#we do not support misogyny in this house

[zluty-spendlik]

WAKFU REDESIGN AND REWRITE SERIES – PART 1

Evangelyne

Evangelyne used to be my favorite character growing up, which kind of sucks since she’s one of the flattest characters considering how much screentime she has.

Even when I was a little kid and watched this show I found it annoying how she was constantly drooled over by the guys and these days its pretty obvious she’s a very stereotypical not-like-the-other-girls girl, created solely to be Percedal’s (the literal incarnation of the expected target audience) love interest.

SHE EVEN HAS THE WHOLE „I let my hair down and now am so much prettier“ ARC HAPPEN FRICKING TWICE IN THE SPAN OF. WHAT- 5 EPISODES???

Evangelyne is a misogynistic character on so many levels, the only Eva-centric episodes we get are either ones she needs saving in (like Vampyro or the pirate one), or when she has a love arc with Percedal (the whole Rubilaxia shtick, or the tree of Life episode).

Honestly the only bearable scenes where she shows up are those where she interacts with Amalia and even those get twisted into weird sexist tropes: Evangelyne critisizing Amalia for buying too much clothes, or overall cringing at Amalia’s „too girly“ behaviour.

Even when they have a touching conversation after freeing Amalia’s father from the Tree of Life, Amalia immediatelly brings up Percedal and fails the Bechdel test.

I won’t even touch the Cleophée (or Cleome in english) trainwreck  the writers pulled in season 2 or the whole pregnant-damsel-in-distress thing she had going on in season 3- I didn’t watch season 3 and 4 mostly because I got so mad after the misogyny happening in the first episode and I didnt want to ruin my already fragile excitement over the series.

But don’t get me wrong – Even tho Wakfu has a lot of potential for growth, I still love the series dearly, and would love to give the characters justice. It is important to note that I am not a professional writer and Im mostly doing this for my own indulgence, so please feel free to throw constructive critisism towards me.

Character rewrite

We don’t know much about Evangelyne’s backstory, or rather her story before she meets Amalia – And in my head as a kid, I always assumed she was an orphaned kid basically living on the street with Cleophée, until someone (presumably Armand, since he has a long-term crush on her and Amalia hated her at first) took pity on her and took her to the palace (once I figure out Cleophées design Ill explain what happens with her).

Fast forward a couple years, Eva is officially Amalia’s bodyguard, yadayadayada.

Important thing is, that this shapes Evangelyne’s personality and self-perception –

I have divided my potential Eva Arc into 3.5 Categories:

Self-protection and perservation

Eva knows how dangerous the world can be (streets) and how serious her job is, but she’s only seventeen. She takes her job way too seriously, in the sense that she doesnt trust anybody they meet (which is especially shown when they meet the Tofu gang). She doesn’t want anyone but Amalia close and deep down, she’s scared of other people.

She is horrible at teamwork, which only frustrates her and everyone around her. She fails to see the affection Amalia has for her, because her entire self is just a bodyguard.

She doesn’t know who she is without that.

Depression

Dally’s sacrifce absolutely traumatizes Eva, both in the canon and my version. It doesnt need to be seen as romantic tho (we’ll get to that). On top of that AMALIA BRIEFLY DIES AND COMES BACK. Can you HEAR Evangelyne’s entire purpose crumbling down?

In her head, two people just died because of her.

Besides, Percedal sacrifices himself because he cares for her. Not as a „coworker“ or a teammate, but as a friend and Evangelyne cannot fathom that sort of service and relationship.

And even though she failed, her friends are there to support her.  Eva learns compassion.

Self-destruction

However, she now feels she has to „make up“ for her lack of compassion and her failings as a bodyguard. Long story short, she completely flips to the other extreme, basically throwing herself in any sort of danger to protect her friends  (hence when she hears Dally, she immediatelly goes to Rubilaxia). In the show this is less extreme but portrayed as her real and true personality: more reckless and adventureous – but i think the writers just wanted Eva to finally have something in common with Dally (which, btw, uncool), but I’d like this to be portrayed as a bad thing.

Eva fails to see that she’s hurting herself and fails to recognize herself as a person rather than basically a human shield. This arc climaxes in the Cleophée episode and Eva learns that compassion is not transactional, or something to be earned.

Her true self

Evangelyne's final form! We dont know much about Eva's hobbies other than her job and fighting skills, HOWEVER Dally mentions Eva taught him tracking at one point and tbh Evangelyne being a ranger or just studying nature fits her pretty well imo! She is also canonically artistic (as confirmed by the journal she keeps).

I take issue with Evangelyne always being seen as the “mom of the group”. Yes, she's smart and responsible and caring, but that's her job, she's an older sister, less of a mother figure and more of an equal to the others in the gang.

Design

In s1, Id like her to wear a lot of armour with chainmail directly on her skin (haha get it because trust issues), and with a mostly green colour palette, cause, Sadida kingdom yk.

In her s2 look, she throws away most of her armour and self perservation instincts and since her personality completely flips, so does her colour palette - red! The first aid kit is gone and she wears an ascot now (a torn bit from Dally's cape lol).

And finally, i made her a furry I gave her some gadget shoes from Cleophée, helping her move faster, I put some of the armour back and made her hair longer. Her colour palette now consists not only green, but also the "Yugo blue", which i plan on incorporating in everyone's final design :D

AND FINALLY, AN ART DUMP

[buttercuparry]

Please read the post in full and do not skip!!

We all have our dreams and desires, but currently for many people, dreaming alone has become a luxury for the world is hellbent on denying them their humanity.

It has been well over a year of Palestinian genocide and people lost their homes, their families and even their dreams. One such story is of my friend Mahmoud Abu Hamam ( @ma7moudgaza2 ) who was an engineering student and dreamt of completing his degree and starting a life of his own. However at only twenty years of age, the dream of his life was taken away from him and he now spends his time in a tent, cold and often hungry, trying to communicate with people and requesting them to pay attention to his campaign. The only thing Mahmoud dreams of now, is for an end to this occupation, to this genocide so that he may live in a warm house and sleep in a warm bed. He hates that to the world he is just a number, to be talked about broadly in debates and that no one knows him or tries to see him as a person. He hates that he is just another fundraiser on a social media site and how the world cannot see that he has been reduced to this one identity on the internet, because of the violence of the occupation. As of now even his campaign is not going well and today he received only THREE DONATIONS. Mahmoud is heartbroken over it and doesn't know what to do or what is left of him. So please do something for Mahmoud. The world failed his dream for no fault of his own and now he feels like the world will fail his campaign as well. Please do not grow complacent. BOOST AND DONATE. NO DONATION IS TOO SMALL!

Currently at $14,207. He needs to reach $15,700. Please help.

Paypal

Vetting #149

Tagging for reach 🙏🏽

@timetravellingkitty   @jezior0 

@neptunerings @brokenbackmountain @khanger

@transmutationisms @sylvianritual @imjustheretotrytohelp @sunflowersmoths 

@maaszeltov @heliopixels @zigcarnivorous @armysurplus 

@executing @venus-is-in-bloom @lesbianmaxevans 

@trans-to-the-misogyny @brutaliakhoa @furiousfinnstan @paparoach 

@celadonwanderer @girlinafairytale @2tbssd @forgetfulrecord 

@lesbianmaxevans @fading-event-608 @repulsion @noncathartic @gusherbug 

@autisticmudkip @tiredguyswag @briarhips @three-croissants 

@fly-sky-high-09  @maoistyuri @noble-kale

@heydreamchild @nthflower @galactic-mermaid @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @ramshackledtrickster

@a-shade-of-blue @roadimusprime @lamngen @thatsonehellofabird

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Husbands Boss x Married! Reader

"Just Another Day at The Office."

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, misogyny, name calling, nude photos, coercion, dubcon touching, fem genitalia for reader, mentions of divorce, general perversion, praise, clit play, cheating, readers husband is a scumbag.

(AN: Requested by an Anon early today, and it made me feral.)

Tick... tick... tick... the sound of an office clock rings in your ears, the only sound louder is your heart, pounding in your ribcage. The clock was awfully loud, though you had never noticed it before, when you were coming to bring your husband a warm, home-cooked meal. Maybe then you didn't notice it because you weren't fearing for your future.

Morgan & Cole, the investment firm your husband had been working for for years had been doing better than ever, and in turn, so had your husband. Promotions, expensive raises, and more had been sent his way. The house was even being repainted. All that begs the question, how had you found yourself in this situation.

It was a few nights ago when your husband informed you of the deal he had made with his boss. Morgan, the co-owner of the company, had his sights set on you, apparently. At a holiday party, he approached your husband with an offer, an offer to get a night with you in exchange for another fat raise. You had always known your husband hadn't been the most loving, but you had never imagined his greed could get to this. The worst part was how casual the deal he described was. Approaching a man at an office party and asking to sleep with his life like you were discussing sports frightened you. You had only met Morgan once or twice, and while he seemed charming, him doing something like this made you very much doubt he was in actuality.

You are snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of a door opening. Morgan steps out of his office, fidgeting with his smart-watch when he looks up and sees your meek form in the office lobby. His brow furrows.

"Oh, Mrs. Peters, I hadn't expected you to met me here. I had intended to come pick you up. How long have you been here?" He asks. You gulp. "Not long, just ten or so minutes." You say, trying to hold eye contact. He sighs and shakes his head. "Well, I wish you would have knocked on my office door, I feel awful having left you out here alone. Come, we can head back into my office and chat." His voice is so soothing, and in any other situation it would have been nice. You enter his office, and he closes the door behind him, before sitting at his desk. You take the chair in front of it.

"So, I assume your husband-" His teeth grind as he says this. "Is assume he has gone over what this is about." You nod. "He did... and... and I don't know if I can do this. I don't know you at all, and I'm a married woman." You whimper. Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, and Morgan sighs heavily. He comes around to lean back against the front of the desk, one hand supporting him while the other touches your cheek.

"I know this must be scary, I understand that. But I'm gonna solve both of those problems right now." He kneels down so your eyes meet his. "First, you worry you don't know me. Let me fix that. My name is Morgan Brant, I am thirty-two, and I live in a loft down on 37th. I like charcuterie and making my own organic lattes. I work out everyday, and enjoy walking through the city. I have both of my parents, Ruth and John, and they live in the city as well. Anything else you'd like to know?" You're too stunned and still panicked to respond, so you just shake your head. "Okay, okay. Good." He murmurs. A hand strokes your hair softly, as if trying to soothe a wild animal. To your shock, for a man who basically paid for a co-workers wife to prostitute herself, he does seem genuinely upset at your fear. His eyes are filled with a sorrow, and he chews his bottom lip nervously. He looks down for a moment.

"Mrs. Peters, your second concern, about being a married woman, is very respectable. I appreciate that you respect the sanctity of marriage so much. I think your loyalty and love for your husband is beautiful." He pauses, and gently grips your chin so you look him in the eyes. "But... I worry that love and loyalty may not be returned. Mrs. Peters, I need you to promise me you will listen to what I am about to tell you." You gulp, his suddenly serious, yet still soft, tone worries you.

He stands, walking to the back of his desk and opening a drawer, grabbing a manila envelope before sitting down at his chair again. He pushes the envelope towards you, folding his hand together and sitting up. He looks as those this odd exchange is yet another business deal, as he sits like a man prepared to do whatever it takes to seal a deal. A real businessman. Your hand trembles as it opens the envelope. Your heart stops.

Inside, your husband can be seen in several photos, from many different angles. Some looked ripped from security footage, others appear to be taken at a distance. However, they all contain the same subject. Your husband, locking lips with various women, every photo a different one. Your hand covers your mouth as you let out a choked sob. "N-no... I mean, he was never warm to me, b-but..." Everything comes crashing down at once. All those nights you waited up for him when he was 'working late', all those warm meals you brought him at work, only to be brushed off so he could talk to his secretary. It all made sense.

"I can't believe this..." You squeak. Morgan shakes his head. "You can believe it, I know you can. He's never loved you, I've seen how he treats you. Rejecting your meals, ignoring you at office parties and work functions. My dear, he is actively sitting at home and preparing to count the bonus he received for pimping you out to me." Morgan exclaims, his shoulders tightening. You put your head in your hands. "I'm... what am I going to do?! I'll divorce him, but I'll have nothing. I, oh god." You cry. Morgan once again moves to try and comfort you. His broad arms wrap around your shoulders.

"I know, I know this is scary. You've been through a lot tonight, your entire marriage even. But it's going to be okay." He cups your face. "I've been watching the two of you, you mostly." He hands you something. An empty tupperware container. "This is from his lunch yesterday. Every meal he rejected from you, I gladly took. I hadn't had the chance to eat something made so lovingly in a long time. They don't serve home-cooked meals like this at business conferences." He chuckles. "I saw how you would cling to him at those same parties he was ignoring you at, and wishing, praying you would cling to me like that." You look up, his confession is shocking. "Your husband... he is a greedy man, but he has pride. I knew I wouldn't even get a moment along with you unless there was something in it for him." He shakes his head. "Darling, I was just as disgusted as you were that he'd agree to that. As excited as I was, as I am for this moment with you, I was thanking whoever is out there that no other person at this office had tried something similar. I'm not some deviant, or criminal. I've had my fair share of sexual encounters, with prostitutes and escorts, but... I never felt anything. I need to feel something. I do with you." He says.

You shake your head. "You don't know me." You say. He shrugs. "You don't need to someone to love them, not at first. I hate to say this, but you didn't really know your husband, did you?" You sob again, and his sticks his hands out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry darling, that was out of line. I just needed to prove a point. What I'm saying is, I don't just want one night of pleasure with you. I want you to be mine. If you left him, you wouldn't be lost or desolate, you would have me. I could give your everything he has and more. Money, a penthouse, and my love. Real love. You deserve someone who wants to care for you the way you cared for that man-child. I can do that." You sniffle. "It's all so soon, and I don't... I'm scared." You say again. "I know. I hadn't wanted to do this here. I had wanted to show you the pictures and confess early on, I had plans to pick you up and take you somewhere nice to eat. I know the last thing you want right now is a fresh new relationship, I understand. But just maybe, the idea of revenge tempts you?" He suggests. You look up, and bite your lip. "What are you suggesting?" You ask.

"He thinks he's better than you, and that you could never leave him, because you have no one else, nothing else. Why else do you think he assumes their will be no repercussions for a night like this? He's so confident that you would never leave him, never even think about another man, that he truly believes you will return to him after he's pimped you out." Morgan moves closer. "I won't lie, I'll enjoy this, but don't just do it for me. Do it for yourself. Give in, leave him for a man who will worship you, who can give you more. Get back at him, and be with me." You shake your head. "You... you paid him to pimp me out to you like this though?" You exclaim. He nods "I had to show you how little he cared for you, same with the investigators I hired to get those photos." He nods in the direction of the envelope, now dabbled with your tears. "Besides, I've already signed his termination papers, I don't hire men like that here. He isn't getting shit for doing this to you." He assures.

