#but that doesn’t absolve her of all blame

[clarabowmp3]

Tw food/harmful diet content

there’s this super triggering creator on tiktok/ youtube shorts (like I don’t even want to name her, her content is THAT bad) and she posts about eating 100% fruits/vegetables etc (she calls it a high carb low fat diet which um okay whatever), no meat no dairy. And even if we say, for arguments sake, that this diet was in any way sustainable, it feels genuinely nauseating how extreme she’s taking it??? It’s so terrible, she keeps trying to deflect by saying things like oh she eats double/triple the calories most men eat in a day but none of it actually substantial??? She’s eating such LARGE volumes of fruit like an entire watermelon for lunch and for dinner she’ll have like a potato stew with rice or smth (again, HUGE bowls) but from her appearance or the sound of her voice she seems sickly/very clearly not doing mentally well (I don’t think she’s doing it for shock value, she’s oddly earnest/defensive abt this diet in a way that feels like her entire sanity hinges on it). And the thing is, I know it’s harmful, but with how early kids are getting access to social media, esp for more relatively innocuous platforms like youtube shorts, this is going to be the start of some poor kid’s disordered eating habits (her videos make ME anxious too even tho I’m pretty much an adult and I’ve moved on quite a bit from wtv eating issues I used to have). It’s unsafe and irresponsible of these companies which platform such harmful creators

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (17 - Idiot Hope)

Chapter Summary: She followed you slowly—cautiously—and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’s so guarded around you, and you couldn’t even be angry about it. Once, this could have been different. Once, it would’ve been easy. And you couldn’t blame her. Not after everything you did.

After Lagos--Wanda wasn't yours to comfort, but that didn't mean you didn't want to try.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.4k+ | Chapter Tags: Slight angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: We're not yet there, but we'll be--soon enough ;) I wanted a chapter dedicated to the aftermath of what Wanda did in Lagos // More author's notes here. GIF credits to the owner. Let me know is this is yours!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“That wasn’t her fault.”

The meeting room was a powder keg.

“She made a call, Steve, and people died,” Tony said, as if Wanda wasn’t sitting just several feet away from where he stood, holding up the Sokovian Accords like it was some sort of holy relic. “It’s irrelevant whether she had a choice in the matter or none.”

You stayed silent in your swivel, watching the argument unfold like a spectator at a match you didn’t care enough to bet on. The Sokovian Accords—the debate over who got to control the Avengers—you could’ve cared less. You didn’t follow protocol anyway. You barely tolerated the existing ones. Another layer of red tape wasn’t going to change how you operated. It was just another rule to break, another system to work around.

But your disinterest didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention.

Wanda sat at the edge of the table, so rigid you couldn’t tell if she was still breathing. She hadn’t said a word since the meeting started even as Stark was essentially throwing her under the bus. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles pale. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table, but the furrow in her brow told you she wasn’t just tuning out the conversation. She was absorbing every word.

Everyone knew why the Accords were front and center today. Everyone knew who this conversation was really about.

“She made the best call she could under impossible circumstances,” Steve argued. He might be the most straight-laced person you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t help but admire the passion he brought to defending others time and time again. “You think she wanted this to happen?”

“No,” Tony raised his voice, something he rarely did. “But that doesn’t absolve her—or us. We’re walking weapons, Rogers. All of us. And if we don’t have oversight—if we don’t have accountability—this is going to keep happening.”

“And you think signing a piece of paper is going to change that?” Steve challenged.

Sam chose this moment to put his two cents. “Steve’s right. We’ve made tough calls before, and we’ll make them again. That’s the job. What happened in Lagos—yeah, it’s a tragedy, but you can’t legislate every choice we make in the field. It’s not realistic.”

Rhodey shook his head. “It’s not legislating every choice, Wilson. It’s setting boundaries. We have to answer to someone, or we’ll lose what little trust we’ve got left with the world.”

“Answer to who?” Sam retorted.“A bunch of bureaucrats who’ve never set foot on a battlefield? Who don’t know what it’s like to make life-and-death decisions in seconds? They’re not going to understand what we do out there.”

“They don’t have to understand it. They just have to believe we’re not a threat. And right now, we don’t look good,” Natasha replied.

For a fleeting moment, you wished Clint’s retirement had been delayed, just long enough to hear his take on all this. Everyone had something to say, but you were so busy watching Wanda from the corner of your eye that none of them reached your ears. You kept waiting for the moment she’d crack. You didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe because you knew what it felt like to carry the weight of everyone else’s mistakes. Maybe because you wanted to be there when she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Then Vision spoke.

“I must agree with Tony,” he began. You expected him to waver, to soften it somehow because Wanda was right there. But no. He wasn’t apologetic. He wasn’t unsure. He looked at everyone like the answer was obvious, like he couldn’t understand why they were still debating.

Across the room, Wanda went impossibly still. “I need some air,” she said suddenly, pushing her chair back with a scrape that made you squirm. She didn’t wait for anyone’s permission, didn’t look at anyone as she walked out. Not even Vision.

You told yourself to stay seated. You told yourself this wasn’t your problem—that you didn’t care. And yet, before you could stop yourself, you were already out of your chair, already moving.

—

You found her outside the meeting room, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. She didn’t look at you as you approached, but you stopped a few paces away, giving her space that said I don’t want to crowd you, but I’m here if you want to talk.

“That wasn’t your fault,” you said, the words barely leaving your mouth before you wanted to snatch them back. Steve had already told her. Hell, everyone in that room had tried to tell her. And now you were just the next in line, parroting the same hollow sentiment.

She snorted, a low, bitter sound that wasn’t quite laughter but wasn’t not laughter either.

“You did what you could,” you continued. “Nobody else would’ve—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “Don’t try to make me feel better about it. I don’t need that.”

You lowered your head, respecting her wishes, but you didn’t walk away. There were moments when words didn’t help when nothing you could say could ease the burden she carried. This was one of those times, and you knew it. So you stayed. If words weren’t the answer, then maybe action was. 

And then an idea came to you. Perhaps…there was something you could show her. Something that might remind her of the ripple effects of her choices, the lives she’d touched without even realizing it.

“Will you come with me? I want to show you something.”

She gave you a look that was equal parts skepticism and exhaustion, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I… I don’t have it in me right now,” she murmured, her voice cracking under the strain. “I’m so tired.”

“It’ll be worth it,” you said, offering her a small, hopeful smile. “I promise.”

You could feel your pulse drumming in your ears, blood rushing to your head, making you dizzy. If she came with you, it would be the first time in months the two of you were alone, just you and her. And if she didn’t? If she stayed here, stewing in her guilt over Lagos, letting it eat her alive—well, you couldn’t bear that either.

After a long pause, she pushed herself off the wall and straightened, albeit reluctantly. She didn’t say another word as she followed you out of the building, trailing behind like someone preparing for disappointment but going along anyway.

The ride to the Bronx was quiet. 

Wanda stared out the window, her reflection in the glass looking just as weary as the woman beside you. You kept your mouth shut, even though a thousand questions burned in your throat. Things like how her combat training was coming along, if she’d found it useful in her last mission. You wanted to tell her about this new Eastern restaurant you’d stumbled upon, one you were sure she’d love. 

You pathetically craved small talk with Wanda, but you bit it all back, reminding yourself this wasn’t that.

This wasn’t two friends on a road trip. This was business. A teammate encouraging another. Nothing more, you told yourself, even if it felt like a lie.

When you finally pulled up in front of the small, unassuming building, she frowned.

“What’s this?” she asked, her voice wary and low.

“You’ll see,” you replied, stepping out and holding the door open for her. 

She followed you slowly—cautiously—and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’s so guarded around you, and you couldn’t even be angry about it. Once, this could have been different. Once, it would’ve been easy. And you couldn’t blame her. Not after everything you did.

Once inside the building, Wanda found herself in a narrow hallway. A small reception desk was tucked off to the side, and above it, the ceiling was adorned with simple decorations—little drawings that looked like they’d been done by children. The faint scent of crayons and cleaning solution teased your noses.

“Where are we?” Wanda whispered distractedly as her eyes wandered, taking in the surroundings.

Before you could answer, a woman behind the reception desk looked up and smiled warmly when she saw you. “It’s good to see you again, Y/N,” she said. “The kids will be so happy.”

“Kids?” Wanda echoed. 

You smiled at the woman and asked, “The playroom?”

She nodded, pointing down the hall. “Just straight ahead. You know the way.”

Wanda trailed after you, her arms crossed tightly over her chest again. “I don’t know what you think this is going to do,” she said.

“Just trust me,” you replied, confident that she could really trust you on this thing. “I think you’ll understand in a minute.”

When you opened the door to the playroom, the most joyful sounds greeted you. Children of all ages were scattered all over the room—some playing with toys, others chasing each other with giggles and squeals. A few heads turned at your arrival, their faces lighting up when they saw you.

“Miss Y/N!” one of the older boys called out, running up to you with an excited grin. You knelt to greet him, exchanging a few kind words before standing again and glancing back at Wanda. 

She lingered in the doorway, her posture uncertain, as though she wasn’t sure she belonged here. For a moment, despite the few years she had on you, she looked almost childlike—vulnerable, hesitant, and quietly yearning for the same thing these children sought.

“A lot of them came here after losing everything—some from Sokovia. They’re waiting for families now. Some of them already have new homes,” you told Wanda as you walked to a nearby bulletin board covered in photographs—smiling children with their adoptive families, snapshots of bright, hopeful futures. Gently, you unpinned a polaroid of a little girl with dark hair and a radiant smile, holding it carefully in your hand.

“She’s from Sokovia,” you said softly, handing the photo to Wanda. “Her family didn’t make it through the attack. But she did. Because of you.”

Wanda stared at the photo, her eyebrows drawn tight in concentration. You couldn’t quite tell what was going through her head. Her thumb skimmed the edges, but she didn’t say a word—her lips were pressed into a thin line, and you caught the slight hitch in her throat as she swallowed hard.

“She has a family now,” you continued, “she goes to school, plays soccer, and dreams about becoming a doctor someday. Her life… everything she’s doing now… none of it would’ve been possible if not for what you and Pietro did. If you hadn’t warned us, if you hadn’t made the choice to defect from…”

You let the sentence trail off, leaving the rest unsaid. Wanda’s fingers curled slightly around the photo, her eyes still locked on the little girl.

Oh, Wanda, you thought to yourself. You’re a good person stuck with impossible choices.

“Her home was destroyed,” Wanda said after a long silence. You noticed the way she said her home, not our home. Sokovia was hers too, but it was like calling it that hurt too much, so she’d pushed herself out of the equation. “We couldn’t save it.”

“No, we couldn’t,” you agreed, not sugarcoating it. “But you gave her a chance for a new home. And that matters.”

She gave you back the photo. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough,” she whispered, so softly you almost didn’t catch it.

It was never going to be enough. That was the reality of this work. The Avengers could save millions by the time it was all over, rewrite the course of history with every battle fought—and still, it wouldn’t be enough. There would always be someone you failed to reach. Blood on your hands that no amount of victory could wash away.

Because the truth was, no matter how many you saved, the ones you lost would always outlive them in your memory.

But this wasn’t the right time to tell Wanda all that. You wanted to give her hope. You wanted to give her everything.

“Maybe not for you—not yet,” you accused. “But for her? For all of them?” You gestured to the room, where a group of children were now gathered around a train set that one of the volunteers just finished putting together. “It’s more than enough.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, she exhaled, her shoulders dropping a fraction as though some of the weight had finally started to ease. She looked up at you, her eyes glassy but clearer than they’d been when you found her outside the meeting room.

“Why are you showing me this?” Wanda asked.

“Because I wanted you to see what I see,” you said simply. “You’re not just the sum of your mistakes, Wanda. You’re the sum of everything you’ve done—the good and the bad. And I think you need to be reminded of the good.”

You weren’t entirely sure where those words came from. Maybe you’d been holding onto them for a while, turning them over in your mind every time you watched Wanda. But as they left your mouth, you realized how much you meant them. This wasn’t just something to make her feel better—it was what you truly believed.

