to your lips to prevent any more mess from happening.

You've accomplished your mission, so you gently close the refrigerator door.

Due to the lack of light in the kitchen, you genuinely couldn't tell at first whether the tall figure standing before you was a ghost or a demon. Fortunately, and unfortunately, it is Walker. You stare at him like a raccoon caught red-handed rummaging through the garbage. The light from his now open bedroom saves you the extra staring to know who the person is.

His eyes scan your body up and down. You were able to crack out a "Hey... you." amidst your shock that, surprisingly, you are hiding better than expected. "Hey, you." He replies in a tone mixed with confusion and amusement.

"Can't sleep?" "Yeah. Was thinking about cleaning up all this mess to save us from a certain someone's the-importance-of-cleaning speech in the morning."

He lazily points to the living room mess you are partly guilty of. You nod.

"And you?" "I was just... I was thinking about cleaning up that mess, too." "In your underwear?"

You furrow your eyebrows at him in confusion. You immediately look down to your bottom half. To your surprise and demise, you're in your Calvin Klein underwear. That's why it felt a little colder than usual. All you could do at this point was release a defeated "oh."

"Uh-huh... Well, no, actually. I'm- I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting anyone to... come in here at—"

You inhale sharply and take a quick look at the oven's clock.

"—2:42 in the morning." you immediately exhale right after your awkward apology to release the tension on your shoulders. It turns out to have absolutely done nothing for you.

"Right. Of course. You live with six other people. That's just not common at all, princess."

He teases, and there goes his lingering eye contact again. His face doesn't express any disgust or repulse; the corner of his lip hooks up subtly, and his eyes won't dare to look at anything that isn't a part of your body. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he likes what he sees. You both know your interactions with each other after this moment won't be the same again. Ever.

"I'm gonna go dress up and come back to help clean that mess up," you power-walk past him on the way to your bedroom while having one hand pull down your tank top. "If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn't mind if you helped me clean up in your underwear." He quips. "Wait, that's not what I-" You shut your bedroom door close, leaning against it and shutting your eyes intensely to process what had just happened in 2 minutes.

You shake your head off to save the reflection for later; you have a living room to clean up and a guy who just saw you in your underwear to help. The urge to scream into your pillow distracts you from finding sweatpants in your messy closet. Thankfully, you find a grey pair. You struggle to get both legs in the sweatpants, hopping to your door to come back to help Walker immediately.

You take your final deep inhale and exhale to prepare for the following cursed hours of awkward and sexual tension. You swing your door open to— Walker? His hand is up in a loose fist as if he was about to knock.

"Jesus Christ, John! How many times are you gonna give me a heart attack tonight?" "Today." "Today-- whatever!"

You bury your red and hot face in your cold, slightly sweaty palms. The butterflies in your stomach make you feel as if the universe is bullying you—

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry you had to see that." "No, I'm lucky I was the one who saw that. So... thank you."

— or maybe not. You look up at him; the height difference between you and him is prevalent now. He towers over you. You could tell from your angle that he doesn't know whether to focus on your lips or your eyes. He's waiting for some "green light."

"You're so weird," you whisper as you lift your arms and wrap a hand on the back of his neck, the other cupping his cheek. As soon as he receives this green light, he places his hands on your waist and silences your lips with his as if he never had any second thoughts about doing it.

His hungry but assuring kiss relieved the stress from weeks of attempting to confirm your feelings for him and his feelings for you. His slightly grown beard prickles your face gently, contrasting his soft lips. Your lips separate from his for a moment, and the following silence serves as an opportunity for the both of you to check if the other is doing fine. You admire his baby blue orbs that linger on your eyes and swollen lips.

You plant a peck on his lips, and he immediately follows as if he had predicted it.

His fast breathing begins to match yours, but you don't need any more confirmation that he's completely all for you; you are becoming impatient but want to savor this moment. You want more of him.

He presses his lips against yours, guiding your steps further into your room by slightly tightening his grip on your waist and walking with you.

"Come on, princess."

His rough hands make its way down to the back of your thighs, just right under your ass. You immediately understood his intention since you had been daydreaming about this very moment for weeks. You jumped and wrapped your legs around his hips, securing your arms around his neck. He catches you effortlessly and carries you like you weigh nothing. He adjusts the way he's holding you one last time, and you can't help but release a chuckle-sigh; it's as if he's flexing his strength even at a time like this.

You press your lips against him while a hand combs through his blonde hair. You could feel a super soldier trying to fight a smile so the kiss wouldn't break. He swiftly shuts the door with one foot and makes his way to your queen-sized bed that he "mistakenly ordered," never breaking the kiss.

He gently lowers you onto the bed, his tight dark blue Henley and your tank top rustling against the linen sheets. He breaks the kiss to hurriedly take his top and your grey sweatpants off, meeting your Calvin Klein underwear once again. He lowers himself to be face-to-face with you, the tent building up in his pants grazing your clothed pussy. You release a moan, and he takes the opportunity to join his tongue with yours.

His arm supports his entire body up; the other goes under your back in an attempt to pull you closer to his body as if it isn't already. You wrap your legs around his hips and wrap your arms around his neck.

He separates the kiss, only a string of saliva connecting your lips with his.

"Vanilla coke?" he asks through a smile.

[muffinsin]

Hey! It’s been a long time since I’ve been on your page and I saw that the request happen to be open.

Could you please write headcanon to the dimitrescu family (and Donna, I wasn’t sure if you do her too because my blind ass couldn’t find it😭) with a nerd s/o? I never read something like that and I think it could be really cool!

Thanks if you write this and thanks for taking time to read this request, wonderful day!

For sure, hon, what a fun prompt👀! :) I honestly had such a fun time writing this XP

Let’s get into it🙌

Masterlists

Bela

You came to the castle not as prey, but as a guest of the Duke himself, an outsider

That itself intrigued her

A scholar, maybe? A distant relative? She isn't quite sure

You'd think you messed up your first impression with her, though, she found you to be quite adorable

Overly polite, bumbling, nervously clinging onto your notebook within her presence, trying hard to keep eye contact even as she'd notice you glance at the floor more often than not, easily intimidated by her confidence

She figured- you'd be gone within the same week, too soft, too clueless about the castle and its inhabitants, too curious for your own good

But- days blend into a week, and weeks blend into a month

You're well adjusted, all things considered- perhaps not quite as social as the staff usually is, but she can hardly blame you for that, easily annoyed with their constant blabbing herself

It isn't overly often that she sees you, though, being a guest at the castle, she occasionally sees you at dinner when you're invited

And what easily- and quickly- captures her attention is your mind

How you speak of your niche interests with such passion, your voice changing when your favorite topics are brought up

Being from the outside, she often finds herself a little confused at what you're describing, but is intrigued nonetheless

In the back of her mind she thinks occasionally; perhaps you will teach her, sometime

She notes early on that you're particularly well informed and observant, too, often mentioning things of the cadou little outside of her family should know

Instead of threatening you, however, she listens

One day, she has the opportunity to get to know you a little more- and you her

She's dragging back a lycan, twitching still, bloodied, snarling a little. Her shoulder sports a deep scratch from when the beast got to her, a humiliating reminder that she does not live up to her sisters' hunting capabilities. She plans on having her dress patched up to hide the humiliating mark as soon as possible, before anyone has the chance to see

But you do

You rush to her to help her carry the massive animal inside, helping her lift rather than drag it to avoid messing the floors further

Your hands shake, but you're determined to help, still

And when you find the deep scratch on her, your trembling hands hover over her arm, asking for permission

It's the first time someone outside her family touched her without fear- or worse, false worship. Just genuine concern

It stays with her

And while the two of you become closer from this point on, it takes ages- you'd often complain once together- to actually begin dating

She's stubborn, tries to convince herself it's nothing but passing curiosity on both sides

She's Bela Dimitrescu! She doesn't do crushes!

Meant to be headstrong, composed at all times, the responsible heiress with only her family's- especially the one of her sisters- wellbeing in mind and the wine company

But then you bring her a book you found in the library detailing symbiotic parasitic bonds and she blushes, spotting your cheeks turning an equally pink colour when she thanks you

Her heart stutters, her flies buzz so loud you tilt your head a little, concerned. She's quick to shut them down again

Her face, however, took a little while longer to go back to its pale colour

You soon notice- Bela is watching over you, always. When someone insults your hobbies or looks at you the wrong way, they're suddenly banned from your wing of the castle, scrubbing dirt from the grounds all the way across the place, or even forced to tend to the kitchen- a deadly job with how often Cassandra and Daniela feel like having a midnight snack

It's the first time this happens that you realize, she is really watching you, doesn't just happen to be around as you thought

In the end, it's her making the first move, at last

She invites you to join her for dinner, a private one shared just between the two of you

She starts out with light conversation about the books you gave her in the past months, her cheeks pink as she shares her thoughts and you eagerly share yours in return, often matching hers almost exactly

When it's time to depart again for the night, she does so by cupping your chin between strong fingers, her head tilted down a little

"May I?"