In a moment of weakness, you break. The betrayal of the evening, the hurt and the fear, the anger, it's all too much. You sink to your knees, and nod. "Alright, let's do it. Just... be gentle, go slow." He nods. "Oh, my sweet. I'll do whatever you ask." He captures your lips, pressing your back against the front of his desk as he kneels beside you. His lips are soft, and taste of bourbon and mint. He smells like cologne, but a good kind, something smokey. Not like the tacky expensive stink of your husband, now ex-husbands favorite cologne. His tongue prods at your lips, and shyly you part them, allowing his tongue to slip in and suck against yours. He groans, and you both pull away breathlessly. While you take a breath, he immediately latches onto your neck, placing quick, feverish kisses along your collarbone. You gasp at the feeling, shrinking in on yourself. He grins.

"Does it really feel that good, that's quite a reaction." He chuckles. You blush and look to the side. "It's- It's been a while." He frowns and tilts his head. "How long is awhile, darling?" He whispers. "A few months, maybe eight or so." He shakes his head. "My poor girl, doing all that for him and he still wouldn't please you." He grips your waist, his lips on the shell of your ear. "To be fair though, even if he did, he couldn't make you finish. He would please himself, not you. But I won't, baby. Tonight, is all about you." You can feel a thick hardon pressing against your knee.

"Tell you what, darling. Let me make you feel good, real quick. Something nice and easy for my sensitive girl. Then, I'l take you out. I'm not just going to have sex with you without wineing and dineing you. Then, I'll take you back to my place, I-I'll send for your stuff tomorrow, and if you want, we can go for round two." He coos, looking up at you with admiration and hope. "Won't my husband try to resist my stuff being taken?" You ask. He shakes his head. "He's not your husband. If he calls, I'll hang up. He sold you out, and if he gets pissy, I've go the best lawyers in the country at my disposal. I'm not letting you spend one more night under a roof with that man. You aren't Mrs. Peters anymore, you're Mrs. Brant. Now... let Mr. Brant make you feel good." Hands cradle your thighs, slipping the skirt of your sensible slip dress up over your knees. A hand paws at your panties, cupping your cunt as he sighs. "So warm, poor little thing hasn't been touched in months. I've only kissed your neck a little, and your soaked. Is it because I said I love you? Does your little cunt respond well to just being admired and appreciated? Oh, my darling." He slips your panties aside just a little, not wanting to ruin your outfit for dinner later. Fingers part your lips as a long digit strokes up, from your entrance to your clit. A finger prods the entrance, and you gulp at the throbbing heat you feel.

"Gentle, slow please." You murmur. He nods, placing a gentle kiss on your neck before slipping in his digit. His long, calloused fingers rub your neglected walls in all the right ways. "A-ah, Morgan..." You pant. "Good?" He asks. You nod, breathless already. He thrusts it in and out gently, before asking to add another digit. When you nod, he adds another, while his free hand circles your clit with his middle finger. Perhaps its from typing everyday, day in and day out, but he is skilled. Even when your husband has slept with you, you had never felt like this. A coil forms in your stomach as you pant and whimper.

"M-morgan." You moan. "Please, I need to-" You're cut off by him sharply curling his fingers, as they hit a spongy spot deep inside you. "Oh, god. Yes." You moan again. "Cum for me, darling, please. I want to hear you." Morgan's tone is suddenly more desperate ethan you had heard it all night. He's needy, begging to know that he is pleasing you in the way he so desires. "Say my name, would you? I just want to please you, I need to know it feels good." He begs. "Morgan, I'm gonna cum, shit-" Your walls begin to pulse, juices coating his fingers. As you moan, finishing your high, he kisses you feverishly, desperate for closeness.

When you pull away, panting as you come down from your orgasm, he licks your juices off his hands with a squelching noise, putting your panties back into place. He helps you to your feet, and hands your your purse. "Ready for dinner?" He asks. Tired and very hungry, you nod. "Just one more thing, and you don't have to do anything, I've dealt with this myself plenty but-" He looks down, the tent in his pants is still very prominent.

"May I handle that before we go out?"

[synchodai]

I get this impression that House of the Dragon doesn't get that "named" heirs aren't really the norm in Westeros. If it were that easy for someone to just give everything to their favorite child, Randall Tarly wouldn't have needed to force Sam to go to the Wall and Tywin could have simply chosen Cersei over Tyrion as heir of Casterly Rock.

If we look at the history Westeros borrows from, the concept of "naming" heirs wasn't really a thing in medieval England. Landed gentry didn't have direct say over the order of succession until the Statute of Wills in 1540. Before then, land and subsequent titles could only be inherited through agnatic primogeniture.

Agnatic primogeniture prioritized the living, eldest, trueborn son. Claims can only be passed on patrilineally. This means that a grandaughter can inherit a claim of her grandfather's titles through her father, but a grandson cannot be given the same through his mother. However, if his mother finally does have land and titles under her own name (not under her father's), only then does her son and other children enter the line of succession.

The reason it was like this was because it kept land and titles under one family. Daughters are less preferred because when they are married, they become part of their husband's family — meaning that any titles they receive will be inherited through a new line. This wouldn't be an ideal situation because it gives two families claims to the titles. The more claimants there are, the more unstable the hold the owner has.

In other words, agnatic primogeniture was practiced for stability. Because back in the day, titles weren't just property or land. They came with governorship over a people, so a stable and predictable transfer of titles was necessary to avoid civil conflicts and questions of legitimacy.

A landed lord or lady wasn't given the right to designate heirs for a few reasons:

Most of them were vassals who oversaw the land in the name of someone higher up. It technically isn't even theirs to give away (see: feudal land tenure).

The wishes of a human being are less predictable than having a determined line of succession based on birth order. What if he becomes incapable of declaring an heir either through illness or disability? What if he's captured and a bad actor forces him to name this person heir under threat of violence?

People died unexpectedly all time. This was before germ theory and modern medicine — child mortality was extremely high. With no refrigeration technology, a single poor harvest could mean dying from starvation. Bandits, cutthroats, and raiders were a constant threat. They could not afford to rely on a person choosing a different heir every time the old heir drops dead, because the landed lord/lady could die just as suddenly.

Even 21st century families stab each other in the back over who gets grandma's house — so imagine having an uncertain line of succession in the middle ages over a life-defining lordship and without a modern-day court system to mediate.

Going back to HotD, whenever Targaryens did go against the established line of succession, they could only have done it by consolidating the support of their vassals. Only royalty seemed to have the power to bend agnatic primogeniture, but even then they were beholden to it.

When Jaehaerys I ascended the throne over Aerea, it was mainly because there were those who saw Maegor the Cruel's act of disinheriting Jaehaerys as null and void. This restored Jaehaerys place in the line of succession above Aerea.

And when Rhaenys was passed over for Baelon, Jaehaerys had to convene his lords and offer compelling reasons as to why — her young age, her lack of an heir, her Velaryon last name, etc. It wasn't a given that just because she was a woman that she was ineligible. If he was doing it purely out of misogyny, he still had to legally justify his misogyny in order to strip away her rights.

Even after consolidating support, the book mentions Jaehaerys I and Viserys I's respective hold on the crown was still weakened. Even though their claims were backed by reasons cosigned by a powerful majority, they still had to ensure the security of their rule through other means. There were people who doubted their right to rule, and those people had to be placated with gifts (by Viserys) or intimidated into submission (by Jaehaerys).

So we come to Viserys I who never gave his vassals a reason why Rhaenyra should supercede his three sons other than, "I said so." Had he convened with his lords and maybe made the argument that a first marriage takes precendence over a second one, then maybe he could have set a new precedent and gathered support.

But no, he didn't. He relied on the power of his own words and the lords' personal oaths — oaths that he didn't exactly plan how he would enforce posthumously.

And the Realm did not choose to adopt a different succession law after Jaehaerys's designation of Baelon in 92 AC or the Council of Harrenhal choosing Viserys on 101 AC. If those two events did change anything, it was that now women were exempt from the line of succession for the crown and only the crown. It did not set the precedence that monarchs could freely choose heirs. It did not upend the whole system; it only made a tweak, as most lawful policy-changes do, by carving out at an exception. It was a committee, not a revolution.

Before and after the Dance, no other monarch, lord, or lady "declared" an heir that went against agnatic primogeniture, save for Dornish who have cognatic (equal-gender) primogeniture instead. Ramsay had to get rid of Roose Bolton's living trueborn son AND be legitimized by the crown in order to be recognized as heir (only a crowned monarch can legitimize baseborn children which is another world-building pillar a lot of people miss). Randall basically had to force Sam to abdicate because he wanted his younger brother to inherit instead. And of course, Tywin despite his intense hatred of Tyrion is forced to acknowledge him as his heir.

The rigidity of the line of succession is a major and constant source of conflict in the series, so it baffles me that people really thought that characters could just freely choose their heirs. That's why we have a civil war. It wasn't a misunderstanding. It's the expected consequences of someone carelessly going against a foundational tenent of the society they inhabit.

[mr-walkingrainbow]

CALLING ALL MONSTER HIGH FANS. I JUST MET GARRETT. AND I WAS ABLE TO SCAVENGE SO MUCH LORE AND CONFIRMED HEADCANONS TO YOU. THIS IS ALL SAID BY GARRET OR CONFIRMED. I HAVE SPOKEN TO GOD AND HE HAS SPOKEN BACK

#1. Robecca and Venus were implied and ARE dating!!! He said it was like. Just like other monsters they had tried putting hints and characteristics into monsters that we could see and relate too. (He also said it outright down here. Lol I got all the proof guys!)

2. They never actually came up with Jane Boolittles Origins. And yes Dr. Morou and Dr. Boolittle raised her. But it was always a thing to them they'd say ‘oh well get back to this’. And then they never did. When asked; he genuinely doesn’t remember what they had planned for her.

3. a REALLY big mystery solved and lore dump guys. This one’s juicy. I KNOW HOW SPECTRA DIED. I KNOW HOW SHE DIED. AND WHAT THE TRAUMATIC STORY WAS FOR HER. I ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOW! Y’all ready? Drumroll…. It was, a, CAR CRASH! Yes you heard me. THE VONDERGEIST FAMILY ALL DIED IN A CAR CRASH. I think he said he she just came with her family off skirts and they got into an accident. I’ll reblog this with the video of him saying it!

4. Toralei lives in a monster high housing/boarding building when she is not attending school. This place is used for kids who do not have a place to go too, or if their home is too far to return to easily. I think there was an error somewhere where she mentioned parents? I mentioned that to him and he was very confused/didn’t remember. Reconfirmed that if she wasn’t in the monster high housing area. She would have been in either Jail or The streets.

5. Robecca was not rebuilt for 100 years due to Misogyny. Also because it had to go into the lines of her ‘mysteriously’ disappearing for her to have her comeback. I asked about how it was low key such a dark story, and he mentioned that since technically Monster high was the ‘horror’ genre. He was able to get away with things like that.

6. the Vampire Heart mystery! So remember how in Friday night frights we all see Ghoulia place a Robot Heart into Robeccas chest. Something that is very clearly not the Vampires heart? But then suddenly in Frights camera action it’s there? Well, technically that’s an official Error by the crew. He actually said he noticed it, and told management and stuff like ‘won’t people notice it?’ And they were all like ‘nah it will be fine no one will notice’. But then we all clearly did lol. He also said that because if this, he came up with the idea that the Vampires heart was ENCASED in the Robot heart we saw in Friday night frights. Ergo, explaining how Robecca had two hearts in one body! (It’s also confirmed Hexiciah placed the Vampires heart into her while he was building her. Which would explain why she didn’t remember it was their).

#7. Gooliope Jellingtons Origins. I asked what her origins were. And basically, she DOES NOT have any parents. She was CREATED IN A LAB. Which apparently didn’t treat her right. So she ESCAPED the lab and ran away to the circus! (Or blobbed away?) because he also confirmed, she was the blob. Or based off the blob. She wasn’t actually like. The daughter of the blob. She WAS the blob itself.

#8. Kiyomi Haunterly is Gay! I know this is was already somewhat canon and said before. But I asked and he confirmed it that she was in fact, Gay. And he tried to show it in her diary.

#9. We’re reaching some only implied/supported things. Not fully confirmed or intended. But Kala Mer’ri has BPD. I asked about if she has anything like BPD cause I relate and saw that a lot in her. He replied that he did try to make attributes for each Character specifically so we could related to them like that. And that it was to also make sure every character wasn’t a carbon copy of another. Basically. He didn’t like. Outright say ‘yes. She has bpd’. But he also didn’t disprove it. And he reacted positively to the idea and supported it.

#10. Robecca Steam has ADHD. It’s basically the same as above. Although he did like the note that I (someone with adhd) specifically had the same traits with Robecca, even more specifically, that we both are ALWAYS late. And can never keep track of time to save our unlife.

11. Dedyet DeNile Origins. He actually completely forgot about Cleo’s Mother eventually being reunited. I had asked how she had ended up in that same weird time loop Tomb thag Hexiciah was stuck in. (Which they were eventually freed by Robecca in her SDCC diary). He said he completely forgot about that. And genuinely didn’t remember anything about it. I basically re-explained the whole thing and he was very interested. Unfortunately. Not to much origins to go on.

11. here’s a canon one! What happened to Aamanita Nightshade after she left the DeNiles in the tomb. It was kinda funny, but he basically was like ‘Amanita went up and was just like ‘Peace!’’ And then never came back.’ She goofed around a bit, buuut it wasn’t entirely like her fault? She quickly went back to sleep after breaching the surface. So yeah. She was not awake for long. She quickly went back into flower mode until she woke up again at the Gloom and Bloom party.

12. He’s working on another one of his Monster prints! He sells them on his online shop here

He’s currently working on Toralei!!!!! He said he was working on her on the way over. And that he was trying to go in Order of the G1 doll releases. He mentioned he had only done Skelita out of Order because she was like ‘that one’ who was INSANELY popular with fans when she came out. Especially in Mexico. It’s also why she was the only Funko pop made who was not part of the main ghouls.

13. Random. But he actually didn’t create each backstory individually by himself. In the beginning he did A LOT. Like Frankie was the first backstory he ever created. And it got more help and divided as more and more characters were introduced.

14. he has read every single diary for every monster. Cool little fact cause DAMN theirs a whole bunch of them.

15. everything in the Ghoulfriends book series is CANON in the monster verse.

And that is ALL FOLKS! I had held those questions in for about 7-8 years. So it was everything to me to have them answered and confirmed! I really tried to ask everything that was a huge mystery to us monster folks. And I hope you guys are excited to see all these new CANON facts!!!

I’m sorry if this is not everything. Just like Robecca. I forget stuff pretty easily. I’m wracking my brain for every little detail. Unfortunately my father didn’t record as much as I would have liked. But he did get some perfect key moments! And I’ll make sure to reblog with those moments as proof of confirmation!

I love y’all! Make sure this goes viral so every monster high fan gets to hear the news!

Signing out, I’m Tumblr Spectra Vondergeist, and I report the news.

