#“women” who are a little unhinged my beloved

[crocrubies]

ohhhh saito boss you were a superhero to all sapphics

[comfortless]

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same— clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Machiko Kyō (Rashomon, Floating Weeds, Older Brother Younger Sister)— Considered an early sex symbol in Japanese cinema. Also just an ethereal beauty who can also go feral/unhinged in a glorious way.

Judy Garland (Meet Me In St. Louis, A Star is Born, Summer Stock)— Judy is the GOAT when it comes to classic movie musicals. The voice of an angel who deserved so much better than she got. She can sing she can dance she can act she's a triple threat. Though she had a turbulent personal life (her treatment as a child star by the studio system makes me mad as hell like Louis b Mayer fight me ((she was made to believe that she was physically unattractive by the constant criticism of film executives who made her feel ugly and who manipulated her onscreen appearance by capping her teeth and using discs in her nose to change its shape and Mayer called her "my little hunchback" like imagine hearing that as a child and not having damage)) she always goddamn delivered on screen and in any performance she gave. She began in vaudeville performing with her sisters and was signed to MGM at 13. Starting out in supporting parts especially paired with mickey Rooney in a bunch of films (she's the best part tbh) she eventually transferred to the lead role. She is best known for her starring role in movie musicals like the iconic Wizard of Oz (somewhere over the rainbow still hits hard and is ranked the top film song of all time), meet me in St. Louis (Judy singing have your self a merry little Christmas brings tears to the eyes she is that powerful), the Harvey girls (she looks like a technicolor dream and sings a catchy af song about trains), Easter parade ( dancing and singing with Fred Astaire), for me and my gal, the pirate, and summer stock ( with pal Gene Kelly who she helped when he was starting out and he helped her when she was struggling). But she also does non- singing just as well like the clock ( her first movie where she sings no songs and is an underrated ww2 era romance), her Oscar nominated a star is born ( like the man that got away she put her whole soul in that and I have beef with the fact she lost to grace kelly ((whom I love but like still not even her best work)), and judgement at Nuremberg (a courtroom drama about the nazi war criminal trials). Outside of film she made concert appearances to record-breaking audiences, released 8 studio albums, and had her own Emmy-nominated tv series. She was the youngest (39) and first female recipient of the Cecil B DeMille award for lifetime achievement in the film industry. Girl was a lifelong democrat and was a financial and moral supporter of many causes including the civil rights movement (she was at the March on Washington and held a press conference to protest the 16th street Baptist church bombings). She was a friend of the Kennedy family and would call jfk weekly often ending the calls by singing the first few lines of somewhere over the rainbow (she thought of them as Gemini twins).She was a member of the committee for the first amendment which was formed in response to the HUAC investigations. Though she died far too young and tragically she remains an icon for her work and her life. As a girl who didn't feel like i was as pretty as everyone else I have always felt a connection to Judy and I just really love her.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Machiko Kyō:

Judy:

Judy's voice alone qualifies her for at least top ten hottest HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMEN. She was a truly incredible swing singer, with a stunning voice on top of her technique. Her short dark hair looked incredible in just about any style. Have I mentioned her swagger? I can’t do it justice with words. She had swagger. She was funny as hell, and clever too. Incredibly charming and cool. I adore her.

Her eyes, her voice have bewitched me

I mean how can you beat the one and only Judy? She's beautiful, her smile is contagious, the way she sings with her whole body. You can't help but love her.

Beautiful woman, love her singing voice. And she can do everything between happy or silly and angry or heartbroken

[spearxwind]

Some of those dragons in your recent drawing don’t have any other posts in their tags, could you introduce a few if it’s not spoilery?

Yeah absolutely!! I'll talk about all of them >:)

Alex and C, you know em, both of em dragon arena gladiators that eventually fight to escape the crushingly oppressive conditions they found themselves in.

These planes are manned by Soleil (left), who flies an SU-30, and Gala + Reina (right) on an AWACS plane based on the saab Globaleye. Gala is a Human and Reina is a little dragon, either of them can pilot or handle the IFF system interchangeably, though usually Gala is the one who pilots.

Octane, you know him too, reventant died-but-not-really guy, a jetwing of considerable speed. He's a rly nice chill guy even if dying-but-not-really has made him exponentially more unhinged. Infamous in illegal racing. Used to be a part of Lexios' squadron. And on the right, his brother Jarek, infamous for other things. He's a bounty hunter who specializes in other dragons. Has little care for who hires him as long as he's getting paid.

Arcturus is one of the fastest dragons out there, and they are the interceptor for Lexios' squad. A whimsical guy, they just like to Go Really Fast but got roped into service along with Octane bc of their abilities.

Voltaire is the support attacker of the squad. He's a gruff older dragon with a lot of flight experience and a nasty EMP attack.

Lexios, my beloved, absolute showstopper whenever she appears. She's a jetwing based on the XB-70 Valkyrie, with a little bit from the B-52 Stratofortress. She's MEAN AS FUCK, completely unhinged, and super powerful to boot. She's the squad leader, and her squad is the preferred attack hammer of the Dragon Choir. Very probably a war criminal (god forbid women do anything).

Kelan here is the dragon prince of the region, but he genuinely doesnt care about it. He would much rather be flying around the cast and having fun with his friends than to sit at the council and think about war. His father's death left the Council pretty headless and Kelan's attitude and demeanor makes him disliked among them but deeply beloved by his people.

Razor is a one-winged dragon from the cliffsides and part of the raider force in the highlands where the story takes place. He lost one of his wings in the past, though he was never able to fly with them anyways. Outside of canon, Razor is one of my oldest dragon ocs and I wanted to breathe new life into him putting him in this world :) Also, he has a really thick australian accent. This fact is very important.

Rivier is a desert dragon that has also found herself in the highlands through Circumstances(tm). She's also part of the raider force, and has a human rider called Jem who she goes on missions with. She and Razor aren't related by blood but they have grown up together and consider each other siblings.

