#something something capitalism something something

[identitty-dickruption]

yknow gang I don’t think it’s helpful to continuously act like conservatism is inherently logically inconsistent or that it’s an ideology uniquely based on emotion rather than logic. firstly. the emotion/logic dichotomy is a myth and we all make decisions based on both of those things. but more importantly, there are logical consistencies in conservative thought and it is infinitely more helpful to know what they are and how to deconstruct them than to pretend that they don’t exist

[not even mentioning the fact that ‘conservatism’ isn’t one singular ideology any more than ‘leftism’ is. it is a cluster of ideologies that we often group together but that have important differences. if you think ‘conservatives’ are contradicting themselves you may just be looking at two different people with two different foundational beliefs]

[communist-ojou-sama]

I saw how you said that describing the PRC as capitalist betrays a lack of understanding of capitalism and I actually really liked how well you explained that being against capitalism isn't proper Marxism/communism so I was wondering if you could open that post on understanding capitalism a bit more! Only if you're okay with it, of course!

Eventually I should do a real proper Effortpost on this with all the graphs and figures to really drive home the point that I'm making, but very briefly since it's getting late here:

In Marx's time, capitalism was an emergent societal mode of production that was closely entertwined with the enclosure movement and the industrial revolution. On the level of labor, it saw the decline of peasant and artisan labor and the rise of proletarianization, and with it the tendencies of mechanization and rationalization of production (e.g. de-skilling of manufacturing and measurement of efficiency by the labor-hour)

On a consistent historical level, from Marx's time to ours, capitalism has been characterized by the role of liquidity holders (e.g. banks, joint stock companies, investment funds &c) in investigating growth industries and investing in them for the purpose of greater profit. Notably: the demand from financial actors for returns on their balance-sheets is constant, regardless of the state of the development in any given productive market. Meanwhile the nature of industrial development is that it happens in fits and starts, in great surging advances followed by relatively stagnant plateaus. The results of this mismatch are twofold:

First, as Lenin chronicled, it leads for a demand to engage in imperialist expansion to open new markets and seek new profits that way. The other, arguably larger and more important frontier however is that of speculation. Because the inflation of the value of an asset creates purchasing power in and of itself in the short term, which is maintained on balance sheets so long as the arrears on credit derived on it keeps getting paid on a notional path to amortizaiton.

The tendency in capitalism since Marx's time has been the ever-growing importance of these two dynamics and the gradual receding of the importance of low-elasticity economic activity like manufacturing goods.

The tendency of imperialist expansion within capitalism has created a networked global bourgeoisie throughout the financial capitals of the world who extract rentier profits from the various rural peripheries of the global south, and the speculative nature of investment capital in the late 20th and early 21st century defines the quality of the "capitalist develpment" we see in bourgeois states in the contemporary global south: namely, extremely uneven development between rural and urban, trapping of the labor force in a holding-pattern of low-pay low-skill work such as textile production or low-end manufacturing (e.g. Bangladesh and Malaysia) while their capitals enjoy wealth near that of the imperial core, with relatively very high-paying jobs in the knowledge industries (this should ring a bell with India lol). Any country that is actually ruled by its bourgeoisie will follow this pattern, because financialized paper profits are larger (in nominal terms) than the highly investment-intensive industrial development that has gone on in the PRC under the stewardship of the Party. However the result is that the PRC has relatively low inequality among middle-income countries and the technological benefits of the industrialization led by cities is beginning to flow to rural China, which is what allowed them to lift 800 million people out of extreme poverty, something that has yet to happen in actually capitalist bourgeis states like India.

[summertimesadnessirl]

I did get my shit together. Like 4 times.

Every time I get my shit together someone else comes along and fucks up my shit.

I'm not going to get my shit together again unless I get to

1. Find everyone who ever did that to me and charge them $500,000 over a period of 4 years in evenly distributed chunks which pay out on the first of each month via direct deposit.

2. Recieve a public apology from Chappell Roan which mentions me by name and explains what she did and who put her up to it, full legal rights to all her songs and merch and all profit from them, and a legally binding contract from her that she will dye her hair a color other than red and never be photographed in public with red hair or brown lipstick ever again. I will them use the money to contract deleteme.com to scrub all reference to her from the entire internet forever.

3. My mother, Gale Tousignant, is placed on house arrest on an ankle bracelet and is not allowed to be around children in the future.

4. The government creates a committee for the investigation of munchausen by proxy of psychiatrist that investigates the psychiatric community.

5. Churches are required to pay taxes on tithes and on any income from owning businesses and real estate.

6. The US government decriminalizes and supports the sale of drug safety tests for drug users.

7. All laws against pornography are repealed.

8. All citizens over the age of 18 are entitled to any form of birth control including condoms and abortion for free.

9. All minor children are given a ubi

10. Men who pay child support have their payment amount automatically adjusted based on their withholding amount.

11. People under the age of 26 automatically qualify for food stamps

12. University education is free for everyone

13. 25 dollar an hour minimum wage

14. Strict labor laws are made on the entire usa to prevent abusive scheduling practices at hourly wage jobs.

15. The labor board does an investigation into coercion to quit or incitement to make mistakes with the intention of creating a fake paper trail to fire people in jobs as a form of discrimination or retaliation

16. Unemployment is the same rate as whatever someone was paid at and it lasts 99 weeks for any adult after a layoff

17. The government regulates the job application process to prevent ghost jobs, require a set salary or hourly wage be written in the add and not a range, and make job interviews illegal (literally illegal, if someone's skills and references check out you don't need to subject them to a test based on subconscious biases and privilege.)

18. Capital gains tax

19. The government will limit the number of rental properties someone can own to 3, and the number of single family homes someone can own to 3.

20. Immediate dissolution of laws that prevent people with yards from using them to grow vegetables or farm chickens

21. Government program that reimburses the full cost of putting solar panels on any building.

22. Government program that requires any business which owns more than 4 locations with a flat roof or makes more than 1 billion annually to put solar panels on the roofs of all their buildings.

23. Government buyback program of power people don't use from their solar panels.

24. No fault divorce is not to be touched.

26. An organization designs an app that allows any citizen to make a living will, a will, prenuptial agreement, model release for use on social media, or a contract to be used which which is designed to be something like a prenuptial agreement for roommates to protect them with splitting bills and lease and so on, with common situations to create boilerplate style more or less correct documents that can be witnessed by an attorney or verified by a notary public and signed. A good faith effort is used to allow the app to make suggestions and help with common disputes and legal situations people have in these cases in the way that a real attorney would, so that even though the contracts can still be challenged and can't demand either party to break the law, the average person can create documents that help them with these situations effectively.

27. When a generic product is produced in the same factory as a more expensive name brand product using the same ingredient, a law requires a specific label on the front which makes it easy for consumers to identify in grocery stores.

28. A team of forensic accountants is hired to testify before congress every year on live TV explaining how tax planning works to take advantage of loopholes.

30. An awareness campaign about sexual abuse from women against women, including "enforced modesty" as abuse and grooming

31. The tax on inheritance is immediately tripled.

32. A bot net is created to link statistics about nepotism and inherited wealth and class mobility on any hint of meritocracy propaganda online.

33. EL James is sued for damages and loses all profits from the sale of her work for grooming and entrapment of women in financially abusive relationships.

Idk. I still think I just wanna die.

[zorosangell]

I'm shocked at the lack of wano zoro fics involving a geisha reader tbh??? I'd expected to find more but there's NONE ... or atleast not ones that isn't your fic

but oh my goddd that geisha reader & zoro fic was beautiful but imagine after komurasaki allegedly dies orochi finds reader to be his new little personal geisha and inviting (demanding) her to come to onigashima with him n zoro poorly receiving the news that'd be funny I think,

⛥ﾟ・。 stupid

synopsis: part two of oiran -- zoro starts an argument over you going undercover as orochi's personal oiran. and it ends... interestingly.

cw: fluffy fluff, microscopic angst ig, zoro don't play about you, reader is just a girl (just like me fr), kinda suggestive

"No way in hell," Zoro denied, not even giving the matter a second thought. "We'll figure something else out."

