#BUT WHAT IF THEY ARE SERIOUS? WE CANNOT LET THEM BE! FOR THE HARM THEY MAY CAUSE IN THE FUTURE

[rubixpsyche]

[with gritted teeth] people are different, we need to be different, noone else grows up like anyone else, our experiences are not universal, we cannot wrangle them into understanding, we must be understanding of them

[drchucktingle]

THE TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION HAVE ISSUED AN APOLOGY AND A RE-INVITATION. HERE IS MY STATEMENT

hello buckaroos. the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION have issued a formal statement and apology which you can read at the attached link.

while i find the language used to discuss what was done a little unsatisfying, i would like to start by saying i appreciate anyone taking steps to prove love is real and make things right. the genuine feeling of ‘realizing you have made a mistake and hurt someone else’ is a terrible one, and i have so much empathy for this group as they reckon with their choices causing harm. i appreciate their apology.

i also think more good than bad has come from this situation. i am so thankful this happened to me (someone with a large social media presence) and not a smaller buckaroo author without the means to stand up for themselves. i think the next time someone comes to the TXLA with an accommodation need, they will hopefully be taken more seriously

lets trot down to business about specifics now. the TXLA has re-invited chuck to the original panel and even offered to take a moment at the top of the panel to talk about what happened. this is very kind of them and i will say THANK YOU. 

unfortunately i will also have to decline.

the fact that it took this much effort, social media backlash, and discussion to let me simply EXIST PHYSICALLY in a way that is authentic to myself is not a good sign. if this organization immediately questions an authors chosen presentation in this manner, i cannot imagine what my other accommodations would be met with.

sometimes i am at an event and i very quickly need extra space to breathe. sometimes i am at an event and i need special guides to help me along from place to place. these are not ‘big asks’ and every other conference has gladly provided them, but if the TXLA had this kind of initial reaction to my physical appearance, i cannot imagine them readily helping with my other needs without ‘proof’.

this is clearly not a safe place to trot for those who require additional accommodations. regardless of any apology, their ACTIONS have shown that people who appear unusual or unique are not welcome at this event on a subconscious level. i believe the TXLA have some serious inner work to do beyond this apology, and i believe this inner work will involve actions more than words.

but even more importantly i would like to make this very important point: IT DOES NOT MATTER IF MY MASK IS A DISABILITY AID OR NOT. i appreciate the way this discussion has allowed us to trot out some deep talks on autism and proved love in this way, but i think there is a much more important point at hand.

regardless of WHAT someone looks like, it is not the job of an event or conference to pick apart WHY. physical presentation can be a part of someones neurodivergence, or gender, or sexuality, but i can also just exist as a nebulous undefined part of their inner self. it can be a piece they are not ready to openly discuss yet. the guests at TXLA are authors (aka ARTISTS) and the idea that a conference dedicated to an ART is going to deny people with unique and unusual presentations for ANY reason is absurd. since when are we applying a ‘dress code’ to our artists?

without knowing it, i personally believe there is an element of the ‘good queer, bad queer’ phenomenon going on here. there is a push to say ‘LOOK we accept these marginalized groups and cultures’ but behind the scenes that means ‘we accept these marginalized groups and cultures who are quiet and speak in turn and wear the metaphorical suit and tie’. it is easy to show diversity when you only take on the voices that arent too ‘strange’.

to prove my point i ask you this: do you think orville peck would have FOR ONE SECOND been asked to perform at the texas library association event without his mask?

so with that i say ‘very sincerely, thank you, but i will have to decline the re-invitation. maybe next year’

[on-leatheredwings]

request: “how damian would handle learning reader is dating somebody?”

Yandere! Damian Wayne / GN! Reader > romantic > tw/cw: possessive thoughts, yandere-typical behaviors > word count: 741

“So, remember when I told you I thought my chem partner was kind of hot?”

You both are poring over your books on one of Wayne Manor’s many balconies. Damian, on a break, looks up from playing with Alfred the Cat with her favorite fluffy wand. He and Alfred have identical pairs of glassy green eyes, now trained on you. Damian blinks, face impassive.

“... I do–”

“I finally asked him out!” you squeal. You hop out your seat and around in a circle, not caring to feign coolness. You were excited, dammit, and Damian has seen you do much more embarrassing things.

While you celebrate, Damian simply stares. You don’t notice his breaths deepening subtly, as he tries to subdue the burning acid that starts to run through his veins. You had been interested in your chemistry partner for weeks now, and he didn’t think much of it. You’re young. You’ll have crushes. They’ll pass. He’s learned the art of patience by now. Mainly, for the sake of any who catch your eye, and for the sake of his father’s chagrin. Damian Wayne is not above slander or physical harm. 

Damian Wayne also has a timeline. He knows when he’ll start to hint at his feelings for you. He knows when he’ll make you his significant other. When he’ll bring you to meet his family, although they are already aware of your place in his life. Damian even knows when he’ll someday propose. He has, quite literally, already planned out your nuptials. Stephanie had him make a moodboard on Pinterest, for goodness sake. 

Damian’s benevolent enough to let you choose the date… as long as it’s within a year of his proposal. He’s been so benevolent, and yet here you were, squealing over a date with some frivolous boy. 

Taking Damian’s silence as him being stunned, you continue waxing at length about your date. He admires the naive abandon at which you describe the events – one of your charming qualities. However, in his mind, Damian pokes holes in every sentence.

You met the boy there? Meaning, he didn’t pick you up? Embarrassing. 

He didn’t pull out your chair for you once you both reached the table? Insulting. 

You tripped on a stair, and the boy simply helped you up? Infuriating. If it were him, Damian would’ve picked you up and carried you to your next destination. 

“You can’t be serious,” Damian snaps, sneering against his better judgment. His blood has finally boiled over – he cannot sit here listening to this drivel anymore.

At his tone, you flinch. Your babbling ceases. Hurt flashes across your face, before you smother it away.

“... What?” you say defensively. Damian straightens to his full height, dropping the feathery wand entirely. He strides over to you, looking entirely striking. Two emerald eyes stare down at you.

“You were treated like garbage the entire time, and here you can’t stop gushing about it all.”

You stare at Damian agape. “Okay, I wasn’t treated like garbage–”

“Did he even pay for the meal,” Damian asks flatly. You bristle, frowning.

“We split it–”

Damian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. You fill with embarrassment, staring at your feet… Your thoughts are interrupted by two warm, calloused hands landing on your shoulders. Your head snaps up. 

“You deserve to be treated like royalty.” Damian’s eyes pore into yours intensely, as if you’re the only thing he sees. “And as your… friend, I would hope you would entertain only those who could be your equal.” 

So he says, but no one will ever have his approval. He will sway you against them no matter who they are. Because only he deserves you. Some days, he doesn’t even know if he does. Regardless, you and him are meant to be.

You are dumbfounded by the sudden gravity of the conversation.

“I– yeah,” you say, nodding shyly. Damian overtakes your field of vision at this distance… you know, you noticed how handsome he was long ago, but at this closeness, you can truly admire it. He’s quite the domineering figure, with his perfectly-cut jaw, elegant aquiline nose, and even brown skin. You cough, stepping back.

“... Yeah,” you say again. “Uh, thanks, Damian. Let’s go over these problems again, yeah?”

Damian bristles.

The look that was just on your face...

He blinks. If he was correct… Perhaps he had just accelerated his timeline. And if so, such a development would be more than welcome.

[misswynters]

Overprotective (drabble)

dad!Aemond x wife! reader

[word count: 500~

[a/n: takes place during the dance and aemond is prince regent. i was going to pick the name aemma instead of elaena but it’s too common lol

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The Small Council chamber was a place of business, strategy, and politics. As you sat by Aemond’s side, your daughter, little Elaena, played quietly with her wooden dragon under the table. The meeting had been uneventful until Lord Byrnes, a particularly outspoken member of the council, made a snide remark.

"Isn't it a bit distracting having a woman and child in such serious discussions?" he sneered, his eyes darting between you and Elaena. Your daughter wasn’t doing anything that was hindering the meeting between the men, so you didn’t understand why he had made that comment. You were left there confused, as you looked over at your husband.

Aemond's demeanor shifted instantly. The usually composed and calculating prince clenched his jaw, his good eye narrowing dangerously. He stood up slowly, his presence commanding the room’s attention.

“Lord Byrnes,” Aemond said, his voice cold as ice, “you will watch your tongue when speaking of my wife and daughter, or it shall be mine”

Byrnes laughed nervously, trying to brush off the tension. “I meant no offense, Prince Aemond. It’s just—”

“Just what?” Aemond interrupted, stepping closer to the table, his posture radiating protectiveness. “My wife’s insights have proven invaluable to this council. And my daughter, Elaena, belongs here as much as any of us. If you cannot see their worth, perhaps it is your own judgment that should be questioned.”

You reached for Aemond’s hand, gently squeezing it to remind him of your presence and to calm him. He glanced down at you, his expression softening momentarily before he turned back to Byrnes.

“I will not tolerate any disrespect towards my family,” Aemond continued, his voice a low growl. “Consider this your first and only warning.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Byrnes shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding Aemond’s piercing gaze. The other council members exchanged wary glances, clearly aware that Aemond’s wrath was not something to be trifled with.

Aemond finally sat back down, his arm protectively wrapping around your shoulders. He glanced under the table at Elaena, who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Are you alright, my little dragon?” he asked softly.

Elaena nodded, clutching her toy dragon tightly. “Yes, Papa.”

You leaned into Aemond, feeling the solid reassurance of his presence. “Thank you,” you whispered, knowing that his fierce protection came from a place of deep love.

“Always,” he replied, kissing your temple. “No one will ever harm you or Elaena as long as I am here.”

The meeting resumed, but the atmosphere had shifted. The council members were more cautious with their words, aware of the dragon's protective fury that could be unleashed at any moment. Aemond’s hand never left yours, a constant reminder of his unwavering support and love.

As the session ended and the council members dispersed, Aemond knelt to scoop Elaena into his arms. She giggled, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

“Papa, can we go see the dragons now?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Aemond smiled, his stern exterior melting away in the presence of his daughter. “Of course, little one. Let’s go see the dragons.”

You watched them, your heart swelling with love. In Aemond, you had found not only a husband but a fierce protector and a devoted father. No matter what challenges came your way, you knew you faced them together, as a family.

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Request for basically the shrunken down s/o incident but with the Fontaine girls (Lynette, Furina and Navia) and March 7th from HSR

(Genshin Impact/H:SR) Lynette, Furina, Navia, and March 7th with their S/O being shrunk

Lynette picks up S/O, gently, staring at them curiously as her ears twitched.

(Lynette) "What happened?"

(S/O) "How am I supposed to know? And why are you picking me up by my shirt like I'm a cat?!"

Her tail swished for a brief moment, giving away her amusement.

(Lynette) "I'm not sure."

As funny as she finds it, she immediately finds every contact she knows to figure out what was going on with S/O.

All the while, Lynette had a hat on, with S/O underneath it.

She would have left them at home, but considering there were cats everywhere, that was not a good idea.

Once she learned that they would return to normal after a few days, she has them in her hands 24/7.

(Lynette) "...You're cute when you're bite sized like this."

(S/O) "I am NOT a cat toy, Lynette."

She's mildly concerned, but as long as she was watching over, nothing would happen.

Furina laughs at the sight of her pocket sized loved one.

(Furina) "What a splendid trick! Since when could you perform such a logic defying ability?"

(S/O) "N-Never!"

(Furina) "Hah!....Ha...Oh, you're serious."

Her smile vanishes quickly as she scoops up S/O into her hands.

(Furina) "Fear not my tiny beloved, for nothing will bring you harm!"

(S/O) "I-I'm not sure I trust you to handle me carefully!"

(Furina) "Nonsense! Come, we shall find Neuvilette to cure you of this!"

Which she learned, this cannot be cured, at least not instantly.

They would just have to wait it out.

Well, it's a good thing Furina is not beholden to anyone, as she sits at home and watches S/O.

She has tiny water familiars the size of S/O play around with them to pass the time.

(S/O) "I feel like I'm in an aquarium right now..."

(Furina) "Oh, is that something you'd like to go to?"

(S/O) "When I'm this size, no. I feel like you'd feed me to the fish."

(Furina) "Why do you have no faith in me, my dear?"

S/O stared at the fish currently circling them.

(Furina) "Playing with you, and using you as fish food are quite different things!"

(S/O) "But I bet you're wanting to see what happens with your vision, aren't you?"

(Furina) "N-No!"

(S/O) "..."

(Furina) "...Maybe a little-"

Navia blushes slightly at the small S/O currently on her table.

(Navia) "You're...SO CUTE!"

(S/O) "Not the word I would've chosen-"

Navia makes them yelp as she scoops them into her hand and rubs them against her cheek.

(Navia) "SO TINY! Oh my gosh, you're adorable!...W-Wait, how did you get that way?!"

Navia rushes around like a madwoman, trying to find a cure or someone who knows about this kind of thing.

Meanwhile, S/O has a full bodyguard detail outside their room, and around the table they're on.

(S/O) "Alright, even you have guys have to admit this is a little overkill."

(Bodyguard) "S/O, you know better than any of us that trying to reign Miss Navia in is a fool's errand."

(S/O) "...Fair point."

Once she learns that the duration will run its course for the next few days, she spends this time creating the smallest macarons in existence, solely for S/O.

She has them use dollhouse furniture so they have somewhere to sleep and eat.

(S/O) "You're having fun with this aren't you?"

(Navia) "Well, I can't say this is the worst thing we've done together!"

(S/O) sigh "Well, thank you anyway for taking care of me."

(Navia) "Oh please. I'd do this even if you were normal height!"

March 7th stares silently at the tiny S/O standing on her bed, looking panicked at their predicament.

(March 7th) "..."

SNAP!

(S/O) "D-DID YOU JUST TAKE A PICTURE OF ME!?"

(March 7th) "You're right!"

She immediately gets in frame of her phone to take a selfie with her tiny S/O.

(March 7th) "Okay, NOW let's see what the heck is happening!"

Of all the people to tell her S/O's affliction, it was Pom-Pom.

And that this wouldn't last more than a few days at worst.

Thank the Aeons.

That meant March could live this up!

The entire time, March is taking pictures of S/O, giggling lightly.

(S/O) "For the record, if this happens to you-"

(March 7th) "Then I'll be as adorably pint-sized as you!"

