#I seriously want a house

[houseswife]

you guys remember when house wanted to move into wilson’s spare bedroom (amber shrine) and the way he chose to communicate this was by jerking off on his couch when he knew wilson would catch him. i’m seriously asking. are they normal about anything

[moonstonecanyon]

So I made a GoFundMe....

I really really don't like asking for help normally, nor do I enjoy having to make something like this in the first place, but ongod I don't think I have many options IRL at the moment. I'm a funny little autistic transman named Vergil, also known as MoonstoneCanyon here and on Twitter, and PoisonPikeKing on AO3. I make funny little Megaman things and sometimes Sonic art too.

But also I've been struggling with homelessness IRL for a few months now. I am currently looking for a new job and new career ATM as well as any kind of affordable apartment in central New Jersey at the moment. Thankfully I have a car that I can live out of as a last resort, but... I'd much rather be able to live someone under a roof instead. I've set the goal to $1500 so that I can afford any possible security deposit as well as any first month's rent while I am unemployed for the time being.

If any of you are able to spread this GFM link around, or donate any to this, I really, sincerely appreciate this. Thank you as well for reading this far.

0/1500 usd goal

[sergle]

yall are about to piss me off by not having any PASSING basic knowledge of the way the u.s. military manipulates its recruits into joining by typing up one of your uninformed, unresearched, unempathetic, individualistic, unbelievably annoying posts about how 100% of the people in the military ended up there because they just Love America So Damn Much! they're extremely mature and informed at time of recruitment, they can totally leave anytime they want, they totally had tons of other avenues in life they could've taken, there was no rush at all to get income as fast as possible, and everyone in the military also totally is part of the combat divisions and personally enjoys being IN the military very much, big believers of violence. everyone in the military is shooting guns all day, that's how that works. they LOVE BLOODSHED. also I love the "amewicans haha" twang to this type of shit because you're actually TOTALLY stealing our Thing, which is turning systemic issues into Individual Issues. Instead of talking about the powers that be, it's so Personal Choice up in here. It's, "well you shouldn't have done it then. I totally wouldn't because I know better." you don't wanna talk about the military industrial complex as a whole, and you don't want to talk about recruiters, you just want to pin the blame on Specific Individual People one-by-one, as if they're responsible for the system that they're being ground up in. someone was in the military? bad person, no matter what. it's easier to believe that, I guess, than to acknowledge that Normal People (with high school educations) are manipulated and incentivized into joining a system that is Bad. at like age 18. but yeah no that 18 year old should have just been smarter lol haha anyway here are some screenshots for no particular reason

side note this reply of someone going "umm just get loans and go into a high paying field it's easy XD" as a direct response to someone trying to explain how most americans joining the military are being funneled in that direction out of a need for money.

and another person who Decided that americans join the military just CLENCHING their teeth thinking of other people, and not thinking completely selfishly about their own selves and their own income/housing/healthcare.

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

I'm allowed to make this joke, but I love that Jewish death rituals are like:

"Pfeh, for what should I spend $12,000 on a big fekakte box they see only for five minutes before they cover it with dirt?"

"Don't waste my good suit what might fit my nephew Lev if the bum should ever even try to get a real job!"

"Embalming? Don't mind me, I'll rot in the dark."

[korynith]

if you actually wish they'd showed a child being beheaded I am side eyeing the fuck out of you

[pointlessjey]

☠️☠️☠️

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

*sighs* precious baby version of night and his mentally drained brother/dad got me dropping everything for a quick doodle<333

au by @dreemurr-skelememer

[flowercrowngods]

in which they lie on the floor and take care of each other, falling in love somewhere along the way between music and silence

🤍 also on ao3

When Eddie makes it to Steve’s a few hours after the others because he sort of got lost in that song he was working on and completely lost track of time when the words finally cooperated with him and the chords, he is not surprised to hear the sound of laughter and chaotic conversation, accompanied with the upbeat pop music Steve likes so much. What does surprise him, though, is the picture presented to him once he reaches the spacious living room.