Your heart races and mind stutters. You try to say "yes", but only a few sounds come out, prompting you to eagerly nod your head in return

Endearing, in her eyes

That night the two of you share your first kiss

Bela doesn't keep your relationship a secret- on the contrary, she becomes not only proud of it, but enjoys making clear that you are hers when needed

She isn't big on showing affection in public, even only in front of her family, but this changes drastically when she finds someone eying you

Then you giggle, feeling her slip her arm around you, her lips by your ear, reminding you that you're hers

In return, she loves it when you drag her to the library when it's unoccupied, feeling like a lovesick teenager again when you begin kissing her shyly, even after all this time

You're shy about her at first, but behind closed doors? The two of you are even more inseparable than one might think

It's a peaceful, beautiful relationship

She'll cradle your head in her lap while you ramble about your latest interest, gently trailing her fingers through your hair and humming along

She always remembers, often even enjoys sharing in your interests together

Sometimes, this leads to the two of you talking about things for hours, constantly giggling and coming up with new theories and connections, especially as it comes to your favorite books, which Bela always picks up too, if only to be able to talk to you about them properly

Bela herself is big on reading and learning new things, but at other times she simply enjoys hearing you speak, too

Usually these are quiet evenings with her head on your lap, her beautiful, blonde hair curling around your fingers as you massage her scalp and ramble

Again, she'll hum occasionally to let you know she's listening, until you eventually notice her silence and look down, giggling as you see she's fallen asleep

You could never be happier

Cassandra

The two of you meet in the one place none would expect to find Cassandra Dimitrescu in:

The library

And really, ordinarily she would never be found there. Though, having fought Bela for at least half an hour on whether or not she tore Daniela's book for having it waved in her face- which she absolutely did- it seemed easier to just accept her sister's words and clean the library as a punishment

That is when she sees you

You're so caught up in your research, so comfortable after having been allowed to browse the library and visit the castle from Mother Miranda herself, you barely even notice someone enter

And too focused on deciphering old Latin, you certainly don't notice the furious brunette stalking through the door

Her first reaction? Irritation. Did Daniela let another human in? Even Cassandra knows the library is not accessible to the staff at night! Or shouldn't be, at least! Her fingers twitch with the urge to break your neck, to sneak up like the predator she is

She almost does so, almost sneaks behind one of the bookshelves to get closer undetected

Then, however, she rolls her eyes as she imagines Bela scolding her for leaving yet another body on the grounds, staining Daniela's precious library

Perhaps not...

Instead, she growls quietly under her breath

Yet, you don't even flinch, not even when she slams a heavy book shut behind you

You just apologize, explaining the error in some date system on page 47

She frowns, confused, angry, intruiged

Maybe, it's because you would never guess to meet the infamous, sadistic, dangerous Cassandra Dimitrescu in the library of all places

But you don't cower, you don't seem to fear her

You look up at her with wide eyes, apologizing for pointing out the error- and completely missing that she could not care less about it, or the book, or the stupid library

Still, there's no fear in your expression and tone, no terror in your heartbeat

There's only awkwardness, and honesty. She's so thrown off, she doesn't raise her sickle, doesn't even snarl. She just...stares, and let's you stay, half listening to you as you turn back to the book and ramble

She doesn't really take in your words, couldn't care less about the book or the words you're trying to decipher

She just- stares, unsure what to do or think

In the end, she does manage to snap herself out of it

In the end, it's you organizing the library for her as she watches, arms crossed, occaisonally playing with her sickle when she gets bored. You ramble still, she barely listens

You don't mind

You appreciate her letting you talk and speak your mind, even giggle when you say something wrong on purpose or stutter over your words and she doesn't even quirk a brow, utterly disinterested

You don't mind, not really

She's cute...

From this point on, the game between you begins

You see her more and more often, your heart beating fast and cheeks flushed pink every time she leans close or stalks around her

She asks you one question after another, teasing you when you stumble over words and calling you "Nerd" almost affectionately

You start calling her out on her grammar when she yells

She secretly loves it

Soon, the two of you begin to bicker playfully

She teases, you blush and correct her grammar

She threatens to hang you off the roof, you remind her how badly her family would take to this

Eventually, the sparks catch fire

She catches you out in the open, jumping out with a "Rah!" and laughing when you scream, your books dropped, your hands shielding your face instinctively

She coos, teases, insists how beautiful it is when your heart goes pitter patter, so fast, and faster, and faster

One night you're at the library again, studying late when you prick your finger on one of the pages of a new book

You hiss, and- unsurprisingly- she's on you in a second- snarling, hungry, fang-like teeth bared

But then she sees the way your hand trembles as you move your book, not from fear, but panic of ruining what is so precious to you

She tilts her head, watching you

In that moment, realization strikes her

She could destroy you. She wants to- but more than that, she wants to keep you

It's horrifying. She hates it. She's obsessed

You're left confused when she suddenly swarms away again, gone as fast as she appeared

It's a day or so until you see her again- surprising, given she would jump out at you or stalk you numerous times a day up to this point

Then, her confession comes one night

You jump awake feeling something prick you in your sleep, gasp to see her on top of you in your bed in the dark room. She holds her sickle to your throat, though you know she won't end you. She rarely uses her weapon on you, rarely bites you. She just likes the control the possibility of it gives her

Then, she speaks, her words low, her voice a growl:

"You're mine, got it? I don't care that you're human, or nerdy, or soft. You're mine", she growls out

Your cheeks heat up in an instant and you're so flustered you nod like an idiot

Perfect, to you, still

In a relationship, Cassandra is protective as can be

She's almost feral about your safety, but also your happiness. She knows she can't quite match you regarding your interests, finds it too difficult to pay attention when you speak of anything that doesn't interest her

And while she feels bad at this particular thing, she has other means of supporting you

She buys you whatever she thinks is even in some relation to your interest. You like plants? She's ordered the staff to fix up an entire part of the garden just for you, made others plant numerous plants inside for you to study and examine more closely

You like books? She listens to you read, often growling at boring sections, but there all the same

This, you find precious, even knowing she won't remember your words. She doesn't have to remember what you read to her, you think, but she's there. She's usually laid in your lap, snarling a little, playing with her sickle or dozing off on quiet days

She doesn't notice when you read your favorite book over and over again, barely paying attention. You only giggle, curious about the numerous reactions the same passage can bring from her

Sometimes, a scowl. Sometimes a snarl. Sometimes a huff and a little, fond call: "Nerd...", sometimes nothing at all

This aside, Cassandra is incredibly teasing in a relationship, much like she was prior to one

She constantly refers to you as "Nerd", even when she kisses and bites lazily at your throat, giggling whenever she hears your heart beat faster

At other times, she reads your notes and pretends not to understand, waiting for you to explain everything only to grin and giggle once you realize she's just messing with you

Despite her teasing and the playful nickname, though, Cassandra genuinely loves your mind

She loves how passionate you are, loves how smart you are

Sometimes, she'll throw out random questions just to hear you go on a ten minute ramble

She doesn't care what the topic is and even if she stops listening halfway through- if you're excited, then so is she

Daniela

The day you met her was a rainy one, one of your first few days at the castle after being moved there for your studies

You're sat at the table near the library, quietly scribbling in your notebook about your latest thoughts and theories to a book you've found there

You barely even look up when the door opens, barely even notice the beautiful woman entering

Now, Daniela wasn't supposed to find you- she was skipping her chores as she usually does, sneaking around looking for something fun to keep her entertained

Instead, she found you, sitting by the table, countless books and notes sprawled out around you, ink on your fingers from writing

Her first thought?

"Can I keep them?"

You jump, flinching away in surprise when she suddenly swarms to you and sits at the table, just barely avoiding sitting on one of your notes

Her legs swing gently from the table, playfully even, as she tilts her head to read what you've written

"What are you doing, little one?", she coos, looking genuinely curious

Your heart beats fast and cheeks heat up at how close she is, her beautiful, golden eyes taking your breath away briefly

You're left stammering something about your notes, panicked, trying hard not to make eye contact when you feel your cheeks heat up even more

It's the cutest thing she has ever seen

She laughs, a sound so beautiful it has your heart beat a little faster

From this point on Daniela latches onto you like a cat with a toy

She shows up every time you sit down to work, leans onto your desk, flips through your pages as she hums curiously

Sometimes, she outright plucks the pen from you

Often, you find she's interrupting every single note you try to write with some personal question she just thought of

The concept of personal space? It's like she's never heard of it

She's always close, usually leaning on your desk or sitting on it. But when there's no space? Well, your lap seems to suffice

The first time she sat on your thigh your heart nearly stopped, then beat so fast you swore you're about to die

She only giggled, playing with some loose strands of your hair, twirling them around her finger as she asked yet another personal question

She's adorable, but a menace, really, and such a tease

When you work, she sometimes finds herself- bored

She cares little for your work, even as she constantly asks what you're doing when she sees you, often seemingly forgetting about it a minute after you told her, or simply not caring

Still, boredom hardly means swarming off to her. Not when she likes you so!

As such, you often find yourself blushing when she lays with her head on your lap instead, her hand reaching up and fingers poking your cheek or throat a little

Subtly, you started working at sofas and the floor more, hoping she might curl up next to you, which she usually does these days

Sometimes, she goes as far as flirting with you, leaning in close only to blow some air on your lips when she's close enough to press them against yours. She always giggles, as though pleased with herself when you gasp and blink, utterly flustered with your eyes glued to her lips

She's used to teasing, used to making someone feel flustered

What she's less used to? Someone reciprocating her efforts

One day you're sat at the floor in the library, smiling as you usually do when she finds you easily. This time, however, your arm stretches out towards her and you offer her something: a gift, shaped like a book

Naturally, she eagerly tears away at the wrappings, cooing like a child at Christmas morning and throwing the paper away recklessly. You make a mental note to pick it up after, not quite as spoiled as Daniela

It's a book telling tragic, romantic vampiric myths and she's over the moon! Seeing you wrote a little note at the front stating your favorite ones and the chapters to find them in, she freezes a little

No one has ever done something like this for her

She throws herself into your arms, giggling and kissing over your cheeks until you sport at least four lipstick marks on each of them and your skin is flushed bright pink

Only then does she curl up like usual, her head on your lap, reading the book somewhat silently as you work

She interrupts you often, cooing, giggling, telling you about a passage. You don't mind, even take a break from your work to give her your undivided attention, and she eagerly soaks it all up!