(S/O) "You can at least show a little more concern!"

(March 7th) "I am! It's why no one else is allowed in this room! I bet Caelus would use you to go dumpster diving."

S/O shuddered at the thought, the smell was already bad but being this small...

(March 7th) "You're much better as a paperweight!"

Despite her teasing and carefree nature, there was truth to her words.

She violently rejects entry for ANYONE to go into her room while S/O is in this state because she's worried.

But, this would be a fond memory down the line she felt!

[starsainzjr]

Lights, Camera, Action

Pairing: Lando Norris x director!reader Faceclaim: Gemma Chan

✷✷✷✷✷

yourusername posted a story

f1wags

Liked by 419,303 others

f1wags Meet YN YLN! YN is a successful Hollywood director and producer with movies like Barbie (producer), Boston Strangler (director), and Little Women (director) under her belt. Earlier this afternoon in a Tweet, a fan working as a makeup artist on an undisclosed movie set claimed to see McLaren driver Lando Norris on set with a bouquet of sunflowers.

An hour later YN posted a a picture of a bouquet of sunflowers to her Instagram story with the caption "Pleasant surprise at lunch 🥰" (pictured above). Could it just be a coincidence? Sure. But we may soon have a new WAG in the paddock!

View all 20,389 comments

marissa.lancaster4 Hi! I'm the fan that posted that Tweet. Because of the NDAs that I have signed as a part of my employment I cannot say what movie I am working on nor who the director is. But I can confirm after speaking with several of my coworkers that it was Lando I saw on set earlier today.

f1wags Please DM me if you have any more information that you can share!

mickieslaren Am I the only one that gets a bit weirded out by how we treat celebrities' love lives like this? Maybe Lando was visiting a friend or something. Either way it's none of our business what he was doing on set

landoslove It is a bit odd but, then again, both Lando and YN live in the public eye. There are always going to be little things like this that get scrutinized mickieslaren I just wish they could have a bit of privacy is all landoslove That makes sense. But this is out of our control

nowinsnorris YN is literally so stunning. Lando has some serious game if this is true

landoslove He's trying so hard to beat the norizz allegations

yourusername Hollywood

Liked by florencepugh, americaferrara, simuliu and 509,201 others

yourusername Halfway through filming! I have a never ending supply of sunsets and sunflowers 🌅🌻

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florencepugh Come to my hotel room I have a mini champagne bottle I can't get rid of by myself

yourusername I'm omw simuliu Am I invited? florencepugh Sure we need someone to supervise I suppose

americaferrara Go do incredible things! Cannot wait to get my eyes on this once its done

yourusername There's a bucket of popcorn with your name on it!

landoslove Sunflowers she says? 👀

nowinsnorris She's not as slick as she thinks she is

haveyougotpubesyet No bc I'm confident Lando would follow YN around like a lost puppy in the paddock

landoslove I cannot wait for this to get proven real mickieslaren Or we could just leave them alone and let them live their lives haveyougotpubesyet We're not harming them, just having meaningless fun trying to connect invisible dots landoslove Yeah. We're not, like, cyber bullying them or anything mickieslaren I'm just saying it probably can't feel great to have random people poking around in your love life

landonorris Santa Monica, California

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landonorris Ready to rock 🤘🏎

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oscarpiastri We really need a McLaren emoji

landonorris 🍑? oscarpiastri I'm taking your phone away landonorris 😨

carlossainz55 Welcome back to the real world

landonorris I don't like it I wanna go back charles_leclerc We have the easiest lives ever get it together. Both of you landonorris Yes, father. Carlos come get your teammate carlossainz55 Nah, this could get fun

landoslove SANTA MONICA

landoslove YN just posted from Santa Monica

nowinsnorris This is me not getting my hopes up buuuuut YN is a director and she lives in California... landoslove Lalalalala I can't hear anything lalalalala

yourusername The Outback

Liked by simuliu, florencepugh, americaferrara and 600,338 others

yourusername Out of the studio for the back half! So unbelievably happy to be back in Australia 🦘🌏

View all 102,383 comments

simuliu Yeah yeah pretty pictures can you come kill the spider in my room now please?

simuliu YN I'm serious, I've been texting you for 30 minutes I know you're seeing these simuliu YN IM NO LONGER ASKING yourusername @/florencepugh do you hear anything? florencepugh Nope. All quiet. Not a peep simuliu Very funny. When I die who are you going to get to finish your movie? yourusername I am on my way to humanely get the scary spider out of your room and put it outside simuliu Hurry up it's staring at me florencepugh With how many eyes?

nowinsnorris I'm already in love with her. I might love her more than I love Lando

landoslove YN YLN - Daniel Ricciardo team up 👀

ynsaction I've never been one to gatekeep but if these F1 delulus keep coming near my wife I will actually lose my mind

yn.florence No literally! She is a feminist icon who has said multiple times in interviews that she's not looking for a partner and focusing on directing and producing. Pls stop shoving her into a WAG box ynsaction I'll always welcome more YN fans but every other word in these comments is about Lando Norris. I'm about to scream landoslove Hi, sorry isn't feminism about women being able to do whatever they want? YN is allowed to change her mind if she met the right person yn.florence If you'd been paying attention you'd know the last interview she made her wishes clear in was a week ago which, according to the calendar, is after people started trying to tie her to Nowins or whatever his name is

landonorris Australia

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landonorris Good to be back! We'll continue to work and push and get stronger as the season goes on. Thanks for having me, Australia! 🦘

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oscarpiastri The garage used to be so quiet

landonorris You missed me, admit it

carlossainz55 Bit rusty there, mate

landonorris Says the man who got his third consecutive P4 finish. You ever gonna bump up to the podium? carlossainz55 At least I finished in the points charles_leclerc Guys I cannot keep doing this please

landoslove My boy is back and better than ever

haveyougotpubesyet He looked so happy to be back!

nowinsnorris I'm gonna have to change my username this year, aren't I?

landoslove YES YOU ARE norizz481 Here's hoping I get to change mine too landoslove YOU'RE BOTH GOING TO HAVE TO CHANGE USERNAMES I'M SPEAKING IT INTO THE UNIVERSE

yourusername Perth, Australia

Liked by florencepugh, simuliu, americaferrara and 600,495 others

yourusername A week and a half left of filming and I cannot wait to celebrate all we've accomplished with these two! Behind the scenes dump coming soon 😉

View all 110,387 comments

americaferrara Congrats all of you! So so unbelievably proud

yourusername Wish you could've been along with us on this ride! See you soon my love

florencepugh My favorite project in a long time! Let's finish this out strong!

simuliu No not that picture 😭

yourusername Listen, it's too good not to share with the world simuliu I'm a superhero, I don't need this kind of harassment yourusername Cope

ynsaction This one is going to be so so good I'm physically vibrating I need it

yn.florence Mother! She's going to win yet another Oscar for this one, I can feel it

ynsaction Our girl don't need no child race car driver

nowinsnorris I'm becoming such a huge fan of YN. She and Lando would be perfect for each other

landoslove Shhhhh you'll scare the fragile film girlies ynsaction God, the f1 delulus are back. I was hoping we got rid of them yn.florence I don't think we're that lucky

f1wags Perth, Australia

Liked by 421,871 others

f1wags Picture taken of Lando this morning in Perth, Australia coming out of a florist shop. Not pictured is a bouquet of sunflowers. This is the second time this month that Lando has been spotted with a bouquet of sunflowers.

Lando has been linked to director YN YLN who is wrapping up her new film in Perth. Only time will tell if YN posts some sunflowers in the coming days 👀

View all 19,878 comments

haveyougotpubesyet He is the definition of boyfriend material I swear to god

landoslove Getting closer and closer to beating the norizz allegations

landoslove IS HE BRINGING HER SWEETS TOO??? This boy is going to be the death of me

nowinsnorris What do I need to do to get myself a Lando

mickieslaren Just reminding everyone that Lando does in fact have sisters who were in attendance at the race this weekend and may also enjoy getting sunflowers from their brother

landoslove Jesus, take your negativity away from us who are trying to have fun mickieslaren Yeah it's fun for you now but what about Lando who is trying to go about his day without having some delusional fangirl losing their mind over him buying sunflowers? If you were really a fan of his you would let him live his life landoslove He's a celebrity! His fans are just trying to connect to him mickieslaren When I hear that Lando has gotten a restraining order against a fan I will not be surprised when you suddenly get very quiet

yourusername posted a story

yourusername Hollywood

Liked by americaferrara, florencepugh, landonorris and 671,209 others

yourusername This is where the fun begins 🎞 Three months of editing coming up

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florencepugh Im omw with more coffee

yourusername I love you

americaferrara Ahh keep the Excedrin close by

yourusername There's a whole bottle in the corner

simuliu I hope you're making me look good

yourusername Yes, I'm including the scene where the spider crawled up your arm and you screamed like a baby simuliu You're definitely my favorite director, I love working with you yourusername You are also definitely the star of this movie and have more screen time than Flo simuliu Hey, I will always be willing to have less screen time than Flo

ynsaction YES I have been missing YN editing content so bad recently

ynsaction She is such a mood when she's editing she gets so unhinged

landoslove Unhinged YN editing plus Lando being generally unhinged 👀 ynsaction Jesus give it a rest already

yn.florence I, for one, am chasing to focus on incoming unhinged YN posts

nowinsnorris LANDO'S IN THE LIKES EVERYONE

landonorris China

Liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri, yourusername and 801,387 others

landonorris So close to a podium finish! We'll make adjustments as needed and push on. See you in Miami!

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oscarpiastri So my days of quiet garage are definitely over?

landonorris You're stuck with me forever, mate carlossainz55 Good luck, Oscar landonorris WOW

landonorris @/charles_leclerc your teammate is being mean to me

charles_leclerc You think I have control over him?

ynsaction Not YN in the likes I had such high hopes

landoslove Genuine question; why are you against her finding someone she likes to be with? ynsaction I'm not against her finding someone she likes to be with, I'm against all Lando's fans trying to shove her into a WAG box when she's spoken so much about not wanting a partner at the moment. Especially when it was as soon as a month ago landoslove Okay, that's valid. But we're not trying to shove her into a box. This is just harmless shipping. I'm sure you do it with fictional characters you like ynsaction YN is an idol to me. I'm protective over her, I'm sorry if I've been bitchy landoslove I've been bitchy too, I apologize as well

mickieslaren I still don't like pushing into celebrity love lives

yourusername Miami, Florida

Liked by florencepugh, simuliu, landonorris and 622,118 others

yourusername First time out of the studio since editing started. Thank you @/f1 for hosting me!

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f1 Anything for our favorite director!

florencepugh Did you see The Guy???? 👀

yourusername It's not too late to make the movie about Simu simuliu YES... I mean, yeah did you see The Guy???? 👀 yourusername You're both blacklisted from my film sets

mclaren Give us a heads up next time you come! We'll set you up in the garage!

yourusername Oh that would be incredible! Thank you so so much!

ynsaction She always looks so adorable I am in love with her

yn.florence Mother is Mothering

ynsaction all hail

haveyougotpubesyet McLaren sipping after her too now

ynsaction Who wouldn't simp after her tbh

landoslove Just soft launch already

landoslove Florence and Simu chirping her about seeing The Guy I'm DYING

nowinsnorris The Guy is 100% Lando. It has to be at this point

lando.jpg

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lando.jpg Hangin'

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charles_leclerc You caught me so off guard

carlossainz55 Best picture in the middle tbh

yourusername posted a story

yourusername Monaco

Liked by landonorris, florencepugh, simuliu, and 801,836 others

yourusername Beautiful day in Monaco made even more beautiful by this wonderful boy! Congratulations, @/landonorris I'm so proud of you!

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florencepugh THE GUY. SHE PULLED THE GUY.

simuliu YESSSS NO MORE LATE NIGHTS DRUNK TALKING ABOUT HIM

yourusername Way to call me out, guys, thanks for that. You do remember I'm technically your boss right? florencepugh Movie wrapped, love. You can't tell us what to do anymore simuliu At least until we sign on for another one of your projects

landonorris Awww you drunk talked about me 🥰

yourusername I'll chase you

landonorris Monaco

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landonorris I have the best date for the party @/yourusername

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yourusername Best weekend ever

landonorris Only because you were here

oscarpiastri Here's hoping the garage will be quiet again

landonorris No shot but nice try yourusername I'll do my best to keep him quiet for you oscarpiastri YN is my new favorite

lando.jpg

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lando.jpg You have a movie coming out tomorrow. I am so incredibly proud of you @/yourusername. Everything we've been through together, I cannot believe what a kind, strong, beautiful woman you are. I love you, I can't wait to see what you're going to do next

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yourusername I love you so so much, darling. Thank you for being there through everything

lando.jpg My dream woman

florencepugh Yes!!!! Drinks on Simu at the afterparty!

simuliu Drinks on me!!!