[velvette-creations]

Fettered

House of the Dragon: Gwayne Hightower x Targ!reader (mentions of eye color and hair color)

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)

WC: 2.1 k 

Prompt: “You make me wanna do something outside of my nature” -Making a Move by TWRP for @sweetspicybingo (Lyrical Bingo Collection)

Warnings: DUB-CON, captivity, spanking, cock warming, manipulation, misogyny, anal, humiliation, bondage, forced nudity

Summary: At the Battle of Honeywine, Gwayne takes you as a prisoner of war

It is war’s prize to take all vantage ~ William Shakespeare

Your hand gripped the hilt of your sword as you swung your blade. The battle waged around you, the smell of blood heavy in the air. Victory tasted sweet on your tongue as Rhaenyra’s supporters began to diminish Ormund Hightower’s army. Your foe proved worthy, blocking your blow with his sword and shoving you back. With feet planted firmly in the ground, he failed to break you down. The two of you continued your dance. You were unaware that you were fighting against the Dowager Queen’s brother, and he was unaware that he squared off with Queen Rhaenyra’s own sister.

Dread bubbled under your skin when you heard the dragon’s roar then saw the great blue beast fill the sky. Daeron the Daring. The distraction was enough to gain Gwayne Hightower the upper hand, swiftly knocking you to your feet and pressing the sharp tip of his blade against the delicate sliver of your exposed throat. The putrid stench of burned flesh filled the air, and Rhaenyra’s men fell as dragon fire claimed them. Gwayne removed his helmet and smirked down at you as the recognition of his identity seeped through your veins. 

“Do you wish to bend the knee to the rightful King Aegon, or do you wish to have your head removed from your body?” he asked, his brown eyes filled with darkness.

“I will never bend the knee to the usurper,” you spat.

“Many say that in the beginning, but the fear of death changes their mind,” Gwayne tutted, gently shaking his head and flicking an errant lock of auburn hair out of his eyes.

“A dragon doesn’t fear death,” you said, reading to meet the Stranger.

“A dragon?” Gwayne questioned, his lips twisting into a frown, reaching down to pull your helmet off your head.

Your silver hair had been braided tightly and wound around your head, but there was no mistaking you for anything other than a Targaryen. Your violet eyes narrowed as you flexed your knee, aiming your foot toward his ankle to catch him off guard. An amused chuckle fell from his lips as your force merely rattled his armor.

“My, a princess playing a warrior,” he mused, pressing his boot firmly against your chest.

“I can assure you…traitor, that I do not play at anything,” you hissed.

“We shall see,” he hummed, calling over some men from his cousin’s army to bind you and place you across the back of his horse. Humiliation burned your cheeks, but at least you were alive. An alive person stood a chance, while the dead poised none. You would not give Gwayne Hightower the satisfaction of your tears, so you remained silent during the most uncomfortable ride toward Oldtown.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain thrill surged through the Hightower man, awakening urges he thought long buried deep down. You were his now, and new desires bloomed through him. A darker nature seeped in, chasing away the chivalrous knight who obeyed the rules. Times of war called for a sterner nature.

You expected to be placed in the underground vault of Hightower when you finally arrived at the gloomy place. The flame shone bright and emerald on top of the beacon. The bannerman called to war to fight for their king. Bitterness filled your mouth as you were roughly pulled off Gwayne’s horse and dragged inside.

“Secure her in my chambers and arrange for a bath,” Gwayen instructed.

You raised a pale brow but said nothing.

“After all, a princess must be kept in a gilded cage,” Gwayne called after you, a smirk curling across his lips.

You were freed from the ropes biting into your skin, and the men stripped you of your armor, leaving you in a thin tunic and breeches as handmaids came in one after another with buckets of warm water to fill the stone tub placed in the room. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself. The fire crackled in the hearth, and you hated yourself for feeling thankful for the warmth.

“Thank you, ladies, you are dismissed,” Gwayne announced as he entered the room.

Steam rose from the bath, the sweet scent of lavender tickling beneath your nose.

“Come and remove my armor,” Gwayne ordered.

“I am not your servant,” you seethed.

“No, you are my prisoner,” he corrected with a haughty look.

A scowl remained permanently etched across your face as you willed your bare feet to move. You unhooked his green cape before removing the rest of his armor. You gasped when he grabbed you, tugging you free of your remaining clothing until you stood bare before him. He said naught as he freed your silver hair from the tightly woven braids and guided you toward the steaming bath.

“In you go,” he cooed in a tone as if one were placating a child and patted your bare rump.

Your fingers curled into fists as you spun around on your heels, hand poised to slap him across the face. He grabbed hold of your wrists, keeping you in place as he chuckled.

“My, you dragons certainly do have fire,” he mused, his dark eyes boring into yours, “You might think to mind your manners, or I could arrange for you to be thrown into one of the empty vaults without a stitch of clothing to keep you warm.”

You growled. His threat should have subdued you, but instead, it only fueled the hot flames licking deep in your belly. If only you could wrap your fingers around a blade. You could slit his throat and be done with it.

“Mayhaps I ought to teach you a lesson in how a delicate princess ought to behave,” he hummed.

You fought him every step of the way as he dragged you over to the bed and across one knee. Your feet dangled, the tips of your toes brushing against the floor before his palm cracked down hard against your bare skin, making you roar.

“Unhand me!” you demanded.

“You are in no position to be making such demands,” Gwayne pointed out as his hand slapped down repeatedly against your vulnerable rump.

You gritted your teeth as his palm painted your skin crimson red. The burn itched, and you hated that your resolve was breaking. One could only take so much.

“Please,” you wailed, hoping for mercy.

None came as he swatted your upper thighs, setting your tender skin aflame. He did not stop until he was satisfied with the chastisement, and your skin bloomed fiery red with his handprints.

“I shall repeat this lesson as many times as needed,” he warned before allowing you to slip down your feet.

Tears blurred your vision as pain throbbed through you. He waited for no more argument before scooping you into his arms and placing you in the bath. You whined as the water further irritated your abused skin. The smirk never left Gwayne’s face as he began to scrub you clean. You were surprised as he washed your hair, his hands pleasantly kneading your scalp and ensuring all the grime was stripped away.

“Now you appear to be a proper princess,” he smiled. He helped you out of the bath, dried you off with a linen towel, and wrapped you in a green robe embroidered with golden threading. His hand took hold of your chin, tilting your gaze towards his. “You are mine, princess. This room will be heavily guarded at all times, and there will be consequences if you dare to attempt an escape.”

His words made heat bloom in your nether regions. You had not expected that the man your Uncle bested at the tourney all those years ago possessed such a nature. You had expected him to behave as a pompous imbecile. How mistaken you were.

~~

The days passed in your opulent prison. Despite the comfortable bed, the sumptuous food, and warm baths, the obvious deceptions and distractions, you were well aware of your position. A Targaryen Princess trapped in the Hightower flame. You passed the time by playing the game, allowing Gwayne to believe he held the upper hand and you were the pathetic prisoner at his mercy. You allowed your body to bear the burden while your mind remained sharp as the blade you wished to drive into his neck. 

Gwayne’s belt bound your wrists, and you squealed as his hand cracked down repeatedly. You were naked, squirming over his lap as he thoroughly punished you for attempting to escape. You did your best to hide the smug smile at slicing one of the guard’s faces. Your marks would heal, while his would serve as a reminder of what happens when one tussled with a dragon.

“And to think I had come to reward you with a pretty gown only to discover what a naughty girl you’ve been,” he scolded as he slapped your rump. You cursed yourself for finding this tête-à-tête so arousing, but you had grown to enjoy his rough treatment, followed by the tenderness. Or so you convinced yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, but you weren’t sorry in the least. You had learned to accept your fate in order to survive.

“Hush now. I shall make you well-behaved yet, even if it kills me,” he lectured, smoothing his palm over your heated skin. The irony of his words was not lost on you. One day, it will. He pressed his thumb between his lips, sucking on the appendage until it grew slick with his salvia. He spread your cheeks, placing his wet thumb against your hole, and massaged the muscle. “Perhaps further humiliation is in order.”

The tip of his thumb slipped inside, and you mewled. Allow him to hear it, let him believe he is breaking me.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckled darkly as he claimed your most intimate area.

~~

His cock warmed your mouth as he sat at the desk, slowly working on his correspondence.

“Your sister is eager for your safe return,” he chuckled, patting your head. “Should I write to tell her that you enjoy being my pup? Eager to serve her master.” A dragon serves no one, especially not a Hightower.

Shame palpated in your belly. You hated how right he was, how you craved the carrot over the stick. How he would fill your arse with the perfectly fitted stone before he bent you over and fucked you, rutting you like one would a bitch in heat. You loved when he spanked you or bent your knees back to your ears as he slapped your cunt furiously. Sometimes, he would make you kneel at his feet while he fed you morsels of food. Most of the time, you were kept naked, but there were times he would gift you a beautiful emerald gown and allow you to dine with him like a lady. You craved all he gave.

Or you convinced yourself of such. One must do many distasteful things to survive.

You merely hummed around his cock in response, and as the ink dried on the parchment, he fucked your mouth and spilled down your throat. He didn’t notice as the letter opener clattered to the floor, a detail that did not escape you.

That evening, you crawled onto his chest, kissing his mouth and cheeks sweetly.

“Allow me to please you, my lord,” you purred, voice dripping with honey.

“Go on then,” he grinned, hands stroking your hips.

You pulled the blanket away, inching the sleep clothes up his waist and nuzzling his cock to stir him to life. It did not take long to make him stiff for you, and you slipped onto him with ease. His large hands cupped your bare breasts as you rode him. You moaned wantonly, tossing your head back as you waited for the precise moment. Just as he entered the throes of passion, his eyes closed as his back arched. One hand slipped around his throat while your other slipped under your pillow and wrapped around the letter opener.

He sputtered as your grip tightened around his throat, and his eyes flew open just in time to see you drive the item deep into his neck. You willed your strength to make sure it buried deep in his flesh.

“I do hope I’ve become the lady you taught me to be,” you cooed, placing a kiss on his cold lips as the light drained from his eyes. Syrax’s roar filled the air, followed by the screams of men as your sister, the rightful queen, came to your rescue. You could not wait to scrub your skin clean of this place and of his touch.

A dragon cannot be tamed by one who is not worthy.

[jeankluv]

But daddy I love him - Gojo Satoru [epilogue]

short series

summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.

tags: +18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n, pregnancy talks

words: 3,6k

notes: so here is the epilogue of this short series that was a gif to everyone that started supporting my works on this app. Finally we close the story of Duke Gojo and angel. I hope everyone enjoys it 💋

ch.01 | ch.02 | ch.03 | ch.04 | ch.05 | epilogue

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

It had been 8 months since you and Satoru met again. And as soon as Satoru could walk again you got married, it had been a bigger wedding than you had ever imagined, after all Satoru was a duke and a close friend of the prince so it had been something normal. Thanks to the wedding you also learned that Satoru was not as hated as your parents had made you believe, in fact Satoru was extremely loved by everyone.

Regarding your parents, you know that they were stripped of their titles and all their property and sent, along with others, to a prison near the border. Satoru didn't want you to see them, apparently they had completely lost their minds and he didn't consider it safe for you.

Satoru asked you if you wanted to stay with your parents' house, and go there during the summers. But although you will love that landscape and the smell of that place, the memories of those walls were mostly painful.

But those memories had been locked in a box and kept far away. Now you were creating new memories in that place you called home. You had arrived at the Gojo residence in winter and for the first time you had admired the snow. And you also met Megumi, Satoru’s nephew. Although the relationship they both had was more of a father-son relationship, after all Satoru had adopted him and taken care of him since he was 4 years old.

In those 8 months you had managed to feel at home and feel that you belonged to the family. Rose kept telling you how happy you looked, how bright you were again. And you also felt it like that.

Satoru had kept all his promises, from a library that you could never imagine to a summer house where you could enjoy the sea breeze again.

Now summer was starting again and that only brought back memories of how last year you were on the beach reading and a boy with a mysterious smile and sharp gaze approached you. Without knowing very well that that meeting would change everything about you.

“What’s my beautiful wife doing?” You felt how Satoru left wet kisses on your shoulder.

“I was just admiring the view and thinking.” You looked at him with a shiny smile.

“Thinking about what, my love?” He looked at you with the most loving expression.

“About us, about everything that has happened in the last year and how lucky I am.” You kissed him.

“I think I’m the one who is lucky.” He said.

Satoru began to kiss your neck, closing your eyes and pushed your neck back, giving him more space so he could devour you. You could spend years, but you would still be addicted to his kisses and his caresses.

“You know this white dress you are wearing today is driving me crazy.” He said, biting your ear.

“I thought it was cute for our getaway today.” You purred with a smile on your lips.

“Oh definitely it’s cute.” He smiled. “But I bet you look cuter without it.”

You could listen to Satoru say provocative things a thousand and one times and never get used to it. Despite the time, you continued getting nervous and blushing like the first time.

“Satoru…” You put your hand on his chest, feeling his buildup muscles under your hand. “We are on the beach.”

“That makes it even more exciting.” He smirked. “But no one will come, you know that.”

“You can't be satisfied, can you?”

“I will never get enough of you, my angel.” He says, before devouring your mouth again.

Satoru laid you down on the cloth that you had brought to sit on the sand and left a trail of kisses until he reached the cloth that separates your breasts from his lips. With a wicked smile on Satoru's face, he grabbed the hem of your dress and pulled it down, exposing your breasts to his blue eyes.

“So beautiful.” He whispered before introducing your nipple into his mouth and beginning to devour it only as he knew how.

Your back arched and your hands went straight to his hair, where they became tangled in the white hair. With each suck you felt your pussy getting wetter and wetter. You desperately needed Satoru inside of you.

“Satoru…” You moaned. “I need you.”

Satoru separated from you and smiled when he saw your state, disheveled, swollen lips, your nipples completely red and with your legs open, inviting him to enter. Taking off his belt and pulling down his pants, you felt your body react as his cock emerged from his underwear. It was hard, you could see it, very hard.

Satoru lifted your dress and yanked your underwear off, leaving you completely exposed to him. With his hand on his cock, he placed it at your entrance and with a grunt he entered you.

You purred as you felt Satoru fill you and begin to thrust into you. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you reached out, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel the warmth of his skin and becoming one with each other.

His warm touch made you melt under his touch. Not only that, you become more desperate for more, wanting all of him to fill you, to kiss you, to adore you with passion. And you could see his hungry eyes, his frenetic pulse and desperate touch. He wanted you as much as you wanted him.

The shockwaves that ran through your body, made tears of pleasure run down your cheeks and inevitably made moans escape from your throat. Which luckily for you were silenced by the noise of the waves crashing against the coast.

Satoru growled your name with each thrust, his voice rough and full of intensity. The sound sent shivers down your spine, a mix of pleasure and anticipation washing over you. His hands, large and possessive, dug into the flesh of your thighs, leaving marks you would probably see the next day.

Every movement was deliberate and powerful, the rhythm relentless and intoxicating. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as he held you, his almost desperate grip on you.

Your mind struggled to keep up with the overwhelming sensations, each one more intense than the last.

Satoru's eyes met yours, his gaze was filled with hunger and that turned you on even more. His breathing became labored, you knew you were both close, you could feel it by the way he was throbbing inside you and the way your body was reacting.

Satoru spoke your name desperately with each of his thrusts, the way he said your name made your heart race even faster, and your breathing quickened with every movement.

His hands grabbed your hips with a possessive intensity, anchoring you against the sand that was under that fabric.

“Satoru.” You breathed, your voice shaking with the overwhelming sensation coursing through your body. His lips found yours again, swallowing your cries with a searing kiss that left you both breathless.

