#emotions are hard to understand

[nabi-unveiled]

So I started the third episode of Love for Love's Sake DAYS ago, but I got stuck. I'm giving up. Any help would be appreciated.

Because this scene here...

I don't understand. at. all.

As a somewhat awkward personal confession, I don't understand hugs. I say things like "I just want to hug them" or "they need a hug" frequently when watching shows, but it's just a popular phrase to convey they need comfort. I also really enjoy seeing good hugs on screen between couples. But I don't actually "get" hugs the way most people seem to process them.

Hugs fall in three categories for me:

Sexual - The only type of hug I actually understand. Probably my enjoyment of on-screen hugs between couples comes from associating it here. I'm very huggy with my partner, but it's 100% sexual.

Social Obligation - There are times I know cognitively that I'm supposed to hug, and I've prepared myself for it. I hug my kids daily, because I know mothers are supposed to hug. I want to minimize any trauma I cause them as much as possible. I hug my dad on his birthday and Father's day, because I know it's important to him. I also know you hug people if someone dies or people are crying. Eesh..this sounds really bad typing it out. Anyways, I logically know that there are times that hugs are expected by others due to social norms or that the people I care about need them for some reason.

Uncomfortable - All other hugs (and most uninvited touch), I find HIGHLY uncomfortable. This includes if someone is trying to comfort me. If you want to comfort me, do NOT touch me.

So, this hug in LFLS...I don't get it. It's not sexual. It's not really comfort...is it? It's not a social expectation. How does this hug answer the question of "how did you live?".

I paused so I could think about it as I had a work meeting anyways, but I've never went back. Because I still haven't figured it out, and my brain is refusing to move forward.

My only thought was that it was trying to say he lived by caring about other people. But that doesn't make a lot of sense with what I know of Myungha's life so far. I mean, he did care about Yeowoon in "the story", but it didn't seem like he had a lot of people in his "real" life. Again, I'm only in episode 3.

I finally reached out to my brother as I always do when I can't process. He's very much a feeling, huggy type. For those that enjoy the bunk that is MBTI designations - I'm ISTP. He's ENFP. He delights in torturing me with hugs on the rare occasions we get to meet up. I'm sure I'll take a lot of sibling shade in our next phone call for overthinking a hug.

He answered "It's supposed to convey that they got through with help from others and companionship. It's the idea that they aren't actually alone and that they have someone there who supports them. It could also be a "love got me through" thing. Even without others, love wins all."

Which is sort of like my original thought. So was that correct? Is that what "like this" means in this context?

Ugh. I may just have to force myself to hit play and hope my brain decides to move on too.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me

[mizuthe-cat]

Wow the feelings of “oh god they all hate me” and “they all think you’re annoying” are strong today

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[br1ghtestlight]

omg i never even posted my goodles (goo doodles) on tumblr dot com??

[royalarchivist]

Cucurucho: 🔎🫧

Last year's Cucurucho's fireplace stream was sweet because the holidays can be a very sad and lonely time for a lot of people, and I think the intention of this stream is to offer that same comfort.

I know this stream was a bit of a surprise for everyone, and I know many of us are probably feeling mixed emotions about it, however– Seeing a familiar face or watching characters do silly things can sometimes make a big difference for folks who are having a difficult time. I hope this stream does bring a bit of joy and comfort to folks who need it right now.

No matter what the case may be for you, I hope you're all doing alright. 💕

[secriden]

This line. God, this line! It has been eating me up inside for 2 days now, because let's not forget, this line isn't about love, it's about trust. And that has implications that make me want to scream.

It's a direct reference to this moment earlier in the episode:

At the start of this discussion, Style and Fadel still have a kind of playful air about their conversation:

Style: Oh? Not even me? Fadel: You're at 80% at best. I feel like you're hiding something from me in the 20%.

In this exchange, though, there's a sense that Fadel is issuing a challenge, like there's something specific which Style can do to gain Fadel's full trust. And while Style knows there are things he cannot (yet) reveal to Fadel, I think a part of him is determined to be as honest as he can be, which is why he issues a challenge of his own by asking for more specificity:

Style: What do I have to do to gain your complete trust?

Part of this question is a simultaneously inquisitive and deflective - What (and why) do you think I'm hiding (something) from you? - but there's also a moment after Style finishes speaking where he stills and goes quiet that feels... genuine, weighty. Or, as @airenyah has pointed out in her meta on Style in episode 4, the "grounded[ness]" in Style's demeanour is a signal that Style means what he's saying in the moment. Maybe about his own desire to be worthy of Fadel's trust, maybe about how he genuinely does want this relationship to be real in whatever way that matters to Fadel.

I think Fadel sensed that too, because the moment looses all the lightheartedness it had before. Fadel pauses, and then gets a look on his face that just... breaks my heart. There's a sombreness there, like he knows he's going to have to say something that makes him sad. Fadel looks away, and then down, before he seems to steel himself and says:

Fadel: It'll never happen. No matter how much you love someone, I just don't believe that you can completely lay yourself bare in front of them.

