#I am not capitalizing his name because I do not respect him

[the-real-list-of-ominous-threats]

I'll make ron desantos your governor

[venusjeon]

dragon bond

you're forced to marry your older brother in the tradition of your house, but it's the younger one who owns your heart.

♔ PAIRING: prince!hoseok x princess!reader

♔ GENRE: house of the dragon au, angst, fluff, smut

♔ WORD COUNT: 5.2k

♔ WARNINGS: incest!! yup, they're targaryen bro&sis. JEALOUSY, underage making out+groping+grinding (hs 15/oc 17), swearing, drinking, bloodplay, "cheating", +18 oral, loss of virginity (guys i think i have a kink)

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: you don't really need to have watched house of the dragon or game of thrones to understand this (there are no spoilers btw) but just know it's its own medieval fantasy world. also, sorry it took longer than usual, school and the tedious smut bit at the end are to blame:(

120 AC

Today of all days, he was doing it again.

Your brother Yoongi was only five and ten years of age, yet he didn’t shy away from flirting with every lady or maid that crossed his path. It mattered not to him that your parents had betrothed you to one another, nor that most girls only indulged him because he was heir to the throne.

To you, his future queen, it did matter.

Crossing the great hall full of nobles who’d travelled to the capital from all over the Seven Kingdoms to celebrate your thirteenth name day, you reached Yoongi and dismissed the lady whose cheek he was caressing. Although she curled her upper lip at your curt tone, she wasted no time in running off, glad you’d intervened. Your brother wasn’t, especially when you grabbed his hand and dragged him to an empty balcony.

The views were beautiful, of the whole city and beyond, but each time you stood there you couldn’t help but wonder how many brothels in that labyrinth of alleyways Yoongi had frequented. In various occasions already, you’d heard him slip out of his chambers in the dead of night, seen him leave the Red Keep from your window… He always wore a cloak that covered his hair so no one on the streets would recognise him, but you reckoned the whores of King’s Landing knew well enough whom he was.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he spat after shaking you off assertively, with scant regard for whether he’d hurt you. He had a little, but you were too used to being treated so by him to complain. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“My betrothed. Have you forgotten that I’m to be your queen, stand beside you when you sit on the Iron Throne? I think you must have, else you wouldn’t woo other girls so openly.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I can do whatever I want, and it’s no business of yours.”

“Of course it is! You’re humiliating me before the court! How can I expect to be respected as a queen if my husband won’t respect me as his wife?”

“You’ll not be a queen, you fool,” Yoongi laughed, the sound pricking your heart as though it were a dagger. “You’ll be my consort, there to just breed me heirs. Nothing more. But this is not about respect, is it? It’s about jealousy.”

There it was, the twisting of the dagger. You couldn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t know w-what you’re talking about.”

Yoongi sighed. “Listen well, you’re a freak and I don’t like you, the only reason I’m marrying you is because father’s forcing me to. It’s getting annoying, your following me around, so stop it! Go play with your dolls, or sew, or whatever plain little girls do, but don’t make me suffer your presence any more than I have to.”

He left you there, frozen in your spot as his hurtful words sunk in. And that was it.

Unbeknownst to you, Hoseok was hiding in the shadows, had eavesdropped the whole thing. Two years younger, he was your other brother, and after witnessing Yoongi leave you in tears for demanding a crumb of mercy, he wished he was the only one.

✩ ✩ ✩

You were spending the night of your name day heartbroken, crying in your bed curled up in a ball.

It was true, what Yoongi claimed. You held a torch for him.

How could you not? He was older, dashing, handsome. You watched in awe as he trained in the courtyard, or flew around on his mighty dragon; blushed whenever his eyes landed on you—even if it was momentarily—or he mentioned you by name, or held your hand in public events.

Now, you weren’t stupid. It was clear he didn’t return your feelings... You had just hoped someday he might.

Were you from any other family, it’d be a blasphemous scandal, but intermarriage to keep the lineage pure was the norm for yours. Targaryens were said to be closer to the gods than to men, after all, so different rules applied.

Perhaps people thought that because you were dragonlords, could ride the magical creatures that helped your ancestors Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys conquer the Seven Kingdoms some hundred and twenty years ago. Perhaps they did because you looked like deities, with your silver hair and purple irises, and still spoke the language of old Valyria. Or perhaps it was because the future was shown to some members of your house through dreams.

It didn’t matter why. It wasn’t true, anyway. No goddess could be as pathetic as you, rejected by her own intended on her birthday.

Then amid your woe, someone knocked on the door of your chambers. Wiping your wet cheeks, you sat up. Who would bother you so late, past midnight? Part of you wished it was Yoongi bringing a sincere apology, but when you gave permission to enter, it was your other brother who came in with a lit candle in hand.

“Hoseok?”

He approached the bed shyly, almost embarrassed. You guessed why when he asked, “Can I sleep here with you tonight?”

Nodding, you made some space for him. “Had another nightmare?” It was your mother’s bed he usually climbed to, yours only when she had been called to your father’s. You didn’t mind it at all. Tonight, in fact, you were glad he’d cuddle up to you like a pup.

Hoseok placed the candle on your bedside table and lay beside you under the sheets, shaking his head. “I didn’t want you to be sad on your own. I heard what Yoongi said to you earlier…”

“Oh…” You were the embarrassed one now. “It’s fine. He’s always like that, so I know not to take it to heart. I’m not sad... but thank you for caring. You are sweet, brother.”

Setting aside the clear lie for a moment, Hoseok held in a sigh. Brother. Why did you never call Yoongi that?

“He doesn’t deserve it, you know?” he muttered, making you frown. “Your heart.”

Were your damned feelings common knowledge? It was supposed to be an ideal situation to fancy one’s betrothed, but if people learned it was one-sided, your humiliation would be twice.

“H-He doesn’t have it.”

“Stop lying, yes he does!” Hoseok was upset, but you couldn’t fathom why. What was it to him if you chose to keep your infatuation secret? Despite the mutual affection, you weren’t that close. He took a deep breath to regain composure, then said quietly with his purple eyes cast down, “It should be me that you were marrying.”

A chuckle escaped you. “What?”

“Yoongi is a cunt and a bully. He treats you like– Well, he mistreats you! Yet you still follow him around, hoping in vain that he’ll turn into a charming prince like those from the poems you read. I know I’m not one either…” he found the courage to look up and hold your hand under the sheets, and your smile disappeared, “but I would never be mean to you, Y/N. I’d be honoured to take you to wife.”

Afraid of rejection, Hoseok had promised himself to never reveal he was smitten by you. How could he meddle in the betrothal of his siblings? He’d learned to endure the nightmares in which you faced a lonely and miserable married life, but after seeing Yoongi make you cry, he couldn’t let you forgive him again, pretend nothing had happened.

You, in all honesty, were shocked. There hadn’t been a moment when you’d thought of Hoseok as anything other than a little boy. Although… that was exactly what Yoongi thought of you.

Had you been in love with the wrong brother all along?