The desperation in his thrusts grew, each one more urgent and insistent than the last. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving marks.

You could feel the spiral of pleasure tightening inside you, his every movement pushing you closer to the edge. His name was a song on your lips, a plea and a prayer.

When your climax finally hit you, it was like a wave crashing over you, sweeping you away in a torrent of bliss. Your cries of ecstasy mixed with Satoru's guttural moans as he followed you to the edge, his release a powerful, consuming force.

Panting and trembling, they held each other, the aftershocks of their passion still coursing through their bodies.

Your chest rose and fell as you felt Satoru fill you. After a few seconds, Satoru pulled out of you and lay down next to you.

“Stop taking that medicine.” You said, still feeling your voice shaky and your body trembling.

Satoru turned to look at you confused. “What?”

You sighed and adjusted your dress back to how it was. “I heard you, with the doctor.” Satoru sat down. “I know you have been taking that medicine to prevent me from getting pregnant. And I know you did it because I was weak when we got married.” You said. “But ever since coming here, I gained weight and got healthier. Satoru, I want us to have a bigger family.”

“Angel…” He held your hand.

“Megumi has been asking me for a sibling you know?” You smiled. “And I really want it.”

“Megumi has said that?”

You nodded happily. “I want Megumi to have a little brother or sister. Don’t you?”

“I…” Satoru sighed and then looked back at you. “Yeah of course I would love that, but… you know how risky pregnancies can be.” Satoru’s eyes reflected concern, agony and fear. “What if…”

“Satoru.” You tried to calm him down. “I know the risks and I know what could happen but I think I’m ready.” You smiled.

Satoru sighed. “We will talk with the doctor and we will see, alright?”

You nodded and hugged him. “I love you.”

He chuckled and smiled back. “I love you too.”

You both hugged each other until the sun started to set down and the temperature of the day started to go down. Satoru picked you up bridal style and between laughter and soft kisses he carried you to the horse to return home. It sounded good, home.

It filled your heart with a warmth that you didn't know you could feel and a longing to return that you had never experienced. Normally you would extend your readings on the beach until the last ray of sunlight disappeared and the stars began to shine.

But at the Gojo residence, when you had to go out to attend to matters like the Duchess you were, you returned home with Satoru, with Megumi, who you could say had become almost like your own son, with Rose, Nanami and the household employees, who had given you affection and love from the first moment.

Entering the large hall you were greeted by several of the employees, including Rose, who had had a special glow for some time and you both knew what it meant.

“Ask the doctor to come tomorrow.” You heard Satoru speak.

“Duchess.” Rose bowed, you were still not used to that title and it still felt weird.

“Rose.” You smiled. “Did Megumi have his dinner?”

She shook her head. “He is waiting for both of you to have dinner together.”

You looked over to Satoru and this one smiled at you. “Let’s have dinner.” He held your hand.

You both walked to the dining room where you found Megumi concentrating on reading a book. Satoru looked at you and you gave him a warm smile.

“Gumi.” You called out to him and he quickly looked up from him to look at you both.

“Mom.” He put the book aside and ran over to you to hug your legs.

You still weren't used to Megumi calling you mom, the first time she said it you were completely paralyzed, not knowing how to respond or act, Megumi noticed that and regretted it but you told him that he did want to call you mom and then you would be very happy. And since then he had called you mom. On the other hand, Satoru was offended, since for years he had been trying to get Megumi to stop calling him simply Gojo, but the little boy didn't want to.

“I’m still offended that you don’t even call me uncle.” Satoru murmured.

You chuckled looking at Megumi. “Just give him time, right Gumi?” Megumi simply hide his face on your dress.

“A little bird told me that you want a brother or sister. But that won’t happen until you call me uncle.” Satoru challenged him and Megumi turned his face away from your dress and looked at him offended.

“Not fair.” He said.

“It is not.” Satoru smirked. “You just have to call me from now on uncle and you might have a sibling.”

“Satoru… you can not do that.” You said to him.

“Why not?” He looked at you with puppy eyes.

“He is a kid, give him time.” You said.

“Dad…”

“Yeah but why call me Gojo when…” Satoru paused and looked at Megumi. “What?”

“I’m not repeating myself.” Megumi walked away.

“Angel, did he just?”

“Yeah.” You smiled at him and noticed how Satoru was getting emotional. “Satoru…”

“Sorry, I just.” He shook his head. “I love you Gumi.” He shouted.

Megumi didn’t turn to look at him or say anything, but you knew that he was just embarrassed. Megumi opened out at you a few days after calling you mom from the first time about how he wanted to call Satoru dad but he was beyond embarrassed to do it. You found that heartwarming and adorable and seeing how they both reacted filled your heart with happiness and love.

The evening passed quickly between laughter, light conversations and Satoru's jokes and Megumi's protests for Satoru to leave him alone. You knew Satoru wasn't going to let go of the fact that Megumi called him dad and you felt a little sorry for him but it was fun to see his pout. Those new memories that you were creating with those new people that you didn't know a year ago filled your entire heart.

The next day the light passed through the curtains of your room, making you open your eyes to find the bed empty and the sheets cold, indicating that Satoru had woken up long before you. With your hips a little sore after your sex session last night, you got up to get ready to meet the doctor on that sunny morning with clear skies. Rose, like every morning I come into your room and help you.

Once ready, you left your bedroom and began to walk through the Gojo family's large house, still not getting used to all the wealth that you saw when you walked through the wide hallways, with their high ceilings and walls covered in ancestral portraits. .

Approaching the entrance you watched as Satoru walked near the large windows, his expression was a mix of concern and determination. Approaching him, you held his hand and gave him a comforting look, seeking for his agitated soul to relax under your touch.

The heavy entrance doors creaked open and the family doctor entered, whose presence attracted attention. Dr. Stone was a middle-aged man, with a kind but serious demeanor.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo.” Dr. Stone greeted with a respectful nod. His voice was calm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. “I trust you're both okay.”

“Good morning, Dr. Stone.” Satoru responded, his voice was firm despite the tension. “Thanks for coming.”

Walking down a hallway, the three of you entered an office where you could have a more private conversation. The doctor sat across from you, opened his case, and arranged his instruments with practiced precision. “So what was it that you wanted to talk about?”

You both looked at each other and Satoru took a breath. “We want to try to have a child.” You squeezed his hand. “And we wanted to know if my wife, well, if she doesn't run any significant risk by getting pregnant.”

Dr. Stone nodded and began his examination with a gentle, professional touch. After a few minutes he looked at you both and smiled. “There are certain risks, though.” He said he. “With careful monitoring and appropriate measures, I believe a successful pregnancy is within reach. It will require diligence and caution, but I am confident we can manage any complications that may arise.”

Satoru, who had been watching intently, let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. “Thank you, Dr. Stone.” He said with relief. “We appreciate his guidance and support.”

The doctor agreed, with an expression of understanding and empathy. “It is my duty and honor to serve this family. We will proceed with care.”

With a final bow, the doctor departs, leaving you and Satoru to digest the information. The room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, the tension dissipating like morning mist under the heat of the sun.

“Satoru...” You whispered looking at his expression.

But all the doubts you might have dissipated when you saw how Satoru smiled widely at you. "We could start now, don't you think?"

You rolled your eyes. “Always so needy”

Satoru's eyes, electric and searing, met yours with an intensity that made your heart race. He closed the distance between you in the blink of an eye, and taking hold of your face, he pulled you into a passionate kiss. His lips were insistent, full of desire and passion, wanting to claim your lips as his alone.

The kiss deepened, your tongues tangled in a heated dance, each moment fanning the flames of desire and igniting something fervent inside you. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his body seeping through the layers of your spring dress. You could feel the hard lines of his muscles, his need for you as palpable as yours.

Without breaking the kiss, Satoru's hands began to work on the zippers of your dress. The fabric gave way under his skillful fingers, sliding down your shoulders until it reached your waist. The cool air of the room sent a shiver down your spine as he collided with your bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his touch as he explored your skin.

With a grunt, Satoru pushed aside the objects cluttering the desk. His strength and urgency left you breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears as he lifted you off the desk.

You moaned softly as his lips moved to your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. His hands roamed your body, hiking up your dress until he bunched around your waist, exposing your legs. Each touch sent shivers of pleasure through you, your body arching against his in an invitation for him to continue.

Satoru's fingers found the hem of your underwear, teasing the delicate fabric before sending it somewhere in the room. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his back as you writhed in pleasure, each touch bringing you closer to the edge.

With a final, desperate kiss, Satoru pulled away just enough to throw off his own clothes. Seeing him, naked and magnificent before you, made your heart skip a beat. He moved between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he aligned himself with you, his eyes locked on yours with a burning intensity.

“You ready?” He whispered, full of need.

You could only nod, your breathing ragged as anticipation tightened within you. Satoru's lips captured yours in a searing kiss as he thrust into you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, an avalanche of pleasure that made you arch against him, your moans mixing with his moans of satisfaction.

He set a rhythm that was both tender and demanding, each movement taking you higher, the friction of his body against yours igniting sparks of ecstasy. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you surrendered to the waves of pleasure washing over you. His name was a breathless plea on your lips, a mantra of desire and need.

“Oh my lovely angel.” He said against your ear. “Can’t wait to fill you up with my baby.” You moaned loudly feeling how he grew bigger inside of you.

“Satoru.” Your body moved closer to him, wanting to be touch.

“So needy, my baby.” He said. “You want that right?” You bite your lips as he started to bite the skin of your neck. “You want me to put a baby in you huh?”

“Yes!” You moaned. “Satoru!”

Satoru's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. With one last thrust your back arched and you felt Satoru come completely inside you. The room that just a few minutes ago had been filled with the sound of your voices agonizing from pleasure and your skin colliding, had now been plunged into a sea of ​​silence that was only interrupted by the soft sound of your breaths mixing, while you searched for it to return to normal.

“You know I love you?” He whispered against your now sweaty skin.

You smiled and touched his hair with love. “And I love you too.” You kissed his hair. “Thank you…”

“For what?” He looked at you with his eyes full of curiosity.

“For that day, for coming to me while reading and making me fall in love with you, for everything Satoru.” You smiled.

He shook his head and cupped your face with cherish and love. “I should be the one thanking you angel.” He smiled. “You don’t know how you change my life. I love you so much.”

And both of your lips connected in a sweet kiss full of love, understanding and commitment for one another. You were grateful for going out that day to read on the beach, for looking at those blue eyes, for going out to the back garden despite the warnings, for your heart, your body and your soul reacting to him. You were grateful that man was yours and you were hers.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Extra scene

You watched as Satoru whipped his tears away and Megumi looked at him with a weird expression, you wanted to laugh about the scene but your body was too exhausted to make a single movement, even for a simple laugh.

“You are going to scare her with that face.” Megumi said.

Satoru, still crying, shook his head. “Gumi, I can't help it. Look at your sister, she is so small.”

Megumi looked at her and nodded in agreement. “She is cute. Thankfully she looks like mom and not you.”

Satoru gasped offended and looked at you. “Did you hear that?” You hummed in response and Satoru walked towards you. “How are you feeling, my angel?” He sat down next to you.

“A bit tired.” You smiled. “But… she is finally here with us.”

“She is.” Satoru looked over to where your newborn baby girl was. “You did a great job.” He held your hand. “Thank you.”

Heavily you approached him and kissed him. “Thanks to you Satoru. I love you."

Satoru smiled. “How lucky I am that a woman as amazing as you wants to spend the rest of her life with me. I love you too my angel.” He whispered and kissed you again.

The kiss was interrupted by some small cries and you both smiled, realizing the new stage that awaited you.

Final note: thank you for the love and support ❤️ I have another Gojo fic called Birdie if you want to check it out, also a new Geto fic called The forgotten boy

🏷️: @catobsessedlady @zoeyflower @lavender-hvze @slashersgirlypop @tinydonkeysforlife @oddball08 @tttttttf @crybabytoru @fccxxxcvvx @augustine13028 @alwaysfreakingout @storacy

[catsteeth]

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader 

+:✿ Chapter 6 ✿:+ : Dreamer

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister.  You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his. 

CW: MDNI, afab reader, pining, NSFW themes, Threats of non-con, misogyny, Violence, mention of violence, mention of arranged marriages, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of NSFW themes.

A/N: I am dedicating this chapter to all the Podrick girls who have stuck with me through this incredibly long hiatus, and even supported some of my other works. I truly love you all so much, you know who you are. 

Word Count: 4.7K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You had been traveling north with the rest of the Knights watch for a few weeks now. Yoren was serving you well, keeping the men far from you and in line. Although not many of them were ignorant enough to say anything disrespectful to their Lord Commander's daughter. 

That was until some man on a horse began to take offense that you weren’t working like the rest of the men.

As you practiced your aim with an arrow, your brain felt clouded, you kept having a thought of Lannister horses trotting in the night, coming closer and closer. 

You tried to push it out of your head as you exhaled and shot the arrow hitting a tree, right on the mark you aimed for.

As you walked over to the tree to retrieve it you overheard two men, one in the river fetching water, and the other who sat on a horse.

“Why doesn’t she work like the rest of us?” The man on the horse said, louder than necessary. You ignored it as you pulled the arrow out from the tree bark, walking back to your mark to try again.

“She aint a Knights Watchman.” The man in the river said, 

“Ain’t it a girl's duty to cook and fetch water?” The man on the horse paid no attention to the man in the river's remark, he stared at you as he said it.

The man in the river stood to his feet, “She’s a Mormont, you’d better mind your tongue.” He warned. Maybe out of actual respect for your name, or maybe out of fear of your father.

“A Mormont is she?” The man on the horse said, He smirked. You began to aim with your bow and arrow, you exhaled about to let your arrow fly when the man shouted, “Bear girl! How would you like to warm my tent tonight?” It was loud enough to get the attention of all the other men in the camp. It fell silent. 

You dropped your bow and arrow. Finally looking over and acknowledging the man who had been bothering you.

You walked over, with a huff, and stood in front of the man on the horse. You petted the horse's snout with a smile as you ran your hand along the horse's neck, and along its body, until you were facing the side of the beast. You looked up as the man looked down upon you. 

“Is that a yes?” The man smirked, you smirked back as you grabbed hold of the man's saddle and with haste pulled the horse off its balance, making it fall on its side and the man with it.

The horse's weight on the man's leg broke it. As the horse got back up the man stayed on the ground, holding his leg and wailed, “She broke my fucking leg!”

As you walked away, you said back much more calmly, “I didn't, your horse did.” 

As you went to grab your bow and arrow that were on the ground, Yoren walked up to you, “We need men for the night's watch, not cripples.” Somewhat disapproving but also amused by your display.

“He’s got a clean break in the lower bit of his leg.” You said, aiming your bow and arrow, “A split and a crutch and he’ll be fine before we get there.” You said as you released the arrow, hitting in the exact spot you did before.

“How do you know that?” Yoren asked, his eyes were narrowed and his brows furrowed. He was suspicious at the same time he was curious. 

“Mmm.” You shrugged, “The way he fell?” You said dismissively. 

