#hating on gratitude culture

[furiousgoldfish]

me practicing gratitude: thank you for this mental illness, the lifetime of trauma, the chronic pain, the exhaustion, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the disorders, the poverty and the toxic people in my life... oh an of course thank you for the depression

[l0uterstella]

KEY MY NOTES ANALYSIS

aka fragmem was ALMOST happy for once full english lyrics updated: Mar 31 2024

Not much to theorize on for this? So again like All so Bad this is more of an analysis than a theory. This song is mainly about Kurode finding his way; Finding himself as his own person separate from his brother. His "notes" represent self-affirmation from himself and his members

"Until this desire dies out / Until my wish comes true" = Until he finally surpasses Merold. Bellflowers represent gratitude, everlasting love, and humility, but in some cultures, it also represents death, which is why people put Bellflowers along graves. They're open to things changing, just not yet. Kurode isn't ready to face Merold yet; He isn't ready to show his gratitude towards him (and isnt ready to see him die somehow), and so he hides his "key" away.

(Side note. "Someday the future will be a blank slate". Someday the future will be destroyed; aka the prophecy the stars tell the Stella twins in the voice drama of the Blue Continent being destroyed. Ciel I hate you)

The 6 stars in the back move like a compass, representing Blue Bouquet showing Kurode his way. Klark especially seems to be a big support for him. (and they were best friends)

Kurode's face almost looks like it's been ripped off, showing how he doesn't want to be recognized as Merold's brother.

(also notice how Klark's the only one that looks vaguely normal in this scene)

The song is a message (melody) to Merold, that Kurode will someday surpass him and finally be acknowledged.

MISCELLANEOUS STUFF

1. Klark keeps looking like a ghost. what. Also a big stretch but the glitch also makes him look like a soul. All so Bad souls for reference. The twins are actually biblically accurate angels or deities real not fake

2. More beheaded/eldritch Cielomort crumbs <3 (see Aozora no Memory theory)

3. Similar background as Aozora where Ciel's gem is falling. Kurode witnesses what happens to him?

4. There's this sequence of frames I'm not sure what to make of yet. Klark is alone but at the bottom, Kurode seems "faded" when Cielomort is there, but is back to normal when by himself. From the end of ep 1 of Blue's voice drama we know that Ciel is pretty ominous and not trusted by the Stella twins.

Even with the clumsiness under neither shade nor sunlight Sometimes we let go of our weakness Let me protect all of them if you need me to

[sciderman]

Sci I would like to speak to you about your quote on quote “Wade Wilson is half native Canadian” agenda pls it sounds Coolio

i haven't had the chance to do due research, and i don't have a lot of greater plans but i kind of just always like to make wade wilson a little more complicated than he appears, even if it's something he's buried. i don't want wade to be a plain toast white boy. not that white boys can't be complicated, but - you know, you know. i need more to sink my teeth into. and i'm kind of all about wade and peter consistently having parallels, and that being a strange sort of explanation for everything. for why they kind of hate each other but can't let each other go. for why they kind of understand each other better and are so forgiving of each other, over and over.

for - well, for why wade picked peter, specifically.

i think a huge motivation for wade wilson in 9319 - like, a huge motivator for all of his behaviours, and the reason why peter is such a vital part of his journey of self-improvement is that - he kind of lives vicariously through peter.

[x]

peter had, has, or has the opportunity to obtain everything wade wilson has ever wanted. peter embodies what wade wishes he was, and what he feels like he could be, if... if he was dealt a different hand, or whatever.

kind of obsessed with wade "could'a been, would'a been different, if i had what you had" wilson.

so wade kind of becomes obsessed with getting peter to reconcile all the pieces of his identity. all the things that wade sees in peter, that peter buries. and all the things that peter has, that he doesn't show gratitude for.

peter had a loving father figure, wade wishes he had that.

peter has a flawless bod. he should flaunt that.

peter is fruity as all get-out. he should be proud of that.

and – well, peter has a culture and a heritage too, that he's estranged from. he's jewish, but he wasn't raised that way because his parents left him.

[x]

it isn't a part of his life or identity that he's reconciled with. even though he could. it's something he doesn't do much with. it's not wrong of him, really, but peter has a tendency to reject vital parts of his identity just for fear of complicating his life. for fear. fear of being othered.

wade's obsessed with peter as a project, and kind of likes to live vicariously through peter. if he can improve peter and get peter to reconcile those missing parts of his identity then it's catharsis for him too. he can feel proud knowing peter's proud.

i just think it speaks to wade a little that he also has this heritage that he's estranged from. and it's one that can't be reconciled with, because not only is his mother gone, but his community is so dispersed and so forcibly assimilated that there's very few resources left for him to better understand his heritage. so, when he sees peter ignoring or rejecting this heritage that he has the means to rekindle, wade encourages peter. it's - it's this whole storyline i really wanted to do. where wade falls backwards over himself trying to throw peter a bar mitzvah because he's SO invested in peter reconciling his cultural identity.

and i think he's so invested because he doesn't have the chance to do it for himself.

same as him doting uncle ben because he didn't have that for himself either.

wade "i wish i had what you have" wilson, lovingly forcing one peter parker to count his blessings.

anyway this is just a thing that lives in my head all the time. don't know when it'll make it to the blog. but it's in my head, every time i write wade wilson. a boy who was "othered" in his community for every little piece of his identity. every little thing about him made him different. his heritage, his class, his gender expression – his brain.

[x]

he's a kid in a world that never felt built to fit.

[x]

thinking of him, always.

[vtoriacore]

✧ truly, he can’t hate you

note: since it was his birthday vv recently, i decided malleus needs to suffer and be sad and feel the thousand winds of torment and misery (this isn’t me wanting to see his OB form early at all or anything don’t look AT ME LIKE THAT GRRRR) ! but man did i miss writing angst and it just works so well with him so like . . . 🤭

tw: yandere, angst [no comfort]

synopsis: in which malleus cannot bring himself to be happy, having bound you both to shackles of anguish that he isn't willing to remove - no matter the cost.

Silence. It had been like this for quite a while now; he counted all the days, turned to weeks, turned to months. And yet, despite the crushing pressure of the unspoken words he knew you'd utter if you were more responsive, he finds that he doesn't mind it all too much anymore.

Or so he tells himself each time the dull ache comes back as his brilliant green eyes take in your form once more. He knows you can feel him gazing at you, and he knows that your policy of ignoring his existence will not be disturbed. He really should hate you for it but he doesn't.

He can't bring himself to, as after all he was the one to take you back with him all the way to Briar Valley. You always used to say that you hated the atmosphere of the place, and how often everything seemed too dim and sombre. He would always recount the way your once shining eyes settled on every grand structure, and how you'd grimace at the way the gargoyles on many of the stone walls would tower over everyone - never knowing if they were scrutinising or safeguarding.

Malleus hated to admit that it hurt. Absolutely loathed to admit that it stung and stabbed at his pallid skin until he'd have to forcibly stop himself relaying your cold disregard of his home, his culture, his identity. It left him feeling cold to the core and each time he'd only be more numb to your cruelty than the last. But it was never easy to bear nonetheless.

He supposed this was the only good thing about the ever present silence, but the knowledge of you despising anything and everything about his very substance still had him faltering and grasping at even the tiniest sliver of perceived reciprocation. He hated how you made him feel so desperate and fragile, but he could never hate you.

Admittedly though, he had begun to hate the circumstances you both found yourself in. First and foremost he didn't want to own up to the fact he had brought you here against your will (and he so wishes you'd understand it's for your own safety!) and that you were very clearly discontent with his actions. However, Malleus had hoped you'd show even the slightest bit of gratitude - he had to fight tooth and nail to get you to where you are now.

He shed blood, but not his own, to have you sitting beside him on this emerald bejewelled throne as a rightful ruler of the Briar Valley, and yet when you used to defiantly reject every concession he had ever made all you uttered with disgust was a curt "I hate this" followed by a prolonged "I hate you."

When you had learned of his slaying of an advisor for even suggesting to remarry someone else, you had stopped talking completely though. There were no more simple, short words to be spoken, but he understood the silence very well. He was after all, used to being alone. Used to the discreet glances of rejection from majority of those he had crossed paths with. But he just couldn't understand why you didn't see things the way he did.

Why couldn't you comprehend all the sacrifices he had made? Why couldn't you see the way he defied Lilia, his most trusted bodyguard, when he had gone against bringing you here? Why couldn't you realise the painstaking guilt he felt for imprisoning Silver for trying to help you escape? Why couldn't you discern the way he banished Sebek for an attempt on your life and how it made him want to claw at his throat to atone for his actions?

Were you this content to let every relationship of his dissipate into dust, as if they had never carried an ounce of meaning? Did you take pleasure in the way his feelings, very raw and ready to boil over, were being torn to shreds every passing second? Are you satisfied with how his memories spill out into a mirage of a sullied dream as he clutches at his chest until he loses awareness of his surroundings?

He honestly couldn't tell, and maybe -he rationalised with himself- that was for the better. Because for as long as you don't voice these thoughts and split his heart open, he'd be able to keep hanging onto the hope that one day you might just change your mind and be his last meaningful relationship. Ignorance may not be complete bliss, but it's far better than the awareness of his growing misery.

[flower-cage]

Denial

by @flower-cage

Ao3 | Masterlist | Part 2 to Scratch That (but can be read as a oneshot)

Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary: He could never deny you anything.

Words: 6,250

Warnings: 18+ only; Targcest/incest, explicit sexual content, dry humping, wet humping, mutual masturbation, purity culture, smut, a lot of fluff, and a little bit of angst because I decided to create a plot for it.

A/N: Again, this is self-indulgent, unedited, and cursed.

Minors do not interact.

He could never deny you anything. It had been this way ever since you were children and he lacked things of which to deny you. It had been this way regardless of whether you demanded anything of him, for he yearned to give you the world regardless.