In Daniela's somewhat deluded mind, she doesn't recall not being in a relationship with you

You're her obsession, her everything. You make her so happy, and the same goes for her to you! As such, confessing her adoration to you comes rather naturally

It comes on a stormy night, again in the library. It's quickly become your favorite shared spot

She's curled up on your lap again, both of you sat on blankets on the floor when you notice her cuddle just a little closer

You don't stop her when she gets fully in your lap, her head resting against your shoulder as she makes herself small on top of you. You only stroke her back and hair, scratching her scalp with practiced ease after having had her head in your lap so often over the past weeks

Now though, she whispers, her usual, loud and excited voice quiet;

"Don't ever leave me"

You promise; "I won't", and it's enough for her

You're hers, unspoken, but natural, and she is yours

Seeing as, mentally, she has been with you for so long, the confession changes little to nothing at all

She's clingy still, often reading while you work or demanding your attention, often whining into your neck when you press her head there and gently shush her for interrupting your work over, and over, and over again

She rarely minds, finds it fun when you playfully shut her up. Sometimes, you feel her grin against your throat just before she bites, drawing a sharp gasp from you

In no time feeding is a part of your routine, and a break in which you know you can get work done without your girlfriend interrupting- normally, that is, for even then she sometimes pulls away, hazy, sleepy from the blood pooling in her stomach- only to ask "Did you have candy today?", or "You taste so well!", or perhaps simply "Can we go to the gardens later?"

You always comply, she has you completely wrapped around her finger

But, the same can easily be said for you, too

She's enthusiastic about your hobbies, always listening with rapt attention and trying her best to remember it all

She often participates in your hobbies, tries to learn more about it, or simply listening to you ramble when she can't

She thinks it's adorable when you're so excited you trip over words or forget to breathe, which she usually only giggles about and wordlessly reminds you of by pressing two fingertips against your chest, urging you to slow down a little because "she can't have her little human pass out on her"

And while Daniela is all fast paces, mood swings and randomness, she works perfectly with you. You know how to calm her down when a mood swing hits her, often pulling her onto your lap and stroking her hair as you start talking about your interests- even if she's heard it already, she wants to hear again, wants to answer with more than she could in the past!

She loves you so much

Donna

Working in Donna's domain as one of the few humans, you know she isn't the most- social

You don't mind. You find the silence comforting, find it a nice break to be away from others, surrounded only by her dolls and, at very rare times, her

Ah, but she watches you, has been watching you for days, without allowing you to see her

You only notice little things

Books moved, a cup of tea left behind by your notebook when you return from the bathroom, the faint sound of footsteps around you, too heavy to belong to a mere doll, too uneven to belong to a mannequin

She watches you from the shadows, curious, shy, a little scared, even, but oh so tempted

She likes you

One day, she hears you talk aloud as you work- something endearing and a little nerdy, and she can't help but smile to herself. Given she talked a little more, this might even earn you a laugh from her. Alas, it's been years since she has talked enough to let sound slip without permission

She leans a little closer still, and, without quite realizing, closes her eyes and taps her finger against the wall in the rhythm of your voice

You pause, turning

When you do, you see the shyest woman alive trying to disappear into the floor

Instead, you only smile

"It's lovely meeting you, Lady Beneviento"

She doesn't speak, doesn't move for a moment

Then, you giggle a little as she sends you a stiffy nod before moving away again, her cheeks pink beneath the veil

Ah, but she never strays too far

In the days to come, you leave subtle, hopeful signs

A second chair by the desk

Another teacup in case she might join you

She never does, though, and you realize you need to take a different, a more unique approach

So, one day, when you get up to use the bathroom- you leave a note

A tiny slip of paper reading "How are you? Do you like plants? I love your datura stramonium flowers, how did you come by them?"

A little awkward, perhaps, but when you return- taking a little longer than usual- you grin as the bottom of the paper slip reads; "I do. I studied on them as a child and was gifted the seeds by Mother Miranda years ago. My former gardener planted them"

You grin

At last, you have found a way to communicate with Donna Beneviento

This being said, the two of you experience the slowest burn known to man, easily

Donna is terrified of connection. She's never had someone look at her without fear or disgust since her mutation, never had someone consider her a person rather than a myth. You're the first

She's silent, but in time, the two of you find ways to communicate

You leave little notes about, giggling when they're answered

Sometimes, she leaves some alongside with a new book she thinks you might enjoy. In return, you often stay up all night long once you finish it, eagerly writing your thoughts down on a paper to share them with her- needless, as she listens whenever you speak out loud, but endearing nonetheless

Only years later do you realize she has kept each and every one of your notes, tucked away safely in her nightstand where she would read them during difficult times in her life

She leaves you more and more gifts, sometimes even using the dolls to deliver them to you

New books, her notes on her favorite flowers- one day, an invitation

You're curled up in her office, mouth wide open as the dolls show you how to prepare the film strip and slot it into the projector

Coming from the village, this is new to you, and a privilege. Few outside of Donna know how to operate this, few get the luxury of watching something

You're granted to see her favorite flowers and how they're made, something secret she shares only with you. She loves when you write down notes as you watch, eagerly telling her about them after. She isn't there, but you know she must be close by. She usually is

And one day, you come up with an idea

You've finished reading the latest book she gave you, spent all night writing and memorizing your notes and thoughts in order to form coherent sentences

This time, however, you pull something from your pocket as the dolls lead you to sit on the sofa in her office

A blindfold, thick, rendering you completely blind and vulnerable with it on

You tie it tight behind your head, adjusting it until it covers your eyes easily

Then, you speak, your voice breathless and hopeful;

"Will you join me?"

And she did

She joins you more and more often, has you wear the blindfold each time even as you're sure she still wears her veil

You don't mind

She's tender with you, her touch shy, but sure as she guides you when you can't see

She rarely talks, so little you almost think she is incapable of speaking

But when she does, her voice so low and rough from misuse, quiet and whispery, your heart beats wildly and she sees your entire face flush pink even with the blindfold covering you

She smiles shyly to see the wide, happy smile you're incapable of hiding from her

You're the first to confess your feelings

You reach out slowly, blindly, and smile when she trusts you enough to offer you her hand. Holding it, you explain gently; you care for her. She doesn't respond right away, but a squeeze of her hand and her body coming a little closer to yours tell you enough

From this point on, the two of you become even closer than you already were

She begins removing her veil around you, trusting you not to move the blindfold

With Donna, life feels quiet, soft, happy and comfortable

The two of you could sit in a room for hours without speaking, just reading, existing together, or curling up after a long day of working

When you do speak, you're quieter, knowing she flinches from loud sounds, far too used and comfortable in the silence she has created within her domain

Ah, but she reads to you, tries to understand your interests more

She does so love when you ramble, when she watches your face light up even with the blindfold, when she cups your cheeks and feels you smile in her hands as you talk

She loves you, loves your ability to shine within the darkness she creates around her

Again, the two of you take it extremely slow

Little touches, small kisses

She's shy about touches at first, her hands trembling when you hold them, her breath stuttering when you blindly reach out to touch her face, to feel, to brush her hair from it

She trusts you, but she's scared

It will be longer still until you're granted a look at your face, but you don't mind. She gives so much, loves so fiercely. She allows you to brush her face sometimes, knowing you're mindful about her scar. You're never disgusted when you touch her, never are anything but gentle with her

Soon, she begins clinging to you a little more, growing confident

She melts, clinging to your sleeve when she reads to you, burying her face in your shoulder when you cuddle

Sometimes, she falls asleep in your arms, knowing you won't remove the blindfold without permission. Sometimes, you feel Angie, her most trusted doll, remove it only to grant you a little bit of a break from the fabric, knowing Donna is tucked away in your neck until she stirs to wake and you shut your eyes again

Her love language are thoughtful gestures- stitching you a scarf, repairing your bag without telling you, remembering your favorite page in a book and quoting it back when you’re sad. She shows love in tiny, quiet ways that mean everything to you

When you talk about your interests, she always listens, always gives you her undivided attention and tries to craft you something matching those interests

You both love books, solitude, and research

You spend your days wrapped in blankets, buried in notes, swapping passages and giggling over strange translations

And Angie?

She has to admit, in time...

you're not so bad

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 07.

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05.| part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, kinda graphic description of the next crime, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, if there are other warnings or tags i should add let me know ꕥ small author's note: hey guys, i'm back from the nine hells! i'm honestly really, really sorry that i disappeared for such a long time but i discovered that the ao3 writer's curse is, in fact, real as fuck. i've been sick for 2 months on and off, which resulted in me, ending up in the hospital and even spending my birthday there lmao. anyway, i think i lowkey reached the end of my recovery and i am back!! hope you'll enjoy this chapter and thank you so much if you're still here after so much waiting, i love you with all of my heart <3 ꕥ small author's note 2: i'll be describing a rather weird(?) crime this time that was inspired by a song (i'll attach it at the end of the chapter, i heavily recommend it - check it out on youtube too, it has a nice mv). i was very hesitant at first about whether i should write this or stick to the good old, bit more basic plots but then i was like fuck it, i have creative freedom for a reason and this series is already filled with weird crimes so why not ꕥ small author's note 3: i am also working on the sapphic knight!Emily × princess!reader, so you can expect that very soon ^-^ let me know if you're interested in it and would like to be notified when it's published ꕥ word count: ~2.6k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

wednesday

“We got a case. A bad one. Like really, really bad.” The word ‘anxious’ couldn’t even describe exactly how Garcia speedwalked through the bullpen in her neon pink high heels with her rhinestoned tablet in hand. The rest of the team—except for Hotch, were all gathered around Rossi’s desk since he was showing pictures of his grandson with a puppy that he got for his birthday.