Fadel says this like it's fact. Like what he's expressing is something foundational and true and irrefutable. It's not even about his doubt in Style's honesty, because this statement has no qualifiers or conditions put on it to connect it to Style. Rather this is what Fadel fundamentally believes about relationships and trust: he finds the very concept of being fully known and still accepted an impossibility.

Sure, maybe this is because of the falling out (or betrayal or disappearance) associated with the former lover; but I also think it might be because Fadel is acutely aware not only that he's hiding a rather big and dark secret (not to mince words, but: actual literal premeditated murder), but also about what it implies about Fadel. Because being able to kill another human, coldly and clinically and without remorse, takes a certain type of person. Because, yes, Fadel has lived through an absolutely harrowing and traumatising event (his parents' murder), but it's also undeniable that it changed him. Because there's something about Fadel that twisted dark and which he never quite got back. There's an anger, a hurt that colours every moment of his life; that enables him to look a man in the eyes, smile politely, and pull a trigger.

And at this point in their relationship, Fadel's understanding of Style is that he's... well, kind of innocent. Especially in comparison to Fadel and Bison, and even Kant.

Style, who easily reveals facts about his life which Fadel already knows (winning a car tuning competition), making Fadel doubt his own instincts about Style hiding secrets. Style, who also reveals the things Fadel doesn't know, like the tender and secret pain of a mother lost to cancer (which, now that I think about it, Fadel may also know) and his worries about a father who "lost his bearings for a bit" (which he probably doesn't). Style, who tries to comfort Fadel in his own loss by offering a safe space and a sympathetic ear.

Style, who doesn't just see Fadel for his tragedy, but is asking to be given the chance to accept all of Fadel as a person. Style, who not only wants but has the capacity, to be the only person Fadel needs to rely on. Style who, despite the sea of differences between them, understands Fadel on a level that is so very foundational.

I'm going to slightly segue and mention something that may not resonate with everyone, but really hit me in the gut this episode: because I lost my father when I was 16 after he battled cancer for 2 painful years. And this revelation about Style has totally shifted and coloured everything Style has done in a new light for me. Because not only does this totally explain Style's sometimes almost stubbornly childish demeanour (it's common in adults who've had to 'grow up' too early), but also why Style shows seemingly random flashes of insight and maturity when they are most crucial. Notably, Style has this almost instinctive sense of when he needs to back off a sore point with Fadel that I couldn't quite put my finger on until this episode.

I've seen a few jokes about Style's awkward subject change, but I've actually got a friend who I hold very dear to my heart who was one of the only people to give me a sense of normalcy and comfort when my dad was on his last few days and then at his funeral. And part of that was the instinctive way she would know when I needed to just. Not be a grieving daughter for a few minutes. To get a small respite from the overwhelming hopelessness and sense of impending loss. To get a moment to breathe and gather my strength, because knowing I was never going to see my dad again, or hear his voice, or hold his hand was tearing me apart back then. Sometimes she'd talk to me about college drama, sometimes she'd introduce a new kpop video to me, sometimes she'd just ask me what I wanted to eat and take me to go have a meal with her. And sometimes there really just isn't anything else to say other than "I'm sorry." Nothing you say - nothing you can say - is going to ever, ever make this grief go away, and in most cases, it was better when people (especially those who couldn't really understand) didn't try.

And I think if you look at Fadel very closely, there's a moment of genuine surprise (Fadel wasn't expecting the subject change at all) and then... something that looks like fondness mixed with exhausted relief. Because I don't think Fadel was ready to talk about his parents yet. This was honesty he wasn't ready to give Style, mostly prompted because Style himself had willingly been so vulnerable that a part of Fadel wanted to reciprocate. But further down that path lies not only his darkest memories, but also the connection to the part of his life he is not willing to share with Style yet. So this subject change is a relief, it's a blessing, but it's also Style knowing when he shouldn't push any further with Fadel's fragile heart.

Which brings me back to how well the episode's theme of trust (both deserved and undeserved) was woven in this episode. This is true on multiple levels and characters but I'm not even going to attempt to touch Kant in this post because... Lord, that is beyond me at the moment. Someone else needs to do that, pretty please, so I can reblog it and scream.

It starts, somewhat unexpectedly, with Fadel asking for entrance into the intimate spaces of Style's life.

So, this episode was not about Fadel's fear of his own feelings, desires, or even affection for Style - that appears to be fully addressed in episode 4. I think that's why we see Fadel be so physically affectionate and indulgent of Style in this episode. He's come to terms with his lust for Style's body (hence his comfort in initiating sex), he's accepted Style as his boyfriend and so can enjoy Style's playful teasing (still reluctantly, but Fadel is still an introvert even if he's mostly enjoying Style's rambunctious nature), and give into Style's (and Bison's and Kant's) cajoling with relatively little fuss.

He's even comfortable toying with the edges of revealing his darker and more sinister side by reminding Style implicitly about how violent Fadel has the potential to be. Recall that Fadel knows Style knows some of his capacity for violence; he just doesn't know how very thoroughly Style is aware of the full scale of this truth. It does help that Style evidences no actual fear and, in fact, looks positively euphoric. Like, buddy, pal, dearest one... please control yourself.