✷✷✷✷✷

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[mushroomates]

the fellowship and if i’d punch them in the face and likelihood of me doing so:

note: i have punched people in the face exactly two (2) times in my life. once when we were kids i decked my sister on the trampoline and most recently i hit a friend in my sleep when reaching for my alarm in a dazed state. the likelihood of me punching anyone in the face, intentionally and maliciously is very, very slim.

frodo: no. if i would not punch most people and frodo is a representation of “most people” i cannot see myself punching him. also i feel as if any disagreements would be felt verbally and swiftly, and an agreement would be met rather quickly. he seems like a reasonable guy. 3/10 i do not feel as though it would happen or that if given the chance i would proceed

sam: no. is a really good friend and person. least punchable out of the hobbits and i feel like if we’d got in a fight it would end up with dirt being flung at each other not punches. worse case scenario i feel like if we really got into it it would be passive aggressive or cast-iron based bludgeoning. 2/10 would not harm a hair on this man’s toes

merry: no. he has little cousin energy- i’d give him a noogie and pinch his cheeks but never sock him in the face. i could see us roughhousing and maybe even exchange blows but in the face? nah. just look at the little guy. i love his lopsided lil smirk. 4/10 limited fisticuffs, nothing serious

pippin: yes. he seems like he needs a good face full of knuckles and who am i to deny him. especially when he was younger. i like the dude but it just seems like something that would happen. im sure gandalf would slip me a pocket full of coins after. 8/10 would clobber this fellow

legolas: yes. almost certainly. would i get shot to shit by a million arrows? oh absolutely, but that would not stop me. i’m going at that man like a balrog out of moria. i don’t know why exactly i want to punch this pretty boy so bad but i know i do. 9.5/10 would punch again

gimli: no. one of least punchable of the fellowship in my eyes- one, because he would absolutely body me if i so much as raised a hand and two because i would never. he’d have to say some pretty insane shit to even get me to consider. 1/10 no jabs ever exchanged

gandalf: maybe. it can go either way. on the one hand, he is an immortal demi god who has been through hell and back so what’s one more fist to the face- on the other hand he takes the form of a grandpa which means i’d have a harder time mentally. however i’m naturally predisposed to punching wizards so given the right opportunity, yes. 5/10 chance of slugging

aragorn: no. he’d drop kick me to valinor before i could even raise my fist. also, he just seems like a chill guy. i feel like the only possible reason id ever even consider fighting this man is if i needed to die honorably very quickly and by a noble hand or if i had a chance at winning arwens hand, like a joust for the princess of sorts. i’d still lose, though. 2/10, id absolutely miss any hit thrown his way. complete biffage.

boromir: no. i’d let this man punch me and thank him for it. he is a fundamentally like able dude. how could i harm this beautiful man, a single father of two full grown adult hobbits. i just have so much love for him in my heart that i can’t even imagine raising a hand against him. 0/10 will not lay a finger on this lovely large lad.

gollum: yes. id punt this little bastard across mordor in my sleep. unprovoked. i hate his crust nails and his black hole of a loincloth. i feel bad for him, sure, but not bad enough to stop me from giving him a good ol fashioned wallop. 12/10 im gonna beat him up with my own two handsies, precious.

[aemonds-sapphire]

Sabotage

Summary: Aemond scares off another one of his daughter’s suitors… yet again.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff. Protective dad Aemond.

Word count: 700

“Lord Lannister isn’t pleased at all,” one maid whispered.

The other one nodded. “I think Prince Aemond might have gone too far… sending the dragon after the lordling…”

Cold sweat prickled through your skin as you watched the two girls stride off along the hall before disappearing around the corner.

Usually, you’d interrupt and demand clarification as to what could your husband possibility have done that would warrant such reaction.

But you didn’t need to be told.

You knew.

Inwardly cursing, you paced hurriedly in the direction of the training grounds, already preparing yourself for what was to come.

The piercing sound of metal hitting metal rang in your ears and you looked down from the balcony as Aemond sparred with his daughter of ten.

“Move your feet.”

She clumsily tried to keep up with her vastly more experienced and agile father, only to trip and nearly lose balance.

“Cole told me I don’t move my feet enough,” she huffed in annoyance, her patience running thin.

Aemond’s steps came to a halt, sheathing his sword. “Cole taught me everything I know about swordsmanship. You’d do well to consider his advice.”

She twirled her sword lazily before nodding and approaching her father.

“Yes, kepa…” her voice filled with resignation as she bumped into his side in sheer affection after sheathing her own sword.

Aemond ruffled her hair with a mischievous smile curling his lips, earning a complaint from the younger Targaryen.

You were tempted to let the matter at hands slide, but logic urged you to pace down the staircases to meet them.

“Aemond… we need to talk.”

He turned to you and welcomed the kiss you planted on his cheek, lacing one arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

Your daughter glared at you with wide eyes. “What is it, mother?”

“Let me speak to your father.”

The fiercest scowl twisted her face. “This is about me, isn’t it?”

“Let us have a word,” Aemond interjected, giving her shoulder a faint squeeze. “Kesi ȳdragon tolī.”

But she didn’t want to talk later and a dragon should not be easily crossed. Aemond, best of all, should know this. She was perceptive enough to know that you only request her absence when the issue concerned her. While it used to be no issue a few years ago, she wasn’t as easily dissuaded now.

Her lilac eyes narrowed defiantly. “If it’s about me, then I want to know.”

Aemond heaved a deep sigh before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Clearing your throat, you locked eyes with him. “You cannot keep chasing away potential suitors.”

“Oh? Who was it this time?” she giggled, smile wide on her lips.

She was still a child at heart, finding amusement in her father’s antics. But you didn’t share the sentiment. Otto Hightower had been insistent that an adequate suitor would be found, strengthening the bonds between houses.

But you cared not for the wants and needs of lords, especially when it came to your daughter. What you did care about was how Aemond kept on finding more and more creative — and dangerous — ways to postpone the inevitable, even if that meant…

“Vhagar,” you said in a serious tone. “Your father is resorting to Vhagar now.”

Aemond’s face remained as impassive as ever. “No harm came to him. She was merely hovering.”

Your daughter broke into a laughter instead. “The Lannister boy?”

“Lord Lannister is furious,” you said, furrowing your brows at him, hoping he’d take you seriously.

He merely shrugged, eye on yours with a faint smile. “Vhagar is protective of her.”

You rolled your eyes as he tightened his grip on you playfully.

“She is protective, because you are protective.”

“Tell me something, lady wife,” Aemond said, his other arm resting protectively on his daughter’s shoulder. “He did flee, didn��t he?”

“He’s four-and-ten, Aemond!”

He scoffed. “I am sure we can agree he’s bound to face much more dangerous things than a protective father,” he said nonchalantly as his daughter cheered him on. “If he ran away, then he’s not worthy.”

“You sent the biggest dragon in the world after him… you would have run, too.”

As soon as your words left your mouth, you realised how ridiculous your statement was, especially when he rose an eyebrow.

“Father bonded with Vhagar when he was my age,” your daughter chimed in, not able to hide the pride in her voice.

He gave her a tender smile, running his fingers teasingly through her silver hair once more.

You sighed heavily, fully realising this to be a lost cause. He was set on having the matters of her courtship on his hands and no one across the seven kingdoms would have his mind changed.

“He’s the third one in two months,” you tried to reason with him again. “One day you’ll have to cave in.”

This time, your daughter spoke, “We have an agreement. Father will let me choose my suitor.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You are far too young.”

Aemond nodded. “That is why I shall act on her interests until she is of age.”

You were completely dumbfounded. The bond the two of them shared had evolved into something you had never witnessed before. The level of complicity and union had allowed you to see sides of Aemond Targaryen you had never thought existed.

“But father… I think there is someone I like,” you daughter said all of a sudden.

In an instant, you watched Aemond’s face drop and his fingers duh into your waist. “Who?”

You had to hold back a chuckle. “The Baratheon boy?”

Her face lit up as she nodded, looking expectantly at her father.

“Well, I’m sure your father will have no problem with that,” you said, patting his chest lightly. “Since he’s of your choosing.”

The look Aemond exchanged with you might have frightened the bravest Westerosi men, but you didn’t waver, bringing your lips to his.

“Hmm.”

[anonymousredactedconfessions]

Let's have a talk, shall we?

Major Trigger Warning for rape, false accusations, and mentions of child sex crimes

I let you guys get away with a lot of shit. I let you be a little bitter, or mean spirited, or pissed off. I let you guys vent and let out grievances and complain for the sake of complaining. And i do all of this because it is important to have a space that you can do so without fear of judgement, it is unhealthy for you to bottle up negative emotions. I provide this in a public space because with the way this fandom is, if I didn't many of you would be pressured into not doing so at all. This fandom has a habit of ostracizing those who have differing opinions and interpretations, those who wish to critique the art they consume, those who have unpopular opinions, and all of it is done with the utmost aggression and vitriol. The things that have been said to some of the people in this fandom genuinely makes me lose faith in humanity if i think about it too hard.

This blog exists explicitly to counteract that. I refuse to encourage or enable it. What you are doing is actively dangerous, and I won't be having it in the space I curate within this fandom.

If you haven't noticed, this is one of my rules:

It means that you are not allowed to come in my inbox and accuse people of serious harm over this fiction.

You will not come and accuse people of something as egregious as rape apologia in my inbox. You will not accuse people of rape, abuse, assault, or child abuse/rape/exploitation in my inbox.

These are serious real world issues, and the reason they are bad is because they cause direct harm to real living people who can feel pain and can be violated. Your disgust holds absolutely no ethical weight. At All. You should have the mental, emotional, and intellectual capability to understand the ethical difference between allegories for rape, stories with/about rape, erotica of rape, and actual real life people being raped. Making accusations of this weight over make believe is abhorrent, and as a matter of fact, it shows that you don't treat these tragedies with the weight or gravity that they deserve. If you believe that it is appropriate to accuse someone of violating another person like so because of the creation of or opinions about art, then you have some serious learning and growing to do as a person if you wish to navigate these topics with any level of maturity or respect towards victims.

There is no good that comes out of accusations such as these. They only ever serve to:

Demonstrate to victims that the tragedy of their abuse is as trivial as fanfiction/art that you deem nasty (but is ultimately ethical), or even something as inconsequential as someones' love for a fictional character.

Shame those who love these characters, or this art, or creating, into hiding their opinions for fear of harassment and serious accusations when they have done zero harm by enjoying it.

Stifle creation and participation in fandoms.

Limit the spread of ideas, interpretations, critique/criticism, and general opinions in the fandom, which just turns fandoms into boring echo chambers devoid of variety and creativity.

Encourage actual censorship and moral policing. (More on that on this reblog by @escapedaudios on a post of mine. Thank you Escaped for your two cents, they are much appreciated 💖)

Spread the incredibly harmful idea that people are defined by the art they enjoy. You cannot accurately judge a person’s values or morals based on what tropes and themes they enjoy in fiction. You create an environment and culture incredibly dangerous for vulnerable individuals (like minors) when you tell them that they can know who is safe to trust based on whether they consume "the good kind" or "the bad kind" of fiction. This makes it so very easy for predators to virtue signal about fiction to lure in potential victims to abuse.

The majority of you are very good and well behaved when it comes to this, but the amount of people i have had come into my inbox and accuse others of being rapists with no evidence other than "they made X" or "they like Y" is not zero. And i will not be satisfied until it is.

This is all i have to say about the subject.

[tanadrin]

Imagine one day a new social trend starts spreading. It’s something unbelievably dumb. Not harmful per de, but truly silly to believe. Let’s say, I dunno, healing crystals start going mainstream. Everybody’s talking about their crystals. It becomes impolite to criticize people who believe in healing crystals. They become a big part of people’s personalities, and people on TV start talking about them, and one day years down the line politicians are debating funding for crystal-based medicine. And through it all you are sitting there going, what the fuck is happening. I thought we were all on the same page on this. You want to get along and be friendly and open minded but you cannot pretend to believe in healing crystals, this is nonsense, and when the topic comes up you refuse to lie about it. This eventually starts to have social consequences—they’re that popular!—but what can you do? You cannot pretend a lump of quartz can cure the flu or whatever. It’s just all so unbearably embarrassing.

I think what the centrist/liberal/center-left reactionary turn driven by culture war stuff feels like. And I think the key emotion is probably cringe. Not hate, not fear, though those emotions may reinforce the turn. I think in a lot of cases people who imagine themselves pretty open minded and flexible have as part of their worldview something they thought was bedrock social consensus—on the level of “healing crystals are silly woo”—so bedrock maybe that it didn’t even need to be a conceptual boundary they actually policed in their minds.

For instance, when she started her anti-trans turn, JK Rowling made a big show of not being really anti trans, just arguing that Some People Had Gone Too Far. She wasn’t a frothing religious reactionary, after all. And I believe that’s probably true! I think Rowling probably did have a mental model of sex and gender with a little bit of give in it—of the “we can humor the odd weirdo” type. But as the discussion of trans rights in the UK got more serious over her lifetime, trans people went from “the odd weirdo” to “a recognized minority,” and eventually this ran against a bedrock belief that on some level men are men and women are women and never the twain shall meet. To act otherwise was just too embarrassing. And she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in the name of political correctness.

Other people whose brains have been eaten by the anti-woke mind virus (as @eightyonekilograms calls it) have something going of the contrarian in them, who enjoys yelling “up yours, woke moralists!” or w/e. Im thinking of ppl like Glenn Greenwald here, or Dave Chapelle, people who seem not to feel alive except when people are mad at them. That’s a separate but interesting dynamic. And there are people like Graham Linehan who become totally unhinged through this process of auto-radicalization, moths drawn ever closer to a particular source of validation within their chosen reactionary subcommunity, until they are truly parodies of themselves. That is also an important dynamic, but it’s one that only takes hold after the initial turn has begun.

I think the role of that feeling of cringe, that refusal to entertain an idea because it is too embarrassing (even if it does actually have a decent body of research behind it, unlike crystals) is important to think about, because I am interested in how to get people over it. I know that feeling has affected my own thinking over my lifetime. I wasn’t raised particularly conservative, but I had to learn not to cringe at a lot of feminist thought before I could appreciate it and learn from it. I explicitly didn’t have that cringe when it came to gay people for whatever reason, so it never entered my mind that it might be a problem. I remember being surprised to learn when I was very young that some boys wanted to marry other boys, but my response was “huh. Go figure.” Because for whatever reason I had not picked up that this was something I was supposed to be grossed out by. A general doctrine of empathy, of trying to understand people on their own terms, can help forestall some of this stuff, but it’s not foolproof in either direction—I don’t want to believe crystals have healing powers if it becomes socially popular to do so, just because it is socially popular to do so! And if they do, I don’t want to not believe they do just because it is socially unpopular!

(Obviously the crystals thing is not a one to one metaphor for the trans thing, so don’t read too much into that. Maybe astrology would have been a better analogy. Also I’m not talking just about people whose reactionary turn is predicated on trans issues—I think this dynamic applies to everything from gay rights to the Tridentine Mass. But trans issues are a handy example bc, as the adage goes, somebody posts once about trans people and they never post anything normal again. I think the classic rapid-onset trans derangement syndrome is closely tied to the fact that gender norms are a really deep element of many people’s social-consensus-based worldview, and so challenged to that worldview are felt as really cringe.)