You swore you caught the faintest hint of pink dusting her cheeks, and your heart soared at the sight of it.

Wanda’s fingers twitched, and that familiar red aura you’d come to know shimmered to life around her hands. The idle train set shuddered, then sprang into motion as if summoned by unseen magic—Wanda’s magic. The little engine emitted a soft hum as it began to circle the track, its wheels turning smoothly. 

“Look! It’s moving!” one of the kids shouted, pointing at the train as it chugged along the tracks. The children erupted in cheers and applause, their faces glowing with surprise and delight. 

You couldn’t help but smile, and when you glanced at Wanda, she was smiling too—so naturally, so effortlessly in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long. The second she caught you looking, her smile faltered, slipping away as her hands dropped to her sides, almost as if embarrassed to have been caught.

You smirked, mouthing a quiet ‘thank you’.

Wanda hesitated, then let her smile return, smaller this time but still very real.

—

The ride back to the compound was not as suffocating as it had been earlier. Wanda, still reserved, sat with her arms crossed loosely, her gaze focused out the window. Every so often, she’d comment on something as you drove by—the faded mural on the side of an old diner, the ridiculous neon sign for a pawn shop that flickered in broad daylight. Her voice was soft, almost unsure, but it was something. And after so much silence, even these small remarks were satisfying.

By the time you pulled up to the compound, dusk was setting in. You parked the car and Wanda stepped out first, stretching her legs after the long ride. You followed, grabbing your things from the backseat before stepping onto the gravel.

That’s when you saw him.

Vision stood at the entrance, hands folded neatly behind his back. A crease between his brows. His lips pressed a fraction too tight.

If he weren’t the most logical, even-keeled person in the compound—possibly in the entire world—you might’ve thought he looked jealous. Seeing his girlfriend with her former object of affection might’ve rattled him, after all.

“Wanda,” Vision said as you both approached. “May I speak with you?”

Wanda froze mid-step, her foot hovered as if she couldn’t decide whether to keep moving or stay rooted in place. She turned halfway, glancing over her shoulder at you. Like she wanted you to give her a reason to walk away or a sign to stay.

You gave her a small, sad smile and quietly excused yourself. This wasn’t your place. Whatever this was, it wasn’t for you to meddle with. Determined to get inside without further fuss, you moved past them, eyes forward, when Vision spoke.

“Y/N,” Vision said, though his eyes never left Wanda.

You stopped for a second, muttering, “Vision,” under your breath before continuing without another glance.

In the kitchen, you dumped your bag on the counter and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it from the tap. The water was cold, sharp against the dryness in your throat. You leaned against the counter, staring into the empty glass like it might give you answers.

It didn’t. It never did.

—

Later that night, a knock dragged you out of your book—your third this week. You couldn’t even remember the last sentence you’d read.

Foolishly, you hoped it was Wanda. Some naïve part of you clung to the idea that after the moment you shared this afternoon, she’d come to you. Initiate something for once. You knew better, but hope’s an idiot, always has been.

That idiot hope was short-lived though when you answered and discovered who was on the other side of the door.

The last person you expected to show up.

“Y/N? May I have a word with you?” Vision asked, though it didn’t sound exactly like a request.

You leaned against the doorframe casually. “Sure.”

Vision stepped inside without waiting for your permission. He stopped in the middle of the room, looking around like he was checking for an audience. He seemed…nervous. Weird to think about Vision being nervous. He was usually so self-assured—and you envied that about him sometimes.

“I spoke with Wanda,” he started. Straight to business.

“Okay.” You didn’t bother inviting him to elaborate. You figured he would anyway.

“She mentioned you took her to an orphanage. In the Bronx.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

That made you laugh, a quick, dry sound. “Why not?”

“It seemed to have an impact on her,” Vision said.

“That was the point.”

He seemed to be in deep thought, and it was unusual seeing him this way— It wasn’t like him to take this long, to seem unsure, unable to source the answer from his extensive library.

“What were you hoping to achieve?” he finally asked.

You let out another laugh, softer this time. “Jesus, Vision. You think I had some big master plan? She needed to get out of her own head for a while. That’s it. I took her somewhere that might remind her she’s not just… everything she thinks she’s messed up.”

“She hasn’t been herself,” Vision said, as if you hadn’t noticed.

“No kidding.”

He clasped his hands tighter, the nerves bleeding into his posture now, stiffer than usual. “I want to help her,” he said. “But I don’t understand what she needs.”

“Maybe she doesn’t either,” you said, following it with a heavy sigh. You knew that one too well, the feeling of walking around like a locked door with no key.

Vision looked down, just for a second. “I fear time may not be enough.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. He had Wanda. He had every right—every opportunity—to ask her how she was feeling, to figure out if she was okay, or if taking her to that Sokovian restaurant she loved might lift her spirits. Instead, he was here, asking you for advice—yet again.

“You don’t think I know that?” you said finally. “You’re not the only one who gives a damn about her.”

Vision didn’t seem at all bothered by you admitting you cared about Wanda. It took a few seconds before you realized what you’d just admitted. Out loud. To someone else. For the very first time.

You cared about Wanda.

“I know,” Vision said evenly. “And that’s why I came to you. You’ve always understood her in a way I haven’t been able to.”

That stopped you short. You looked away, jaw tightening. Understood her? He didn’t know what he was talking about. And yet… part of you wanted it to be true.

“She’s your girlfriend,” you said, feeling like you had to wrestle the words out of your mouth. “You know her better than anyone.”

That seemed to snap Vision out of whatever fantasy he’d built of you holding all the answers to his Wanda-shaped puzzle. 

“Thank you for your time,” he said. “And for what you did for Wanda today.” And with that, Vision turned and left.

You shut the door slowly, leaning your forehead against the cool surface before drawing out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It didn’t matter if Vision was wrong. You’d still care. You’d still keep showing up, doing what you could.

Because this Idiot Hope? It wasn’t stamped out after all. It was still there, clawing its way to the surface every time she looked your way, even if it was just for a second—hoping she’d look a little longer.

[bluemoonscape]

Insane butcherqueen thing I just realized is that by the end of Season 3, while teen timeline Shauna has lost Melissa, who was supposed to be her replacement for Jackie, the moon to her sun, she did nonetheless find someone to fill that role. She found a moon to revolve around her like she once revolved around Jackie. Who wasn’t afraid to look directly at her, into her, unblinkingly and unafraid. And she doesn’t even seem to realize it.

She has Lottie.

Lottie was the one who let Shauna take out her rage on her in S2. Lottie was the one who spent S3 wandering aimlessly in search for a prophet. Melissa told Shauna that the others were afraid of her, but that Melissa wasn’t. That pulled Shauna in. She wanted someone who took her as she was. But Shauna drove Melissa away—Melissa (understandably) came to fear Shauna in the end and turned away from her.

Lottie was the only one who was truly, deeply enamored with Shauna’s rage rather than treating it like something to be handled like shattered glass. She was the only one who genuinely never feared her. Even when Shauna turned her anger on Lottie, it never alienated her. It only drew her closer. When Lottie drives the axe through the scientist’s head, she looks to Shauna for approval, and Shauna smiles at her, absolutely fucking beams at her, because there! Someone understands her! Someone is seeking her approval. When Shauna starts to count for the hunt, Lottie joins in, and again, there’s that moment of understanding where Shauna grins. In fact, after Melissa, Lottie is the only one to really make Shauna smile this season.

But there’s a level of denial there, because while Shauna wants to be understood by Lottie, I don’t think Shauna wants to understand Lottie. But she does understand her. They’re both severely mentally unwell in the wilderness, one in active psychosis from untreated schizophrenia, another in active psychosis from postpartum. Shauna wants to believe she is sane and thinking clearly, but she continuously refers to Lottie as “crazy” and needing a shrink throughout the series. Say whatever you want about what they did out there, because yes, it was bad. It was horrible. But they weren’t the only ones. They were the active instigators, but the other girls allowed the violence through passivity. Shauna and Lottie grew to shed their remorse for their actions in the wilderness while the other girls didn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that they did those things. It’s easier to pin the whole thing on the two people without shame who most outwardly provoked the events in the wilderness and enjoyed many of them. It’s simple to blame Natalie’s hunt on Lottie because they needed her to live. It’s simple to blame everyone’s misery on Shauna because she was full of rage and grief from the loss of Jackie and her baby and lashed out in a mentally ill state. It doesn’t absolve either of them, but it certainly doesn’t absolve the rest of the team!

So yeah, Shauna understands Lottie. She pretends she doesn’t. She doesn’t stay for Lottie when the girls split into two sides regarding whether they want to go home, but they nonetheless have the same goals and the same fears. Shauna found her moon in Lottie, and unlike when Shauna was Jackie’s moon, Lottie seems to like revolving around Shauna, feeding into her actions even if she gets nothing in return. I do believe that Lottie elected Shauna as Queen to save Natalie, but she definitely became enamored with what Shauna is capable of during Shauna’s reign. We can see the seeds of it in S2 and it’s fully blooming in S3 (and will hopefully continue to grow in S4 👀). Lottie was the person Shauna was looking for. The dynamic they shared in the wilderness was everything Shauna ever wanted.

And she couldn’t even embrace it. It couldn’t exist back at home. That was what they both feared, after all, wasn’t it? Some things they found in the wilderness would never survive in society.

The scene with adult Shauna pretending to be Lottie shows such grief for her rejection of Lottie that caused her death in the end. She understood Lottie deeply but could never accept Lottie because it would have meant accepting herself.

[theweeklydiscourse]

What confuses me the most is that Maas did try to create morally gray characters but then she went ahead and either justified every 'bad' action or didn't even realise how horrific some actions are because she wasn't that invested in her own worldbuilding eg hewn city.

I can't really tell which mistakes were actually registered as mistakes eg the spring court destruction was brought up in the meeting and I firmly believe that the blame of it lies on Rhysand, who was a ruler, older, knew better instead of the traumatized teenage girl who overreacted in the face of abuse while being encouraged by 500+ year olds she grew to trust. She didn't really think Tamlin could be a double agent but Rhysand did! Before sending her he says so himself and in the aftermath he has this dialogue where he regrets thinking that Tamlin was a sellout when he knew better and this could have made for a fine plotline! BUT THEN acosf says that both him and Feyre think he 'deserved that ruin' and how proud and unapologetic she is about her actions as if Tamlin was the one who bore the brunt of that ruin and not the innocent civilians who lost their homes and lives - of spring and of summer, of how many people lost their lives purely because this gave Hybern an upper hand and I don't get it? Which is it? Was this a mistake or not? What is Maas' true perspective on the matter?

There are these flashes of self-awareness that make her writing even more confusing. The fact that Tamlin even brings up the destructive implications of Feyre’s meddling in the Spring Court is really weird because the narrative does nothing with it. Feyre feels guilty for 0.5 seconds before Rhysand soothes her and reassures her that her political sabotage was actually all Tamlin’s fault and that she bears no responsibility. Like, why even bring it up at all?! Maas didn’t have to expand on anything, she could’ve just let it be a hollow girlboss moment for Feyre and let it be. Instead, she complicates it by gesturing at Feyre’s supposed “grey morality” only to walk it back mere sentences later.

I agree with your point about her total lack of investment in her worldbuilding. She just throws ingredients in a bowl and then doesn’t bother to stir. This is made even worse by her habit of retroactively absolving her morally grey characters of any wrongdoing and fucking up her character dynamics as a result. This is why I believe that there are no truly morally ambiguous characters in ACOTAR (especially not Rhysand). It’s all tied together with the unedited nature of her writing and the obvious fact that her editors are not reigning in her worst tendencies.

[fideidefenswhore]

Also the old chestnut, ‘but jane didn’t know that was going happen, she thought Anne would be a sent to a nunnery!!’ …

A) well, im pretty sure she knew it did by the time she married him…?

B) from a group that crushes their pearls into dust at the the idea that anne might’ve ever been on board with coa being forced into a nunnery, they sure seem to have a miraculous turnaround about jane ‘only’ hoping anne would be forced into a nunnery and exiled from ever seeing any of her family again making her like… a real humanitarian, or something.