“You spoil her rotten,” your mother would often chastise him. “We’re fortunate she does not have a single evil hair on her head.”

For every drop of the blood of the dragon in his veins, in yours, you carried instead a holy nectar. If he burned with rage, you only ever burned with love. And it being so - you being entirely made of good - how could he ever neglect to treat you accordingly? How could he find it in his heart to ever give you anything short of everything?

And how could he neglect the preference you awarded him? For, in truth, he only ever repaid your care and gentleness. You loved him wholly, unconditionally, and despite that which made him feared and often hated. No amount of attention, servitude, or devotion would ever suffice the gratitude you deserved - the gratitude he had for you.

So when you had asked him for more of his touch, for more of him, he did not deny you. When you had confessed your grievances, he did not dare deny you treatment.

But he did force himself to finally leave the temptations of your luscious lips, to lay by your side in the afterglow of your lovemaking. And he pulled you along so you could bury your face in your favorite hiding place on the crook of his neck. There you stayed for long minutes, sweat drying on your skin. He held you as firmly as you clung to him, and you breathed in one another and reacquainted yourselves with the warmth of your embrace. Your silence did not trouble him, for satisfaction glistened your skin and tugged a smile on your lips.

“How do you feel?” he whispered against your hair eventually.

You graced him with loving eyes, a loving smile.

“Happy,” you whispered back, saccharine voice flavoring his mind too soon with the memories of your lubricious sounds. “Cared for... Loved.”

“You are,” he kissed you, sucking on your lips minutely if only to hear your breath hitch. “You are so loved, my little darling.”

“I missed you dearly, Aemond,” your words wavered as your eyes glossed over.

“I am here now,” he whispered, shushing you quietly in a kiss. His lips couldn’t be satisfied now they had tasted yours.

Adrenaline thrummed in his flesh still. He sensed his elation elevating him, transcending the sensorial limits of the mortal and into the realm of the Seven, where they had granted him almighty euphoria. And yet, distantly he felt the icy grasp of reality, reaching to steal him back with its sobering claws. Reactively, his hold on you tightened. He wasn’t ready to let go.

“Will you spend the day with me?” he asked against your lips when they disjoined. He felt your smile before you uttered your answer.

“Mother will request your company, too.” 

He groaned, then, pulled you yet closer and buried his face in your neck, where his lips proceeded to abuse its sensitive skin. He wished to keep your tastes on his tongue until his very last breath. He wasn’t ready to let go.

“Request a bath and breakfast,” he instructed, “then dismiss your maids for the day. I will go and appease mother for a bit.”

Reluctantly, after engaging you in one last fervent embrace, leaving your eyes dark with desire, he left you in your immodesty: supple, warm, and delectable in the tangle of silk and feathers that had played field to your love.

When he made his way to his mother’s apartments, when she invited him to sit with her and break his fast, he told her that he must tend to his dragon, that he must take her to the skies and bond with her some lest she becomes too aggrieved by his prolonged absence. He gripped his hands firmly behind his back, feet planted wide and strong against the ground - her keen eyes would have observed his fidgeting too easily otherwise, and hold him yet longer until he confessed his wishes for hastiness.

“Do you know who is most aggrieved by your prolonged absence?” she looked at him poignantly over the rim of her teacup. Her unusually slow drawl irked him, and he wondered if she could still see his unwillingness to remain, if she amused herself with his torment. “Your youngest sister,” she answered her own question.

Often she inquired about the time he spent with you or sought excuses to include your name in conversation, watching carefully for denouncing reactions. Had he been a lesser man he would not notice the mildly ominous tone, the inquisitive gazes that accompanied these enunciations, or the travesty of curiosity that attempted to mask her true intentions.

Though he perceived that your closeness was strange to her, and perhaps to the entire court, never had she made her accusations too apparent, nor her smartly-concealed investigations too intrusive. Too greatly she trusted his dutifulness and, most of all, her own success in nurturing such quality. And you… your loyalty to him surpassed that which you reserved for your mother. He knew she had never attained a single damning remark from the mouth of her purest, sweetest little girl. He had made sure of it.

“Brother,” you had looked up at him one day, “why is it that we must hide our affections?”

A torrential tempest had brought unusually icy weather and heavy clouds which enshrouded the entire city for nearly seven days and seven nights. They shielded the light and the warmth of the sun, and only scarcely could day be told from night. During those days, he could not train with the sword, you could not share your tea in the gardens with your ladies, and neither of you could fly off on dragonback. Instead, you had bundled up in his chambers for many hours each day, studying your shared subjects and drinking honeyed wine. He read you obscure myths of the ancient North, dark tales of giants and skinchangers, until you became too scared to continue, begging him for lighter reading.

When you expressed your curiosity, mellow voice breaking him from his light rest, he had his back against the settee in front of the fireplace, keeping you on your preferred seat: amid his legs, against his chest, within his embrace. He leaned closer silently, and silently he littered your exposed shoulder, your neck, your cheek in devoted kisses.

“It is not proper, little love,” he purred against your soft, soft skin. Not unless we wedded, he wished to say, to entice you with such reflections.

“But why?” You giggled when he persisted in keeping his lips on your most ticklish spot, squirming away vainly.

“It is just the way things are, my love,” he ceased his torture, tilting your chin backward to secure your attention, “and you are not to speak of it either, understand? To no one. It is exceedingly vulgar to do so.”

When you nodded, wide eyes watching him gravely, adoration crept up his chest and his gut to leave fiery, fluttering sensations in its wake. Only the endless stream of kisses and caresses that followed as you rolled around on the plush carpet could have subsided it. He pressed his lips to your plump bosom, ran his eager fingers up your thigh, under your slip, eliciting giggles and gasps that boiled his blood with lust.

“Good girl,” he purred close to your face, his loose hair cascading around his face to enclose you, to make you his sole focus, the center of his entire world. He watched your giddy eyes, your juvenile smile, your lashes as they brushed the top of your flushed cheeks so delicately. “This is for our eyes only.”

When you dug your fingers into his hair and pulled him down gently to seal your lips together, he had to unite all the strength of his fimble character not to sink his cock inside you and drive you to the brink of insanity with the pleasure you deserved.

“I shall make sure to stop by her quarters, then,” he anchored his countenance in its stony preset, “sometime today.”

She watched him with those skeptical eyes for a heartbeat longer, nearly breaking his unimpressed resolve, before a saddened nod gave him leave.

He found you already sitting neck-deep in hot water, hair bound away from your shoulders, and absent-mindedly playing with the waning foam floating on the surface. He would never tire of how you lit up when your eyes first landed on him, whenever he walked into a room.

“I want to wash your hair!” you exclaimed, hands rising from the water to beckon him in urgently, splashing drops onto the ground in your excitement. 

His clothes went quickly, for he loathed to deny you of anything, to join you in the steaming scents of your bath. And you were quick to bury soapy fingers into his silver strands, coarse still with the salt of the Narrow Sea.

He delighted in your attentive touches, only partially listening to your prattling about the time you had spent with your sister Helaena in his long absence. Each gentle pull of his hair, each glide of your naked thighs against his, and the delectable sight of your breasts resting against the tightly-bound surface of the water held his attention too fiercely.

His gaze remained locked on your nipples as they pebbled in the cold air above the water. He watched as a drop slid too slowly down the curve of your breast to gather at the very tip of your little darkened button. His tongue tingled as it wished for that same fate. His subsequent hunger flooded his mouth, parted his lips so that he nearly drooled like a mindless beast. His fingers ran up your slippery legs of their own accord, squeezing the supple flesh of your hips to hear your breath catch, fondling your behind to hear your speech falter. They ascended along your torso, turning your skin rough with goosebumps until his thumbs poked through the water to find your wanton buds. He smiled when a gasp was ripped from your lips, as his thumbs traced the most sensitive encircling of your breasts.

“You like how I touch you, my little love?” His gaze locked onto yours to take in your desperate lust.

You nodded rapidly.

“Tell me,” he purred, inching closer to suck on the warm skin beneath your jaw. Again, your breath caught in a gasp.

“I love your touch, brother,” you whimpered, squirming on his lap at the continued, delicious abuse to your pulse point, to your plump bosom, nearer and nearer to where he wanted to taste the most. 

“Kiss me?” you pleaded, hands pulling on his wet hair as you struggled against your own hunger.

He could never deny you anything.

Gladly he took your tongue in his, languorously gliding one against the other, each sensual stroke leaving in its wake a stream of sparking sensations that translated into pleasure as it traveled down your bodies, only to pool between your legs. Lost in the daze of your desire and in the steam of your affections, you embraced for long minutes whence time seemed not to pass but hang around, permitting you the pleasure of each other’s passions.

“I have dreamt of loving you in this way many a night,” he panted roughly when you broke off, staring into your lust-darkened eyes and wishing for you to see the depth of his desire, “but not even my most nefarious fantasies conjured the satisfaction you gift me.”

Your lips, wet and bruised from his devoted kisses, parted in awe of his confessions. And your eyes, as they often did, glistened as your emotions overcame you.

“And yet,” he pulled you flush against his chest, grunting when his achingly rigid member pressed against your stomach, “I crave you only more.”

He groaned again when your mouth collided with his, your inexperienced tongue all too eager in exploring his mouth, learning how to please. But too soon you deprived him of your succulent lips, breaking away to look at him with trepid determination.

“Will you teach me,” you whispered abashedly, glancing quickly down between you, where the tip of his cock hid underneath a few inches of water, “how to satisfy you? How to… how to pleasure you?”

His hands squeezed your supple flesh in desperation, then, pulled you impossibly closer, drawing the most wanton moans from you as his fingers moved from your waist to your thighs, to your hips and your buttocks, then back again. Biting kisses assaulted the delicate skin of your breasts, the flat of his tongue finally rolling your sensitive nipples vehemently, lips trapping them in deliciously lewd sucking.