[artemis-moonsilver]

Opinions No One Asked For™️: Palia NPC Edition

Auni: I love this kid. I want him to think of me as a cool older sister or cool aunt. I bring him bugs every chance I get

Ashura: I want him to be my dad. Genuinely love him. Serious contender to be my Shepp

Badruu: He really turned the puns up to 11. I love him. Also want him to be my dad. And possibly my Shepp

Caleri: I wasn't too sure about her, but after getting to know her, I feel like we have quite a few similarities. Definitely want to be her friend. Could she be my Shepp? 👀

Chayne: I find him so calming. He also feels dad-like to me. 100% want him as a support figure/father figure regardless of who I choose as my Shepp

Delaila: Love talking to her. Really want to get to know her better at this point (but 100% want her to win all the prizes at farmers markets/festivals)

Einar: Absolutely adorable and I love him. Only platonically tho. I will give him as many Gils and shiny rocks as he wants

Elouisa: I wasn't sure at first, but I LOVE her unhinged theories. I want to be her best friend. I will investigate all the paranormal things with her. Contender for my Shepp. Girl let's go ghost hunting

Eshe: So snobby. So bougie. So bitchy. I wish she could be my Shepp 😫 (if only because it would be entertaining)

Hassian: First impressions? What an asshole. After some time, I am...intrigued. I want to figure him out. I want to know why he is the way he is. Also fucking love Tau, the gooodest boi

Hekla: Honestly... she freaked me out a little for a long time. I'm slowly coming around though

Hodari: Listen, I get it. I see where you all are coming from. But man's just not my type 🤷🏻‍♀️

Jel: Oh Jel, my beloved. I'm not exactly subtle about it. This man is my husband. Sad, skinny, pathetic, dramatic, goth guys are My Type™️. Would marry him like, yesterday 🥀😫🪡🖤😍

Jina: At first I wasn't sure, but the more I talk to her, I'm like, "Jina, my bestie." I'm a PhD student. I feel you. Also, WOMEN IN STEM, HELL YEAH!!!! I have a feeling we're gonna be great friends

Kenji: Not a fan of your extremely privileged life ("Have you tried inheriting property?" 😐😐😐) or the invasive chapaa situation... but I also don't dislike him as much as I thought. I feel like he's playing a role he doesn't really want to, but still enjoying/expecting the high life for little to no effort

Kenyatta: She should be my best friend. I was put off at first, but she is the coolest. I see quite a few aspects of myself in her

Nai'O: I feel like he's the sweetest boi ever. I'm both like, "He deserves better than Kenyatta" and "Kenyatta is good for him." Perhaps the most wholesome NPC

Najuma: I also want to be the cool older sister and/or cool aunt that she never had. This kid is a badass and smart as hell. I wish my friendship with her was better already

Reth: This man. I love him. I'm not sure if it's platonic or romantic yet. All I know is he's one of my favourite NPCs to talk to. He's funny, he's flirty, he's got a Tragic Backstory™️. I'm here for this soup boi whether he wants it or not

Sifuu: Two words: Bad. Ass. It's a crime that we can't romance her. I really want to ask her to be my Shepp, but I'm not sure it's a good fit

Tamala: I'm sorry, Tamala besties, but I just don't like her 😭 I really wanted to like her so bad, but her aggressive flirting paired with her unwillingness to consider me a friend/equal just rubs me the wrong way

Tish: Absolutely beautiful person. I want to be her bffl. That is all

Zeki: Crime Cat, my beloved. He is the most entertaining Shepp option (imo). He's got an eye patch, a gold tooth, and shady practices. I find him amusing. I want him to like me. Share his (dubiously acquired) riches with me. Please accept me into the black market. I won't tell, but I can't promise I'll participate (I probably will 👀)

[beanghostprincess]

Thoughs on Transfem Luffy? Personally I actually love this concept, some of my main hcs are:

- She comes out after Garp leaves her with Dadan so when he first sees her bounty posters he thinks he is going crazy at first

- Design is literally the same but with pigtails and the classic op girl eyes

- She casually nentions being trans after a visit from Chopper and everybody is cool with that. (Exept sanji)

- Amazpn Lily is a nightmare at first but after explaining herself Boa makes misgendering her a crime

- Impel Down is a lot more interesting

- Akainu is the only transphobic person in op and he gets his ass beaten

- Sabo cries (of joy) at Dressrosa for her

- Wano is more interesting too

Very very positive thoughts about transfem Luffy. She's my beloved. My little ball of chaos. The same exact as our canon Luffy but with different pronouns and somehow I imagine her to be even more unhinged because you wouldn't expect a cutie pie like her to be so damn chaotic.

Honestly, the whole thing is just something so cute to me. Makino? Dadan? Ace? Sabo? Shanks? They'd all support her like crazy. Ace and Sabo would beat the shit out of anyone saying anything bad about her while Makino teaches her (and her brothers) how to do her hair so it doesn't bother her while playing/running/training. This makes even more sense now because both Shanks and Dragon give major girl dad energy, so of course they'd love her (thinking about Dragon seeing the first Wanted poster and being thrilled about it and mourning a bit not being able to see her). Uta!!! Uta would tell her to be more feminine and delicate but she'd end up being charmed by her freedom, so she'd also beat the shit out of anyone who doesn't consider her sister a girl. Luffy is very nonchalant and careless about these things but is very stubborn so she gets frustrated when someone doesn't respect her identity. She's all like "I am a girl but I still wanna do stuff boys do, y'know? It just feels right to do whatever I want but, uh, as a girl. It makes sense".

Not to mention that she'd come out in the worst moment possible, in the most sudden way, and everyone in the crew would accept her but they'd be so astonished because Luffy is just so damn stupid and blunt sometimes. Also, I think it'd be good for Sanji to learn about trans girls... It'd help Sanji... In so many ways... The closet is glass for Sanji too but this isn't about her...

Amazon Lily is even better because Boa and Luffy would've been even greater friends (even though I love the whole "Luffy being the only guy she feels safe with" I also think that Boa acknowledging trans girls in an island specifically for women would be awesome).

Akainu can go rot in hell. If someone's transphobic in this show, it is him only.

Sabo!!!!!!! Sabo!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sabo would be the best brother ever to his sister. I just know that he'd be even more protective than he is now even knowing she can protect herself. Like that's his baby sister!!! And he'd be so happy to see her again and realizing she has the family and support she has always wanted!! The fact that she lives free and by her own ideals is enough for Sabo to be the happiest.

Wano is more interesting because she'd actually relate to Yamato's experience!!!!!!!! Trans besties!!!!!!!!! And Kiku!!!!!! Wano truly is the trans arc...