"Zoro, please... think of Kin'emon... think of Momo."

"I'm thinking of you. And how stupid this plan is."

"It's not stupid."

"Coulda fooled me."

Your brows flattened, growing annoyed with his stubbornness.

'Forgot how much of an ass he can be...'

"Zo', you're being unreasonable," you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Oh, I'm being unreasonable?" he cocked a brow, letting out a sarcastic laugh before stepping out the way of the door. "Then by all means, please go."

You smiled, surprised by the sudden change of heart.

"Really?"

"No!" he exclaimed, incredulously, eyes widened by the fact that you actually believed him. "Christ, (y/n), you might as well send yourself gift wrapped with a bow!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I'm talking about you!" he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Look at yourself, (y/n)! You're what guys like Orochi dream about. A gorgeous, dolled-up oiran dropped right on his doorstep for the taking."

You paused a moment, processing his statement.

In preparation for your arrival to the Flower Capital—a trip you were already supposed to be well on your way on—you'd fixed your rain-ruined makeup and changed into new kimono, which you'd tucked away in the safe-house in the earlier days of your mission.

You also touched-up your hair, adorning your... everything with jewelry and ornate pins to make yourself look like an oiran fit for shogun.

Much to Zoro's displeasure.

But you weren't concerned with that.

What you were concerned with... was the last part of his statement.

"You think I'm gorgeous?"

Zoro's breath hitched, a crimson flush rising from his neck to his cheeks, and only intensifying as you stalked closer.

"I...! Well...! You...!" he stammered, slowly backing away while you pressed forward, until his back hit the soft wood of the door. "Quit tryna change the subject!"

"Okay~" you flashed a cheeky smile, moving even closer until your chest was pressed against his, forcing you to look up at him with innocent, doe eyes.

"And quit looking at me like that!"

"Like what, Zo'? Why can't I look at my handsome swordsman?" you cooed.

"'Cause I know you're trying to butter me up. And it's not gonna work," he deadpanned, crossing his arms.

"Dammit, Zoro! I can take care of myself!" you groaned, annoyed that your seduction had failed. "Why won't you let me do this? It's for the mission!"

"Damn the mission! I don't give a shit! Think about yourself for a second, (y/n)!"

You flinched slightly at his volume, and were quick to clam up.

Of course, he noticed this, and took a moment to reign himself back in, taking in a deep inhale through his nose.

"What do you think Orochi wants with you? What reason could a man like him possibly have for asking for you by name? He only wants one thing, (y/n)!"

"And you'd think I'd give it to him?!" you scoffed, incredulously, knowing exactly what he was talking about, and feeling offended by the insinuation.

"Men like him don't ask! They don't care about boundaries, and they don't take no for an answer!"

"So now you think I can't fend for myself?"

"I think you wouldn't have to if you just didn't go all together! I've spent time in the Flower Capital and these guys are nothing like the small fry you were dealing with in the country! They do whatever it takes to get what they want! And I'd rather not fuck up everything the crew has worked for by having to cut down the goddamn shogun for putting his hands on you!"

You faltered a moment, surprised, and he took the opportunity to grab you by the shoulders, pulling you closer until you both were flush against each other, and his lips only a breath away from yours.

"I don't think you understand that I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because I let you go and do something reckless," he stated, significantly calmer, though not without his firm tone. "You're not some sacrificial lamb, or a soldier for a better cause. You're a member of this crew... my right hand... and I'd..."

He faltered a moment, another flush of crimson rising to his cheeks.

"Be pretty inconvenienced if you didn't come back."

You raised a silent brow, a small smirk rising to your lips that said 'Really?'

He scoffed, avoiding eye contact.

"You get the idea."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips.

He froze, turning stiff as a board as you rested your hands on his chest, before carefully pulling away.

"I get the idea."

With a slight sigh of relief, his shoulders sank, and his index and thumb came up to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"So... no Orochi?"

You nodded, dutifully, the sight causing a certain stir within the swordsman's undergarments.

"No Orochi."

At that, he smiled, genuinely pleased.

Before anything—before Wano, before the Akazaya, before any old daimyo—your safety was Zoro's utmost priority.

And he'd be damned if he let anyone, even the fucking shogun himself, lay a single finger on you.

Using his distraction against him, you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, swirling you both around before tackling him to the ground.

"(y/n)?! What are you—?!"

You placed a finger to his lips, the devilish look in your eyes forcing him to swallow thickly.

"If I can't do what I wanna do... then we're just gonna have to find another way to occupy our time..."

Slowly, but intently, you began to tug off your robes and sashes, your eyes not leaving his for a moment as you stripped.

And as day turned to night, and then night turned to day, and then day turned to night again, Zoro only had on thing on his mind.

Especially with you resting on his chest in a spent pile of sweat and bliss.

'This woman... is going to be the death of me...'

[utilitycaster]

edit: thanks @wardensantoineandevka for sending me the post I reference below but couldn't find at the time, it's this one and I will also be reblogging it separately because you should all read it.

while I'm thinking about Downfall I really have been thinking extensively about the ongoing discussion of fandoms and particularly centering/prioritizing white queerness and more generally one's own experiences (and I cannot find one of the best posts about it, which is not by me) because, as I've said before, but notably about Circle of Needle and Thread and Downfall, Brennan is somehow known as The Communist DM and also at every opportunity his messages of class-based oppression get pushed aside by fandoms. In D20, the message frequently gets flattened into Capitalism Is The BBEG (to the point that D20 has somewhat depressingly caved to it) but in doing so generally erases the human element - the discussion becomes dominated by the terminally online anticapitalist types who really do want to treat capitalism as the BBEG that, once killed, everything will be fixed, rather than part of a complex system to be dismantled in a manner that preserves the most human lives. In Candela Obscura: Circle of Needle and Thread, Sean's story explicitly about losing everything to the wealthy and powerful was shoved aside by fans cranky that his character wasn't made explicitly queer and in love with Marion. In Downfall, Aeor's exploitation was acknowledged by fans but its imperialism conveniently forgotten in order to focus on those powerful within the system who hated the gods, not the poor of the city nor those on the surface, without protection, being used as nothing more than a source of cheap labor.

And the thing is: I obviously do not think that the world is lacking in empathy nor opportunity for straight cis white men, but the fact that people cannot take Brennan and his experiences as someone of a lower class - the most tame palatable version of that too, as in addition to being a straight cis white man he is educated, a native English speaker, sober, and housed his entire life - without needing to twist it into something closer to their (often middle-class) experiences or existing worldview is depressing and telling, and it has not improved. This was an issue with Campaign 2 (the post I cannot find touched on how Fjord and Veth's stories were cast aside or only engaged with using heavy headcanoning to make them more like the viewer because they were not explicitly textually queer, despite being explicitly racialized and about class) and it's gone metastatic in Campaign 3, and it really needs to stop.

I am hoping, still, that Campaign 3 serves as the endpoint of this sort of selfishness, and its fans will have some sort of realization (or, more likely if less good for the world, will leave this fandom to terrorize another) but I will say if this continues in C4 I will personally be calling it out in the moment - no more vagueing, if you say you're nauseated by someone bringing up their personal experiences with colonialism that happen conflict with your feelings about your blorbos you're getting nailed to the wall by name then and there and what happens to you is your business.

[hrrtshape]

not sure if this counts but ur method made me feel so disconnected from reality that i genuinely started questioning if i had already shifted and forgot. i don’t even think i entered anything, i think it was just realising that i was never here to begin with. super weird experience but i think it actually did something

okay okay okay first of all. eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!??!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!!?!?!?!??????!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!???!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!!!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?

idk i just got so excited i literally combusted mid-sentence. anyway OKAY BACK TO BUSINESS.

second of all. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. sweetpea. sugar muffin. this is quite literally the most perfect response i have ever seen to a method. like. i need you to understand. i am gripping you by the shoulders rn. IT’S BEEN LIKE 9 HOURS SINCE I UPLOADED IT ??? TOO???

like, okay. okay. think about it. EEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

so what i’m getting from this. is that my method did not just work. it worked. capital W. italics. underlined. sparkly gif letters. like you didn’t shift. you simply remembered. this is literally socrates’ theory of anamnesis. i am not even joking. shifting is just remembering. lovelie you ate so hard with this i could cry.