“You wish to touch my cock, little sister?” he murmured against you, making you shiver, hardened nipples grazing against his lips.

Again, you nodded, biting your tongue in shame of your cravings.

“Tell me, my little love,” he purred, watching you with an adoration much more appropriate for less lascivious interactions, “my little darling…,” but your free deliverance to him, to your desires, amazed him too greatly. “Tell me what you yearn for so I may give it to you.”

“I wish to touch…” your voice waned as your bravery to break boundaries faltered minutely, “I wish to touch your cock,” you whispered finally.

The very object of your desires twitched beneath the waters, under the decadent want etched in your words.

He could never deny you anything.

He blessed each of your knuckles with his lips before he guided your pliant hands toward where he burned for you the most. Through the rippling surface, his swollen tip could be seen slowly dripping his precocious pleasure, pulling tight at the encircling skin and leaving it exposed. 

He led your fingers down his shaft, hissing, nearing the threshold of his composure, wrapping them around the very base to encase him fully.

“Move them all the way up,” his voice was laced heavily with arousal as he instructed you, noses touching, lips tempting one another. 

Your wide eyes glanced quickly between your task and his own eye before you acted on his commands. He exhaled shakily when the tight ring of your hands brushed over the head. 

“Now all the way down.”

His hips bucked up when your hands pulled at the skin. He knew he would finish soon. For many years he had fulfilled his urges with the mere thoughts of sharing with you this carnal bliss. Now, the very connotation of your actions, the implication that you craved him in return, that you wished to pleasure and be pleasured by him, elicited a thrill, an arousal he suddenly did not know how to tolerate. It brought him so close to the brim of ecstasy, your touches could too easily push him over.

He watched, entranced, your arms encasing your breasts, jostling them most appetizingly as you stroked his pulsating member until he could no longer bear it. His head lulled backward to meet the edge of the tub when his vision blurred, when his pleasure turned excruciating, when his cock burst undone finally, peaking his arousal and releasing him into blissful relaxation. Groaning, he gripped onto your plump hips while his own twitched with the final waves of his arousal.

You peaked fast, too, when he brought his fingers to slide between your slick, sensitive folds. He swirled your sweet, swollen pearl of pleasure until you squirmed against his chest, whimpered against his neck brokenly, whined his name like a mantra, accepting the release he granted you.

“Was I… Was it to your liking, dear brother?” You mumbled timidly when he helped you out of the cooling water.

His sweet little sister - always concerned with pleasing him, loving him. It never failed to evoke a sensation like the bursting of bright light in his chest, nothing alike the Dragonfire of his rage, but pacifying and liberating like flying. He smiled despite your worry, his warm hands cupped your face and his lips met yours in an imitation of your very first kiss.

“You were entirely perfect,” he murmured. He brushed your noses together before he took your lips again, and his kiss was full and passionate until he tasted salt dripping onto his lips. “I love you more than anything, little darling.”

After wiping tears from your cheeks, he dressed you in his gift left abandoned on your bed. You had unwrapped it eagerly to reveal a lavender satin slip and robe, and he was all too eager to watch the fabric slide along your soft skin. 

In his arms is where he kept you until the sun rose again the next morrow, where you shared your meals, where you heard the stories he brought from abroad, and where you finally drifted off in the dead of night.

He had not known what to expect of you when he finally introduced you to the wonders of carnal affections. Too long he had been too careful of releasing his entire devotion onto you, had been too controlling of his cravings in his consideration of your trust and, perhaps most primarily, your innocence. So long, in fact, he failed to perceive when you had slipped away from the limitations of your minority and into the sensorial complexity of womanhood. Your persisting girlish disposition, too, masked the maturity which developed in ways he was slow to perceive. 

No longer did the youngest Targaryen opt for sweet teas to accompany her meals, preferring instead to share with her siblings a jar or two of strong red wine. A couple of times, even, he had retrieved you from Aegon’s apartments, where you stumbled on your feet and around your words after an evening of too much indulgence. No longer did your Septa chase you around for your lessons in womanly courtesies, and neither had you any interest in plush dolls, preferring instead to collect elegant jewelry. Sure, your eyes glistened still at his professions of love and simple scoldings alike, but your smile now turned devilish when his hands ventured into intimate territories.

He sat in his study one night shortly after his journey to the Dornish capital, working diligently on too many tasks left unattended. The future King had continuously failed to pick up on his responsibilities, choosing instead to pick up his cups and his whores and leaving to him the kingly duties whose concessions he would never reap. Although it sometimes irked him immensely, he had long learned from his own mother that those unprivileged in the familial hierarchy - the women, the second sons - had to shield themselves with knowledge. In her hypocrisy, however, she had kept you from that notion for the same reason he had concealed from you the true decadence of your affections, the true necessity for secrecy - so that she may make use of your naiveté.

Although, he reminded himself often, he had so far only brought you love and pleasure. Had only ever failed to deny your every whim.

He was most intrigued, then, when you had walked in late that night, wearing still your court-appropriate dressing gown and missing the jolly skip you often carried in your feet, to reveal your most recent occupations. When you plopped down silently on his lap, tucking your feet between his thighs and your nose under his jaw, he held you close in his arms.

“And where have you been off to?” he asked, burying his nose in your braided hair to breathe in your lovely scent, allowing it to wash away the tension that had stiffened his shoulders.

“Hm? I haven’t seen you all day,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, descending his lips to the side of your face and your neck, littering your skin with soft kisses. “And you were not there when I came to your chambers to kiss you goodnight. I’ve missed you.”

His intimate confession made you sit up in his embrace, smiling at him sheepishly when you pressed your lips to his.

“I’ve been helping mother write letters to the entire Realm,” you pouted at him, jutting out your bottom lip. The gesture is one of many that often had him forget how much you have grown.

When you raised your fingers to show him ink stains and raw skin resulting from your efforts, he took them to his lips, kissing away the pain with as much gentleness as he could muster in light of his rough nature. Yes, he thought to himself once more, whereas his mother abused your generosity, he only ever reciprocated.

“My poor, sweet girl,” he pecked your pouting lips, willing them to upturn once more, but they stubbornly remained the same.

He reached for a vial of ointment he kept on his desk, warming the viscous substance between his fingers before massaging it onto your aching joints. You hummed appreciatively, hissing only when he pressed against the most sensitive spots, melting back into his embrace, and nuzzling back into the crook of his neck. Blindly you reached for the leather band that covered his sapphire eye, freeing him from its binding to reciprocate his affections, rubbing the angry red dents the rough material always left behind when he neglected to remove it.

“And grandsire has made me sit at small council meetings in your absence.”

He stilled beneath your touch. Your sudden inclusion into court affairs was most unusual, and his mother and grandfather's intentions were seldom not part of greater schemes. He tilted his face into your palm, planting a kiss there to mask his uneasiness.

“Do you know why?”

He felt your attempt to bite down a mischievous smile against his neck, but soon you broke into delighted giggles, sitting up with the force of them. His worry was alleviated momentarily, warmed by the return of your high spirits, even if they had come at his expense. He had missed your angelic aura terribly in the long nights he had endured in the kingdom of endless sand. The sight made something burn within him, made him want to give you everything. His own smile broke out on its own accord.

“Come here,” he pulled you back to his chest when your incessant giggling threatened to topple you off his lap. “Are you laughing at me, you impish little girl?” he asked playfully between gritted teeth, eliciting more laughter to fall from your lips.

“No!” you exclaimed, hands framing his face. “I merely wished to keep it a secret a while longer… make it a surprise…”

“Make what a surprise, my love?” He pecked your lips, squeezed your sides to hear you squeal. “C’mon,” he hummed.

“We are going on a procession across the Kingdoms, you and I!”

He frowned, and with it, his amusement faltered.

“It is why I’ve been helping at court,” you mumbled, fiddling with his shirt collar as you noticed his vacillation. “Mother said it would do me well to know the Realm better,” you continued, worry pulling a pout from your lips again, flooding your eyes with the threat of tears, “and to impress the great Houses when we pay them visit.”

To know the Realm better. To know the lords of the Realm better. Icy dread filled his gut as his heart dropped to his stomach. Of course, as he failed to acknowledge your maturity, your mother had been quick to take advantage of it, planning to sell you off in exchange for political preference at your first signs of womanhood. He didn’t want to wonder how far negotiations had gone during his absence - how soon you were to be taken away from him.

“And I requested that you join as my protector,” you explained, moving your hands from his jaw to wrap around his shoulders, breaking him out of his misery. “So that we may see the Kingdom together, see all the places we always read about.”

He met your eyes again - kind, hopeful, loving. You were his. You chose him. You loved him. No one would take you away, he wouldn’t allow it even if he had to burn the entire world to secure it. He couldn’t allow it, for no one would ever love you as he did, no one would bring you such happiness. He took your lips in his desperation to assure himself you were entirely his, fingers digging into the thick layers of your dress as if you were about to bolt out the door, never to return.

“Will you accompany me, then?” you asked him when you broke apart, panting, lips glistened, eyes hooded. “Will you protect me?”

“Of course, my love,” he whispered where you shared your breaths. “Always.”

He would never deny you anything.

He had not known what to expect of you when he finally introduced you to the wonders of carnal affections. And he certainly did not expect you to match his desire, to crave and demand him. But you did all of that. And he reveled in it.

You were the first to pull away from his lips, to lean over and run your tongue and teeth over the spots on his neck that shot pleasure downwards, having it pool on his stiff member. You ground yourself against it as it speared up easily against his cotton pants and all that he could do was hiss and cant his hips to meet yours. It drove him wild, your free exhibition of pure want, and he was left panting, moaning shakily, and simply waiting to see what else you would request of him.