“Dare I say Florida?” you murmured audibly enough for some of them to snort at your comment, which was only half a joke. With the amount of utter bullshit that went down there and resulted in the ‘Florida man’ news nothing was surprising anymore. Let’s just say, you accidentally hit the bull’s eye.

“Brace yourselves, my sweet, sweet crimefighters, because what I’m about to show you is very gory.”

You lowered your gaze to the bright screen of your tablet, where photos of the crime scene popped up. Well… Garcia was right. It was gory.

Not even half an hour ago divers found the second dead woman on one of the beaches in Florida. It looked like she got sewn into a seal’s skin and laid down there, making it look like it was a deceased animal, swept to the land by the stronger waves. Lucky for you, since this exact thing happened a few days ago, people were more cautious and thus, the scene remained in its original, uncompromised state.

“Sarah Moore is the second victim in three days. Today, the Florida Police Force has invited us in officially.” took over the word your unit chief, shifting everyone’s glance from the tablets —and printed out files in a particular doctor’s case—towards him.

“What, they didn’t find this” Derek pointed at the device still displaying the graphic photos of the scene in front of him, “freaky at the first time!?”

“There has been a rather public scandal involving the police in Florida, which resulted in replacing almost every person at command there. I think the new chief wanted to show that he can handle things by himself, since many eyes are on him and his work.” explained the man on your right, gesticulating with his big, slender hands. As your eyes unintentionally traced the line of his fingers, you wondered if he ever played the piano. He had the hands of an artist.

“Great. I wonder how much of an asshole he will be to us. I bet he’ll try to demonstrate his superiority.” your let out a groan at the thought of having to handle a grown man who acts like a demanding child, thinking that he is better and smarter than everyone else there. You had problems with people like him. Swallowing your pride when you knew that you were right was challenging for you.

“I wouldn’t exactly use this wording, but Y/N is right. Chief Miller will do everything to make himself look good in the eye of the public, even if it means undermining us. We will have to be exceptionally careful. Wheels up in 30.”

You sat at the window in one of the lounge seating areas of the jet. Next to you was Emily, Reid sat in front of you, Derek next to him. The laptop—making it possible for Penelope to join in the briefing that took place on the plane—was set up on the table between the four of you. Hotchner, JJ and Rossi gathered around your seats with tablets and case folders in hand.

All of you were reading the detailed police reports, that seemed more like a plot of some series than an actual crime committed by actual humans. None of you have met with things like this before.

Both victims got partially skinned ante-mortem, then sewn into a seal that was cut open from its jaw to its belly. The only skin remaining on Sarah and the other poor woman, named Ruby, were on those parts of their bodies that didn’t get covered by the animal. This meant the area of their stomach, chest and face. Even their scalps got removed.

“Garcia, do we know if the seals were real or a costume?” asked the doctor after looking up from the files.

“What am I, if not the queen of supplying you with all kinds of unsettling information? I already checked, however, and couldn’t find anything on this.”

“They didn’t check?” asked Emily in a dumbfounded tone.

“Well, if they did, there are no records about it anywhere.”

“Wanna bet that Chief Whatever-the-hell-his-name-is—” you started but got interrupted by Reid, chiming in, correcting you with a slight smile on his annoying face, as usual.

“Miller.”

“Yea, that. So, wanna bet that Chief Miller wanted to wrap this case up as quickly as possible by finding a fitting culprit and putting them away, whether they’re the real killer or not? Wouldn’t surprise me if he simply forgot to check this detail.”

The briefing went on for a long time. Ideas from everyone kept popping up the more you thought about the crime, its meaning, what it tells about the UnSub, the mode of display and basically everything regarding to the case. You even debated against each other if you found some holes in the other’s logic, but everything remained civil. Even between the doctor and you. Which was rare, but not impossible. It just so happened that none of your ideas went directly against the other’s so there was no use of wasting your time with bantering.

“We are landing in 15 minutes. JJ, Prentiss and I will set up at the station. Morgan, Rossi, go to the M.E., find out what you can about the victims, C.O.D., and ask for an exam on the seal. Reid, L/N, go to the latest crime scene. We have to find out if this is a ritual or some sort of radical activist statement.”

The warm weather and the smell and sound of the sea would’ve been calming in any other situation, just not when you were squatting next to a blood soaked, dead victim. It was impossible to tell whether the animal that looked like it’s consuming Sarah was real or not. Its size, texture and smell were very lifelike. You couldn’t see the insides, not until the M.E. cuts the poor woman out of the mammal.

“It’s obvious that the UnSub was careful with the sewing, it’s very precise. Can you see the thread from where you stand?” you looked back at the man who was standing a few steps behind you, taking in and analysing the bigger picture. He slightly furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes, trying to spot even a tiny amount of straying yarn with little to no success. From where he stood, it looked like the human and animal were one and the same. Like they were meant to be this way. He shook his head as an answer, then walked right behind you and leaned down, so that your heads could be at the same level.

You felt the warm air leaving his nose as he breathed out near the small of your neck, causing goosebumps to run across your covered skin. Thank fucking God for the long sleeves, I’d look like a fool.

These past few weeks moments like this became a common occurrence. You were convinced he pulled these antics to make you flustered, to make you look like a fool, for his own amusement. You caught him staring, more often than not, but he never looked away, just slightly raised his eyebrows and challenged you to a silent staring contest. His comments or arguments became vague or had double meanings, trying to catch you off guard. He also became more physical, which baffled you the most. Dr Spencer ‘Germaphobe-and-Social-Distancing’ Reid, who he himself said that kissing would be more sanitary and safer than a handshake, was initiating physical contact with you. You didn’t understand this at all. Things were rough between the two of you ever since you started working at the BAU, so you were careful, so fucking careful not to touch him accidentally whenever you handed him anything, since you didn’t want to worsen anything. But now… Now he made a habit of standing closer to you than to anyone else, making his fingertips brush your skin whenever you gave each other something, and so on. These would’ve been small things with anyone else but not with him. You were silently fuming whenever he did something like this. You worked so hard trying to make him comfortable. Yes, you were arguing all the time, but that was strictly professional, you never crossed any personal lines. And now he seemed to take a 180°.

Of course, you saw this as a challenge. You weren’t kidding when you said, “Game on, doctor.” in that hotel room a few weeks ago, when you first noticed how strange he behaved. Did he want to make you less competent than him by making you look like some silly girl that blushes at every small thing a man does? Well yeah, you would never let that happen. Two can play this game, and you held yourself true to your word. You fought fire by fire, acting like he did. You’d never shy away from some teasing, especially when your honour was on the line.

You turned your head towards him. He was so close, your nose almost touched his left cheek. “What are your thoughts, doctor?”

He faced you, so his eyes could find yours. What he foolishly didn’t calculate is how awfully close you two would be. His breath hitched as his gaze flickered between your irises for a few seconds, taking in all the variations of colours that danced around your pupils, then he lowered his eyes to the tip of your nose that almost touched his, finally, he stopped at your lips, barely out of reach, before finding his way back to your eyes. All of this happened in split seconds, but you noticed it all. You would’ve been a hideous profiler if you didn’t. A victorious smirk formed on your face and your confidence was through the roof as the not so collected doctor’s cheeks took up a light shade of pink, barely visible to anyone else. You won this round.

The team got set up at the conference room of the modern police station. A few hours after landing, everyone gathered there. Dave and Derek arrived with crucial information regarding the first and second victim and the seals, while you shared details about the latest scene.

“According to the M.E., the cause of death was exsanguination in both cases.” said Morgan, who was fidgeting with a mustard-coloured pencil.

“Isn’t surprising in cases involving being skinned alive.” Emily’s monotone tone came as a response as she read through the tox screen. “They found a high dosage of ketamine in their system, meaning that they were possibly paralysed and awake during the skinning and sewing, making our UnSub a sadist.”

“Yes, most definitely.” agreed Reid, who was standing in front of the huge screen on the wall of the spacious room. On the screen, an anatomical drawing of the human body was displayed. “And the UnSub must have some degree of medical knowledge, because they avoided all the main arteries during skinning, making the victims suffer much longer.” during his explanation, the doctor pointed at all the pressure points of the body to show where the two women weren’t cut.

“The way of stitching further proves this; it was really precise.” you added with a slight nodding.

“So, are we looking at a doctor maybe? But then what do the scenes mean? This is one hell of an M.O., and way too specific to have no deeper meaning to it.” next to Emily, JJ was swiping between all the photos from both scenes, zooming in on the gory details, hoping she can find something, anything.

“Well, we still can’t rule out radical climate change or animal rights activists, especially since the Caribbean monk seals that were once native to this region gone extinct because of humans. They were overhunted and due to overfishing, the remaining starved to death.” Reid said this as if he was reading it out of a book.