Overall, I believe she'd be the exact same as she is now but would easily get bothered by people telling her she's not a girl or saying that she isn't girly enough. She'd be ruthless and yet the cutest thing ever. Btw, she'd still go shirtless/topless even if she gets boobs because she does not care about it lmao--

I've been saying we need more Luffy female protagonists, tbh. It'd be soooo good for the story and would add more to the topics of freedom and liberation.

[alicehattera03]

Hello there! Love all the headcanons and drabbles you write for Callisto x Penelope. Would you be willing to write more for them where they’re devoted to each other but just being super unhinged about it? The yandere Penelope headcanons have me in a mood and I am starved for some good Yandere x Yandere content. Please and thank you!! 🙏

Ooooh Anon thank you for loving my content for them!! Love me some yanderes ehehe hope u enjoy!! ^^

Callisto was sneakily eyeing Penelope as she stood near the pillar speaking with another lady of her age. She leaves her glass and gives him a small nod before she leaves with the lady, off to a small group of older women.

Callisto strides over, taking the wine glass in his hand and made eye-contact with the man who had plucked up the courage to talk with his Penelope earlier- just so he could place his mouth onto the imprint of her lips she had left behind on the glass in dark red lipstick.

When he sips the last of the wine, he looks up again, and everyone could see the smear of red upon his mouth. The way his eyes are widened and crazed under the gleam of chandelier lights. How tense his shoulders were, straining against the fabric of his uniform. They could see how he ached to strangle the man that turned and ran out the doors with his tail between his legs.

Callisto's anger was muted because he could still taste her on his lips, pressing them together to get a hint of the wine her tongue had touched.

Penelope watches this unfold before her, her fan fluttering gently as it covers her mouth but lets her eyes show to the masses. It hides her ever-growing smile as she grips her silken dress with whitened knuckles, waiting breathlessly for something to come.

She had reminded him oh so nicely earlier in the night, when they both snuck away to the balcony before getting caught by one of the lower nobles who had blushed a fiery red at the steamy sight in front of him.

Callisto had hated that someone had seen her in such a vulnerable state, but at the same time, loved that he could show her off as his- and Penelope was the same.

So she gave him a beautiful reminder for him and for all those who wanted to have a chance to spend the night with the deadly yet handsome crown prince of the empire.

Callisto turns his head ever so slightly, and there, at his neck, where he had loosened his tie just a bit due to the heat coming off the glaring lights above, were teethmarks.

The people nearest to Callisto could see it, like an engraving on an expensive pen or a family heirloom rifle. A possession so dear to the person that they would put their name on their beloved item to show everyone that it was theirs and theirs alone.

So much for the title of crown prince of the empire and soon to be emperor- he would gladly bend the knee to his fiancée, Penelope Eckhart, who had now shown high society that she had him under her thumb, and he too, was willing to play by her rules.

But she was just as accepting of him, if the way she stood a little awkwardly said anything. And nothing to say of the feeling of something sliding down her inner thighs, her smile quivering as she dared to hope she wasn't leaving a trail behind her every time she walked away.

[pynkhues]

Oh you know I need your dream cast for a Succession prequel, Sophie

(x)

Okay okay okay, SO first thing's first, my dream Succession prequel is set against the 80s clusterfuck expansion into parks because every little bit of canon we got about that era just cooks. You've got Logan meeting Frank (and probably Gerri), Logan's whirlwind romance then toxic marriage to Caroline, Logan starting to have the golden trio and reconnecting with Connor and dealing with the aftermath of what happened to, and with, Connor's mother! Plus Ewan may or may not be still involved in the company? (I choose to think he is!)

As a result, a lot of my casting is partially determined by the age the characters would be then, which means I've had to change some actual dream casting (Romola Garai as 40yo Gerri, my beloved), but it's also a pretty fun era to think about so that's fine.

Anyway, let David Tennant as Young(er) Ewan invite you in:

I really love the Snr. Roy's being from Scotland, and their backstory feels so entwined with Scottish WWII history, so I wanted to honour that a bit in the fancasting, but all the same, I think I probably would've cast David Tennant anyway. I think he can sell that simultaneous moral superiority and absolute hypocrisy in a way that Ewan needs, and honestly, I just love the idea of him reading Jesse Armstrong's dialogue, haha.

Was Karl working for Logan in the 80s? I choose to believe yes, because I love him. Jack Lowden's been one of those actors who's popped up in a few things I've watched lately - Fighting with My Family, Small Axe and Slow Horses in particular, and I've been consistently pretty impressed with him? I think he's got a good handle of comedic timing (important for anyone taking up the Karl mantle) but also is a compelling dramatic actor and I think he could kill it opposite...

David Rysdahl as Young Frank! I've always figured Frank would've been a bit younger than Logan, and I love that little glimpse we got in canon of Frank having been brought in to advise on the parks acquisition and then Logan basically making him an offer to stay. There's something extra crunchy there for me if Frank's a little wide-eyed at the time and Logan oozes that charm that we know that he can turn on when he wants to. I like the psychosexual drama, and I also like the idea of Frank having this weird sort of connection to Caroline and Kendall because he met them while he was still impressionable / in the midst of being swept up.

But yes, haha, David Rysdahl I think is a bit of an up-and-comer, which is kinda funny given he's been in a lot of stuff. I've liked him though in the newest season of Fargo, and lowkey think he looks a bit like a young Peter Friedman.

Honestly, I just loved her in Swallow a lot, and she played the smart, unhappy, unhinged, WASP-y wife there to such perfection that I think she'd be ideal for a young Gerri who's still better known as Baird's wife than as counsel. There's such an attitude and vulnerability to Haley too which I think would match J's quite well, plus they have a bit of a similar look too which works for me? I want to see her claw her way in! And I also want to see her toxic relationship with Caroline which leads to her being Shiv's godmother.

Speaking of...

Honestly, I went through a few people for Caroline and she was surprisingly hard to cast. A lot of actresses who felt like they might fit the bill - Michelle Dockery and Claire Foy were two that sprung to mind - didn't really work as I didn't think they could quite balance the acidity with the blunt charm and playfulness that Harriet Walter just does so well (and honestly is a testament to what an actress she is). But then! Jessie Buckley! I've loved Jessie in everything I've seen her in, from Women Talking to The Lost Daughter, but it was actually thinking about her turn in Misbehaviour which made me think of her for this, exactly because of how she can play, well playfulness.

Plus I think she'd be a lot of fun opposite...

