Being asexual and racist is embarassing as fuck. Being racist at all is obviously embarassing as fuck but the amount of racism and especially antiblackness i have been seeing from asexuals recently is obscene.
One of the only asexual activists is Yasmin Benoit, a Black woman. She has raised so much awareness for the community. She was the first asexual person to lead Pride in London, she started the #thisiswhatasexuallookslike movement and is THE leading voice for the community.
And you all will celebrate international asexuality day on April 6th but we wouldn't even have that if she hadn't cofounded it.
Edit: why are you all too scared to repost this. Cmon. Be vocal about being against racism
I notice alot of my followers on here skipping these posts just to mess with my lgbt ones, suspiciously the white popular ones.
Heres a not so friendly reminder, as an lgbt metis person, i dont give a single fuck what your blog is themed or if this is too painful for you to look at. Reblog this post. Reblog this post with the sources of the 751 children who were found.
Your compliance and silence as well as the compliance and silence of your ancestors is what allowed these schools to open and kill first nations children. The children of MY people.
Dont follow me if you cant reblog this post or the one with sources to your political blog or your most popular blog. Add trigger warnings if you must but if your political blog is only focused on the harms you personally face like being lgbt then you need to see some bigger pictures and stop being afraid of angering your racist mutural or actually saying some shit about racism. If you can reblog some antifa graphics or add blm to your bio to be a surface level ally, you can reblog some sources on the genocide first nations people faced and still face today.
I’d like to add this photo I took last night in Victoria of the statue of Captain Cook. Though I myself am not indigenous, I 100% agree that these murderers, kidnappers and rapists shouldn’t have huge statues and plaques that decorate them and say how “great” they were.
Here’s another photo of the legislative assembly from yesterday. Later on there were more items, candles and signs at the memorial, as well as a big poster with 1505 painted on it but I didn’t get a picture
People need to see this. Not just quickly glance at the photos and keep on scrolling. They need to see this.
I had seen the first picture of the church, but not the second.
I went to a “Cancel Canada Day” event and burst into tears - not because I was surprised to learn of the unmarked graves (survivors told us they were there. Our government pushed it aside, and we let them), but because seeing all the people gathered in mourning drove it home: They. Were. Children.
This is my country’s legacy - and it’s not history. The last schools closed during my lifetime. My Father went to school with students who lived at the local residential school, after it was changed to a boarding house (read: holding centre) for indigenous youth who went to local schools.
They were all children, injured, abused, and killed in my country’s attempt to erase them. I want the world to see this and hold the state accountable to *active* reconciliation> I mean we could at least truly adopt UNDRIP in action instead of words for god’s sake.
here you can read an article about a survivor of the church and some of the things he experienced to help put into perspective how awful and just how recent it was
Here’s the thing I feel like a lot of folks don’t get: I’m not trying to forget what you said. Honestly, I really tried not to. I can’t control what I do and don’t remember—forgetting things just happens. It’s annoying for you, I know, but for me it’s distressing as hell and when you make a big deal out of it rather than just reminding me you make me feel ashamed. I’ll remember that, at least.
It costs you nothing to be kind to people with memory problems. Please. It’s scary enough without people treating memory lapses as a personal failing.
Chapters: 7/?
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Uzumaki Naruto
Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Uzumaki Naruto, Genderfluid Character, Yandere Shikamaru Nara, Smart Uzumaki Naruto, BAMF Nara Shikamaru, Alternate genin teams, Strong Uzumaki Naruto, Smitten Nara Shikamaru, Nara Shikamaru Gives No Fucks, alternate team 7, Team Ticking Time Bomb, Monstrous Strength Naruto, Naruto With Tsunade’s Strength, Nara Shikaku Is Very Tired, Shikamaru Calls Dibs On Naruto, The Nara Fixation, Uchiha Idiocy, Uchiha Sasuke Being an Idiot, Love At First Chakra Enhanced Strike, Sasuke You In Danger Boy, Genderfluid Uzumaki Naruto,
Series: Part 1 of Shadows & Strength
Summary:
“Hey Chōji,” Shikamaru greets lazily. “That’s Naruto’s seat from now on, okay?”