I’m curious if other people who grew more liberal in their thinking over time had a similar experience of having to overcome what was basically a feeling of embarrassment at certain ideas.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 9: We’re Friends When You’re On Your Knees]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Y'all, you are not ready for this one. Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), murder, Aemond "there are other Targaryens" Targaryen having feelings again (good ones?? not good ones?? both?? who knows bestie, not me!), an unexpected family reunion, must be the season of the witch... 👀

Series title is a lyrics from: "7 Minutes In Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Our Lawyer Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn’t Get Sued" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.4k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

You watch her from the shadows of the dungeons, rusted iron, phantom echoes of falling water, chilling drafts that come from nowhere and everywhere. She has not yet noticed you. She is beautiful, regal, arrogant, even as she sits gnawing on crusts of bread and the gristle of chicken bones, scraps that Lord Larys throws to her like she’s a pig nosing its way through a trough, an animal that is clever and yet condemned. And if she is livestock, then what are you? A creature of darkness, of nightfall, lethal and treacherous, a wolf or a bat or a spider. You step forward and into a ray of light that cuts across the stones like the path of a comet.

Baela gasps and drops the tibia she’d been working on, cracking it in two, sucking out the dead-blood marrow. Her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes catch on you. She is not afraid; you have never known Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter to be afraid of anything. She is fascinated.

“I’m sorry,” she says, crawling across the floor of her cell. She grips the metal bars and peers out at you, kneeling there like she’s praying. You suspect Baela has never prayed to anyone or anything. “I didn’t mean to almost burn you. I didn’t realize you were standing on the steps with him until after I’d given Moondancer the order. It all happened so quickly.”

You cannot appear to be angry. You have no reason to be angry if you are Aegon’s captive. “I take no offense. I wasn’t harmed.”

“No one had any idea the Usurper was here,” Baela says. Still her eyes are bright, entranced. “We believed Dragonstone to be vacant.”

Good. You give her a dismal smirk. “No. Not so vacant after all.”

“Are you with child yet?”

A bolt shoots down your spine like cold lightning. “What?”

“That’s what he’s trying to do, isn’t it?” Baela says. “He wants an heir from you. His wife is dead, his sons are dead. He couldn’t get his claws on me or Rhaena. But you can give him a Valyrian-blooded prince.”

Aegon has never mentioned having children with you. You don’t know if this means he doesn’t want them, or if he does not wish to place demands upon you, or if he is indifferent, or if he believes it to be impossible. “I have nothing to show for his efforts.”

“Has it been unspeakably awful?” And if Baela seeks to console, this is secondary to her personal interest; she is curious, she is absorbed. Her fingers close more tightly around the iron bars. “He’s a drunk, a degenerate. He’s vile. He’s deformed. Has he tortured you? Has he violated you in a hundred different ways? Does he tie you down, does he strike you, does he cut and bruise you?”

And this is the Blacks’ story, one they could never begin to suspect might be fiction: that you are a martyr, that Aegon is a monster. In place of an answer, you give Baela the treasures you have brought her. You pass them through the gaps between the bars: a bottle of ink, parchment, a quill with a point like a blade.

Baela takes these objects, amazed. “You can help me send a letter back to Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know if I will be able to get to the rookery. But I’ll try.”

“The Usurper allows you this much free rein?”

He trusts me. He loves me. He’s bedbound and in agony. “He’s rather distracted at the moment.”

“He’s dying, hopefully,” Baela says. She has already begun to write. And there’s a reptilian sort of coldness that is snaking deeper into you, constricting around your bones, gliding through the blood-slick chambers of your heart, too much a part of you to ever rip out. But now Baela’s face softens. She looks up dolefully. “Moondancer, she’s…she’s gone, isn’t she?”

You bow your head as if this is something tragic. “She did not survive Sunfyre’s attack.”

“Fucking beasts,” she seethes, resuming her writing. “When my father learns of this, he and Caraxes will come to rescue us. And he will burn the Usurper alive.” She finishes her letter, rolls up the parchment, and hands it back to you.

“How will Daemon know that you authored this and under no duress?”

“My signature,” Baela says, grinning. “I end all of my correspondence to him with Your ever-obedient daughter. It is a joke between us. If it was absent, he would notice. His suspicions would be aroused. That is how I would signal if I was ever forced to write to him against my will.”

There is dark satisfaction like a spell shimmering in your arteries, nerves, the void-black pupils of your eyes. You return her smile. “Perfect.”

“Don’t fear,” Baela tells you, and reaches through the rusted iron bars to clasp your hand. You fight the reflex to tear away from her, this woman who certainly maimed Aegon and might have killed him. You find yourself studying her, measuring her height and weight, calculating how much milk of the poppy it would take to end her life. “Cregan Stark is south of the Neck now. He will move heaven and earth to possess you, everyone knows that. Soon we will have Northmen marching through the Riverlands with Caraxes and Sheepstealer safeguarding them from above. And after the Riverlands they will be in the Reach, and then finally King’s Landing to stabilize the capital. The Usurper and Sunfyre cannot fight. Daeron is scarcely more than a boy. The Betrayers are avaricious, overconfident drunks. The Greens will be vanquished before winter.”

“And what about Vhagar?”

“Together, Caraxes and Sheepstealer can bring her down.” But there is doubt in Baela’s voice, yes, a vacillation that is rarely heard from her.

“I hope so,” you reply, one of countless lies.

You take Baela’s letter to the rookery, open it, examine it carefully for the subtleties of her handwriting: slopes and dots and lines. Then you get a fresh piece of parchment and painstakingly draft a very different message. Not a plea for help, but an assurance that all is well; not a summons to Dragonstone, but a confirmation that the castle was found to be unoccupied and is now held firmly by Baela and Moondancer.

And you end the letter before tying it to a leg of the raven trained to fly to Harrenhal:

Your ever-obedient daughter, Baela Targaryen

~~~~~~~~~~

“Please eat something, Your Grace. I beg you.” Lord Larys Strong’s face is creased with servile, attentive worry. On the plate before you is fresh, warm bread and a dish of salted butter. In your bowl is a crab soup thick with vegetables, the broth tomato-based and red like Autumn’s hair, like blood.

“I can’t.”

“Would you like me to bring you something else? I could have the chefs prepare roast chicken, or duck, or boar…”

“No.” You push the bowl of soup away. You and Larys are alone in the Great Hall, seated at the high table which presides over a silent, vacuous chamber. The room was built to resemble a dragon lying on its belly; the entranceway is its mouth, two massive doors edged with stone teeth. There are dragons everywhere, these talismans of Aegon’s house, these creatures that are monsters to some and saviors to others.

Larys studies you closely. His voice is tender. “Your Grace, please. Can I do anything for you?”

You consider him, an enigma that is useful and subtle and dogged in his loyalty. “What is it that binds you so faithfully to Alicent and her children, Lord Larys? House Strong was so favored by Rhaenyra. Her heirs were your blood, no matter how much she tried to deny it. You could have risen high in the Black Council. Make no mistake, I am very thankful for your service to the Greens. I am glad to count you among the greatest of our fortunes. But what inspired you to turn your coat?”

Larys smiles at you. He has eyes like rain, the wavy abundant brown hair of his spurned family. His hands rest on the handle of his cane. “Your eldest brother is an acclaimed swordsman.”

“Yes,” you agree, caught off-guard.

“And so was mine,” Larys says. “House Strong, is it any wonder what we valued most? My father loved Harwin. He was so fiercely proud of him. He was interested in him, he understood him. They would whisper to each other all through feasts, all through tourneys, conspiring, chortling, enmeshed in this synergy that left no air for anyone else to breathe.”

“And your father never understood you.” Just like Bartimos Celtigar overlooks Everett, a son gifted with books and quills instead of horses and swords. “Never even tried to.”

“It is a terrible thing to be in the midst of your family and yet feel alone.”

“It is,” you say, remembering the Blacks’ festivities in King’s Landing.

“Now Lyonel and Harwin Strong whisper to no one,” Larys says, his smile widening into a dark, victorious grin. “And I am the Master of Whisperers.”

You remember the words that Otto Hightower spoke to you as he waited for his execution in the dungeons of the Red Keep: These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder. “Do you ever regret it?” you ask Larys softly. Becoming a sinner, a killer, a kinslayer.

“Never,” he replies. “Dowager Queen Alicent was the first person to ever truly listen to me. To make me feel worth something. Worth anything. To advance her interests in every way possible…that cannot be an injustice. It is the cleanest kind of loyalty. And I have no doubt my sacrifices will be repaid. If the Greens triumph, that is. When this war is over, Alicent’s son must sit the Iron Throne.”

“You mean Aegon.”

“Yes, of course.” But something mournful passes over Larys’ face like a shadow; he peers down at his hands to hide this from you.

He doubts Aegon will live. He foresees Aemond or Daeron inheriting the throne instead. You stand from the table, your chair squealing shrilly against the stone floor. “We should bring the king his supper,” you tell Larys. “He needs his strength.”

Aegon does not like you to be there when the maesters prod at him, scrub his wounds, rebandage his shattered legs. You were once his healer, yes, but now he believes you to be his wife. He does not want to be your patient. He does not want you to see him as a wounded man writhing in bed, as someone helpless, pathetic, weak, doomed.

The maesters are just finishing when you arrive with a tray of buttered bread and fresh soup, steam rising from the bowl of red like entrails that litter the earth once a battle has ended. The maesters are gathering up bloody strips of linen to be burned. Aegon is sobbing; his silver hair hangs in chaotic waves, both hands cover his face.

Your voice is hushed and heartbroken. “Aegon…”

“No, I’m okay,” he says, sniffling, mopping the tears from his cheeks with his bare palms. Then he reaches out to you. “Come here, come here, come here.”

You go to him, sliding the tray onto his bedside table until it clinks against the glass bottles there: rose oil, red wine, milk of the poppy. You climb onto the bed and Aegon’s arms circle around your waist, pulling you in closer as he buries his face in the warmth of your chest, your throat, covering you in hurried, imprecise kisses. Dimly, you wonder what he tastes when he breathes you in; you wonder what colors bloom in the sunless passages of his lungs.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. You can feel the dampness of his tears on your bare skin, the roughness of his scars.

“I was only gone for a few hours.”

“Too long,” he says. “Far too long. How’s Sunfyre?”

“He’s down on the beach, Your Grace,” Larys answers from the doorway where he has materialized like stars at dusk.

“Is he eating? Ambulatory? Wading in the water?”

“He’s…” Lord Larys hesitates. “He seems to be in a great deal of discomfort.” And yes, you know this to be true: Sunfyre the Golden’s wings hang in shreds, his wounds are inflamed with infection, and there is something wrong with him inside as well, a wheezing when he inhales, blood that seeps from his nostrils and his jaws. There’s nothing anybody can do for him. No one can touch him but Aegon, and Aegon can’t leave his bed.

Aegon says to Larys, low and sinister: “I want Baela dead. I want her burned.”

“She is far more valuable to you alive, Your Grace.”

“I am the king and I wish her to die.”

“Corlys Velaryon is her grandsire,” Larys implores. “If he discovers you executed Baela, he may recommit himself to Rhaenyra’s side. He may launch his own rebellion even after Rhaenyra is defeated. If you wish to win and keep the Iron Throne, I advise you to spare her.”

Aegon sighs and glares out the window that overlooks the Narrow Sea, his arms still linked around your waist. You begin to weave his braid for him. “Aegon,” you say gently. “We’ve brought you supper. Please eat it.”

“I’m afraid I’m too nauseated by my own inadequacy. Perhaps later.”

“You want to be well again. And you will be. But you have to eat.”

“I really don’t think I can.”

“Aegon, please.”

“Well…” He glances over at the bowl of soup and then gives you a mischievous smirk. “I suppose nothing tastes better than a crab, does it? Particularly when it is served in bed.”

“Or on the floor of a library.” You smile and kiss him: his pale face, his trembling lips. You finish his tiny braid like a silver chain and tuck it behind his ear. Then you pour him a cup of milk of the poppy, just one pearl-white splash, just enough to sand the serrated edges off his anguish.

“No.” He stops you, a hand on your wrist. “I don’t want to be useless again. I don’t want to be swimming in dreams. I want to be here with you.”

You shake your head. There are tears stinging in your eyes. “But you’re in pain.”

He grins, brushing your hair back from your face. “I’ve been in pain my whole life, Angel.”

And he manages to force down half the soup and two brimming goblets of wine before he sinks beneath the sea of his consciousness, while outside waves crack open against the rocks and Sunfyre leaks viscous threads the color of crimson, roses, flames.  

~~~~~~~~~~

“You sent that raven a week ago,” Baela tells you when you bring her your offering, your clandestine kindness: apple cake, black tea. “More than enough time has passed for it to be received at Harrenhal and acted upon.”

You fill a porcelain cup with tea from the kettle and give it to her through the iron bars of her cell. “Perhaps the raven went astray.”

Baela ponders this as she alternates between unladylike chomps on a wedge of apple cake and slurps from the cup. “Maybe my father has been away from the castle. Maybe he’s out on the battlefield with the Stark men.”

Or maybe he believes you and Moondancer to be perfectly well and presiding unopposed over Dragonstone, and therefore not in need of his attention. What a welcome delusion to live under. I’m sure he’d rather be fucking Nettles anyway. You take the empty cup when Baela has drained it and refill it with tea. Baela accepts the nearly overflowing cup gratefully. She has had nothing to drink since she was taken captive except muddy rainwater that pools in one corner of each cell, guided by stone gutters that run along the outside of the castle. The tea is cloudy with cream and laced with sugar; still, her nose wrinkles a bit when she swallows it down.

“Bitter,” she notes distractedly.

“It’s made from leaves grown here on Dragonstone. Formidable, but not very sweet.”

Baela cackles; it echoes through the dungeon. This is the same voice that commanded Moondancer to brutalize Sunfyre, to send Aegon plummeting to the sand. Are her eyes already losing their viperish sharpness, is her heartbeat slowing? “Just like me!” She finishes her cup of tea and eagerly holds it out to you through the bars. You pour it full of the earth-colored brew once again.

You ask her as she licks apple cake crumbs from her fingers: “Why is Cregan Stark so determined to wed me?”

“He wants you. He considers you worthy of him.”

“But he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t really know who I am.”

Baela shrugs indifferently. “None of us love anyone because of who they are. We love them because of who they make us believe we are.” She sips her tea and blinks groggily. “In any case, he will be your honorable savior, and you will be his illustrious damsel, and when the traitor dragons are dead he will spirit you away to Winterfell to bear his wolf pups. It’s not so bad a fate, I think. Not for someone like you. You aren’t ill-suited to matrimony. You are docile enough. A caretaker, a healer. You seem like the sort of woman who would be content with just one man.”

Yes. If he was Aegon. As you watch her kneeling on the stone floor of her cell, Baela sways and almost nods off, seemingly unaware that she is doing it.