It wasn’t something one could choose, sure, but Hoseok’s confession had felt like a slap back into reality. The Yoongi you loved and were loved by was fictional, the Hoseok who’d always been kind to you of flesh and blood—the same blood as you.

“I think that, like Aegon the Conqueror…” you took his hand in yours, “I’ll keep company with one sibling out of duty and with the other out of desire.”

An exhale of relief quickly turned into a blushing smile on Hoseok’s face, and you smiled too, pleased at the turn of events.

Your name day was ending on the loveliest note.

By the time you were seven and ten, you still hadn’t married Yoongi. And thank the gods for that.

Alliances were achieved through the means of marriage, and your father feared tying two of his children with a knot might mean two missed opportunities, so the wedding was indefinitely delayed. What worried you was that if your hand was given to some distant lord, you’d be forced to leave King’s Landing and in doing so, Hoseok.

As the years passed and you grew up, so did the love you bore each other.

He was the only person who made you lose track of time, so at ease did you feel when you were with him—which he made certain was constantly.

And when you weren’t together with smiles plastered on your faces, he was learning how to play songs on his harp to later recite to you, or training to win every joust and dedicate you his victory with a wreath of flowers; and you weaving him garments with threads of gold so everyone would envy his riches, or writing to travellers so they’d come to court and tell him about the world he so longed to explore on dragonback.

Hoseok had been knighted recently, and that being added to his fine looks made every girl at court drool for him. He payed attention to none. His heart was yours alone. The knighting had meant nothing for Yoongi, however, who mocked him for not yet having bonded with a dragon.

Whatever interest you’d once harboured for your older brother had sailed away, never to return. Now, you didn’t hesitate to send him to the seven hells whenever he hurled words of abuse at Hoseok. You’d then assure the latter that his worth wasn’t measured in whether or not he was a rider, and that he would get a dragon one day. In the mean time, he sat behind you on the saddle with his arms wrapped around your waist when you flew your own above the clouds.

But all that was during the day. At night, Hoseok had made a habit of slipping into your chambers.

Fortunately, he’d not suffered from nightmares in years, which led him to believe they weren’t premonitory dreams. So even if you were married to another, Hoseok could and would make you happy.

You’d spend hours talking, laughing, caressing each other, kissing... It was hard to hold back when all you wanted was for him to consume you like fire, but contrary to popular belief, Targaryens weren’t immune to the flames, so if you burned, you wouldn’t rise again. That is, if you fell pregnant and the affair was discovered, society would brand you as a whore for the rest of your life and beyond. Without doubt, history books would record such shameful conduct.

Besides, Yoongi wouldn’t take kindly to it. Not at all out of jealousy, but because the only aspect in which he cared about you was procreational. If he couldn’t be sure your children were his, he’d get rid of you once he became king. Of Hoseok too, knowing him. Fear of that demise was enough to scare you into stopping right before matters ever escalated.

That night, however, neither seemed able to stop.

Lying on your bed, Hoseok was devouring your lips with a hunger foreign to him. His kisses were usually chaste and slow, now wet and urgent, as if he was going to die the next day and wanted to make the best out of what time he had left.

His tongue didn’t tire of exploring yours, sliding across it, tasting it, producing the lewdest sound. The only instants he put it out of your mouth was to lick his lips and in turn coat yours with his saliva, eager to keep going, keep taking your breath away.

When your arms curled around his neck, Hoseok got the hint that you wanted his body against yours and readily obliged, drawing close enough to feel your chest rise and fall as you panted, and your heart race. His hand travelled from your cheek down to your neck, and he had to restrain the urge to choke you. How pretty you’d look with his hand around your throat… But no, he moved lower and cupped your breast. Hells, why were you still wearing clothes? He wanted to lick your nipples until they hardened. His cock was certainly already so.

To his delight, you moaned against his lips when his grip tightened, so he kept groping your breast, though careful not to near the edge of pain—the only of which you felt was in your core, uncomfortable enough to make you squirm.

Hoseok noticed, sneaked his knee between your thighs so his own would come to contact with your aching spot, and he began grinding, the friction making you pull away from the kiss to gasp. Only then did you realise how wet you were, juices likely dampening not only your nightgown, but your brother’s also.

“Hoseok…”

Shaky breath warm against your skin, he whispered in your ear, “I know, darling one. It feels good, hm? I’ll give you just what you need…” He next kissed your neck, sucked on it as he had your tongue. The feeling was so lovely that you minded not he would mark you. You minded not a single thing in the world, actually. “Gods, Y/N… I want to kiss you between your legs too...”

It took a few seconds, but the spell did break.

You pulled Hoseok away. “How do you know that is a thing that is done?”

This was the same boy who, some weeks past, was convinced running his fingers through a girl’s locks brought her pleasure, so there was a hint of sudden fear in the purple of his eyes. That he’d been caught.  “I was told by Lord Taehyung. He is married, as you know.”

At once, you got up, hugged yourself. Hoseok sank his elbows on the bed, and with his gaze followed you pace around nervously. “Nobody knows you better than I. Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

“I’m not!”

Anyone would call you a fool, tell you that you should’ve seen it coming, that possessing a man’s heart was no assurance he wouldn’t stray from fidelity. But Hoseok had proved to be different… Was it your fault, then, because you’d failed to satisfy his needs?

“Who is she?”

Hoseok dropped his head on the pillow with a deep sigh, then laboriously sat up. “It was in a brothel.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, tears in your eyes. “You went to a brothel…”

“It’s not what you think.” Hoseok moved to the edge of the bed, but you took a step back, so he knew to remain sat. “Yoongi dragged me there. He said it was time I became a man. I wanted to leave, but he wouldn’t let me, made me at least watch... I touched nobody and nobody touched me, I swear, Y/N. The only good thing I take from it is that I learned some ways in which to please you.”

You stared at him in silence for a while. He was telling the truth, but then, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want Yoongi to upset you again.” He looked down, voice sinking into a whisper as he confessed, “And it is a hard claim to defend… I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”

“My love, I believe you.” Having exhaled the air from your lungs that anguish had been withholding, you sat beside Hoseok and held him in an embrace comforting for both. “Yoongi will pay for this. I promise you, someday he will.”

Your brother buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you caressed his silver hair. “I love you more than I hate him. If he’s to pay, let it be by another’s hand. Don’t let him come between us.”

“He won't. Ever”

Your father made up his mind when you reached the age of twenty.

In front of half the realm’s nobility at the great hall, you and Yoongi were dressed in traditional Valyrian robes, performing the rites of marriage.

Harder than he should’ve, the bastard sliced your lower lip with a sharp piece of dragonglass, then dug his thumb in the small wound and smeared its blood on your forehead, tracing the shape of a rune. You did the same to him. Next, each cut into your respective palms and joined them over a goblet while a priest explained that the mixing of blood signified becoming one with the other. You had to suppress a gag when made to take a sip, for it was plausible Yoongi’s blood was all kinds of diseased.

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.”

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

In the crowd, Hoseok turned his head away. He had not wanted to attend the ceremony—in fairness, neither had you or Yoongi—but your parents forced him. They were about the only people who could make him do anything anymore.