And yet something very, very telling is the way the show makes it a point to depict Fadel very deliberately getting drunk during the double date. Even before the date has started, Fadel looks to be about half a beer in and we see him constantly drinking, drinking, drinking during the whole date. From the conversation about trust he has with Style while Kant and Bison are being off key and adorable about it, to after Kant leaves and Bison gets worried. And we've seen Fadel cope with emotional and mental distress with alcohol before, so we know that Fadel is internally fighting some kind of very intense battle even as he is also very clearly enjoying moments with Style on this date (most notably when they're dancing by the bowling lanes and when Style asks him to go home with him).

So here's my take: rather than being about love, this is about Fadel fighting to hold onto his own philosophy on relationships and trust. Because as much as I do believe Fadel believes he's telling the truth when he tells Style that 100% trust is "impossible", I think it's clear that's not what he wants.

What he wants is to finish this last job so that the only thing he can't be honest about with Style will finally stop being a factor in his life. What he wants is to fully and completely reciprocate the openness Style seems to be giving Fadel. What he wants is to switch off his brain and let his heart lead for once, to stop fighting a battle he has no desire to win anymore, only he can't. Trust (not love) is Fadel's final frontier, and one which he can't quite give up in spite of himself.

Which is why I think Fadel intentionally gets himself drunk here. Because he wants to let his guard down around Style. He wants to open himself fully, he wants to "lay himself bare" for Style, he wants Style to know the full truth and accept him anyway - and he gets so close, but can't quite get there - because he doesn't know that Style already has.

When Style says this, Fadel thinks it's empty words, not knowing that Style has long passed the bar Fadel thinks is insurmountable. And just like Style was able to offer safety and reassurance to the vulnerability Fadel was showing in episode 4, Style instinctively gets to the core of Fadel's darkest fears again:

Style: One day, I'll be your 100%.

This isn't (just) a promise that Style will wear Fadel's stubbornness down, or that Style will be worthy of Fadel's 100% (which, already, has me in tears, ngl). Beyond that, this is Style promising Fadel isn't ruined for this; that it isn't too late, that whatever hurts and wounds Fadel has can be made whole again. That the kind of honest and all-encompassing and unconditional trust which Fadel says is impossible can, in fact, be his. That Fadel still has the capacity to trust and be trusted the way he so desperately, painfully longs for.

I know a lot of people have said Style in this episode is writing cheques he has no ability to honour, but I think it's more layered than that. Because in a very significant and profound way, Style is wholly deserving of Fadel's trust. Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. Style is a man who would stare into Fadel’s darkness and reach out first. Strip away the complication of Kant being blackmailed and dragging Style into his mission, and Style is literally perfect for Fadel. He is exactly what Fadel wants (and possibly has wanted for a very long time). He is, in fact, exactly what Fadel needs to ever experience anything beyond the shadow of a life he's had so far.

But oh, the cruel narrative means that Style is also, simultaneously, painfully undeserving of Fadel's trust; and this is something Style is very much aware of. I think that's why he's trying so very hard to be worthy in all the other ways he can be. Style's awareness of what Fadel is hiding enables Style to (counterintuitively) be completely honest about his feelings for and about Fadel even as he cannot reveal his motivations. So he gives Fadel as much honesty as he can: offers the vulnerability of his own pain and hurts; the comfort of his true understanding and acceptance.

And just as Fadel's vulnerability in the abandoned factory was met with Style choosing a form of physical connection that prioritised Fadel's pleasure (it's made very clear that Style is jerking Fadel off and that all his focus in that moment was on Fadel, not his own pleasure), so too is this moment met with Style very intentionally choosing to worship Fadel's body with all the tenderness and genuine emotional weight that Style wanted Fadel to have in their first time in the storeroom.

Because, crucially, this was Style giving Fadel the chance to lay himself at least physically bare. This is the closest either of them can get to full honesty with the secrets they both are keeping. It's why Style tries so very hard to show the care and adoration and genuine feelings he has for Fadel. Why he makes sure that the vulnerability of Fadel getting himself as drunk and as relaxed and as trusting as Fadel can allow himself to be is tied only to gentleness and tenderness and pleasure.

Because Style actually knows that Fadel can't (and shouldn't) trust him in the way Fadel truly wishes to.

And as much as I believe that Style genuinely means this from the bottom of his heart, the horrifying full truth is that it is Style that has the metaphorical knife hovering over Fadel's chest. He is the one with the capacity to actually give Fadel a new scar that would truly matter. He is, in fact, the only one Fadel wants to fully trust -- and this, along with Style's compromised heart, makes it so that the circumstances will doom them both.

[hannahbarberra162]

Long Forgotten Fairytale, Chapter 2 (Shamrock x reader, soft yandere)

18+ MDNI | on Ao3

The other chapter

TW: canon typical violence, slavery. Here Sham and reader are literal children. There will be NSFW elements later on when they are older.