The group is sitting in a circle on the luxurious sofa and on the plush carpet, talking and laughing and throwing the occasional pillow. So far so normal. What’s decidedly not normal is the fact that Steve is lying a bit away from the group, still included in their circle from the way they’re sitting, and he is absolutely still.

Eddie’s first instinct is to panic because surely Steve is having a flashback, an episode of some sort, maybe he’s been possessed, maybe he—

No. No, the others wouldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let him lie there like that if it were at all concerning. Eddie tries to calm himself, to breathe away the panic and just be fucking normal.

He catches Dustin watching him and clears his throat, willing an easy expression as he asks, “Hey, uh. What’s up with Harrington?”

“Oh, he’s having floor time,” is what Dustin tells him like it’s the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. Like Eddie is supposed to know what that means.

Except, he does. Sort of.

And now that the panic is gone and he looks closer at Steve, he sees that his eyes are open but not unseeing as he is staring at the ceiling. He looks calm. That crease between his brows his gone and everything about him seems relaxed.

Floor time.

Of all the things Eddie could have imagined learning about Steve fucking Harrington, nail bat swinging national hero and hair care extraordinaire, this wouldn’t even have made the list.

And so, with a careful eye still on the boy starfishing on the white carpet, Eddie goes to sit down beside Dustin.

“So. Floor time, huh?”

The boy gives him a sideways glance and nods. “Yeah, it’s sacred. We used to do that at my place all time, it’s strangely calming. It’s kind of our thing.” And he says that with such pride in his voice, stage whispering like he is letting Eddie in on this huge secret, he can’t even find it in him to tap into that jealousy that always used to accompany every mention of Steve Harrington coming out of Henderson’s mouth.

Eddie bumps their shoulders together gently and promptly joins in on the discussion over whether or not it was boring to choose the human race in Dungeons and Dragons, which then turns into explaining to Jonathan why a paladin and a wizard are not the same, until everything derails completely and there are five discussions at the same time and Eddie is having a wonderful time keeping up with all of them.

All the while, though, he lets his eyes wander back to Steve. To the steady rise and fall of his chest, to his hands where they are still relaxed and twitching, not clenched, knuckles white, bracing to fight for his life.

He does feel oddly protective over the boy who usually does all the protecting, at least in that moment. Part of him wants to cross the distance and lie down beside him. Not to talk, not to touch, just to be there. Just so Steve doesn’t have to be alone.

It’s stupid. Steve’s not alone. He has a house full of his closest friends who let him lie on the floor and don’t ask for his attention until Robin grabs the phone to order some pizza. When Steve is back, he looks… Well, he looks good. He always does, sure, but this time he also looks like he feels good. And Eddie stares a bit before Will and Lucas vie for his attention again.

It does indeed become a Thing, like Dustin told him, because the next few times they’re meeting – sometimes at the Byers’, sometimes at the Wheeler’s, but mostly at Steve’s – Eddie will find him lying on the floor at some point of the evening. Not always quiet and zoned out, sometimes he’s actively participating in whatever conversation is the loudest, sometimes he’s watching with a smile on his lips.

Eddie has stopped watching him. Or at least that’s what he’s trying to tell himself. But Steve is okay, it’s his Thing, there is no need to worry, no need to watch. Even when sometimes Steve needs several tries at finding his words again, Eddie has stopped worrying.

It’s a Steve Thing. And it’s really fucking endearing.

He tries not to watch.

But then one day, after a really rough week and one too many threats directed at him, Eddie just… Doesn’t feel like talking. But he doesn’t feel like being alone, either, his hands still slightly shaking from running into Tommy H and his goons that seem to have missed the memo that high school is over and they can start behaving like adults now.

And so he finds himself standing in front of Harrington’s house, bracing himself for the noise, the questions, the demands, the stories, for all the words he really doesn’t want to say today. It takes him another five minutes to ring the bell.