[novaursa]

Legacy (the silence)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be awear of unspecified time jump.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (slight descritpion of blood and gore)

- Previous part: across the dream

- Next part: the great war

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The wind howled through the towering cliffs of Casterly Rock, carrying with it the scent of salt and cold steel. Beneath the shadow of the great castle, the courtyard and the surrounding paths swarmed with men and banners, a sea of red and gold. The banners of the Westerlands stretched as far as the eye could see—familiar sigils of lesser houses loyal to the Lion of Lannister. The old roads, once worn by merchants and travelers, now thundered beneath the hooves of warhorses and the heavy tread of marching feet.

Tywin Lannister stood at the edge of the outer parapet, his gloved hands resting on the stone, his gaze sweeping over the columns of armed men pouring through the open gates. The force that had assembled was vast, perhaps the largest host the Westerlands had called upon in a generation, yet it was not as grand as it could have been in an age untouched by war and winter. Supplies were dwindling, and no matter how well-prepared he had been, no one had foreseen more then three years of endless night.

Kevan stood beside him, his face lined with quiet contemplation. “More arrive by the hour,” he said, his voice barely audible over the clamoring of men below. “Ser Myles Lefford rides at the head of the last host from the Golden Tooth, and the remaining forces from Deep Den and the Crag should be here soon.” He exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air. “This is the last of them, Tywin. Every sword sworn to us has come.”

Tywin’s expression did not shift, but his grip on the stone tightened slightly.

“These are all who could make it,” he corrected.

Kevan nodded grimly. They both knew there were men still trapped in smaller holdfasts, cut off by the unnatural storms that had ravaged the roads. Others had never made it at all, swallowed by the darkness or the creatures that now roamed freely in the deep woods. The Westerlands had always been a strong, untamed land, but it had never known fear like this.

Below, the banners of House Brax, House Marbrand, House Kenning, and more fluttered in the frozen wind as their lords dismounted and gave orders to their men. A chorus of shouting, the clank of armor, and the snorting of warhorses filled the air, but there was no raucous celebration. No laughter. No boasting. Only the solemn grimness of men who had come to fight their last war.

Ser Addam Marbrand approached on foot, his orange cloak dusted with frost. He dipped his head in a respectful bow to Tywin. “My lord, my men have settled within the lower halls as ordered. The horses are being stabled, and we brought as many provisions as we could carry. We left none behind.” He hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes flickering with something unspoken. “Some of my men say they saw shapes in the woods as we rode. Pale figures in the trees, watching but not attacking. We rode hard to outpace them.”

Kevan shifted uncomfortably. “How many?”

Marbrand shook his head. “Too many to count.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “It was wise not to engage. Whatever numbers they bring, they will break against these walls.” His gaze remained fixed on the sea of arriving soldiers, his mind already turning over every possible strategy.

He had spent his life making war against men—rebels, usurpers, fools who thought they could defy the might of House Lannister. He had crushed them all. But this was no war of banners and crowns. This was something older, something no man had ever conquered.

And yet, he would not bow.

Kevan exhaled. “Winterfell sends no word back with messengers. Neither does the capital.”

“That is not an accident.” Tywin’s voice was cold. “Someone ensures the realm remains deaf to what is happening.”

Marbrand frowned. “Could it be Daenerys?”

Tywin shook his head. “No. She lacks the subtlety.” He turned, his cloak billowing behind him. “Whoever is doing this, it is not to her benefit either.”

Kevan hesitated. “Then who?”

Tywin did not answer. He had spent the last weeks pondering the same question, and yet no answer presented itself that did not lead to a darker conclusion.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the arrival of another rider. Ser Myles Lefford, his golden breastplate dulled with frost, dismounted stiffly and strode toward them.

“My lords,” he said, bowing, “we met no resistance on the road, but there are whispers among the men. They speak of villages where the fires still burned, but not a single soul remained. No bodies, no signs of struggle. Only silence.”

Tywin turned fully to face him. “How many villages?”

Lefford’s throat bobbed. “Too many.”

Kevan muttered a curse, running a hand through his beard. “This is beyond raiding. They are wiping the land clean.”

Marbrand nodded grimly. “If they mean to starve us, they have already begun.”

Tywin stared at the growing mass of soldiers in the courtyard below. This was the last host the West would ever raise, the final force that stood between annihilation and survival. If they failed here, there would be no retreat, no second war.

He turned back to his gathered men.

“We will not cower behind these walls like frightened children,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold. “We have prepared for this. The Rock has stood for thousands of years and will stand long after we are dust. These things may bring the cold, but I will see them burn.”

Marbrand and Lefford bowed. “As you command, my lord.”

Kevan looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

Tywin cast one last glance at the forces still arriving.

Let them come.

He would make sure they paid in blood.

The war room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of wax and parchment, the heavy weight of impending doom pressing against the stone walls like an unseen specter. A great table stretched the length of the chamber, covered in a detailed map of Westeros, marked with carved sigils of their bannermen and the crude placements of their enemies. The Westerlands had gathered for their final stand, and all eyes now turned toward Tywin Lannister, the Lion of Casterly Rock, as he weighed their fates with the cold precision that had won him every war he had ever fought.

But this was no war of men.

The door creaked open, and the lords who sat around the table turned as you entered. You moved with the quiet grace that had been bred into you since birth, but there was something else in you now—something sharpened by years of survival, war, and the burden of knowledge you alone carried. As you stepped into the chamber, the gathered bannermen rose, offering you the respect due to both the Lady of Casterly Rock and a woman who rode a dragon.

Tywin looked up from the map, his expression unreadable as he gestured to the seat beside him. You took it without hesitation, feeling the weight of a dozen gazes settle on you. Kevan Lannister sat across from you, his brows furrowed, his hands folded over one another. Ser Addam Marbrand stood near the hearth, his face cast in flickering firelight, his fingers drumming idly against the pommel of his sword. Lord Lefford, Lord Brax, and the other lords of the West sat in quiet anticipation, waiting for the war council to begin.

It was Kevan who spoke first. “The last of our men have arrived. Every sword sworn to us is now within these walls. If we are to strike before the enemy reaches us, the time is now.”

Tywin gave a small, imperceptible nod. “And have they sent word from the capital? Anything or still nothing?”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“No, my lord,” Lord Brax finally admitted, his voice grim. “No word from the Crownlands, nor from the North.”

You shifted, your fingers pressing against the edge of the table. “Then it is as we feared—someone ensures silence reigns across the realm. We are being cut off from the world.”

Ser Addam Marbrand exhaled through his nose. “We cannot afford to wait any longer, my lord. If the North is lost, the Others will march south unchallenged.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing.

You leaned forward, your voice steady. “Then let me take Viserion and burn them before they reach us.”

The lords stirred at your words, some exchanging glances, others nodding in silent agreement.

Lord Lefford spoke up, his face lined with weariness. “She speaks sense, my lord. We do not know how many of them there are, nor how they fight, but if fire is truly their weakness, then we must use it before it is too late.”

Kevan hesitated. “We know fire can kill the wights. But we do not know if it can kill the Others. If they are truly creatures of ice, then perhaps dragonflame can undo them—but if not…” He trailed off, unwilling to speak the worst of it.

You turned to Tywin, watching as his jaw tightened, as the muscle in his cheek twitched ever so slightly. He was silent, thoughtful, but there was something else in his eyes. Hesitation.

It was rare to see Tywin Lannister unsure.

You softened your voice. “We cannot wait until they are at our gates, Tywin. The Rock may be impenetrable, but it is not invincible. If we allow them to gather, to grow stronger, then even these walls may not hold.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, but he still did not answer.

Kevan shifted in his seat. “She is right, brother. If we wait, we may find ourselves cornered, besieged by an enemy we do not fully understand.”