With every day that passed Shamrock was increasingly pleased and more certain in his decision to not kill his slave girl. It had been about six months and Shamrock had come to expect your presence during his daily life, not remembering what it had been like before there was always someone waiting to fulfill his every whim. He couldn’t believe he had killed so many servants before you when having someone who knew his daily routines was much more convenient. It didn’t hurt that you were a little bit pretty as well - in that raw, unpolished way that slaves sometimes were. You weren’t much to look at but you were better looking than the male slaves he had before, he supposed. 

Wherever he went, you trailed along behind him like a dog and adjusted the smaller matters to his liking. But more than just anticipating his needs, you observed as he excelled in everything he set his mind to. He had even told you which window to watch out of as he sparred his opponents so you’d be able to have the best view of him when he was outside the castle. Shamrock always felt he performed better while he was sure you were watching, something in him desiring you to see him at his best. Your presence in his daily routines was irreplaceable, Shamrock decided. He liked your fastidiousness and attention to detail as you polished his armor, made his bed, and brought him refreshments, but the task he enjoyed you completing most was brushing his long hair.

He enjoyed feeling your fingers in his hair as your soft voice told him about his own exploits. One time as he watched you gently brush his red hair, his mind wandered to thoughts of his mother doing the same while he sat on her lap many years prior. He must have been much younger since he couldn’t really remember his mother’s face any longer, just the feel of her long fingers roaming through his hair, wavy like her own… Shamrock abruptly stood up and quickly shoved that memory to the back of his mind. Shamrock saw the minute flinch of your shoulders, nearly undetectable to the untrained eye, and frowned. Over the months you’d spent in his service, he had picked up on a few of your mannerisms.

“Perhaps I should cut off my hair like my br- like others do,” Shamrock said by means of apology. He wouldn’t apologize - that would be unthinkable - but he meant to show you he wasn’t upset with your actions. As he spoke, Shamrock looked over his image in the mirror. Everyone told him that he made a fine young man but whenever he saw himself he could only see his father. 

“As you wish, Young Master,” was your reply. Shamrock had grown adept in understanding the true meanings behind your words in addition to your non verbal communication. “As you wish” was your method of disagreeing with him while not suggesting your real opinion. 

“Speak true,” Shamrock demanded, already annoyed at the extra time it would take to get the truth out of you. He had been trying to get you to tell him your thoughts and opinions over the course of months but you were reluctant to ever speak your mind. Since the math incident and consequent tutoring, he knew you were smart and could think for yourself so it bothered him that he had to constantly dig for your opinions. 

“Your hair is beyond compare, Young Master,” you said, looking at its length in the mirror while running your fingers through the section you’d just tenderly brushed. His overgrown bangs hung in his eyes, obscuring his vision, while the longer sections in the back hung in loose waves. He was the only remaining member of his family with long, wavy hair and something in his heart wanted to keep it that way.

“These front bits irritate me during battle, they fly into my eyes,” Shamrock griped, pushing his bangs back from his face. He wished you would resume your brushing but felt pathetic asking you for it directly.

“Perhaps I could style it for you, Young Master? Would you allow me the honor?” you asked in a hushed whisper. You were so fearful that someone would overhear you and slay you on the spot, Shamrock thought, as if he’d allow such a thing. No, it would be too time consuming to train another how he liked his tea, when he liked to read in the East library and where in the West, and how he liked his armor polished. It was better that you were kept alive, even if only for his own convenience. 

Shamrock settled back down in the chair in front of the mirror and watched as your deft fingers braided the front section back, tying his hair into a half ponytail. His face was framed by some of the longer sections but overall the results were pleasing to the eye. He considered himself in the mirror and turned his head to the side to view the results. He shook his head vigorously but not a hair fell out of place. 

“Is it to your liking, Young Master?” you asked, still hovering behind him. Shamrock noted your lips pressed together as your hands gripped the hairbrush tightly. He hadn’t struck you since the first days of your time together so he didn’t understand why you cowered so much around him. 

“Yes, very good. I shall keep it this way for the time being. See to it that you style it this way for me daily,” Shamrock declared, crossing his legs. You didn’t smile at him but your face relaxed, which Shamrock supposed was good enough. Maybe one day he’d see a smile - not that he cared, he was simply tired of seeing your fear on your face. You nodded and Shamrock had worn his hair in that style since that day. 

Despite the overwhelming success of his idea to keep you alive, there were some bumps in the road. At first you were living - well, he wasn’t sure exactly - but he moved you to the empty closet adjacent to his room. You had gone off to fetch him a snack one night and had taken a few minutes too long for his liking. Sighing, he left his room as a strange feeling settled over his chest. Grabbing his sword, he set off in the general direction he watched you sometimes take as you carried away his meal trays.

Walking down the shadowy hallway, Shamrock heard the tinkling of small bells. No, that wasn’t quite right, it wasn’t bells, it was something lighter - some sound Shamrock was sure he hadn’t heard before. Coming up to a turn in the hall, Shamrock peered around the corner to see what was making the happy noise. It was you, laughing into your hand as a boy slave near your own age said something close to your ear. You were carrying his food on a tray with your hands while the slave continued to sully your hearing with his words. Even though his gut burned with hatred, Shamrock made no move. He wanted to hear the sound again, the kind of sound he’d never heard you make in his presence. 