Olga H?

Said smth to the effect of Henry irrevocably denigrated the status of queenship by starting the precedent of ‘discarding’ (so… annulling his marriage with?) Catherine of Aragon and Jane Seymour is unduly blamed for it .

Which like, might be true … were that the first royal annulment… ever? Or even of that century or the previous? (It was not.)

[lucky1013]

On my Affliction, and On the Twitter Freakout over Rue

Ok, here's my problem.

I am inexplicably invested in Wilbur Soot’s well-being. I don't want to know him. I don't need to meet him or be 'noticed.' I just need him to be healthy, happy, and loved - for reasons I don't fully understand. I am stuck on him as a hurting, complex, kind-of-fucked-up person who just needs to be granted the space (and grace) to grow and heal.

Last Spring, although I didn't know much about him yet, I was deeply affected by the public's absolute rejection of Wilbur in response to Shelby and Alice's assertions. I watched and read for myself and found neither count compelling enough to declare this man a horrible person. I never thought they were liars. I never thought Wilbur was blameless. But I thought both counts mischaracterized dating and relationship failures and included them as evidence of abuse and SA. Labels and therapy language were weaponized in a way that made young fans reject him completely. No regard was given to his statement, which (apparently unlike everyone else) I found compelling. The devastation of his reputation and career felt so unfair and tragic.

I became driven to try to help. To persuade. To do anything I can to right the wrongs. It led me into the depths of Twitter, where I became fascinated by the behavior of internet people - judgmental, vengeful, inflexible, fickle, vicious. Pathologizing everything. Everyone is a victim. Everything has a name. It's all gaslighting or love-bombing or grooming or victim-blaming. Label after label are applied, which cast aggrieved parties as victims, absolve them of any responsibility for bad outcomes, place the entirety of the blame on the alleged offenders.

I don't hate kids. But I am sad and pretty scared for their future.

And here we are again with this year's February Surprise. Sigh.

(Quick take: As usual, I find Rue's story to be interesting, sure, but I don't see how she is a victim. The attitude that situations befall young women without any regard for their role in creating them bugs the shit out of me. I am a woman and was once a young woman. I have made dozens of mistakes and gotten myself into various unsavory entanglements. She chose, of her own volition, to spend night after night cuddling in Wilbur's bed, intimate activity that would have blurred the crap out of whatever lines they had no-doubt drawn in the sand, and then considers herself violated because he touched her and kissed her. Spare me. Frankly I find it shocking that they weren't screwing each other's brains out, which I might add, would be legal. I take no issue with the viewpoint that the age gap is icky, but not at all unheard of, and she's not your sheltered A-student whose never been to a party. She's an internet personality who deems herself old enough to join a band on tour and have weeklong sleepovers with a man. Eighteen year olds are not babies. They can be manipulated and can also manipulate. Is Wilbur to blame? I don't know...for WHAT? For trying to hook up with a girl he spent several nights cuddling with? He was by all evidence a pretty messed up guy, at least at that time, who sought emotional and physical comfort in a younger person. Was it fucked? Maybe. Was it traumatic for her? Again - spare me. Every unhealthy thing doesn't cause trauma. It's not grooming, it's not trauma, it's not SA. They BOTH created the situation. He should know better than to tangle with an 18yo, obviously, if for no other reason than to avoid this rash of bullshit, but that fact alone doesn’t bear on whether she’s a victim of something.)

I'm not sure I can take it. I don't have the stamina to keep yelling into the abyss. I stay on Twitter - despite hatred for Elon Musk and for the cesspool it has become - because I feel an obligation to fight back. Someone needs to be the voice of opposition, right? No. Time to accept that the digital lynch mob is determined to crush Wilbur Soot regardless. It’s all futile, it's all pointless.

Were we really doing anything at all to impact this? Did any of it help? Tell me it didn't, that it never will, so I can dump it all and get some rest. (Seriously. Tell me.)

Will, man, I hope you are healing and overcoming your demons. I hope that light is still burning inside of you. I hope you find your confidence, your joy, your humor, your swagger. Anyone who has watched your body of work can see that you are a good and caring person, faults and all. I hope the world will emerge from this fever soon.

Friends, see you at Summerfest. My favorite band is playing there on July 3.

[brokenmenswhore]

betrothals & brothels | aegon, aemond, & jace

part 3

pairings: aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, aemond targaryen x stark fem!reader, jacaerys velaryon x stark fem!reader

series summary: aemond targaryen tells the realm that you, the lady of house stark, are to wed him and secure a partnership in the north. in protest, you agree to marry jacaerys velaryon, affirming the north’s allegiance to rhaenyra. when the news hits king’s landing, aegon decides it’s better to have you under his watchful eye until the political partnership is solidified, but doesn’t realize you have a life away from your duty as a stark

chapter warnings: angst (a lil from everyone)

a/n: are you guys dying for the smut are you just dying for it i promise we’re almost there

series masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

“This is your fault!” Aegon screamed, bursting into the small council room, doors swinging shut as he slammed a thin piece of paper down on the table in front of Aemond.

Aemond remained level-headed, eye traveling down to the paper in front of him as he began to read.

“You,” Aegon stomped forward, an accusatory finger pointed at his brother, “you granted her access to a raven. She must have asked him to come. This is on you.”

“Speak plainly, Aegon,” Alicent snapped, elbows resting on the table as she wiped her fingers across her eyes in frustration, “we do not understand your hysterics.”

“The precious prince allowed his newly betrothed to send a letter to Dragonstone,” Aegon spat, “without clearing its contents.”

“I do not understand,” Alicent spoke.

“Our beloved nephew has requested to visit,” Aemond spoke, completely unphased by the rage exhibited by his brother, “he is aware the Stark girl is here.”

“Jacaerys requested an audience with you?” Alicent clarified, bewildered at the boldness of the young prince.

“He must only be so bold by request. She must have requested he ask such a thing. He would not do it on his own. I dare say his cock is not big enough.”

“Aegon!” his mother scolded, taking a deep breath, “I assume we are all in agreement that this is not permissible?”

Lord Wylde, Master of Laws, raised a hand, “if I may, Your Grace, denying this request may only worsen things.”

“How?” Aegon asked.

“If the boy does not intend to commit an infraction against the crown, denying him travel may seem like an act of fear. The false queen may believe you see her as a threat that cannot breach the castle walls, for if she does, she will take the throne.”

“And you think her capable of doing such things should she be in my presence, Lord Wylde?” Aegon said, standing at the head of the table, palms flat against the wood.

“Your Grace, I mean no offense-“

“We are talking about Jacaerys, not the false queen, Lord Wylde,” Aemond interrupted, “and he would not dare try anything rash. He knows he would not survive a battle against my sword.”

Aegon raised a hand and gestured toward his brother. “Are you saying you think the crown should allow this visitation?”

“I do not see why not.”

“Are you simply trying to absolve yourself of guilt, brother?” Aegon’s tone began to calm down, “for you are the one to blame here.”

“Why don’t I simply ask the girl if she requested his presence?” Aemond suggested, sighing through the words in annoyance at his brother’s temperament.

“She would not tell you,” Aegon replied.

“I believe she would. She is many things, but she has not yet proven herself to be dishonest.”

“If she is so trustworthy, why did she insist on sending a letter without clearance in the first place? What do you possibly think her writings contained? A declaration of her love for you?”

Aemond slammed a hand on the desk and stood up abruptly, his chair sliding back on the stone floor behind him. Aegon was taunting him now.

“If you think yourself incapable of holding ground against our nephew, then by all means, brother, deny his request. I, however, know that no destruction could come from the hands of Jacaerys. I believe him too weak. Do you not?”

Aegon sighed in frustration, trying to remain discreet with his eyes as he glanced to the members of the council, all staring at him in wait.

“Mother?” he spoke, head turned toward Alicent, awaiting her input.

“It is rather dangerous,” she began, her mild slightly changed, “but I believe it may be taken as a sign of good faith. We simply must be diligent in our protective measures upon his arrival.”

Aegon dropped his head. He did not want Jacaerys to come to King’s Landing- he hated his young nephew. Jacaerys was Rhaenyra’s heir, making him a direct threat to Aegon’s crown, and Jacaerys was the reason everything with you had become so difficult. Aemond was not a great help, but if Jacaerys had not proposed a betrothal upon hearing Aemond’s announcement of his intentions to wed you, Aegon would not be in this predicament.

Denying this request was an assurance of Aegon’s safety against the Blacks, but could also be taken as a gesture of war, a true strife between a broken family. Accepting this request put Aegon’s livelihood in danger, but he did not want to appear weak enough as to think Jacaerys could be a legitimate threat to him or his power.

“Does no one think the boy may have ulterior motive?” spoke Ser Tyland Lannister, Master of Coin, “we are discussing inviting the enemy into our walls. There should be no question about what decision is best. He should not come.”

“What do you believe he is capable of, Ser Tyland?” Aemond asked, almost mocking.

“For one, how are we to ensure only he will arrive? Granting him access to our city may spark a chain reaction. Other Blacks may think it okay to come here. Rhaenyra herself, for one.”

The small council remained quiet, debating upon Tyland’s words. Many of them had not considered the possibility of Rhaenyra taking the opportunity to come, likely on dragonback.

“We should be worried about Rhaenyra always, not just if her son were to come,” Ser Criston Cole chimed in, “if she intended on bringing herself and Syrax here, she would have done so. She does not need a formal invitation. I believe her capable of doing as she pleases, when she pleases. The threat of her arrival is always imminent, I do not believe it more prominent should we allow your nephew to come, Your Grace.”

“Ser Cole is right,” Aemond agreed, “the same applies for our young nephew. If he wanted to, he could simply arrive of his own volition. He, instead, had the courtesy to request an audience with us, lest he decide to take it by force instead. We should take this request as a gesture of good will.”

“Does no one understand how detrimental this would be?” Aegon said, clearly becoming frustrated with the council he was receiving, “we are at war. There is a tremendous deal of pressing matters to attend to and we are here, discussing if it is wise to allow the enemy into our home.”

“None of us believe this war could have been avoided,” Alicent’s tone was calm, pulling Aegon out of his head, “but I believe there are those of us that wish it different. He is still your family, and he truly may just want to see the Stark girl. Maybe this will render our situation capable of change.”

Aegon took his mother’s words to heart. He was perhaps the only one who truly wanted a war, he was angry, and he wanted to spill blood, but he trusted his mother. Catastrophes may have been avoided if there was still a sense of family amongst the Targaryens.

“Tell him to come,” Aegon said, “but only come alone.”

✶

Aegon had considered storming into your chambers, voice raised and demanding to know the contents of your letter to Jacaerys, but he had not seen or spoken to you since his moment of vulnerability. He did not know what to say or how to act in your presence, and he thought it better to avoid placing himself in any circumstance that would require him to think of it.

Instead, he found himself beside Aemond, watching from atop the Red Keep as Vermax’s wings came into focus, a hint of green visible in the distant sky when the sun hit at just the right angle.

When Aegon felt comfortable that it was only Jacaerys who was approaching, he retreated to the throne room, Aemond maintaining his position to assist in security measures should the King’s Guard need him.

Jacaerys landed Vermax directly in front of the Keep doors, the wind from the dragon’s wings nearly knocking over guards and smallfolk alike.

The moment Vermax calmed, Jacaerys left his mount, feet not on the ground for a moment before the King’s Guard rushed him and began to pat him down. His hand remained tightly secured to the hilt of his sword, at is always had, as the men stepped away, gesturing him forward. Jacaerys nodded, entering the keep and directing himself toward the throne room. He expected nothing less of his uncle, knowing his desire to appear powerful would manipulate his choice of placement.

He marched forward, the guards desperately attempting to keep up with his footing, as he swung the doors to the throne room open, finding Aegon sat upon the mess of swords, expecting his entrance.

Jacaerys did not bow, the only reason he stopped at the steps of the throne being a gesture of good faith, an assurance he did not intend to charge his uncle, sword in hand.