Ser Addam Marbrand, ever the strategist, leaned forward. “If we send her to test them now, we will know what we face before it is too late. We must learn if dragonfire can truly undo them. If it does not, then at least we will know the limits of our weapons before we make our stand.”

The lords murmured in agreement, their voices a mixture of conviction and unease.

But still, Tywin hesitated.

You reached for his hand beneath the table, pressing your fingers against his palm. It was a rare gesture, one done in the quiet privacy of your chambers, never in the presence of others. But now, with all of Westeros on the brink of destruction, you did not care for propriety.

He glanced at you then, his green eyes locking onto yours, searching.

You did not need to speak the words aloud. You must trust me.

For a long moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The lords, the war, the Rock—it all faded into silence.

Then, finally, Tywin spoke.

“You may go,” he said, his voice low, measured. “But you will not go alone.”

You arched a brow. “Who do you mean to send with me?”

Tywin turned to Kevan. “You will take a small force to accompany her. A dozen riders. No more.”

Kevan’s brows furrowed. “If she is flying, then there is no need for riders.”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “There is always a need for an escape plan.”

Your lips parted, but you did not argue. You could see it now—the barely concealed fear in his expression, the tightness in his shoulders. He was not a man who bent to fear. But this? This was different.

This was you.

And for the first time in all your years together, you realized what it meant for the lion to love a dragon.

Tywin turned to the room, his voice cold and commanding once more. “We move before the week is done. If this war is to be fought, we shall be the ones to strike first.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the lords.

You gave Tywin’s hand one last squeeze before releasing it, rising from your seat.

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze linger on your back, a silent weight that followed you as you exited the war room.

And you knew, without a shadow of doubt, that if you did not return—there would be no force in this world that could stop Tywin Lannister from razing it to the ground.

The air smelled faintly of parchment and herbs, a mixture of the maester’s study and the lingering scent of medicinal balms. You sat on the cushioned bench beside the table, your hands resting on your lap, fingers idly tracing the embroidery on your sleeve. Across from you, Maester Aldren finished his examination, his expression grave yet unreadable as he straightened and exhaled softly.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, with a measured tone, he spoke.

“You are with child.”

The words settled heavily between you, like the final grains of sand slipping through an hourglass.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was not unexpected—not entirely. You had felt the changes within you in the past few weeks: the subtle exhaustion, the way your body had begun to shift in ways you recognized from before. But to hear it spoken aloud, to have it confirmed in this moment—now, on the eve of your departure—was something else entirely.

Maester Aldren continued, unaware of the tempest brewing in your mind. “You are early along. No more than a few moons, but there is no mistake. Your body has already begun adjusting.”

Your gaze flickered down to your hands, to the pale skin of your fingers, as thoughts warred within you. Another child. Tywin’s child.

The timing could not have been worse.

A deep inhale steadied you. When you spoke, your voice was firm. “You will not tell anyone.”

Aldren’s brows furrowed, his weathered face etched with confusion. “My lady, surely the Lord of the Rock should—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice unwavering. “Not yet.”

Aldren hesitated. He was a maester of the Citadel, sworn to duty and knowledge, but he was also a man who had served your household for years. He had tended to Damon and Maelor since their birth, and he had been at your side through battles and winters alike. But now, he looked at you with uncertainty, as if weighing whether to challenge you.

Carefully, he folded his hands before him. “May I ask why?”

You exhaled, standing slowly, smoothing the fabric of your cloak. “Because if I tell him, he will not let me leave.”

Aldren’s expression darkened. “And is that not a good thing?”

Your eyes snapped to him, a silent storm swirling in their depths. “No,” you said quietly. “Because if I do not leave, we may all perish.”

Silence stretched between you.

Aldren sighed, rubbing his temple. “You ride into battle, my lady. With a child inside you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ride to ensure there is a future for my children—all of them.”

Aldren inhaled sharply, then released it in resignation. He knew you well enough to understand that your mind was made up, that no amount of reasoning or pleading would sway you.

“You must take care,” he murmured at last. “You must not overstrain yourself. And if you feel anything—anything—unusual, you will return at once.”

“I will,” you lied.

Aldren studied you, his gaze keen with scrutiny, but in the end, he nodded. He would not betray your trust, not now.

“I will do as you ask, my lady,” he said solemnly. “But this secret cannot be kept for long. You must tell Lord Tywin when you return.”

“When I return,” you echoed softly, as if speaking it into certainty.

But deep in your heart, you knew—if you did not return, it would not matter at all.

The cold air bit against your skin as you stepped into the courtyard of Casterly Rock, the darkened sky stretching endlessly above like an abyss without stars. The torches lining the perimeter of the fortress flickered wildly in the wind, their flames struggling against the unnatural night that had swallowed the world whole. The scent of damp stone, of leather and steel, mixed with the distinct sulfurous tang that always lingered when dragons were near.

Viserion emerged from the depths of the mines, her golden-hued scales gleaming even in the absence of true sunlight. Her wings stretched wide, sending gusts of wind through the courtyard as she let out a guttural rumble, sensing the purpose in the air. Her saddle, already secured, awaited you, the thick leather straps taut and ready for flight.

From the darkness of the mines, another presence loomed—Arraxes.

The young dragon lingered just beyond the threshold, his blood-red eyes cutting through the shadows like embers buried in ash. His serpentine form slithered closer, his nostrils flaring as he released a low, uneasy growl. It was not rebellion, nor was it defiance—it was hesitation. He felt the pull, the bond between himself and Viserion, his mother, his guiding flame. And yet, something deep within him warred against instinct.

Your heart clenched as you watched him, your gaze locking onto his unreadable, primal stare. You felt his longing, his indecision, the silent question lingering in his mind—why could he not follow? Why was he being left behind?

But after a long, agonizing moment, the young dragon released a huff and stepped back, retreating into the shadows of the mines. His glowing eyes were the last thing to vanish into the black.

The decision was made.

A gust of wind from Viserion’s wings snapped you from your thoughts, and you turned your attention back to the present. Your riders—loyal men who had trained tirelessly for this mission—stood at the ready, their steeds shifting restlessly beneath them. Their armor gleamed faintly under the torchlight, their eyes filled with a mix of apprehension and resolve.

And then, there was Tywin.

He stood apart from the others, his piercing green eyes fixed upon you with a gaze that burned deeper than any flame Viserion could conjure. He was clad in his riding leathers, his heavy fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders, but there was no mistaking the tension in his stance. He had known this moment was coming, but that did not make it easier.

You approached him slowly, the sound of your boots against the stone drowned out by the howling wind. You could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides as if resisting the urge to reach for you and keep you here.

"You will return," he said, his voice low, edged with steel. It was not a question. It was a command.

You exhaled softly, allowing a small, knowing smile to grace your lips. "Of course."

Tywin narrowed his eyes, his gaze searching yours, as if trying to find any trace of deception. "You will return," he repeated, this time quieter. "Do not make a liar of yourself, wife."

A flicker of warmth spread through you at the possessiveness in his words, but it was overshadowed by the weight of what lay ahead. You wanted to promise him everything, but promises were fragile things in times like these.

Your hand reached for his, fingers curling around his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin. "I will be back before you know it," you murmured. "And when I return, you will scold me for being reckless, and I will laugh and say you worry too much."

Tywin exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he muttered. "I expect I shall."

There was nothing more to say.

You turned, your fingers lingering against his for a moment longer before stepping away. The weight of his gaze followed you as you approached Viserion, each step measured, deliberate. The she-dragon lowered herself slightly, allowing you to climb into the saddle with practiced ease. The moment your hands grasped the reins, she shifted, restless, eager to take to the skies.

Your riders fell into position, their own mounts ready for the long flight ahead.

With one last glance at Tywin, you nodded once.

And then, with a powerful thrust of her wings, Viserion launched into the air, the ground falling away beneath you. The wind roared past your ears as the great she-dragon carried you higher and higher, her wings cutting through the endless night.

Below, the torches of Casterly Rock flickered like distant stars.

And Tywin watched, unmoving, until you were out of sight.