“O-Oh, o-okay?” Chōji’s eyes are wide as he continues to stare at them, obviously more than a bit lost.
Naruto looks between Shikamaru and Chōji, unsure what, if anything, he should say.
Shikamaru chooses that moment to switch his hold on Naruto’s hand, shifting their arms up until their elbows are resting on the desk top so that by tilting his head to the side, Shikamaru can butt his cheek up against the knuckles of their entwined fingers.
“Oh!” Chōji jolts in place, face lighting up as if he’s somehow found the answer he’s been looking for.
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
“Love Languages” are just common couples therapy techniques mangled and repackaged by an unqualified homophobe. Relationships generally need all 5 love languages to be fulfilled, which is to say, everybody needs to communicate with, spend time with, and do things for their partners, and that’s got nothing to do with any special way you communicate affection.
MBTI has been proven completely ineffective at predicting anyone’s success at a particular job, and half the people who take it twice will get different results. Reputable psychologists do not recognize it, and the company that owns the rights to it uses it to scam people. People don’t adhere to strict binaries in basically anything. Very few people are going to be exclusively introverted or extroverted. It’s just astrology repackaged as pseudoscience. Shockingly enough, you can’t boil the complexity of the human experience down to a dozen Types of Guy.
The concept of IQ is flawed from the start— “intelligence” is an abstract concept that encompasses many different skills, from social intelligence to emotional intelligence to the very narrow kind of problem solving intelligence IQ tests generally measure for. It cannot predict how fast you learn, how much you know, or how logical and well read you are. It mostly measures how good you are at solving puzzles. Coincidentally, it’s also a pretty good predictor of income and education level, take a guess why. Most people’s IQ will change throughout their lives, because it’s inconsistent bullshit we’ve only held onto this long because we’re still kinda hoping we can breed the ubermensch. IQ tests and the way they attempt to categorize people are explicitly eugenicist and racist.
BMI was developed by a man known as the grandfather of eugenics, who first of all was a mathematician, not a doctor, and second never intended the formula to be used to categorize individuals. It’s intended to give a rough estimate of obesity in populations, and it’s not even good at that. It hangs around because of fatphobia and insurance companies who want it as an excuse to charge fat people more.
The study which determined people’s prefrontal cortex was still developing at 25… stopped measuring at 25. Evidence suggests your brain probably never stops developing. Stop infantilizing grown adults. This is a branch off from the larger mess of misinformation surrounding fMRIs.
If you haven’t put together what all these things have in common yet, here’s the moral of the story: STOP TRYING TO CATEGORIZE PEOPLE. STOP TRYING TO PUT PEOPLE IN A GODDAMN BIOLOGICAL HIERARCHY. EUGENICS IS BAD, AND WILL ALWAYS BE BAD, NO MATTER WHO’S DOING IT.
A continuation of this, wherein Hob told Dream about one of his secret 1689-era fantasies and Dream invited him to the Dreaming to make it real. Dom Dream, very nsfw.
--
Hob has been to Dream's palace in the Dreaming a few times before, but never has it felt like this.
Normally, those dreams feel particularly lucid, particularly clear. And he remembers them better than he remembers any others. Now, he still knows he's dreaming, knows where he is, but it has a gauzy feeling to it. The vaulted space, the cold marble floor, the darkness spilling in through the high stained glass windows, it has him dizzy, spinning with vertigo.
Then, Dream's hand low on his bare back. The silk slip of his robe as he wraps his arm around Hob to lead him along. It's all disjointed pieces: the vision of Dream's throne at the far end of the room, Dream's voice in his ear, come along, my Hob, you will be good, won't you? the brush of his lips, his fine fingers trailing up the back of Hob's neck, into his hair, as-- oh, they've reached the throne, gone up the stairs somehow, and Dream folds himself into the seat like he's made of silk himself, pulls Hob down by his hair so Hob kneels on the floor before him.
Dream's thighs frame his shoulders. His robe is thin enough that Hob can just about see his skin through it, can imagine how smooth it would be to the touch. God, Dream is so beautiful.
