#war is over || post second war

[mctherslove]

@mugglebrn liked for a starter !!

Narcissa hadn't been particularly thrilled at Draco's choice of partner. Being friends with Potter and Weasley had been enough, but to get enamoured with someone the likes of her -- a mudblood -- was the worst of it all. She had gotten an ear full from her son when she mentioned she had sent Hermione an owl -- requesting her to meet the older woman for lunch, and had promised to be on her best behavior. Lucius had no idea -- and she kept it that way until she was certain she knew how to keep her husband from getting too angry with their son. At the end of the day, there was nothing she cared more for in the world than Draco -- and if it meant having a lunch with someone she despised, then that was what mattered.

So she sat, dressed as eloquently as ever, with her hands folded on the table in front of her as she waited for the young woman.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

Of the 19 hijackers who carried out the Sept 11 attacks:

15 were from Saudi Arabia (a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)

2 were from the United Arab Emirates (also a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)

1 was from Egypt, 1 from Lebanon.

None of the hijackers were from Iraq.

None of the Sept 11 hijackers were Iraqi.

None of the 9/11 hijackers were from Iraq.

[odakota-rose]

so many gems in the Doctor Who script library the BBC just released but today I'm here in 4x02, The Fires of Pompeii

[mctherslove]

“As are you. The only difference is, I always manage to win.” A smirk grew on her lips as she spoke, her fingers still slowly moving through his hair. She watched as he relaxed into the touch, and despite the smugness of him relaxing into the touch — the concern never left her expression. She despised when he got like this, when he got hyper-focused on work and was no longer taking care of himself. Narcissa relaxed when his arm wound around her and pulled her into his lap, easily draping herself across his lap. She hummed softly, leaning into the kiss on her jaw and she nodded. “I told you, I always manage to win.” She didn’t move to get off of his lap, but instead found herself curling into his chest — resting her head on his shoulder as her arms wrapped loosely around him. Her nose skimmed along his neck as her own eyes fluttered closed, a content sigh falling past her lips. “You’ve trapped yourself,” she mumbled, brushing her lips against the pale skin of his neck, “You’ve put me here and now I don’t want to move.”

Eyes followed Narcissa's movements, watching as she settled on the arm of the chair. He should've known she wouldn't just accept his answer. "My darling, you are too stubborn for your own good." His head tilted back, eyes fluttering as he relaxed into the movement of her fingers in his hair. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with his arms around her. However, there was growing pressure on him. It felt suffocating. He leaned against her, his arm wrapping around her waist and gently tugging her down onto his lap. Lips pressed a kiss to her jaw. "You've broken me down. I'll retire with you and wake early to do the letters."

[lxvi-gloria]

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him. 

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away. 

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area. 

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back. 

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?” 

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter. 

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.” 

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told. 

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues. 

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion. 

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them. 

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off. 

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding. 

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?” 

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.

[summercosmos]

nothing in this world has pissed me off more than this scene. FUCK OFFFFFFFFFFFFF leave that teenage girl alone!!!!!!! HELLOOOOO. a GROWN WOMAN with KIDS saying this mind you. Never they could NEVER make me like u

[king-spite]

so it seems the poppy war has become my absolute favorite series so ofc i'm losing my mind comparing every scene with my other favorite series (red queen) and making an unfathomable amount of headcanons

[psychomusic]

so. I've been reading some posts on the jedi order tag AND i won't talk about my opinion on "are jedi good or bad discourse" BUT i wanna point out some lore to everyone who's complaining about the jedi taking kids into their order: (in the EU) it wasn't always like this.

if you take swtor era (more than 3000 years before the prequels) there were many jedi who joined at an older age. like, for example there was a guy who broke his engagement to become one. most jedi remember their families because they were old enough when they decided to go.