The deep black of the night pressed heavily against the walls of Casterly Rock, the vast stone fortress eerily silent save for the occasional crackling of the torches lining its halls. Outside, the wind howled against the cliffs, a distant, mournful sound that seemed to stretch endlessly into the void of the frozen world.

Maelor stirred in his bed, a small frown creasing his young face as a voice—her voice—whispered to him from the darkness.

"Maelor… Maelor, sweet boy, wake up."

His eyelids fluttered open, the voice wrapping around him like a gentle lullaby. It was familiar, impossibly so. His mother. But that was impossible. She had flown away with Viserion days ago, her absence leaving a hollowness in the castle that even the warmth of the dragonfires beneath the Rock could not chase away.

Yet, the voice persisted.

"Come to me, little lion. I'm waiting."

Compelled by something unseen, Maelor sat up, his small hands clutching at the heavy furs draped over him. The room was dimly lit by the embers still glowing in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Damon slept soundly beside him, his breathing steady despite the scars that marred his once-unblemished skin.

Maelor hesitated for only a moment before slipping out of bed, his bare feet padding softly against the cold floor. He did not think to wake his brother, nor did he question why his mother was calling for him when he knew she was far away. Some part of him—the part that longed for her warmth, her presence, the safety of her embrace—urged him forward.

The door creaked as he pulled it open, and the dimly lit corridors of the Rock stretched before him like the gaping maw of a beast. The flickering torches barely pushed back the shadows, but the voice guided him, soft and insistent.

"This way, my love… just a little further…"

Maelor wandered deeper into the darkened halls, his small frame swallowed by the vastness of the corridors. The deeper he walked, the colder the air became. The warmth of the Rock, the heat of the dragons below, did not reach these parts. The torches burned lower, their flames barely more than dying embers.

And then, he saw it.

A figure stood at the end of the hall, its form barely visible through the gloom.

At first, Maelor thought it was his mother—but it wasn’t.

It was too tall. Too thin. Its body was an unnatural shade of pale, almost translucent in the dim light. And its eyes—icy blue, glowing like lanterns in the dark bored into him with unnatural hunger.

It smiled, revealing jagged, needle-sharp teeth that glistened as if coated in frost.

Maelor felt his body go stiff, his breath hitching in his throat. A scream clawed at his chest, but his lips would not part. He could not move.

The creature lifted a long, skeletal hand and beckoned him forward.

"Come, little one. Your mother is waiting."

Maelor's feet shuffled forward against his will. He did not want to move, but something was pulling him.

The closer he got, the colder the air became. Frost coated the walls, forming intricate spirals that pulsed as if alive. His vision blurred, the world narrowing to the wraith-like figure before him. The blue light in its eyes expanded, swallowing his thoughts whole.

"Maelor!"

The spell shattered as a roaring explosion of fire illuminated the corridor.

The creature shrieked as a blade, engulfed in white-hot flames, slashed through the darkness.

Beric Dondarrion and his men rushed into the corridor, their weapons drawn, their torches alight. The glow of Beric’s sword cast long shadows along the walls, the flames flickering with unnatural intensity.

"GET BACK!" Beric bellowed as he slashed at the creature again, his blade carving a molten arc through the air.

The wraith recoiled, its shriek sharp and piercing, like ice cracking beneath unbearable weight. The blue light in its eyes flickered violently, its form twisting and shifting as if struggling to maintain its presence.

Maelor collapsed to the ground, his body released from its invisible hold. He gasped, his breath forming white clouds in the freezing air.

Damon skidded into the corridor just as Thoros of Myr lifted his hands, his voice booming with a prayer to the Lord of Light.

"R'hllor, great god of flame, cast out this darkness!"

A pillar of fire erupted from the torches, roaring down the corridor and engulfing the creature in a cascade of golden flames.

The wraith let out a piercing scream, its body contorting in agony as the fire consumed it. The glow in its eyes flickered once—twice—and then was gone.

The creature collapsed into ash.

For a moment, the only sound was Maelor’s ragged breathing as he stared at the spot where the thing had stood. His tiny hands trembled, his eyes wide with lingering terror.

Beric rushed to the boy, kneeling before him. "Are you hurt?"

Maelor shook his head, his lips trembling. Damon, pale-faced and breathless, hurried to his brother’s side, grasping his arm. "What were you thinking?" he demanded. "You—You just left—"

Before Maelor could answer, alarm bells rang out through the Rock.

Beric shot to his feet, his eyes snapping toward the direction of the castle walls.

Thoros wiped sweat from his brow, his expression grim. "That was just one," he murmured. "And it got inside."

Beric turned to the nearest guard. "Ring the bells louder. Get Lord Tywin—now."

The guard did not hesitate. He turned and ran, his armor clanking against the stone as he rushed toward the war room.

Maelor turned, looking up at his older brother. Damon’s scarred face was unreadable, but his grip on Maelor’s arm was tight—almost too tight.

The young boy swallowed.

Outside, the winds howled as if something was coming.

The wind tore through the skies, sharp as Valyrian steel, slicing through the furs that lined your shoulders. Viserion’s wings thundered against the frozen air, her pale scales reflecting the faintest shimmer of what should have been moonlight—but the sky above was a void of black, no stars, no light, only the oppressive weight of endless darkness.

Below, your riders moved in a steady formation, their banners flapping violently as their horses trudged through the snow-covered terrain. You could barely make them out beneath the swirling mist of ice and frost, but they were there—loyal men, brave men, following you into the unknown. The silence of the night was unnatural, the only sound the distant howl of the wind, a mournful wail that curled around the mountains and valleys, whispering of something unseen.

Then, the world shifted.

A wall of ice and snow erupted from the earth without warning, spiraling upward like a specter clawing its way from the abyss. The storm came alive, swallowing the riders below in a matter of heartbeats. One moment, they were there—the next, gone.

Viserion reared back, her wings thrashing against the violent gusts, the force of the winds shoving her sideways. You gritted your teeth, tightening your grip on the saddle, your fingers numb from the freezing air.

"No—no, no, no."

The snow howled, a deafening roar that filled the sky. It wasn’t a natural storm—it couldn’t be. The way it moved, the way it devoured everything in its path—it was something else.

Something unnatural.

"Viserion! Fly higher!" you commanded, but the dragon twisted in the air, her balance faltering. She, too, had lost direction.

You pulled at the reins, attempting to steer her, but there was nothing. No point of reference, no horizon, only the suffocating black.

Then—the screams began.

Muffled, distant, but unmistakable. The wails of dying men and the frantic shrieks of horses as something found them in the dark. The sounds were swallowed almost immediately, as if the very air itself refused to carry the echoes of their deaths.

Viserion bucked wildly beneath you, her body writhing.

"Dracarys!" you roared.

She obeyed, her mighty throat igniting as a torrent of golden-white flame erupted into the void.

It did nothing.

The fire vanished the moment it left her maw, consumed by the very darkness itself. It was as if the night had a hunger of its own, devouring the heat, the light, leaving nothing but the frigid chill of the abyss.

The cold sank into your bones—something was watching.

Then, you saw it.

The darkness broke.

The storm lifted, just enough for you to see what lay ahead.

Your breath seized in your throat, your heart slamming against your ribs.

An army.

An endless army.

Miles upon miles of them, stretching to the very ends of the world. Their armor was frozen over with rime, their flesh long decayed, but their eyes—all of them—burned blue.

They were waiting.

A thousand—ten thousand—a hundred thousand. Their weapons, their rotted banners, their skeletal steeds.

And at their center, it stood.

A figure upon an undead beast, a skeletal dragon with tattered wings of ice. Its rider—tall, gaunt, clad in blackened, frozen armor, its face obscured save for those impossibly bright blue eyes.

The Night King.

His gaze lifted to the sky, and though his expression did not shift, you felt his attention settle on you.

Then—the voice.

A screeching, wretched sound, not spoken but forced into your very skull. It was neither words nor whispers, but pain.

Your vision blurred, agony lancing through your skull like a thousand shards of ice. Your hands trembled against the reins, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.

Viserion screamed.

She twisted midair, writhing in pain as the sound tore through her skull, her mighty wings faltering. You clung to her, barely holding on as she spiraled, her shrieks echoing across the wasteland.