Hob looks up at him, and Dream takes his face between his hands, stroking his thumbs over Hob's cheeks, a fond and proprietary motion. "You are lovely," he says.
Hob has to bite back a whine. To hear that from Dream... and in the Dreaming, too, where everything Dream says has a ring of truth, where Hob yearns for him so deeply.
“It wounded me to see you in such a state,” Dream continues, voice low and soothing. “I trust you are feeling better now.”
Hob is much the same in this dream as he was in 1689, only he’s bathed, and his hair is clean and tied back, his trousers new and unstained, and he isn’t starving, he’s eaten recently, though he doesn’t remember what. His lord has taken such good care of him, Hob wants for nothing now.
His lord.
The thought rips an involuntary shudder from him. Yes. Dream is his lord. His lord who saved him.
“My Lord Dream,” he murmurs, and Dream’s eyes flash. Pleased. “You have treated me well. I feel much restored.”
“Good. For I have need of you.”
His hand slips back into Hob’s hair, grip firm but kind. For a moment, in the familiarity of Dream’s touch, Hob truly remembers where he is, what year he’s in. It’s like he shifts back and forth: one moment he is then, the next he is now, so they exist overlapping each other, both at once. He is in the dream of that time, he feels it, he believes it, but he never quite forgets that it is, in fact, a dream.
“I must host some unsavory visitors,” his lord says, holding Hob’s head lightly in one hand, untying his robe with the other. “Pay them no mind. Focus only on me.”
It’s not hard for Hob to focus on him. Especially when Dream lets his robe fall open just so, parting only over his thighs so that he is bared to Hob but still covered elsewhere. Properly dressed as a king entertaining petitioners must be. In a sense.
His prick lies soft against his thigh. Hob stares, and wants. Long has he wanted his stranger. His king. His would-be, could-be lover of a future lifetime.
“What would you have from me, my lord?” he asks, voice rough. “I would please you. With whatever I can give.”
“I want your mouth,” Dream says. Each word is distinct, sure, and demanding. “Warm me, soothe me, while I conduct these unfortunate affairs.”
“Please,” Hob breathes. Dream needn’t demand it. Hob wants to. More than anything. He needs to.
“Look at me, Hob,” Dream orders. When Hob tips his head back to meet his gaze, he finds that Dream’s expression is warm. Fond. He pets Hob’s hair. Thumbs at the corner of his mouth. “Open your mouth,” he says, and Hob does, and Dream lays his soft cock on Hob’s tongue.
Hob thinks, distantly, that he doesn’t usually remember tasting anything in dreams, but Dream now tastes as he does when they’re together in the waking world, whatever affectation of humanity he puts on there, sweat and musk and that cold clean taste that always lies on his skin, like nighttime air. He smells that way, too, crisp and alluring, and the very fact that Hob smells anything at all here makes the dream sharpen around him, grounds him with his knees on the marble and Dream’s diaphanous robe brushing his shoulders, the familiar weight of him on his tongue.
“Good,” Dream praises him. “That’s all you need do. Be still. I will conduct my business.”
Hob can be still. He wants to be still for him, to be an anchor for Dream, and Dream for him. Hob can do this for him, after all his lord has done for him. He lets his eyes fall shut.
Footsteps sound behind him. Hob doesn’t hear whatever doorway Dream must have created open, or hear it close, only that there are now two people—beings—standing behind him in Dream’s throne room. The back of his neck prickles, and he shifts uncomfortably on his knees. He can’t help it, he grew up in dangerous times, he lived most of his life in dangerous times, having someone at his back always puts him a little on edge. Especially someone he knows isn’t a friend. But Dream pets him soothingly. He doesn’t speak, or look at him, just combs Hob’s hair back from his forehead. And Hob knows he has to trust Dream to keep the situation in hand. He’ll be rewarded for his trust.
“Emissaries of Hell,” Dream says, not quite so courteous as a greeting. “I trust the Lightbringer has good reason for requesting this audience.”
The two demons don’t seem to take note of Hob’s presence. Hob’s not sure if they’re used to this sort of thing or if they’re just too afraid of angering Dream to step out of line. He doesn’t seem particularly pleased to see them in the first place.