I did say I''d go with a Scotsman! Ewan McGregor's been in a few mmm, less good things lately, which makes a turn in a role like Logan Roy could potentially be pretty great. He's always been a remarkable actor, and one who, I think, can find the heart in any role, which is arguably what any actor playing Logan needs. Plus I always tend to think Ewan has chemistry with everyone he acts opposite, and I think he could really sell Logan's naked charisma in this era in a way that would make sense given he's making some pretty questionable choices across the board in the 80s. Plus, y'know, to the point of the post that inspired this one, I think him playing Logan would do a lot of psychic damage to people who could only ever see Logan as perpetrator of abuse and never as product or victim.

[broadwaydivastournament]

Broadway Divas Tournament: Round 1C

Two-time Tony-winning dancer-extraordinaire Bebe Neuwirth (1958) is best known for her winning role as Velma Kelly in Chicago (1996) alongside her beloved Annie Reinking. After playing Velma off-and-on for some years, she then took on Roxie, and later Matron "Mama" Morton. Bebe has also won for Sweet Charity (1986), and is a two-time Emmy winner for, of course, Lilith in Cheers. Other credits include Here Lies Jenny (2004), Fosse (2001), and Cabaret (2024), opening next month. In addition to her beloved stage, Bebe is a devoted cat-lover, and activist. She founded the Dancers' Resource program to provide support for injured and/or aging dancers.

Stalwart theatre veteran Laurie Metcalf (1955) is also a two-time Tony winner and four-time Emmy winner. Her consecutive Tony wins for A Doll's House, Part 2 (2017) and Three Tall Women (2018) places her on an elite list of just six other performers (including fellow Diva Judith Light). She has also appeared in Misery (2015), Hillary and Clinton (2019), and Grey House (2023), an experimental horror play that ultimately flopped. (And I have opinions on that.)

PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT: ALL POLLS HERE

"Let me be abundantly clear. Bebe Neuwirth is my ultimate Diva. It may be stiff competition, but she wins the bracket of my heart every time. I would follow this woman to the end of the earth and back. I love everything about her from her cats, to her giggle, to her exquisite grey hair. I so admire any woman who chooses to age gracefully and without resentment, and Bebe's really settled into this adorable cozy old cat lady life. Back in the day, it was all stiletto heels and tight little black dresses and yes, that was very sexy. But now she's enjoying the comforts of flat sturdy boots, massive sweaters with cute little cats on them, glasses on chains, and divine grey hair. Gorgeous, yes. Talented, fuck yes. This woman has music in her bones and not even three hip surgeries can steal it away. I love her."

"Oh, Bebe Neuwirth? Love of my life, champion of my soul? Her legs are simply to die for. Not convinced? Search up When Velma Takes the Stand on YouTube and feast your eyes. You’ll be watching clips of her entire Broadway career next, trust me. She is truly a powerhouse of a woman, and one of Bob Fosse’s greatest interpreters." Propaganda submitted by anon "V"

"The pandemic robbed us of many things, but for our purposes here, the greatest loss to theatre was the revival of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf starring Laurie Metcalf. During the dinner scene, so I'm told by the gays on twitter, she came out in a sheer white blouse and black bra, and I am devastated we didn't get her unhinged Martha. She would have done Uta Hagen and Elaine Stritch proud."

Bonus poll in the tags/comments: Tell me who you think wins in a fight? Lilith from Cheers/Frasier, or Jackie from Rosanne. If you're too young to know what I'm talking about, what are you doing here?

[polarisdelphi]

Back on posting old art I never posted, Frau Schneider, my beloved 🖤

I'm seriously considering turning her into a sticker and slapping it everywhere I need to remember something to do. Drinking water? Frau is there judging me. Writing? Frau is waiting. Sleeping at a decent time? She's at the clock, looking at me with hatred in her eyes.

Jokes aside, this was more of a try on stylized drawing, which I completely suck. Since I studied Schneider's face thoroughly once for another drawing, I figured stylizing him would be easier for me as a first try.

I love his nose HAHAHAHA that's my anchor on his likeness xD

Sketches, breakdowns on how I got here, what I thought on shapes and more on his features - and just general artist blabbering, down below!

It was born from these loose sketches:

And I do like the ~proper~ one too. Took a lot of screenshots of the video's making of to understand his mannerisms when ~in Frau~, and there's a big change between the video and the live versions.

Video is a proper, collected, older woman with a dark side from repressed unfulfilled desires, live one is a brute, angry, harshly dominant one. 100% angry all the time, taking her dogs for a walk 🖤

Keeping some harsh shapes on the first one 'cause we all know she's evil, and some more organic ones on the second one 'cause she's UNHINGED.

(Also, Frau's coat are a thousand little Edelweiss 'cause you know. Schneider, Austria, his wife hahahaha aaaaand I have roots from there too, so I decided to shamelessly slap Edelweiss everywhere xD)

Another interesting thing to note, was trying to keep the male proportions on a female presenting appearance. Because we all learn about better shapes for women, how they usually are ~smaller, softer and more delicate~ than males (please read with sarcasm) but Schneider is still a man in woman's clothing, acting like a woman. So I had to keep in mind what I'd draw if it was just him as himself - big hands, big feet, tall as a fucking tree, very large shoulders, toned arms and muscles, all that. No ~delicate~ features 'cause he's still a man, but in here he's a woman.

I'm not saying I succedeed. But it was a good first try :)

Given I have so many drag queen original characters, it's something I think it was nice to study and have in mind T-T

About his features, like I said, I studied him once 'cause I was trying to go for stylized Live aus Berlin Schneider illustration once, but all I got is: I can draw his likeness from memory now, that's it *cries in incompetence*

I said before, I'm not good at stylizing.

So, his key features are: very slim and small mouth, big nose (gods I love his nose, I'll always say that), kinda small eyes and there's almost no distance to his eyebrows (on the video they paint his brows to make a LOT more arched, almost like original Maleficent), longer face, big and square chin, sharp and high cheekbones. I figured if I kept all that in mind, I'd have his likeness.

That's what I used to go figuring out how to draw Frau like that :)

And why am I blabbering all this?