THEN in darth bane's book trilogy (circa 1000 yesrs before the prequels) there is a passage where two sith lords are talking about taking bane, already an adult, to study at korriban. one doubted him because he was too old, ans the other told him he sounded like a jedi, and that ONE DAY jedi will have to accept only kids into their ranks if they really want to find "pure" people that can learn their lessons quicker.

one day!! so it wasn't always like that!! the ongoing wars with the sith, who corrupted and killed many of them, had pressured them into taking always younger people into their ranks.

also, consider a thing that this video explains super well: training to become a jedi is not like exercising, because there is a transformative lesson at the end of the training that changes everything. you can't just do as much as you can, but not finish.

the transformative lesson, as the video explains, is that through the force, everything is the same - from rocks and ships to life and death. at the end of the training you have to understand this fundamental truth.

yoda says "you have to unlearn what you have learned". during times where they were constantly killed off or corrupted by the dark side (and if you haven't learned this lesson you are more susceptible to this corrupting), younger people were taken in to actually finish their training (a training that was ultimately about being a good person AND that you could leave at any point if you weren't sold on that, too)

(remember that for the sith failure = death. like. that was the alternative for force sensitive kids. it's not like sith had any moral problem with taking kids away without consent. sith don't have moral problems: they believe that them being stronger in the force means they can do whatever they want as long as their strong enough to go and do it. there are MANY passages in many different star wars stories, even in different mediums, that say this out loud)

AND (this is more of a critical thought than just stating the lore) the fact that they started doing it out of necessity doesn't mean it's 100% good BUT you know. the whole set up of the prequels is that we're starting off the story in a period of crisis and decadence all around. most of the systems of the times were about to fall. OF COURSE they had problems. if they didn't, we wouldn't have the story to begin with.

that doesn't automatically mean jedi = bad and sith are better, tho. you wouldn't take the last, chaotic and decadent period to jugde something, would you? it's like deciding that the athenian democracy sucked because people at the times of Demosthenes failed at recognizing the new schemes in which the world was evolving into, and still believed that their city would be important as it had been in the previous century. They just didn't fucking expect the Macedons would conquer half the world known and more, and have the subsequent political power. Still, their experiences in the 5th century with democracy were very good, even better than ours on many fronts, if you contextualize a little. the jedi had flaws, and most importantly, they didn't fucking know the future and everything that ever happened, ever, so they made mistakes. that doesn't automatically make the system ill, or bad, or not-working. systems can have setbacks when the world changes. (just like athenian democracy had one when they lost the empire that was funding the democracy. they even had a tyranny for a while and then fixed the problems. that doesn't diminish retrospectively their democracy)

[mordremrose]

“I’m not him.” The words were choked, strangled even. Caithe set aside the journal she was writing in, and turned to see Bloom. “Who?” She asked, even if she already knew who he was talking about. “Trahearne.” Bloom muttered, his massive form slowly shuffling forward. “I’m not- I tried, but I can’t—“ He paused and a low rumble rattled the lower portion of his strange form, the plates of bark rising in agitation. His tail lashed and his hands dragged over his face. His palms caught on the spines along half his face and he winced. “I know you all see him. In me. You want me to be him.” Bloom seemed to deflate, sinking down to the ground. All of his limbs folded inwards, curling around his torso and Caithe swore she saw him tremble. “But I can’t. I can’t, I’m sorry—“ “Bloom.” Caithe spoke gently, standing up and coming closer. His eyes were squeezed closed, she noted. He didn’t open them to look at her, until she reached out and laid her palm on his massive front limb— paw? She still wasn’t sure. “Bloom. Look at me. Please?” She repeated, gently as she could manage. Caithe was not a woman well versed in being a comforting figure, in being someone who offered their shoulder to one in need. But Bloom needed her. He chose to come to her, about this. She could only imagine the courage it must’ve taken him to trust her with this, after everything. Slowly, Bloom opened his eyes and leaned down, so his massive head was closer to her. He still curled his arms in around himself, clawed fingers making grooves in the thicker bark along his arms. Now Caithe could see the tears welling up in his golden eyes, and her heart ached. She could see her brother in his face, or perhaps she merely imagined she could. But his eyes, glowing amber in a way that made part of her mind want to vanish and hide away from his gaze... that was not Trahearne. And it never would be. “I’m sorry, Bloom.” She murmured, stepping towards his face. “For making you believe you had to be him.” Caithe hesitated before she reached out, gentle as she wiped away the tears at the corners of his bad eye. It was a little easier for her to avoid the massive thorns along his cheek and jaw, she told herself, but Bloom leaned into her touch and she knew it wasn’t that simple. “It is cruel, to expect you to be a man you have never met.” Caithe muttered. “You cannot choose to be someone you are not.” Briefly, unexpectedly, a memory surged in her mind- a memory of Trahearne saying something similar to her once, years ago.