Robin lets him in, and Eddie feels overwhelmed already, but it’s too late to turn around now, so he swallows and heads inside. His heart sinks further when he finds Steve walking around, joking, chiding. Chasing after El when she steals a cinnamon roll that just came out of the oven. Eddie’s heart sinks and it flutters at the same time, and it is that sensation that makes him crumble.

He lies down on the living room floor and hopes that it’s enough, that he won’t have to explain, that he can just… exist.

The noise around him doesn’t stop, but he finds that he doesn’t need it to, because they leave him alone, don’t try to talk to him, give him time to breathe, to gather himself, to be okay. The world fades a bit, but it doesn’t turn upside down.

Floor time is sacred. And he’s starting to understand why. There’s something oddly calming about feeling the hard floor beneath him, about watching everyone from this angle, about staring at the ceiling with no thoughts in his mind.

And he understands why Steve does this so often. Where his hands have been shaking just moments prior, they are calm now. Where his mind revolved around the Upside Down and Tommy H and run, run, run, now they are quiet. Dulled. Like they can’t rech him, like he is safe here. On the floor.

The only thought that comes to him is that everything would be even better with a weight on his body. And for a moment, he imagines Steve lying down on top of him, to ground him some more. Or Nancy or Robin or Jonathan. Hell, even Eleven would do. Maybe one day. It’s about time they implement cuddle piles into their weekly routine, but Eddie doesn’t feel like opening his mouth and asking for that right about now.

He zones out. Lets the magic of the Sacred Floor wash over him and thinks how that would actually make a fine addition to his campaign. Maybe another riddle for Dustin to decipher.

By the time he hears the music, he feels like a completely new person and it takes him a while for the fog to life enough, but then—No way. His eyes widen and immediately find Steve’s where he’s leaning against the doorway to his right with a gentle, knowing smile on his lips.

“It’s always better with music,” he says, almost sheepish, like he’s worried he maybe crossed a line. “Hot chocolate is coming up right away. Leave it if you don’t want it, Dustin will also drink it cold.” Definitely a smile now, fond this time as Steve’s eyes wander to where Eddie assumes he can find Dustin.

He doesn’t look away from Steve, the expression on his face probably still somewhere between disbelief and wonder. And he’s staring. He knows, because Steve gives him that sheepish smile again and starts to speak after a moment.

“I hope Twisted Sister is okay? I actually quite like this album, but I can go see if I can grab something from that Sabbath band you were talking about, or… Metallica? Something like that. Sorry, uhm. Metal is not really my strong suit, as you may have noticed.” He laughs almost nervously and Eddie just melts.

Steve, worried about his music choice for Eddie’s floor time, which he is absolutely ready and willing to go out of his way for as it seems, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck as We’re Not Gonna Take It starts playing is not what Eddie expected of his day when he woke up this morning.

He might actually have a little crush on the Harrington boy, he realises in that moment, as he smiles up at Steve in a way he hopes is reassuring. It’s perfect, he thinks. Like your stupid hair and your nervous little smile.

Steve seems to understand as he answers with another smile of his own, though all traces of nervousness or worry are gone now, replaced with patience and kindness and understanding. It’s almost too much for Eddie to bear and he looks away.

Moments later, Steve reappears in his line of sight and places a mug of hot chocolate well within his reach but still safe from overly energised teenagers.

Eddie is hesitant about it, but in the end it’s the best hot chocolate he has ever had, not even ruined by the smug grin on Steve’s face that said something along the lines of, ‘I have been babysitting this bunch of teenagers for three years now. I know how to make damn fine hot chocolate and you cannot deny it.’

Eddie just shakes his head in dramatic exasperation and hides his smile in his mug.

Eddie tries not to think too hard about his little crush on Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. It’s probably nothing but a trauma-related attachment anyway, just like he has with all the kids, with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan. It’s nothing. It’s stupid.