You didn’t know if you were screaming too.

The world spun.

Then—Viserion surged forward.

Her instincts overrode the pain, her body moving. She veered northward, desperate to escape the unseen force trying to drag her from the sky.

The Night King watched.

The wights watched.

The thousands upon thousands of dead watched.

And as you vanished beyond the storm, the voice echoed one last time—a promise.

"Soon."

[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD | RED HOOD (arkhamverse)

—

Jason w/ an S/O who has locs (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

SFW, 18+, minors dni, some smut, the reader-insert’s hair is long - some Caribbean-American!Reader as well

Pic source — Batman: Arkham Knight video game & Batman: Arkham Knight - Red Hood Story Pack DLC

Jason first sees you when you're coming out of the corner store, and he might be in a rush, but he remembers your hair: long and full with little naturally formed curls at some of the ends from when he’d knocked into you a little as you were going in and him out.

You’d sucked your teeth and cussed at him a little under your breath, but ultimately didn’t kick up much fuss after his low grunt of an apology.

He’d taken note of the accent, and the voice accompanying it, that had rolled off your tongue when you’d cussed at him though. Which he capitalized on the next time he was in your area of the Alley, recognizing you by your voice enough to strike up a conversation with you even though he’s in the middle of bulldozing through what’s left of the stubborn stranglers of Black Mask’s old operation.

Jason probably shouldn’t be hitting on you, but he doesn’t care and you don’t know any better. He is embarrassingly rusty at regular (non vigilante) socialization and too blunt at times. He’s pretty though, and with his scar relatively covered by the shadows cast by the big hood he slips back over his head part way through your conversation after you start fully watching him, and a little concealer, you don’t question the trouble he might get up to either. He’s able to secure a promise to meet up for coffee after giving you the number of his least incriminating burner like he’s a real boy or something too.

Some of the members of his militia (before they disbanded) that he was closer to had tried urging him to form some kind of life outside of ‘work’, so he figures he’ll at least try something casual with you now.

Eventually he’s been seeing you for long enough that he knows how much he finds your untouched hair and new growth adorable and knows about all the hangups you have with people automatically assuming your hair is dirty when you don’t have a fresh re-twist.

He likes to plant his hands in your hair and scratch at your scalp whenever you’re just chilling when you’ve got new growth best. Your roots are soft like that and he likes maneuvering around the bundles where each of your locs are sectioned off. Plus, how you shiver and press into his touch or bare your neck for him like there isn’t a knife in the sleeve of his motorcycle jacket that could be in his hand in seconds and groan happily is more therapeutic than he’d ever thought something so small could be.

After one long day of your stilted responses Jason comes up to your flat expecting to find you asleep during the last two hours left in the afternoon. What he finds instead is the aftermath of you having worked your ass off that Saturday and you using the last of the sun's rays to your advantage to dry your thick head of hair so your head doesn’t end up smelling like a wet mop at the end of the day.

You’re clearly a little tired when you greet him and Jason is a little shocked at just how much effort you put into your locs and their maintenance.

He’s seen you get ready most other days and do little more than oil your scalp, moisturize your roots, and rub the remaining oil on your palms over the actual length of your locked up hair to tame some of your locs’ fuzziness. The level of work you put into bigger more comprehensive wash days is definitely unexpected for him based on that.

It’s after that that he just asks if he can accompany you when he isn’t busy on your wash days so he isn’t being deprived of you for ‘no good reason’. It’s not too long after that when he asks if he can help you out, especially once he sees you getting ready to strip down for a shower.

Something which is only possible if Jason is comfortable with you seeing the ‘J’ brand carved into his cheek at all.

Acts of service, especially, are what he’s best at when it comes to connecting with you, but he might have to cajole you to agree. Being with you, also, is a reprieve from his skull busting as the Red Hood. A reprieve from the steaming piles of shit he faces every night. He actively cherishes and looks forward to his time with you even if you can’t always tell due to how hard Jason’s grisled face is to read.

Rough as his hands typically are (especially with you sometimes, when you’re hooking up) a part of Jason craves the open excuse he has to be soft with you when dealing with your locs.

He likes the show of trust from you, too, even if he’d hardly even admit that you being so open with him makes his stomach hurt and makes him want to duck his head like a nervous school girl with a crush.

The feeling of you relaxing into him more when his hands are so close to your throat is so overwhelming that first time that he has to grit his teeth so he doesn’t tear up anymore than he already is. He’s not a killer around you, not a mistake or a pawn or one large walking bruise, he’s just Jason; sometimes that can feel like a curse but that day it feels like a gift he won’t ever be worthy of deserving.

Good thing for him that he’s a selfish vindictive bastard and doesn’t care about what the universe thinks. It’s taken enough from him as is, he isn’t looking to defer to it for anything so ridiculous as permission.

You’re nervous and embarrassed as hell about soaking your hair in apple cider vinegar around him for the first time. It’s not just that the smell of diluted vinegar mixture in and of itself makes your nose permanently scrunch until you’re done and has you sneezing for just as long either; you’re detoxing your hair and getting rid of any product and/or dirt buildup, the liquid mixture in the basin won’t exactly be clear afterwards.

Jason doesn’t even give a shit, though, and is mostly just worried about the position of your neck as you’re soaking your locs. He knows it’s only twenty or so minutes but he’s worried anyway, and don’t let you start cracking your neck afterwards either, you’ll send that man into a frenzy.

He gives you a massage afterwards, calloused hands inexperienced and far too touchy for a masseuse, but effective enough to have you moaning. His voice gets low and breathy when you give way to him like this, and Jason ends up nursing a chub for the better part of the rest of your afternoon together.

He’ll do your locs outside if you prefer (so long as there’s shade for him to hide in while you take in enough sun for you both), but mostly you just go outside to let the sun catch the top of your head while you do some work so you don’t have to sit up underneath a dryer or hold a dryer up to your head for way longer than you’d like.

If you are outside though (for whichever reason) Jason always humors the neighborhood kids walking around or playing, even more than you’d initially thought he would. Anyone older who strikes up a conversation with you, too, Jason will passingly interact with, even if he leaves most of the conversation up to you and only really engages with the other person whenever you cue him into the conversation in some way.

He doesn’t tend to look at people head on when they’re actually paying attention to him, and it’s less so from anything like shame and more so because he’s angling his head down so nobody sees the scar, the brand. The gawking pisses him off so he’d rather just avoid it entirely.

Jason is also just fine with being the one to hold your hair dryer up to your head and move your locks around so every bit gets dry the way you need them to.

You help him figure out the direction that your locs twist (either clockwise or counter clockwise) so he doesn’t mess up the strength of your roots by twisting against their natural direction and thinning them out; he follows through with all the rest of your locs immediately.

You can see him contemplating whether or not he’s supposed to take the rat-tail comb to your head in order to retwist your locs before you slip it from his fingers and apply oil to his hands yourself, demonstrate how to palm roll your locs yourself, and then letting him have at it.

Even at his big ass age Jason’s legitimately terrified he might mess up your hair (and of your tears and retribution thereafter) and so he’s paying extra attention, but he also keeps having to rub his palms dry on his pants when you’re going over everything.

You might laugh at him about his nerves a little, but you’ve got a whole very specific and very purposeful hair care routine going on, he’s just trying to concentrate.

Despite how much you tease him for worrying about messing up your hair you still make sure to inspect the first of your locs that he oils and retwists — two mirrors, aerial pictures, and all — just to make absolutely sure he’s really got it.

Jason’s brows climb high up his forehead and he whistles when you pull out the bag you keep all of your hair supplies in.

He still makes sure to note the brands and the unique labels of your hair products just in case he wants to get you some later; he does not want to end up bumbling around the beauty supply store racking his brain for what you use and having to interact with more people than he definitely wants to.

He scoffs a laugh the second he realizes most of the bag’s contents are hair jewelry and beads. You just smile at him.

When one of your relatives sends over homemade coconut oil and you offer him some he nearly passes away he’s so frazzled. You hord that shit like it’s gold, he’s flattered you want to share with him.