“You are not as cruel as you pretend to be Caithe. I think we both know that.” He said, his voice calm but sad. Caithe pretended to ignore him. “…I miss Wynne too, you know. And Riannoc as well. It is okay to mourn, Caithe.” “I don’t need a lecture, Trahearne.” “I am not here to lecture you.” Trahearne’s hand came to rest on her hand, steadying her grip on the vial of poison she was preparing. “Aife told me about Faolain leaving the Grove. I promise you, Caithe, you are not alone. You do not have to harden your heart. You do not have to be someone you are not.”

She had yanked her hand away from him back then, snarled something about not needing him to tell her who she was, and stormed off, not ready to confront her feelings, never mind share them. Caithe took a deep breath, letting her hand simply rest against Bloom’s cheek. “You do not have to be someone you are not, Bloom. Just because you do not know who that is yet, does not mean that you have to pretend.” She said, meeting his eyes. “I am sorry, Bloom, truly, that we… that our expectations—“ She shook her head. “We have made you feel this way. It isn’t fair to you. And for that, I can only offer my apologies, and try to do better.” Caithe hesitated. This was where her knowledge faltered. Was this when she offered a comforting hug? Could she hug Bloom? His size certainly made it questionable, and the pain he has described to Taimi made her wonder if a hug would even feel pleasant in his situation, or if it would just be another reminder of how out of place he was among the rest of Dragon’s Watch. Between Bloom and the Commander... she had a life time of apologies ahead of her, and not the kind that hugs would be enough to bridge the gap. “Caithe.” Bloom muttered, and even though he spoke quietly, she could still feel the depth of his voice in her chest while standing this close. “Yes?” “Thank you.”

[plusultraetc]

oh how the poor sleeping habits tables have turned

[mctherslove]

“Unfortunately.”

It wasn’t unusual for a lingering hand on her lower back, or to have men lean in and mutter something in her ear. She didn’t mind it. It was all part of her role in the games they played. The men in power wanted things they couldn’t have — most of them married themselves trying to toe the line, push the boundaries of the other powerful man who had graciously invited them into his home. They were always seemingly innocent gestures — a hand on her lower back as they leaned in to speak with her, a gentle grip on the elbow to get her attention. Gestures that appeared innocent, but caused glances and glares in her direction from the women they had brought with them those evenings. She always moved away from the touch, redirecting her attention to said women. It was how she found the cracks in their foundations — how she used just simply existing to get subtle information that turned into much larger information from their wives when Narcissa apologized for their husbands doings. It got the wives to talk, to trust she wasn’t out to steal their husbands from them — and she barely had to lift a finger to do it.

“However you see fit to punish them, my love.” There was a smirk against his flesh, before a soft gasp filled the air when his fingers found her golden trellises and tugged her head back for their eyes to meet. The warmth in his smile caused her own to grow, her hand moving to rest on his jaw at the gentle kiss placed upon her lips. “Watch. Assist. So long as my hands don’t get too dirty,” her lips returned to worshipping his flesh, “But you know how much I love watching.” Her grin grew when he pulled her close aa her tongue darting out to wet her painted lips and lifting her head to look at him once more — listening to his requests.

A low hum fell past her lips as she removed herself from him for a moment so she could change her position on his lap. Her silk skirt from her dress pooled at her hips while her nylon covered legs straddled his lap — revealing the previously mentioned garters that kept the stockings on her legs. She easily settled back down onto him, guiding his hand to it’s previous position on her hip and then draping her arms lazily over his shoulders. She craved this just as much as he had — between having to parent and with him being gone, she missed him. Missed their connection — in more ways than one.