Ever since he’d bonded with the world’s oldest and fiercest dragon, nobody dared fuck with him, not even his older brother. That was why, when he caught some lords watching him turn away from the kiss, they immediately looked down in fear. Unfortunately, the rumours about the affair you were having with him being whispered at court weren’t so easily scared away, and you’d had to spend less time together in public so as not to spur them on.

Above the clouds, though, there were no witnesses.

That’s where Hoseok’s mind was during the feast, up in the sky.

You looked so beautiful in that white dress, with your soft, silver hair tied in a long braid that fell down your back, but he couldn’t stand seeing you sat at the end of the table next to Yoongi, who’d caused you both so much pain; kept bouncing his leg, playing with his food, giving curt answers to anyone who spoke to him… because the worst was yet to come.

Once the sun disappeared below the horizon, you’d be escorted to Yoongi’s chambers and deflowered.

He would get to be inside you.

Would he hurt you? Or would he… satisfy you? It was horrible, but Hoseok genuinely didn’t know which was worse. What kept him from deciding was the lively song that the musicians started playing, and everyone rushing to dance.

Your mother gave Yoongi a look at which he rolled his eyes. Dance with your bride, it commanded. Grudgingly, he held out a hand to you, who turned to your father with a pleading expression only to receive the same look. Dance with your groom. So with a sigh, you took Yoongi’s hand and followed him to the centre of the hall.

And Hoseok had to watch you dance with him just as your dragons had danced together in the air.

That was it for him. He quickly excused himself to your parents on the account of a headache and stormed off, pushing through the people who’d flocked to act as an audience to those dancing. He was about to go up the small steps leading to the entrance when someone grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Please, don’t go. I need you close.”

How you’d slipped out of the dance floor unnoticed, Hoseok didn’t know, but still, he freed himself from your grasp carefully so as not to hurt you, and whispered, “I can’t see you with him.”

“He means less than nothing to me, my love. And I to him.”

Hoseok knew that. Yet when he glanced down at the cut on your lip, he was reminded of the fact that you’d become of one flesh with another in such an intimate ceremony. It made his blood boil.

“I can’t take it, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

He walked away and left you there, having to face the rest of the day without him. Could you blame him, though? You’d react the same way, would’ve left ages ago... It was the gods whom you damned for making Yoongi the older brother.

✩ ✩ ✩

Past midnight, Hoseok couldn’t sleep.

It must’ve been what, a quarter since the bedding had begun? He wondered if you were still at it, plaguing flashes crossing his mind of your bare body under Yoongi’s. Were you moaning? Gripping the sheets? Begging for him to go harder? Disgusting. He couldn’t shake them away, every time he tossed and turned a new one surfacing among his thoughts. He was going to resort to pulling his hair to make them stop when his chambers’ door opened.

Hoseok sat up without delay, reaching for the blade under his pillow, but from the shadows it was you who emerged.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

There was some light, at least, that of the moon entering through the window, and it made something you carried shine. Hoseok got up from the bed and walked over, once he was close discerning the piece of dragonglass from the wedding in your hand.

“I’m right where I belong,” you declared. “With you.”

“It’s your wedding night. What of your husband?”

“He drowned in his wine cup at dinner. The second he lay on his bed, he was snoring… All the better.”

Hoseok pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. “If it’s not tonight, it’ll be tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow, I’ll already be yours.” You raised the dragonglass and once more cut into your lip. It hurt as much as earlier, but this time you did it willingly. Hoseok frowned when you placed the piece on his lip. “I may be married to our brother by law, but I’m marrying you for love.”

He flinched at the cut. “But this means nothing to the world.”

“It does to us. And not only that, don’t you understand? After tonight, whatever children I have will be assumed to be Yoongi’s. The risk keeping our bodies apart is gone.” You drew the rune on Hoseok’s forehead with his blood, and on board, he did the same to you. “A goblet?” He ran to get one from his bedside table, gulped the wine inside it as he returned to your side. Soon, it was filled with the blood of both, emptied when each drank from it. “Targaryens are dragons, Hoseok. Fire made flesh. And once a dragon bonds with a rider, it is to the death. I bonded with you long ago.”

The moonlight made the tears forming in Hoseok’s eyes shine just as it had the dragonglass.

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.”

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husb–”

You hadn’t finished saying it when Hoseok smacked his lips on yours, impatient to make you his, make up for too many years of restraint[PG1] .

Neither therefore wasted a breath in taking off the other’s nightgown, and Hoseok swallowed hard when he saw your naked body for the first time since infancy, you almost feeling faint at the sight of his... Your brother was clearly a man grown now and as a woman, you couldn’t keep away any longer.

He let you drag him to the bed and have him lie over you, knees and elbows sunk at your sides, but did nothing more than admire your features with half-lidded eyes as if he didn’t share your hunger anymore. You tried to kiss him again, and he even pulled back.

“Lykirī,” he murmured in High Valyrian as a rider did to their dragon.

Be calm.

Much as he struggled to resist your tempting, Hoseok knew it’d be over sooner than hoped for if you lost yourselves to lust so early.

He placed a finger under your chin and raised it. “Dohaerās.”

Serve me.

Oh, he needn’t ask twice. Your fingers skimmed across his back and waist until reaching his hard erection, then curled around it to move up and down painfully slowly, at which Hoseok gulped. In part, you wanted him to wrap his own hand around your throat and order you to stop teasing, behave, but the excitement to please him betrayed your mischief.

Eyes locked with yours, a scorching sensation was building up in his core that spread through his body like wildfire the tighter you gripped, the faster you pumped, and he wanted to let go so badly… But the reward of coming inside you was a great incentive to find a distraction to focus on until then, such as his erratic breathing.

You felt it on your skin, hot like a dragon’s. It mingled with yours and scented the air with wine and desire, and seeing the latter reflected on your eyes made Hoseok’s tensed arms begin to shake out of weakness. You quickly caught up on it and so sat up, forcing him to do the same.

“Y/N, what–”

“Sh, my love…”

Hoseok didn’t know what you were up to until you bent over and took him in your mouth, sucking hard as your head bobbed up and down his length. Despite the stinging of your cut, you found yourself revelling in the feeling of his throbbing gliding against your lips and tongue, becoming wet enough to ease right between your legs.

“Ah, just like that…” Hoseok wondered if you could tell he was only just quelling the urge to pin your wrists over your head and pound you until sunrise, until it hurt for both—you could. It made you want to try harder to provoke him. At least, you were satisfied he was unable to contain the groan that followed when you took all of him in, the tip of his cock hitting against your throat a few times until you had to pull it out to cough. “Gods, Y/N…”

You laughed, rather embarrassed, “Gainly, I know…”

Hoseok smiled before he cupped your cheeks and led your lips coated with saliva and blood still to his. All flushed, you’d never looked prettier. “As I want you.”

The way he looked at you, so devotedly and without judgement, you felt no shame whispering in his ear, “How else do you want me?”

You could’ve sworn you caught Hoseok’s pupils engulf the purple of his irises as a nervous, low chuckle escaped him. It was always fun to entice him. He whispered back, “Lie on your back and spread your legs.”