“Burning might be too swift a death for the Usurper,” Baela says, smiling dazedly. “Cregan should have some of the Boltons flay him. They can all take turns wearing his hideous scars.”

“Yes. Skins shed, skins regrown, some of us change them over and over again.”

Baela stares at you inanely. She is beyond comprehension. Then she collapses to the stone floor, the porcelain tea cup spilling from her grasp and breaking into jagged white shards.

You take the key to the cell off the hook out in the corridor and unlock the door of iron bars. You step inside, still holding the tea kettle in one hand. You set the kettle down and drag Baela until she is propped upright against a wall. Her pulse is slow, but still present; she moans feebly as you position her. But it is all for a good cause; you must ensure she drinks the rest of the tea, the witches’ brew of leaves and cream and sugar and a fatal dose of milk of the poppy. Outside you hear a deep, prehistoric rumble as Vhagar flies over Dragonstone and scouts for a landing spot large enough to host her. Aemond is back again.

You angle the spout of the tea kettle between Baela’s paling lips and ply her with a small amount, less than a mouthful, then you rub her throat in just the right place to trigger her reflex to swallow. You know this trick well; you have used it on grievously wounded soldiers. You used it on Aegon after he was burned. You repeat the steps until the kettle is empty. Then you lay Baela flat again and watch her chest rise and fall slower, slower, slower until it stops. But still, you leave nothing to chance. You nick Baela’s wrist with a paring knife from the castle kitchens, until now tucked away in a pocket of your gown, emerald green silk to match the side of this war that you are pledged to. Her blood, unpropelled by the rhythm of a heart, dribbles sluggishly rather than spurts. She’s gone; she’s with her mother and Luke and Jace and the young sickly Viserys and Rhaenys, Otto and Helaena and Jaehaerys and Maelor and Autumn’s silver-haired son that she never had the chance to name. You wonder if the struggle goes on in the afterlife. Perhaps presently Otto and Baela are scratching and yowling at each other in a castle made of clouds.

Upstairs, Aemond is already in Aegon’s bedchamber. They are speaking in whispers when you enter, and you catch only pieces of the exchange: capital, Cregan, marriage, Daemon, crown. Larys stands in the corner of the room, his hands laced atop the handle of his cane. He gives you a reverent bow in greeting. He might not be so pleased to see you once he learns what you’ve done.

Aegon stops talking abruptly when he spots you and gestures for Aemond to go quiet as well, a commanding sweep of his hand. Aemond follows his brother’s gaze to the doorway. His lone blue eye climbs up and down you like a man on the rungs of a ladder. His hair is in one thick braid from his flight; stray white-blond strands that have been ripped free hang in disarray around his stoic, unreadable face. Aemond does not bow to you and never will. He only leers, a silver-haired wolf, a hawk with unhollow bones.

“Hello, Angel,” Aegon says, beaming or at least attempting to. He is frail and pallid and too thin and dripping sweat. There are indigo rings around his eyes like bruises. His legs are swollen, grotesque mountain ranges beneath the blankets. You rush to him and sit on the edge of the bed, feeling his forehead for fever and combing your fingers fondly through his hair.

Aemond sighs irritably. “Anyway, I’d like to torture her.”

“My prince…” Larys urges.

Aegon holds up a palm. “Now now, Lord Larys, let’s hear his proposal. Exactly how much do you intend to torture Baela?”

“Quite a bit,” Aemond says.

“To death?” Aegon asks hopefully.

“I don’t see why not.”

“My prince!” Larys says again. “Please, consider the possible ramifications, she is a prisoner of substantial strategic value, if your mother was here she would caution—”

“I’m afraid that Baela can no longer be interrogated,” you confess, and they all turn to you. There is a long, laden pause.

“And why is that?” Aemond says.

“Because she is dead of poisoning.”

“What?!”

“In her cell. Her body is there now. Feed her to Vhagar or Sunfyre, throw her in the sea, do whatever you wish with her. But she has paid her debt for the harm she inflicted upon us.”

Slowly, a grin splits across Aemond’s face. Larys shakes off his shock and resigns himself to it. But Aegon is neither proud nor reconciled. “You did that?” he says softly.

“You wanted Baela dead.”

“Yes, I did. But you don’t take life,” Aegon says, remembering what you once told him in King’s Landing. His oceanic eyes are stunned and fearful; not because Baela is was murdered, but because you were the one to end her. Because until now he was still able to tell himself that you could somehow escape this war unscarred, unruined. “You preserve it.”

“I preserve yours,” you reply. And when you offer him milk of the poppy—with no fear, for you know precisely how much it takes to kill a man—Aegon refuses it again, taking his suffering pure and sharp like the glass of a mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What will happen to him?” Aemond asks you. You’re sitting on the stone staircase together under overcast midday skies, sipping wine and watching Sunfyre amble lethargically up and down the beach. You aren’t sure what’s made him so restless: his own dire injuries, Aegon in torment within the castle walls, something else entirely, some premonition that only beasts of ancient magic know. At last, Sunfyre seems to have exhausted himself and crumples onto the sand.

“I think Aegon will walk again. Eventually.”

“But he won’t be able to fight.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses caustically, glowering out over the ocean.

You look at Aemond, needing to ask but terrified of the answer. “Can you win without him?”

“Can we win, you mean?” He smiles faintly, then sobers again. “I think so. Just before I left the Riverlands to come here, I received reports that Daemon had sent his lowborn little child bride away with Sheepstealer. He is trying to protect her from Rhaenyra’s assassins. My bitch of a half-sister has thus done us a remarkable favor. If Daemon is alone, I have no doubt that Vhagar can slay Caraxes. They say Daemon has fled Harrenhal. He’s hiding from me. I will find him, and I will burn him. I will end this war.”

“You need to be with Criston when his army faces the Northmen.”

“Of course,” Aemond says; but something in his face worries you.

There is a high-pitched shriek overhead, a glimmering flash of vivid gemstone blue. You startle and Aemond’s hand juts out, grabs you by the forearm, yanks you closer to him; then he relaxes when he recognizes who it is.

Aemond sighs loudly. “Why the fuck can’t he stay where he’s supposed to be?!” Then he stands, helps you to your feet while he’s at it, and heads down to the shoreline to meet Daeron and Tessarion.

The Blue Queen circles the beach several times, Daeron peering down as if struggling to understand something, his long white-blond hair whipping in the wind. At last Tessarion lands, her claws sinking into the wet sand, ocean froth bubbling around legs. Her long, swanlike neck stretches out towards Sunfyre, soft inquisitive squeals emanating from her jaws. Daeron leaps down from the saddle and strides to where Sunfyre is sprawled helplessly on the beach.

Alicent’s youngest child is clad in mint green—including a cape that billows out behind him in the seaside breeze—and glinting gold accents everywhere, buckles on his boots and the clasp of his cape and even a freckling of studs in his ears. He props both hands on his waist as he scrutinizes the crippled dragon. “Well, you’re not Moondancer.”

“He ripped Moondancer’s throat out,” Aemond says. “And then he ate her.”

Daeron whistles and gazes at Sunfyre admiringly. “I heard that Baela and Moondancer had taken possession of Dragonstone. I came to murder them. But now I see my services are unnecessary.”

“Baela is dead.” Then Aemond adds, nodding to you: “Here is the executioner.”

Daeron considers you, then laughs and assails you with a spirited embrace that nearly knocks you off your feet. “Welcome to the family, Lady Celtigar.”

“She’s the queen now.”

“Is she?” Daeron asks, eyebrows raised. “I was not under the impression that our brother was in any particular hurry to marry again.”

“His priorities seem to have shifted,” Aemond says.

“Can I see him?” Daeron looks around the beach and then up at the castle, shielding his eyes from the greyscale daylight. “Is he not outside with you? What is he doing in there? Not reciting prayers and composing poetry, I’d imagine.”

In Aegon’s bedchamber, Daeron cannot conceal his shock, his dismay; he gawks at the king like he is a three-legged dog, a blinded orphan. He stands thunderstruck at the end of the bed, taking in the vague yet horrifying outlines of Aegon’s shattered legs, the gauntness of his face, the fact that he is incapable of playing any meaningful role in the war for the foreseeable future. You sit on the bed beside Aegon, Aemond lurks by a window, Larys observes intently from a respectful distance, his eyes following every word as they flit through the air.

When Daeron recovers somewhat, he says: “I need to know what to do about Hammer and Ulf.”

“Why?” Aegon replies wearily. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Apparently, Mother once offered them the seats of House Costayne and House Merryweather as compensation for their efforts on behalf of the Greens, and they accepted. But now that’s suddenly not good enough. They’re asking me for the Riverlands and the Vale.”

Aegon turns to Aemond. “Is there anything left of the Riverlands these days? Should we find a new name for them? The Smolderlands, perhaps? The Everything-Is-Dead-Here-Now-Lands?”

“This is serious,” Aemond says flatly.

“I’m entirely serious.”

“Should I just tell them they can have whatever they want?” Daeron asks. “And then when the war is over and we’ve won…you know…pretend not to remember that conversation?”

“They can’t be given territory of any importance,” Aemond says. “They aren’t nobility.”

Daeron amends: “More relevantly, they are devoid of accountability and self-discipline. They drink all day and whore all night, and…oh, I mean no offense, Your Grace.”

“Fine,” Aegon says, preoccupied. There are fat beads of sweat on his bloodless face, glistening misery in his eyes. He gazes sorrowfully down at his left hand where he once wore his golden dragon ring before he lost it the same day he destroyed his legs. You pour him a cup of red wine and he drains it in seconds. You fill another.

“My point is that Hammer and Ulf are increasingly unreliable. I am only halfway convinced they could even show up for a battle before it was over. And yet we need them. Especially if Sunfyre cannot fight.”

“Agree to their requests,” Aemond says. “And if they survive the war, we will deal with them then. Rhaenyra’s faction is the greater enemy. We cannot risk the Dragonseeds racing back into her arms.”

“Lord Larys?” Aegon prompts dimly

“I could not agree more, Your Grace.”

“And on the subject of Rhaenyra,” Daeron continues. “Tessarion and I can take King’s Landing. Syrax is the only dragon in the city now, and Rhaenyra has never ridden her into combat.”

“No,” Aegon says. “We cannot risk setting the capital ablaze and turning the people against us. And Mother is there. Everett is there.”

“Everett?” Daeron looks around, baffled. “Who the fuck is Everett?”

“Angel’s brother. Not the firstborn son. The other one.” And as Aegon explains this, his chest is heaving and his eyes are glazed over. He tries to reposition himself in bed and has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out, hard enough to draw blood.

“Is there anything else?” you ask Daeron and Aemond, a warning in your face. He needs rest. He needs to sleep, to heal.

“No,” Aemond says. He paces towards the door and snatches Daeron’s cape as he passes by him, hauling him out into the hallway. You follow after them.

As soon as he is out of earshot of Aegon’s room, Daeron tells Aemond: “He doesn’t look good.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Aemond, I think you should prepare to—”

“He’ll be fine!” Aemond snaps.

“You don’t think I’m losing something too?” Daeron demands furiously. “You don’t think I want him to be well again? Of course I want that. But if wishing people to live made it possible, the world would be a very different place.”

“You are needed in the Reach,” Aemond says, and that’s all.

Daeron glares up at him, incredulous, defiant. “This will be over soon. I hope you’re ready for what comes next.”

Then he storms out of the castle, soars down the long stone staircase, meets Tessarion on the windswept beach and takes flight into the southwest where the earth is green but the nights are an inescapable, dreamless black.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aegon is weeping again; you hear him from the hallway. It is after nightfall, and the castle is illuminated only by firelight. Candles flicker; the hearth crackles and pops. In the shadows, Aegon lies with his dragonfire scars and his fractured legs and his useless hereditary magic, tears streaming down his face. You have a vision of what he will look like when he’s dead; you imagine the Stranger reaching up from underneath the bed to seize him with claws like a raven’s talons and drag him out of existence.

“I need it,” Aegon sobs when he sees you, grasping for the glass bottle of milk of the poppy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to need it, but I do.”

“I’m here, Aegon. It’s alright. Let me help.” You pour him a cup of the bitter remedy, a strange gleaming white like pearl, opal, moonstone. Then you tilt the cup against his lips. Aegon gulps down the milk of the poppy and then falls back into his sea of pillows.

He murmurs, eyes closed as you graze the backs of your fingers feather-lightly over his unmarred cheek: “I wanted to start over with you.”

“You’ll still get the chance.”

“No,” he whimpers miserably. “I ruin everyone. Everyone I’m given, everyone I touch. Helaena, Jaehaerys, Maelor. We don’t even know where Jaehaera is, in Storm’s End, lost on the road, taken captive, dead. Otto, Autumn, Aemond, Mother, Sunfyre. And now I’m ruining you too.”

“You’re not,” you plead with him in a whisper. And not for the first time, you think: What do you require from me, Aegon? Wrath, compassion, healing, children? What can I do to give you hope again? Tell me and it’s yours. I’d do anything. I’d become anyone. “Aegon?” you begin, trying to ask him; but he is already unconscious. He’ll likely be out until sunrise.

You drink cup after cup of red wine and sit in the flame-lit shadows with him, in the quiet, in the liminal space between decisions, envisioned sins and prospective virtues. Then you leave the bedchamber like a ghost, a creak here and a tap there and no other trace. You wander down long, twisting corridors framed by dragons of iron and stone. And at the other end of the castle beyond a door you’ve never opened before is the lair of a very different breed of dragon: tall and lean and ambitious, his eyepatch removed and stowed away for the evening, his long silver hair hanging freely to his waist.

He is wearing cotton sleeping trousers but nothing else. He is seated at his writing desk and scrawling something onto parchment in black ink, a list or a diagram or a design for a new crown upon his ascension to the throne, you don’t know and you have no intention of asking. You have far too many things on your mind already. You feel nauseous and unsteady, you feel like you can’t possibly go through with this. You can’t imagine it. You can’t fathom what he would feel like, taste like.

Aemond steals a nonchalant glimpse of you, having no sense of your inner turmoil. “Can I assist you with something?”

“Yes,” you say simply, sipping your wine under the stone arch of the doorway.

He looks up at you again, his quill suddenly still in his hand. His two eyes are on you, one wide and river-blue, the other a soulless glittering sapphire in a tangle of ruined flesh. And now he understands. There are other Targaryens, he had said. “Take off your clothes. Sit down on the bed.”