While the others shared their ideas back and forth, your mind wandered to a different direction. Ever since morning, when you first got introduced to this case, you couldn’t shake a thought and after seeing the scenes and becoming more familiar with the details, it just got solidified, but it was a bit too out of reach. That’s why you excused yourself and quickly left the conference room. You didn’t stop until the parking lot, which was empty, to your relief. You quickly dialled the only person who was able to help you out with your dilemma, the one and only Penelope Garcia.

Your conversation was quick, but you got everything you needed and were ready to head back to the team, now confident in your theory, however, as soon as you turned on your heels, you slammed into something rather… familiar. Reid.

“Ah, for fucks sake.” you murmured as you stumbled backwards. “Do you crave physical contact this much, dear doctor? Next time just ask.”

“Why, would you comply?” he raised an eyebrow, his lips formed a somewhat cocky smile, but it was tamed enough to get missed.

“Maybe. If you beg for it.”

“Oh, between the two of us, I’m more than certain that you’d be the one that begs.” he stated confidently, as if his awkward self never existed. “But feel free to try and prove me wrong.”

“I- khm…” no matter how much you fought against the red hotness crawling up on your neck towards your face and ears, you couldn’t shake feeling weird. “You’ll have to do a lot more work to make me want to prove anything to you.” your comeback, if one can call it that, came out weaker than it sounded in your head, so before things could’ve gotten even more embarrassing for you, you decided to change the topic, silently noting that you lost this battle. “Anyway, why did you come after me?”

“For one, to check on you. For two, the others are ordering lunch and wanted to know what you would like to eat.”

“As you can see, I’m perfectly well.” you nodded, trying to solidify your statement after your previous banter, partially for him, partially for yourself.

Before he could ask or say anything else, you decided to head back to the rest of the team, with Reid, sticking close to your back.

“Mmh, I can see. No erubescence at all.” he said in a playful tone as effortlessly caught up with you, thanks to his long legs. You ignored his comment as you pushed the glass doors in and shifted your attention towards the other five people.

“Is everything alright, pretty girl?”

“Yes, I just had to confirm something real quick before presenting my groundbreaking theory to you, guys. So,” you said as you sat down in front of the laptop that was connected to the huge screen, opened Google and typed in one single word to the search bar: selkie.

thank you again for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! i hope it isn't a problem that this fic is getting longer, i'm just taking slow burn seriously (only thing i can do lmao) taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 @maisyyyyyy @theseerbetweenus @throwaway-things @pleasantwitchgarden divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[buellersfueller]

I won't lie, I was fine with the idea of the doctor clinging to a child. I figured it paid off the line from the Beatles episode about how despite Susan's existence time travel meant they hadn't had a child yet. It felt well enough in line with the Doctor's broader last of my kind angst. Belinda being so down for it was a little startling, but whatever, she's a nurse who cares about people & we have no evidence against the reading.

But rewriting reality and the sacrifice of the regeneration was centered on the Doctor's child, and his grief at that loss, even only half remembered. The reality readjustment is a complete nightmare, and all the worse because it isn't treated as such. Like a Belinda ran into the forest to scream about this like an hour ago. I would know I binged the whole season today to avoid spoilers. As everyone has been pointing out it's a complete contradiction when held to the Point of the last episode. The horror of the domestic sphere, the flattening and agony of hegemony. And what, that's Belinda now? She was a person up until the penultimate, and by the end of the finale she's unrecognizable, and that's after she was shuffled out of frame for the majority of those episodes. Unreal. It was so refreshing to have this companion who was genuinely frightened by the Doctor, who saw them as dangerous and their life as more scary than exciting, and the slow seduction (so to speak) was really very compelling. Shifting that in this way is beyond the pale. I'm just so sad to lose her in this way.

And for another thing, why should we have to lose Gatwa over this. He's been so incredible but he's hardly been around. Two whole episodes without him between his two seasons, both in favor of Ruby, and now fully sandwiched between legacy returns, to minimize his role as the doctor. He brought so much life and joy to the role and I'm just so bereaved to see him go. And no amount of Billie Piper can fix that.

And another another thing! Bringing Rogue back just for him to be implied dead? Are you fucking serious? Like, this is the least of my concerns with the finale. There are bigger fish to fry in terms of structural issues and racist misogynistic writing choices. However. Why. Why bring him back just to say I love you and then die. Why not adjust him back in? Why why why? One of many great joys in Gatwa's run was the queerness of his performance as the Doctor and I'm both worried we're seeing the last of it as a major character element and disappointed they stirred that one back up to this end.

[thethirdromana]

Lots of discussion on my dash at the moment about how RTD writes women. I have a slightly half-baked theory that connects a bunch of different things. The things are:

RTD is often negative about older women, especially companions' mothers

RTD companions never leave for better and different things; they are either tragically separated from the Doctor, or take on a Doctor-like role

RTD often tells us that ordinary domesticity is desirable, but seldom shows it being desirable

My theory comes down to this: RTD writes coming-of-age stories for (female) companions, but struggles to imagine adulthood as a happy ending to those stories.

(I said it's half-baked, bear with me. I'm figuring this out as I go.)

So my starting point for comparison is Susan. When we first meet her, she's a child, but she steadily grows up (kind of) and by the time we get to the Dalek Invasion of Earth, she's old enough to move out of home, she's fallen in love, and she's excited for the next phase of her life: helping to rebuild the shattered Earth. Obviously this all happens in a sexist 60s way where she's handed from one man (her grandfather) to another (her future husband). But it's still the logical endpoint of a coming-of-age narrative, where she's outgrown her life in the TARDIS and she's ready to step out on her own, in her next adventure.

RTD companions often start off in the coming-of-age mould. Rose is 19, in a boring job with a boring boyfriend. Her life hasn't really started yet. Martha is a medical student, which should be pretty exciting, but there's the same sense that her life hasn't really started yet. Donna is older, but her life is also in a holding pattern, and there's not much that she's leaving behind; it might not be a coming-of-age story but it's certainly one about maturing and finding herself. Ruby is 19 and again, her life hasn't really started yet. Belinda... who knows, really? I don't think we ever get enough of a sense of her life to say.

But unlike Susan (or many other previous companions), the RTD companions don't generally leave the TARDIS happily to go on to an independent adventure.

Rose is heartbroken at the loss of the Doctor, and goes on to work for Torchwood in her universe.

Jack leaves the TARDIS unwillingly, chases the Doctor for literal centuries, and becomes a kind of Doctor-lite at Torchwood.

Martha leaves the TARDIS traumatised, and goes on to work for UNIT, is seconded to Torchwood, then becomes a kind of Doctor-lite, fighting aliens independently.

Donna leaves the TARDIS unwillingly with her memories wiped, then goes on to work for UNIT.

Ruby does leave the TARDIS willingly... but then goes on to work for UNIT.

Belinda has her timeline retroactively altered, and leaves to look after her baby.

Sarah Jane Smith, after appearing in RTD's Who, is shown to have been devastated by the Doctor leaving her ("you were my life"), and then goes on to become a kind of Doctor-lite in the Sarah Jane Adventures.

Anita is heartbroken at the loss of the Doctor, and searched for him after he left her. She's only able to move on after she sees he's in love with someone else, when she gets married and has a baby.

There's a theme, right? Companions are miserable in normal life, and the only way they can find some sort of fulfilment after the Doctor is either a) by mimicking their time with him as much as possible or b) by having a baby. (Arguably Sarah Jane, adopting Luke, does both).

That's despite there being so much in the script about how wonderful normal life is. The Doctor may say it is - for instance, to Anita, in Joy to the World - but the story doesn't show it that way. The Doctor was happy with Anita, but Anita isn't happy after he leaves.

Let's move on to mums. RTD has a chequered record with mums.

Jackie Tyler is portrayed as a joke. She flirts with the Doctor, laughably, because how could she (aged 40) imagine that the Doctor (played by a 41-year-old) could be attracted to her? Obviously he's only interested in her 19-year-old daughter.

Francine Jones is - in the words of tardis.fandom.com - "uptight, critical and demanding". Her ex-husband cheated on her with a much younger woman, but she takes him back. The show is more negative about Francine than about Clive.

Sylvia Noble is bossy and condescending. That's in stark contrast to her father, who is simply delightful.

Carla Sunday is generally an exception: she's warm, kind and caring. Except that in two alternative timelines, she becomes cruel and cold to Ruby.

I do think this all ties together in RTD struggling to imagine adulthood as a happy ending. The mums are variously unpleasant and laughable because he doesn't imagine their lives in late middle age to be a happy ending. The companions cannot leave to a normal life because RTD doesn't imagine that to be a happy ending. Ordinary life is always shown as something miserable to leave behind, something that becomes actively intolerable once the Doctor has demonstrated the alternative, because RTD doesn't imagine normal adulthood to be a happy ending.

So Rose can't just enjoy herself with her new sort-of-Doctor. Martha can't just go back to studying medicine. Donna's life (which seems nice!) has to be improved by working for UNIT and getting her own sort-of-Doctor. Ruby can't do something un-Doctor-related, like, I don't know, going back to her band. And Belinda can't just go back to being a nurse without having the extra reason of a baby to tie her to one place and time.

This was all prompted by thoughts about how RTD writes women, so one question is, how much is this gendered? The contrast between how RTD writes mums (mostly disapproving) and dads and grandads (neutral to positive) makes me think there is a gendered element. And while Jack's storyline is similar to the female companions, Mickey becomes a Doctor-lite without any of the heartbreak or sense that his life is inadequate without the Doctor.