“It has been quite a while, uncle,” Jacaerys spoke, matter-of-factly.

It bothered Aegon to no end that he did not speak first. “As it has.”

Jacaerys and Aegon exchanged a glance for a brief few moments, neither sure of how to initiate a conversation.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, fighting with every cell of his being to remain calm. “You know why I am here, uncle. Where is she?”

Aegon smiled, his posture resting in a casual position on the throne. “You already know her whereabouts. Is that not why you’ve come?”

“Let me see her.”

“No.”

“Let me. See her,” Jacaerys repeated, a pause between the words.

“Or what?”

Jacaerys cocked his head to the side, trying to control his breathing. He refused to be the reason any hostility was initiated.

“Do you think I’ve traveled all this way for a bickering match?”

Despite Jace’s better judgement, he could not mask his bitter tone.

“You asked to come. I do not remember ever promising you an audience with the Stark.”

“Her brother misses her dearly.”

“I am sure he does.”

“As do I.”

Aegon did not expect anything remotely close to a genuine confession from Jacaerys. He searched Jacaerys’s eyes for any hint of regret, but to no avail. Jacaerys had meant to toy with Aegon’s heart; there was hope that if Aegon could view him as human, as family once again, he would he more lenient with granting requests. He knew Aegon had a somewhat tender heart underneath his cold exterior.

“She is not a piece of property, Aegon, tell me where you are keeping her.”

“Soon she will be wed to Aemond, in which case, she will be more my family than yours. She is not property, sure. She is Aemond’s.”

“We do not hold family hostage.”

“How is your mother? Hm?” Aegon started, beginning to play with the fabric on the hilt if his dagger as he shifted the subject, “still crying over a lost throne?”

Jacaerys’ nostrils flared in annoyance, the muscles on his neck flexing as Aegon laughed, happy to have garnered a reaction from his nephew. He loved to tease Jace, annoy him, get him all worked up, and force him into a rage. Jacaerys knew this, and fought against it as hard as he could.

“Be nice, brother, Jacaerys is family after all,” Aemond interrupted, a confident walk taking him across the room until he was standing but a few feet away from Jacaerys. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to see the girl? She is all too pleasurable to look at.”

“Mind your tongue, uncle,” Jacaerys snapped back.

“You are rather possessive of my betrothed,” Aemond teased.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, bowing his head briefly to reset his temperament. “Where is she, Aemond?”

“In her room, where else?”

“It is not her room if it is not her home.”

“Aemond will be her home soon,” Aegon chimed in, “and I’ve already told you you may not see her. She is not permitted to leave her chambers.”

Jacaerys’s brow furrowed in slight confusion as he looked back and forth between his two uncles. “First you kidnap her, and now you do not even grant her the courtesy of leaving a singular room?”

“Though I will say, Aemond seems to have no issue letting her out at will,” Aegon spoke, resentment evident in his voice.

“Meaning what?” Jacaerys asked for clarification.

“Meaning nothing,” Aemond said, rushing to get the words in before Aegon could elaborate.

The three Targaryens exchanged glances, unsure how to continue. The conversation was going nowhere, and Jacaerys was concerned about Aegon’s previous comment. What was Aemond doing to you?

“I did not come all this way for nothing,” Jacaerys stated, “let me see her.”

“What do we get in return for granting you an audience?” Aemond bartered.

“The gift of keeping your life.”

Aemond snickered. “You could not beat me if you tried.”

“I do not wish to. I, however, will do whatever it takes.”

“You would dare draw your sword at us just to speak with your Northern whore?” Aegon threw your scandalous reputation at Jacaerys, hoping it would strike a chord and cause him to act irrationally.

“I would,” Jacaerys focused on Aegon, “and if she is truly a whore, you should exhibit no true possessiveness toward her.”

Aegon stood, ready to combat his nephew’s words, potentially with his dagger.

“Under supervision, of course,” Aemond spoke, cutting off Aegon’s thoughts and actions, “I’m sure such a thing can be arranged.”

“I do not answer to you,” Jacaerys spat.

“Then why did you ask permission to come here?”

“I will not be responsible for worsening a war.”

Aemond gave Jacaerys a slight nod. Aemond’s greatest gift was his inability to be manipulated. Each and every decision he made was cold and calculated, never faltering on his own personal plans.

“I’m sure you expect conditions.”

“I do not need a handmaiden present to speak to my future wife.”

“You will not have a handmaiden present,” Aemond sighed, “but I require to be present for anyone who expects an audience with my betrothed.”

Aegon sighed and threw his hands up. Aemond had a habit of negotiating, despite never seeking Aegon’s authority to do so.

Jacaerys remembered your letter. It is imperative that he believe me good on my word. He was angry, and unafraid to contest your betrothal to Aemond, believing you to still be betrothed to him. He would call you his betrothed to the ends of the earth, but he was cautious to not mentioned your promise to him in your letter.

“Fine.”

If it meant he could see you, he would bear more time spent with his uncle.

Aemond showed Jacaerys to your quarters, silence befalling them both. They had much to say to one another, but neither of them wanted to fight. Aemond just wanted Jacaerys to leave, and Jacaerys just wanted to see you.

Aemond gave a small knock to your apartment door, something he never did.

The unfamiliar sound caught you off guard. “Come in,” you called toward the door, expecting to see an inexperienced handmaiden enter.

When Aemond appeared, you stood up abruptly, nervous as to why he was here in the middle of the day. Was he revoking your access to the streets? Had Aegon discovered your secret? Was he aware of your business in the streets? Were you being further punished for existing?

Every worry, every thought, every nervous feeling swiftly left your body as Jacaerys walked through the door, stopping short the moment he saw you. Your breathing caught in your throat, a sharp gasp lost before it could be completed.

Jacaerys’s features softened the instant he saw you. He nearly forgot how beautiful you were. The crown had only given you lavish green dresses, forcing you to look as one of them. Despite Jacaerys’s internal recoil at the sight, you wore the color well, and he knew it was not your choice. He believed that you would look beautiful in any color, even that of the enemy.

“Jacaerys,” you spoke, so softly he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t giving you his complete attention.

“Hi,” he spoke, both of you completely frozen in place.

Aemond noticed the way you looked at his nephew. Your eyes was softer than they were when they were focused on him, your gaze usually cold and callous, unable to show any vulnerability in front of him. When you looked at Jacaerys, your features relaxed so much, you nearly cried. It bothered Aemond. He did not realize how much you truly resented him until he saw how you gazed upon someone you did not resent.

“W-“ you choked. You were nearly crying from overwhelming disbelief, and a lack of trust at the situation, “what are you doing here?”

“I had to see you,” Jacaerys said, moving his feet toward you in desperation to touch you, “I had to know you were alright.”

Jacaerys took your hands in his own. His voice dropped, low and soft enough to signify his words were only meant for your ears, not Aemond’s, “and I missed you.”

A few tears fell from your eyes as you disconnecting your hands, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him close. Jace’s hands wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly as he pulled you as close to him as he could. Your bodies melted together, the comfort of one another consuming you until your eyes blinked open and you saw Aemond, the sudden reminder that you were not alone, and you were not as safe as you felt in Jacaerys’s arms.

You pulled away from the hug, turning away from Jacaerys and taking a seat in front of the fireplace. Despite the early hour, the fire was lit, the dancing of the flames the only entertainment and stimulation for you during your days.

Jacaerys followed you, kneeling down on the floor in front of you. “Are you okay?” he counciled.

You discreetly gestured toward the door, reminding him that Aemond was present, and therefore you had to act differently than you would if you were alone.

“He insisted on supervision,” Jacaerys explained, disappointment in his voice.

“Nothing more pressing to attend to?” you called toward the door, turning slightly so Aemond knew the question was meant for him.

“You know I like to keep an eye on you,” Aemond responded, referencing him escorting you at night, hoping the mystery of his words would bother Jacaerys.

Jacaerys took a sharp breath. “I want you to come back with me.”

Your eyes widened. “I do not wish to remain here, Jace, but Vhagar is capable of melting much more snow.”

You could both hear Aemond snicker behind you, but neither acknowledged it.

“If you stay here, I fear they can force your hand,” Jacaerys pleaded.

“They have already forced my hand,” your voice broke, fighting any sadness or tears in your confession.

“You have promised yourself to me,” Jacaerys whispered, hoping Aemond was not intent on listening, whispering almost inaudibly “or did you not mean your written words? I will not allow them to force you to abandon me.”

There was no volume low enough to avoid Aemond’s impeccable hearing, especially when he was determined to hear every word his nephew spoke. Aemond stomped over in a rage.

“You what?” Aemond snarled, eye focused on you.

“What?” you responded, playing dumb with a confidence that had him almost believing you.

“I trusted you,” Aemond was furious, “I trusted you to do the right thing, and instead you sent a raven saying you intend to honor your betrothal to him? Did we not have an understanding?”

Despite his anger, Aemond mostly felt betrayed. He thought there was an unspoken understanding of trust between you two, and he was jealous of your affections toward Jacaerys.

“Have I given you any reason to relinquish your trust in me?” you combatted.

“Do you think me a fool?” Aemond spat, “I heard your little catch-up.”

You stood, Jacaerys following suit and standing guard next to you as you began to raise your voice at Aemond. “What did you expect of me? You hold me captive, begin to burn my house, force my hand in marriage, confine me each and every day, and only let me free to pursue your own exploits. Did you think me growing affectionate toward you for simply unlocking a door that I do not deserve to have locked? You and your brother have been nothing but cruel. The only kind thing you’ve done for me in my time here is allow me to see Jacaerys, and I am sure you have your own reasons for such things. You should not dare take issue with me, Aemond.”

“Our agreement, lest you forget, included you renouncing him and acknowledging your betrothal to me. You did not follow through, and therefore there is no understanding between us anymore. I’m sure you will find the dungeons quite comfortable.”

“Try as you will, you are simply mad that she cannot be controlled,” Jacaerys defended you. He knew you didn’t need it, but he would try regardless.

“Mind your tongue.”

Jacaerys unsheathed his sword, pointing the tip at Aemond. The room stilled for a moment.

Aemond made a swift move to mimic Jacaerys’s actions, the two men armed, your body the only thing between them.

You desperately wished you had some sort of weaponry as defense. You always wanted to learn the skills of the sword, but the men of the Watch never let you participate, only allowing you to spectate.

“Do it,” Aemond taunted.

“You do not have the authority to banish someone to the dungeons, for you are not the King,” Jacaerys matched his tone.

“Strike me, nephew. If you truly dare.”

“Would you both please sheath your weapons? Aemond, I am nothing more than your prisoner. The dungeons cannot hold my temper the very same way this room cannot.”

“Then you shall not mind the change of scenery.”

“You underestimate me,” you threatened.

“You underestimate us both,” Jacaerys huffed in anger.

“Well well well, I see this is going well,” Aegon smiled, strutting into the room, “I expected nothing less.”

“She must be taken to the dungeons, brother,” Aemond informed.

“I told you as such upon my arrival,” you reminded them.

Aegon approached you. “Shall we?”

“I would hope you know me better than to simply go at will.”

Aegon called the King’s Guard stationed by his side at all times to enter the room, four different men swarming you and holding your arms behind your back. Jacaerys dropped his sword down, looking for any entrance to help you, but found none. You jumped and kicked and clawed, adamant on not going down without a fight. You elbowed one of the men straight in his nose, blood rushing down his mouth and chin as he stumbled backward at the sudden pain. You took the opportunity to twist the arm he was holding back in front of you, punching the man directly in front of you. As your fist approached his face, Aemond caught your wrist, gripping tightly as he shoved the arm behind your back again, his other hand occupied with the sword that was now at your throat.

You remained cautiously still, but refused to show any sense of fear.

“Do it,” you spat, “it would be a great relief from spending the rest of my days with the likes of you.”

The blade pressed harder into your neck. Jacaerys stopped closer to you, but Aemond shot him a look. Jacaerys raised his sword again, the tip facing Aemond again. “Drop it.”

“Make me,” Aemond replied.