But then one night there’s a thunderstorm rolling over Hawkins and everyone’s probably having a shit night, but Eddie? Oh, Eddie is a mess. Every noise is a bat ripping into his flesh, every time he wants to open his mouth he feels like he’s choking on his own blood. He can’t breathe, can’t drink, can’t eat, can’t stop fucking shaking. Pulling his hair has stopped working a while ago, and he wants nothing more than to go over to Steve’s stupid big house and feel safe again.

Before he knows it, he’s in his van waiting in front of Steve’s house, the lights still on, always on, holding his walkie talkie in shaking hands.

“Hey Stevie?” he finally begins, just as a particularly loud crash of thunder makes him gasp, but he bites his lip desperately and braves on. “You there?”

The answer is immediate and it makes Eddie breathe a sigh of relief. “Eds? Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?”

It’s past 1:30am, but neither of them are surprised that the other is still awake.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs, but it’s too shaky to be anything but pathetic. “Sure am. Was just… thinking, y’know.”

A silence follows and Eddie cringes at himself, at his words, at his presence. Why did he think it was a good idea to come over here again without so much as a plan? Oh right, he didn’t think. At all. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Hey, listen, man, do you wanna come over? I mean… Is Wayne home? Stupid thunder, right? I’m… I’m here if you wanna talk, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna talk,” is all Eddie says, his eyes clenched shut as another bolt of lightning lights up the night sky and he counts twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, until he hears that dreadful thunder rolling above.

No, he doesn’t want to talk. What he wants is to just not be alone. To be in the same room, lie on the same floor and share the same air as Steve. The thought of talking while thunder is rolling above them makes his skin crawl, and he deosn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to speak, just wants to— Steve.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, right? Eds? Hang on, is that—Oh Eddie.” Steve sighs, but it’s not exasperated, not annoyed, not angry. It’s fond. Kind. Patient. And Eddie wants to cry.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just looks at the curtain moving behind the window before Steve spots his van. Eddie lifts his hand and just says, “Surprise?”

And then there’s a bit of static on the other end of the line before Eddie is only met with silence. The sudden moment of complete silence is a stark contrast to, well, everything, and Eddie panics for a moment. But then he sees the front door opening, Steve illuminated by the lights he always keeps on. He looks like an angel, even through the curtain of constant drizzle between them. Eddie’s treacherous insides melt some more when he sees that Steve is coming over with an umbrella in his hand. When he opens the driver’s door with that gentle little smile on his lips and simply offers his arm to Eddie in a gesture so chivalrous that the metalhead cracks a laugh and considers swooning for all but one second before he realizes that his laugh sounded more like a sob of relief.

Gods, but he is a mess.

Whether that is because of the thunderstorm that seems to creep closer and closer, or because he has just compared Stevie to an angel, and now here he is treating him like a gentleman, at ass o’clock, with a look in his eyes like there’s nowhere he would rather be, well. That’s between Eddie and his stupid heart.

Steve leads them inside, shutting and locking the door like he always does before turning back to Eddie. He takes one look at him, enough for Eddie to want to apologise for dropping in like this, but he can’t get the words out before Steve’s already asking, “Metallica or Motörhead?”

And Eddie wants to cry again. Because maybe Steve knows. Maybe he understands.

“Metallica,” he rasps and Steve nods. Smiles. Turns around to head into the kitchen and leaves Eddie where he is, allowing him to follow along or to find his own way, trusting him with that big empty house.

That’s when Eddie realises that he’s never been alone with Steve. Not here, at least. And he kind of wishes that he had come over in a better state, not quite this much of a wreck. But then he wouldn’t have gotten to see the kindness, the patience, the ‘We’re all fucked up here but you’re family so let me take care of you, dammit’-look that Dustin had to suitably dubbed.