I don't think I want to go so far as to say that RTD can't imagine happy normal adulthood for women but he certainly doesn't give us many examples of it, especially examples without motherhood. Happiness for female companions does seem to rely on having the Doctor, taking on the role of the Doctor, or having a baby. And no matter how good his intentions, that reads as pretty sexist in its execution.

[lalaballa]

"Brick by Brick" by Arctic Monkeys and Pride Month

1. Let's see what the songwriter says:

Turner explained the process behind this song in his 5-10-15-20 interview with Pitchfork: I read this story about Iggy Pop where he said there was a TV show he used to watch when he was young, and the guy would ask kids to write letters into the show, and the letters had to be less than 25 words– and he applied that to writing “No Fun”. So, since we always do songs with a thousand words, we thought we should try one that had less than 30, which turned out to be “Brick by Brick”. But I got the drummer to sing it because it seemed like the right thing to do. X

In an interview with NME, Alex said: It’s just a fucking laugh, isn’t it? It’s got, like, three “rock’n’rolls” in it. We were in Miami on tour once and we just got off a long flight to there and we had an idea for a song called ‘Brick By Brick’ and so we wrote it that night just sorta in a bar. But it were quite loose, we thought about it as the concept of a song and all these things that you want to do – brick by brick – and we just made a list of them that was probably three times as long as what it ended up over that night and the next few weeks.

2. Let's take a look at the (ostensibly nonsensical) lyrics:

I wanna build you up (brick by brick)

I wanna break you down (brick by brick)

I'm gonna reconstruct (brick by brick)

I wanna feel your love

I wanna steal your soul (brick by brick)

I wanna rock n' roll (brick by brick)

I wanna brick by brick (brick by brick)

I wanna blow by blow (brick by brick)

I want an episode (brick by brick)

3. But wait...Is it possible that a funny "brick" song could be related to an actual episode from 20th century queer history?

The Stonewall riots (also known as the Stonewall uprising, Stonewall rebellion, Stonewall revolution, or simply Stonewall) were a series of spontaneous riots and demonstrations against a police raid that took place in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, at the Stonewall Inn, in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of Lower Manhattan in New York City. Although the demonstrations were not the first time American LGBTQ people fought back against government-sponsored persecution of sexual minorities, the Stonewall riots marked a new beginning for the gay rights movement in the United States and around the world. X

The myth of the "first brick" thrown at the Stonewall Inn, sparking the riots, is a persistent but largely inaccurate narrative about the events of June 28, 1969. While bricks were thrown, and a riot did erupt, the specific identity of the first brick-thrower is unclear and a matter of debate, according to The New Yorker and National Geographic x

Stonewall has continued to hold power for LGBTQ communities facing violence and marginalization, with the first brick-thrower standing in as a symbol of a movement against injustice led by those who were most stigmatized and rejected. American national mythology has many such figures—from Tisquantum (known as Squanto) to Rosa Parks—whose roles are narrated through a combination of social marginalization and heroic exceptionalism. Taken as history, these stories offer discrete points of information that erase the collective struggles and continuing oppression of the communities these figures represent.

Correcting the facts of these histories may be a futile effort. But perhaps we can refocus and expand the way these narratives work as mythology. If our myths invite symbolic identification with the most marginalized, they should compel all of us into the struggle with these communities.

Factually speaking, “who threw the first brick” has one answer. Myth has no such constraints: the truth of this question is not to inform you. The truth of this question is to recruit you to the fight for all trans and queer lives. X

[if-seal]

dear seal, starting with: i hope you have a nice day/ night and everything in between! you don't have to help us nor give advice and for that i am grateful you choose to.

do you have any suggestions as to how to name IFs? (so sorry if you've already answered this) i have a title in mind but when i asked my friend for her opinion, she didn't think it fit. when i searched online, they talked about finding one to encompass the general theme of the story or name it after an important thing in the story but i've been trying that for years with other projects and it never turns out well.

Dear Naming Friend,

Thank you so very much for your kind comments and well wishes! Naming can be a tricky and weighty business, and I am very happy to give you some thoughts on it!

I think if you love your current title and feel like it fits your game, do feel free to use it with my blessing! Or share it with other friends and see what they think - it might be that it just wasn't the first friend's thing.

And you can change your title if you want to, even after you've initially revealed your project to the world. Better to do that rather than stick with one you don't love.

Whether you are thinking of changing the title or of reassessing your current one, I absolutely recommend searching for your chosen title or similar ones to check that you're not duplicating something that already exists by accident. Read it out plenty of times to see how it feels to say. Sometimes a title will look lovely on the page but feels stumbling when you say it out loud.

I believe themes or in-universe elements can be nice starting points for figuring out a title, or perhaps the shape of your title, but if those aren't grabbing you or you've had tricky experiences figuring that out, here are some suggestions that may be useful to you beyond themes or in-universe elements:

-You may find it useful to consider what "shape" you'd like the title to have: a single word, a phrase, an in-game element, and so on. I would generally suggest caution when it comes to very long titles with a lot of elements in them, such as the imaginary SELKIE'S HEART: LIGHTHOUSE FURY BENEATH THE STARS or such... but on the other hand plenty of people adore those kinds of titles so if it works for you, embrace it!

-Try making a document of lots of name ideas, adding to the list whenever a word or phrase sounds interesting or could be related, even tangentially, to your game or plot. This could be as simple as a notes app on your phone

-It is useful to write down many ideas without really thinking about them, good and bad, with no pressure on whether you're going to use them - just dipping into your brain to see what comes out

-Come up with a lot of deliberately bad titles that sound too generic, boring, or misleading but that someone might conceivably use for your game. This can help clear out the cobwebs of your brain.

-Relatedly, assign your game a placeholder while you wait for inspiration to strike. Do not use a placeholder that could be at all usable! It should be truly horrid. When my roommate @hpowellsmith was searching for a title for what became THE EARTH HAS TEETH, a friend suggested - apologies for the coarse language - Stormfucker 2099: Choice Choicington Investigates for a dreadful placeholder to avoid getting attached to a temporary title. Now personal taste is subjective, but I think most of us will agree that no one would want to use that one!

-Another friend provided a link to wordhippo.com which is a remarkably handy thesaurus site that I've found more useful than some of the other sites. Besides which it is also a helpful aquatic mammal, just like me! Less mammalian helpful sites include relatedwords.org and powerthesaurus.org.

-You might also try having an aim of listing 20 titles and rereading them, focusing not on the first ones you think of, nor of the ones where you're scraping for ideas, but the middle ones which may feel more interesting than the initial burst of ideas

As you see, this approach tends towards a scattershot one. Sometimes a title will come as a first flash of inspiration and nothing else will feel right, but that's rather rare. Best of luck, author friend!

[etoilesombre]

Hey, do you guys want to hear a story? Let me tell you about the romance between Lancelot and Guinevere, as recounted in Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur.

So, I thought I knew the basics. I grew up reading modern versions of Arthurian legend that focused on other aspects, but had a general knowledge of the Arthur-Guinever-Lancelot love triangle. It didn't show up too much, but I assumed it was subtext in some other versions. What I picked up was that it was sort of pure, almost an ot3, and not the cause of a lot of problems. 

My friends. In this version it is NOT SUBTEXT, it DEFINITELY CAUSED PROBLEMS, and it is WILD. It is a true will-they-won't-they drama fest soap opera romance, and I need to share. So please, come on this journey with me.

[I’m looking at you, Black Sails fandom people. I need you to know that Flint canonically would have read this. He would almost certainly have also grown up hearing these stories. I’m not saying he’s Lancelot coded, but I am saying it's interesting that he would have been aware that was something it was possible to be.]

A couple notes, before we dive in. I am very much just summarizing what happened in the book. The thing is, the book is a million pages long and also in Middle English, and this is just one of many plots, which I think is why it's not more widely known. I will show some excerpts so you can get a feel for the text, but you don’t need to read them to understand the story. I'm referring to a version that is as close to the manuscript as I can find, though with spelling regularized. For real fun, see what the original looked like. Malory purports to be translating part of the French Vulgate cycle, which likely is where the character of Lancelot originates, but in fact he is doing much more than translating, and compiles other stories as well. Point being, when he says “so the French book sayeth” etc, that is the “book” to which he is referring. Because of my lack of knowledge about the language and cultural context, this lecture series from Mythgard Academy was absolutely invaluable to my understanding. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Inevitably, some of the opinions of the prof are reflected here. I do not have it in me to compare the scholarship of various medievalists right now, I just want to tell you about this DRAMA. 

Let’s start with a prophecy. When Arthur decides he wishes to marry Guinevere, Merlin advises him to take someone else, because if he takes her, she will betray him with Lancelot and it will destroy his kingdom. All of this is foretold, not only to us, but to Arthur himself. Of course he takes her anyway, and all is doomed from the start.

As we begin the main arc of this story (several books after the prophecy), Lancelot is widely acknowledged to be the best and most renowned knight of Arthur’s court. He is plainly and hopelessly in love with Guinevere, and she loves him in return. Arthur doesn’t have a problem with this - who wouldn’t love Guinevere? This sort of love is socially acceptable, so long as they do not sleep together, which would be treason. Arthur in fact seems to support their love, because it means that Lancelot will be Guinevere’s champion should she need one. This is a role Arthur himself legally cannot fill because he is the king, and so would have to be the judge. Lancelot is indeed a good champion for her, and fights for her when she is wrongly accused of murder. 