He loves the way your hair supplies smell too, though he wasn’t quite ready for the smell of homemade coconut oil.

More often than not Jason will pull you close just to catch a whiff of the products you use. Usually though it’s when your scalp is free of your more heavier products and the natural scent of your scalp is prominent that he’ll stop you in the middle of you walking somewhere or come up behind you when you’re busy to wrap his arms around you and just plant his nose in your scalp for a few moments.

The first time he did this you called him a freak and then laughed so hard you started to hiccup. You love it though.

Jason carries oversized hair ties with him once you start regularly seeing each other in case you need a backup and so that he can put your hair up himself whenever need may be without having to worry about the elastic snapping.

Whenever you’re riding him he prefers for you to leave your hair down and let your locs hang around your head for as long as possible. Loves how you look above him with your hair haloing your ecstasy strewn face and the little curtain of intimacy it gives you two.

How solidly he’s able to fist your hair and pull is something he appreciates about your locs too. If he knows some of your locs are thin or otherwise in recovery he won’t pull on your hair though.

If you’re doing a bigger or more complicated style with your hair he likes to sit and watch you when he can. There’s likely something else he was supposed to be doing too but he can’t help but stop to watch how your lips purse in concentration or your eyes cross as you’re trying to look at the back of your head in the mirror.

He doesn’t typically interfere — and really he couldn’t if he wanted to considering he can barely put your hair into a decent looking ponytail no matter how effective they are at staying in — but if you’re struggling to get a loc in place or to wrap a bundle of your hair and he sees you getting frustrated and tired he’ll move to hold your arms in place to give you a break from holding them up to your head for so long. He might not kiss you but he will rub little circles into the brown of your skin to help ease how your muscles ache.

You get Jason some sympywyby (ie: an aloe plant) as a gift because it’s supposed to be low maintenance and because he’d mentioned certain grounding techniques people used in passing. Given how absentminded he can be, especially if he tells you about being the Red Hood and/or the Arkham Knight, you get him the plant to help ground him. It’s immature when you gift it to him and generally allows him to track the passing of time if he loses himself to the weight of his memories and doesn’t want you coming to visit him just in case he lashes out.

He goes out of his way to harvest some of the plant to make a gel for you to put into your hair. He forgets to cook out the toxins at first and so when you ask him about it and he looks at you blankly you laugh, fondly rolling your eyes with your phone to your ear, and just tell him you’re flattered anyway. The next night he’s got the toxins taken cared of and is brandishing a recycled jar of gel (from a past product you had that ran out) wrapped with a ribbon tied into an absolutely immaculate bow for you to take.

The first time Jason ever sees you put your hair up quick quick while you’re in a rush without a hair tie he squints for a few long beats. You take two-three of your locs and wrap them around the bundle of the rest of your hair in your fist and use those couple of stray locs like a hair tie before probably rushing in to help someone and his first thought is that you’re fucking amazing. His second thought is about why the fuck he’s been buying and carying around special hair ties for you if you could just do that the whole time?!

It’s because you don’t want to put too much tension on your roots, but he doesn’t know that yet.

If you’re putting hair jewelry or beads in your hair he always offers to help if he’s around. He likes helping you and inexplicably feels closer to you whenever he’s winding colorful thread around your locs or beading them or just helping you clip on decorations and jewels attached to spun wire.

When you jingle when you walk due to how much beads or rings you’re wearing in your hair he finds it more comforting than he’d like to admit that he’s able to pinpoint where you are instantly no matter how soft your movement. It’s good, too, knowing that you trust Jason so explicitly that it doesn’t even cross your mind to be worried about the fact that he can find you instantly when you’re around him.

Beads do make it harder for ayo to cuddle the way he likes though, so there is that downside even though he still thinks you’re pretty as fuck. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice.

The first time you lose a loc around Jason it’s because of stress, you’d been pulling at your roots and worn them thin, and when it just comes off in the middle of the two of you talking you’re so embarrassed you burst into tears right then and there. Jason panics hard and has no option with how incoherent you get through your tears but to fail at reassuring you there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and to throw every method he knows has cheered you up in the past at you until you stop. Breathing exercises are not off the table, and with Jason’s low cadence (even as boyishly overconfident as it could get sometimes) letting him coach you down isn’t too much of a struggle.

If you lose a loc just due to regular tension and traction then the same proceedings on Jason’s end will occur too, don’t worry.

Jason doesn’t hesitate to help you reattach and strengthen your loc(s) to the best of his ability. He’s gentle with your hair, fingers as precise as if he were connecting the wires of a bomb and his demeanor just as serious; his breath steady as it fans over the exposed parts of your scalp.

After he’s finished (and you’ve inspected his work) he pulls you onto his lap and you rest your head over his heart as he carefully massages oil into your scalp and curbs the urge he has to intermittently press kisses to your hairline by instead occasionally ghosting his lips over your hairline while you two talk.

He reassures you everything is honestly fine and when you pull him into an air stealing make-out session in thanks he grips you tighter and sighs into it, completely unphased when your hair knocks softly onto his face in turn. Even when your locs brush over the ‘J’ brand he doesn’t stop, can’t say he hates the feel of them catching against any of his scars in general and he’s got no idea why.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I honestly don’t have much else to say besides that.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[hella1975]

i miss girlblogging hiiii do u guys think of me every now and then. this is what capitalism stole from us

[serioussideblog]

If you’re looking for a long bus ride, try to go with Greyhound.

I know, I know, huge company, money, capitalism, etc. I know that. I agree, capitalism is out of control.

But, since we now know that Greyhound is a company that has good policies and practices with regards to immigration stuff and points people towards resources should they find themselves in a bad situation, that means we now know that Greyhound is a company worth spending money with if you are going to spend money on the service they offer.

Boycotting a company sometimes works because if a company doesn’t get money and it results from something bad they’re doing, they might stop doing the bad thing. It works in reverse if you spend your money at a company that aligns with your values.

And just so we’re clear: I don’t have any affiliation with Greyhound buses. I’m not getting any money out of this. I’m literally at home, in my pajamas, reblogging this good news about a bus company that I haven’t even thought of in almost a year now.

[taylorman2274]

Today Is Where Your Book Begins (Chapter I)

With the final chapter having concluded, the entirety of Teyvat has come to realize that everything in their life has been one massive storybook. Now they have broken free from their predetermined endings and wish to write their own story. While some remain content with their lives, others recall the reader of their story offering them many a helping hand in the past, and wish for them to witness their future.

Content Warning(s): An Attempt was Made to Guess Genshin Impact's Ending as of Version 5.3.

Notes: SAGAU, GN!Reader, Aether!Traveler, Lumine!Sibling

Word Count: 1k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Genshin Impact's story is over.

...Well to be more precise, the Teyvat arc of Genshin Impact's story is over.

The Traveler, Aether, was finally able to reunite with their sibling, Lumine; and after a long heart-to-heart conversation, they were able to hug it out in the end. To be honest, it left you a bit teary-eyed.

Now, nearly all of the playable (and yet-to-be-released) characters were gathered in an undisclosed location with Aether, Lumine, and Paimon taking center stage.

The crowd was cheering, whooping, and hollering. They praised the Traveler for all of his deeds, for he had become their hero from another world. He had spared them all from their predetermined fate.

Soon enough, a 'Speech! Speech! Speech!' chant began to grow from the crowd. You couldn't help yourself but join along with the chant as well. Aether could only chuckle and scratch the back of his head, a subtle blush forming on his cheeks. Eventually, he urged the crowd to quiet down and began to give an endearing speech.

The speech was truly one of the best things that the Genshin writing team had ever conjured up, and that was saying something! It involved a lot of heart-touching tributes, nostalgic memories, and kindhearted thanks to many of their friends.

Aether thanked the people from the eight nations for accepting them into their capital city. He thanked the Archons for helping them learn more about Teyvat as a whole. He thanked Paimon for being the best guide in the whole world. He thanked Lumine for finally coming back to him.

"...And thank you, Benefactor from Beyond the Stars, for bestowing upon me the strength needed to complete my journey. I hope that fate allows us to meet in the future."