Aemond shoved his body into your side, nearly making you fall as you stumbled closer to the door, the men of the Guard seizing the opportunity to walk you out of the room and toward the dungeons, Aemond keeping his hand around your wrist.

Jacaerys and Aegon were left alone in your (now previous) chambers, the sun beginning to fade from the windows.

“You may take your leave now,” Aegon said.

“You do not expect me to just leave when you’ve impriso-“

“Take your leave.”

Jacaerys sighed. He needed more strength, more dragonfire, more support. He knew his talents, but he knew himself not capable of defeating both of his uncles on his own. He hated Aemond, but he would be a fool to not admit Aemond’s capabilities when wielding a blade.

Jacaerys stomped out of the room, ignoring anyone in his path as he marched back to Vermax.

✶

When you were placed in your cell, the men immediately locked the door and left, leaving you trapped with Aemond peeking into your cell as if you were a caged animal.

“Feel safer, do you?” you taunted, “is a woman truly so much of a threat to the one-eyed prince?”

“You are here by your own volition,” Aemond told you, “it did not have to come to this.”

“I could have spoken those words to you the moment you commanded Vhagar upon my home.”

Aegon dropped his head. “What will it take for you to not be so combative?”

“I will never stop being combative, especially so long as you treat me like this.”

“I would not have to treat you like this if you stopped acting like this.”

You began to raise your voice. There was no point in holding back now. “This started when you decided to announce a betrothal to the realm that I did not consent to! I had no reason to ever know you until your idiot brother saw no other way to secure an alliance in the North but to strip me of my right to choose a proper husband! I never wanted any part of your war, Aemond, and now you are punishing me for it.”

Aemond slammed his hands against the cell door, the metal violently banging and clashing. “I have never, in all my years-“

“That’s enough,” Aegon interrupted, “leave us, will you brother?”

Aemond desperately needed to calm down, his breathing erratic, his cheeks red. “I was in the middle of-“

“Leave us.”

Aegon was serious now, glaring at his brother until he was out of sight.

“You stupid fucking whore,” he spat at you, “it was my brother’s own fault for trusting you.”

“You’re the one who allowed Jacaerys to come here, are you not? I had no part in such.”

“Did you not request his presence? In your special little letter to your prince?”

You gave him a confused look. “You believe I told him to ask for such things?”

“I would not trust if you denied it, so do not even bother,” Aegon sighed, taking a seat on a guard stool a few feet away, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together.

“So what is your plan? To keep me captive forever? To only let me out on my wedding night and force me to carry your brother’s seed? To hope that I die in child birth and allow your men to find my newborn crying on this floor?”

“What do you expect me to do with you? I need your house on my side.”

“I’d rather you have asked nicely, to speak plainly.”

“And you would have bent the knee if I had?” Aegon questioned.

“Absolutely not.”

“So you see why I must resort to force.”

“Did you ever question whether or not you are deserving of my House’s allegiance? Do you truly think yourself worthy of any noble house’s support? You resort to pain and force and threats, but never bargain with any Lord or Lady for how their allegiance to you may benefit them. You are not fit to be a king.”

“I am!” Aegon yelled, shooting upward and approaching your cell door, “I am fit to rule, and I am ruling! You shall wish your brother bends the knee to me. You will be terrible collateral damage should he not.”

“You have imprisoned me in your dungeon, Aegon, is that not damage enough for you?”

“Winterfell has not yet raised my banner.”

“Winterfell will never raise your banner,” you stated.

“We shall see.”

“You will not see,” you fought back, “my brother is much too smart to bend the knee to you. He knows me capable of caring for myself, even with your constant bitching and bombardment.”

Aegon sighed. He put his face as close to you as the bars would allow him. “I have never loathed another as much as I loathe you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Aegon stomped away up the stairs and out of your sight, leaving you abandoned in your prison cell. You began to scan the room, looking for any way to escape. No windows, makes sense. Solitary, no one else around, not that they could be much help. The lock can be picked, but there’s nothing here I can use to unlock it. They would not be so stupid as to leave something that I could use to-

As the thought crossed your head, your hands clasped your stomach, and you felt the multitude of adornments on your gown. The King and his brother had made one grave mistake: they locked you up in one of the finest gowns you had ever worn, which included a Targaryen house symbol pin sewn into the center of the navel area fabric.

A pin.

────── ☾ ──────

tags: @torchbearerkyle @dracaryxzs @hangmanscoming @callsignwidow @velvetcrowbarcherry @kravitzwhore @darlingisntit @not-neverland06 @albionfay @cluz1babe @flusteredmoonn @sab-falco

[aalghul]

Another thing that annoys me about “Cass, Steph and Damian died too” as a response to Jason just existing (besides that Jason doesn’t bring up his death to use against others nearly as much as people think he does), is that “they got over it, why can’t you?” and belittling him for not being a “perfect victim” is all in such bad taste, for obvious reasons. Then there’s the fact that none of those deaths are the same as Jason’s so the comparison doesn’t work even if we decided to judge characters on how well they fit the mold of a victim that doesn’t make a fuss.

Cass’ death is her being freed from her death wish. She’s not expecting revenge because she signed up for it. I don’t even know what to say about that because it’s all pretty clearly stated in the text.

Steph’s death was retconned into not being an actual Death death, first of all. Otherwise, we see her struggling to piece together her relationships in the aftermath of her return. Also, her death can’t be acknowledged too much because Bruce has been repeatedly absolved of all blame (that being pushed off to Leslie instead, originally) and speaking about how Bruce failed her isn’t something she’s allowed to do as a character who has to stay entirely on one side of the fight (because most characters don’t get to question Batman or believe he failed them, not without being framed as something less than morally sound). Jason gets to openly criticize Bruce but at the cost of never being one of the Bats like Steph is, and the inverse is true for Steph (irt pre-flashpoint).

Damian’s big death should be ignored because there’s literally not a way to have that storyline happen without being racist. We understand this, yes? And the rest don’t last longer than an issue. Let’s not pretend it’s comparable with Jason being dead and buried for over a decade in real time, actually dead and buried for 6 months in-universe, and believed dead for 3 years in-universe.

[thekristen999]

Fuck It Friday

A day early, but I'm going to be busy tomorrow. I started something new despite my sleep deprived brain sabotaging me.

This is a snippet from my whump fic. Sometimes we have to feed the ID part of our brains. The boys will forgive me.

And for the record, I wrote this before that last Tim interview. :-P

...

“Hey,” Buck said, smacking his arm. “Seriously. You’ve been through hell and back. Maybe cut yourself some slack.”

Eddie looked off in the distance. “Doesn’t excuse what I did.”

“No one faults you for wanting a do-over. If the roles were reversed and I could kiss a loved one more time, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Eddie gripped the armrest even harder. He didn't correct Buck about kissing Kim. He’d let her inside his home. He created the catalyst for Christopher's pain and anger.

Poor decisions didn’t absolve him of the repercussions, regardless of what Father Brian said. Eddie had taken his advice. He’d let go of his barriers and lived in the moment whenever possible, experiencing silly joys.

But wasn't he choosing joy now? Christopher was the biggest source of happiness in his world. This road trip was a step in finding it again.

Despite all his self-reassurances, a voice deep down cast doubt otherwise. Eddie rested his head against the headrest, trying to quiet all the conflicting noise. He tried to do the right thing but always seemed to fall short.

Silence filled the inside of the jeep. Eddie glanced over at Buck, his face obscured by shadows except for the dim illumination from the dashboard. Even in the low light, Eddie noticed his tight expression, the way Buck's fingers gripped the steering wheel, the forced sense of calmness, the heavy frown.

Everything about Buck screamed tension. Sorrow.

Eddie squeezed his eyes closed knowing he was partially to blame. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For—”

A loud bang cut off Eddie’s next words, the jeep jerking forward violently. The seat belt tightened painfully across his chest as the vehicle tail-hooked, swerving wildly Buck struggled with the steering wheel. “Hang on!” But they were going too fast.

As the jeep rounded a sharp bend, its tires suddenly lost traction, sending it careening off the winding road's edge. Tires screeching in protest, the jeep plummeted down a steep embankment, tumbling wildly through the air before crashing violently against the rocky ravine. It was like being on a roller coaster from hell. The jeep hit a massive bump, spinning it sideways.

Eddie braced himself for a rollover with the sudden shift in the vehicle's center of gravity. But before he could even shout a warning, a tree loomed fast in their path. ..

tagging a few people who might be interested...

@mellaithwen @homerforsure @tizniz @dangerpronebuddie

@epicbuddieficrecs @exhuastedpigeon @favouritealias

@spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @thelikesofus

@elysynn @renecdote @diazsdimples @hippolotamus

@thebestbooksaround @tulipfromtheinternet @ci5mates

[hainethehero]

So. Civil War discourse in 2025.

Let’s get down to it.

The movie (to be clear, Cap: Civil War MCU edition, not the comics or the version some of you made up in your own heads) has Tony encountering a woman who blames him for her son’s death due to the avengers time in Sokovia. This was not his fault, or his fault alone, and even though the woman had her right to be upset, it wasn’t fair to put the blame on him directly.

However, instead of going back to the team and telling them what he encountered and then bringing up the whole “we need to be put in check” monologue, Tony goes behind their back to Ross and has him come to avengers tower to inform the team that the accords are happening. Basically the team minus Tony is learning about this as they’re being told and expected to just “comply.”

Very interesting how Tony fans like to spin this in his favor by saying he was right to hold them accountable and Steve is dumb stubborn selfish one when IDK, Tony did all this behind the team’s back and then he has to go against the same accords he helped put together in the end anyway? 😭

Steve is seen reading the accords while Sam is arguing with Rhodey about not thinking this is the right thing to do.

Eventually, most of the team agrees to sign, except Steve and Sam. Clint is Switzerland and retired.

Then the whole Bucky/winter soldier stuff happens and we all know what happens from there.

“Steve tore the avengers apart”

No, Steve and Sam caught up with Bucky and he informed them that he was not the only winter soldier. Steve and Sam decide to go to Siberia. Steve considers telling Tony but Sam tells him that Tony won’t believe him (he’s right). Steve responds by saying, “we’re on our own.” Sam then says, “I know a guy.” Cue Scott Lang’s entrance.

Meanwhile, Tony goes to Queens and pretends he’s personally extending an invite to Peter Parker to join him for a very important internship opportunity. He charms Aunt May for a bit before finding Peter in his room where he proceeds to manipulate/blackmail the kid into coming to Germany with him. He literally threatens to tell Aunt May the truth: https://youtu.be/AVlww2uJHAc?feature=shared (don’t tell Aunt May) to get Peter to agree.

But I mean, that’s not weird or creepy right? That’s totally a normal thing to hold over a 14 year old kid’s head. But maybe that’s just me…

Then they’re at the airport, where Steve tries to explain what he knows to Tony and Rhodey: https://youtu.be/I4FX4GTaxmE?feature=shared

Guess who doesn’t want to hear it? The fighting begins shortly after.

The ending montage, where Tony reads Steve’s letter and apology about not telling him about his parents, and the flip phone he leaves him to call him if he needs help: https://youtu.be/ZFe1iyis3IY?feature=shared

Close out with Steve going to the raft to break out his friends from jail. From then on, he’s a wanted criminal for defying the accords that he never signed and goes on the run until the events of infinity war.

—

Now, the discourse behind this film will go on forever. People will almost always take sides and have their own opinions. But Tony Stark fans seem to have their own version of Civil War in their minds where Tony is absolved of any fault and is the pure victim who never did a wrong thing and the blame for the entire saga is Steve’s fault, according to them.

I encourage them to read what I wrote here and watch those clips from the movie back again. And again.

.

[sunflower1experiment]

Yall wanna know something

I shipped Anya, Curly and Daisuke platonically

In terms of Life Companions

Like

This post is more of a rant about ships and Capitalism and also some stuff I noticed from other analysis I’ve seen.

Anya and Curly would be those platonic companions that support each other through their flaws and all and while they do banter they also understand their own weaknesses and faults

While Daisuke enters their lives and warms them up and brings out the best, Swansea brings out the strongest parts of them too.