Yoren huffed, turning his attention back to the man wailing on the ground, “Get him up.” He said to the men surrounding him “And quit your whining!” He shouted to the man on the ground.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Podrick was staying in an Inn just a few miles outside of Winterfell. 

Neither of you were aware of just how close you both were to one another. However Podrick grew more and more on edge as time passed. He was thinking of you constantly. When he was training with a sword he thought of you, when he was eating he thought of you, when he was bathing he thought of you, when he lay down for the night he especially thought of you. He often stared at the scar on his palm, a constant reminder of you. 

As he looked at the scar, he looked up to see Brienne staring at Winterfell. She knew Sansa was there, and in danger. She tormented herself with the thought. 

“She’s far away from the Lannisters. This is her home. Maybe Lady Sansa is better off here.” He said, partially wanting to comfort Brienne while partially wanting to be done with this mission and get on with finding you. 

Brienne turned to Podrick, “Safe with the Boltons? Who murdered her mother and brother? She is dangerous even if she doesn’t realize it.” She said with annoyance. As she did an old man came into their room, he placed new firewood beside their door. “Thank you. You live here a long time?” Brienne asked just before the man was about to leave.

“Aye.” The man nodded,

“Did you know about Lord Eddard?” Brienne questioned, Podrick looked at her with concern. He knew it was dangerous to discuss such things now. 

The old man narrowed his eyes at Brienne, “I knew him. And his father before him. Starks are gone now-” 

Brienne interrupted, “Not all of them. I know who's inside that caste.” she said with confidence. 

The man scoffed, “Everyone knows. The Boltons.” 

She shook her head, “I’m not talking about the Boltons.” Brienne walked closer to the man, “I need to get a message to her. Sansa Stark.” She was fearless, it reminded him of you, it was his only comfort now that you were gone.

“Who are you?” The man questioned, 

“Someone who swore to keep her safe.” Brienne said with the same cold tone as the man had with her.

“Swore to who?” He practically spat at her, 

“Her mother.” She said, again matching the hostility of the man, showing she was not afraid of him.

The man smirked, “Her mothers dead.”

“That doesn’t release me from an oath. I served Lady Catelyn. I still serve her. Who do you serve?” That took the air out of the room.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

That night, you and the rest of the night's watch slept in an old abandoned barn.

Your dreams as of late were stranger than normal. More real, but vague at the same time. And tonight it was worse. You felt the heat of fire, you could smell the smoke of the fire ripping through dry grass. You heard the horns of battle, heard the sounds of men grunting, the sounds of fighting. You saw fire, and two arrows released. You felt the pain of a knight cutting into your side. That's when you woke up.

You sat up with a loud gasp, your eyes were wild and wide. Yoren who slept beside you always was awake and immediately took you in his arms. 

“Calm yourself, Lass!” He said as you panted, 

“Fire, a sword, and arrows!” You said breathlessly clinging onto his coat,

“What?” He asked with narrowed eyes. Though before you could speak you and Yoren heard horns of battle ringing outside the barn you were all staying in, Yoren released you and stood “GET UP, YOU LAZY SONS OF WHORES!” He shouted waking the men up, “ARM YOURSELVES!” He continued to shout and wake up more of the men, He turned to you grabbing you by the shoulders, “You need to leave. You need to go far North.”

You shook your head, “You said my father would kill you if you didn’t take me with you. He’d kill me if I left you.” He looked at you as if you both knew that wasn’t true, you shrugged, “Well maybe not kill but he’d be ashamed and that's worse.” you conceded, “I can fight you know that.” 

He huffed and shook his head, “I’m not fighting you. You’re staying out of sight and going North.” He said as he turned his attention back to the men “THOSE MEN OUT THERE WANT TO FUCK YOUR CORPSES– OUTSIDE NOW!”

As he and the rest of the knights watched, one of the men holding a torch accidentally set the dry grass aflame. You smelt the fire and knew it was the same smell from your dream. 

“Where's the bastard?” A Lannister guard shouted, 

“More than a few here. Who's asking.” Yoren asked gruffly.

You paid little attention to what they said. You were too busy attempting to stay out of sight of the Lannisters. If you were found the consequences would be worse for both you and the Knights Watch. 

“Last chance. In the name of King Tommen. Bring us your bastards.” He said threateningly. 

“No I don’t think I will.” Yoren said, confidently. 

“So be it.” You finally looked over at that exact moment, to see Yoren shot with an arrow through the chest. You wanted to scream but you held it in. 

Even with an arrow in him, he was just as brave, “I always hated crossbows. It Takes too long to load.” Yoren said as he cut through the man with the crossbow. But he was no match against the rest of the Lannister guards. He was slaughtered before your own eyes. 

You knew there was nothing more for you to do, so you ran, ran as fast as you could. Though a man intercepted your path. A balding man wearing Lannister colors. He smirked at you as you tried to run past him. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” The man said as he grabbed hold of you, his hand covering your mouth. You saw him pull out a dagger and shove it deep in your side. You cried out, and he laughed. But then you bit down as hard as you could. The man screamed as you bit his finger off, finally letting you go. The horrid taste in your mouth lingered as you ran. 

Ran until your legs stung. The pain from your side only worsened as you ran. Becoming more and more intense and less and less easy to ignore. 

You stopped for a moment beside a river. You kneeled down to take a drink from it. You knew it wouldn’t help, but your mind and body were slipping out of consciousness rapidly as the pain grew. Soon, it was all fuzzy. You had no balance, and no feeling, your hearing was leaving you as well but you heard one last thing before it did. 

SPLASH

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You awoke in a warm bed beside a fire. You looked around at the room, it looked like an Inn though you’d no money. 

You saw a woman in the corner of the room ringing out a wet cloth into a bowl, as she began to walk towards you, she smiled.

“Who are you?” You questioned, your eyes were hardly opened. You were so weak and clearly slightly frightened. 

“Baelise.” She said sweetly as she dabbed your forehead with the damp cloth.

“Where am I?” You asked, trying to sit up, but the pain in your side was too horrid. 

“A brothel. I found you in the river.” She said as she pushed you back into the bed,

“A brothel?” You asked with wide eyes, 

She held a laugh, “Don’t worry, I own it.” You looked around the room, looking for any sign of a man who might have come in, “No one has touched you.” Baelise assured you, knowing what you were afraid of. 

“I need to leave.” You said panting from the pain. 

“You need to rest, and eat. Lay down.” She said as she put the damp cloth back onto your head, “What happened to you, sweetling? Did men do this to you?” 

“Lannister guards attacked the knights watch.” You said pained.

“You were with them?” She questioned, it was odd for a woman to be accompanying the Knights watchmen.

“My father is their commander.” You said with a husky voice,  “I dreamt of it,” You said, you weren’t sure why you said it but you did. 

“Of what?” She stopped dabbing the cloth on your head, almost stunned by what you said. 

“Death. An arrow, a sword, and fire.” You said, your eyes closed now, trying to block out the pain. 

“Do you do that a lot?” She questioned, 

You realized you’d said too much, “How long til I can leave.” 

“Whenever that nasty cut heals.” She said with a huff, continuing to dab your forehead. You pulled down your covers, revealing your naked form. You saw the stitching she had done on your side. It was well done for a Brothel Madam, well done for anyone in fact. “I cleaned it, and sewed you up.” She said sweetly as she pulled the cover back over you.

You grabbed her wrist, “Milk of the poppy, please I need it.” You pleaded, 

“I’ll give you what I can. One of my girls is expecting a child soon, we’ll need it.” She said soothingly as she stood to get it. 

“She should give her essence of nightshade for that, not the milk.” You said with expertise, 

Baelise looked back at you with a smile as she rummaged through her various remedies and elixirs. “You have dreams don’t you?” 

“We all do.” You said almost frustrated that she remembered what you said before. 

“You have dreams that come to fruition.” You looked back to her, as she approached with a spoon full of the milk, “You lose yourself in thought, when you do, your mind goes to the future. You hear them speaking, you see visions of what is to come. Only brief moments, but enough.” 

“How do you know this?” You asked as you drank the milk in, 

“I saw you coming, (Y/N).” She said removing the spoon from your mouth. “I saw you fall in that river. Saw your lifeless body drift up the stream towards my brothel. I stood outside waiting for you.” 

You laid there, debating whether or not you could trust her. Whether or not you should tell her any more. Though you felt you could trust her. She knew your name, maybe her talent was much more powerful than your own, maybe you could learn from her, “It only started a few moons ago.” You said softly, 

“It comes to us when we are ready. Like our moonblood.” Her tone was soft and gentle like a mother.

“I saw the attack before it happened. I think at least. How do I stop it before it happens?” You said pained although this time it wasn’t from the cut in your side.

“It is sometimes beyond us to stop such outcomes. You can try, but no one will listen. They’ll think you are mad.” She said as she continued to dab the damp cloth on your forehead.

“This is a curse.” You scoffed,

“Gifts are not good nor bad. They are given.” She smiled at you softly, “You’re a healer yourself aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” You said, your voice soft and gentled from the milk.

“You always know how to treat a person's wounds do you not?” 

“I studied for-”

She interrupted you, “The most knowledgeable masters make mistakes. Outlook symptoms. Prefer to take shortcuts. You do not. You can place someone's hand in yours, examine a cut with your eyes alone, even hear the way a bone breaks and just know exactly what needs to be done.” She said, and you nodded. “It’s part of your gift.” You felt your eyes grow heavy, from the poppy no doubt. As you felt yourself drift into sleep, Baelise, tucked your hair beside your ear and whispered, “Sleep.” Before leaving you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

That night Podrick dreamt of you. Not unusual but this time it felt as if it were real. 

He saw you in his chambers back in king's landing, wearing the dress you wore when you first laid together. “Podrick?” You asked softly, though Podrick tried, he couldn’t speak.

He tried to reach out to you, but each time he tried he felt further and further away from you.

“Podrick!” Brienne shouted, waking Podrick up from his deep sleep. He sat up disorientated, he held onto his head as he tried to come back to reality. “You sleep heavier now that we are sleeping in an inn. Perhaps we should return to the ditches.” Brienne said sneeringly. 

“Just… Having strange dreams.” He grunted, 

“As long as they do not affect our mission.” She said looking back to Winterfell.

He shook his head, “They won’t, My Lady.” 

Brienne looked over to him. She felt badly for always being so short with him.

“What are they?” She asked reluctantly. Podrick looked at her confused, not knowing why she would want to know. Brienne sighed, “We have been cooped up in this inn waiting for a sign from Lady Sansa, with little to discuss. This might be something of interest.” She conceded, 

“A woman.” He said, the longing very apparent in his tone.

“Never mind, I do not need to hear that.” Brienne said with disgust.

“Not like that.” Podrick shook his head, “I knew her from Kings Landing. She was Handmaiden to Margaery Tyrell. A Mormont who was held captive in the south.” She smiled as he recalled the memory of you, “She was a brave woman.” He nodded.

Brienne hesitated to add to what he said, “I remember her.” she said, thinking it might offer him some comfort.

“You do?” He asked, perking up like a starved dog who smelt food.

“Yes, she was practically connected to Margaery Tyrell’s hip.” Podrick sat closer as if he were a child listening to a story before bed, Brienne looked at him with furrowed brows but continued.  “She did not speak much. Handmaidens rarely do. But she complimented my sword. Unusual for a Lady I thought.” She said looking out the window, thinking that was the end of it.

“She’s an unusual woman.” He said as a compliment with a smile on his face, he looked back up to her, “She told me about you.” Brienne looked down at Podrick with curiosity,  “Said you were exactly what she wanted to be as a girl.” 

“A very unusual woman indeed.” Brienne scoffed. “Do you think she poisoned Joffrey?” She asked, her curiosity taking over her, “Mormonts despise southern houses. Despise the Crown. She had the opportunity to do it-“

“No. My Lady.” He said in haste, “She would spit in Lord's drinks. Never poisoned them.” He shook his head.

“The armored girl the boy from the inn talked of. You think that was her?” She asked softer than normal.

“He said she was a Mormont. No other Mormonts are that far south.” His tone was slightly deeper

“I gave you chance after chance to leave. Why didn’t you go find her?” Brienne asked as she turned her attention back to him.

Podrick looked down, slightly disappointed in himself, “I don’t know where she is. Don’t even know how to try and look.” 

“Once Lady Sansa is safe, I’ll help you.” Podrick smiled as was about to thank her before he noticed something behind her,

“My Lady!” Podrick shouted as he pointed towards the broken tower, where a candle was lit.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Back in the brothel, Baelise continued to teach you more of your gift, as you tried to get your body out of bed. 

“Did you dream of anything tonight?” Baelise asked as she watched you attempt to get out of bed. 

“Just a brown horse, with a-” You grunted as you finally stood. “A white spot on its head.”

You finally were able to stand without assistance. Baelise knew that your time with her was coming to an end. She smiled at your progress but knew that she’d one last thing to teach you.

“Have you heard of the Lord of Light?” She asked softly, 

“Ramblings of it, here and there.” You grunted as you got accustomed to limping around the room. 

Baelise lit the fire, “The Lord might offer you further clarity.” She said as she fed the fire another log. 

“My family served the old gods.” You said dismissively, trying to pay closer attention to your unsteady steps.

“And yet the Lord of Light might allow you vision through fire.” She said as she stood, dusting her hands clean from the wood, “Peer into it. Deeply.” She said as she took you by your shoulders and turned you towards the fire.

You huffed, “I see nothing.” You shook your head, “Perhaps the Lord of Light does not like me.” You said as a jest.

Baelise rolled her eyes, pushed you closer to it, “It does not happen in an instant. Keep looking.” 

You did, as you did you could swear the fire morphed before your eyes. 

“Wildlings cross the wall. Welcomed in by some man… pretty as a girl.” You blinked hard as you looked away. You struggled to stand on your own, Baelise helped you up.  “My father is dead, or is going to be. I must leave here now.” You said as you hurriedly began to put your armor on. 

“Are you certain?” Baelise asked as she helped you, 

“You don’t know my father.” You said, finally finishing putting on your armor. As you rushed to the door you looked back to Baelise, “Thank you.” You said earnestly, she smiled and nodded as you made your way out.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

In Winterfell Podrick and Brienne were determined to find Lady Sansa. 

They heard the sounds of men and hounds in the distance and followed. As they approached the men shouted “It’s a bloody woman!” As Brienne pulled her sword out, so did Podrick. Brienne kills most of the soldiers on horseback, then knocks one off his horse before slitting his throat. 

Podrick, his fighting skills having improved under Brienne's teaching, fights and kills a Bolton soldier, but falls off his horse in the process. He then challenges another Bolton soldier, killing him as well. He thought you’d be proud of him for that.

Once all the soldiers are dead, Brienne steps towards Sansa. She laid her blade on the ground before her, kneeling, “Lady Sansa, I offer my services once again. I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear by the old gods and the new.” She vowed,

Sansa began “And I vow… that you shall always have a place by my hearth- and…” 

“Meat and mead at my table.” Podrick said, helping her along with her vows. 

“Meat and mead at my table.” She stumbled, “And I pledge to ask for no service that might bring you dishonor. I swear by the old gods and the new. Arise.” Sansa vowed in return. 

Podrick smiled, as what was Brienne’s only wish finally came true. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You however, were in Winterfell's woods at the same time. Limping your way North, the pain in your side, still greatly disabling you. 