The slave said something else to you, making you gasp in false outrage while a smile flitted across your face. You slapped the boy’s chest with one hand and pushed him away lightly, taking the tray in both hands once more as you moved down the hall closer to Shamrock. The boy watched you leave as his eyes looked you up and down. Shamrock made a note of his characteristic features - a missing pinky on the left hand, a birthmark on the neck - for justice to be meted out later. Shamrock stepped back into the shadows where the light of the lamps did not reach and awaited your approach. Shamrock’s frown deepened the longer he had to wait for you to pass as he replayed you touching the other slave over and over in his mind, the sound of your laugh mocking him in his memory. 

You hurried along but as you passed, Shamrock’s arm shot out and grabbed your elbow, his grip unrelenting as he spun you to face him. The silver tray dropped to the stone floor with as clatter as you sucked in a breath, not calling out like he had expected you to. Your body was chilled through your thin dress, goosebumps lining your skin as Shamrock gave you an assessing look. He didn’t have to say anything as you withered beneath his gaze, pressing your hands and lips together, your body shaking with anticipation of his next actions. The silence grew heavy as Shamrock refused to speak to you while the laws dictated you could not address him. He saw beads of sweat lining your brow as you worried over the consequences of your actions. 

“I should kill you both,” Shamrock hissed at you, making your shoulders visibly shake. Shamrock knew he should kill you for wasting his time, for leaving him waiting while you had fun with another slave. You didn’t answer but ducked your head, awaiting the blow that would end your life. You didn’t beg or plead, just waited until Shamrock passed his judgement over you. And yet his hand rested on the pommel of his sword rather than gripping it as displeasure washed over him. He turned on his heel and you followed, the silence between you deafening. You were safe, he wasn't going to kill you. The boy, on the other hand, Shamrock would have to think of a suitable punishment for touching what was his. 

After that night Shamrock had changed your living situation. He didn’t want other slaves near you when he wasn’t witness to the interaction, pulling sounds from you he’d never heard and could not get you to replicate. It was preposterous to think that you’d have  any kind of relationship with anyone else when the only person you needed to care about or for was himself. It almost felt like when one of his favored horses accepted another rider but worse, like the horse itself had selected another rider. It wasn’t a feeling Shamrock was used to and he certainly didn’t want to be accustomed to it either.

When he had told you that you’d be moving closer to his room, you had brought your meager belongings - another dress and a thin blanket - with you one morning after he’d commanded you to relocate. You stood in the middle of his empty closet, shifting your weight on your feet on the carpeting. Your face wasn't displaying any kind of emotion other than the general fear he'd long come to expect when you were faced with new situations. 

“Well? Is it not enough?” Shamrock scoffed. Yes, it was a closet but it had windows and a door and even a small half bath. Surely that would be good enough for someone like you.

“It is magnificent, Young Master,” you said, clutching your things to your chest tighter.

“Have the rest of your belongings brought up by evening, I don’t want you sleeping out elsewhere again.”

“You have blessed me, thank you Young Master,” you said, moving towards him and sinking to your knees. You bowed your head to him with tears running down your face, shaking slightly with the effort to keep yourself from crying aloud. Shamrock’s face was impassive but in truth, he was confused. He closed the distance between you and extended his hand, not exactly sure what he was going to do. Perhaps pat your head like a favored dog? He’d never comforted anyone but he didn’t like the tears on your face - though he couldn’t place why. It didn’t bother him when the slaves he fought on the battlefield cried for mercy, it only annoyed him further.

You reached out with your own smaller hands and fervently kissed the back of his gloved hand, causing Shamrock to snatch it back out of shock. He had seen favored female slaves do such things before, it wasn’t completely out of the question, but he hadn’t expected the gesture from you. His heart pricked with a small pang of regret as you rocked back on your heels and hung your head. He almost extended his hand again to see if you would repeat your action but he decided against it. 

The next morning, you awoke him as you normally did by opening the shades to his room. After getting him ready for the day and strapping him into his armor for his battle practice, Shamrock poked his head into the closet and was surprised to see it still empty. Turning on his heel towards you, you took a step back away from him as you avoided eye contact. He grabbed you by the upper arm but kept his fingers light to prevent further bruising. He saw bruises where he gripped you roughly the night before and he found it gauche, as if it said he ruled you by force.

“I ordered you to have the rest of your belongings brought up. Where is your bed? Your pillows and blankets? Did you defy me and sleep in the slave quarters once more?” Your eyes were wide and you shook your head furiously as Shamrock waited for your answer. 

“I have no other belongings, Young Master. I stayed in the room as you commanded, I would never defy you.” Shamrock’s ire was sated but he looked at the empty closet. The thin blanket you’d brought with you was folded neatly on the floor and your change of clothing was placed next to it. Even though the floor was carpeted in the finest, plushest, ruchest carpet available in the world, you would be able to perform your duties better if you slept well. It wasn't that Shamrock cared about your needs, he only cared about how  diligently you were able to work for him. 

“Have a cot brought up. Pillow and thick blanket too. I shall be locking you in at night,” he decided, turning away from the closet.