Standing in the entry hall, feeling a bit lost and small, Eddie realises that he wants to follow Steve into the kitchen. Wants to stay close, touch him, drape himself over his back and just exist there, in silence and mutual understanding. He doesn’t. But it takes great physical effort to go find his way into the living room instead, sitting down in the white carpet where he had first seen Steve lying on the floor all those weeks ago. He breathes easier now as he runs his hand over the soft, plushy texture and finds himself unwilling to stop. He’s always had a knack for sensory stuff, and touch was by far the most intense, so he splays his palm over the carpet and moves his hands back and forth.

Then the music starts playing and it’s the rather slow first notes of “Fight Fire With Fire” that make Eddie look away from the white plush and back up at Steve, who is standing and watching with a barely-there smile.

The music isn’t very loud, just enough to create a comfortable atmosphere and drown out the rolling thunder. Just for him.

His heart is doing the traitorous shit again where it thinks it’s only beating for Steve Harrington in that moment. He doesn’t have the strength or the will to stop it, though.

And Steve, angel that he is, looking down at him in the dim, warm living room light, puts the two mugs of steaming hot chocolate on the coffee table beside Eddie before promptly sitting down beside him. He meets Eddie’s eyes with all that patience, all that compassion that it gets kind of heavy after a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve murmurs, barely audible over the music, and Eddie just shakes his head. There’s nothing to talk about, just stupid thunder and lightning making his brain feel like it’s being fried and splintering.

“Alright,” Steve whispers and falls back, lying down beside Eddie, who doesn’t have it in him to follow quite yet. His eyes sting. He will not cry in front of Steve fucking Harrington! But then there’s a hand brushing lightly over his back and his voice, so impossibly gentle, telling him, “C’m here, Eds.”

And who is he to deny, to resist, to refuse Steve ‘Kind Eyes’ Harrington?

Eddie slowly lets himself fall backwards, and they just lie there for a while. Not touching, not talking, not moving.

But this time, Eddie’s mind isn’t quiet, because Steve, Steve, Stevie is so close. So gentle. He’s there, he’s here, he understands, and he doesn’t judge. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t question. How can his mind be quiet when Steve is perfect?

How can his mind be quiet when his heart is racing as he slowly, achingly slowly like they do in the stupid movies Nancy loves to watch, moves his hand closer to Steve’s. He’s powerless against the pull of the boy beside him. His heart is beating in his throat when Steve meets his hand halfway, wrapping his pointer finger around Eddie’s pinkie. Their feet find their way to each other, just resting there, basking in each other’s warmth.

He is weak when his head lands on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes close and he breathes — quietly, shallowly, for fear of breaking the moment.

He doesn’t break it. In fact, the moment lasts far longer than the record Steve had put on – because of course he had to play a Metallica record instead of a cassette like normal people would –, and then it is quiet. The soft lights fill the room with warm, indirect safety and finally help his mind quiet down.

Of course, the realisation that he’s maybe a little bit in love with Steve Harrington had to be a quiet one. Soft, gentle, kind, and definitely far from what he ever would have expected. Just like Steve himself.

Of course, where everything else in Eddie’s life was loud — from his music to his kids to the thoughts in his head when he can’t sleep at night —, this one had to be different. Quiet. And when Steve begins to draw patterns into his back where Eddie is now essentially lying on top of him, Eddie dares once more to reach for Steve’s unoccupied hand, tangling their fingers. Not to hold him, because Steve isn’t going anywhere, but simply to touch.

Steve understands, Eddie realises, because he brushes his lips over his temple and then leaves them there. Not to kiss, not really, but simply to touch.

And while Eddie’s heart is busy feeling like it’s going to burst from these sudden realisations, from how quiet and how safe he feels, from how utterly, indescribably right this feels, Eddie just closes his eyes and accepts the fact that he is actually, absolutely, irrefutably and completely in love with Steve ‘Floor Time’ Harrington.