You followed his command with eagerness, welcomed the pain in your wound when he leaned in to kiss you deeply, and your delight in turn sweetened his blood, driving you to suck on his lip. He did want to be consumed by you in any way, but a hiss forced him to pull away. The two of you couldn’t help but laugh, yet the butterflies returned with the first kiss of the trail that Hoseok began leaving all the way from your neck to your thighs, each marked with blood on your skin.

His breath hit against your maidenhood the second he hovered over it, making you shiver with anticipation, and seeing this he decided against torturing you any longer. While his hands groped your breasts as he knew you liked, Hoseok’s tongue delved between your wet folds until reaching your clit and licking it side to side without pause, occasionally straying downwards again to tease your entrance with his tip. You could barely keep still, squirming and bucking your hips into Hoseok’s face, moaning from behind the teeth sank like fangs into your bottom lip. He’d dreamed of making a feast out of your cunt for years, and now that he was finally tasting your juices, your pleasure, he realised the wait had been worth it.

“Keligon daor, valonqar…” he heard amongst your pants.

Don’t stop, brother.

But he was going to. He knew you needed more, and it was time he gave it to you.

The pressure of Hoseok’s tongue was straight away missed, but the tip of his cock replaced it after he’d got closer to kiss you again. It rubbed on your clit as a consequence of stroking himself, and with an exhale your head dropped on the pillow, your eyes closing.

Hoseok took the chance to gently push his erection through your entrance, earning a gasp he interrupted with a kiss. You would’ve smacked him for taking you off guard had he not started rolling his hips like that, moving in and out of you slowly so you could get used to the stretch. There had been a slight stinging but now it felt so nice that suddenly, all your brain could think of doing was wrapping your arms and legs around him to pull him closer.

“You want me deeper?” he whispered before nibbling on your earlobe. You had not the strength to answer, only whimper, but Hoseok understood. And burying himself inside you all the way in a few times, with the scant moonlight shimmering on his blood, sweat, and purple irises, you’d never been so attracted to him. “You’re so tight, I can’t believe it…”

“Hoseok… More, please,” you begged, and it was an order he was keen to obey.

Intertwining your hands, he started pounding you hard enough to send you into a daze similar to the one wine would heave you to, only, overflowing with desire. Hoseok grunted in the crook of your neck with every thrust and you moaned loudly in return, not caring whether all of King’s Landing would hear. There was no need to hold back anymore, not now that you were both so desperate to reach your high.

Soon enough, your walls did indeed begin to clench around Hoseok’s cock, which forced him to fuck you so fast that tears of pleasure formed in your eyes and you had to hold your breath as a heavenly sensation engulfed you whole. You didn’t return to your earthly body until Hoseok finished too, his warm seed filling you.

Afterwards, he kissed you softly and with your eyes closed, both remained still for a while.

“I love you, Y/N.” His tone told you that there should be no doubt of it, that he was there and not going anywhere. The corners of your lips curled into a smile.

“I love you too.”

You kissed his nose, then opened your eyes to see Hoseok already looking back at you, like nothing else in the world mattered more. His gaze wandered about your face, then fell on your mouth. He scoffed, “The court will be suspicious when they see my lip is sliced also.”

“Then let me kiss it better, brother.”

[tempestgnostic]

The Werewolf: Archetype and Identity

Someday I’ll make a list of my alterhuman and otherhearted identities, but I’m not sure when that will be. For now, I’ll just talk about the the most prominent one: The Werewolf. I capitalize the name for both its significance and the fact that it’s an archetypal identity, so to speak. (I also use he/him throughout this essay, simply because I’m speaking of The Werewolf in relation to myself, and as myself.) I’m not a specific werewolf in any sense, and I’m not drawn from just one piece of folklore, or even one broad interpretation. It’s much bigger than that. Of course, explaining all the finer details would require an essay, and time is at a premium nowadays. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, and tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief. Pay no attention to the appropriately-timed readmore.

Let’s look at an example of what I mean: the eponymous baron in Bisclavret is a specific werewolf, but he’s also one of many depictions of The Werewolf as a somewhat noble being who is wronged by others—in this case, his wife—as a consequence of his true nature. This “noble beast” interpretation can be contrasted with folk tales of feral werewolves who threaten villagers and fear neither torch nor blade. Werewolves aren’t solely monsters meant to inspire empathy or fear, however. They can also serve specific literary functions, often as symbols of broader concepts and experiences. The werewolf story can be used as a metaphor for a young person coming-of-age, a challenging tale of tangling with the darker aspects of human nature, or even as an exploration of queer identity and the liminal spaces we occupy. These are certainly not unique to werewolves, and the latter is especially common among other creatures embraced by the horror genre.

Each broad interpretation of The Werewolf feels to me like a part of my identity on some level. I’m the werewolf who feels guilty for the harm he’s done, who tries to resist his feral urges, but I’m also the one who embraces that side and indulges in it. I’m the werewolf who was born this way, the one who was blessed (or cursed) by some spirit or deity, but also the one who was bitten or scratched—forever changed out of cruelty, indifference, or even a dark perversion of love. The only bits of werewolf folklore I won’t engage with on some level are those from practices and cultures that are closed for me. They’re not mine to claim on any level—certainly not in any way that would be respectful.

Like so many in our community, my connection to The Werewolf is intricately intertwined with almost all other aspects of my identity. I’m genderqueer, yet I strictly use he/him pronouns. I have a beard—a thick one, at that—and a flat chest, yet I also identify myself as butch and sapphic. It’s been uniquely gender-affirming for me to have partners who identify as lesbians—to be fully seen and understood as butch. It would feel incredibly uncomfortable and even dysphoric for me to be with a straight woman. Even within queer spaces, at times I feel either gravely misunderstood or utterly invisible. I am, on some level, expected to conform, and my refusal to do so marks me at best as ‘confused,’ and at worst as a threat.

I embrace the androgyny in my voice and mannerisms, and I easily—often unintentionally—slip into different social presentations depending on who’s around me. (I’m also autistic, to no one’s surprise.) Code-switching comes naturally to me, likely as a result of having to cobble together adequate social skills over the course of a decade, but also as a matter of safety as a queer person who’s only ever lived in red states. The Werewolf is a liminal creature, existing in several different worlds at once and moving through them with varying levels of ability. I am no different—charming and quick to make friends when I know the social landscape, and terribly awkward and clumsy when I don’t.

In the interest of keeping this even remotely readable in one sitting, I’ll wrap this up here. The Werewolf can be a charismatic yet dangerous lover, a pitiful and wretched thing, a creature just beyond the veil of understanding, or even a kindred spirit. I am and have been all of these things, both in my external life and my mind’s inner world. I experience phantom and mental shifts, and I see myself in so many depictions of werewolves in media. This part of my identity plays a vital role for me in kink—though I’ll save the details for a properly 18+ post—in my relationship dynamics, in my pagan spirituality, and many other parts of my life. It fits neatly over my gender expression like a second skin and provides a backdrop for my social presence. I am The Werewolf As Archetype: a being representing liminality, transformation, and embracing authenticity—at any cost. It is a vital part of me, without which I would cease to be.