You brought his hands to your thighs, to the edges of your bunched-up skirts.

“You want me,” he begged even though he hadn’t posed a question, “you love me.”

His voice trembled as he whispered into your parted lips, amidst kisses so deep they threatened to reach for his soul and bare it before your eyes along with every sin and weakness of his frail, mortal character.

“I do,” you whimpered, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as a plethora of emotions inundated you from within, “I love you, Aemond.”

It was his turn, then, to draw shaky moans and pleased gasps from you as he brought his hot, wet tongue to your jaw, your neck. He gripped the flesh of your hips from beneath your skirts, rolling you against him. With each movement, his shaft bumped your swollen pearl and pressed along your most sensitive inner lips, even through the remaining layers, slowly leading you both into ecstasy.

He brought his lips to your ear lobe, sucking on it before moving on to dip his tongue in the shell of your ear, nipping at it and loving the way your body shivered violently against him.

“I love you more than anything, little darling,” he purred.

Fervently you squirmed on his lap, whimpering unabashedly, tits pressing onto his hard chest, fingers gripping too tightly onto his hair, hips uncontrollably delivering your weeping cunt onto his pulsing cock. As his eyes drifted shut he could easily imagine himself sinking between your slick lips to be enveloped by your tight, virgin walls, reaching the spot which would provide you with the utmost pleasure.

Your renewed vigor drove him yet again too close to the limits of his sanity. He reached for your smallclothes to tear them apart, undoubtedly leaving bruises where they snapped open on your skin because he couldn’t bear the idea of separating from you for even a second. And he could not control his urge to slip his fingers into the slippery mess you made for him, its heat burning the tip of his fingers. He refrained, however, to bring your juices to his lips, for the first time he tasted it he wanted to have his face buried in your eager cunt.

Lifting your hips from his momentarily, he freed his cock from its cloth trappings - aching in his immense arousal, head angry red where it swelled and pulled tautly the skin around it, dripping continuously down his thick shaft. He watched your lips fall apart, glistening with his own spit when he stroked himself earnestly to relieve him of his bestial appetite. Your eyes trained on his member as he abused it, and he wished for nothing more than to sink it between your soft lips, and have you moan around him as his taste dripped onto your willing tongue.

“See anything to your liking, little sister?” he groaned, then chuckled when your eyes met his, widening in shame. “It’s alright to think so, my love,” he reassured.

“It looks hurtful…” your widened eyes returned to watch his vigorous fisting.

“Does it hurt when I do it to you?”

Before you could shake your head in denial, he released his hot shaft to bring his fingers instead to your button of pleasure, wet and swollen with want.

“Oh, oh, oh,” your little gasps tumbled out uncontrollably as his fingertips flew against you, merely grazing your little button, but the touch so fast it vibrated it into excruciating euphoria.

The wet sounds of his rapid ministrations were exceedingly obscene in the silence of his study. Your whines turned into yelps as you bent forward with the intensity of your bliss, and even though it didn’t allow you to sit still, his relentless fingers never detached from your cunt as you squirmed continuously. Your pleasure crept up and up into your little pearl, gathering there and making it increasingly sensitive until it finally burst out in long, tortuous waves. Each electrifying discharge undulated throughout your body, tingling your skin in its wake and jostling you forward against him. You clung onto him desperately as he forced pleasure to overtake you.

No sooner had you reached your peak did he bring the tip of his cock to continue the abuse to your sensitive, little button. You whimpered against his neck in your overstimulation, but he pulled you by your hair to reconnect your lips and, with great patience, he dragged you back to the precipice of intoxicating arousal.

“Aemond,” you whined against his lips, and he took the moment to appreciate you in all your debauched, ethereal beauty: lips puffed, eyes glossed over, hair coming undone from its binding to stick to your sweaty face and neck, eyes impossibly wanton.

“Do I make you feel good, little darling?” he grunted, hand flying once more along his shaft. “Will you give me another one?”

He moved his thumb to your pleasure button, swirling your stickiness diligently.

“Yes!” You exclaimed around startled gasps when he lodged his dripping tip into your cunt, pressing and teasing against the thin barrier that kept your maidenhead. As he fisted himself furiously, his engorged head quivered against it, threatening to push further, catching on the edges of your entrance deliciously.

“Be still,” he grunted behind gritted teeth as you attempted to throw your cunt backward and take in more of him. Lest I break into your innocence, he thought mournfully.

You chanted his name again and again at the cresting of the foreign, delirious sensation as it amounted to the shocking pleasure of his thumb against your pearl. And when you peaked you did so violently, wailing and trembling, hands grasping onto wherever part of him you could reach for support. And it was the fluttering of your little opening, squeezing the very tip of him that sent him tumbling over the edge with you. He shuddered as he did, as he watched his spent paint over your swollen cunt, trickle down your thighs.

A muffled chuckle brought him out of his reverie as he held you and delighted in the scorching warmth you shared, in the bliss of your impassioned embrace. At his gentle pull on your hair, you sat up to regard him, blinking slowly as fatigue took over.

“That was…” you sing-songed, playing with the ends of his hair, “lovely.” You graced him with a mischievous smile, not as ashamed of your lewdness as you once were. 

“Hm?” he teased back. “I thought it was fantastic.”

You broke into a fit of giggles yet again, dropping yourself back onto his chest. He held you through it, allowing you to ride the wave of delight he had caused you, grateful for the lightness of your spirit. When it dwindled, at last, you sighed heavily.

“Tired, my love?” he whispered.

“Incredibly so.”

With his remaining strength, he lifted you in his arms and carried you over to his bedchamber, connected to his study. He helped you into your night slip and unknotted the remaining braids on your hair. And it was much later as you drifted off between his arms that he felt your lips move against the column of his throat.

“I hoped that you would enjoy the idea of us leaving court for a while…” you mumbled, “just the two of us… I think we will have a lot of fun.”

“You are right, little love,” he whispered back, allowing himself to imagine a world where neither of you was bound by your duties to the Realm or to your family, where you traveled on dragonback collecting stories. “I think we will have fun.”

“So I have been debased to parading our little Princess around the Realm, for the pleasures of noblemen?”

He confronted his mother the very next day when she broke her fast in her apartments. He kept his anger to a subject comfortable to her - his humiliation - rather than revealing his true hatred. She merely sighed heavily for a moment, fixing on him a gaze as steady and unbreakable as his own. She let out as little as he did in her countenance, and they fought a silent battle for a while before she sighed again.

“She was the one to request your company,” she waived her hand dismissively, pausing to sip her strong tea, “and never have I known you to deny her anything. So yes,” she argued, “I assigned you to protect her.”

He looked away in his annoyance, unwilling to admit the loss, humming pensively.

“But if you wish not to do it,” she continued, “I can easily assign instead a member of the Kingsguard-”

“You know none else would protect her as well as I,” he was quick to cut through her reasoning.

“Good,” she stated, breaking into a piece of bread, “because that is not your sole mission for this procession.”

She wiped her hands on her napkin before reaching into a hidden pocket in her skirts and pulling out a small roll of parchment. He was hesitant to open it, but she urged him with a raise of her brows that left no room for argument. Its contents halted the easy passage of air into his lungs.

Jason Lannister. Wilfred Westerling. Edwyn Tully. Joffrey Arryn. Daenal Darklyn. 

The list went on and on.

“Those are the lords your grandsire and I have deemed most worthy of your sister’s hand,” she added casually as if she had no intention to give his entire life over to some petty lord far away. “And who have made the largest bids… so far.”

“Most are much too old for her,” he managed to spit out, his throat constricted at her implication that, in the end, the highest bidder he could find would be allowed the privilege to purchase you… to marry you.

“She is of age,” his mother argued, picking at slices of apples and oranges on her plate. Her continued casualty in the matter boiled his blood. She seemed untroubled, even eager to rid herself of you. He could not bear the mere thought.

“Barely,” he countered.

Finally, she desisted of her meal to regard him gravely again, sighing as if the weight of the Realm rested on her shoulders.

“You know what is coming,” she muttered, mindful of the few servants who walked in and out of her chambers. “Each day your father’s health declines and we approach the day when the line of succession will be contested.”

It was his turn to sigh, then. He knew this.

“You know this will happen regardless of whether we place Aegon on that throne,” she carried on. “The Realm will rather burn than bend the knee to a woman who sired only bastards.”

She rose from her seat of comfort to take his arms in hers, holding his gaze steadily, gravely.

“We will not survive unless we have strong supporters,” she whispered, her voice wavering.

His grip on her tightened as he matched her vehemence. He knew this.

“I will ensure we come back with great allies,” he determined. But I shall do it my way.

Satisfied with his answer, she turned and walked back to her dining table, and he turned to take his leave.

“Make sure you find yourself a wife in the process, will you?” Her tone was casual again, as if her previous intensity was but a mask meant for manipulation. “It is past the time you, too, wedded.”

He hesitated at the door shortly, with a hand against the wood, and did not look back as he answered.

“Yes, mother,” he hummed, “I shall come back with a bride.”

A/N: there will be a Part 3.

[glazedyam]

Mina FLUFF Alphabet

Wc: 1.35k

Warnings: Mentions of a dominant side (???) (that shameless self promo tho)

A-Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?)

Mina likes gaming with her girlfriend, especially co-op games like Minecraft and Stardew Valley. She enjoys the more open world type of games, as well as role playing games and visual novels. She loves to spend time playing these games with you, making fun of the cheesy dialogues, the characters you both hate… It’s all just a fun experience for both of you.

B-Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

Your hands. How fast they move while you’re playing is amazing, and of course she loves to hold them and feel their warmth and softness.

C-Comfort (how would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?)

She’s not good at comforting people, since she has never been good at comforting herself, as she usually suffers from anxiety, but she has learned that the best way to comfort you is to be by your side and remind you how much she loves you.