I just hope it helps other self-taught artists out there who have a hard time finding resources and see other people's drawings and go "oooh man how do I get there?" and the artist always go "I dunno just draw a lot and you will get there :)"

Yes, yes, draw a lot. If you don't practice, you won't learn. But there ARE tools, observation studies, drawing studies and a WHOLE lot of things you can learn from other people to get where you want to faster and easier - but most of these resources are, nowadays, behind a paywall. So I just figured I'll share what I learned and hopefully it'll help someone struggling with the same things I did less than a year ago ;)

[jivvie]

okay so quick side note before I get into MY HEAD… THE DOGS DIED SOBB THORGI MY BELOVED

vij’s thoughts on mcd season 1

from the beginning I LOVED the whole aspect of the role playing. It felt like a visual novel and I LOVE visual novels. If mcd becomes a game or book YES PLEASEEE

it was super interesting to learn more about Irene. In mystreet, we don’t really learn about her backstory so it was nice to learn about things that fit in the mystreet universe

100 episodes is A LOT and I thought fillers were fine. It definitely felt like a RPG game with all the tasks Aphmau had to do

Dude when Zane finally spoke his first line, I KICKED MY FEET AND SCREAMED INTO MY PILLOW YALL

Garroth was a little baby bitch at the end istg i wanted to punch his face but i guess he sacrificed himself for the group

Aaron is very unremarkable. Little emo boy. I’m guessing he has more screen time next season? ALSO HE HAD A WIFE AND A KID TF

still not a laurmau fan. SORRY GUYS but I just hate flirty guys and I feel like he’s also the reason for pushing garroth away from aphmau by like taking initiative. I guess thats why people are like yass Laurence but personally nah

I like how slowly you could realize that this series got more serious. like more ideas and thought put in for bg characters, even though they weren't "important"

Dante. MAKING HIM WAIT FOR 15 YEARS SOB. And I like how it seeps into mystreet as well

MAN ZANE AS LIKE JUST A VILLAIN YESSS. I hope he does not get redeemed and is just a bad guy

favorite character would have to be Donna. I really liked her character!! Sassy women <333

also omg legit forgot half of the villagers. like... who tf is corey???? is it molly or emma thats married to him??? too many damn pretty blonde women

babe house. just babe house.

i liked unhinged aphmau. its more funny now thinking about this compared to her newer content

at the end, i think i just cried for a minute or two. not only because i finished 100 episodes, but more that i miss aphmau's old content. her roleplay series is legit what got me through my childhood. and its very unlikely she'll return to this kind of content or similar roleplays.

like s7 is probably only here to satisfy us old hungry aphmau fans, but like MID?? no news whatsoever about it.

ANYWAYS I LOVED IT SO MUCH!! it was nice to just boot up an episode and just draw while watching. i might release some mcd doodles if i feel like it :P

i never tried mcd because im not a fantasy reader, but i pushed myself out of my comfort zone and im glad i did!! 10/10 would probably not do again because 100 eps are too much for me sob

[kalena-henden]

These are all the shows I’ve watched in 2023 so far...

finished:

Alchemy of Souls: Light and Shadow - Fantastic finish to the story! Top 3 Kdrama.

Unlock My Boss - Chae Jong Hyeop shines as an aspiring actor who winds up taking the roll of a lifetime as the new CEO of a tech company when the soul of the previous CEO gets stuck inside his phone. Wild concept but fun found family, corporate intrigue, and a sweet little romance that brews between the young new CEO and his assistant.

The Forbidden Marriage - Top 5 Kdrama. If you want romance, comedy, angst, and alot of love, this is your show. I had so much fun and was rewatching while it was airing.

King2Hearts - An unlikely romance sparks between a South Korean prince and a top North Korean (female) soldier leads to potential reconciliation between their two countries that is threatened by a crazy arms dealer whose cover is a magician. This a James Bond inspired, enemies to lovers, family dynasty, international war games drama. The unhinged villain has his own lair and minions but the only one who can match his off kilter mind games is the wily prince, who is equal parts smart, asshole, and lovable. The North Korean soldier is one of the only one’s who can go toe-to-toe with the prince to eventually bring out the best in him as they fall in love that is literally ride or die. There’s also a secondary romance with the princess and a royal guard. I loved parts of this and liked the rest.

Poong the Joseon Psychiatrist (S1 & S2) - I’m a big Kim Min Jae fan. He shines as a medical doctor who experiences trauma that drives him to suicide. He is saved by a passing noble woman and a short while later he saves her from suicide due to her own trauma. Both of them end up working at a rural clinic with another exiled doctor to treat the locals physical needs but also begin a new practice to treat people’s mental health needs as they try to recover from their own traumas. I loved S1 but S2 brought on some annoying new antagonistic love interests. It is a happy ending though.

Lighter & Princess - A poor computer programing genius clashes with an ambitious rich girl in his college classes but sparks fly when they vie for control of the school’s entrepreneurial programming club leading to unlikely but hard won romance. This was excellent. 

Love to Hate You - A brash entertainment lawyer gets entangled with a romance actor who keeps his distance from women due to a trauma. A bit over the top, lots of role reversals but also fun. I liked it but didn’t love it. 

A Very Secret Service (Au Service De La France) - This a dry, witty French comedy about espionage and spies in the 1960s. Quirky and enjoyable with good character development. 

Taxi Driver (S1 & S2) - Lee Je Hoon leads this team of vigilantes who try to root out the evils of society for individuals in crisis that they were never able to do for themselves. The cases are mostly based on real life events. Violent, emotional, satisfying. I love this found family. 

Crash Course in Romance - A beloved, handsome math academy professor falls for the single mother of one of his students leading to an uproar amongst the parents. There’s a cute love triangle with the daughter and her classmates (I’m Team Geonhu) and a unsatisfying serial killer plotline. 

Gaus Electronics - This is an over the top, quirky, office comedy. It’s so crazy, especially at the beginning, that it’s almost too much but it’s smart and fun with an unlikely enemies to lovers romance that is quite sweet.

The Heavenly Idol - A high priest from another realm in the middle of a battle with the devil unexpectedly switches places with a failed idol grasping for his last chance at success. Kim Min Kyu is a great fish out of water but the story is a bit all over the place. I like his sweet healing romance with the band’s new manager though.

The King: Eternal Monarch - Parallel worlds, time travel, doppelgängers. Lee Min Ho, Kim Go Eun, Woo Do Hwan. There were some great concepts and good execution but it lacked the follow through to make it truly satisfying. 