“Lucifer does not behave frivolously,” growls one of the demons. Dream huffs under his breath at that, loud enough for Hob to hear but not the demons. Some time, Hob wants to hear the story behind that. “We bring an important matter.”
“Convey it, then, that you might leave my realm quickly.”
The demons start talking, but Hob rapidly stops paying attention. At any other time, he’d likely find this all fascinating, but now he’s more focused on Dream, blissed out with the weight of Dream in his mouth. He doesn’t have to pay attention to what’s being said. That’s not his job. He’s here only to pleasure Dream.
He drifts. The stone floor digs into his knees, Dream’s fingers scratch lightly in his hair. Hob’s jaw starts to ache, but he doesn’t move from Dream’s cock. He doesn’t want to let him down, but more than that, it’s pleasant kneeling here, it’s peaceful, serving him, even when it starts to hurt.
He doesn’t know exactly how much time passes, kneeling there and warming Dream’s cock, Dream’s soothing voice rumbling above him, before a pause in the discussion has one of the demons remarking on Hob’s presence for the first time. “You have an obedient pet there, Lord of Dreams. Perhaps you ought to share. In the name of diplomacy.”
Unease shivers up Hob’s spine. He doesn’t want anyone else to touch him. Only Dream.
He almost pulls off to say so, but Dream's grip tightens in his hair in a way that’s anything but casual. “Perilously rude even to suggest it,” he says, voice the smooth crack of obsidian, and Hob can envision the way his eyes flash. “Perhaps you take poor care of your things in Hell, but I do not. Step—” it’s only then that Hob realizes they must have come closer— “back.”
If Dream’s voice is powerful in the Waking world, in the Dreaming it is something else entirely. It vibrates in the air with a power that suggests the very floor itself will throw them back if they do not obey.
In the Dreaming, Dream’s will shapes the world.
His will is the world.
Hob whimpers at the thought.
“Okay, okay,” says the demon, a trill of nerves in his voice. Hob can’t help but feel satisfied at the sound of it. “Don’t— don’t get worked up. Was just a thought is all.”
Dream doesn’t speak aloud, but his voice curls through Hob’s mind like a daydream. Worry not, dear one. I will not let anyone touch you. It settles him. Dream has this all in hand. Of course he does.
“You need not share your thoughts,” Dream says with derision. “In fact, I believe our business is concluded.”
With the quick flash of an opening door, the demons are gone, and they’re alone in the throne room again. Hob is still shivering with the power of Dream in that moment. He loves experiencing Dream in his element, on his throne.
“I grow tired of these games that Hell plays,” Dream says, half to Hob, half to himself. “Something more may have to be done.”
A hint of true irritation creeps into his tone, and Hob curls his tongue over the head of his cock, a soothing reminder that he can take what comfort he wishes. Dream’s grip in his hair softens. He gently pulls Hob back, his cock, just beginning to grow hard, slipping free, a line of spit trailing to Hob’s lips.
Dream frames his face in his hands, massaging the hinge of his jaw where it’s grown sore with his thumbs. Hob finally opens his eyes, meeting Dream’s heated, satisfied gaze. He’s been growing steadily harder as he services Dream, but that look sends arousal rushing through him. Oh, he’d do anything for that look, give anything to make his lord so proud of him. He lets out a low whine, and Dream shushes him, fingertips brushing over Hob’s wet lower lip.
“You have been very good, my pet,” Dream praises. “Very patient, and soothing to me. Tell me. Were you afraid?”
“No,” Hob whispers, throat too tight, too sore for full words. “No. I knew you would protect me. As you have before. My lord.”
Dream looks pleased. “And tell me,” he continues, “what do you dream of now?”
Hob dreams of a bed. Dream’s bed, in his palace chambers. Would his lord deign to have Hob there? To bring him into his private space, lay Hob out on his sheets, soothe his frustrations through Hob’s body, reward Hob for his service? He has brought Hob into his home, given him succor, but would he allow Hob in the space he holds most sacred?