“Who is this?” A Bolton Soldier said, “Not the redhead we're looking for.” Another Soldier said. 

You paid them no mind, not even looking at them. You had your bow and arrow, and your sword. If anyone dared try and fight you, you were confident even now you would win. 

“No, but she is a pretty thing-” The first soldier said, “Oi little girl!” He shouted, 

“Fuck off.” You rasped, 

The man scoffed, “You don't look like you're in much of a position to be a cunt.”

“I said fuck off.” You rasped even louder, 

“Come on, birdy. We’ve been out here a while. Give us a little fun and we’ll get you a ride wherever you like!” The second solider said. 

You finally looked over, and saw one of them was on a brown horse with a white spot. Just as you dreamed. You smirked, 

“Yes you will.” You mumbled, “Alright then.” You said louder, voice still raspy from the pain.  

The men laughed as they got off their horses, “That's a good lass.” The first solider said taking a step towards you,

The second solider however grabbed the first one, “You ain’t going first, I’m the one who convinced her-” 

“I don’t want used cunt-” The first solider argued back, 

You interrupted, “No need, I’ll take you both at once.” You said with a smirk.

They both chuckled as they undid their trousers, “You are a whore sent from the Gods aren’t you?” The first solider said, you stepped towards them. 

“Perhaps.” You said before pulling your sword out and stabbing through the second soldier’s chest. Before the other could pull up his pants to get his own sword, you pull your blade out of the solider and cut through the other with just as much ease as the first. 

You huffed, over exerting yourself in an already fragile state. Though you were more upset by the blood that had gotten on yourself. 

You looked up at the horse with the brown coat and white spot, and smiled at it. “Come on,” You said it to as you mounted the horse, “We’re going North.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As Podrick and Brienne made their way into the Castle Black gates. He looked around for any sign of you. He knew that this was the place you would go if you had gotten away. And when he didn't see you, it worried him terribly.

As he watched Jon and Sansa reunite, he looked over to Brienne hoping this would comfort her in some way. And hoping she still meant what she said about helping him find you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ The pain had gotten considerably worse over the next day as you rode, never stopping once. You rode hunched over in pain grasping at your side. 

Both you and your new horse which you’d given no name, were exhausted, and starved. But it would be worth it, as you approached the gates of Castle Black, two men stood above the gates wall, looking at you with confusion.

“Open the gate.” You rasped, your voice was weak and breaking. 

“You a Bolton?” The man shouted back down at you.

You huffed, looking up at him though still hunched in pain, “Do I look like a fucking Bolton?” You said your voice husky, “I’m a Mormont! Open the fucking gate!” You shouted though your voice was still unable to carry very far. 

“Open the gates!” The men shouted. 

As they did you rode in on your horse, everyone starred at you. Three men rushed to your aid as soon as they saw the blood that coated your side.

The men helped you off of your horse, you almost cried out from the pain of it all. 

“The horse needs to eat.” you said to some man who then dragged the horse off to the stables. 

You looked around for a moment, hopping your father was still there, somewhere. But when you looked around you saw Wildlings, and you knew your father was dead. You didn’t hate them, you didn’t know them. But your father would rather die then see them beyond the wall. That much you knew. As you kept looking, you saw Jon Snow, and Sansa Stark, looking at you with confusion and surprise, you looked at them with the same look. 

A sharp pain ripped through your side once more, you hunched over gripping at your side, wincing in pain. 

As you did you felt familiar hands on you, as you looked you saw the same brown eyes you loved for so long. 

“(Y/N)...” Podrick said softly, his eyes were wide and worried. He wanted to smile and embrace you but your state concerned him far greater. 

Before you could say anything the pain overtook your senses. Your hearing and vision left you just as they did in the river and you fainted. Thankfully this time, in the arms of your lover.

“You’ve a way with women.” A tall wildling man with red hair who was standing near by said. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: NEXT ONE WILL EAT I PROMISE JUST LET ME SET IT UP OKAYYYYYYYYYY IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AND SUCKS THE NEXT ONE WILL BE BETTER AND COME WAY FASTER... K, love you… xoxo 

-Bambi

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[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

To piggyback off of @shunnedmorlock's post here about the relative justification for both the black and green causes, and how the show presents Rhaenyra's cause as sympathetic.

The in-world choice of who to support in an internecine conflict is, for a lot of lords, ultimately going to be based in self-interest rather than legal, ideological or moral justifications. This fandom fixates a lot on who is in the "right," but the houses that throw their support behind Rhaenyra or Aegon mainly do it for self interest or self preservation. Every lord is going to have multiple literal dragons breathing down their necks, many lords are going to be offered enticements from one side or the other, and some will be considering their own personal circumstances and the precedent their choice sets. A great number of the houses seem pretty determined to stay out of the conflict altogether, even several of the houses that pledge their support in theory, wait until the risk of being caught up in a dragon battle has passed to take any action.

For viewers, our reasons for supporting one side or another are different. Strictly speaking, looking at things from a modern framework, no one has a "right" to the throne. Usurpation is not a human rights violation or even a crime by our standards. Imagine fixating on women being unable to own slaves and thinking that a woman fighting for her right to do so is an expression of feminism. Ridiculous! Certainly it is bullshit within an already bullshit system that a woman comes after her brothers in a hereditary monarchy, but in a just system this conflict wouldn't exist in the first place, not because Rhaenyra would automatically be queen, but because Westeros wouldn't have a king or a queen at all. Liberation doesn't start at the top and trickle down, but rather the opposite.

That said, to modern viewers, Rhaenyra's cause is sympathetic because it feels like an injustice. Most of us don't live within a feudal system and do not have the framework to understand why it's not a form of oppression to be denied the throne. We see it more like a presidential race, in which Rhaenyra is the Hillary Clinton who might have defeated Trump in 2016 if not for misogyny, in which even if we didn't particularly like her, we were disgusted by the fact that that man beat a woman who was at worst no different from many of the men who had occupied the seat before her. To the average vaguely liberal American watching the show, it's insane for fans to support Aegon and the greens and clearly you'd only do it for horny or antifeminist reasons. And you see that a bit in even the showrunners' comments on Alicent being a "woman for Trump," how both they and much of the audience fail to fully understand the historical framework, but in a way that's kind of understandable, because while what happens to Rhaenyra might not be injustice, it is unfair.

If you're looking at things from a historical in-world framework, this is a world in which stability takes a higher priority than equality. Inequality is everywhere, completely baked into the system. If you want to bring about gender equality in a feudal monarchy with a large agrarian population, you have to have first the stability necessary for the rise of an urban middle class which allows for more women to move into the trades, you need the printing press for widespread literacy, which means that more women are getting educated, you need movements such as the reformation to challenge the divine right of kings, and you need to reform the political structure so that leadership is not based on birthright in the first place, because that concept inherently reinforces patriarchal norms even in modern countries that allow women to become queens regnant. So making one woman queen is not going to make things better for women across Westeros, but that woman going to war to reclaim her "stolen" birthright could make things a whole lot worse for a pretty much everyone. This is why you see a lot of history nerds on this site going well, yes but Rhaenyra does have the weaker claim because common law was a big deal in the medieval world and her becoming queen is going to lead to long term succession crises due to the circumstances of her children's birth, so the thing to do would be to take the peace deal. Because while on an emotional level you can understand why she doesn't, it's not the choice that prioritizes the good of the realm.

I think on some level Condal understands (and I think GRRM probably hammered this point home) that you can't really grant anyone the moral high ground in a war of succession if you want to approach the issue with any level of nuance; Rhaenys' speech in the previews for S2 seems to indicate as much. The problem with HotD is that it wants to have its cake and eat it too. It wants to say war for the throne bad, but HBO also wants to make up for the way GoT fumbled the ball with Dany and give the people their likeable dragonriding princess triumphant.

Except Rhaenyra isn't triumphant, she is felled by her own Targaryen hubris and belief that nothing could possibly overcome the might of dragons. It's not Aegon that defeats her, truly, it's the people emboldened in various ways to act against Targaryen interests. It's the dragonseeds she hands dragons to who wonder why they have to take orders from a queen or king when they have control of the kingmaking weapons of mass destruction, it's the smallfolk who face down dragons with pitchforks because they've had enough. They've backed themselves into a bit of a corner with what @shunnedmorlock called the "engoodening" of the black faction, but they can turn it around by showing that it's not enough to be nice to your family, you have to actually care about the people and at the very least (the bar is on the floor, it's fuedalism!) not throw them into chaos, famine, and war for no reason. Give us payoff for Rhaenys' dragonpit scene, have Mysaria and Alys Rivers play a role in their sides' downfalls, show how resentment on Dragonstone allows Aegon to infiltrate. And yes, show Rhaenyra losing herself and becoming a worse person, but in ways that the audience can't excuse as justified. This is how you sow the seeds for that actual progressive change that people seem so desperate to find in the dragonshow, you show how the Dance emboldens the regular people who for the first time realize they can slay dragons, dovetailing into the new show, which stars Dunk, a commonborn man from Fleabottom, and Aegon V, the only Targaryen who ever cared about the smallfolk.

Can HBO pull it off? Ehh. But I remain eternally hopeful, against my better judgement.

[saintsenara]

Some will say that where there's beef there's sexual tension. Let's hear it for Sirius/Molly?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

now, obviously, the easy way round this pairing is to make it a sort of hate-sex thing, in which molly and sirius fire themselves up for a night of passion by arguing over who's right about harry.

the easy-and-also-degenerate way round it is to connect it to sirius' - well, let's just say - complicated relationship with his mother...

but a hill i'll die on is that this fandom really overestimates the tension between molly and sirius in order of the phoenix [and also, to be quite frank, ignores that neither she nor sirius is completely in the right or completely in the wrong, which is why their beef is so juicy in the first place].

and so the fandom ends up overlooking the fact that their relationship can actually be explored really interestingly without the idea that they hate each other.

while we know that molly conducts missions for the order, her primary role in the period 1995-1998 is a domestic one. she's the person who's responsible for things like making grimmauld place habitable and feeding the collected members of the order. the importance of domestic and caring work within resistance organisations is really overlooked - because of misogyny! - but it's something which is absolutely vital to those organisations being able to carry out their aims. the revolution is not hungry.

and the series does actually show us this - even if unintentionally. order meetings frequently take place in the kitchen around mealtimes. the domestic spaces of grimmauld place and the burrow serve not only as organisational bases but also as centres of support and community for order members [tonks coming round to see molly for tea and sympathy; lupin being asked to christmas at the burrow; snape's refusal to eat with the order being considered further evidence that his loyalties are not really with dumbledore, and so on]. the difficulty molly has with bringing grimmauld place under control also serves as a metaphor for the order's struggle against voldemort.

which brings us to sirius during order of the phoenix.

one of the things i think is often overlooked when we think about sirius' depression and feelings of uselessness while he's confined to grimmauld place is that these stem from him holding the belief that the only viable way of helping the war effort is to take a combat role.

which is to say, the adult sirius is reckless, but his recklessness isn't, as is sometimes asserted, caused by carelessness or stupidity - he's an observant, precise, intelligent man.

it's caused by the fact that he can only see value in being someone who fights, who's out and about, and who's putting himself at risk for the cause. he's unable to consider himself useful to the order outside of that context - which is why he chafes so much against the idea that staying in the house and remaining safe is crucial work, not only in that the fact of him living protects harry, but because domestic labour is worthy and fulfilling and revolutionary in and of itself.

you can do so much with the idea that - once the kids are back at school - the only people rattling around grimmauld place all day every day are molly and sirius, and that she spends her time trying to chivvy him into recognising that the housework she'd quite like his help with is really the only thing holding the rag-tag order together. he's not going to give a shit at first, but he can learn...

and food and clean clothes and swept hearths exist on the other side of a coin marked love, don't they?

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

and to fully set the record straight, i do think issues arise when thousands of potentially traumatised men from countries with less womens rights immigrate to countries where women have more rights, i just fundamentally disagree with putting people under general suspicion because of skin colour, ethnicity or nationality, and that the solution is to not let male refugees in. and i do think its an issue that we leave this discussion to racists and rightwingers while people who worry about living next to refugee homes are immediately labelled racist even when there are valid concerns being brought forward.

i think the way to go is to not make immigrants and refugees second or even third class citizens with no rights and isolating them in refugee homes thereby creating parallel societies, but to put the most effort into integrating them into society and the workforce as soon as possible, by offering training programs that include language lessons and housing them in different districts and areas so theyre not concentrated in one place which on top fosters criminal behaviour.

and what really pisses me off is people pretending like western europe would be some sort of feminist haven if it wasnt for immigrants because thats bullshit, or even worse, that white men are less misogynistic just because women here had the chance to fight for equal rights that protect us a bit better and create a culture with slightly more repercussions for blatant misogyny, but its not because white men are just more civilised and supportive of womens rights.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty

Perhaps this is what it meant to rule? To be a Princess? Something which Maera was woefully unprepared for. Whilst her mother was the daughter of a Prince, Lady Gael was educated in the ways of a Lady of the Stormlands, prepared since youth to be able to fulfill her role in life, as a wife mother and Lady of a noble House. But Maera? Being a Princess was not on the cards for her.

Although being a member of House Targaryen certainly had its advantages, Maera could feel her personality and freedom being crushed underneath the burden of her responsibility and authority, meaning she could never be her true self. Duty called for her to put on the mask of whatever was necessary for her subjects, whether that be kindness, diplomacy or ruthlessness. It was incredibly exhausting.

That evening, Maera found herself back in her chambers at Harrenhal. The darkness outside was punctuated by the soft glow of candles lit throughout the room, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The warm, golden light created an intimate and soothing atmosphere, a stark contrast to the harsh events of the day.

Maera sat on her bed, now clad in a soft nightgown that felt cool against her skin. Her freshly washed and redressed wounds throbbed faintly, a constant reminder of her recent ordeal. Her dark brown and silver hair, previously pinned up, now flowed freely in tight curls, cascading over her shoulders and down her back, thanks to the maid who had attended to her.

Spread out on the bed around her were numerous pieces of parchment, bottles of ink, and letters. Maera had decided to use replying to correspondence as a distraction from the tumultuous thoughts that plagued her mind. The act of writing, of focusing on something tangible and methodical, provided a small respite from the emotional and physical pain.

The letters varied in importance and content, but most were regarding mild matters. Some were messages from allies, updates on the war, and requests for guidance. Others were personal letters, filled with words of concern and support from members of House Wylde. Each piece of correspondence demanded her attention and her response, giving her a sense of purpose and control.

Only a few were left unopened. One bore many foreign stamps and seals, which Maera recognized as Essosi, before eagerly opening it.

Little Sister

I hope this correspondence finds you well. I am writing to you with some news that may ease the Greens efforts at sea.

After much deliberation from the Magisters, they have agreed to send a fleet in support of freeing the Gullet so trade may continue with Kings Landing. Whilst I am sure this is just a bid to get money back into the Magisters pockets, it will still work out in your favour.

We await your command, Princess.

Yours Faithfully,

Dermot

Maera let out a breath she did not know she was holding, smiling gratefully at the news. The magisters of Essos had promised their ships, though likely to serve their own agenda, it was still a significant boon to the war effort. Maera put the letter aside, eager to inform the war council of this development.