D-Dreams (how do they picture the future with their s/o?)

Married and without children. I don’t see her wanting kids. She would like to live her youth with you and then settle down once she’s made a career and a successful woman out of herself.

E-Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or rather passive?)

She’s the dominant one for sure. She just loves feeling like for once she has control over something.

If you want to see more of Mina’s “dominant side” ;), check out her NSFW Alphabet in my profile. (LOL SHAMELESS SELF PROMO)

F-Fun (what do they do for fun with their s/o? what’s their idea of a fun day out?)

I already mentioned gaming but I think Mina is into the more classical and refined things in life, like going to the ballet, a fancy restaurant… She just wants to treat you right and show you she can be a cultured woman. 

G-Gratitude (how grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?)

She’s so grateful you’re in her life… It’s so unreal to her, sometimes, when she wakes up in the morning and has you by her side, she feels her heart swelling with content, and she hugs you close to her chest.

H-Honesty (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?)

She shares most things with you, not everything, since she’s afraid you’ll judge her, but she tries to be as honest as possible.

I-Inspiration (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?)

If you’re extroverted, you changed her in the sense that you showed her that her shyness is something she doesn’t have to overcome but bear with it.

If you’re introverted you showed her that she doesn’t have to be in control all the time, and that she can take time for herself. 

J-Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?)

Mina doesn’t get jealous like people normally get jealous, she goes through different stages of emotions beforehand: first, she gets depressed at the thought of someone making you happier; second, she gets angry at herself, and begins critiquing every single fiber of her being; third, jealousy sets in, and her dominant side gets the best of her and she has to remind you you’re hers.

K-Kisses (are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?).

Mina’s kisses are soft and filled with love. 

Your first kiss was awkward, filled with anxious thoughts of “what if she doesn’t like me like that?” “What if I ruin our friendship?” “What if she thinks I’m disgusting?” and since you weren’t taking the lead, Mina decided not to wait anymore and went in for the kiss. 

L-Love confession (how would they confess to their s/o?)

I feel like Mina would confess in a pretty conventional way, by giving you flowers with a note on them, by writing you a letter or a song. 

M-Mornings (what’s it like waking up with them? do they sleep late or wake up before the sun rises?)

Like I said before, Mina feels so fortunate that she gets to wake up with you by her side in the mornings, but how about how you feel? Well, Mina sleeps pretty late, she stays up on her computer or on her phone, but when she goes to sleep with you she huddles closer and you can feel her warmth hitting you.

N-Nicknames (what do they call their s/o?)

The classic: babe.

P-PDA (how are they with PDA? is it fun to them or are they more reserved with their affection?)

Mina isn’t into PDA, since she’s shy and anxious. Please be patient with her !!! she loves you but she just doesn’t like to demonstrate her love in public. 

Q-Quirk (some random thing they do when they’re with you for no reason in particular)

She likes to smell you. It’s weird, I know, but please don’t make her feel bad about it. She just loves your scent. 

R-Romance (how romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?)

Mina is a romantic at heart. She enjoys treating you right, and by right I mean taking you out to a fancy restaurant, to the ballet, to the opera if that’s what you’d like, to the theater, you get me, she’s rather cliché in that aspect.

S-Support (are they helping their s/o achieve their goals do they believe in them?)

Yes! Mina is very supportive of your goals. She wants to see you succeed and be happy, so she’ll be there along the way to be with you.

T-Thrill (do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship or do they prefer a certain routine?)

She prefers the routine. Lazy days where you order take-out and watch TV, nights where you stay up late (or never go to sleep) playing games, and video calls despite being in the same house just in a different room… just doing stuff you guys love is enough.

U-Understanding (how good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

Mina wants to know you like the palm of her hand. That’s how well she wants to get to know you. She loves to pay attention to intricate details of what you do and how you do it, that’s why she likes your hands so much, because she gets to observe you doing things. 

V-Value (how important is the relationship to them? What is its worth in comparison to other things in their life?).

Very important. She loves you and wants you to be happy.

W-Wild card (a random fluff headcanon?), 

You see in Minecraft where there’s the typical “one goes to get the resources, one builds the house” well, Mina is both, she gets the resources and builds you a house so you can concentrate on picking flowers and feeding animals. 

X-XOXO (Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?)

She’s 100% a cuddlebug. She just wants to feel your comforting warmth at all times ☹️is that too much to ask? So be a good girlfriend and go cuddle her!!

Y- Yearning (how will they cope when they are missing their partner?)

She’s not whiny, as other members would be, but she can get sad and depressed when she’s busy with work and she misses you. She wants to be with you, but understands that she needs to work and make a living.

Z-Zeal (are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?)

Hmm, yes to great lengths, for example: if her parents don’t approve of you, she’ll fight for you! If distance separates you, she’ll call you everyday or every night and talk to you as much as she can! 

😳 I’m getting butterflies thinking about Mina fighting for me, so we might get fic of that soon. Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed it! Even if it's crappy ;_;

[bubblegum-gloss]

How to be beautiful ໒꒱

Just know I'm not expecting you and that you don't have to become a confident bad bitch out of sudden and it's okay feeling unmotivated. I know sometimes even getting out of bed it's exhausting, don't punish yourself and think you're doing it wrong. This is YOUR journey, everyone has different ones, no one can judge you. Besides, I believe in you <3

♡ Find your definition of beauty. I know the "beauty is in the inside" speech seems overused, but it's true! Beauty is spirit! It's everywhere! Find out what you find beautiful. Is it as simple as a child's laugh?or is it big noses or long hair? Animals and the sun light? Honesty and kindness? Find out what traits you want for yourself, what you find beautiful in other people, what makes you feel fulfilled and what you want in your life!

♡ Focus on what you like. Stop watching that TikToker you know you hate. Don't reply to that racist tweet, believe me, it won't change their mind. Instead, watch an old cartoon you used to love as a kid or read a cringy fanfic just for the laughs. Stop giving importance to the immature people calling you ugly for insignificant things like pimples or wrinkles. When I was feeling bad for not receive the approval that I wanted from certain people, it helped me a lot hearing Melanie Martinez say "Try not to expect shallow people to love you, they don't even have the capacity to understand how amazing you are"

♡ Appreciate and make other people feel good. This is just as simple as saying "thanks" to any person offering you a service (like a waiter, for example) or doing a nice detail for a friend just because. This also includes keeping a gratitude journal, or just think about all the good things that happened during the day before falling asleep.

♡ Culture yourself. Something that always defined me is my curiosity, my hunger to be better and become even more knowledgeable. It's something I'm proud of and I wanna popularize. Learning for fun! Don't read a large, boring and complex book that doesn't interest you because you think you have to. Reading a short book, that may not be as "intellectual" for others but that you find interesting is valid! And learning whatever makes you happy it's also valid!

♡ You may also learn about your hair type and skin type (it's okay if you can't afford expensive products, you may just avoid bad habits) and about nutrition and exercise. (I personally exercise to show love to my body and keep it healthy, not entirely for my physical appearance or weight)

♡ Don't limit yourself. It makes me so sad when I look at comments of girls saying that they can't use the makeup or wear clothes they like because of their body, acne or even SKIN COLOR (I'll never understand why dark skin would be a disadvantage, believe me: your skin is beautiful and it's not a obstacles for anything) Please, your body is not a problem. People who tell you you can't wear crop tops because of your belly are not worth it! And don't put yourself into a box. I'm not someone who complains about aesthetics (most cases they are subcultures, which are not dumb and they should be respected) but it's a problem if you're turning yourself into an stereotype, like the whole bimbo "feminism" thing (that I'll keep repeating: ITS NOT EMPOWERING)

That's all I have to say for now! I really hope this contributes something for you and I hope you do great. Sending blessings for you all! ♡

[avpdcultureis]

Avpd culture is having SO much money anxiety. I cant look at restaurant bulls without feeling sick i cant listen to my parents talk about money I feel so immeasurably guilty i cant fucking stand knowing that i cost money to keep alive i hate knowing that everything i do costs money and a lot of it bc im going to go to college in the near future and im not ready im not going to be able to stand in a freshman dorm room and keep my lunch inside of my stomach i wont be able to think about the probably 40+ thousand dollars thats going to be spent PER YEAR towards my education without wanting to fucking rip my skin off. I feel like such a spoiled fucking brat for being able to afford luxuries that others cant i feel like theyre so wasted on me i know its not my fault and you can't win in a capitalist system but i still feel like its my fault and im being ungrateful when i try my best to be thankful for everything i have and to understand the sheer sacrifice my parents make and i show my gratitude at every chance i get but the guilt is insane i cant escape the guilt. I know itll get worse when im on my own and have my own career and i pay for everything. Its like im not meant to survive. Im sorry if this is a long one, watching a show about rich people being spoiled arrogant insanely disrespectful assholes makes me think im no different and i deserve to suffer

-🍬

.