...

...?

'Benefactor from Beyond the Stars?' you questioned yourself. 'Are they talking about me? I don't know anyone else who would fit that description.'

As the game let you gain control of your character and gave you the rewards for completing the Archon Quest, more thoughts continued to rummage in your mind. This chaotic mess that was your brain continued to clutter your mind until only a single thought was left more prominent than the rest.

...

'Holy shit Genshin just made me canon.'

...

...

...

'Probably one of my greatest achievements to be honest.'

Looking at the time, you see that it's approaching midnight. Given that your day tomorrow is packed to the brim with various tasks and activities, you decide to log off and get some sleep.

"Alright, Genshin," you spoke to your computer with a fond gaze. "It was fun while it lasted. Y'all have fun without me."

You exited the game, closed the launcher, and shut off your computer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You don't know what you have until it's gone."

Aether has heard this quote many times before, but he's never liked it that much. He's always known what he's had:

Lumine.

Lumine is everything to Aether just as Aether is to Lumine. That's how it has always been throughout their lives. They were inseparable up until their encounter with the Unknown God. How can you not know something inseparable from you?

It wasn't until recently that Aether heard another version of this quote that seemed to align with his point of view better.

"Appreciate what you have before time makes you appreciate what you had."

500 years had come and gone before the two siblings were able to reunite again. They are always constantly worried for each other, that something fatal might happen to them, permanently separating the two forever.

But they don't need to worry about that anymore. They are finally back together.

All thanks to Paimon. All thanks to the seven Archons. All thanks to their many friends across Teyvat.

...

All thanks to their one friend not from Teyvat.

The Benefactor from Beyond the Stars.

Although Aether was aware of them since that fated day on the beach underneath Stormbearer Point, he was powerless to push them away without his former strength.

At first, he was afraid. He could not control any part of his body. Not when he was only a puppet in the eyes of this being.

He hated not being in control. It reminded him of what it felt like to be weak.

Then, he became curious, the being didn't seem to wish him harm. Instead, it appeared as if the being was wishing him to succeed. Slowly but steadily, the being helped him regain his former strength. All the while not asking for anything in return.

'What could they possibly want from me?' Aether pondered.

Then, he became content. Eventually, he began to learn the being's tendencies when fighting and what they wanted to expect out of him. They became two minds in one body, flawlessly traversing the environment and slaying any opponents that stood in their path.

This feeling of always knowing somebody's got your back. Somebody who is on your power level and can match your fighting prowess.

...They haven't had this feeling since they lost Lumine.

Then, he understood. Teyvat is a storybook. The ley lines are the words on the page. The people are characters. Their destinies are just endings written down by the Primordial One, the author. They have never had a choice in their lifetime. Everything has followed according to the words on the pages time and time again.

This being, the one who has been with them since the beginning of their journey, is a reader.

A reader who wishes to change the storybook so that its ending is incomplete. That way, the people within the book will be able to write as many pages of their own destiny as they want until they sign off on their own ending.

When Alice first told them this, he and Paimon were more shocked than they had ever been before. This was the secret that the Hexenzirkel had been secretly guarding throughout their entire existence?

It was honestly hard to believe.

Nevertheless, he is extremely thankful to the reader for helping him throughout his journey. Just as he is towards Paimon and their friends across Teyvat.

In all honesty, words may not be enough to describe how thankful he is. Paimon and all of his friends can probably see that.

So when he decided to thank the Benefactor from Beyond the Stars during his speech, knowing that they were present.

"I hope that fate allows us to meet in the future."

He absolutely meant it when he said that.

They deserve to be rewarded for their hard work; And by the Archons is he going to find a way meet them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Notes: Ta-da! A new series has arrived!

I hope that the way I've portrayed Teyvat was easy to understand, it's unlike anything that's been written in the SAGAU fandom to my knowledge.

I'll be going back through this over the next couple of days for any errors or misspellings I may have written. Probably gonna be a bunch of POV mistakes. But otherwise, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this new series!

[theladyvalkyrieskyeart]

Now that we got lore, I find it very fascinating that the Trigun Stampede site had to inform us Meryl came from a wealthy family.

I have questions, particularly how in this hostile environment did her family obtain wealth in such a short period of time? Hmmmm?

Seriously, what's going on? Who are the Stryfes?

[a-sassy-bench]

do able-bodied people not understand that if disabled people call out of work every time they don't feel good that we would call out of work every fucking day?

like honestly. what do you think being disabled means?

[mooseontape]

There is no such thing as a small business car dealership. Anyone who literally owns something like that is actively for and benefiting from both the exploitation of the Earth and of labor world wide and in their community as well.

Why the fuck would I even begin to care for someone who hoards and creates harmful resources, who push for car centric living standards and who increase prices every year and view cars as simultaneously a luxury fit for only those deserving of mass chaces of money and also a requirement for social living. FUCK OFF. CAR DEALERSHIPS WILL NOT EXIST POST CAPITAL AND I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR ANYONE INVOLVED IN THEIR EXISTENCE OR ADMINISTRATION.

I say this as someone who's living situation is provided and paid for buy 2 small business owners. Get over the idea of the Petite bourgeoisie. Many people come to accept the idea that there is no ethical consumption under capitalism but they don't realize, THERE IS NO ETHICAL WAY TO PARTICIPATE IN CAPITALISM PERIOD.

There is no good small business owner that in no way exploits or demeans it workers in some way because the debasement of workers is INHERENTLY BAKED INTO CAPITALISM.

Sure there are ways you can be kinder, less exploitive and more democratic with your workplace, but those practices are actively punished by capitalism and the governments seeking to enforce its grasp on hegemony.

Listen I don't want to be a downer here but shit is about to get worse for workers in the U.S. and unfortunately probably world wide.

If you think the managers, administrators, corporations, or owners, of your workplace or local (even small) business aren't going to seek out harmful and exploitative practices as they become more normalized and actively legally encouraged, you are living in ignorance. Begin to hate those who hold power over you before they convince you your subjugation is a moral failing and the only way to reconcile is to toil harder to prove your worth to the system which consumes human life and spits out cash.

Your labor IS BEING EXPLOITED, EVEN THE ART YOU DO IN YOUR FREE TIME has become a way to train the models they intend to replace us with.

If you think your safe from being consumed by the economic system we live under, I hope you realize that things could very quickly get very bad for you.

I have personally been crushed and targeted by hateful, bigotted and capitalist brained managers multiple times. All it takes is someone you think is safe getting replaced or ousted or even just reprimanded by their higher up. Capitalism and it's administration is moral poison and will cloud your eyes of the human suffering you cause and encourage.

There is no small business, good person, doing the right thing car dealership owner.

And like hey maybe get rid of some of that anti graffiti mindset. IF A SMALL BUSINESS OWNER DID THE FUCKING NAZI SALUTE I SURE HOPE SOMEONE WOULD TAG THEIR BUSINESS LABELING THEM NAZI

THATS WHAT THEY ARE!!!

[softer-ua]

So I’ve been joking for a while about how Inko manages to afford all of Izuku’s AM merch

But I decided to nerd out and look closer, and I’m pretty sure the only expensive piece Izuku owns is the poster he got from Sir

You might think his dorm looks absolutely stacked

but that’s only because it’s a very small room and he brought every piece he owns

If you look in his old room it’s all the same posters

so he’s owned it all for at least a few years, he’s been working up to this for god knows how many years, just to be the proud owner of 5 posters so basic even he would put tape on them

All of his figures are less than 50$

One of which he’s had since he was a child

And it doesn’t look like the other unidentified figures are anything special either(except maybe AM in his yellow suit)

Izuku only has generic fanboy shit, like maybe one of the posters is a custom but I honestly I don’t think he owns a single special anything

The dead guy poster is 100% the coolest thing he has, no wonder he’s so reverent about it 💀

As for fits this is all we’ve really seen is

So yeah Inko isn’t dropping stacks on merch, I’m pretty sure those sweaters were a 2 for 1 deal because they’re almost identical 💀

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS x Brazil (1985)

(Yes. Real movie dialogue)