Lancelot is deeply chivalrous, in a way that seems sincere. This is a great place for a first excerpt, a conversation with a Random Damsel Lancelot has been helping:

‘Now, damosel,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘will ye any more service of me?’ ‘Nay, sir,’ she said, ‘at this time, but almighty Jesu preserve you wheresoever ye ride or go, for the most courteous knight thou art and meekest unto all ladies and gentlewomen that now liveth. But one thing, sir knight, me thinks ye lack, ye that are a knight wifeless, that ye will not love some maiden or gentlewoman. For I could never hear say that ever ye loved any of no manner of degree, and that is great pity. But it is noised that ye love Queen Guenivere, and that she hath ordained by enchantment that ye shall never love no other but her, nor no other damosel nor lady shall rejoice you; wherefore there be many in this land of high estate and low that make great sorrow.’ ‘Fair damosel,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘I may not warn* people to speak of me what it pleaseth them; but for to be a wedded man, I think it not; for then I must couch with her, and leave arms and tournaments, battles and adventures. And as for to say to take my pleasance with paramours, that will I refuse, in principal for dread of God. For knights that be adventurous should not be adulterers nor lecherous, for then they be not happy nor fortunate unto the wars; for either they shall be overcome with a simpler knight than they be themselves, or else they shall slay by unhap and their cursedness better men than they be themselves. And so who that useth paramours shall be unhappy, and all thing unhappy that is about them.’ 

So after doing his Knightly Deeds for this damsel, Lancelot asks if she needs anything else. She says no, but you are lacking one thing, which is the love of a woman. It is rumored that is because Guinevere has through sorcery made you love only her, and that causes all of the women great sorrow. In reply Lancelot makes this speech about how he cannot have a wife or paramour and be a good knight, but everyone thinks it is at least in part because his love is reserved for Guinevere.

Now, throughout the book his chastity DOES notably cause all of the women great sorrow. Everyone wants to sleep with Lancelot. Literally he is kidnapped by the four most beautiful queens other than Guinevere, and they say he has to choose one of them as a lover (not even a wife, a lover) or else die. He says he would rather die, though in the end he escapes. This is just an example, truly it is a recurring problem for him. He is, at one point, tricked into sleeping with a woman with whom he conceives his son Galahad (as was prophesied, it's a long story and the romance is only part of it. It is worth mentioning that something similar happens to Arthur, which is how Mordred is sired.) When Guinevere learns that Lancelot has been with someone else, she is angry and banishes him from the court. They still love each other and eventually reconcile. 

So, Lancelot goes on the quest for the holy grail. But he fails, specifically because while he is outwardly dedicated to God, in his private heart he is still dedicated to Guinevere. And so he makes a vow to renounce his love for her, acknowledging that it is beyond measure (beyond what is right, even if they have not technically done anything wrong.) However when he returns to Camelot, he cannot keep this vow, as we see. 

Then, as the book saith, Sir Lancelot began to resort unto Queen Guenivere again, and forgot the promise and the perfection that he made in the quest. For, as the book saith, had not Sir Lancelot been in his privy thoughts and in his mind so set inwardly to the Queen as he was in seeming outward to God, there had no knight passed him in the quest of the Sangrail, but ever his thoughts were privily on the Queen. And so they loved together more hotter than they did beforehand, and had many such privy draughts together that many in the court spoke of it, and in especial Sir Agravain, Sir Gawain’s brother, for he was ever open-mouthed. So it befell that Sir Lancelot had many resorts of ladies and damosels that daily resorted unto him to be their champion: in all such matters of right Sir Lancelot applied him daily to do for the pleasure of Our Lord Jesu Christ. And ever as much as he might he withdrew him from the company of Queen Guenivere for to eschew the slander and noise, wherefore the Queen waxed wroth with Sir Lancelot.

He and Guinevere start spending a lot of time alone together, and so there are rumors circulating about them in court. In order to put a stop to the rumors, Lancelot starts paying other women attention and doing more good knightly deeds for them. Guinevere is terribly jealous, but he tells her it's for their own good, and also tells her about the vow he made, and his concern that their love is beyond what is appropriate. She is devastated, and weeping banishes him from the court (again). 

Lancelot then rides in a tournament, disguised. (Why? Because this is simply a thing knights do.) To make it an effective disguise he takes the token of a woman, the sleeve of the fair maid of Astolat to wear on his helm. When she discovers that he was only using it for the disguise, and he does not indeed love her, she is so heartbroken that she says if he will not marry her or be her lover, she will die. He refuses, on the grounds that love must not be constrained and should arise from the heart, and offers her a thousand pounds a year instead if she marries anyone else. Properly insulted by this, she does indeed die. She has her body sent in a boat to Camelot, with a letter in her hand, saying that she died of her love for him, that he would not return. 

Seeing this, Guinevere reconciles with Lancelot, presumably reassured by the fact that he would let this very beautiful much younger woman die of her love rather than being with her. She insists that from now on he will not fight in disguise, and will openly bear her token. 

Then Queen Guenivere sent for Sir Lancelot, and said thus: ‘I warn you that ye ride no more in no jousts nor tournaments but that your kinsmen may know you; and at these jousts that shall be ye shall have of me a sleeve of gold. And I pray you for my sake to force* yourself there, that men may speak you worship. But I charge you as ye will have my love, that ye warn your kinsmen that ye will bear that day the sleeve of gold upon your helmet.’ ‘Madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘it shall be done.’ And either made great joy of other.

It is important to keep in mind that, to this point, there is no textual evidence that they were sleeping together, and a great deal of evidence that it was important to Lancelot that they not cross that line. There is much less evidence that this is important to Guinevere.

So then one fateful day in May, Guinevere goes picnicing with an entourage of knights. They are captured by someone else who is in love with Guinevere, and taken back to his castle, but she manages to send a message to Lancelot. At the castle, she insists that her knights sleep in her bedchamber on the grounds that they were wounded in the battle when she was captured and need tending, but truly she wants them there to keep her captor from raping her. 

Lancelot arrives to rescue her, and the person who kidnapped her agrees to give her back in the morning. She tells Lancelot to visit her room in the night. He climbs up to her window, which is barred. They have a heartfelt reunion and she says she wishes he could come in to her. He acquiesces and breaks the bars to get into her room, cutting his hand to the bone to do so. Despite the profusely bleeding wound and the ten other men sleeping in the room, they at last do sleep together, in this passionate blood covered consummation. He sneaks back out and replaces the bars.

In the morning, the man who kidnapped Guinevere comes in and sees blood all over the bed. He accuses her of being unfaithful to the king, saying she lay with one of the knights who had been sleeping in her room. She denies it, but it is very clear that she did sleep with someone who was bleeding. 

Lancelot says he will fight to defend her from this accusation, which is right and proper because he is her champion. In this story people take trial by combat and oaths before God very seriously, especially Lancelot. He really does try. So he swears an oath that he will prove with his life that Guinevere did not sleep with one of the wounded knights who lay in her room. This of course is TRUE, but only on a technicality. Lancelot, having slept with her himself the night before, is also the one who defends her honor after. I love this story so much. 

Instead of fighting him, the kidnapper takes Lancelot captive. In captivity he encounters ANOTHER damsel who insists that sleep with her in order for her to help him. He refuses, still faithful in his heart to Guinevere. Eventually she settles for him holding and kissing her, which is not across the line of appropriateness apparently, giving us some idea of where that line is drawn. Anyway, Lancelot gets out, fights for Guinevere and wins. There are indications that he feels like he barely dodged a devine bullet. 

Guinevere and Lancelot return to Camelot. Finally the rumors about them are true, the deed has been done, but of course nothing appears particularly different as there were already rumors about them. Two knights, Mordred and Agravaine, who have been intriguing against Arthur already, go and tell Arthur that Guinevere is being untrue to him. Here is his response: 

‘If it be so,’ said the King, ‘wit you well, he is none other; but I would be loath to begin such a thing but I might have proofs of it. For Sir Lancelot is a hardy knight, and all ye know that he is the best knight among us all; and but if he be taken with the deed he will fight with him that bringeth up the noise, and I know no knight that is able to match him. Therefore, and it be sooth as ye say, I would that he were taken with the deed.’ For as the French book saith, the King was full loath that such a noise should be upon Sir Lancelot and his queen. For the King had a deeming of it; but he would not hear thereof, for Sir Lancelot had done so much for him and for the Queen so many times that, wit you well, the King loved him passingly well.

Arthur says he will not hear of this without proof, because if Lancelot is accused and allowed to fight he would beat anyone. And, it is said that Arthur had some idea of the affair, but would not credit it because Lancelot had done so much for him and Guinevere, and he loved Lancelot greatly. 

So, one night when the king is away hunting, the two accusers contrive to catch them in the act, with a group of twelve armed knights. They do find Lancelot in Guinevere’s chamber, but the text is notably, pointedly vague about whether they are actually in bed. In any case, Lancelot asks for a trial. The knights say no, they have caught him and so may kill him. He is Lancelot, so he kills all of them instead, save one (Mordred) whom he leaves wounded. Lancelot flees, intending to return to rescue Guinevere and take her to his own castle to protect her from Arthur’s wrath. He maintains her innocence, and still intends that they will all reconcile.