Though Shamrock tolerated your presence at all times, he enjoyed most when you spoke to him in soft tones at night before he went to sleep. You told him about all the amazing things he’d done during the day, never failing to highlight the incredible way he fought or how he’d gotten difficult math problems correct after you’d explained them to him once or twice. But sometimes conversation shifted to other topics. At times you told him some mild gossip about the servants but the best was when he convinced you to share some of the fantastical stories the slaves told among themselves. He couldn’t outright demand them from you, you denied that the slaves spoke to one another at all. Instead he asked you for a story, something to relieve his mind of its burdens and after a few moments you would always acquiesce, unable to deny his requests. He wasn’t sure if they were all from other slaves or if you made up some of them yourself but he heartily enjoyed them all either way. The stories soothed him until he was able to calm his own mind, after which he locked you in your closet and fell fast asleep with the knowledge that you’d be waiting for him the following morning.

Under the glow of the candle, you sat at the end of his bed and told him story after story, each more marvelous than the last. There were bold, brave knights who fought to save beautiful maidens, dashing sword fights, self driving horse carriages, lands with no water at all, treasures, fairies, evil Kings and Queens, and monsters beyond his wildest imagination. Yes, he liked them all, but the one he favored the most was one about a cursed prince who had been turned into a hideous beast. The Beast locked away a beautiful maiden in his castle, keeping her as prisoner with him in his loneliness. In order to break the curse, the Beast had to get the maiden to fall in love with him, meanwhile the Beast’s estranged brother was planning on slaying the beast, unaware that the Beast was the transformed Prince. The two fought to the death but the maiden’s love for the Beast saved him in the end and they lived happily ever after. Shamrock had made you tell it so many times he practically knew it by heart himself, though he enjoyed it when you told him the story time and time again.

“You’ve forgotten the part about the maiden falling in love with the Beast,” Shamrock complained one night as you told him the story again at his request. You paused in your telling and looked at him. He’d gotten you to look at him, though not in the eyes of course, since it bothered him when you looked away when you spoke. 

“Young Master does not favor that section of the story, you prefer the sword fights with the Beast’s brother. I do not mean to bore you, Young Master,” you said quietly. Shamrock exhaled sharply through his nose.

“I like all the parts of the story. Yes, I like when the Beast fights his brother and slashes his face with his claws but I also like when the maiden finally falls in love with him while trapped in his castle. She’s weak to his charms, enthralled by his strength and action.”

“She falls in love with his kindness for her,” you replied in a steady voice. “He shows her he isn’t a Beast like she thought, that he has no charms where she is involved. He could be cruel to her, she is at his mercy but instead he helps her. He shows her the library and lets her read at her leisure. He feeds her fine foods and values her intelligence, the feature about herself she likes most. That’s why she loves the Beast, not his battle prowess,” you said, looking back down at the floor. Shamrock was silent as he digested your words. He was almost sure you were saying something else, but the meaning was just beyond his grasp. You sat in silence, waiting for Shamrock’s next command.

“In any case, do not skip any parts of the story. I enjoy them all,” he declared, setting his hands behind his head. 

“Yes, Young Master.”

Yes, Shamrock had made the right decision in not killing you. He began bringing you outside to his fighting lessons and subsequent matches, both to tend to his needs as well as to watch his prowess. The first time he had brought you, it had been a cold and windy day, the breeze nipping at him even through his many layers. The grounds were muddy from the previous day’s rain and the cold wet slop seemed to penetrate every seam and pore. In between bouts, he looked over to ensure you were watching him as he struck down his foes. 

What he saw displeased him immensely -  you were shivering as the wind whipped your hair out of your face, your feet covered nearly to the knee in mud. You were wearing the same thin house clothes you wore every day, and likely the same slippers as well. Your fingers were blue from cold and even though your eyes were trained on the battlefield, they were red rimmed and your cheeks shiny. You must have felt Shamrock looking over at you because you dropped your gaze to your feet.

Shamrock nearly lost his next match.

The next day you dutifully followed Shamrock outside, but this time dressed in a thick wool dress and leather boots, complete with a padded jacket and gloves. No one commented on your change in clothing - who would dare? - and Shamrock was able to concentrate on his opponents now that he didn’t have to hear your sniffling. Shamrock defeated more slaves than ever before, his sword dripping with blood by the time his matches were over.

That night, you once more appeared before Shamrock to tell him a story, but somehow you weren’t with him. You were physically there but the light had gone from your eyes, the deadened state so similar to other slaves he had seen. You told him his exploits as before but usually once you started telling you would add details and use your hands to craft the story into something fantastic that he could picture in his mind's eye. But tonight your hands sat in your lap as your dull voice told him about the slaves he had slain on the training field. After a few moments, Shamrock stopped you with a wave of his hand.

“What is the matter with you?” Shamrock rebuked you, his tone more irritated than he truly felt. He was tired from the day’s training but he couldn’t let you think that your behavior was acceptable.

“I apologize, Young Master. Please let me know the justice -”

“No, no. Speak true,” Shamrock said, wanting to cut to the heart of the matter immediately. You remained silent as you wet your lips with your tongue. 