And he’s with his wife enjoying those three beautiful bond.

With Jimmy I fr don’t ship him with anyone, I don’t rly care about ships in the fandom cuz like every time I try, my mind goes back to the fact that each character is an aspect of reactions towards Capitalism.

Like no matter what in a world of greed, corporate power and corruption and Capitalism.

There will be aspects of it that are considered pillars for why it’s such a systemic issue. Patriarchy, Assault culture, the minority group being ignored, the youth being manipulated and abused yet being seen as a form of hope. Meanwhile the minority is trying to absolve such issues, yet they deliberately get ignored until the said group leaves in their own way as one last form of strength.

And then a chain reaction happens, yet while the minority is a victim of the abuse no one will pay it any mind because it happens so much that in this case its a common story which is frightening and tragic.

Anya’s story is so tragic but not uncommon, she gets failed by two guys who can protect her. One inadvertently fails, the other hears her tell him, proceeds inadvertently fail and then when Anya dies along with Daisuke he realizes how terribly he failed them.

So does Curly, because of this chain of events it leads to him being tortured and abused by Jimmy then frozen to death because Jimmy lacks the capacity and ability to take responsibility.

Jimmy the paranoid guy who assaulted Anya to gain some form of control and expects her to move on, the same guy who called her job useless, got her pregnant then crashed the ship because oh “The useless nurse whom I abused physically has the consequences of my own actions” and once Curly saves them. Jimmy takes the opportunity to blame him, to take his title, and actually have power. But one hiccup.

None of the crew like him the way they liked Curly, Daisuke is focused on impressing Swansea, Anya is literally afraid of him, Swansea does not trust Jimmy.

And this is where narratives come in, we can all agree by now that there is no story told but povs.

Each Pov, Curly’s pov is everyone at their best but there is an underlying feeling of uncertainty behind it. Because Curly and Anya are both dealing with a dead pixel that both will have no choice but to acknowledge.

Meanwhile in Jimmy’s pov everyone is at their worst, because of his actions. Swansea is more stubborn than usual, Anya is literally struggling with mental issues and with the pregnancy, its a so so with Daisuke being hopeful and kept in the dark about what he did. Yet he still has a gut feeling about Jimmy based on the hesitation with the vents and worry for Swansea.

Then after the vent he apologizes to Swansea only. Then Jimmy who literally was told to not use the mouthwash uses it anyway.

Curly listens and reacts in an untimely manner

While Jimmy will listen, ignore and then react rashly or in a negative manner because it doesn’t fit his agenda or status quo of being this delusional leader.

Reminder this all happened because Jimmy decided that his idea of control was assaulting Anya because to him she was just an object for him to use and control. When that fails, he tries to kill her because she confronts him about the pregnancy without Curly.

Once again when that fails, this sucka pulls a Pony Express and “fires” everyone aka Crash the ship so her story wouldn’t get out there.

And Curly

I gotta let folks know, Curly wasn’t going to defend Jimmy. He went to Jimmy to get him to chill out, he even states with the key words “You” and “I”

Jimmy says “We” and “You”

Curly and Anya both gave that dummy a chance to take responsibility.

Instead of doing that he crashes the ship, proceeds to physically abuse Curly, verbally abuse Anya knowing that he Sa’d her but he expects her to act like how she does with Curly because the assault didn’t affect him like how it did her until it involved his reputation being affected.

And I get it Curly says “I’ve known him a long time” that was idiotic of him, but it shows how unaware he was. It started with the harassment, he laughs about that thinking its him goofing around……Jimmy isn’t Anya’s friend, and they’ve only probably interacted maybe during the psych evals or game night.

Like Anya is showing clear uncomfortable emotions towards his psych evals and Curly does read the room but not at a full comprehension of

“Oh shit Jimmy is harassing the only woman on this ship and saying crude shiz like this during a psych evaluation”

Why? Cuz thats his friend, he’s probably made many crappy jokes before around Curly and it doesn’t justify it but it shows how he’s so used to Jimmy’s behavior that its at the extent of his other friend and coworker.

This just goes back to the fact that when Anya tells him again, it’s clicking for Curly. He’s getting anxiety, his heart is racing, the sinking feeling of realization.

Then when we realize she told him, it’s clear Anya doesn’t know Jimmy like Curly which definitely makes Curly feel worse cuz he realizes the so called friendship he tries to set up for the crew was nonexistent. Especially when one crew mate is harming the other and probably (we don’t know) forced the other to be silent. Or the other was too scared/ashamed.

It works out in his pov as the observer/bystander because he was able to witness it but what does that mean without him observing…

I’m basically saying everyone has their own flaws and Jimmy had his and had the potential to be better or do better.

Anya and Curly believed it which is astounding because they’re the main two he hurts on purpose and directly.

Meanwhile with Swansea and Daisuke they have a hard time trusting him. All the while he indirectly and directly harms them, he manipulated Daisuke, ignoring his and Swansea’s warnings about the vents being dangerous simply because he wanted to get access to Curly (to cannibalize)

Then he lets Daisuke bleed out for 2 hours, burns him (once again ignoring Anya because he somehow doesn’t value her words yet values her perception of him cuz he cannot be seen as anything but a hero in his mindset) with the mouthwash.

Then he gets a panic attack, because all of this actions came back to bite him.

The one friend he wanted to die with as a “hero” saves everyone, so he makes him the villain and takes his title.

The woman he assaulted and planned to kill, offs herself before he could get the chance to. But she and Curly both inadvertently cause one another’s downfalls.

Curly with Anya and the crew because of trauma response, fawn and freeze.

She fawns at Jimmy, then uses the last of her strength to leave by her own hand. But this leads to a chain of events.

The young adult who’s practically the reason why the others are trying to seem tame, ends up dying because of Jimmy. Simply because he won’t admit that he is the cause to why Anya locked herself in there, instead he does what he did to Curly. Make her out to be the villain, and says she’ll hurt Curly.

Then there’s Swansea, who knows everything and most likely figured out with Anya that Jimmy crashed the ship. So he tells Jimmy off and everything he says is true. Jimmy kills him in “self defense” and is scared of Swansea.

That part actually makes me wonder, Jimmy isn’t afraid of Curly even though Curly is capable of fighting him, but he knows Curly. Jimmy doesn’t know Swansea but Swansea knows Jimmy because there are people like Jimmy out there. Selfish, insecure and paranoid and willing to harm others just to avoid accountability to the point of self deletion.

There is so much I wanna discuss that it’s not even funny.

Wrong Organ literally made this game calling out so many taboo topics. Can we please just dig deeper about them!?

[sepublic]

            The way Belos stans complain about the Titan’s summation of what’s morally different between Luz and Belos, is that it seems what these people wanted, a whole flashback or spiel about how Belos was raised in a Puritan society, actually goes against the point they claim to be arguing, about how it’s important to show everyone’s capacity for evil by humanizing the villain, when Luz questions what difference there is between herself and Belos.

            Because bringing up how he’s a 1600’s Puritan, ironically, would’ve absolved Luz and any viewer, just on the basis that they’re not 1600’s Puritans and don’t have to worry about becoming one. It also absolves Philip because that’s just how he was raised, except… Caleb is right there, and I thought we established “That’s just how things were back then” is racist conservative rhetoric? And ultimately, it would not account for why Jacob Hopkins is like that, as someone who lives in modern Gravesfield, which decries witch hunters as greedy and insincere. It doesn’t account for any type of modern evil.

            What the Titan actually says about arrogant delusions and control is something anyone could theoretically relate to, it’s something Luz can, and it’s something she conquered, with ‘control’ being resolved in the prior episode, in that Luz’s attempts to prevent any mistakes by not trying at all was an effort at control. And Camila explains to her, no, you just need to try anyway because mistakes happen anyway and you can’t control everything or even everyone, anymore than the Collector could with their ‘friends’ or even Belos.

            Hopkins doesn’t just establish Belos’ witch hunting motives, he perfectly sums up who Philip would’ve been in modern times; The exact same type of mediocre asshole. It was never about his circumstances, it was about who he chose to be and what he chose to prioritize, that being his ego and the power rush of being a bully to make himself feel better about his own miserable life. The parallels make it clear, it’s not really because of his historical background, because IRL some people had happy lives and still chose evil anyway. Some people just refuse to accept that they’ve done evil and consider any criticism to be an attack on their perfectly controlled worldview.         

            And in addition to what I’ve also pointed out, I think it’s another reason why Boscha’s arc in S3 was the right call; She IS someone for whom cruelty, domination, and spite come naturally. And yet she still heeded the call to mature when confronted by someone she cared about and was possessive towards, because they had been through the same thing and could relate to a decent degree. So what excuse does Belos have, after centuries?

            Plus, the idea that anyone could be cruel because they simply don’t see themselves as such, means the evil of the isles can’t be solely blamed on Belos, because if people have a responsibility to know better, even if they’re given some grace for having been fooled, then it perfectly sums up the scene with Terra, Adrian, and Vitimir in the finale; Some people just continue to choose to be terrible and don’t really need an excuse to be.

            I mean, look at Adegast or Tibbles, who weren’t really affiliated with the coven; Or the Titan Trappers, who predate by eons! And one could attempt to blame the Archivists, but at some point, the show’s point on free will makes itself clear that this capacity always existed; But at the same time, fascism makes people way more mean-spirited because it’s a system where that attitude thrives, it’s built on that Us VS Them crusade.

[wc-confessions]

Crowfeather defenders are so frustrating to me but I also feel like Warrior Cats itself is also to blame for this because this series is pretty horrible to abuse victims that aren’t kind or gentle (gosh, I wonder WHY!)

I’ll never forget when the Warrior Cats character book stated that if nightcloud was nice or friendly then she would deserve our sympathy, but because she’s rightfully bitter that the male who approached her is emotionally neglectful and abusive to his son (ON PURPOSE), she’s not sympathetic.

And I need to emphasize that “abusive on purpose” part. For some unknown reason, fans seem to act like Crowfeather’s abusive and neglectful behaviors were unintentional because he’s depressed, when he purposefully treats Nightcloud and Breezepelt badly. I won’t forget when Breezepelt tried to impress his dad and Crowfeather ignored him, praising someone else instead.

I don’t really find crowfeather all that interesting because the narrative has tried so hard to make him this sad and sympathetic woobie and absolve him of blame by giving him a mean wife. No it’s not his fault Breezepelt turned resentful that his abusive dad never showed him love, it’s Nightcloud’s fault! Because she told him that his dad doesn’t love him (I fucking wonder WHY)

I haven’t read crowfeather’s trial so I’m not sure what happens in it, but I don’t really think I need a side book to try and fix 6 books worth of bad and frustrating character writing.

.

[hibou088]

Is the emancipation of the spirit caused by self-responsibility?

I. What is self-responsability / accountability ?

Being afraid of taking responsibility is very common. So common even that it has an actual name  : hypengyophobia. Taking accountability for our choices means choosing freedom. When we feel responsable for ourselves, we become the master of our life. Once an individual takes back the power she has been giving to others or external influences to control how she feels, she finally finds freedom. Whether you suffered childhood trauma or not, your life can change only by taking ownership of it going forward ! 

In Clear Thinking, Shane Parrish writes :

'Self-accountability means taking responsibility for your abilities, your inabilities, and your actions. If you can’t do that, you might never move forward.  You might not have someone in your life who holds you accountable, but that doesn’t matter. You can hold yourself accountable. Others might not expect more from you, but you can expect more from yourself. No one else need reward or punish you into it.'

Having defined what self-responsability is, I will try to explain how and why feminism is counterproductive and totally kills women's self-growth.

II. How feminism holds women back

A) A culture of apology

We know that majority of our core beliefs come from our childhood. How we perceive the world, others and ourselves is based on the beliefs that were implemented in our minds when we were young. Adults, on the other hand, are able to use and to rely on experience to make decisions. They are able to withstand pressure from their peers and to use their judgement.