[uncanny-tranny]

Whether or not the adage that chronic stress is as bad as smoking is or true or not, hearing that and knowing that a huge stress factor is often one's continued financial, housing, and food security really should radicalize more people. The idea of stress being damaging to long and short-term health should make you stop and wonder what contributes to stress in the first place, and if preventative measures would inevitably be a net benefit to the overall health and wellbeing of everybody

[leupagus]

Half of this fic is just me looking for more excuses to put in all the cool women that the show wrote out

Still working on the next chapter for the GOT rewrite from hell, but I had to write a little about how the fuck menstruation works in Westeros (other than "oh you can get married now!" which I refuse to believe is the norm) and also to introduce the Sphinx:

The next morning, Shireen woke up to find blood on her shift and a sharp sort of twist in her stomach, as though she'd swallowed a molten pin. The blood came out easily enough, with frantic scrubbing in the basin, but the pain grew over the course of the morning.

"It's your flowering," said Maester Alleras briskly, when she went to him in a tightly-controlled panic. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," said Shireen, realizing the date. Her nameday had passed two weeks ago.

"And what do you know of flowering?" he asked, smiling slightly at her blush. "Forgive me, but Northerners have queer ideas of teaching their children about these matters. I do not wish to presume your level of education."

"I know it can last for a week or more," Shireen said, thinking of Mother's cycles, how she would confine herself to her rooms to endure the pain in solitude and prayer. "It's very painful and disgusting, but it allows me to bear my future husband's children and therefore is a gift from the gods."

"Hmm. Well, that is what you were taught, at least," grunted the maester. He got up from his desk, rummaging through the cupboard behind him. He was a tall, skinny young man with the deep brown skin and tightly-coiled hair of a Summer Islander, and shared their fondness for brightly-colored nails: they seemed to dance along the shelves until he plucked out a jar and presented it to her with a flourish. "This will help with the pain, and stop the bleeding after this cycle. People of the North use it a great deal."

"Is it moon tea?" Shireen asked, taking it gingerly and wondering at Maester Alleras's use of the term Northerners, which sounded different from People of the North. Perhaps in the Summer Isles, everyone on Westeros was a Northerner. "Why do they use it so much here?"

"It is," he confirmed, "and as for why..." He shrugged. "I've only just arrived in Winterfell, you understand, and as you may have guessed—" this said with another smile— "I was born elsewhere. But from what I've gathered, they must be careful when they have children. The North can only feed so many."

Shireen thought of Fire & Blood, which Father had read to her as a child. The Winter Wolves had been a company of Northerners, who had answered Lord Cregan's call to fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire with Rhaenyra Targaryen. They'd been greybeards who had knowingly marched to their deaths, for such was the custom of the North back then: at the start of each winter, the old men of each keep and castle and holdfast would choose amongst themselves who would go out into the snows. Some would return home in the spring, having endured the cold or escaped it to find their fortunes in southron lands; most would not.

"Put a thimbleful of this into whatever tea you like best," Maester Alleras continued, gesturing at the jar, his fingernails catching the light as it streamed into the rookery. "Once a day, and come back when you need more."

"Shouldn't I ask—" Shireen bit her lip.

But the maester caught her meaning; his eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you ask your parents? Yes, I suppose you should. But they should be here to be asked, and they should have told you the truth."

"What's the truth?" Shireen asked, instead of admitting that Mother and Father had never told her anything about it. She couldn't imagine either of them even mentioning the subject. All her information had come from books, or from Mother's complaints.

"The truth is that if a cycle is painful and lasts for a week or more, that is the sign of an illness, not the will of a god. The truth is that you may well find it disgusting, but it is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame to you or anyone else." He glared, though it did not seem directed at her. "And as for 'bearing your future husband's children,' the truth is that they are your children, just as much as his — indeed more so, unless he carries them about for the first nine months after their birth. But you will not be a woman grown for at least another two years, and any man who wishes you to bear children until at least that time is unworthy of your hand or your love." He sat back down, his half-dozen maester's links chiming musically. "Now run along, little princess."

Lady Sansa was just outside the door, with her brother beside her. "See, I told you she smelled funny," Rickon said triumphantly.