Guinevere is to be burned at the stake (normal in this situation). Lancelot rescues her from the burning at the last moment, killing a number of knights of the round table. Arthur seems to blame the accusers more than Guinevere and Lancelot (for good reason; keep in mind that the romance is a subplot, there is a great deal of political intrigue going on.) Now a war will begin, whether anyone wants it or not, because of the people Lancelot killed. Lancelot takes Guinevere to his own castle. Battle lines are drawn, and Lancelot and Arthur confront each other in the fighting:

And ever was King Arthur about Sir Lancelot to have slain him, and ever Sir Lancelot suffered him and would not strike again. So Sir Bors encountered with King Arthur; and Sir Bors smote him, and so he alit and drew his sword and said to Sir Lancelot, ‘Sir, shall I make an end of this war?’—for he meant to have slain him. ‘Not so hardy,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘upon pain of thy head, that thou touch him no more! For I will never see that most noble king that made me knight neither slain nor shamed.’ And therewith Sir Lancelot alit off his horse and took up the King and horsed him again, and said thus: ‘My lord the king, for God’s love, stint this strife, for ye get here no worship and I would do my utterance. But always I forbear you, and ye nor none of yours forbear not me. And therefore, my lord, I pray you remember what I have done in many places, and now am I evil rewarded.’ So when King Arthur was on horseback he looked on Sir Lancelot; then the tears burst out of his eyes, thinking of the great courtesy that was in Sir Lancelot more than in any other man. And therewith the King rode his way and might no longer behold him, saying to himself, ‘Alas, alas, that yet this war began!’

So Arthur tries to slay Lancelot, but Lancelot, the better fighter, refuses to slay him and indeed when Arthur is unhorsed Lancelot forbids that he be slain, and gives him his own horse. Arthur weeps for the honor that is in Lancelot, and laments that the war began. 

The pope intervenes and tries to negotiate an end. Lancelot confirms that he is willing to return Guinevere to Arthur, and says he has always been willing to do this and will still defend her honor, but that he does not feel he can do so because Arthur has listened to liars and been misled, and he had more reason to take her away than the accusation of adultery - he does not trust she can be safe in that court, with things as they are. 

Eventually they do make a deal, with some assurances, and he surrenders Guinevere to the king. He kisses her openly, says that he will leave, but should she be in danger or ever again accused of being untrue, he will fight for her as he always has. He departs the court forever, to much great sorrow, and returns to his own lands. 

The war continues - eventually Mordred seizes the throne, Arthur kills him in battle but is mortally wounded himself and passes to Avalon. Following the king’s death, although her love would no longer be adulterous, Guinevere retires to a convent rather than reuniting with Lancelot. He seeks her out, and this is her reaction: 

Sir Lancelot was brought before her; then the Queen said to all those ladies, ‘Through this same man and me hath all this war been wrought, and the death of the most noblest knights of the world; for through our love that we have loved together is my most noble lord slain. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, wit thou well I am set in such a plight to get my soul health; and yet I trust through God’s grace and through His Passion of His wounds wide, that after my death I may have a sight of the blessed face of Christ Jesu, and at Doomsday to sit on His right side;* for as sinful as ever I was, now are saints in heaven. And therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require thee and beseech thee heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me no more in the visage. And I command thee, on God’s behalf, that thou forsake my company; and to thy kingdom look thou turn again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. For as well as I have loved thee heretofore, my heart will not serve now to see thee, for through thee and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed. And therefore go thou to thy realm, and there take ye a wife and live with her with joy and bliss. And I pray thee heartily to pray for me to the everlasting Lord that I may amend my misliving.’ ‘Now, my sweet madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘would ye that I should turn again unto my country, and there to wed a lady? Nay, madam, wit you well, that shall I never do, for I shall never be so false unto you of that I have promised. But the self* destiny that ye have taken you to, I will take me to, for the pleasure of Jesu; and ever for you I cast me specially to pray.

Rather than rejoicing in Lancelot’s presence, Guinevere laments that their love brought about the downfall of the Arthurian court, and the deaths of the knights of the round table and King Arthur. She calls upon Lancelot, by all the love that was ever between them to leave her presence, telling him to marry someone else if he wishes and see her no more. Lancelot replies that he wants no one else, and that he will respect her wishes, but will also renounce the world and join a religious order. He asks Guinevere for a final parting kiss, which she denies him. 

When Guinevere lies dying of illness, Lancelot sets out to go to her, having had a vision. She knows of his coming, and prays to die before she sees him, because she cannot bear it. She dies a half hour before he arrives, leaving instruction that he is to tend to her body, and then lay it to rest beside that of her lord King Arthur. Lancelot does this with great sorrow, and after ceases to eat or drink, and within weeks is dead himself. 

And there you have it, the love affair that doomed Camelot.

HUGE DISCLAIMER: Any and all mistakes or misinterpretations are my own. This is what I gathered, but I am not a medievalist. I am barely an interested layperson. I’m just a random fic writer who got obsessed with research for a story, and had to share this tragic mess. 

[pagesofkenna]

fantasy novel wip has officially crossed the 10k mark since i started the new draft with the new outline last month. gotten less writing done than i would have wished but when i am able to sit down to write i'm getting a lot more done than i had previously.

[hrodreptus]

// noncon

good morning im thinking very hard about atticwife luke. post tlo lukronos’ soul surviving because they’re too intertwined, not quite mortal but not anymore fully immortal, either. at that point so the gods stick them onto some soul plane where kronos is basically eternally imprisoned and luke is supposed to be his guardian. luke’s soul is tethered to the plane, so the only way to escape it is to kill him, but if kronos killed luke he’d basically kill himself, too… so theyre genuinely stuck there for eternity, and kronos just basically takes every chance to fuck an unwilling luke because unlile the last time, he finally has someone to take his frustrations out on. but in all honesty luke is so into it partly because he thinks its what he deserves and partly because hes just a plain old freak whore like that

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt Sif Odile duo looping au again and I wanna be able to plot everything out more coherently but act 5 eternally looms overhead and boy I do not wanna look up

[ajdrawshq]

on the note of you not getting the best grade at DMing (but a good grade at friend!!!) did you ever get around to reading Kay's zero escape fic I don't even remember when I mentioned it but surely I mentioned it to you right did I :0

... also I have been getting a bad grade in getting back into playing rpgs I'm sory 😭

OH SHIT DID I...... I DONT THINK I HAVE..... i swear i remember u mentioning it to me at some point but i mustve just completely forgot after a while im so sorry;; maybe its somewhere in our dms.. ill check for it there after i wake up (< FOR REAL THIS TIME..) but maybe itd be easier if u sent it again just in case? thank u SO much for reminding me bc i would Not have remembered this myself,,

[emile-hides]

Behold. Son.

[complainblogforthevoid]

I've finally figured out an argument that convinces coding tech-bros that AI art is bad.

Got into a discussion today (actually a discussion, we were both very reasonable and calm even through I felt like committing violence) with a tech-bro-coded lady who claimed that people use AI in coding all the time so she didn't see why it mattered if people used AI in art.

Obviously I repressed the surge of violence because that would accomplish nothing. Plus, this lady is very articulate, the type who makes claims and you sit there thinking no that's wrong it must be but she said it so well you're kind of just waffling going but, no, wait-- so I knew I had to get this right if I was gonna come out of this unscathed.

The usual arguments about it being about the soul of it and creation fell flat, in fact she was adamant that anyone who believed that was in fact looking down at coding as an art form as she insisted it is. Which, sure, you can totally express yourself through coding. There's a lot more nuance as to the differences but clearly I was not going to win this one.

The other people I was with (literally 8 people anti-ai against her, but you can't change the mind of someone who doesn't want to listen and she just kept accusing us of devaluing coding as an art) took over for I kid you not 15 minutes while I tried desperately to come up with a clear and articulate way to explain the difference to her. They tried so many reasonable arguments, coding being for a function ("what, art doesn't serve a function?") coding being many discrete building blocks that you put together differently, and the AI simply provides the blocks and you put it together yourself ("isn't that what prompt building is") that it's bad for the environment ("but not if it's used for capitalism, hm?" "Yeah literally that's how capitalism works it doesn't care about the environment" she didn't like that response)

But I finally got it.

And the answer is: It's not about what you do, it's about what you claim to be.

Imagine that someone asks an AI to write a code and, by some miracle, it works perfectly without them having to tweak it---which is great because they couldn't tell you what a single solitary thing in that code means.

Now imagine this person, with their code that they don't know how it works, goes and applies to be a coder somewhere, presenting this AI code as proof that they're qualified.

Should they be hired?

She was horrified, of course. Of course they shouldn't be. They're not qualified. They can't actually code, and even if by some miracle they did have an AI successfully write a flawless code for every issue they came across that wouldn't be their code, you could hire any shmuck on the street to do that, no reason to pay someone like they're creating something.

When actual engineers use AI what they do is get some kind of base, which they then go though and check for problems and then if they find any they fix them, and add on to the base code with their own knowledge instead of just trying different prompt after prompt until they randomly come across one that works.

People who generate code like this don't usually call themselves engineers. They're people who needed a bit of code and didn't have the knowledge to generate it, and so used a resource.

And there you go. There are people who have none of the skills of artists, they don't practice, they don't create for themselves. When they feed the prompt to the AI they then don't just use the resulting image as a reference point for their own personal masterpiece, and if they don't like it they don't have the skills to change it---they simply try another prompt, and do that until they get something they like.

These people are calling themselves artists.

Not only that, these people are bringing the AI generated thing to interviews, and they are getting hired, leaving people who slave over their craft out of the job.

And that is the difference, for the tech bros who think AI art isn't a big deal.