[lucystark12]

mike wheeler and jaime lannister are the same character and that also means byler is real 🥳

my last post about game of thrones versus stranger things where i talked about writing and what went wrong with dan and david did pretty well so i figured id elaborate just a bit on my quick side note i had in there about mike reminding me of jaime because it’s something i literally cannot shake. they are so similar it causes me extreme amounts of stress. and im on a two hour flight so i have time to explain it all to you 🥳🤗

to begin, my favorite stranger things characters are mike and nancy and my favorite game of thrones characters are sansa and jaime. if you already see a pattern, then you’re on the right track, because yes, i am a believer in the misunderstood character who is widely hated amongst fans but is arguably the best written one in the given source material. sansa and nancy are both fundamentally similar characters- they both start out as naive girls who are very singularly focused on their reputation and how they’re perceived by the people around them. this is evident in nancy’s relationship with steve and with basically every single action sansa takes in season one of game of thrones. through being forced into a dangerous environment however, both characters learn to shed the ideas they had about what it means in their given world to be “successful” and “important.” i tend to love characters like that because their so realistic. even if we aren’t all being abused by kings or shooting demegorgans, most of us can relate to wishing we were something we weren’t and having to learn the hard way that it’s just better to be yourself

i just wanted to get the nancy sansa pipeline out of the way first before i talk about mike and jaime, because where nancy and sansa are similar, jaime and mike are practically twins.

let’s look at both characters at the beginning of their respective story-

- mike is 12 years old and knows close to nothing except for the fact that he wants to be able to protect the people he cares about. throughout the first season, we see mike’s guilt for not being able to find will metaphorically eat him alive, coming to a head at the cliff scene where when his other best friend is in threat of being harmed, he decides that he would rather die than not be able to save someone he cares about again.

- jaime is mike on a twenty year delay, but his story begins about where mike is at in ~season 3. however, when jaime was about 15, he was appointed to the kings guard, a position he partly sought out to be close to cersei (his affair partner (and sister but that’s a conversation for another day)) (also, mike acts the way he does when will goes missing partly because he’s lost somebody he subconsciously loves too and if you don’t think mike has been subconsciously in love with him this whole time ily but womp womp ur wrong) but also partly sought out because of his notions of what it meant to be a knight- it means that you’re fighting for the people and essentially saving as many as you possibly can. jaime is a character who cares very much about the people around him, similarly to mike. jaime’s situation comes to a similar head when he kills the king to prevent him from essentially bombing the capital city and killing half a million innocent people, which in doing so he puts his own life and reputation at risk

these characters are both so similar because they both value life. they are willing to sacrifice themselves and their reputation in the interest of other people. this is who they both are at the core of their person. however, at some point throughout their arc they both go back on their previous behaviors. they don’t so much regret the way they behaved, but the pressures about their roles that have been put on them by society lead them both to believe that their behavior is wrong in some way.

with mike, i’m talking about how affectionate (?) he was with will in season two. i’m naming what happened after the whole hospital “best thing i’ve ever done” sequence and before season three as mike going through the same thing jaime does in the period between when he kills the king and when the show starts. i think in both of these time frames, the two of them start to have this realization based on the people around them that what they did was wrong and won’t be widely accepted. jaime’s king slaying was treasonous and mike realizes that his love confession coded monologue to will in the hospital wasn’t necessarily normal behavior. this is also the exact time period in which the raegan bush election is happening. they literally probably voted during season 2. id also like to point out that both of them come from very rigid and strict families. and if you’re denying me this for mike, they have a raegan bush sign in their yard.

now we pick up in season 1 for jaime and season 3 for mike. this is where im going to bring up the singular most important part of both of their respective arcs- the love triangle. season 1/3 are the most important times for both melvin and jercei (?). melvin is at peak affection, and basically mike’s entire story for a good portion of this season revolves around her. this is basically the peak of jercei because it’s right before they get separated and their whole dynamic changes. but uh oh! there’s trouble in paradise for both! suddenly mike and el are broken up and jaime and cersei are separated by the war of the five kings. this next part bleeds into season 2/3 for jaime and season 4 for mike, when mike and el are quite literally separated.

so, both of them are separated from side one of their love triangle, who both are using as a gateway to solve what they think is their biggest flaw- jaime his narcissism and mike his sexuality. then, and this is one of my favorite little parallels, they are both literally escorted home by the other side of the triangle, where “home” (hawkins for mike, kings landing for jaime) serves to say the truth about who they are as people that they weren’t quite ready to face before they set off on their respective physical journeys. (mikes trip to california, jaimes push north)

obviously in stranger things mike and will literally go back to hawkins together. in game of thrones, jaime gets captured by the opposing army and is escorted back to the capital by a knight for the opposing army, brienne, under the condition that he will safely return the king’s sisters to him. throughout both of their returns home, they both are forced to come to terms with their feelings just a little bit. jaime admits the truth of his kingslay to brienne, and mike is given the painting. i don’t think mike has put ANY of the dots together on the painting yet, but once he does, this will serve as a HUGE influence on his character development and relationship with will (another thing i could talk about for hours). then they both get home, and jaime’s view starts to shift just a little bit… he starts thinking “hey wait… maybe brienne is onto something. maybe i don’t have to be so terrible all the time and conform to what society wants me to be.” now obviously we don’t know if mike is thinking this way yet, but my guess is that he probably will start having a similar thing next season.

the reason both brienne and will are so important to their character arcs are because in the context of the love triangle or decision their romantic interest is making, they serve to symbolize non conformity and embracing the truth about who you are and what you stand for. brienne isn’t conventionally attractive like cersei and actively goes against what was expected of women at the time. being with will would make him a part of a gay relationship, which was very nonconformist at the time. where cersei and eleven serve in the relationship to show pretending, insecurity, and lies since they are literally the exact opposite of brienne and will. and guess who doesn’t lie? FRIENDS.

so, what i’m saying is that will is essential to ending mike’s character arc just like brienne was to jaime, and that if stranger things fumbles the bag and doesn’t make it happen like game of thrones did, then mike will live in infamy as an unfinished character who had a stupid ending just like jaime did.

also, i am a “jaime should have killed cersei and then died in the fire with her” truther and similarly believe that mike should sacrifice himself in the last summer to come full circle to the sacrificial person he used to be. i also don’t believe in happy endings because they’re boring ❤️

this is why im SO FUCKING NERVOUS about mike. i’m literally having ptsd god help me! 🤗🤗 pls matt and ross learn from the mistakes of your elders and break the game of thrones curse!! as daenerys targaryen would say- BREAK THE WHEEL!!

[etrange-fleur]

"Double-Faced Struggling Genius"

"A genius architect who's also Raffaello's uncle. He takes pride in his own skills and never backs down from any challenge. He's always speaking ill of a certain person he calls “Don”, claiming he's a loser and a coward, but the truth is the two of them are..."