He dreams of silk sheets, comfort so foreign to his current station in life, and Dream fucking him on them, pressing Hob’s body down, hands entwined, his teeth on the back of Hob’s neck. It wouldn’t be hard. Hob had prepared himself in his rooms beforehand; he had wanted to be ready to give his Lord Dream anything he wanted, for his lord takes such good care of him. Dream rescued him, brought him up from destitution, took him home and fed and clothed him, treated and touched him kindly, how could Hob not want to give himself to him, to let Dream have him? He had not known what his lord needed him for this evening but he had made himself wet and open and ready. Just in case. Now they ought to fulfill it. Hob wants to feel Dream inside him.
This is what you dream? Dream’s low voice sounds in his head, all around him. His teeth graze Hob’s ear, his hands are strong where he holds Hob’s down to the sheets, which slip like water under Hob’s body.
“Yes,” Hob whispers.
Very well then.
Dream pushes into him, ripping a gasp from Hob’s throat. He doesn’t linger, he moves quick and hard—Hob stoked his arousal with his mouth and now he will chase it. The power of him rolls over Hob in waves, flashes of feeling in a storm, his lips on Hob’s throat, the force of his hips pushing Hob up the bed, the slick sound of their skin meeting. Dream is all-encompassing in the Dreaming, around Hob and in him, so powerful Hob can do nothing but cave under him. Not that he wants to do differently. The hot length of him inside Hob is bliss, and oh, how he’s selfishly, weakly wanted someone to take over for him these past wretched years. Let his lord decide for him and use him. He takes better care of him than Hob does for himself.
Dream pulls him up onto his knees as his thrusts grow harder, faster. Hob bows his head to the sheets, panting, sweat dripping from his forehead. It’s so good, God it’s so good. He feels hot all over and liable to snap, but he can’t, he doesn’t want to until Dream comes in him first.
“Please,” he begs, and Dream understands him, nails scratching over Hob’s back and digging into his hips as he holds him firm. He thrusts in deep, once, twice, then comes with sharp snap of his rhythm and a rumbling growl in his throat that Hob feels more than hears as warmth floods through him.
Dream pulls out then, and, quick as a snake, turns onto his back and slides between Hob’s spread legs, takes Hob’s cock in his mouth. Hob shouts and comes, mind whiting out with pleasure. Dream sucks on him until he’s dry, past the point where Hob’s squirming from overstimulation, whimpering for how Dream’s mouth is so good but too much.
Dream releases him, and Hob collapses onto his chest, Dream moving up the bed just in time to catch him. Hob mashes his face into Dream’s throat, panting for breath, and Dream makes a low, soothing purring noise that vibrates through Hob’s ribcage. He tangles his fingers into Dream’s hair, holding tight, trying to hang on to the nebulous reality of the Dreaming.
“Very good, my Hob,” Dream praises. “Are you well?”
His voice slides over and around Hob’s body like the silk of his sheets. Hob’s not entirely sure he knows where he is—is he really in the bed of his untouchable stranger, lifted from destitution by those fine hands? No, it’s only Dream—such that there is only Dream—only Dream playing with him. He thinks. Either way he feels good.
“I think we ought take this elsewhere,” Dream says, and Hob realizes belatedly that he never actually responded to him, too caught up in the music of the fantasy. It’s too confusing to open his mouth and do so now, everything is too fractured and dreamlike, he doesn’t know what’s real or not, though he’s struggling to care enough to determine it.
Dream’s sheer robe falls over his shoulders, soft as moths’ wings and heavier than it looks, drawing him under. He slides into warm water, hair floating up around his face, limbs going limp, closing his eyes. Floats, then surfaces again with the release of a held breath. Cool air tickles his skin, water streams down his cheeks, but the water he’s in remains warm, swirling in eddies around his chest, and the arms wrapped around him.
Dream. Pressed up against his back as they sit in the bath. The bath… in Hob’s bathroom. He thinks. Though it’s dark, only a single candle flickering where it sits on the counter, casting rings of warm light over the water—so it’s a bit hard to tell for sure. Besides, he was just dreaming, and now he isn’t. Probably. Gradually his mind starts clarifying the world around him.