Another letter was from little Princess Jaehaera, who had written about her younger brother Maelor’s mischievous antics. According to Jaehaera, Maelor had taken to pulling her hair when the nursery maids weren't looking, a fact that both annoyed and amused Maera.

Attached to the letter was a small painting of Ēbrion. The dragon, as depicted by Jaehaera, resembled a pig with rabbit ears and chicken wings, splatted with blue and black paint that had bled together in a whimsical, childlike manner. Despite the crude rendering, Maera giggled at the sight, her heart warmed by the thoughtfulness of her beloved niece. She quickly penned a reply, expressing her longing to be reunited with them soon.

The final letter in the pile lay there, almost forgotten in the shuffle. Its red wax seal bore the symbol of an archer, and Maera’s green eyes widened as recognition dawned. It was from House Tarly.

With a mixture of apprehension and urgency, Maera hastily opened the letter, bracing herself for threats or troubling news from the new Lord of Horn Hill. To her surprise, she found nothing of the sort.

The letter began without a formal greeting, no indication of who it was from. Yet, the distinctive loops on the L's and the emphatic crosses on the T's were unmistakable. Wynni.

How could you?

I am sold to a family like a brood mare to further our father’s influence across the Westeros, the only reason I am now convinced he had children.

I arrive in a land I am unfamiliar with, to live with people I do not know, and hastily married and bedded by a stranger. I am forbidden by my husband’s family from conversing with my siblings when House Tarly turn cloak, and left completely and utterly alone, abandoned, an orphan.

Then when I finally begin to find happiness with my husband, as we begin to form a bond, you take him away. And in doing so, I have lost his child in my womb.

They are to ship me back to Rain House as House Tarly feel I am responsible for your actions and will no doubt betray them. My marriage, my child, erased. I will never, ever, forgive you.

Maera began to shake, her breaths coming quickly in a panicked manner as she read the saddened and angered words of her sister. Relief washed over her knowing that Wynni was alive and well, after not having any contact with her in months. But the knowledge that Wynni was furious with her for murdering Lord Alan, and the pain of her sister’s miscarriage, filled Maera with dread.

Her hands trembled as she set the letter aside, her heart pounding in her chest. Maybe Wynni did not know about the attempt her husband had made on Maera’s life? Even so, sensing Wynni’s hurt and anger on the parchment cut Maera deeply. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within her.

With shaking hands, Maera began to clear away all the letters, quills, and ink from her bed. She carefully stacked the correspondence, placing them on a nearby table. She blew out the candles, plunging the room into darkness except for the faint moonlight seeping through the windows.

When Maera eventually lay her head on her pillow, tears began streaming down her face, silently sobbing as the weight of the day's emotions overwhelmed her. The child in her womb kicked violently, and though she stroked her stomach in an attempt to soothe the baby, it was not enough to distract her from her sorrow.

She wished so dearly to be back at Rain House with Sabine, Wynni, and their many other brothers and sisters. Maera longed to curl up beside Wynni in bed, as she had when they were children, when Wynni was scared of the dark. She wanted nothing more than to stroke her little sister’s hair, hold her tightly, and tell her everything would be alright. But it wouldn’t. They were now in the adult world, and the horrors they faced were so much worse than the dark.

Maera was unsure how much more of this she could take. The Dance of Dragons seemed to be not only tearing apart House Targaryen but also her own family. The strain, the betrayals, and the relentless conflict felt like an unbearable burden. Eventually, as exhaustion took over, Maera drifted into a fitful sleep, her tears still wet on her cheeks and her heart heavy with longing and despair.

“Princess, should you not be abed?”

The next day, Maera limped into the council chambers on the arm of Lord Unwin Peake. Her injuries still caused her great pain, but she had found a new strength within herself and was determined to be present and more engaged during the meetings. The ache in her body was a reminder of her resolve. As she entered, the other council members rose from their chairs in respect, although some looked shocked to see her, as evident by Lord Vance’s questioning of her presence.

“I have been abed long enough, thank you Lord Vance,” she replied firmly as she shuffled carefully to her seat at the head of the table, focusing on each step to hide the winces of pain that threatened to show. She couldn't afford to appear weaker than she already felt.

Once she was seated comfortably, Lord Unwin made his way to his own seat. Maera glanced around the table at the council members as they took their seats. Maester Cain had a look of concern on his face at her attendance, clearly worried about her health. The elder Lord Vance looked annoyed, perhaps questioning the prudence of her presence. Lord Butterwell scratched at his beard curiously, awaiting the Princess to speak. Maera detested the looks from the men, feeling their judgment and doubt pressing upon her. She straightened in her chair, determination flaring in her eyes. It was time to prove herself.

“Before we begin, I must apologize sincerely to all of you,” she began with diplomacy, her hands resting calmly on the table. “My husband leaving caused me to disengage from the matters at hand.” A momentary look of sadness washed over her face at the thought of Aemond, but she quickly hid it from the council members, repressing the complicated feelings she had towards the Prince for the meantime. “But since the attempt on my life, rest assured I return with a steady head and I am focused on what is at stake.”

The men, apart from Lord Unwin, exchanged hesitant glances. Lord Butterwell cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Princess, myself and Lord Vance are unsure if your attendance is…appropriate.” Maera clenched her jaw but attempted to remain composed as the Lord continued to speak. “While we value your presence in Harrenhall, you are with child and have suffered immensely. Is it wise to further burden yourself?”

Maera glanced around the room, gauging the reactions of the others. Of course the old fools did not want her there without her husband. She was a woman, and so obviously incapable of being with child and managing affairs with the castle walls, as well as making decisions about her own, and the Realm’s, future. At least that is probably what a lot of the noblemen thought.

Maera bit her lip to stifle a scoff at the Lord’s notion, thinking to herself that no wonder Rhaenyra was so eager to win the throne for herself, or else she would be cast aside to only focus on her family and her husband’s wellbeing, not having any say in government affairs. Despite everything that had transpired between the Blacks and the Greens, in that moment in the council room, Maera empathised with her half-sister in law.

Taking a steadying breath, she addressed Lord Butterwell’s concerns. “Do you recall the fate of Alys Rivers, my Lord?” she asked with a tilted head, a harsh tone to her voice.

The Lord gulped nervously, his eyes darting away from hers. “I do.”

Maera nodded, her gaze unwavering as a grin spread to her face. “Good, then we can all agree I am not some helpless maiden who needs protection from updates of battle and gore.”

Lord Vance huffed in frustration, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table. Maera pressed on, asserting herself. “My presence here, and that of my dragon’s, are what is holding this fortress. If you feel you can match Ēbrion’s power and defend Harrenhall from the Blacks and their own dragons, then please, feel free to speak it now.”

A tense silence filled the room as the men avoided her gaze, their unease palpable. Maera’s eyes flicked to each of them, her resolve unshaken. Lord Unwin watched her with a hint of admiration, his respect for her evident in his steady gaze. Yet this was not enough for the Princess to assert herself and allow the meeting to truly begin.

She sighed deeply, leaning back in her chair with frustration. If she was going to get these lords to work with her, she would have to try a different technique. Were she a Prince, a direct approach would be suffice, but as she was no man, it would not hold any weight; she needed to be more tactful.

“I will not sit here and insult you and claim I fully understand all matters at hand, because I do not,” Maera said, her voice steady and sincere. “You have a wealth of knowledge between you all, my Lords. And whilst I am aware that I am not my husband, I represent him and the crown whilst he is not here.”

By admitting her own shortcomings, as well as acknowledging the void Aemond’s absence had left, an absence that she could not fill, the Lords slowly appeared more receptive. Although she did not necessarily believe that a Princess’s role was separate from politics and battle plans, it had always been the way of things. Some even thought the order had been bestowed on humanity by the Gods, and to challenge that was seen as blasphemous.

As the Lords glanced at each other, Maera continued on. “I would be honoured if you would teach me, be patient with me, work with me, and as a united council, we can make decisions on behalf of the Realm.” Maera saw Lord Unwin nod approvingly in the corner of her eye. “That way, there will not be a disruption in proceedings whilst Aemond is away.”

Through giving the lords the illusion of power within the meeting, Maera ensured she held her own. She made them feel important and involved, fostering a sense of collaboration rather than confrontation.

“Can we come to an agreement, my Lords?”

Maester Cain's look of concern softened, and even the elder Lord Vance seemed to begrudgingly accept her presence. Lord Butterwell, still scratching at his beard, nodded thoughtfully at her words. The awkward tension began to dissipate, replaced by a more productive and cooperative atmosphere.

Maera knew that winning their trust wouldn't be easy, but this was a promising start. She was determined to navigate this delicate balance, using her newfound approach to strengthen her position and secure the support she needed.

When the meeting finally began, gradually, the lords began to engage more openly, offering their insights and suggestions whilst also considering Maera’s opinions and own knowledge. Minor matters were discussed, such as the delivery of wheat and barley to the fortress. The lords deliberated over safe routes for suppliers to take during the war, their combined experience ensuring that vital supplies would reach Harrenhall without unnecessary risk.

The Butterwell lord mentioned a shortage of blacksmiths in the area, which had led to fewer swords in the hands of their soldiers.Lord Unwin, ever resourceful, suggested procuring additional blacksmiths from King's Landing. The lords quickly agreed, and the matter was efficiently brought to a close.

As the lords continued to chat, Maera's attention drifted to the large map spread out across the table. Black and green figurines representing the warring factions dotted the map, and she couldn't help but smile at the memory of herself and Aemond knocking them off the table during their passionate encounter.

Sadness and frustration washed over her. She was furious with Aemond for his actions and decisions, yet she missed his presence deeply. This conflicted her, making her even angrier at herself. Balancing these emotions was a constant struggle, one that only added to the weight of her responsibilities.

As Maera studied the map intently, noticing how the green figurines seemed even sparser than before, a comment from Lord Vance caused her head to snap up.

“We have some troubling news to report upon the Westerlands border,” the older nobleman began, his tone grave. “Whilst attempting to get the Lannister army across the Red Fork, Lord Jason was killed.”

Maera sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping. It was another blow to the Green forces, and she could not help but feel guilty for not patrolling the borders the last few weeks, even though her condition prevented her from doing so.

“Ser Adrian took charge and managed to get the remaining host to Acorn Hall in order to regroup,” Lord Butterwell added, his expression serious. “Unfortunately, the rivermen met them again on the battlefield, and even though the Greens were victorious, Ser Adrian was slain.”

Maera was stunned, her eyes widening. Her mind raced with the implications, her thoughts immediately turning to her sister, Sabine. Ser Adrian had been kind, loyal, and a good husband. Thankfully, Maera’s sister had given birth to two sons and could regent for the eldest until he came of age, ensuring her safety. Maera dug her nails into her palm, feeling another flare of anger towards Aemond. Yet another of Alys's visions had proven wrong, adding fuel to her simmering rage.

“We must send our condolences to Lady Johanna and Lady Sabine for the loss of their Lord husbands.”

“Yes, Princess, but that is not the only matter at hand,” replied Lord Unwin, causing Maera’s frown to deepen as she shifted her gaze to him. He continued, “The Red Kraken has taken it upon himself to pillage and plunder the shores of the Westerlands.”

Maera’s expression hardened as she absorbed the news, her fingers tightening around the sleeve of her dress. The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone present. She remembered Aemond's attempt to procure an alliance with Lord Dalton Greyjoy. The Ironborn Lord had stayed true to his word, adhering to tradition by reeving and raiding along the coast. It was a stark reminder of the unpredictable and brutal nature of war.

“Lady Johanna has written to her good brother to plead for aid, and the Master of Ships has granted it,” revealed Maester Cain.

“Leaving us with less ships along the Gullet,” added Lord Vance.

Maera looked at the map, glancing at Essos and the Straits. The news from her brother, Dermot, had come at the right time, and Maera was thankful she could present a solution to the council. Staring at the map, she saw a small box of green figurines beside it. Confidently, she picked up some extra figurines and dotted them on the coast of Essos and some near the Straits of Tarth. This piqued the council's interest, some lords leaning forward and awaiting Maera to reveal her plan.

“My brother has written to me that the Magisters will send a fleet to our cause. This should bolster the numbers around the gullet and leave us less vulnerable,” the Princess declared, moving the figurines she had placed to the Gullet of the Crownlands. “I can request more ships be sent to from Morne to compensate for the Lannister fleets’s absence. Are in agreement?”

The council listened attentively, nodding in agreement as Maera spoke. Her proposal was sound, a well-thought-out strategy to mitigate the threat of the Velaryons. As she placed the figurines on the map, representing the deployment of forces, the council members began to discuss the specifics, their initial hesitation easing into cooperation.

Lord Unwin agreed to correspond with the Master of Ships, Ser Tyland, to make him aware of the strategy and gain his consent for the arrangements to be made. Despite the weight of her grief and anger, Maera found solace in the fact that she could still lead and protect her people. Her resolve was unwavering, and with each passing moment, she felt more determined to see her plans through and ensure the safety and strength of her House.

The flames in the hearth of Maera's room flickered and danced, casting a warm, golden glow throughout the chamber. Shadows played across the walls, their movements mirroring the crackling fire. The heat radiated outward, creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the cold stone walls of Harrenhal.

As Maera sat in her chair, she felt a sense of accomplishment. The contributions she had made at the war council meeting filled her with a renewed confidence. She realized that she could indeed handle these responsibilities on her own. Her strategic mind, combined with the power she wielded—a dragon, a fleet by inheritance, and the diplomatic nature of a politician-made her a force to be reckoned with.

However, Maera wished to put all that aside for a moment. She wanted to spend quality time with the child in her womb. She felt a strong kick beneath her black and golden loosely fitted robes, a reminder of the life growing inside her. Gently, she stroked her swollen belly, a tender smile spreading across her face. The worries and burdens of leadership momentarily faded away as she focused on the small, yet powerful movements of her unborn child.

In this quiet, serene moment, Maera found peace. The future remained uncertain, filled with challenges and conflicts, but here and now, she was content. The firelight continued to bathe her in warmth, its soft glow reflecting in her eyes as she connected with the tiny life within her, drawing strength and comfort from their shared bond.

Maera’s previous bedridden recovery had only brought her closer to the child growing inside her. During those long, lonely days confined to her chambers, she often talked or sang to the babe as it rhythmically kicked against her hand. Isolated for most of the time, the babe had become her constant companion, a source of comfort and connection.

She conversed with her bump in both the common tongue and High Valyrian. Although there was no evidence in medical texts that a child could hear voices from outside the womb, Maera liked to think it could. Every time she spoke or sang, the child would respond with a punch or kick, as if acknowledging her presence and love.

The Princess couldn’t believe how quickly the pregnancy had progressed. Less than two moons remained until the child’s arrival. Despite all the changes she had already undergone, she marveled at how much she had grown to love this unborn life with a fierceness and intensity she had never experienced before. The anticipation of meeting her child filled her with a mix of excitement and trepidation, yet her love remained unwavering, a bright beacon amidst the turbulent seas of her life.