“Was I not impressive today?” Shamrock prodded. He had been proud of his techniques, it would be a shame if you didn’t think the same.

“You were amazing as always, Young Master,” you stated while picking at your nails. 

“Then why are you so…small?” Shamrock couldn’t think of a word that would describe the way you were folded into yourself. Every Celestial Dragon was loud and big and proud but now you looked like a gentle breeze could carry you off into the night.

“I am a slave, Young Master.” Shamrock scoffed - you were always speaking in circles, your meaning elusive as you tried to avoid his wrath. 

“Of course you are a slave, you are my slave, lest you forget. Now tell me before I anger, what is the matter with you?”

“You fought many slaves this afternoon and defeated them all, Young Master. I…I knew some of them well,” you said in a quiet voice. A single tear ran down your cheek and Shamrock impulsively reached out to touch it. You startled and jerked back, your doleful eyes brimming with tears. Shamrock was unmoved by your tears, he wasn’t upset he had killed the slaves but…

“I am done with you for the night, I am too tired to hear of my exploits. Be gone to your quarters,” Shamrock demanded, turning over to face away from you. The bed dipped as you stood up and hovered near the bed. 

“Praised be your name, Young Master,” you said with a deep bow as you padded to the closet. Shamrock stood up to lock you in for the night, following behind you. Shamrock lingered by the doorway and watched you settle onto the small cot on the floor. He was about to shut the door and lock you in when a thought came to him. 

“I am in need of tougher opponents on the battlefield; slaves are below my current level of ability. They are no challenge for me, I slay them too easily. I will have masters in various martial arts brought to train under instead. Tomorrow begins a new style of regimen for me and I expect your presence on the field to observe.” Shamrock did not look at your face as he shut the door and turned the key in the lock. 

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @rebeccawinters @sanjisleggy @nerium-lil @unwillingstars

[bikananjarrus]

live action star wars is never going to give us the heartfelt emotional scene of ezra seeing lothal again for the first time, at least not in the way that we deserve. seeing him land on the planet and walking wistfully through the tall grasses, loth cats trailing in his wake; walking through the city with a bit of a heavy heart because these streets and buildings are so familiar, and yet so different at the same time, because the city has grown and thrived in the empire's absence. we're never going to see him crying quiet, joyful tears because he's finally home.

[harmonysanreads]

To me, Dr. Ratio is like that one specific topic/subject that I'd force myself to read because of its importance for an exam and during the process, fall in love with it realizing its intricacies. I originally did not like him at all ; his snooty talking style and apparent lack of respect used to give me some not-so-kind flashbacks from middle school Math class.

He irked me so much that I had to start a fic with the exclusive wish of emotionally torturing him, which then spiralled into a long-fic because, as I was looking into his lore, I realized that there is practically nothing on his origin story besides that one letter from his teacher. How exactly did he come to harbor this specific ambition? How were his philosophies formed? How old is he? Does he still have a living family or, did he EVER? They don't tell us! And that drove me crazy.

It's honestly such a pity. When you look at all the theories about him and realize just how much potential he has and that the writers aren't utilizing it. He has maybe an hour worth of screentime from Crown of the Mundane and Divine and Penacony quest combined which I personally think is criminal. You look back on those scenes and find some info that has your brain malfunction for a second. What do you mean Ratio knew that the Astral Express could be used as a weapon and the whole deal about “Dormancy”? And they also never explain themselves after dropping these information!

Dr. Ratio is unfortunately one of the most mischaracterized characters in this game and as someone who used to be a part of that crowd, I just want to extend my solace to all Ratio lovers. As well as encourage anyone with similar feelings of dislike or, someone who currently does not understand him to spare some effort into studying him. Take your time and don't be discouraged, what matters most is that you start thinking.

[gwynethberdarasupremecy]

Gwynriels 👏aren’t 👏happy 👏Gwyn 👏has 👏the 👏necklace 👏because 👏it’s 👏(re)gifted. 👏Gwynriels 👏are 👏happy 👏Gwyn 👏has 👏the 👏necklace 👏because 👏of 👏the👏 emotions 👏Az 👏felt 👏while 👏giving 👏it. 👏

[turtleblogatlast]

Mikey and Leo episode centered around Mikey wanting to push Leo and Draxum together since Leo’s the most reluctant to give Draxum any grace (for good reason!) But, thinking on the spot, Leo says he’s gotta go do something for Hueso and “just can’t hang out right now 😔” (yes, he says the emoji out loud.)

Mikey calls his bluff and now the three of them (Mikey having grabbed a weary Draxum along) go to Hueso’s to find that yes, he actually does have a job for him. Said job asks for Leo to go with Hueso to deliver multiple pizzas to this giant yokai quite a distance away, and Hueso figured it would probably go better with Leo’s help (emphasis on probably.)

Well, Mikey decides that this would be a great bonding opportunity for them and basically invites he and Draxum along. Unfortunately for Leo, Hueso doesn’t care enough to wave away more help, though he does side-eye the wanted criminal Baron Draxum coming with them. But who is he to judge? (This choice has consequences.)