[susansontag]

I haven't seen many people stressing this point, but it is important to foreground that the ways in which people have conflated jewish people and the israeli government, and in this case I'm talking about pro-israel people, bc it actually is insane if you compare it to the way in which we talk about any other group. if you're a prominent jewish intellectual, celebrity, etc, and you have said something even moderately critical of israel, you can get branded a self-hating jew who doesn't understand your own culture, its significance, how much israel has done for you, etc. it doesn't matter how factual your criticisms are, it doesn't matter how well-regarded you are or how good your grasp is of the history, you will have even non-jewish pro-israel commentators regarding you as though you're a pariah who doesn't understand the stakes.

and this, when compared with any other group and nation, is insane. imagine british citizens commonly being called anti-british for daring to speak out against their government. imagine them being told they just don't have a good enough grasp on their history and culture by even non-british people. imagine it not even mattering one bit the ideology of the party in power — right-wing, nationalist, left-wing, liberal — if you spoke out against the state as such, no matter if your own politics are reflected or not by the party currently passing policy, you are some kind of pariah who has positioned yourself as anti your own people's existence. and now imagine people of british heritage but who have never lived in the place, who owe it little to nothing, also being held to this standard.

this is insanity! it shows how incredibly successful the propaganda campaign has been that a jewish person daring to say something bad about israel would even be deemed slightly suspicious or, more commonly, awkward. you simply would never get this reception from any but the most patriotic nationalists for any other state, or else you'd get it from your government themselves if they criticised you for lack of loyalty, or even branded you a national security threat. and if they did, it would be recognised instantly by the common person as a fundamental violation of a group's human rights, of their ability to safely criticise their government (or a government who claims to speak in their interest), and of their freedom of expression and belief more broadly. if china was branding every dissenter as a traitor and threat we all know damn well europeans would be up in arms, because in that case we've been encouraged to think in an entirely contrasting way.

a nation state tells its citizens stories to justify it behaving the way it is. israel isn't special in this regard, but it's an example of where many people, even those entirely unaffiliated with israel, have fully accepted the relevant mythology — that the longevity of jews (in general) is necessarily tied to the state of israel and therefore justifies anything israel deems necessary for national security, and that anybody, jewish or otherwise, who suggests otherwise has necessarily positioned themselves as against the longevity and continued existence of jewish people and culture. we would never typically accept this kind of faulty yet extreme rhetoric if it were applied to other populations of people and would criticise it for being the controlling, limiting, and censorious ideology that it is. if we agree minority groups are allowed to speak truth to power and not show their undying political loyalty and gratitude to those professing to speak in their place then we agree this is a fundamental right across the board for everyone, no exceptions.

[tragedyofdevotion]

Tea

Wanderer x reader, implied Cyno x reader

Slight Angst

Spoilers for Genshin impact version 3.3 archon quest

Wanderer is fond of bitter things. He likes tea, he likes Chazuke. However, he now knows that there is one bitter thing he hates, his feelings for you.

It feels bitter, from inside of his mouth. And he did not even drink tea. The hole inside his chest feels emptier than usual and his stomach feels funny. He knows what this feeling is. This is what human calls hatred. It is funny how he is capable of feeling hatred even though he does not have a heart to feel.

Even now, he gets that bitter, bitter taste as he watches you smiling happily. He feels like walking towards you and stripping that smile out of your face. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because you don’t deserve it.

…

You had been nothing but kind to him when he was a harbinger and a false god. Even someone like him can feel a semblance of gratitude for all you had done for him when he was being experimented repeatedly by the damnable Doctor and the sages.

You first met him in Sumeru when you accidentally wandered into his factory. Seeing him broken and battered, you tried to heal him with your Dendro vision, not realizing he was a puppet. After that, too, you sneaked in again and met him regularly after failing to convince him to ran away.

…

Eventually, he walked towards you. He had to gave you back your stupid handkerchief that your ignorant, careless self had dropped.

“Excuse me, you dropped this.”

He handed you the silk handkerchief with the mark of the Sumeru rose embroidered in the corner. You instantly looked back at him with that disgustingly pure eyes of yours who has never faced a single cruelty of the world, completely opposite of him.

“Oh! That’s the handkerchief I was planning to give to Cyno! Thank you very much, Mister- May I know your name?”

“Wanderer.”

“Thank you very much, Mister Wanderer? You have such a weird name, Mister Wanderer.”

Oh, so, this time you are giving this handkerchief to that Mahamatra. He knows what will happen after giving it. You will confess about your foolish little crush to him.

“How utterly pointless,” he thought.

In the previous timeline, you gave the exact same handkerchief to him and confess with the blushful dusts covering your cheeks after sneaking into his factory. Of course, he laughed at your naïve confession because at that time, he was trying to overcome all feelings.

He still cannot forget the way you ran out of his chamber, eyes stained with tears and apologies coming out of your mouth. But now, he can see clearly what a liar you are. You said that you will love him no matter what kind of fate the Tayvet has to offer. And now, you will say that to another man, won’t you?

Well, it is great that you will be confessing to an equally foolish man. Unlike him, that imbecile will treat you right. You two will surely make a well-matched couple that most humans deem as soulmates.

There it is again. That bitter feeling. He normally enjoyed drinking bitter tea but this feeling, he hates it from the bottom of his heart, should he have one.

Ignorant to the hatred boiling in his chest, you mumbled continuously.

“Really, thank you very much, Mister-wanderer. This is very important to me. Oh! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is y/n. I am a scholar at the Academia. I am guessing Mister-wanderer is from Inazuma, right? I have seen the Inazuma people who wear such clothing. If you don’t mind, will you share some story from your native place. I am doing a study about the different cultures of seven nations, you see.”

Now, you are sharing all your information to a man you just met. He see that guileless habit of yours remains the same even in this universe. Don’t you ever think about what will happen if he misuse the information.

And just as he is about to warn you not to be too trusting, he felt a presence behind him and looked back.

“I have nothing to say,” he replied curtly.

“Cyno! You are here. I have been waiting.”

You brightened instantly.

“Sorry, I was late. The mission took longer than expected,” the man said as he looked warily at him.

Perhaps noticing that he was no ordinary person, Cyno walked up and stood protectively by your side.

“No, it was okay. I was also having a conversation with this mister. He was kind enough to bring me something I dropped.” You said, not noticing the tension between the two men.

And then, he understood, you can remain pure and sweet now because that man beside you will protect your innocence.

Emotions are strange things because he felt two extremes of relief and sadness by the knowledge that someone will keep you safe. Aren’t they opposite to each other? Why does he experience both at the same time? He will have to ask this to Buer when he meet her.

For a moment, though, he is glad that he does not have a heart. Because he feels like the unbearably bitter feeling would become worse if he had a heart in his empty hole.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

Every time I contemplate responding to my latest round of ao3 comments, I feel like I'm contorting myself into a shape that isn't comfortable to me.

It's not that they're bad comments, or that I don't want to talk about my writing, it's just that the format makes me think "I wish to god we were just having this conversation over DMs instead".

Like, it's both overly formal AND too brief to say anything meaningful, because the expected one-two punch of [compliments]-->[gratitude] in a reader-author comment interactions means that anything substantial I say gets taken as The Last Word, rather than an opening into a more extended line of discussion. There's not much chance for anyone to expand on what they're saying via any kind of dialectic process.

It honestly makes me more inclined to follow through with my plan on turning off comments for my next fic. I just... hate the format, and I hate the site culture.

[missielynne]

Another Eric hater here but more so I hate how Jay and Sam found out he was lying and then decided to gaslight her further to cover for him and keep on saying "yeah he lied but I believe he's good for you!" Like they try and compare it to how Sam lied with her and Jay's meet cute but that's a totally different thing.

It's funny because this show sometimes suffers from the opposite problem I have with the BBC version. In the UK version I wish people would be share more moments of gratitude and communication (example being Mike thanking Robin for saving his effing life! And Alison having a heart to heart with Kitty in the finale). But in this one I kind of wish people sometimes were a bit less forgiving? Or at least got angrier with each other. Another example I have being when Thor possessed Sam and stayed in her against her will and ruined her Christmas and she was way too chill about it. But also they need to tell Eric to GTFO.

Totally agree about that opposite problem thing. That is why I'm always full of joy when Jay is like "Sam, the ghosts screwed up! Yell at them! Yell at them or I will!" I really wouldn't mind Jay being the bad cop if they absolutely cannot make Sam any sort of disciplinarian, but someone totally needs to do that. And yeah...Jay does call out Hetty after her possession of him, even as he thanks her for her help with the dinner for the wedding planner so I think Sam could learn a thing or two from him about that. (And I agree about BBC too. Even Alison sometimes comes across as harsh toward the ghosts in general sometimes or at least expresses her feelings when they do something disagreeable in a way that...doesn't fit the crime, you know? Possibly because it really feels like they hit the parent/child sort of dynamic much harder in BBC. The ghosts really do feel like Alison's children rather than a bunch of grownups interacting. Or maybe that's just a cultural thing. I don't kow)

As for Eric, I think that Sam's kind of absorbed Jay's fears about Bela having a "suitable" boyfriend, given her thirsty tendencies and just, at least in his mind, doesn't want to see his sister get hurt. And Eric fits the bill of the perfect, safe guy, so they immediately jump in his fan club without really taking the dynamic into account and looking at how things actually are. (And of course Sam started setting them up in the Christmas movie fashion so maybe she sees the relationship as a fairy tale fantasy she doesn't want to end, and that's not good either.)

It would be so awesome if at some point, when the two of them were at Woodstone, Trevor caught him doing something sketchy that would hurt Bela and told Sam, and that would help Jay realize that he's not so bad and really cares about his sister.

[deni-means-flor]

Stardew Valley but you're at a Mexican Rancho

The Playlist

And here you have it friends, the cursed playlist that started it all. Every time I played the game during my first playthrough, there were some character plotlines or in-game events that reminded me of ranchero, regional mexicano, or banda songs from my country, and the fact that all those songs are linked to the idealized culture of rural areas of my country, and that Stardew is basically a farming game, made sense to my weird neurodivergent brain. So here you go, the playlist and which songs I relate to each character.

The list is ordered as follows:

Song title - Artist

Character/Event I relate the song to and why.

If you have any questions/comments, feel free to jump to the end of this playlist for my Author's Note

WARNING: THIS PLAYLIST DESCRIPTION CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR IN-GAME / HEART EVENTS.

Los Agachados - Maldita Vecindad y los Hijos del 5to Patio

Character/Event: You know when we meet our main character and they are stuck in their routine, in a crowded city working a job that they don't like, 9 to 5? Well that happens too often down here, but in Mexico, for as long as we can remember, all that tediousness is alleviated by hanging out with our buddies and eating with our families or friends. The golden age of Mexican cinema reflects that enduring part of our history. This song is a homage to Tin-Tán Valdez's movies.