Donato Bramante is an artist working for the Palette Museum and he's part of the Renaissance group. His age range is early-mid 30s (he's 33) and he's a cis male (he uses he/him pronouns). His sexuality is "undefined"*.

*I use "undefined" when I don't have a certain sexuality in mind for my own characters. You know when usually fictional characters don't have a confirmed sexuality, so fans can make shit up? Yes, exactly that. But never catch me confirming my characters as straight /hj

Full body + close-up:

Character info card + more detailed infos under the cut!

! For likes/dislikes, the ones outside the parenthesis are "Bramante"'s likes/dislikes, while the others are "Don"'s likes/dislikes (so his true likes/dislikes) !

Name: Bramante (Donato Bramante)

Catchphrase: "Double-Faced Struggling Genius"

Hobby: Writing

Likes: Perfection, being praised [being alone, being lazy, staying indoors]

Dislikes: Imperfection, Raffaello's rivals, social events [getting teased by Raffaello and the others, social events]

Height: 189 cm

Birthday: April 11th

Favourite food: Nothing in particular

Disliked food: Cappuccino

Strength: Distinct sense of monumentality, skillful use of perspective illusion

Special skill: Writing poems and short stories based on personal experiences

Relationships with artists: Since he was adopted by the Sanzio family, he's Raffaello's uncle. He's always been a big fan of Cimabue and tries to hide it, but it's just too obvious. Sometimes he keeps Cabanel company while drinking.

How he became an exclusive member: After his brother's death, he started working really hard to become a better architect and a respectable person. He spent some time in the capital, then he reached Palette City, where Raffaello already was. After testing the skills of Palette Museum's artists, he finally signed a contract with the museum.

What I want to do: "I want to show the world who I truly am... But who am I? I don't know it either."

Sleeping time: "It depends on the day. I can either sleep for 9 hours or 2 hours or not sleep at all. Life is a gamble, I guess."

What I want now: "N-No offense to you, deputy director... But I want this interview to end. I was in the middle of writing... a thing."

Daily habits: "I wake up very early and spend a long time preparing my "other" self every day. It's a long and tiring process... But it must be done."

More detailed info (please forgive me for my english):

(no fun facts for the moments because I don't know what to put🤸)

[garden-of-zinnia]

Cato H. ~ The Seam

We got a Cato Hadley imagine, ya'll.

TW: Swearing, canon-typical violence

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

    .Y/N's POV.

    Wow. The Hunger Games. Never thought I'd end up here. But then again, I also never thought I'd befriend a boy who gained muscle from baking and was named after bread.

    Everyone here (The capital people, the president, the game maker, the careers, and our capital escort, Effie) made it seem like it was such an honor to be a part of the games, but honestly, I just want to go home. I have my family, Katniss, Primrose, and Gale, waiting for me at home. Plus, my mom. I don't want to be here for pretty obvious reasons. Yet, here I am, in The Hunger Games, in a training center, shooting arrows at the heart of a bright colored dummy.

-.-.-.-

        I was, standing on a pedestal, heart pounding wildly in my chest, waiting for the signal to run.

    I already knew Peeta would try to grab a bag and weapons, but I really didn't care and bolted straight for the woods. Once I was far enough away, I grabbed a bunch of tree branches and sharpened them into make-shift spears.

     But then I heard it.

    The terrifying Ariana-Grande-Like screams of the I-Can't-Climb-A-Tree people.

    Otherwise known as Marvel, Glimmer, Cato, and Clove. The careers.

    I mean, not gonna lie here, Cato is kind of fine, but that's besides the point. They're trying to kill me. So I did the first thing that any normal human would do when encountering the careers and climbed the nearest tree. I got at least thirty feet up before the careers got to me, and when I looked down, I saw... PEETA?! WHAT THE HELL MAN?! I THOUGHT WE WERE BREAD BUDDIES?! Whatever.

    Before I knew it, Glimmer was trying, and miserably failing, to shoot me with her goddamn arrows, and Cato was climbing after me.

    Obviously, these are the I-Can't-Climb-A-Tree people were talking about, so he obviously fell only about 10 feet up, but I still climbed farther.

     And, obviously, Peeta, being the back-stabbing asshole that he is, told them to wait for me to come down.

    You know what?! FUCK YOU, PEETA. We were supposed to be bREAD BUDDIes!

    Eventually, the careers went to sleep, and I soon followed their actions and layed down, but I couldn't seem to close my eyes for more than ten seconds.

-.-.-.-.

When the sun came up, I noticed three things.

1.) There was a little girl, Rue, from district 11, staring at me from another tree. She pointed at something. A tracker-jacker nest just above the careers for me to cut down. Thanks, Rue. She can replace Peeta, now :).

2.) I had a sponsor gift on the branch above me, which looked like just a small metal tin.

3.) Cato was staring into my soul from the tree next to mine.

    I almost screamed when I saw Cato  but quickly stopped myself. He looked into my eyes and, without hesitation, stuck his hand out to me. He was holding three small knives.

    I stared at him for a second before he spoke.

    "You want 'em or not, Seam?" He said, sticking his hand out farther towards me and motioning up to the tracker-jacker nest.

    I slowly grabbed them, I began to cut away at the top of the hive while Cato and Rue watched from their respective places.

    I got a few stings around my neck, but I eventually cut through the top of the hive, which fell onto the careers and Peeta. They all managed to get away, though.

    All except one, at least.

    Glimmer, the girl from district one, was almost instantly killed by the stings, and she went limp on the ground as a cannon sounded, and the tracker-jackers began to fly away.

    I jumped down the tree and grabbed the nearest rock.

    I began to smash at Glimmer's hand with the smooth stone and crack after crack her fingers snapped. After a few seconds, they were all broken, but the stings must have gotten to me because the last thing I was was the bow in my hand, and Cato shaking me.

    Peeta ran at us and shouted. "Y/N! Y/N, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! LEAVE! Y/N?!"

    Then... I went limp.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

(A/N) Well, that sucked :D! Not proofread, because I hated this one. Also, Y/N, Gale, Katniss, and Primrose aren't related, just really close. But this one was like actually really shitty.

Love ya'll to bits,

♡Graysin♡Zinnia♡

Word Count: 798

[transmascpetewentz]

Intro + Basic Stuff

It has been 5 days since a transandrophobe has been horrifyingly disrespectful of a gay trans man who died of AIDS on one of my posts or in my inbox.

It has been 3 days since a cis gay man has whined about his genital preference in my notes and/or inbox when I didn't ask.

If you're here because someone accused me of being a TERF, please know that I am not. Read this for more details.