“Going to start losing track of what’s dreams and what’s real with you,” he murmurs, and Dream hums, tucking his nose in against Hob’s shoulder.
“The distinction is not so firm as you think.” His voice bounces on the surface of the bathwater like the flickering candlelight. His hand winds through Hob’s hair, tugging lightly. “Nevertheless, I will remind you.”
“Not sure you’ve got the best grasp on it, love.”
Dream nips the side of his neck, an admonishment, then lays his tongue over the spot. Then says, “How are you feeling now?”
“Good.” He leans his head back further against Dream’s shoulder with a sigh that takes all the tension from his body. What little remained after Dream was through with him. “Really good.”
“Mmm. I am pleased, then.”
Pleased. Even here, the thought of Dream being pleased with him is a pleasant one. Light and satisfying. He feels right.
“My lord,” he says, trying the words in the waking and finding he likes the taste. It’s partly a tease, but partly not, and the way Dream’s arms tighten around him suggests the not. “Did I do well?”
“You did very well,” Dream says. “My Hob. You are a great comfort to me.”
“Helped you scare away those nasty demons?”
“Pay them no mind. They are but weak, simpering drones of their master.” He combs Hob’s wet hair back from his forehead tenderly. “But convenient pawns in our game.”
Hob laughs. “You usually use your magical statecraft as a backdrop for sexual role-play?”
“Only sometimes. If it makes for a good story.”
Hob turns to kiss his jaw. Like that, he can just make out Dream’s regal profile, blurred by proximity, and the glint of his eye in its starry, Dreaming darkness. God, but he is the most beautiful thing Hob has ever seen.
“In any case,” Dream continues, leaning into the brush of his lips, “I do find the matter unpleasant. But far more pleasant with you kneeling so patiently between my legs. You were exquisite like that. You took me so well. Perhaps I really should have taken you back to the Dreaming with me, after our meeting that year.”
“I wouldn’t have complained.”
Dream noses at Hob’s ear, breath tickling. Hob reaches up to run his fingers through Dream’s hair, holding him close.
“Each time you take me so well,” Dream rumbles. “Like you were waiting for me.”
“I think I was,” Hob murmurs. The low light and the fall into waking and Dream against him are all very dreamy, he still feels kind of delirious. It feels good. “I think I was waiting for you my whole life. Could’ve had me the day we met if you only stayed a moment longer.”
Hob was his the moment he saw him. His heart was Dream’s. He’d known it then and he still knows it. Hob then was brash and fierce and grasping and wouldn’t have wholly known what that feeling was that made him want to let his stranger push him to his knees. He’d have bucked against Dream’s grip, fought that sublime touch. But in the end, Dream could have done anything he wanted to him. Hob might have choked on it at first, but when Dream kept pushing he’d have swallowed it whole.
“Could I?” says Dream.
He thinks Dream might have enjoyed showing him exactly what he thought of Hob’s attitude. He had the glint of it in his eyes even in their brief encounter.
“Could,” Hob says, caught up in the thought of it. “God, you would have been so firm with me. I’d have pretended to hate it but really I’d have loved it.”
Dream’s hand winds into his hair and tugs lightly. “Yes, I believe you would have enjoyed a firm hand then. And I’d have enjoyed showing you that.”
“Yeah, you would,” Hob teases, and gets a nip to his ear for his trouble, then Dream’s tongue soothing over it in apology.
“Don’t miss any more opportunities,” Hob tells him.
It’s more than just that. Hob would have Dream forgo hesitance and wade into him fully. Capitulate. Give over everything that he wants. Hob gets the sense there is a vast and deep well of wanting he’s only barely taken a mouthful of. How delicious to drink so deeply of it that one almost drowns.
He wants that for Dream, almost-but-not-quite-drowning.
“Mind your words, young mercenary,” Dream warns, teasing, “for it is one of the Endless to whom you speak so insolently.”
“Oh, it would have been that easy to get a name out of you? Just had to nip at your heels for it?”
Dream growls a warning into his throat, but Hob only laughs.
“Still haven’t told me one of your fantasies, you know,” he points out.