Shireen scowled at him. "Shut up." It was kind of him, she supposed, to have worked out that something was wrong and to wait for her outside the maester's chambers. But Rickon Stark was the sort of friend who was difficult to be grateful for.

"Yes, please do, Rickon," Lady Sansa said, pressing a businesslike kiss on the crown of Rickon's head before turning him round by the shoulders and pushing him down the corridor. Rickon protested, but went all the same, and Lady Sansa turned back to Shireen. "Moon tea?" she asked, nodding at the jar.

Shireen resisted the impulse to hide it somehow. It is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame. "Yes, my lady," she said.

"Come along, then," said Lady Sansa. "I have some excellent tea from the Arbor. How does that sound?"

"Could I have a hot water-skin, too?" Shireen asked, as Lady Sansa looped her arm through hers.

"Of course. And the lemon trees in the greenhouse have given up their first fruits — we'll have lemon cakes for lunch instead of venison." She smiled and Shireen thought that even if Sansa Stark never took another husband or had children of her own, she was still all the mother that the North ever would need.

[pinksilvace]

I literally haven't been able to stop thinking about these lines in @lasymit's fic since I first read them 😭😭😭 this scene was absolutely incredible 💕

[witheredoffherwitch]

Okay, @infinitememory12345, get a grip girl. I've received more messages from you about Alysmond than I have from my own sister in last 6 months. You've followed and unfollowed me like a lovesick puppy. I know you ship Helaemond, so why are you lurking under my posts? Do you see me stalking your profile and judging your questionable taste in fiction? No! So please, for the love of all things sane, STOP THIS OBSESSION.

Quit acting like a weirdo under every post from an Alys fan. It's not a good look, trust me. And FYI, I don't give two hoots who Alys sleeps with in season 2. Your theories are just as crazy as mine, so let's just agree to disagree before you make me go apeshit on your delulu ass again. Cool? Cool.

FYI: I am aware that you were previously using the username fallinggoldleavesblog before deactivating and creating a new account. That's why I'm addressing you now. I strongly believe that this is a burner account created for the sole purpose of harassing and sending meaningless messages to shippers like us. Please stop this behavior!

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Comte: I just had a long talk with Theodorus and Arthur about hitting and now they are yelling “it’s my turn to perpetuate the cycle of violence” before hitting each other.

[sincerelyourswhistledown]

I want a modern mafia fic where after the incident at Driftmark everyone in the family starts to treat Lucerys differently. Aemond loses an eye and Viserys actually gives a shit and punishes Luke. Rhaenyra and Jacaerys are horrified at what Luke does, he has always been such a sweet and kind boy and to see him hurt Aemond like that scared everyone. Nevermind that Aegon and Aemond have always picked on Lucerys and always made him feel left out. Funnily enough, this is the incident that fixes the rift between Alicent and Rhaenyra, with Rhaenyra feeling very guilty over what her son did.

So Lucerys grows up isolated and neglected by his own family. Don’t get me wrong, Rhaenyra still wholeheartedly loves Lucerys but years of forcing him to meet psychiatrists and taking meds he doesn’t want to take has taken a great toll on him.

He’s eighteen, severely depressed and anxious downing dozens of meds when he decides that enough is enough and eventually leaves the Red Keep. Like completely disappears, he cuts off both Targaryens and Velaryons and no one ever hears from him again.

Cut to five or ten years later, Aemond meets Lucerys again and he’s surprised to see how different the boy is. Gone was the sweet and shy toddler or the quiet and anxious teen, in front of him was this cold, no-nonsense, calculative man. Unlike Aemond and the rest of the Targaryens, Lucerys has never thought of them again and went on his merry way to live his life of freedom and debauchery.

To Aemond’s horror, Lucerys is now working as a camboy while also occasionally fucking this shady businessman (alleged mafia). Aemond tries to persuade him to come back but he’s like “fuck off” and disappears again. Fortunately FOR Aemond, his uncle Daemon’s the infamous “Rogue Prince” of the Underworld, the scandalous brother of dutiful Viserys Targaryen who refused to work for the company and decided to become a criminal instead. Unfortunately for Lucerys, Aemond is nothing but OBSESSED.