I can't think of a name to use on this blog so just refer to me either by my URL or a silly nickname. My BYF as well as a few blinkies are under the cut.

my pronouns are he/him, but any are fine if you're clearly using them to show that you respect me. they/them is generally okay as long as you aren't using them to dehumanize me.

i prefer gendered terms (boy, girl, enby) over neutral terms, but i will block you if you use "girl" in a misgendering sense. malewife and similar terms are fine. also, this is highly unlikely to come up, but please don't call me "queen."

i'm USAmerican, and when i'm talking about issues, i'm likely talking about USAmerica unless i indicate otherwise.

i'm currently having brainrot about: fall out boy, american idiot, red white and royal blue, fallout new vegas, and velvet goldmine (the 1998 film).

i also post untagged discourse on this blog, specifically talking about transmasc issues, trans liberation, queer liberation, and how to be normal about transmascs if you aren't one.

i'm also looking into converting to judaism, and as such i might post about conversion and judaism in general. filter #judaism if you don't want to see it.

i'm part of a system, so it might not always be the same person answering asks. i probably won't post about it mostly because i want to stay out of syscourse.

all original posts are #wentz.txt, asks are #asks. if i ever have photos of myself on here, they'll be #wentz.jpg.

this blog runs on a queue, so just because i post doesn't mean i've been online recently.

this is my alternate account. i have a main blog that i'm ignoring due to harassment. if you have me blocked on my main and try to follow me here, i'm blocking you for your own sake.

cis women are welcome to follow but don't touch any of my posts making fun of cis gay men or i will bite you.

blog rules:

no, i'm never sharing my age on here.

tag filtering: flashing, eyestrain, loud, violence cw, sexual assault cw, pedophilia cw, self harm cw, suicide cw, not worksafe, long post, anon hate, arguing with bigots, fascism cw.

please do not ask me about whether i am pro or anti ship, whether i support endogenic systems, or my views on intracommunity issues i'm not part of.

i'm autistic and as such might not understand if i'm making you uncomfortable. please either block me or DM me and tell me to stop doing something.

i won't reblog your callout post, reblog bait, guilt tripping, or donation post. an exception might be made for your donation post if we're mutuals.

if i don't block you, then i don't mind you following me. i don't softblock. please don't softblock me either, just block or else i'll refollow.

if i have reblogs enabled on a post, i'm fine with anyone reblogging it. if i have replies enabled, i'm fine with anyone replying.

if you're going to send anon hate, it has to be interesting, original, funny, and/or creative.

also, if you're going to send anon hate, please refrain from calling me slurs, sending me death threats, sexually harassing me, or misgendering me. also, please censor the name sh***a, or don't use the name at all in your ask.

i don't really have a dni, but i will block you if: you fetishize gay men or trans men, you support capitalism and/or cops, you glorify the actions of the ussr, you deny that transandrophobia exists, you think that feminine cis men are more oppressed than feminine trans men.

actually, i have to add a dni now: please dni if you falsely accuse gay men who died of aids of sexual assault. yes, someone like this tried to interact with me.

That should be it for now!

[catbountry]

I think before I go to bed, I should make it clear that my flippancy about the failed assassination attempt on Trump is because this man didn't give enough of a fuck to protect the citizens of the country he fucking ran from a deadly virus that killed hundreds of thousands of people in that country alone.

Like we talk a lot about all presidents being war criminals to come extent but for your average American, it's very hard to put names and faces to the anonymous brown people we hear getting bombed by drone strikes on the other side of the world. Like we know it's bad, but because we don't see these people, it's hard to actually like, internalize that. But with COVID? Your average American knew somebody who died, or almost died, or was in danger or dying. And this motherfucker, pumping his fist in the air after getting grazed by a bullet while a spectator in the crowd died, got to live through getting COVID because he was the President when he got it. He lived when our friends, our family, or neighbors, suffered and died. 100s of 9/11s worth of deaths happened while he was running for re-election. It's now gotten to over a million under Biden, but those early days when the most could have been done to curb the number of deaths, we just were at the mercy of a man who could not give a less of a liquid, fast-food induced shit about the average American. Like I know the government gladly serves capital over us but I've never seen it so mask off in my entire life.

I can't speak for when Reagan was president, mind, I was born halfway through his second term. Not a whole lot of memories of that because I was, you know, a baby.

But like Reagan, Trump did not take the lives of our countrymen seriously enough to even look out for us when we needed it most, and it wasn't even motivated by homophobia; just indifference. He failed us, not that we ever expected that much of him to begin with. The blood of people who we know with faces and names and voices and memories are dead because of him. And even if COVID is "over," he's made it clear that if he gets in, he doesn't fucking care if he does shit that kills more people through simply not caring, or just out of spite.

I'm sorry that I find it hard to try and play at good optics and respectability politics for the sake of not giving republicans ammo (they're gonna find ammo regardless, they always do). This man raped our country, and that word choice is very deliberate. He stumbled in, took what he wanted, broke so many rules, violated every boundary put into place to keep him in check, and like a vengeful ex, sicc'd a pack of his flying monkeys to enact violent revenge on the government elected by the people that dumped his ass. He's a petty little tyrant trying to become a dictator so he can huff deep from the most concentrated narcissistic supply known to a modern leader so far this century, and he has apologists who think he should have raped the country harder.

I am going to continue to live my life as normal as I possibly can, to try and focus on what I can do for myself to be happy and have a sense of stability and to be able to like myself, while also doing what I can to support my friends and loved ones. To remember the dead and remember what it was like to come down with COVID myself and how awful it felt. To try not to lose hope and vote if only just to protect the rights of my friends, my family, and myself, and hope that we can get through this together, whatever the fuck it will even be. I'm kinda scared, and jokes make things a little less scary because at least I know there are other people who are just as frustrated as I am, reacting the same way.

We gotta look for each other. Monke together strong.

Stay safe, guys. You are loved.

[eri-pl]

Silm reread interlude: I read Lay of Leithian (1)

First: the title: a lot of times in the text something is freed and released and we get the text focusing on it, because of course that's why I gave it this title, look it's perfectly normal: of course Sauron's prisoners, but also Luthien from her imprisonment, Beren (and iirc others) many times from emotional paralysis + (in alternate text said clearly) the poor Silmaril from the crown of hatered and yet our Oath-bound blorbos are not maybe because their two brothers decided to be creeps.

Also putting something as your title and than mentioning it in relation to many things is totally normal and not funny and not because I am doing it myself sometimes.

OK, anyway, let's start.

TWs…. hmm. Suicidality, a lot of Morgoth and he is evil but in a cool way, wonky metaphysics of the early Silm.

Canto 1

Thinglo has a silver crown. And his armors are scale mail.

Again, Luthien with Elrond's poetic coloring. But in alternate version she had gold hair and blue eyes, Earendil-style.

Canto 2

Morgoth is called king! And the text respects him way more than in the Silm. Sure, he's evil. But also "stronger than the stone the world is built of, than the fire that burns within it more fierce and dire" – come one tell me that does not sound cool. Also "thoughts profound were in his heart". huh? Unless "profound" means something like "gloomy" here, not like "deep and wise".

Also he's evil and terrible and his army stinks.

And he is often referred to as "King Morgoth". With capital "K". He would like that.

Gorlim is much more intentional in his betrayal. And talks with Morgoth himself, not with Sauron.

Another line about Morgoth: "that cruel heart wherein no truth had ever part". So the profound thoughts are profound but untrue I guess.

And it's so dark: "Thus Gorlim died a bitter death, and cursed himself with dying breath[...] and all good deeds were made in vain". Who wrote that, Daeron?