2. Mi Ciudad - Guadalupe Trigo

Character/Event: After our MC gets the letter from their Grandpa and has the opportunity to move to Pelican Town, during their bus ride they start to say goodbye to their city, looking forward to the possibilities that the new location offers. It's not that they hate the city, they just needed to grow their roots somewhere else, so the journey is filled with gratitude.

3. Recuérdame - Carlos Rivera

Character/Event: Grandpa's message. Ah, the favorite singer of Mexican moms and abuelas, it was only natural that this song helps MC reminisce about their summers in Pelican Town and their late grandpa. Do I hate that Disney tried to trademark a national tradition? absolutely, but the soundtrack from Coco slaps, especially in Spanish.

4. Árboles de la Barranca - Antonio Aguilar

Character/Event: The Farm. This one is self-explanatory for Spanish speakers. After MC's (now Farmer) arrival on the farm, they look at the condition of everything. "Árboles de la barranca, ¿Por qué no han enverdecido?" (Translation: Trees of the ravine, why haven't you gone green again?) and look at all the work they have ahead of them.

5. Soy de Rancho - El Komander

Character/Event: This is when MC becomes the Farmer. Maybe after their first Spring in Pelican Town or selling their first successful crops, the Farmer is getting the hang of things and are fully taking pride in the progress they've made.

6. La Granja - Los Tigres del Norte

Character/Event: The Community Center / The Barn / Lewis / Joja Co. Los Tigres del Norte are almost ubiquitous in representing Mexican culture all over the world, and it's only natural that this song (one of their hardest critiques to corruption) appears here. After managing to get a barn and their first animals through their hard effort, meeting the Junimos at the community center, and getting tasked by Lewis with the repair of the building, the Farmer begins to think that maybe the city and Pelican Town aren't so different in terms of the lack of care from their representatives. Lewis isn't necessarily bad, he's a nice man who cares about his community... but he has enough money to buy truffle oil and create a golden statue of himself while the community center has been abandoned and JojaMart is messing with local businesses. The problem isn't the lack of resources, but the greed and hunger of a few (which the Tigres del Norte song addresses directly)

Author's Note: Thanks for reading this first part of the playlist and feel free to leave me your comments/questions/asks. In the next post, due to the length of this one, I'll talk more about the other songs in the playlist and what they mean for the universe in my playthrough, especially, the ones I gave to the romanceable characters.

[organizationhimself]

why bero isn't important

i have to talk about this

spoilers for the entire green bone saga you have been warned

so i fucking hate bero. he's a selfish, conniving, misogynistic shithead who has never seen a single person outside of himself as a real human deserving of respect and care, and while i wouldn't say he exactly escapes the consequences of his actions he absolutely does not get caught at the worst of his bullshit.

but i love, love love, the fucking narrative genius of bero. he is nothing. he spends the entire series trying to make something out of the nothing in his soul, but it was always a useless act because he lacks even the basic fundamentals of a self. bero has no ambitions. bero has no family. bero has no name. bero has no loyalties, not even to himself. he feels entitled to power and influence and women and love and attention, sure, but he makes no real effort to achieve these things on his own behalf; he expects them to fall into his lap after enough pawing at the lever in the skinner box of whatever he's currently obsessed with. he chases jade like a dog chasing a car because it will give him that elusive, poorly defined notion of "power," but he has absolutely no aims for what he'll do when he actually gets that power other than to continue his somnolent hedonism. there are no people or ideals or even physical objects or places he's looking to protect with jade. there is nothing specific he's trying to win with jade. the only thing he can be said to desperately want is the same thing he can never, ever have: significance.

and it's because of who bero is as a person. he lives in a culture defined by loyalty. the entire series loyalties are bought and sold and won and lost and twisted and defied and broken and restored and surrendered at last and never, never surrendered, not even once. but bero lacks any capability for loyalty, and the opportunities fall at him like fucking rain; he is shunted to and fro between opposing factions of endlessly complex loyalties where every single fragmented side lives and dies by their ideals or their connections or their beliefs. every interaction he has with the kauls is absolutely wild because they always assume he is like them. lan looks at him and sees someone who needs another chance to find his place. hilo repays him for his assistance with the understanding that bero may act on gratitude or expectation of reward later. even niko first meets him for an exchange (in which bero is not the only target of the investigation or the only person with this information), and even if any of them openly or privately accuse him of not having any real allegiances, they have absolutely no concept of the black hole of empty desire that lurks behind that crooked face.

and it is because of this that bero lacks all significance. he isn't loyal to mudt, who has an ambition to avenge a fallen loyalty; instead, mudt dies the horrific death of lan's killer and experiences all the significance that will ever have. he isn't loyal to the cause of the clanless resistance; instead, hilo gets a warning that ultimately saves his life and the actually dedicated ygutanian insurrectionist is questioned (torturously) and credited (anonymously). hell, he doesn't even pursue the clan war after ru by pointing the finger at the kobens (which was a big surprise to me), and his testimony is just an add-on to the story from the person who had a real connection to ru. at no point does bero ever sit down and say "these people are my people" or even "this is the thing i want to do with my life." at no point does he earn a specific consequence as reward or retribution for an action that can be attributed to him alone.

and bero IS all the things he claims he is! he is the poisoned dart aimed at the kaul family that takes out lan and ru (ultimately accidents both), that saves hilo and woon, that bolsters and undercuts no peak's fight with the mountain at equal and opposite turns. but he never commits. so when he finally faces down niko, the person who has the right to hate him the most in the world, he can't even have the satisfaction of niko's hatred or the glory of a vengeful death at the hands of people in whose lives he was ever even once, truly, significant.

he doesn't have strange luck. his problem isn't that his fate shifts up and down. it's that he doesn't believe in anything, not even himself, so he never ends up doing anything that matters to anyone else.

bero is never the focus of anyone's strong emotion in his entire unimportant, purposeless life and i think that's beautiful.

[ilikecheeseandchocolatee]

Minor vent. Read tags before the vent.

So I’m just kinda dejectedly sad right now because I just realized how big the difference is between me and my sister. I love her to bits and I love her to the end of the world but sometimes I’m so angry at her and sometimes I’m jealous of her, which doesn’t even make sense because it’s not like she has it any better than I do.

But she deals with it so differently to me. She can wake up cranky and yell at my mom for every minor inconvenience and have her every need catered to because otherwise she lashes out hard, and she can still do the things she needs to. She has an endless list of triggers and she can STILL function better than me. Me who has to construct intricate plans just to get myself out of bed, just to open my textbook, just to coax my brain into doing things I like and enjoy doing. I have to wake up and immediately practise happiness and gratitude or my day goes to shit, and she can wake up and immediately snap at multiple people and still get shit done. I have to take fucking 30 milligrams of antidepressants everyday and i STILL can’t study, she hasn’t even been to a competent psychologist yet and gets no help whatsoever but still can spend hours each day studying subjects she doesn’t even like. She HATES math, and I LOVE math, but she’s been doing a lot more math than me lately. I’m encouraging her to please please come to me any time she has a math question just so I can explain it to her and perhaps remind my lazy brain that I fucking love this subject. But it doesn’t help when I can’t get myself to get off my bed until 3pm, and most of the day is over and I can’t bring myself to shower just because that day was supposed to be Wash Hair day but I hate washing my hair so I just. Don’t shower, not even just my body. And like that I go 3 days without showering until my brain remembers that at least just body is better than nothing. My sister showers almost everyday and she’s not even getting help for her mental health.

I wish I could function like her. Yesterday I ended up accidentally revealing to her a section of my suicidal urges and she got so concerned that she made me watch this fluff drama she thinks I’ll like and let me play my ukulele while watching, which is something she doesn’t like otherwise. She doesn’t like it when there are other sounds when we’re watching something but yesterday she consciously knew that I was playing ukulele while watching and she just let me do it. I only realized I was doing it when she noticed me suddenly stop when there was a dramatic beat drop in the show. She literally tried her best just to get me out of bed, brush my teeth, eat something, just so I could try functioning, and she doesn’t need any of that help herself. And it’s not like she isn’t struggling because she IS, she has so many triggers and keeps insisting that she’s not autistic even tho multiple professionals have suggested an autism assessment. She has so many sensory issues and she can still function so much better than I can.

That’s another thing, I don’t think I’d call it a hyperfixation but I’m currently super obsessed with Thailand and Thai culture and it’s been like that for over a year now, and despite all that I can’t bring myself to consume Thai media that I actually fucking like a lot. Meanwhile, after I introduced her to Thai dramas she’s watched like over 50 dramas and she didn’t even like most of them but she can still watch that much and meanwhile there’s me, I’ll probably like anything and everything Thai that I consume but I barely watch things, barely read things, I can kinda speak basic words and sentences now but that’s it that’s the extent of my Thainess. I love Thai dramas so much but I think I’ve maybe watched like 6 of those. That’s literally it. And I really fucking like them. And like. I can’t do things I like anymore, meanwhile she’s doing things that she likes AND she’s doing things that she needs to do.

My sister can cook. She’s two years younger than me, has a billion sensory issues, and SHE can cook and I can’t. And a few years ago I was on a Wikipedia binge and realized there’s something called Mageirocophobia which is phobia of cooking and realized that wait shit. THATS what it’s been. Because it’s not just heat it’s even processes that don’t require heat that I completely freak out doing and I was hating myself. And I guess I still hate that I can’t cook. I’m a legal adult now and I can’t cook. A few days ago my sister was teaching me how to make fried egg, and I had a complete meltdown and started crying because i couldn’t crack an egg. AN. EGG. Like it’s not even that I couldn’t do it, I stood there panicking for at least 15 minutes trying to get myself to just TRY cracking an egg, and eventually my legs went wobbly and my ears went blank and I was sitting on the ground because I was dizzy, and then when I finally got myself to just TRY cracking the goddamn egg, i started crying and couldn’t stop for ages. I felt so so stupid and the entire time my sister was compassionate with me. This morning I heated milk for myself and I was so proud of myself for literally heating milk for myself. It’s not even cooking it’s literally just heating this white liquid. I can do math and advanced calculus but I can’t fucking crack an egg. And it’s so demotivating.