“I’ll allow it,” she breathed, resting her forehead against his — and hoping that didn’t sound as desperate as she felt, “Where ever and however you’d like.” One hand tangled itself within his locks while the other moved down his neck to his chest to slowly work on the buttons of his shirt. “You have my permission.” He always did — but him asking never ceased to amaze her. It was then she caved — tipping her head to close the distance between them once more and capturing his lips with her own.

How treacherous his body felt, unable to decide whether it wanted to angle itself towards where her hands touched or to hurridly seek the warmth of her lips and their delicious temptation. But he could have both, he would have all of what she wanted to give, and all that he wanted…needed to take. “ Some touched? ” A smile that gave away coldness and a blatant yearning to hunt and hurt those undeserving to step over the threshold of their home. Their invitation there was to be useful, to be used. Nothing more. And yet some were as dumb as they were useless. There were a few that he would need to be a bit more delicate with, and others that he could enjoy breaking.

“ You can tell me what you want me to do to them? Do you want to watch? ” Moved the hand that had not been slowly moving under the layers of her dress, long fingers inching into silken hair before he grabbed, enough to make her look at him. A more genuine smile, a peck on the lips before he dropped his hand back against the couch, and his fingers soothed where he had tugged before moving down her back. For a moment he listened, eyes closing as her lips moved down his neck. The way his body responded was instantaneous, pulling her firmer against him, his hand now gripping her hip.

“ You can go shopping, buy whatever you need. What I want to do… besides not having to think about the sycophants from the Ministry, is to get you out of this dress. Leave the jewels, but just them…and maybe your garters. I need you, now. Will you allow me that wife? ” It was their little game, their little dance. It wasn’t always the same. At times it was far quicker and more aggressive. Less talking, just bodies colliding, sweat, and moans. After Draco was born, their first few times had been slow, and unhurried. But soon both of them demanded more.

And yet, on nights like these. Alone, and draped over each other, they played…to see who would break first, who would lose control first, who had the upper hand? It had been a while, there was never time, there were too many functions, too many obligations, and both of them too tired to really spend time around each other, but tonight was different, and he was determined that was how it was going to be over the weekend.

[kindahoping4forever]

🚨 Ashton throwing the final dice at The 5SOS Show Tour Prague 🚨

[yardsards]

little man investigates a lamp

[wonder-worker]

"The division between the two families [the Woodvilles and the Nevilles] and their allies can be seen in the royal charters that they witnessed. Warwick, Rivers and Archbishop Neville of York, while serving as chancellor and afterwards, were fairly constant witnesses to royal charters and consequently often appeared together. This was not, however, the case for other family members and friends. From 1466 to 1469, if Scales or Woodville associates like Sir John Fogge, John Lord Audley or Humphrey Lord Stafford of Southwick witnessed royal charters, then members of the Neville group, such as John Neville, earl of Northumberland, or John Lord Wenlock would not, and vice versa. Discounting the ubiquitous Warwick, Rivers and Archbishop Neville, of the twenty-four charters issued between February 1466 and June 1469, twelve were witnessed by men associated with the Woodvilles, eight by men associated with the Nevilles and two were witnessed by no member of either group beyond the two earls at their heads and the archbishop; only two charters, both from 1466, featured associates of both families.

Such striking segregation of witnesses suggests that something more than simple convenience or availability was at play. [...] The evidence of these witness lists does show the extent of the split between the two groups from early in Edward's [first] reign and of the need for political society to work with that cleavage in the heart of the Yorkist regime."

— Theron Westervelt, "Royal charter witness lists and the politics of the reign of Edward IV"

*This is specifically applicable for Edward IV's first reign; in contrast, the charters in his second reign displayed a great deal of aristocratic and domestic unity and cohesion.

[mwagneto]

i think what's really been getting to me the past few months is the realisation that i dont relate to literally any of the mental health stuff i see anywhere. like whenever there's some affirmation or motivation or just relatable-sounding posts in general they all seem like such common problems and it's like, damn i literally dont experience any of that. and yet im still crumpling. something uniquely wrong with me

[wayward-sherlock]

GRIEVING AND MOURNING AND GRIEVING AND MOURNING AND GRIEVING AND MOURNING AND