Dr. Romantic (S1, S2, & S3) - Top 10 Kdrama. A small town hospital where a visionary maverick doctor, Master Kim, mentors 30-something year old doctors with his unorthodox methods while they fall in love with each other. It has a huge found Doldam Family with the hospital workers of all ages and their complex relationships with each other. I love this show!

Our Blooming Youth - Park Hyung Shik leads this Joeson-era mystery romance. It’s okay but it’s too slow and doesn’t develop the characters enough. It should have been 16 episodes, not 20. 

Call It Love - Introverted adults in their 30s try to overcome childhood trauma inflicted by their parents as they unwittingly fall in love while working together. This one is slower, complex and compelling. It’s one of my favorite dramas of 2023.

Please Don’t Date Him - I watched this solely for Lee Junyoung as a young firefigher who falls in love with a woman who works with A.I. in home appliances and stumbles upon a government spy program. It’s a light comedy if you’re looking for fluff. 

Find Me in Your Memory - An actress who’s lost her memory and an anchorman who can never forget fall in love. I mainly watched this because of the actors cameo as these character in Sh**ting Stars. It was okay.

Healer - I know this is a fan fave but I liked it, didn’t love it. 

Bora! Deborah (True to Love) - So much potential but a bit of a let down. I like both Yoo In Na and Yoon Hyun Min.

When the Weather is Fine - I was here for the small town romance with the local bookstore owner and the fun found family of their all ages book club. However, the last third of the story wallowed in the revealed family trauma too much and lost sight of everything else. 

Tale of the Nine-Tailed 1938 - When this was on point, it was compelling, funny and so much darn fun! There was bromance, romance, adventure, healing, friendship, and battles both personal and national. It had some slow times but overall Lee Dong Wook was clearing having the time of his life and Kim Bum stole the show as Lee Rang came into his own. 

Thirty But Seventeen - 10/10. Top 5 Kdrama. A teenage violinist gets into an accident and wakes up from her coma 13 year later to find the world vastly different. This was so much darn fun, great found family, cute romance, angst, and healing. Even when it was sad, I was so happy watching it. Shin Hye Sun, Yang Se Jong, and Ahn Hyo Seop are fantastic!

Something in the Rain -  I wanted so much to like noona romance with Son Ye Jin and Jung Hae In but man did it drag. Her mother is especially heinous. I completed it which was difficult.

See You in My 19th Life - I weirdly dislike-watched this in one weekend cause I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. It was okay. There were some interesting things about it with the relationships and past lives stuff but not for me.

King the Land - Lee Junho acted his heart out in this fluffy romcom and Im Yoona was a worthy partner in crime. I came to have a good time and they gave it to me. 

Heartbeat - Ok Taecyeon did a good job of carrying this unsteady vampire show that had some good moments but didn’t deliver on its premise. 

Legend of the Blue Sea - I really do like Lee Min Ho. He has a casual charisma that is undeniable. Jun Ji Hyun was an excellent literal fish out of water. While I liked the intertwining of the past and present lives, the story never quite hit the mark for me. Liked it, didn’t love it.

Never Have I Ever (S4) - This show never let me down. A satisfying finale season!

Meteor Garden (2018) - I needed more Dylan Wang after Love Between Fairy and Devil. This was an unexpected crazy fun ride. It was so outrageous at times. It inspired me to one day watch all the adaptations of Boys Over Flowers, as I’ve already seen 3 now. 

Hidden Love - A slow burn, age gap romance between a college girl and her older brother’s longtime friend. I really liked this but I wasn’t in love with it like everyone seems to be.

Nadiya’s Time to Eat - A fave Great British Bake Off winner’s cooking show. Inspiring.

Nadiya Bakes - And her baking show too.

Shadow and Bone (S2) - I think it improved on some things from the first season but they really crammed the second two books into one and some of Six of Crows too. Still a bit too fast-paced but I enjoyed it.

The Night Agent - An FBI agent gets an emergency call that starts a race to find a government mole and protect the informant. I binged this almost straight through. A good watch.

Queen Charlotte - This Bridgerton spinoff sheds light on royal power dynamics, mental illness, and social and racial divides.

LuLaRich - This is a compelling documentary on the rise and fall of Lularoe’s multi-level-marketing scheme. A must watch.

Sweet Magnolias (S3) - This is a comfort drama. I’m just here checking in to see how the little town is doing.

Star Trek: Picard (S3) - Showrunner Terry Matalas brings some of his 12 Monkeys (the tv series) magic to the final reuniting of the Next Generation cast while setting up a compelling potential Legacy spinoff.

My Lovely Liar - I enjoyed the romance between Hwang Minhyun and Kim So Hyun but the show itself is okay.

Destined With You - Magic, Curses, Past Lives, Symbolism, Spells, Fated Love. I thought it was going to be the next great fantasy romance but it chucked the fantasy halfway through and left a million unanswered questions at the end. At least we got a decent romance, even if the story lost its way. A big disappointment for me but I would recommend to see Rowoon acting his heart out in a cute romance.

The Uncanny Counter 2 - I was back to see the demon hunters fight for their humanity and loved ones again.

Celebrity - A solid takedown of influencer culture with mystery, intrigue, and a tiny bit of romance.

It’s Okay Not To Be Okay - I’ve been hearing about how good this drama is forever and it lived up to expectations. Great characters and development. I was surprised at how funny it was and enjoyed the romance too. Highly recommend.

True Beauty - This has been on my list for a long time and I needed more Cha Eun Woo while waiting for new episodes of A Good Day To Be A Dog. A great high school romcom with angst about a girl bullied for her acne getting a second chance at a new school who turns into a ‘goddess’ when she learns to do her own makeup. Love the romance, bromance and friendships! I love the second male lead as a character but never got second lead syndrome because I loved the main romance. I enjoyed the whole way through. 

Beckham - A docuseries about soccer (football to the rest of the world) star David Beckham that made you feel like you had front row seat to his past triumphs and struggles through the reflective lens of the present.

[hikarielizabethbloom]

It's time for the finale!!!!

Most of time I have no idea who these people are 🤷‍♀️

I'm so not into Rand.

Where are Lan and Moiraine? Are they going to miss the action?

Look, there's Perrin and the women who adopted him! Too little Perrin this season imo

Ishmael and Lanfear I'll choose you

Nynaeve looks so good!!! Also, Elayne's soft touch 🤗🤯😱

Oh no. Egwene! REVENGE!!!

Mat if you kill him (even if just for a little while) I'll be forever grateful.