You step inside his bedchamber and close the door behind you, setting your empty cup on the edge of his writing desk. You walk to his bed—dark green blankets, gold thread—and shed each piece of clothing you have on, a black gown and everything under it, not looking to see if Aemond is watching you, too anxious, trembling wildly. But you know his gaze is on you when you—standing naked and shivering in the firelight—begin to pull back the blankets and hear the sharp reprove in his voice.

“I did not tell you to hide yourself from me,” Aemond says. “Sit at the edge. Yes, there. Good.”

You perch on the bed and wait for him, your ankles linked, legs swinging restlessly, arms crossed over your chest. Aemond is staring at you from the opposite end of the room. You can’t look at him; you look elsewhere, at the tapestries of dragons hanging from the drafty stone walls, at the thick candles that drip white wax. And this won’t be like lying with a stranger, but it won’t be like lying with someone you want either, because you are profoundly uneasy and monstrously ashamed and perhaps even afraid.

Aemond is approaching now, firelight skating over his smooth, unsinged skin. He is undoing the tie at the waist of his trousers. He yanks them off, revealing himself to you. He is already hard, and he is massive, vast in length and width. The panic hits you like a breaking wave.

“Oh,” you gasp in alarm, unable to stop yourself. Then you explain so he won’t be offended: “I’m not going to be able to take you if I’m not ready.” You rest a hand on your bare thigh, slip it between your legs, begin to stroke yourself the way Aegon does, trying to relax, trying to think of him…

“No,” Aemond says, moving your hand aside. “Let me.”

Obediently, you rest your palms just behind you on the mattress, open your thighs for him, inhale sharpy as Aemond’s long, artful fingers touch you somewhere only one other man ever has. And you’re a traitor, the worst kind of traitor, because it’s working: you can feel yourself opening for him, hungering for him, coating his hand in slick warm wetness.

Aemond isn’t looking at your face. His eye is fixed on the place where his fingers are circling, where he is now pushing two inside of you, and while it happens abruptly and roughly enough to startle you it is not quite painful, or maybe it is, just the tiniest bit, but the pleasure eclipses the pain, the pleasure is a current you are powerless to swim against.

“You can tell me to stop,” Aemond says as he strokes you from the inside with his fingers buried to the knuckles, his breathing labored. “I don’t want you to. But if you tell me to stop, I’ll listen. Okay?”

You nod, and instead of an answer you give him a moan, stifled but unmistakable, dark treasonous forbidden ecstasy. And this snaps something in Aemond, it unleashes a part of him he’d been keeping tied up like an untrustworthy animal, one that could maul or maim or kill. He drops to his knees, hooks his arms beneath your thighs, drags you to him until his lips and tongue are on you with dizzyingly blissful pressure. You fall back onto the bed, one hand twisting into the blankets, the other in his waterfall of unruly silver hair, pushing him even harder against you as he licks ravenously. Aemond doesn’t seem to mind; with each roll of your hips and bitten-back plea his enthusiasm blooms, hums and triumphant chuckles spilling from his mouth as he swallows down the proof of your desire. It’s starting, that swift climb towards a high like nothing else on earth, something Aegon once taught you was possible. You are a betrayer, but with the very best of intentions; you are making a sacrifice, but it feels so much like a gift.

“Aemond, I’m ready,” you pant, your fingers hopelessly knotted in his hair. “You can do it now, you can…” And then you lose your words because instead of rising to his feet, Aemond stays right where he is, his tongue insatiable, his face drenched in your wetness.

He’s going to make me…I’m so close…

“Aemond, what are you waiting for…?”

His lips close around the spot where you are most sensitive and he sucks forcefully, and that feeling like a shuddering, irresistible unravelling strikes you harder and faster than it ever has before, so intense it is almost painful, sharp and commanding, not something he is doing with you but to you, and you know even in the golden haze of the climax that this is not about love but about power, pride, control, worthiness.

He doesn’t stop. He is licking you again, opening your folds with one hand, thrusting two fingers inside of you with the other. You are still feeling the pulsing, involuntary aftershocks of one high when the next begins building, building, building, and when you close your eyes all you can see are waves on the ocean in a storm, swelling to impossible heights and ungoverned by anything except the dubious mercy of nature.

“Aemond please,” you beg in a frayed whisper, bathed in sweat and guilt and frenzied lust. “I’m ready. Just do it, please…”

And then he wrenches you into another vortex and it takes everything in you not to scream, not to jolt awake the skeleton crew that tends to Dragonstone and its surreptitious guests. You are beyond complete thoughts, beyond sentences. You are boneless, your muscles have turned to mist and air, you are entirely under Aemond’s control and that’s where he has wanted you all along.

“Aemond, please, please, please…”

Unable to resist any longer, he stands—wiping the glistening, dripping sheen from his face with the back of one hand—and forces his cock inside you to the hilt. He does not slow down when he meets resistance, and you don’t tell him to. You moan in shock at the disorienting fullness, you cannot help it; it is a feeling on the knife’s edge between ripping agony and euphoric pleasure. It is something you would gratefully die of. He moves within you, deep and quick, his hands clasping your hips. Emotionally, you feel nothing but a razored, perilous, impersonal intensity; in your body, it is paradise.

Again? Again…?!

“Are you going to come for me one more time, Angel?” Aemond taunts you as he thrusts; and that’s Aegon’s name for you that he’s using, and it’s wrong, and Aemond knows that, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to break the spell he’s got you under, you can’t tell him to stop, you don’t have the will to, and if this is about power then you know who’s won out of the three of you, you know who has steel in his bones and lightning cracking in his veins.

It’s different this time, pleasure rising like the tide in your whole body, a peak that is not concentrated so clearly between your legs but everywhere: fingertips, spine, belly, heart.

“Come for me, Angel. I know you can do it.” And then for the first time Aemond leans in close to you, his pristine scarless chest pressed to yours, his lips traveling from your throat to the curve of your jaw, his tongue darting into your mouth before you can turn away, and he tastes like pure, mineral lust, and maybe that’s not just because of what he’s done to you, maybe that’s all he is all the way down, hunger that is never satisfied, a need to consume like fire burns flesh.

You whimper, a desperate vulnerable sound, a pleading for him to finish what he’s started and give you this one last high, just one more, just one, please, please, you’ll do anything.

“I’m better than him, aren’t I?” Aemond demands as he fucks you, and there’s no other word for it. This isn’t making love, this isn’t a meeting of souls, it is using someone else’s body to patch up all your hollows, all the pinprick voids you’ve been walking around with for years, losing yourself one blooddrop at a time until you pass by a mirror one day and think who the hell is that? “I know how to take care of you. I know what you want. I can do things Aegon never could. I’ll make you come again. I’ll give you a prince.”

And he coaxes it out of you like the memory of a dream, more like an ether than something you could name: a shimmering elation all over, a cry you can only muffle by biting down on Aemond’s neck as he pounds into you, and then he at last he surrenders what you came here for, but only after all the rest of it. He fills you with himself, so much of it that you can feel it pouring out onto the blankets, immense flooding wet warmth that gives you no satisfaction whatsoever.

I’m a traitor, you think, and for all the times you’ve changed your skin this is the very worst of them. I shouldn’t have done this. I wish I hadn’t done this.

Aemond lifts himself off of you and rolls onto his back, panting alongside you as you both stare up at the ceiling, drenched in each other’s salt and knowing things that were once so unthinkable. Aemond is gazing over at you. His clear blue eye is tracing your lips, your breasts, your hips, your folds that are soaked with his sweat and seed. You don’t want him watching you. You feel sick knowing he’s watching you. You get up from the bed and begin putting on your gown.

Aemond says: “We should probably try again tomorrow.”

You shake your head. “I can’t,” you reply quietly.

He sits up on the bed, his lone eye narrowed and suspicious. His hair is damp and now flows over his shoulders in disheveled silvery waves. “What?”

“I can’t do this again. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s it,” Aemond flings. “Just this once and never again. Never again in our whole goddamn lives.”

“It feels like betraying him. It is betraying him.”

“And what if he can’t father any more children?!”

“Then I’ll be barren.”

Aemond glares, petulant, affronted. “I thought you wanted to help this family.”

“You didn’t do this for your family. You did it for you.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m a fucking monster.” He tears off the bed, tugs on his trousers, ties the knot with swift furious hands.

“Aemond, I didn’t say that, I don’t think—”

“You’ve done enough,” he seethes, pawing through a chest of clothing. He finds a shirt and pulls it on, gathers up his things, rages to the bedchamber door. He whips it open and disappears into the nightscape corridor.

“Aemond!” you call after him in a fierce whisper, as loudly as you dare to. “Aemond, where are you going?!”

“To take Harrenhal,” he pitches over his shoulder. And then he’s gone, and maybe it’s your fault, and maybe it isn’t, but either way you are wholly convinced that it is.

You bathe in one of the massive tubs heated by the lava that runs deep beneath the rocky earth of the island, scouring away every trace of Aemond, lathering yourself with soap scented with pine, rinsing, lathering again. Still, you can feel the way he moved inside you with such battering, rapturous force. Still, you miss him, you miss being able to talk to him and look to him and trust that he will protect Aegon in every way he can, for no matter how much envy Aemond is built of you believe his love for his king is stronger.

You return to Aegon’s bed, always so careful now not to jostle his legs, his shattered bones that are only just beginning to mend. You are petrified that he will know somehow—that he will see it on your face, smell it sweating from your pores—but Aegon has nothing for you but seeking hands and contented, drowsy sighs.

“Where’d you go?” he mumbles, still half-asleep, drawing you in closer. “I missed you. I keep dreaming that everyone’s gone. I watch you walk through the doorway and I’m left here in bed all alone.”

“Aegon?”

“Yes, wife.”

“Do you need children with me to be happy?”

He waits a long time before he answers. When at last he does, he chooses each word carefully. “I have never felt a calling to be a father. I’ve never been any good at it. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor…they were mine, but they also weren’t, and I can’t explain it. I felt nothing for them except a vague sort of sympathy that they had the misfortune of being born to me. Now, did a lot of that have to do with my relationship with Helaena? Probably. And do I think things would be different if I had children with you? Yes, I believe they would be, to some extent at least. But I don’t need children to be happy. I just need you.”

You say with tears in your eyes and your voice splintering: “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

He is mystified. “For what?”

“For not being a better person for you. For not being able to cure or protect you. For not being able to end the war.”

“Angel, nobody can,” Aegon says, fingers snarled in your hair, lips to your forehead. Then he smiles; you can feel the warm, playful curl of it against your skin. “Well, except Aemond, of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~

She is there to greet him when he arrives. She creeps out of the shadows like a spider, long limbs and volcanic-glass eyes, whispers like wind in brittle fall leaves and flesh that will never refuse him. She wears black, not for one night like you did but always; she has long dark hair that she never cuts or braids or ties back. Sometimes there are raven feathers in it, sometimes herbs or powders from spells, sometimes twigs and petals, sometimes blood. It all washes out in the cold cryptic currents of the Gods Eye. Once Daemon Targaryen was here, but he did not have a wound in the shape that she could fill, could walk into like a doorway and stitch herself into the velvet-gore lining of his lungs, his liver, his heart. But now Daemon is gone. And Harrenhal has a new king to reign over the city of bones and ashes.

She meets him under the starlight that trickles in through the ruins of Harrenhal, less a castle than an architectural graveyard, less a place of beginnings than of calamitous ends. Her fingernails trace his scar and she tells him it is the mark of a hero. She touches her lips to his sapphire eye and tells him it reminds her of a god. And thus the doorway opens, and Alys drifts through it, silent and resistless like smoke, like a plague.

Perpetual Resurrection, Aemond thinks. He knows they are the words of House Celtigar. He has studied the mottos of every noble house in Westeros; but none speak to him more than these.

She touches him and he sees everything he could be. He tastes her lips and drinks down the smooth intoxicating fire that burns the boy he once was away.

[cakesmelons]

idk if your still gonna answer asks about the situation but as a fellow trans person i need to explain something that i'm noticing a lot of people are not understanding (don't worry this isnt at you or anyone upset with cal) i'm seeing quite a few people go "she's sticking to her beliefs and being respectful! she's not being transphobic so what's the big deal!?" and i genuinely want the people saying this to read this post and take into consideration on why this doesn't make the situation any better her belief is a very outdated and also dangerous one because believing that there can only be a male and a female invalidates so many people (trans, enby, non-binary, intersex etc) and those beliefs can cause actual harm to people to the point of literal hate crimes, i'm sorry but you guys shouldn't give her a pat on the back for "sticking to her beliefs" because her beliefs are very, very harmful and i've even seen other christens disagree with her and try to explain to her why this is bad

secondly; there's also how she called trans people a label and used the term in quotation marks, we are not a label we are living breathing human beings who want to be happy with ourselves and have a right to exists thirdly and there's the elephant in the room... the twitter likes and follows, it's proven many times that cal has liked straight up horrible transphobic and homophobic tweets and even follows people like matt walsh who want lgbtq+ people dead, if anyone defending her didn't know about the twitter stuff then that's fine but if you did and still defend her then it's clear you guys are beyond help closing statement: the reason why people are very upset with cal is that she lied to so many trans people in the community with a cut and dry example of being two-faced, you simply cannot say you respect trans people and interact with them while also going out of your way to have a low-key transphobic belief, liking transphobic stuff and following transphobic people especially when undertale and deltarune cannonicly have lgbtq+ character (cal even drawing said lgbtq+ characters like undyne for example which i find rich since i've heard she doesn't like mlm and wlw ships) and the community having SO MUCH lgbtq+ people this isn't a "lets agree to disagree" situation, this isn't drama either, this is a very serious situation also i've seen people go "she hasn't said any hate in the past!" as an defense, sorry but that doesn't change anything... i think it just makes the fact that she fooled everyone worse anyway sorry for this lengthy asks, i'm too scared to make a post but also i've been very upset about the situation and wanted to get my thoughts out because the way people are defending her without understanding why this is actually very bad is making me facepalm so hard sincerely, a very emotional trans man

I really don't have anything to add. This is a pretty good summary of this whole thing.