Dream’s grip tightens around him. Hob’s mind fills with scattered visions, flashes of thought and moment and feeling. Dream wants. Hob knew he did.
He remembers gazing up at a beautiful lord in a smoky tavern and feeling his heart flip. That damnable smirk on Dream’s face. God, they could have done so much then. Missed opportunities.
Dream’s lips press to his throat, a light graze of teeth over his pulse. “I may have a few ideas,” he says.
i think it bears repeating (again) that nie mingjue was a clear and present danger to jin guangyao’s life, every day, from the date of their confrontation in the scorching sun palace to the moment of his qi deviation over four years later. four years, where every single minute that jin guangyao spent in nie mingjue’s company, he was taking his life into his own hands, and they both knew it. lan xichen knew it. completely uninvolved third parties who were witnesses to nie ningjue’s increasingly unhinged and violent behaviour knew it.
nie huaisang may have been compelled by filial piety to avenge his brother’s murder, but let’s not pretend that jin guangyao killed nie mingjue just because daddy said jump. because if he hadn’t killed nie mingjue first, it was only a matter of time before nie mingjue killed him.
'But luke was never punished for taking out aemond's eye.'
Yeah and guess what:
Aemond was never punished for claiming vhagar, and before you start with the whole 'but you can't steal Dragons, aemond did nothing wrong when he claimed vhagar', if he wasn't doing anything wrong he wouldn't have felt the need to sneak off and do it in the middle of the night. Even if he didn't need the permission of the crown, at the very least he was defying his own mother's wishes who had already told him off for trying to claim Dragons, so yeah he was doing something wrong.
Aemond also wasn't punished for trying to bash jace's head in with a rock.
Aemond wasn't punished for breaking luke's nose, choking him and also trying to bash his head in with a rock.
Aemond wasn't punished for calling jace and luke bastards, which was treason.
Aegon wasn't punished for calling jace and luke bastards, which was treason.
Aegon wasn't punished for assaulting and r*ping serving girls.
Alicent wasn't punished for saying rhaenyra's sons were bastards, despite already being told by the king to leave it, again it was treason.
Alicent wasn't punished for attempting to maim a royal Prince and cutting the heir to the throne.
Criston wasn't punished for breaking his oath with rhaenyra.
Criston wasn't punished for killing joffrey, publicly, at a wedding feast, or for striking laenor during that same feast.
Criston wasn't punished for killing beesbury.
Like be real, nobody gets punished in this show, people be breaking laws and rules left, right and centre without any consequences. Yet the only time I ever see outrage about the lack of punishment is when it comes to Luke. So what the law only matters when it comes to the 8 year old?
It's crazy to me to always see people saying that Lucerys deserved to die for taking Aemond's eye when he was little in a moment of panic to defend his older brother who was threatened with being beaten in the face. head with a stone.
He was just a kid who freaked the fuck out, but they act like he did it on purpose !
How bothered should you be ? And as far as I know, Aemond is not dead. How is it fair to kill Luke in exchange ?!
What, because he laughed when he saw a pig ?! Oh yes, it definitely deserves death...
The TG / Aemond stans who say that are crazy, it's not possible any other way.
continuously intertwining rhaenyra with alicent was fine in season one, where they were directly at odds with one another, but trying to paint alicent as sympathetic to rhaenyra’s plight while rhaenyra is at the funeral of the son who was murdered by alicent’s is asylum worthy.
rhaenyra is grieving, jacaerys is grieving, joffrey, daemon, baela, rhaena, rhaenys, corlys are all grieving; alicent is NOT. she doesn’t care about rhaenyra, or she wouldn’t have waged war against her, raised her children to view their sister as the enemy, and usurped her throne. she especially doesn’t give a shit about luke, the kid she wanted to maim in revenge years before and the boy she viewed as both beneath her and not even as a true loss because he wasn’t human in her eyes. she thinks aemond is justified in lashing out, because he never received an ‘apology’ (i wouldn’t apologize either if i was a seven year old who thought my brother was going to have his head bashed in).
honor and decency were thrown out the window last season when alicent’s cause started murdering innocents over preconceived slights that SHE, personally, laid the groundwork for, and luke’s death is the result of that. she might be upset about her coveted ‘peace’ no longer being an option, but she doesn’t care about rhaenyra, her dead child, or the anguish that she is suffering through currently. he’s just an easy out for her to claim penance from her utterly idiotic decisions that keep killing people.