I love how chill Elayne is with torture.

I missed unhinged Nynaeve.

Please. No more Egwene/Rand. I've already suffered enough.

Lan and Moiraine made me cry 😭 what a beautiful scene!!

I'm sorry, but Perrin looks so good surrounded by women 🤷‍♀️

'Egwene?' one word and my Perrin/Egwene shipper heart is mending. 'Where is she?' give me more...

I'm patiently waiting for unhinged Egwene.

I can't stand Rand.

Come on, Mat. You can do this. Mat i like this new you.

I need Perrin and Egwene to meet again, ok?

Aviendha, my beloved.

Oh, my sweet, smart Egwene! Revenge!!! Mad has been amazing this season.

Mo, please no. Stop this thing. No more Egwene/Rand.

Rand is always in the way. I know he won't die, but a girl can dream, right?

No, the wolf 😭

Finally, they gave Mat something to do. Ohhhh! This was so cute. My child is off killing people.

I really really love Nynaeve/Elayne.

Yes, yes, yes. You go, Mat! You did good.

Powerful Egwene is so forking good 😏

I missed Lan and Moiraine fighting together.

My ship. One moment. Just one moment this season.

Oh no. I know they get together but nope. Not here for this. I prefer to look at Nynaeve looking at Elayne.

She destroyed the ships in one move. That's my queen!

Oh, look Rand saved the day. How annoying.

They're standing next to each other ❤️😍

Lanfear is always 🔥

Moghedien, you crazy b*tch! I like you!

Still, don't hurt Lanfear because she's my beloved.

OMG! I can't believe this season is already over. I loved it. Even more than season 1 tbh. But I'm glad the group is reunited because I preferred them together.

Nooo, how long will I have to wait for season 3?????

[madreemeritus]

POTO adaptations analysis — Part 3 — The Phantom of the Paradise (1974), directed by Brian de Palma, starring Paul Willians, William Finley and Jessica Harper

this movie is a mix of Faust, The Phantom of the Opera and The Picture as a gothic/horror/comedy glamrock so you already know what to expect (and it was directed by Brian de Palma, the same dude who directed 1976's "Carrie")

Positive aspects (trying to not put the whole movie here):

– WHAT A FUCKING PHOTOGRAPHY, it barely looks like a 1970s movie fr

– WHAT A FUCKING SOUNDTRACK, no matter what genre plays during the movie it's so fucking iconic i love it 🥹

– Winslow Leach my beloved, aside from Erik Destler (Robert Englund) he's the best remade of original Erik we have, a little unhinged yet still pathetic and lovable

– Beef is ✨ICONIC✨ he SLAYS in gay 💅

– the figurine 🥹 omg what a fucking amazing techno-goth figurine

– the clips are so well made, the scene where Winslow rewrites his song for Phoenix while the red candle melts is probably my favorite

– Phoenix (our Christine/Marguerite) is so perfect and babygirl and girlboss iconic wonderful diva 💞

– AND, she and Winslow share the best platonic chemestry. I love them

– the mixt of tension, glamrock, comedy and tragedy are simpley perfect

– idk what's the meaning of this, but the characters are strangely related to birds: Swan, Phoenix and Winslow's mask

– speaking of mask, his design is PERFECT and it inspired Darth Vader's design (yes, Brian de Palma and George Lucas were friends and the POTP came out 2 years before Star Wars)

– as I said before, the movie mixes POTO, Faust and The Picture of Dorian Gray, in a perfect way ✨💅

– the movie also criticizes the music industry, with both Phoenix and other objectified women and the injustice that happens with Winslow Leach

– Swan is a hateful villain, but in a good way, he's also iconic and very well written (and acted)

– how the plot explores the paralels with Faust is so fantastic

– the scene where Winslow brings Phoenix to the rooftop looks like a reference to the 1925s POTO, where Erik as Red Death spies on Raoul and Christine

– Winslow's deformity is AWESOME

– the ending, tho tragic, gives Phoenix and Winslow the scene i wanted to see with Christine and Erik

Negative aspects:

– the scene where Winslow discovers the supernatural true about Swan and the deal he signed is kinda... convenient? Like, a hidden recording that explains the plot-twist? That's kinda of a scritp cheat

– i wish Phoenix had more scenes tho (she still slays)

Movie score: 9/10 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌗

[pinkprimrose05]

character asks bc other anon was a coward: blade

HAJFTOVNWHYFAGDYSDNTJ

General opinion/How much I care about them: Ren Blade Yingxing my beloved beloathed depressed miserable angsty bastard aaaaaaa-

This man, oh my god. This edgy mess is somehow the second fastest blorbo to be coined as such in my blorbo-having history, and I think that alone says a lot. But even if not, he has his special little spot for being: 1) my first HSR fave, 2) my current main (the gameplay is ridiculously fun holy shit), and 3) the reason I downloaded the game at all (shoutout to Bronya, of course, but it was mainly Ren).

Also I really like the fact that he's genuinely batshit insane. An unapologetic menace to the galaxies. He can be so unhinged and evil sometimes, and that's a new flavor of fave in my collection. Did I mention the story doesn't try to redeem him at all? Because it's true! Extremely uncommon win on the hyv writers' part there; doubly so because they manage to balance this aspect with the subtle gap moe they love to give to all their stoic characters.

Yes. Ren is simultaneously edginess incarnate and a tired grandpa that sucks with words and doesn't know shit about technology. Oh and he keeps getting roped into Situations by his colleagues- and goes along with them all the time! The dude was literally asked to pose for a movie cover and he just. did that. No questions asked. Nothing.

I care about him a very normal amount. He's so neat and- oh my god I forgot to mention the aesthetic. Black/blue/red/gold is such a banger color scheme. He also has a spider lily motif and that looks very cool! And the pretty ribbon on the back of his coat is a 10/10 design choice. His only problem is that the game keeps forgetting to edit his silly beta design sneakers out of splash art, and that the washed out jeans clash hard with the coat. But otherwise? Perfection. I could (and did) stare at him for hours on end.

A ship I love: Kafblade is one of those pairs that you can read as romantic or platonic with equal efficacy and I love that for it. They're partners in crime! There's a great sense of trust and faith between them! They're each other's guardian and tether and the one who understands them best and they're such an awesome dynamic, good lord.