Unfortunately, this difference is not something that feminists accept. They indeed always resort to infantilizing women and using "socialization" as an excuse. It does not matter how feminists identify themselves (liberal feminist, radical feminist, black /white feminists...), they all have the same goal : absolving the collective of women of any responsability. While nobody can deny that socialization DOES play a huge role in shaping people's perceptions, it is NOT an excuse, at least not when you are a fully grown adult. I am always dumbfounded anytime I hear a woman who is more than 25 years old telling that she is a victim of the "patriarchy", that she has been manipulated by the men around her, that she is not to be blamed for her choices... Imagine being 50 and saying that your shitty life is men's fault or society's...

B) A hidden contempt for women

If you do not take accountability for your life and own your mistakes, no self-growth is possible. Absolutely NONE. Unfortunately, feminism works hard to make sure women, as a collective, never try to better themselves by telling them that nothing is ever their faut. 

Feminists want society to feel pity for women. They desperately want to portray women as poor victims who are always wronged AND cannot possibly do anything wrong. And if they do anything wrong, it is OBVIOUSLY because they have been brainwashed or coerced into doing it... right ? It reminds me of the time when Billie Eilish posed in lingerie for Vogue Magazine in 2021. Dumbasses all over the Internet were screaming that we should not blame her for objectfying herself because she is "a VicTiM oF ThE PaTriArchY". Classic example of infantilizing and deresponsalizing women... If a woman does something cool, she is a "GirL BosS" but if she does something embarassing or that contradicts feminism (whatever it is), it is "MuH PaTriArcHy" that is to blame, as always. Adults make adult choices, period, stop whining.

However, I undertand why feminism/women are using this strategy : there are tons of social and emotional benefits to portraying oneself as a victim. First, it totally absolves the individual of the burden of personal responsibility for improving her circumstances or character AND it also provides the feminist / woman a sense of community with other women who have similar experiences or beliefs, which satisfies an emotional need. If someone or a group tries to portray you as a victim, they are not doing it because they want to help you, they are most likely doing it because they DESPISE you and/or to fulfill a narcissistic need (feeling superior to you and appearing righteous by supposedly "caring" about your situation.)

Staying a victim is for the weak, strong individuals work on themselves to make their life better.

C) The solution : killing the double moral standard

The only way for women to do better on a collective scale is to bring back SHAME. Yes, I said it. SHAME ! "Shame motivates learning, growth, and a desire to change the self (Kelly & Lamia, 2018). Shame also has a social purpose : the prospect of experiencing shame can keep us from behaving impulsively and doing something that might be considered socially inappropriate."

Men are more respectable than women when it comes to holding each other accountable :

'Keeping your brothers accountable is a product of love, not hate. Pointing out your friend’s flaws has the goal of bettering them, not judging them for the sake of antagonizing them. Men have a duty to one another to lift each other up by highlighting each other’s shortcomings, whilst actively assisting one another in their battle with evil. Without men keeping one another accountable, there would be complete and utter chaos. You should love your brother as yourself, so keep him accountable.'

'Being accountable means being willing to accept the consequences of your actions, both good and bad. It's important to make good choices, but realize that sometimes you will make mistakes. What matters is how you respond to your mistakes. own up to them, apologize for them, and learn from them so that you don't repeat the same mistakes in the future.'

That is what the collective should do towards WOMEN ! A small victory was achieved when somebody coined the expression 'pickme', which rightfully shamed women who behaved like carpets in front of men and threw other women under the bus. Unfortunately, this necessary shaming has obviously being criticized for being 'SeXisT', as too many women interpret rightful criticism as persecution / 'MisOGiNy' :

'How do feminists critique women’s harmful internalized sexism without engaging in the same sexist tactics they are trying to put an end to ? How do they address pick-me behavior without humiliating or degrading other women ? A compassionate approach likely means first recognizing that demeaning other women isn’t useful to the feminist movement, even if it is done in retaliation or to make an important point.

Although calling out pick-me behavior might feel good, perhaps even validating, it seems to only further the divide among women. It is not likely there will ever be true sisterhood in feminism (and, arguably, sisterhood shouldn’t even be the goal). That shared purpose is to put an end to structures that uphold and enable sexism and sexist oppression. That work starts at the root cause, not with individual women within that oppressive system. 

BOOM ! Once again, the classic argument of "DiviDiNg wOmeN" has been used. To the average feminist, pointing the finger at a shameful behaviour is what is WRONG, not the behaviour itself ! And once again, what is the ROOT cause of enabling sexism if not the women who pander to men ? The pick-mes, the handmaidens, however you want to call them ? This mentality is in direct contrast with the linked article telling men to hold each other accountable by pointing out their flaws ! It is precisely because feminism and society, in general, have coddled women and used "a compassionate approach" that society got worse ! By claiming that society is the cause for women's miserable state is a LIE that has been preserved for way too many years. Women ARE the cause of their misery, not men or society. Women can ONLY blame themselves for the Hell they have created and birthed on Earth. It is time to hold everybody accountable and stop feeling sorry for the wrong individuals !

It’s your life, you get to decide what to do with it. —Danielle Bernock

And a little tip for the average 'feminist' :

[chaifootsteps]

Thinking about how Viv wrote herself into a corner with that stolas rape deal

And what she came up with to get out it was “well blitz is a slut who has lots of sex, so now you concerned viewers look stupid” “Stolas feels bad about what he did and wants it to become consensual, but blitz keeps trying to tempt him.” And later “all that verbal sexual abuse involving being an imp was in blitzos head, he’s just mentally ill, stolas is an angel, he sees that now.”

But this dynamic is night and day even between episodes 1 and 2 of season 2. This attraction to stolas is very novel and frankly contradictory. Chronologically speaking, the first ever time Blitzø had “attraction” to stolas and the only time in season one, was truth seekers. An episode when he had a mental break, imagined himself chained to a taunting stolas, was called a plaything by him and was verbally and physically abused by an angry stolas, then for all of that ‘happily’ gave him a ‘reward’.

Where going from various implications, particularly western energy, blitz would exert a lot of violent aggression and sexual control, which stolas found kinky because he is an imp. I can safely conclude it was some type of angry hate sex, an intense lashing out of hate filled anger stolas always ignored or missed, with a bizarre selfie after one iteration. A slightly terrifying way for blitz to cope psychologically. Apology tour blitz sees sex with stolas as a fight. He wants to continue the sex with him in control, because there is something he doesn’t want to think about. And I think it’s fizzarolli. I mean, many voices said “you’re gonna die alone Blitzø” but Blitzø only focussed on fizz. And after Ozzies, well, who was the catalyst of that? And now full moon/apology tour, we can feel Fizzs presence again.

That makes me worried about his mental health. ‘But that’s just how he sees the relationship!’ they say, as if his feelings on his own exploitation don’t matter. This new ‘arousal’ feels very trauma induced and I’m (not) shocked that Medrano thinks this absolves stolas of all blame. And Loona, Verosika, Moxxie and Fizz, are all enablers designed to normalise this. Who also do not absolve stolas of blame. I mean that scene of blitz touching stolas’ legs and him getting aroused but saying “no, no! It’s not right” before blitz code switches to begging for the book/money, feels right out of Frollos wet dream. He’s not abusive or predatory to Esmeralda, she keeps tempting him to take advantage of her! Or as stolas fans would argue: “Frollo isn’t predatory to Esmeralda, she led him on and awakened him, he only said and did those things because he thought she liked it!”

Beautifully put. She started (by her own admission) with the intent that Stolas would be a villain, tried to "fix" it, but because Viv is Viv, it's about as effective as fixing a broken toaster by smashing it with a hammer

[araybiaa]

she’s sprawled across the bed tucked underneath a pile of blankets with her face lax with content. there’s a gentle steadiness to her breathing; a rise and decline of her body as she slept and she looks so peaceful that he nearly begins to feel guilty at the possibility of disrupting that.

but it’s been weeks of him being bereft of her comfort — having gone countless nights of sleeping without her, not being able to kiss or touch her and he disregards those earlier momentary reservations as he brushes a flyaway piece of hair out of her face. 

she stirs drowsily at the contact, murmuring softly under her breath as her eyebrows and face furrowed in an adorable moue. she looked so beautiful laying there and all he could think about was how he’d willingly gone weeks without her. his persistence on seeking vengeance against groff for stealing his money from him had hindered his focus.

he reacted and left for morocco so abruptly that they didn’t even have time to commemorate their engagement like they should’ve. he proposed and immediately left her to celebrate the jovial moment alone — the realization of his abandonment tormented him for days, it still wasn’t something that he’s completely absolved himself for.

but now that he’s returned home to her, he has every intention of properly celebrating like she initially deserved.

rafe leans down and pecks a soft kiss against her lips, feeling all of the rigid tension from the chaos that followed from morocco, immediately dispel from his body. even when she’s asleep she always managed to be the thing to anchor him back into their solitude of peace. and just as he begins to retract from the embrace, she stirs again, this time fluttering her eyes open to look at him. 

“hm?” she murmurs, blinking through the bleariness of her vision as she pried her eyes open. once it clears, her gaze thwarts on him as he stood hovered over her and when recognition finally settled in, she gasps as she sits upright and pulls him in for a hug. “rafe, when did you get back?” his arms wound around her body as he buried his face in her neck. 

he melts at the familiarity of this; of her. his lips brush against her neck — imprinting gentle kisses along the exposed flesh as his nose inhaled her sweet scent of vanilla and hibiscus — that he burns into his memory. 

he feels the reverberation of her body against his as she giggles and god did he miss hearing that sound. “you okay?” 

he nods, lifting his head from its perch as he looks down at her. “mhm. just missed you,” he murmurs before he’s leaning towards her and decimating the space between them. he’s a little needy with his kisses as he nips and ravishes her lips within his, barely allowing either of them a moment to catch their breath. 

but sofia doesn’t seem to mind as she reciprocates his kisses with the same vigor. her hands reach up and cradle the sides of his face attempting to pull his body on top of hers as she leans backwards on the mattress. he allows the maneuver, resting the palms of his hands on either side of her as he hovers over her lithe body. “wait. let me shower first. i stink.” he says, reluctantly retracting from the embrace. 

days without a proper shower had felt him feeling and smelling disgustingly filthy. 

but sofia shakes her head as her fingers hovered over the waistband of his pants, pulling him back to her. “don’t leave.” she beseeches as her pleading eyes find his again. 


he knew that his leaving hadn’t left her completely unscathed either, but it’s more evident now in how she’s looking at him and how her hands hold onto him. she missed him just as much as he missed her and didn’t want him to leave her sight even for the briefest of moments. 

and he couldn’t blame her.

“okay, i won’t.” he avows, leaning down to seek her mouth out again. he swallows the trembling breaths that she keens into his mouth. their noses brush as he slides his knee between her thighs, nudging them open just enough until he’s allotted enough space to crawl in between. their hands work in a frenzied tandem; tugging his shirt over his head and pulling at the zipper on his jeans until they loosen around his hips.

“rafe,” he’s attentive to her beckoning, lowering his hand to her thigh that he grips, tugging her closer until there’s not a barrier of space between them. it’s a reconciliation of them and their bodies, a slow grind of lovemaking that has him imprinting dark love bites against her shoulder and neck while her fingers decorated his back with red markings, both cementing their territory of one another. 

“fuck,” he groans, though the sound is far from painful. he turns his head and slides his lips over hers in a kiss, exhaling shakily in her mouth. “baby,” he whispered, a telltale that he was on the precipice of his completion and he desperately hoped that she wasn’t too far.

rafe receives his answer when sofia’s hands sink into his skin, her breath catches in her throat and tears sting in her pupils. her entire body trembles in euphoria, her eyes gloss over and her mouth parts agape in an ‘o’. 

he kisses at her neck, grunting, as he feels the sensitive wetness of her barricading around him. “sof,” he murmurs in a litany, sliding the slickness of his body against hers until he lurches and spills the remnants of his arousal inside of her.

he groans, falling helplessly atop of her.