I’m so tired of being more unable to take care of myself than my literal younger sister. I feel so incompetent sometimes. What’s the point of being so book smart if I can’t function like a regular person. My mom is so stressed about my state right now, I can’t even bring myself to tell her I need to see a doctor because I need to reevaluate my dosage and also talk about the fact that I missed my period this month for the first time in ages, and the last time I missed periods was when my mental health was supremely shit. She’s stressed enough about a ton of other things that are too complicated to get into in this vent, and my dad isn’t here so until my dad gets back there isn’t much I can do without my mom knowing about it. And I’m supposed to be the responsible one while my dad is gone, because he knows my mom has issues and he has no choice but to go and I take after him so I know how to keep her calm so it’s on me but I can barely take care of MYSELF and my sister is having to take care of ME and she’s literally younger than me and she’s not even a legal adult yet.

I wish I didn’t have to depend on my little sister for so many things and I wish I could function like she does and I wish I could be what my family needs me to be instead of someone who stays on the bed doing absolutely nothing.

And then there’s my mutuals you’re all so nice to me and think I’m such a wonderful person and everything and sometimes I can’t bear it because there’s nothing remarkable about me other than the fact that I have a billion problems. All my friends act like they’re so glad to have me as a friend and my best friends love me so much and I don’t understand. How anyone can feel like that about me. If I were someone else I’d probably like being friends with me but only because being able to help others with their mental health makes me feel better about myself. Except that I can’t even do that anymore. I’ve barely talked to my friends in ages and I miss them but I can’t bring myself to talk to them because it’s really obvious how badly I’m doing lately and I don’t want MORE people to be stressed about me. I’ve already stressed out my mom and sister enough. My dad knows I’m not doing well but I can’t tell him much either because it won’t do for him to be stressed where he is right now.

Sigh this ended up not being a minor vent after all. As usual. It’s almost like every time I sit and let my feelings out they just tumble out all at once. Maybe that’s good. I haven’t journaled in way too long which has resulted in my memory issues going to shit even worse. At this point I don’t even know how I’m going to face all my teachers back at school because they’ll be expecting great things from me, they’ll be expecting me to be rejuvenated and energetic again after all this time off, and they’ll expect me to do fantastic at my exams just like they expect me to. And meanwhile my memory is so bad that I forgot all about further maths until right now literally a month from my first exam and I haven’t studied a single part of it. Not a single part of further maths in the entire time I’ve been off school. And I have a month left to sort out my shit. Further maths is supposed to be a subject that’s difficult to get an A in even with 2 whole years of studying. My official predicted grade is A but I know my teachers are expecting me to get an A* because apparently they just have that much faith in me. I don’t know if I can face them in a couple of weeks when I show up and they ask me how I’m doing and I’ll have to be like yeah. I don’t know shit about your subject. I’m sorry. And they’re so so nice to me but what can I do about the fact that I literally have not been functioning for the past few months.

I’ll probably even end up seeing my ex there because my luck is just that horrendous. And at first I was planning to be so goddamn good at my subjects that I’d destroy him in revision sessions but now I just feel stupid. And he got an offer from fucking Oxford university. I was so ready to beat him at everything and prove that I was more worthy of that offer even if it was just proving to myself. But now I see why I’m not worthy of it. My absolute love and passion for my subjects can’t motivate me enough to get out of bed, of course I wouldn’t survive Oxford. And if he sees me and sees me be shit at everything that’s just gonna make him feel better about himself which he does NOT deserve. Okay admittedly he got a lot of shit that does deserve. But he did not deserve that Oxford offer. He’s literally not even gonna go to Oxford he’s literally rejecting them. He just applied for the heck of it. He did NOT deserve that offer. Ugh and I have to face him probably.

Have I mentioned yet that I’m not looking forward to heading back to the UK.

I’m not looking forward to heading back to the UK. At all. And I hope to never associate with that school ever again after my exams are done.

So this ended up being not so much of a minor vent. I think the fact that I’m literally now resorting to Tumblr Decree just to help me get started and get in the flow, that says a lot about my mental state. I’ve tried everything I can think of and now I’m just hoping the notes thing becomes the reason I start functioning again. In like 24 hours people have already passed the first three milestones which means I should AT LEAST finish astrophysics by the end of the day and possibly try emailing my teacher about The Thing. Tomorrow I should finish the rest of physics. If people reach 800 by tomorrow I’ll also just skim over math real quick. Math shouldn’t be as much of a problem as Further Maths. Sigh I just. Need to get my head in the game. Get that textbook open and just read a couple of sentences just to start off. I just need to read a couple of sentences. A couple of sentences is better than no sentences. I can do this. I CAN DO THIS

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

More things I think would happen if Jeeves and Wooster were on DS9

Part 1 Part 1.5

It's a bit harder in space than in London for Bertie's relatives and school friends to track him down and beg for favors. Unfortunately, Jeeves’s reputation as a problem-solver has spread around the station, and the problems Bertie's NEW friends bring to him are even more ridiculous.

Week after week: "Help, I got Zanthi fever at the Gratitude Festival and now my fiancée won't speak to me"—"I love a girl from a few star systems over, but on her homeworld unmarried men and women are only allowed to communicate via each other's same-gender parent and her mom hates me"—"Your Uncle Tom wants a rare silver thing but this asshole Ferengi trader won't let him have it" (sometimes his relatives DO visit)

When he doesn’t end up with dubiously legal, stolen, or dangerous alien merchandise smuggled aboard his ship against his will (and also when he does), he keeps managing to stumble coincidentally into the exact combination of words and actions that make up some alien culture's courtship ritual (nobody told him that on Glorgon, pushing somebody into a body of water is considered the first step in a marriage proposal!)

The Gussie/Madeline/Spode love triangle follows him to space, obviously. No matter where he is in the galaxy, fiancé(e)s of the week will come and go, but the Gussie/Madeline/Spode love triangle is a universal constant. There is no galaxy or universe he can escape to where the triangle will not follow.

I feel like this goes without saying, but Gussie is a human scientist stationed on Bajor to study newts native amphibious life forms found in the planet's rivers. He and Bertie still went to school together. Spode is a firebrand Bajoran nationalist politician who had ties to the Circle before their failed coup, but not quite enough for anything to be proved against him.

Bassett Madeline is a Bajoran astronomer who writes poetry on the side and visits the station sometimes to help with research on the wormhole. She’s actually a very qualified scientist, but there’s nothing stopping her from knowing how the stars work AND believing they’re the Prophets’ daisy chain.

Kira really, REALLY wants to like her. She wants to like her so badly. Another highly accomplished religious Bajoran woman is visiting, she should be thrilled! They have so much to talk about! Madeline's fervor toward their shared faith is nothing less than admirable and inspiring and an example to us all, and not at ALL "mawkish" or "a bit much," JULIAN, and no Kira does NOT have a headache, but on second thoughts maybe she should head to the infirmary just in case.

Fortunately, Madeline is usually on the station to work with Jadzia, who regards her mushy tendencies with gentle amusement.

Kira eventually warms to Madeline somewhat when, one day, she (Madeline) visits the station after a fight with Gussie, and Jadzia, taking pity, invites her to play Camelot with her and Kira in the holosuites. Kira has to grit her teeth through the first half, but the three of them end up bonding when something inevitably goes wrong with the safety protocols and they have to fight a real dragon or something. Kira still wouldn't call Madeline her best friend, but she can find it in herself to tolerate the daisy-chain talk with a more bonhomous spirit.

Bertie has no idea any of this is happening, but is just grateful that Jadzia managed to whisk Madeline off to the holosuites before she could try to marry HIM again. He has the Bajoran Rite of Separation memorized by heart and he's running out of bowls.

He also isn't sure what all that was about when Jadzia assured him that she's got this, don't worry about it, you go on and spend some quality time with Jeeves, and then winked at him. Or why this made Jeeves tighten his jaw by the minutest degree and disappear to "supervise repairs," even though Bertie is almost certain there are no repairs left to be done.

It's all a bit rummy, but Jadzia is a dependable sort of cove, and if she says there's nothing to worry about then he trusts there's nothing to worry about. She's a bit like Jeeves in that respect, what? So he shrugs it off and goes to play darts with Julian and Miles instead.

Bertie is obviously a common fixture at the dartboard in Quark's. He also plays tennis with Julian sometimes (Miles being kind of done with tennis after what happened last time). Quark tried to start a betting pool on their games one time, but hit a snag when it turned out that many of the non-human bar customers had trouble telling the competitors apart.

Bertie once sat with Jadzia over a couple drinks as she patiently tried to explain the concept of joined Trill to him (he had been asking about why Sisko calls her "old man"). The discussion ended with Jadzia kindly patting him on the shoulder and inviting him to a game of Dabo.

As it happens, there weren't really any repairs to be done on the ship, but in pretending he was carrying out inspections Jeeves DID discover a hidden device on the warp engine that would have caused everyone on the station to hallucinate their worst enemy's face onto random strangers when the engine was engaged, so the day wasn't a complete wash.

(He kept the device instead of reporting it, naturally. You never know what might come in handy some day. But the plot would have fallen apart anyway, as the aliens who'd planted it suddenly found themselves succumbing to infighting after their first officer received an anonymous message alerting them to the fact that the captain had been planning to short the crew on their pay.)