Honorable mention goes to jingren for the old man yaoi potential to take the relationship in a very (bitter)sweet or very sad way. There's something to be explored here and I wish canon could give it consideration someday.

A non-romantic relationship that I love: Stellaron Hunter agenda!!! They're so awesome individually and as a group, and the comedy is just lovely. You have Ren wrangling two terribly reckless women because in some way, by some miracle, he happens to be the braincell holder among the three. You have him trailing after Kafka on one of her shopping sprees with a whole bunch of bags and coats, you have him going to an arcade with Silver Wolf because she wanted to show him this brand new game she's been talking about nonstop for four days, and you have him in an impromptu shooting session with them both because they wanted to make silly movie covers and needed an extra actor.

They're one small hilarious family and I adore them so so much, you have no idea. Can't wait until Sam and Elio make an appearance in the story so I get more fuel for shenanigans.

The NOTP: None here sir, as long as the ship is normal it's fine by me.

My biggest headcanon about them: Ren is autistic and you will pry this hc from my cold, dead hands. He's stuck in his own head 80% of the time. He doesn't do conversation at all. Back when he was still Yingxing, he used to spend so much time at the forge when inspiration struck him, to the point of tuning out everything until his friends physically dragged him out to touch grass. He's an autistic nerd through and through, and even several thousand deaths can't take that from him.

An idea for a fanfiction I would like to write/read about them: One idea I've been curious about lately is what would happen in a roleswap scenario, where the Astral Express crew find Ren before the Stellaron Hunters do. He may not make for a great archivist, his state of mind may be less-than-stellar, but it's interesting to imagine the dynamics between him and the crew- and hey, who doesn't love taking sad guys out of situations for a change?

I'm filing this concept for later, just in case. Who knows? The writing ghost visits when I least expect it.

Something that makes me think of them: Everything these days The flute, the sound of wind blowing, red spider lilies, and -to the immense detriment of my composure in public- mentions of the word blade in any context ever. Why gee, thanks for permanently altering my brain chemistry.

[beanghostprincess]

WOMEN MY BELOVED

Okay but Shanks being SUCH A SIMP is so hilarious and also RIPE FOR CHAOS. She needs a non-fruit user for some of it ((maybe up to and including some seastone experiments)), and Mihawk either can't or Won't ((or, and he refuses to admit it, doesn't exactly want to run the risk of hurting her or Croc if there's Residue)). Now she has the Best Little Guinea Pig Ever.

Shanks never considered himself to have a weird k!nk for unhinged scientist clown women, but hey, Buggy awakens things in him, what can he say?

Also imagine the exchanges there.

B: "so we're gonna take this bomb, and I'm gonna throw it at you. And you're gonna cut it, and see if the explosion causes any damage."

S: "I dunno, Bugs, it could be kinda dangerous-"

B: "if you do, I'll kiss you."

S: "YES MA'AM!!!!"

GODS AND YEAH THE OUTFITS

Personally, I think she'd either be fairly The Same as far as outfits go, for practicality, but she also is friends with Alvida, and she's a Flashy Princess, so OBVIOUSLY there's gonna be some SKIN. And just... imagine for a moment.

A gathering for/of pirates. No I do NOT care that it's not a Canon feasible event. Moving on.

Pirate Gathering. A Dress Code. Formal.

Clown Princess in Princess Dress.

Clown Woman In Any Dress. And HEELS. and if it gets uncomfortable, she just detaches her ankles and floats while her feet rest at their table.

Crocodile and Mihawk get to coordinate with her a lil bit, and they both get to watch her bounce around and just grin bc no matter who she charms or spends time with or Spends Time With (👀), she's still theirs. Open relationships.

Also also - consider Luffy and crew being there. Sanji is SWOONING. Nami is disgusted to be a clown fucker, but she's also Looking. There's bets being plaxed on Who Will Flirt First and one of Who Will Be Most Successful.

Luffy meanwhile is splitting his time between FOOD, FRIENDS, and AUNTIE HI HOW ARE YOU I LOVE YOUR DRESS.

She acts all annoyed and put out but she and Luffy CLICK in a way few ever have, their brands of Unhinged and Feral are complimentary.

((Extra Bonus, maybe it's a gathering for the Emperors. Shanks is there too. He is frothing at the mouth bc AAAAA LUFFY and AAAAA BUGGY and AAAAA LOOK AT THEM TOGETHER.

The only way we include Teach in this is if he's in Dirty Baby Jail, hit on Buggy and got OBLITERATED, or Buggy point blank 'seduces' him to knock him out, steal his treasure, and then locked him in a closet with seastone cuffs and a toothbrush.))

I love seeing an ask starting with "women my beloved". It makes a lesbian's day. Do not stop loving women.

This is all amazing. Thank you. Yes. Absolutely. Shanks would let Buggy do anything to him and he'd thank her and honestly? Understandable. While Mihawk and Crocodile just see their girl do her own stuff with pleased smiles on their faces. If their clown wants to torment people with her silly shenanigans and lethal inventions, who are they to intervene?

And the outfits would kind of be the same, yeah, but she'd definitely want to catch people's attention. Maybe at first she still wears the same things, but after a while of feeling comfortable in her body and with her identity? She has a closet full of clown-themed outfits. Beautiful dresses. She has everything. From classy, more sophisticated dresses to sillier outfits. Everything is provided by Crocodile because now Buggy is some kind of beautiful Barbie he dresses and watches explode things. "This Barbie is a pyromaniac clown" but like, literally.

Sanji and Nami are having a moment™. Leave them alone. It's understandable. Sanji is shameless about it, though, while Nami is questioning her entire persona (that's only like the first five seconds tho). Zoro wants to get out of there and he can't stand them (<- gay gay homosexual gay) but at least he has a chance to talk to Mihawk again so, whatever. And Luffy won't stop annoying Buggy but she secretly loves the kid a ton, and he won't stop telling her to go "boom boom" on stuff together while they catch up and that's something she can't say no to.

Shanks is going through a heart attack, by the way. I heard those AAAAAAAAAAAAs in his voice. He's SO happy to see Luffy. And SO excited to see Buggy like that. And SO thrilled to see them together getting along. He can't get rid of Mihawk and Crocodile who're staring at him menacingly (because yes, they have an open relationship with Buggy but that does not mean Shanks gets to hurt her again. So they try to be careful even when they know he's pretty much her silly toy now to try her new inventions on) but he doesn't really care about it.