When I hear that the Greens are better rulers, I just gag.
Are we to forget how they stole all the gold from the treasury to finance their war and impoverished the Realm?
Otto and Alicent Hightower are both politically incompetent, whose main priority is the advancement of their own House.
You have Otto, the only Hand in history who managed to get fired twice.
You have Alicent, a greedy upstart, who only cares about herself.
You have Helaena just standing there.
And then you have the two “stars”, Aegon and Aemond, who share one brain cell. Aegon, an inadequate ruler (and that’s me being nice), clueless, gorging himself in fine wine and women. Aemond, a totally unstable psychopath, who believes that owning the biggest dragon in the world makes you invincible (he’s going to find out the hard way).
Oh, and let’s not leave out Ser Crispy Cole, the most shameless Kingsguard who has ever lived. For a man whose word is supposed to mean everything, it means literally nothing. Take a moment to compare him to Ser Erryk Cargyll. Yeah…
pathetic isn’t really a word I‘d use for colin bridgerton. simon rather dying than marrying daphne was pathetic. anthony going through with marrying edwina until SHE mustered the courage to call everything off was pathetic.
colin contemplating his feelings, calling out his male acquaintances for their chauvinism, seeking advice from his mother and then immediately taking action and putting himself out there without even knowing if his feelings are reciprocated is the complete opposite of pathetic. that requires a whole lot of bravery.
This fandom created a myth about Lady Whistledown. Sometimes i wonder if i watched the same show.
Let me make myself clear: While Penelope has to tell Colin the truth, because she loves him and he deserves it, LW helped the Bridgertons a lot actually. It saved them to have Daphne married to a creep ( and see how Violet wanted people to talk to reach LW and spread), saved Colin from a loveless marriage with children that he didn't know anything about it and saved Eloise. Yes, it saved Eloise.
Eloise created and kept pushing the situation in her reckless pursuit.
Eloise also didn't think about the consequences of her action towards the people working for LW, didn't listen to Penelope, didn't think about the risk she was putting people at. And while i understand her anger in not knowing, had she been a better friend, many other things would be different, because she truly never paid attention to what Penelope feels or want, she molded Pen to be whom she wanted and be her audience. And then, she left Pen with the choice of losing all she built and suffer consequences or pick the less harmful option: to make Eloise's scandal about politics, not romantic and save them both, plus Theo. The real ruin for Eloise would've been her being caught with Theo, something that was bound to happen as she was not careful at all.
Why should Pen sacrifice all for Eloise? Would any of you sacrifice all ( job, family and possibly your liberty) for a friend who caused the bloody situation? I'm no hypocrite, i know i wouldnt.
Not to mention Eloise bravado, to Pen she would say she wants to challenge society and doesn't care about what they think...but folded the moment she received a frown from the Ton.
Shall we see who are LW victims, people that suffered real consequences? Lord Beerbrock. That's it. Marina is married, despite her lies and deceit. Colin? Nothing as well, in fact, happier than ever. Eloise? A few weeks of ostracism and she's back without a problem, without a romantic entanglement to ruin her. One that she clearly didn't really thought was deep enough to face society.
The Bridgertons have more to thank LW than to hate her. And Violet and Anthony, i bet your asses, do think so, and see it.
And The Queen? Are you watching the show? Have you seen Charlotte's personality? That woman loves the whole game with LW. And She loves to take it all, to receive the laurels of that society. As long as she can make it look like the won, and she can, easily, by revealing or be involved in revealing who is LW. See the whole KatexEdwina, how she handled the Ton there.
Anyway, just wanted to say something because some people have dreamed a LW that doesn't exist at all. Created on their own minds a boogeyman that wasn't simply reporting the truth with witty opinions but fabricating stories and lies to ruin lives, and that's simply not true. Never happened. There was never a lie created there. Only the truth, even about herself, as Pen was often damaged by her column.