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

vi. six: a certain kind of sadness

anthony gently rubbed the girl's back calling for her as he notices her breaths calming, "raine?"

she still took a hold of his hand, grasping it as if it was the only thing that grounded her to the world. footsteps of people can be heard, they seem to have taken a break or are going home, and the balcony is a likely option. at this, anthony tried with more urgency, yet still soft voice, "hey, let's go. do you want to go home?"

kate came back in a hurry, her own breathing elevated after searching the entire ball for the man. she shook her head sidewards, catching up her breath.

"i cannot find him."

the viscount wanted to smack his brother at the news. he clicked his tongue as he closed his eyes in thinking. there was no other option than to go home. it was too risky for her to be out right now with the ton.

"raine, we are going home, darling."

he ultimately said, the girl nodding to that. she wanted nothing more than to just go home right now. a lot of things were happening, and it's time to call it a night.

as both stood up from the floor, kate linked her arms to the younger one—offering comfort and avoiding suspicion. anthony walked alongside them with a wary expression. as they exited the balcony, a man blocked their path in the hallway.

"viscount and viscountess bridgerton." he stood straightly, arms neatly on his sides and feet together as he addressed the couple.

he extended an arm to the young silva, continuing, "i will take it from here."

anthony immediately put his own arm protectively in front of the two ladies, as if shielding them from the unknown man.

"who are you?" he asked, the man retracting his movements at the action of the other.

"major gilbert thorpe." he spoke sternly, "i am under strict order to stay with the lady in her home due to emergency concerns."

"i will come with." the bridgerton replied immediately. he cannot find it in himself to trust anyone of the girl's well-being, much less someone he does not know. after the happenings of the night, it is apparent that the silvas are in serious danger.

"you cannot. the situation is of grave magnitude. we cannot put more people in harm's way."

"just tonight." he bargained. the viscount has no time to argue. he just simply wants to see the girl get through in a better state tomorrow, "let us see the girl settled for the night."

"no, it is alright." raine interjected, removing her arm from kate's, giving the lady a light squeeze on her hand, "i... i will have some sleep for now."

she stepped forward, her own feet together, her military upbringing showing.

"min koimitheís ísycha ekeíni tin kalí nýchta."

raine looked up at the man directly in his eyes despite the redness of her own. she spoke in a language, unknown to the two bridgertons and the people around them, with resolve.

the unknown man turned to her from the viscount as he replied with the same strength in his voice.

"orgí, orgí enántia sto svísimo tou fotós."

raine raised a hand to salute him at once, acknowledging the truth in his rank and status. major thorpe returned the salute as the girl turned back to the two.

"thank you so much, anthony, kate."

the both nodded, understanding the exchange and the silva deciding to go with him. she was a smart girl, and evidently, a child of military. she knows more what to do in these situations than them.

and as she went home first, followed by the major and possibly the rest of his men, you would think that she took the entire ball with her. perhaps, she really is in safe hands, considering that quite a lot of men followed to leave right after, group by group. all this time, they were working under the pretense of a bachelor in events where the young silva is present.

the eldest bridgerton has been with the family for a long time that he forgets they are of great importance, evidently in the current happenings.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

she awoke with a heavy heart the next day. for the third time in her life, raine does not know what to do. she has opted into sleeping in the living room so that her father's soldiers can be around her at all times.

while the young silva can be considered as a brave character with little to no fears, she was smart as well, and that entailed knowing what battles to fight. although it is certainly unconventional for their time to sleep soundly with men present, it was the only way she could in this moment. her room is for sure no longer safe. she could not even afford to have the time to worry about her father when she's in just as much danger herself.

she has now taken a seat in the dining room as the servants served the food. the table that was once filled with four people only sits one. raine placed her utensils down harshly.

"for heaven's sake, sit down here and eat." the girl closed her eyes as if to calm herself before adding, "dear sir."

major thorpe, quite surprised by her short outburst, chose to stand and join the lady. it was uncalled for, yes, but he understands where she is coming from.

the servant placed another set of tableware for the man to use as raine waited for him to be settled before eating. they ate in silence, only the noise of the utensils surrounding them. she placed her spoon down, the lack of fork noticeable as the girl does not use one.

"are there no updates about them or my father's health?" she asked, trying to level her voice in her usual tone.

he took a paper from the inside of his coat, it being as good as untouched, "a letter, my lady."

she opened it with a nervous hand, unsure what to read in the following seconds. her eyes scanning line to line once again.

"it does not say anything about their state."

she grumbled, worry still present as she is clueless about their current well-being. even at a time like this, raine is still as her as she can be.

she let out a mocking scoff at the man content of the letter—her protection, "i have to accept callers. who does raphael think he is?!"

the major on her right side is indeed not much of a talker as he simply let the girl rant as much as she wanted. she, however, smirked after considering it.

"fine, if they could be of worth, then they might as well be for defense purposes."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the entire day has passed and she could not believe she spent it sitting in their drawing room, smiling like a livestock wanting to be sold. at the announcement that the young silva will finally accept callers, the ton did not wait even a minute to flock her home.

good thing that everyone thinks highly of military measures, and so the bachelors shrugged the amount of soldiers in and out of the house as simply a military ritual.

the room is now surrounded with dozens of flowers she does not even like. she was fighting all urge to throw them away. her grimacing was paused when she had to conjure her smiley face once again as the footman appeared to announce someone.

"lord bridgerton."

raine shrugged at that, for many times now, the bridgerton she's been waiting to appear is quite persistent on not appearing.

anthony entered, with kate so as to not raise gossip amongst the ton of a married man visiting the young silva. that and because kate insisted, wanting to check on the girl herself too.

"how are you doing?" kate began as they took a sit on the couch across raine.

"well, exhausted." she began leaning back in defeat, "i need to keep up this facade, and there's still no news about father."

anthony sighed, running out of options himself, "we can ask the queen for assistance."

"no," she opposed firmly, "this must not get out. have you told your family?"

he shook his head in denial, "no, only kate and i knows."

raine let out a breath of relief they all settled in a comfortable silence. she muttered in a small manner, afraid of seemingly sounding as something akin to needy.

"ben... where is benedict?"

the viscount closed his eyes for that with a scoff, "we have not seen him since last night."

it was not new for the bridgerton boys to be out without going home for days, moreso benedict since he has been spending much of his time in art studios and different houses. but, anthony could not accept such behavior during this time of peril to the silvas' lives.

she nodded at his reply, turning to the soldier sitting afar from them, "gilbert, can i stay at the bridgerton's? just for tonight."

he walked towards her, eyes still guarded, "my lady, you must understand the severe danger of that—to you and to their family."

she has thought of it already, and of course, she does not want to put them in danger. going with what raphael has indicated in the letters so far, the main target was her father. the threat to her could have been only so that the people responsible will get to him. and now that he's wounded, they might be laying low, watching the effects of what they have done.

"i am going insane here. it will also raise suspicion to everyone if they do not see me in the streets or at theirs."

she reasoned, and thus, he swiftly called for two other soldiers to accompany them. now entering the bridgerton's, raine was surprised as the woman greeted her with a worried look. her eyes darted to anthony in front, as if asking what is this about, and the latter looking utterly oblivious as well.

"lady bridgerton," she greeted the dowager, smiling at her touch.

"dear, you look unwell." she stated with motherly concern.

raine simply chuckled, playing it off as she always does, "that is what entertaining suitors does to me."

violet gave a giggle at that, guiding her to the dining room as the rest of them follows, "you left quite in a hurry last night, loraine. tell me about it over dinner."

and, she cursed the fact that she would need to lie to the older woman.

as they all sat around the table, the last bridgerton arrived—the one she has been looking for. she was not able to yearn for him so much in the middle of everything that was happening, but she still remembers for sure.

and so, when she saw him again, it was the first time she felt at ease from the previous matters. he was her radiance—the light she needed tonight.

raine felt like she could take on the world.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw

[babycharmander]

How the TF2 Fandom Infantilizes Pyro

NOTE: I am not writing this as a way to attack others. I feel like this is something people might not even realize they're doing, or don't realize why it's wrong, so I wanted to write a post explaining this.

To start, I want to define the term "infantilization." It is defined by Wikipedia as "the prolonged treatment of one who is not a child, as though they are a child." Now, Pyro is a fictional character, so this isn't near as serious as the infantilization of real people, but I feel like it's still important to understand.

So, what are the ways in which the fandom often infantilizes Pyro? Let's go through some different examples:

"Engie is like Pyro's dad, and Pyro is his kid!" and/or "The mercs totally have to babysit Pyro."

While even adults can have father figures in life, more often this situation depicts Engie as a parent and Pyro as effectively acting as a child. Some people like to cite the "True Meaning" comic for this, as it depicts Engie reading a story to Pyro, which, on the surface, does give the vibes of a parent reading a book to a child. 

However, this is not inherently such a thing--being read to is something that can be enjoyed by people of all ages. Heck, I've read stories out loud to groups of college students before.

Another thing to note is that shortly afterward, a rocket strikes Engie's house, and Engie remarks that he and Pyro "mighta just adopted [themselves] a super baby." Note that he doesn't say something like "I mighta just adopted you a younger brother/sister/sibling!" This implies that he views Pyro as being on the same level as himself, not as a child.

The concept of Engie (or any of the other mercs) being a parent to Pyro is often paired with the concept that Pyro cannot be independent, and must be cared for, specifically like a child (as opposed to an adult who may need assistance). We know that this is, canonically, not the case, given how successful Pyro was as a CEO in the "Ring of Fired" comic.

I grouped this one with "the mercs totally have to babysit Pyro" because I feel like it's a similar concept. I will say, I don't feel like it's infantilization to say that Pyro needs to be babysat if you mean it in the sense that under certain circumstances Pyro (and possibly others like Soldier and Scout), if left to their own devices, could cause problems on purpose (such as when Pyro decided to burn a bunch of books in Teufort's library). It's only infantilization if it's meant in the sense of Pyro being incapable of taking care of themself in the way a child cannot.

"Pyro is innocent and unaware that they're causing harm to anyone!" and/or "Pyro would never want to hurt someone!"

The concept that Pyro, who was hired as a mercenary, is completely unaware they're causing harm and would never want to hurt anyone, is infantilization in that it paints them as completely innocent and incapable of wrongdoing, especially intentional wrongdoing.

Not to mention, both of these are wild mischaracterizations of Pyro and factually wrong to boot.

In "Ring of Fired" (page 65), Pyro chops off Soldier's hand just for the heck of it.

In "A Cold Day in Hell" (page 33), we see Pyro knowingly killing a bear. Even when seeing the bear in Pyrovision, they still see it as a threat and deliberately enact violence on it.

In "The Naked and the Dead" (page 130) Pyro is shown to have doused two of Gray Mann's mercenaries in gasoline before igniting them and effectively exploding the warehouse they're in.

We do not know how Pyrovision works, but we do know it does not inhibit them from intentionally causing harm.

"I don't ship Pyro with anyone because Pyro can't consent."

How do I even begin with this one.

There's a lot of issues with the concept of Pyro being unable to consent. It's infantilizing--implying Pyro cannot consent in the way that a child cannot consent--but depending on people's views on how Pyrovision works, it's also extremely ableist. If you are interpreting Pyrovision as something akin to schizophrenia and saying that they cannot consent because of this, you are implying that people with schizophrenia cannot consent, which... do I even need to explain the issues with that?

Now, this isn't to say that you have to ship Pyro with anyone. Nor is it to say that you cannot headcanon Pyro as aro and/or ace! Headcanoning a character as aro and/or ace is very cool and is not inherently infantilizing--so long as you don't have that headcanon specifically because you think Pyro is "innocent" and can't consent.

(I personally don't ship Pyro with anyone and I headcanon them as aroace... because I'm aroace myself and projecting.)

It's okay to not ship them! Just... do it because that's just what you personally want, not because you think it's ~icky~ for them to be involved in anything sexual.

"Pyro's the baby of the team because they like rainbows and unicorns and candy."

Y'know I was just at a party to celebrate the birthdays of several adults, and they had a gummy candy salad that had rainbow unicorns in it.

Enjoying things like rainbows, unicorns, candy, toys, and so on does not make one a child, or immature. Pyro can enjoy all of these things and still very much be an adult!

(This is coming from someone in her 30s who still sleeps with stuffed animals, by the by.)

"Pyro is literally a child. They were hired as a teenager."

This isn't one I see often, but it's one I have seen before. It's more headcanon territory than people claiming this is actually canon, from what I've seen, but here's the thing:

The current mercs got hired in the early/mid 60s (based on Medic's dialogue in "The Naked and the Dead"). Let's say Pyro was 14 at that point. (I don't think the Administrator or Saxton Hale would hire a child, but regardless.) Medic's dialogue implies that the mercs have spent at least eight Halloweens together, which would mean that by the time the comics roll around, Pyro would be, at least, 22... so, very much an adult. And that's lowballing everything.

And again, that's even IF the Adminstrator or Saxton would even consider hiring a child in the first place. Given Saxton wouldn't even fight a child to save his own company, I doubt he would, and given the Administrator wanted to hire capable mercenaries to fight an endless war, I don't know that she'd look to children for the job.

I think that about covers all the points I've seen in the fandom. If I've missed anything, let me know in the reblogs, or if you'd like to add anything to this, feel free to do so.

Also please don't attack anyone over this! I don't think anyone's doing this intentionally, which is why I wanted to write this post in the first place. I hope this was helpful!

[gaybananabread]

Could we have some radioapple tickle hcs pls? <3

(Can be platonic or romantic!)

🍎Alastor & Lucifer Tkl Headcanons📻

~Of course! I’ve been looking for an excuse to write some Hazbin stuff, so I’m more than happy to get these disaster-dads in. I’m gonna do their individual hcs first, then the pairing ones at the bottom. Hopefully these aren’t too OOC. Thank you for requesting!~

🦌Alastor📻

General:

I think we can all agree this asshole loves a good tickling, though the direction depends on who’s around him.

Only certain people are allowed to touch him normally, much less tickle him.

Still, I’d say he’s a lee-leaning switch. He just masks his moods when they’re “inconvenient.”

Lee:

He gets into lee moods more often than he’ll ever willingly admit.

Actually acknowledging and dealing with them, however, is a whole different story.

Whenever he’s stuck somewhere with his regular acquaintances, he’ll just suck it up and try to stifle any reactions. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to slip away and hide somewhere to wait it out.

When he does actually deal with them, however, he practically gives himself up to the ler.

Only Rosie, Mimzy on a good day, and occasionally Lucifer are allowed to tickle him without much asking. Everyone else has to have explicit permission, and are severely limited in what they can do.