The large black and green dragon egg remained in its iron pot for most of the day near the hearth, nestled above piping hot coals that blazed fiercely, incubating the beast within. The intense heat radiated from the coals, enveloping the pot and creating an almost unbearable aura of scorching warmth. Servants of the castle dared not venture too close. The searing heat from the pot was overwhelming, making it impossible for them to lift it, let alone touch the egg itself.

However, Maera was unfazed . The blood of the dragon ran hot in her veins, rendering her unaffected by the scathing heat. She approached the pot with a calm determination, her hands immune to the burning touch as she lifted the egg. Cradling it gently against her round stomach, Maera felt no stings or burns.

As she held the egg, the child within her seemed to sense its presence. A series of wild kicks thudded against her belly, striking the shell of the egg. The sensation made Maera giggle, a joyful sound that resonated in the warmth of the hearth. The connection between her, the unborn dragon, and the child she carried was palpable, a harmony of life thriving in the heat.

“This egg could hatch and you could have a dragon of your very own. You will be so lucky to have one born to you, ” Maera whispered, gazing down at her bump as the child kicked against her hand. “My grandfather, your great-grandfather, Vaegon, was nicknamed ‘The dragonless’ as he did not claim one. He is now a Maester somewhere in the Citadel I think. No longer a Targaryen by name.”

As Maera spoke softly to her bump, she could hear the low calls and growls of her dragon, Ēbrion, drifting through her window. The great blue and black beast was still holding vigil in the burnt lavender field, remaining close to his rider. His massive form cast a shadow over the charred landscape, his eyes ever watchful and protective.

The Princess chuckled at the welcome noise. “I had to claim my dragon. Never in my life did I think I would ever be a dragon rider, that I would be just like my grandfather. And yet now, I feel I was born to be. That it is within my blood.”

Maera longed to ride Ēbrion again. She missed the sensation of the wind running rapidly through her hair, the invigorating scent of fresh air, and the exhilaration of soaring high above the ground. The freedom of the skies called to her, a siren’s song of liberation and joy.

She hoped fervently that Maester Cain would soon deem her injuries healed enough for her to take flight once more. The stab wounds to her thigh and arm were improving each day, but even the simplest tasks such as walking and dressing remained challenging. Each movement was a reminder of her ordeal, yet her spirit remained undaunted, driven by the desire to reunite with Ēbrion in the skies.

“I am still new to riding a dragon, but I am getting better everyday. It just takes some practice.”

In that moment, a wave of sadness washed over her as she pictured the one-eyed Prince. He had been her mentor in the art of dragon riding, teaching her everything she needed to know. He had shown her the different types of saddles, how to read a dragon's body language, the significance of the bond between rider and beast, and the precise techniques for steering the reins. Each lesson had been a shared moment of connection and trust.

Maera missed those times, times when her heart was lighter and less burdened by the troubles that now plagued her. Aemond had his faults, certainly, but she had trusted him then. He was her guide and partner, the one who helped her navigate not only life with a dragon, but the complexities of the royal court since her status had changed. But now? After everything that had transpired with Alys, Maera could not see a clear path forward. Betrayal and doubt clouded her thoughts, making it difficult to reconcile the man she had loved with the one who had caused her so much pain.

She was bound to Aemond, not through some fantastical prophecy or a greater calling from the Gods, as the dead witch had once suggested. No, their bond was forged through marriage and solidified by the child growing within her belly. This connection, both legal and familial, tied her to him in ways that were both inescapable and deeply complex.

“You have the dragons blood within you too,” the Princess assured the babe. “And it is not just my guidance you will have. The other person to teach you…will be your father.”

Familiar footsteps echoed just outside Maera’s door. She did not flinch or outwardly react, maintaining her calm focus on the babe and the dragon egg she cradled. The room was filled with a warm, serene ambiance as she whispered softly, undisturbed by the approaching presence.

The door to her chambers creaked open slowly, allowing a cool draft to sweep into the room. Maera turned her head to look at the figure standing in the doorway. Her heart sank and pounded loudly all at once as she instantly recognized the shadowy figure.

“Issa daria?” My Queen?

Notes: Heavy chapter. Lots happening on the lore front, make a note.

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[genderqueerdykes]

this may not be your wheelhouse and if so feel free to ignore but: do you know how to get past the sense of imposter syndrome wrt being punk? like. i'm punk, have always been will always be, it's objectively not debatable. but i've had to make some very un-punk decisions (ex. getting a degree and a normie job) in order to survive. and i haven't been well enough to do the work out on the streets or go to the venues in a while now. obviously i didn't magically become a poser, i still know the music, history, fashion, theory, etc... but i still kinda feel like a fraud :/ any advice?

you know, that's a pretty good question, actually, because i've noticed in a lot of alternative scenes, people really like to get uppity and make fun of people who are just getting into it, or may be into it for a while and then move on

i noticed it firsthand when i lived with other punks in a house venue. i saw probably hundreds of people filtering in and out of there over the course of months and a lot of conversations were leftist infighting and it just kinda became the same old garbage over and over again. some people have superiority complexes that make them feel "Above" everyone around them because they are counterculture. it can become a bit tiresome

what i would say, is that you cannot make decisions that line up with your beliefs/politics/etc. all the time. anticapitalists still need to make money. punks very well may need an established career in order to survive. people who live in food deserts have to rely on shitty companies in order to get their groceries and necessities. i don't think that makes anyone 'unpunk', fortunately, because despite how much we despise this capitalist hellhole, we can't just magically exist completely outside of it without engaging in every single thing we oppose

there's no reason why a punk can't be 'formally employed', so to speak, because not everyone is capable of living off of donations or running their own shop, selling zines, selling customized clothing, selling things they've grown ethically and organically, and so on. the thing is, is money moves so fast in capitalism that two weeks can easily break you. most people are one missed paycheck away from the worst situation of their life

as long as you actually follow through with what you believe and stand for in the areas where you can, that's what's important. as long as you behave in a way that doesn't oppress others, support your local community, participate in harm reduction events, or whatever your specific focus is on breaking down the structures firmly built around us to divide us, you are very much a punk.

respect for others, standing up for one's self, and other's when possible in situations where remaining peaceful is not an option, unlearning racism, trans/misogyny, transandrophobia, transphobia, lesbophobia, homophobia, intersexism, biphobia, and other queerphobic beliefs, learning to respect demonized and heavily oppressed people such as people of color, homeless people, addicts, people with personality disorders, people with schizophrenia, people with bipolar disorder, people with DID, people with OCD, people with autism, people with ADHD, and other neurodivergent and mentally ill people, and breaking down other internalized oppressive structures in your own mind to prevent perpetuating it, you've achieved your goal

the thing is is not every punk is a master of punk history, most punks are in the scene to meet with like minded people who very well may have other interests outside of the community that take up more of their time. many people don't have the time to read up on literature and zines because they live transient or busy lives. many punks don't listen to entirely punk music, some don't listen to any at all. i don't listen to a lot of music, due to being autistic and easily overwhelmed by sound, myself, so that is an area that i am not super versed in. i have very basic knowledge from sitting around and listening to other punks and their music, but i'm more focused on activism. but that's exactly the thing:

not every punk is an activist, either. you can wade as far as you personally want to into these waters. there are different kinds of punks, for sure, and that's not a bad thing at all. some folks are really passionate about music and want to spread a message that way, but may not have the time to become involved with local activist organizations. some punks are in it for the art. some are in it because they like each others company and personalities. some people like that there are a lot of trans and queer people in general in the scene so they find it a safe place to meet other queer people. some people like the casual atmosphere and ability to do whatever substances they want with other people in a safe environment without judgment, and around other people who have experiences with these substances. some people literally just dress alternative and like hanging out with other people who do and that's not bad, either.

all of these are okay things

as long as you acknowledge where you're at and not pretend to know more than you really do, you'll be fine. ultimately it means lot of things to a lot of different punks and just like any other identity, every punk will describe it slightly differently. i thought i was an outcast because i was the only real activist in that household, most other folks were there to be around like minded people who hate the way out society is run, and that's totally okay. if that's their vibe, that's their vibe. i can't tell them they're not punk, what would be the point of that? they play in and listen to punk bands. i'd be an idiot to tell them they're not really punk, you know?

you are the one who defines what punk looks like for you, as it is your experience. don't worry about someone else bothering you about it unless you've genuinely stepped out of line and said something potentially fascist, racist, queerphobic, etc. be open to genuine criticism but if someone gives you shit for not knowing some obscure detail about punk history it's not worth your time. i literally knew a punk girl who ran an anarchist reading club and she herself didn't read the book and just listened to everyone else talk about it and discerned her opinion from there.

punks come in all kinds- however:

THE ONLY WAY TO NEVER, EVER BE PUNK IS TO BE A NAZI, COP, OR OTHER KIND OF FASCIST. queerphobes, abelists, racists and their enablers aren't welcome either.

that's the main takeaway, if you ask me. i hope that helps, i have imposter syndrome with a few mental health things so i understand, it's a pain in the ass. if you have any more questions feel free to ask!

[daenerystargaryen06]

I saw a comment on another post about how fans of Daenerys (and those who also support TB) cannot accept criticism of Daenerys' character and go overboard with our love for her.

This statement is entirely false. Daenerys fans do entirely accept Daenerys' flaws and criticism to her character- so long as the criticism is done properly and makes sense. We only go against criticism when said criticism entirely misconstrues Daenerys' character in a false and gross way. Bending the text of the books or even early seasons of the show as an excuse to "criticize" Daenerys is obviously going to be ignored because it presents an entirely false narrative. The ones who do this mainly are Daenerys antis/Sansa stans/Jonsa stans. Most critical points/metas they make against her can be disproven (and have been many times) by reading the text of the books and analyzing Daenerys' show scenes early season before her character became entirely ruined by s8.

Daenerys fans do accept criticism of Daenerys and we do acknowledge her flaws. But the difference is that those who do criticize her often tend to paint her out to be 'evil' or the main villain for ASOIAF/GoT, when she isn't. Daenerys, like every other character in the ASOIAF series, is a gray character. Us fans see and know this. But Daenerys antis only look at her through a lens of black-and-white, which is an issue of itself, considering she isn't meant to be viewed that way. The reason why us Dany fans/stans go against criticism of Dany so much is because it's often wrong and entirely out of proportion, in which we make counter points/arguments backed up with actual textual evidence from the books or scenes from the show. The criticism against Daenerys isn't just critically analyzing her as a character, it's blatant hate and often misconstrued to paint her in a light that makes her seem worse than she is.

When we look in the world and setting of ASOIAF/GoT, Daenerys' actions are just like any other character in that world, only not as extreme, and when she makes the decisions she does within the books she questions the choices she's made and thinks heavily over them.

When you look at the men of ASOIAF and GoT, their actions are in line with/far worse than what Daenerys has done. Tywin has eradicated an entire house, slaughtered countless people, treated his son with disdain for being born a dwarf, etc. Robb executed a man for going against his orders. Jon killed a child (despite the child having taken part in his murder- it was still a child) and is much darker in the books. Tyrion has fantasies of violence towards Cersei, expects Sansa (a child) to want him when they're wed, etc. Robert nearly slaughtered and eradicated an entire House, laughed over dead bodies of children, r*ped Cersei often when drunk, etc. Ned executed a deserter of the Night's Watch. And we all know how terrible Euron and Ramsay are in the books/show.

And yet Daenerys receives more hate than these men over her actions, is viewed more critically, and is 'criticized' far more than said men. Which is unfortunately driven by misogyny. The difference between Daenerys and the men of ASOIAF is the fact that she is a woman. If she were a man, I doubt her actions would be so heavily analyzed and torn into by antis. Anyone could say that isn't true- and yet, it's evident in the way Daenerys is heavily hated and discussed most over compared to anyone else who has done far worse compared to her.

It's not the fact that we don't accept criticism over Daenerys. It's the fact that us fans have to always constantly defend her over hate that is unjustified to her character. Is it even so wrong that we show love and support to her character anyway? I'm sure everyone else does that for their own favorite characters as well and deny criticism to them often if the criticism is actual bullshit over a valid critical and neutral analysis. Why is it so wrong for us fans to do so?

A blog I will always recommend that actually does amazing metas character analysis- @rainhadaenerys.

[gryficowa]

Remember to boycott!

You know what pisses me off? Classically radical feminists (TREFs) are silent about the fact that in Gaza prisons, Israeli women (and men too) rape people to the point of critical condition, but what can we expect from bigots who lie about supporting women's rights when they hate trans and non-white people?

In addition, they spread racism towards black men (Yes, radical feminists do this shit and also attack black women, because, as you know, they hate trans people, and black women often have a male build… You already understand where this is going…)

I'm a left-wing feminist and TREFs disgust me (And if you don't agree with their bigotry, you have a penis, yes, their misogyny shows beautifully…)

Yes, this is an angry post, radical feminists smell like people from "Vote blue, because Trump will be worse"

It's just a random rant, but I just had to get it off my chest

Now that I have your attention:

[opossumanon]

I was reading the reblogs of a post that basically said "Don't be a doomer about Kamala Harris being a black woman and worrying that racism and misogyny will lose her the vote, go out and campaign and vote and she'll win because we made her win" (Correct) and man...

The amount of people who get so obnoxious screaming about how voting for anybody in this election is morally horrible (No, it's our basic right and duty as Americans), how the rest of the world matters too (No shit Sherlock) and how "The leftism is leaving your bodies the second your rights are being threatened" and no????? Since when did being leftist mean shooting yourself in the foot to protest someone else being hurt????

To be clear, leftism is at the end of the day the belief that all people matter, all people deserve rights and happiness, housing is a human right, food and water is a human right, self-determination is a human right, war is bad, billionaires should never exist, etc. etc.

Leftism also means THINKING instead of just acting emotionally. Gaza doesn't benefit if we refuse to vote for Harris. The Democratic Party won't go "Oh no, the people are mad we didn't support Palestine :C" and even if they somehow did it wouldn't matter because Trump would be President and we'd all be fucked and he'd bomb Palestine anyways and then take a piss on their ashes.

Also it's important to note that Harris was part of the reason why Biden started to swing to the middle regarding Palestine and Israel. Harris pushed Biden into doing a lot of the leftist things he's done. Harris can be pushed too, we can elect her and say "Congrats on winning the office, now do these things for us" and she'll be more likely to follow through than fucking Donald "I can shoot a guy in the middle of the street and people would still vote for me" Trump.

I won't be able to vote in this election, but my goals/hopes for our future as a country are

Elect Harris

Bully Harris into cutting off support to Israel and pressuring them into returning the land stolen from the Palestinians

Make ranked voting a thing

Demolish the Electoral College with exploding car hammers

Get Trump tossed into prison for his countless felonies, plus treason

For fuck's sake people, please understand that the best way to help Palestine and the rest of the world, as well as ourselves, is to strategize, and voting for Harris is the best strategy we got right now, because "lol I'm gonna firebomb a Walmart" is never helpful. It's just talking the talk to sound all high and mighty while being a lazy shit and doing nothing of import.

Anyways before I dip remember that voting is harm reduction, especially make sure to vote in all your local elections, donate if possible, be an active member of your community, pick a particular cause you can fight for and fight for it, and you'll be way more helpful than any of the dumbasses screaming and crying about "boycotting" voting...Cuz that's totally how this works [insert facepalm emoji]