The journey goes about as terribly as you’d expect, but at least the pizzas get delivered on time.

[cake-emu]

"I'm really sorry to have to be the one to-- My colleagues have found a body near the hospital. They think it might be Rob."

Coronation Street | Carla Connor + Lisa Swain (12th March 2025)

[liorlenn]

(Spoilers for KCD2 romance)

One thing that really surprised me about Kingdom Come: Deliverance II (particularly the Hansry romance) was the direct reference to Galehaut and Lancelot (let me tell you I CHEERED), so I wanted to start talking about some other queer medieval Arthurian texts and Arthuriana adjacent texts.

I’m by no means an expert (I focus more on Welsh poetry and prose) but medieval Welsh literature includes some Arthurian literature, so I know a little about Arthurian Literature in general. Most of these stories are either Old French or German and about 13th century. SGATGK is 14th century.

For one, I want to say that the tale being referenced in the game is the Vulgate Cycle or the Lancelot-Grail Cycle (the Vulgate Cycle itself is multiple parts, with Lancelot’s (The Story of Lancelot/Prose Lancelot) being the largest). It’s a big ol’ mash up and retelling of a huge part of the early tradition + new stuff. There’s also the Post-Vulgate which is itself a retelling of the Vulgate Cycle. This is NOT the one you want if you’re looking for Lancelot and Galehaut.

Another thing of note about the Vulgate is that Galehaut and Lancelot are not the only ones I would give the old side eye. Gawain says (about Lancelot even!), “If God were to grant me my health… I’d immediately wish to be the most beautiful maiden in the world, happy and healthy, on condition that he would love me above all others…” Come on man.

Now, for other queer texts!

First up, I have to plug my best friend and my silly rabbit: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Thanks to the movie (which was good but fairly different) this one is a bit more well-known. I could talk endlessly about the moral of the original story and I think the Gawain Poet is incredibly talented at weaving together imagery. I also appreciate Gawain’s willingness to kiss women AND men. Some argue that it’s not queer because of differing social norms but personally I think Gawain wanted it. And by it, haha well let’s jusrt say—

Next we have Parzival/Percival (referencing the German “version” by Wolfram von Eschenbach here. Each iteration of a “Percival”, including Chrétien de Troyes’ earlier (and unfinished) Story of the Grail, all have their own differences). This one is even more up to interpretation than SGATGK. There’s a very explicitly performative aspect to Parzival’s presentation (his gender is “knight”), focusing distinctly on clothing and the role clothing plays in others’ reactions to him that I think is very relatable. I don’t have much else to say about this one unfortunately. I read parts of it once years ago but it was super interesting and there has been scholarship done on Parzival and gender so…. take what you will from it.

The next stories are Arthurian adjacent (as in, medieval stories about knights). First off: Le Roman de Silence is either about a woman knight or a trans knight who is… sighs. Forcibly outed. Interesting read but definitely a bit of a downer if you interpret Silence as a trans man.

Yde et Olive, however is very explicitly about a trans man! Happy ending too! I was incredibly surprised to read a 13th century story about a trans man getting magical/miraculous top and bottom surgery (yes, forreal).

And to cap off this small list, here is some medieval Welsh literature. This one is just me being a little wistful, but let me tell you about Blodeuedd/Blodeuwedd and the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi (Math fab Mathonwy). This one is…sad. It’s not a good ending for Blodeuedd, but I could wax poetic about her: how she was fashioned from flowers to fulfill a gendered role. How she failed to do so and was punished.

There are plenty of other stories with queer interpretations in Arthuriana and other medieval literature (do not get me started on Guinevere and Morgan le Fay’s whole… thing. Also Luned and her Lady…) and there are plenty of modern/early modern retellings that are explicitly queer. I just wanted to stick to medieval texts for this and also limit myself to a select few among that even.

[touchlikethesun]

modern shen brothers AU, shen jiu is the older but shorter and shen yuan is the younger but taller brother. shen jiu starts being bitchy in a not-fun-and-actually-mean way and shen yuan puts his phone on the top shelf. shen yuan never lets up on the short jokes because he’s a troll and his "put together and professional" older brother is so funny when he gets all red faced and sputtering. but despite the teasing, when shen yuan is scared or overwhelmed all he wants to do is curl up in shen jiu’s arms like he did when they were little, like he did when his big brother was bigger than life itself.

[asgardian--angels]

keep fighting the good fight against this weird misconception that vik is somehow stoic and unemotional, bestie 🫡 cause idk where the hell people picked that up lol

thank you!!! fandom is always gonna fandom, reducing characters to two-dimensional tropes to make them mix-and-matchable. it's especially unfortunate when the characters we're given in Arcane are so rich and nuanced. the best antidote is to go back and rewatch the source material imo lol.

thanks for enjoying my tags also!! I used to write actual meta many years ago but at some point lost my nerve or lost the time. now it lives in the tags. I don't know many people in the jayvik fandom here, it seems mostly active on twitter, but I'm glad to be noticed by at least a couple people here :) your blog is great!!