When it’s one of those three, Al becomes a wriggly, kicking, squirmy mess of a demon. He definitely cannot hold still while being tickled.

For anyone he’s not really that close to, they can only really go for his sides or palms without being murdered afterwards.

If you get him good enough, some high-pitched bugles and bleats could slip into his laughter.

His worst spots are his hips and ribs. He loses it when you go for either; you’ll get a lot of adorable deer noises.

His melt spots are his ears for sure. His smile gets all dreamy and relaxed; if you’re lucky, you may even get a few little bleats or some purring here and there.

Ler:

Run for the fucking hills, my friend.

He’s an evil bastard of a ler for sure. If you’ve pissed him off a certain way (or just seem like you need a good tickling), he’ll make you scream.

Now, while cruel, the deer man is no hypocrite; if you seriously don’t like or want to be tickled, he’ll stop. Maybe not apologize, but he certainly won’t try it again unless you specifically ask.

If you do ask, expect no mercy.

He’ll use his shadow tentacles to tickle the living (or dead) shit out of you.

Though he may not always listen right away, I’d recommend setting up a safeword with him. That way, he’ll know when you’re seriously done.

Teases very sarcastically, but he’s always serious when he compliments your smile.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over all that laughter, my dear.”

“Oh my, that is quite the bad spot, isn’t it? How about I send a little friend or two to give it some love?”

“You have a lovely smile, dear! So wide and cheerful; you’ve just got to show it off more!”

“You’re always so sour-faced. Maybe we should make these little attacks more frequent, hmm?”

Despite all this, he can be decent with aftercare. If he’s really comfy with you, you’ll get head pats and maybe some cuddles.

If not, he’ll send his shadow over to snuggle with you. It’s not really the same, but you can feel the hugs it gives. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll let you have some of his mother’s famous jambalaya.

🍎Lucifer🎪

General:

You can’t tell me this man doesn’t love being tickled.

Like, there’s a way to laugh his heart out and drown out all his negative thoughts? Man is more than down.

On the flip side, he can’t help but enjoy the giddy panic on someone’s face when his fingers wiggle into their sides. It’s a great way to take them down a peg without doing any harm (Charlie approves).

For that, I’d say he’s a 50-50 switch.

Lee:

He’s got different reactions around different people, depending on how well he knows them.

If he doesn’t know you all that well, he’s gonna try to hide his reactions: pushing you away, biting back giggles, acting like he hates it.

If you’re close? Completely different story.

He’ll crumble at the first sign of wiggling fingers, a big ol’ smile dominating his features. He can’t help it; the thought of getting tickled by someone who cares makes him so giddy.

If he’s really lost in laughter, his wings might pop out. It’s adorable, and it gives you a lovely new spot to attack~

His lee moods are about as rare as drug dealers in hell.

Pretty obvious, too; random giggle fits, staring at others’ hands, and giddy blushes are plentiful.

When he gets into them, Luci can actually ask for help sometimes. Sure, it’s flustered and stuttery, but it gets the message across.

His worst spots are his wingpits - all six of them. Even light scribbling there will send him into near hysterics.

His melt spot - and favorite spot - is his belly. The widest, giddiest smile forms if you gently tickle him there. Go for long enough, and he might even doze off.

Ler:

He’s such a loving menace of a ler, no argument.

He’ll take things slow, but you’re gonna get the hell teased out of you, no question.

“Aww, what’s the matter? Does it tickle? I’m barely getting started!”

“Snorts already? Man, this really tickles, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve gotta be the cutest thing in all of hell! I mean, listen to those giggles!”

“I’ve gotta refer you to Charlie. This level of adorableness could warm the coldest of hearts~”

“Not there, huh? Then how about here? Or here? You’ve really gotta be more specific.”

You KNOW this man would use his wings against you. Sneaky hugs, followed by some feathery fun~

His ler moods are frequent and fierce. If nobody asks him within a few hours, he’ll just attack the first lee who gives him semi-probable cause.

Even though he’s a bit of a meanie, he’s a saint with aftercare.

This man loves post-tickle cuddles; what’s better than curling up with a snuggly, giggly lee? He gives great back-rubs, and I think he could make a mean grilled cheese.

❤️Paired💛

We can all agree that Lucifer is the main ler, right?

Now, Al doesn’t just let the man tickle him; that’d be too easy.

Deer man loves to tease: raising his arms to “reach for things” with others around, chuckling right in Luci’s ear, just being an all-around asshole.

It takes the blonde everything he has not to pounce in public.

By the end of the day, it’s safe to say that Lucifer gets the last laugh~

When Luci is in a lee mood, he'll just straight-up ask for tickles from Al.

Just to annoy him, he'll plop in the deer man's lap, raise his arms, and demand attention. Alastor is more than happy to oblige~

NOW, when Al’s in a ler mood, the tables pretty much turn inside-out.

He’ll go up to Lucifer, teleport him to his room, pin him with tentacles to the wall or bed, and make him squeal. He’ll usually push the fallen angel until he safewords.

While Lucifer could just escape, he “secretly” enjoys being taken down a few notches. Besides, he gets free cuddles afterwards.

Speaking of which, they always cuddle afterwards, no matter who the lee is. It’s an unspoken rule neither of them are keen on breaking.

[spicyvampire]

Man, I cannot stop thinking about Chalothorn coming to save Tharn and listening to Tharn when he asked to not kill Montree (and u know it's serious cuz i'm using his actual name)

Like that is when Tharn understood what he had to do to break the curse isn't it? Like this is when he went from grieving having to leave and accepting it because he knew what he was going to do while he was gone and he didn't know if it was going to work but he was going to try like this is a man with determination right there, like he isn't only looking at Montee he also has a goal in mind

and I feel like talking about this process Tharn went through but also just going through the trio's "character descriptions" as in Chalothorn being a fighter (maybe not talk about Chalothorn in this specific post I want to give him a whole post for himself), Wansarut/Tharn being an healer/protector (mediator?) and Sakuna/Phaya being a fighter (somewhat a little bit of a protector Wansarut/Tharn kinda rubbed off of them akasghjsgajhad like literally) and also just talk about power levels and who would match who in a fight and how that affected Tharn's decision or something idk we will see

Disclaimer : pulling all of this completely out of my ass from watching the show but it makes sense to me, might not make sense to anybody else cuz these are just raw out-of-order thoughts

I think I'll put everything under a keep reading cuz I know We about to spend an hour on this cuz this is taking too much space in my brain and I got school assignments to do so we just gonna throw it up right now

WANSARUT

Let's start with the fact that Wansarut is a healer/protector (and a mediator of some sort maybe? idk) like from the get go you got Wansarut saving Sakuna and healing him, simply because Sakuna was still alive (ep 8)

Like they are enemies at that point??? and what if Sakuna decided to kill Wansarut when he got better? And you can see that Sakuna does not understand Wansarut's actions cuz like they are enemies! That is a big risk Wansarut took simply because he was still alive, because it's not in Wansarut's nature to just sit there and watch someone die, whether they are from the enemy side or not, and Wansarut tells Sakuna to leave as soon as he feels better too, because Sakuna is clearly in Naga territory and it's dangerous for him there, and Wansarut didn't ask anything in return until Sakuna proposed it, and what Wansarut asks is just so goddamn UUUGHHHRBSGUYAHFG [tv static noise]

I literally do not know how to describe it but like Wansarut has an entire Garuda that is the literal Garuda king's brother saying he will give Wansarut anything as a favor because Wansarut saved him and Wansarut asks for peace between their people??? That's why I was like Wansarut is kinda a mediator, also later Wansarut says this

Really showing even if Wansarut would be happy with Sakuna, this situationship they got going on, Sakuna's presence in these woods, could make the war both of their people are living worst, and Wansarut do not want to cause harm, it would go against Wansarut's healer/protector nature

Also random sidenote : the way Wansarut talks the human world and about that Naga legend of a Naga turned human that wanted to be a Monk, is such a benevolent and loving god way of talking, also the fact that Wansarut is showing this whole part of Naga culture (Naga offering and breathing fire to pay respect to Buddha, on the 15th nigh of the 11th waxing moon) to Sakuna an outsider??? a literal enemy of Wansarut's people???? mind fucking blowing if you ask me

THARN

Ok enough about boyprincess time to talk about babygirl Tharn and how Wansarut's healer/protector (mediator) nature translated to him

Let me start with the fact that Tharn almost never attacks anyone first, and is always ready to put his gun down, and literally never shoot if he doesn't have to, let's just take a look at how fast he put his gun down in ep 12 and the fact that he didn't just shoot Montee goon in the back which gave him the time to disarm Tharn

Also when he could have literally shoot Narong possessed by Chalothorn back in episode 5, the coast was clear Phaya was out of the way and Narong was attacking Phaya so he had "reasonable" reason to just shoot the guy, like hell they even made eye contact and Narong (Chalothorn) just fully ignored him cuz he knew Tharn was not gonna shoot and Tharn really just didn't shoot

And don't get me started on the fact that Tharn took that stab for Phaya i'll be here till next year like!!! All that was in his mind was protecting Phaya and if he get hurt doing it so be it, which is literally exactly what his past self did, they will protect what they love, whatever the cost

Like it almost doesn't make sense that Tharn is a cop in this lifetime because of his healer/protector nature, if they still were making him a first responder, it would have made more sense if Tharn was a paramedic or something, but because his parents were killed it and he had to get justice for them he was knocked off the typical healer/protector path slightly, but he was still doing his cop job like he was a healer/protector (which is what cops should be tbh. but that's another discussion), like i wouldn't be surprised if Tharn's other reincarnations were in the medical field in some ways (but again how do you tell this story if they aren't in the same field of work? that's another problem innit)

SAKUNA

Unfortunately I gotta stop talking about babygirl Tharn and talk about our resident bird

Sakuna is fighter first and foremost like there is no questioning that, but I think he is a level lower than Chalothorn, like Sakuna is a high ranking soldier, probably his brother's right hand man but both time Sakuna tried to fight Chalothorn he lost, first time he was hurt very badly and Wansarut had to heal him, second time cost him and Wansarut's life and that's how the cycle started

And it honestly doesn't look like he match Chalothorn's powers even in garuda form, I think the garuda that would match Chalothorn would be Sakuna's brother (ep 12), unfortunately Sakuna would never get to a level where he could win since he died, and just keep dying every reincarnation after that, and I assume he just keep dying before he reach his full powers

But anyways by the end of Sakuna's life he wasn't only a fighter, you can see he genuinely was worried and wanted to protect Wansarut and he didn't care for his brother's war all that much, he did fight but that was to prove his love

And that's kinda beautiful isn't it? that's the effect Wansarut has on people Wansarut is close to and that's honestly the most powerful talent, like more powerful than the actual magic Wansarut can do

PHAYA

Phaya bird man extraodinaire is yet again a fighter (soldier) in this life, quite literally in the investigation team, but you can see that he has leadership qualities real early on (ep 2)

He is honestly a natural leader and I'm sure Sakuna was too, but on the powers side, his garuda powers like dormant/just under the surface this whole series, the best we get are little sparkles (ep 5 + ep 12)

His best qualities : his sparkles

Sidenote : let me just mention how protective Phaya is of Tharn, guy put his whole body over Tharn when there is a blast near, he is always in front of Tharn when they are fighting, not just episode 12 but simply all the time, like both time we saw his sparkles were related to protecting Tharn in some ways, like this man has a very fighter way of being a protector

But anyways my little birdy you are doing amazing tweety and I love you, but like how is he supposed to fight this fucking thing with goddamn garuda sparkles????????????

Well the answer can only be that he was never supposed to fight it. Like let's think about this for a sec, every goddamn reincarnation before phayatharn died why do you think? well idk but I can at least say for certain Sakuna and Wansarut died because Sakuna chose to fight. Literally every goddamn time this shit has always gone down south and we can assume it is because they fought Chalothorn. Fighting was literally NEVER the answer, but they kept doing it and honestly isn't insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results???? They've tried Sakuna and Chalothorn's way and the only thing it got them, is them both killed in all their past reincarnations and Chalothorn being honestly one reincarnation kill away from turning into a Naga forever

Also like sidenote : there is no sign of Tharn's Naga form, like what we got from Tharn are some somewhat powerful sparkles but you can't seriously tell me he can fight Chalothorn literal king of Nagas with that, like the sparkles were only there to protect Phaya, Tharn/Wansarut were never meant to be fighters (ep 5), like even with Phaya and Tharn's powers combined it wouldn't work tbh

Problem is, this whole situation with Tharn's parents dying and people Tharn love dying did make Tharn forget who he was, so much suffering and hurt and grief from a young age can change a soul, Tharn was looking for justice for his parents and frankly was kinda impulsive and reckless about it, and thats why the abbott's role in this show was so goddamn important, he was here to remind Tharn of who he is (the lion king simba and mufasa style REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE), and that is a healer, a protector and a mediator first and foremost, he even said this in episode 3 and he is right Kindness is Tharn's biggest weapon (and Phaya's btw because Sakuna's soul has changed a lot over the courses of reincarnations and he is such a sweetie, that is until Chalothorn walks into the room)

FINAL

bro where was I even going with this? Idk but back to Chalothorn listening to Tharn in episode 12, I think that's when Tharn got a declic as to what the abbott meant by all of his mediation and precepts stuff, Tharn understood then that first of all Chalothorn is not only a killer, the person he has known all these years that cares about him and his wellbeing is there, he literally came to Tharn's rescue twice, in ep 11 when Tharn was falling off the cliff and with Montee in episode 12, the problem is you cannot talk calmly to Chalothorn with Phaya in the room, it's just never going to end well, you put those 2 head strong (mostly) fighters in a room and all hell break lose and people literally die

So Tharn knew he had to leave, but this time, in contrary to the end of episode 11, he had a purpose, the purpose was to change Chalothorn's mind from the inside, because Chalothorn's has show signs of caring and kindness (again he probably got that from hanging out with Tharn tbh), but Tharn didn't know if that would work, he didn't know if he was going to be able to come back to Phaya, and that's why he was saying goodbye like that

That's why it felt like, contrary to episode 11, this goodbye from Tharn had an air of acceptance of his fate, because he knew it was his time to go and fight for his and Phaya's love, but this time he was going to do it his way, and that way is with kindness, love and empathy, like the healer/protector that he is