…

rafe presses a kiss against her chest before withdrawing from inside of her. he shifts the position of his body so that he’s now turned towards her. he lifts her hand up to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, his eyes wander to his mother’s ring — her ring, that’s decorated prettily around her finger. “it looks good on you,” he compliments, turning his head to see her mirthful smile that widens so much that her dimples swell in her cheeks. “you know, i was thinking about how we didn’t really get a chance to celebrate our engagement.” 

sofia nods a bit somberly, “it’s okay. you had to go get your money back first,” she says as understanding as ever and as much as he appreciates it; he was still guilt ridden at not being present for them to celebrate. he didn’t want her to feel as if the money came before her because that did not hold any validity whatsoever.

the trip to morocco wasn’t about getting his money back, that money was theirs. he promised sofia a lavish lifestyle so that she wouldn’t have to work for scraps to provide for her family anymore and he had every intention of keeping that promise. it was just unfortunate that he had to go to a different country without seeing her for weeks, but given all the chaos and turmoil he endured down there, he’d returned home safely to her with their money ready to begin the new chapter in their life. 

“it’s our money, sof.” he emphasizes, declaring the solidification of their partnership. “and yeah, i went there to go get it for us. but now that i’m back we should do something to celebrate it.”

at this, sofia’s interest seemingly piques. “okay. like what?”

“a party,” rafe accents, watching as her widened smile made an abrupt return. “we’ll invite everyone over; your parents and friends…” he feels a little somber at the realization that he didn’t have any family or much friends to invite over for the occasion — both parents were now deceased, wheezie was still in rose’s custody, who made it abundantly clear that she wanted her shielded away from the dangers that always seemed to come with living on this island — but then he remembered the brief reconciliation that he had with sarah in morocco. 

“i was thinking of inviting sarah too,” he admits, watching as a dubious look marred on sofia’s face. “we sorta made up in morocco,” he explains, watching as her look of confusion substituted for one of surprise. 

“really? rafe, that’s amazing!” she’s been vocal and persistent about him making amends with sarah and all this time, he’s been refuting because of his own stubbornness. (and the underlying fear that sarah didn’t want to forgive him — not that he’d blame her in anyway.)

it wasn’t until he heard sarah’s reassuring testament and saw the sincerity in her eyes as she pleaded to him that he succumbed to his vulnerability. with the news that he was also about to be an uncle, rafe knew that although they’ve both experienced tremendous loss in their lives recently, they also had much to celebrate and he realized that he wanted to do that with his sister.

rafe nods, though a little wary. “do you think she’d come?” he knows that albeit they made up, there was still a lot of unresolved issues between them. he doesn’t know if she wanted a slow progress of them rekindling their relationship or if their shared moment in morocco was enough for full forgiveness. 

sofia gives him a sympathetic look as she nods, “yeah, i do. i’ve seen the way she used to look at you, rafe. you guys making up means just as much to her as it does to you,” he considers her words, recalling on the moments where they’d inadvertently run into each other and how she’d look over at him wistfully, hoping that he would come over to offer an apology for the strifes in their relationship, only for him to continually harbor an a unwarranted animosity towards her. 

he’s apprehensive and overthinking.

but he eventually nods in agreement, feeling some of his trepidation subside at sofia’s comfort. 

…

she was admittedly a bit surprised when rafe texted her last night and invited her over to his place for a party. john b was reluctant on her attending the event alone as he was still wary of rafe’s intentions after everything that transpired between them over the years, which she couldn’t fault him for.

but sarah saw this as rafe taking an initiative. all she’s wanted was to repair the tainted relationship between her and her brother. there were still underlying issues that needed to be addressed, but considering everything that’s happened in their lives; from the loss of their father to her being pregnant, she knew that family was more important than anything.

and it felt good to see that rafe was trying. her efforts of reconciliation went unreciprocated for so long that she nearly thought about giving up. but then morocco happened and now this, and although she understands where john b’s coming from, sarah also knew that rafe wouldn’t deceive her not after that moment they shared. 

there’s already a driveway full of cars by the time she finally arrives at rafe’s. as she approaches the front door, she could hear the sound of music and laughter ricocheting throughout the room. when she pushes open the door, there’s an influx of people scattered across the house from the living room to outside on the balcony.

everyone’s face is unrecognizable — and she begins to wonder what this party is for because it didn’t look like one of her brother’s typical parties — the ages of the attendees ranged from what looked like five year olds to elders and there wasn’t a keg in sight. “sarah!” she turns around at the sound of someone beckoning her. when she sees that it’s sofia, she offers her a small smile and genial wave.

“hey.” 

“i’m so glad that you’re here. do you want something to drink?” she offers, gesturing for sarah to follow her in tow as she lead her into the kitchen. 

“non alcoholic, please.” sofia chuckles softly as she nods, pouring ladles full of juice into a red cup. sarah thanks her as she reached over and retrieved the cup, bringing it up to her mouth as she takes a sip. “what’s so funny?” she questioned curiously, raising a brow sofia. 

“nothing. it’s just that alcoholic drinks is the last thing that you have to worry about tonight especially with my family around. they’re super catholic so anything that remotely resembles alcohol is banned from our house,” 

“really? but don’t you work at—” she pauses, recoiling apologetically upon realizing that she’d probably overstepped a boundary. but thankfully, sofia holds no offense to her blundered inquiry, that she waved off in good nature.

she nods, gesturing an stagy roll of her eyes. “yeah and they hated it. but it helped pay the bills,” she shrugged, taking an idle sip of her own drink. their brief conversation is interrupted when rafe suddenly approaches; he emerges from outside looking a little flushed. 

“so, i was outside helping your grandmother and i know that my spanish is very choppy, but i’m pretty sure she asked when we were having kids and said that now that we’re about to get married we should start on it soon.” sofia murmured something incoherent in spanish that fell nearly deaf to her ears, but whatever she says, rafe seems to comprehend because the blush deepens on his cheeks and he’s giving her a shy smile. 

sarah’s eyes widen as she heeds rafe’s words. 

and when her eyes lower to sofia’s finger, she sees a ring that looked identical to her mother’s old ring that she used to wear whenever she played dress up.

it’s in that moment of stupefaction that she realizes that this wasn’t just a party — it was an engagement party. she’s retracted from her stupor when rafe turns towards her and greets her in acknowledgment. “hey, sarah.” 

��

“i’m gonna go check on my parents and abuela,” sofia announces, pressing a kiss against rafe’s cheek and giving his hand a reaffirming squeeze before she’s disappearing through the crowd of people leaving them standing there alone.

rafe looks at her with a bit of trepidation, like he’s nervous; which she was surprised to see because she doesn’t remember her brother ever being nervous about anything. “i wanted to tell you in a better way, guess that’s ruined now.” his hand rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck as he exhaled a deep breath. “i uh, proposed to her a few weeks ago with mom’s ring.” 

sarah nods, “i saw.”

rafe licked his lips before he continued with his spiel. “i love her. and i know that we always said that the ring would be the one thing of mom’s that we wouldn’t touch but sofia’s everything to me and i wanted to give it to her to show how important she is to me.” 

her bewilderment is only brief.

because she knows that he was more than capable of buying her an engagement ring of her own. but he wanted to give her their mother’s because of the sentiment and importance behind it. growing up, they’ve heard the recited stories about their father presenting it to her when he was finally able to save enough money for it — back when he was a struggling pogue and didn’t have more than a few dollars to his name. 

the ring held sentimental value and if rafe gave it to sofia, then she knew that there was no questioning his intentions behind it. “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, rafe. i know you and i know you wouldn’t give it to just anyone. i’m happy that you found someone you love and trust to share it with. that’s what dad’s always said it was meant for, right?” 

“right…” he nods in agreement; surprised at his sister’s understanding. 

“then that’s all that matters.”

…


she’s never seen him like this.

sure he’s had girlfriends — (or as she knows how rafe would refer to them as hookups because now that she thinks about it she doesn’t ever remember her brother having an actual girlfriend before; only girls that she’s seen sneaking out of his bedroom at six o’clock in the morning, or that used to come up to her in the hallways at school to ask if she knew why rafe hadn’t texted them back like he promised) but she doesn’t remember ever seeing him so enamored with someone like he is with sofia. 

“you guys are cute,” sarah compliments watching as sofia looked up at her with raised brows.

her expression sages and she’s blushing, almost shy at sarah’s words. her eyes wander to where rafe’s crouched down at eye level with who she assumes is sofia’s little brother and sofia smiles in that same reflective enamor that rafe always looks at her with.

“thanks,” 

“i think you’re the first girl to ever have him whipped,” sofia chortles softly, feeling modest at sarah’s words.

“seriously, when we were in morocco, he was sorta miserable without you. now it makes sense what he was such in a hurry to come home to.” 

“sofia! sofia!” her attention thwarts at the little boy who runs over to her, tugging at her shirt. “rafe said that he could take me to a real car show for my birthday if it was okay with mom and dad. could you ask them?” he pleads, his eyes wide with a hopeful expression as he pouted his lower lip out.

she nods, smiling as she ran a hand over his hair.

jorge exclaimed his excitement as he gave her a quick hug before running off to accompany their cousins outside again. “i can see why your grandmother said that about you two having kids, you’re both good with them. i’ve been watching your brother and rafe all day and he’s been practically conjoined at his hip!” 

sofia huffs a chuckle as she shakes her head. “my grandmother’s just as traditional as my parents. she’s already got our entire life planned out for us,” her smile softens again when she mentions rafe. “and yeah, he is good with them. it took a while for jorge to open up to him but he loves him now. i think when that time does come for us to start a family, he’ll be a great father.”

and if sarah heard this a few years ago, she would’ve been haste to disagree. but knowing the rafe that she knows now and witnessing his camaraderie with her brother firsthand, she doesn’t doubt sofia’s proclamation for a second. it was strange, seeing him develop into this family man, but it was also strangely befitting for him. 

“what about you and john b any future plans for kids?”

sarah laughs as she takes a sip of her drink, nodding her head. “oh yeah. and that future is a bit closer than what we initially intended,” at sofia’s raised brow, she elaborates. “i’m pregnant. i’m nearly two months now,”

it still feels surreal saying it out loud, and the revelation that she was about to be someone’s mother still hadn’t fully dawned on her, though john b’s offering reassurances did subside some of her initial fears. 

“seriously?! congratulations!” sofia expresses, walking over to where she’s standing so that she’s able to embrace her in a hug.

and though this is their first real conversation and weren’t close of friends — sarah finds the hug oddly comforting. “are you excited?” 

sarah draws out another prolonged sigh, “for the morning sickness, swollen ankles, and weird pregnancy cravings? no,” she jokes halfheartedly, “but to bring a little piece of me and john b into this world? yeah, i am,”

“well, i’m happy for you guys. i know you’ll be great parents,” it relieves sarah to hear sofia say this and she’s not exactly sure how she knows that she’s not saying it just to say it out of consideration. but she knows that sofia genuinely means it and it warms her heart hearing someone have such faith in her especially during times where she still struggles. 

“thank you,” she says, smiling once they retract from the embrace. “and i’m happy for you guys too.” 

…

“did you steal my fiancée away from me? it feels like i haven’t seen her all day!” rafe teasingly complaints as he walks over to where sarah and sofia were seated outside on the balcony’s porch seemingly getting lost in conversation. 

sarah playfully rolls her eyes as rafe makes his perch on the couch beside sofia, lugging an arm over her shoulder before he leans in to greet her with a kiss. she smiles at the sight of both of them looking completely awestruck when they part.

“i was just taking the time to get to know my future sister-in-law a little better.”

“she was telling me about the time her and a few of her friends went in your room and found—” she begins to recite the story, but immediately halts at the look that sarah gives her. it’s rafe furrowing a confused brow and fleeting his eyes between the two of them as they stifle laughter behind their pursed lips that has both of them guffawing loudly.

“what? what were you going to say?” 

sofia shook her head as she gestured a hand over her mouth, pretending to zip it shut. “sorry, it’s a secret between sarah and i,” she shrugs, smiling as she shared a knowing look with sarah as rafe inwardly mulled over the realization that this was soon going to be his new reality — his sister and fiancée finding humor in teasing and keeping shared secrets from him. 

and he finds that he doesn’t mind one bit.