IDK just give me Lucerys growing up abused and neglected and cutting his family off to go and live his life only for Aemond to stalk his ass because according to him Lucerys’ place is with the family, right by his side.

[seirei-bh]

This is the only way I can imagine an episode at the fair if you go with your Devenementiel coworkers and you find Jason there

You can insert Roy/Amanda/Thomas/Elenda/Brune instead of Devon as Lisa here too. You're Milhouse in the middle of that chaos.

Plus points of chaos if you're on Jason's route.

[isthe-protag-cluelesstho]

Okay, probably not a hot take, but imma scribble about it anyway,

I honestly think Cale Hetinuse/Kim Rok Soo has chronic pain/fatigue.

Like, everybody loves the whole coughing up blood/wet meow meow thing he's always doing, but personally? People who are that nonchalant about Shit Happening To Their Body, are typically people who are waaaaay too used to Fucked Up Shit Happening To Their Body,

It's just a head canon, but as someone who is chronically in pain, I absolutely do some of the stupid shit CH/KRS does, like carrying stuff I should NOT be carrying, or continuing to Do Things even when I should be sitting and resting. I also know several people who (like me) can be experiencing level 4-5 pain and not show a hint on their face/through their actions besides maaaaybe moving a bit slower/stretching more

And we know KRS has been on his own since he was itty bitty... And then he grew up in a world hell bent on killing everyone. I can't help but think that a tiny child with no one to help him with the general cuts/bruises/little hurts of childhood would 1) have zero frame of reference for what "okay" actually looks like 2) probably has never really received medical care beyond emergency assistance (which does jack for chronic conditions) and 3) has NEVER really had someone in his life long enough for them to catch his way of coping with pain (my very close friends can hear when I'm hurting/tired, everyone else only notices if I am visibly incapacitated)

So, Kim Rok Soo ends up in a world/body that "technically" hasn't experienced his life, HOWEVER fibromyalgia and PTSD are like goddamn pb&j. It's a condition that is deeply tied to a body's stress response. And what does Cale say once he has the Heart? "I feel BETTER"

And that just speaks to me of a person who is so used to pain, that it no longer really registers... I had daily headaches for 7 years, it wasn't until I moved and got a new primary that I found out that more than 4 headaches in a month was considered a concern... I got on some migraine meds and actually stopped having that daily headache, something id just accepted as "how my body works" gone,

I personally don't consider pain at a 1-2 as particularly bothersome, it's more like a general annoyance. Onces it's up to 6-7 it's hard for me to move, and yet I often will still do so, despite the pain. It's only at 9-10 so I stop moving entirely and focus on just weathering it. Usually when that happens, I sleep so much after as my body tries to recover.

And when I read Cale, so casually continuing forward, despite the work he takes on himself, after the constant planning and prepping and ass kicking, all I see is a person who has lived so long with his body's suffering that it's just background noise. Yeah, he coughed up some blood, but the pain is back to "normal" so how can he raise a fuss? He killed 3 monsters with a dislocated shoulder that one time, this? This is easy. And despite claiming his body is weak, he refuses to truly accept the help and rest he needs because (like I used to) Cale thinks "this is just how my body works"

Sometimes, I cannot remember how I lived prior to my pain. Sometimes, I cannot imagine a world where I do not spend half the night attempting to force my muscles to relax, so I can actually sleep. I cannot imagine a world where I am able to do everything I want in a day and not collapse at the end. And I see so much of myself in how Cale continues to move despite the weight of the ancient powers, the expectations of the gods and his own personal hopes. He seems like a character doomed to continue walking, his bones broken but refusing the care because whats the point if everything still hurts the same way in the end?

Anyway, Raon should invent a cure for chronic illness and force Cale into a year long sabbatical