Also, the hidout of Beren and his father and their band is referred to as "secret tryst". Tolkien, as often, uses words as he pleases.

Beren curses the name of Morgoth, thrice. In this story, we will see a lot of people cursing various things and people.

The orcs want to steal the ring of Barahir, ie not report it to Morgoth, just keep it.

Beren is suicidal: "he longed for knofe, or shaft, or sword, to end his pain[...] Danger he sought and death pursued" — huh. Very un-Silm-like. In the Silm only tragic characters are like this.

He befriends animals, and stone spirits(!), I prefer this early version where we have lesser Maiar(?)/spirits/whatever.

Big Dipper as named Burnng Briar, but still it's basicall a "Morgoth, we'll get you" sign from Varda.

Canto 3

Melian didn't go to Beleriand on a mission or purpose: "She had wayward wandered on a time from gardens of the Gods".

Also, the text is written as if Valinor did make its inhabitants immortal: "where earth and sky together flow, and none shall die". I guess Ar-Pharazon read this version. ;) (minus the parts that make Sauron look stupid)

Melian and Thingol. For him the years of looking in her eyes seem like an hour, which makes sense.

Aaand we get first (unless I missed something) title reference! And it's the oddest one possible: "when Morgoth first, fleeing the Gods, their bondage burst, and on the mortal lands set feet".

Also, all Men are his thralls (sans Bere&co obviously), no mention of the Edain.

It seems like elves are not immortal??? "Thingol and deathless Melian" + some more lines like that. maybe it's about her not being possible to kill (dfw would disagree).

"Dairon the dark" so I guess Daeron has black hair. Or face. Or both. Again, he is mightier as a minstrel than Maglor (whose voice is like the sea, and the sea is not a tenor) but they have a third contestant, Tinfang, later deleted.

B&L meet, her magic dazes him and whatnot, I'm not a fan, anyway we get one of my favorite lines:

And now his heart was healed and slain with a new life and with new pain

This point-on describes one very particular emotional experience that does not have a name, but sometimes occur when an emotional (or spiritual) issue is resolved an a sudden and rather surprising moment of insight.

[That's one of the best feelings and I wish you all to have it often enough. <3 ]

…Let's end this on this good note and not on my feelings about the romance part of the canto.

[ae-neon]

I am curious of Rhysand father you know. As for someone that leaves his son wing and leave him to be chain during Hybern war, he seem Beron-ish. But i cant describe that there is this warm to him. Especially to his own mate.

If it possible, I would like to read more of hus father. His father seem to have more firm and fierce hold on both Illyria and Hewn City. They march to war under his command. His father also Azriel first emploer. This man must have nurture Az spy skill too.

But, he let his mate bring Rhys to the illyrian ring where I was thinking that rhys should have his basic school done first. He said how his mother taught him how to read by the window in Illyria. So, he dont really receive proper training to be High Lord did he?

And I am curious to know what will his father reaction to Rhys has done to his court. I doubt he will accept Feyre who is stolen bride and introduce as whore to be NC lady.

Hello anon

They don't have names so just to make it simple I will say Father, Mother, Sister.

For my personal belief, when I think of Rhysand's family : I always think Sister was older than him.

For me this makes sense as to why:

His memories with his friends and Mor don't include Sister, usually older siblings are off doing their own thing so he was left to hang out with his friends and his cousin who is the same age as him. That's why Rhys could sneak to Spring and be friends with Tamlin as well.

Maybe during that time Father was preparing Sister to rule.

Rhys was the first to ban wing clipping which means Father didn't do it but we can assume that Sister's wings were not clipped - Father probably wanted Sister to stand out as equal to Illyrian men so she can rule them (rather than make all women free)

It also makes sense of Rhys spending all his time growing up with Mother (an illyrian seamstress, not a noble or a princess) who took charge of his education but Sister is never around in those memories.

Maybe Sister was in the Hewn City with Father, getting a formal education.

In this way Feyre and Rhys can parallel each other. They are the forgotten younger child. It can even explain why he cannot let go of his hate for Nesta - she is just like Sister as the older child who was the focus of the head of the family. Maybe there is jealousy and resentment there

Then we learn that Father split up the bat boys because he worried they are too powerful together. Maybe he thought they (or someone else) would choose to put Rhys on the throne instead of Sister.

He keeps Azriel close and sends Cassian to the Illyrian infantry but maybe he also sends Rhys to Velaris instead of bringing him back to the capital (CoN) and that's why Rhysand feels more connected to Velaris than to the CoN.

Father was 900 when Mother was 18 but from what we know her life seemed to be okay - Father made sure she was not touched or disrespected by Illyrians or High Fae.

Rhys is the opposite. He is like a spoiled child. He is one of those arrogant princes who brings down their whole family name.

He introduces Feyre as his sexual plaything in front of the conservative nobility of the capital of the court. Then next time he visits he has to start hurting people because they don't show her respect?? Now he will expect them to respect his son who is born of the woman he fingered in front of them.

Even when Nesta and Elain are in Illyria - he doesn't stop them from saying bad things about the High Lady's sisters. He doesn't stop Cassian or Nesta from arguing in public. He has sex in the sky.

He cannot even make Keir give him the Veritas simply by asking. He is always threatening the Hewn City and it's people. He neglects the Illyrians to the point that rebellion seems inevitable.

He later gives up control of the Hewn City to Mor even tho she cannot go there?? Then he lets Keir into Velaris even tho Keir already has full control of the CoN

He has no control or respect in his own Court so he hides away in Velaris and only treated them "well" but still the city has slums and brothels.

As another anon pointed out; Velaris has never had to defend itself and relies on the CoN and Illyria. It also sits near the sea to Hybern. It can be very easily attacked and taken even from within the Court.

Rhysand's power cannot hold off enemies, only kill them and if they attacked he would have to kill his own citizens. Which would only lead to more and more people trying to kill him.

Without Amren, Rhys would probably have been usurped by now.

Of course this is me trying to make sense from what we have. The truth is sjm gave us nothing, not even a name, because to her they are just tools to make Rhys sympathetic.

[mycarebears]

Bad Omens

"Well then why didn't you leave?"

"Because that’s what you do when you love somebody. That’s what I do for you because I love you and no matter what you do to me that refuses to leave, no matter how painful. I stay for the good times, and endure the hard times. For you.”

Warnings - Yelling I suppose (It's just capitals)

Word count - 1.3K

Neutral characters (c/n is characters name)

You got out of the car angrily after getting lectured on the tone of voice you used to speak to him just moments prior, slamming the door behind you accidentally.

“And there you go again! For fucks sake y/n. Sick of your shit.” C/n shouted initially before reducing his voice down to a murmur only you could hear for the final blow.

He closed the car door gently behind him.

You stopped, shocked that he was yelling and being so rude.

Taking a deep breath in, you turned around to face him while he locked the car and rubbed a smudge off the window with his sleeve.

“What’s your problem tonight? I didn’t even mean to close it like that and you know it.”

You ask, trying to keep calm, which was becoming increasingly difficult given his cold stare, as if it was obvious why he was upset.

“You never talk to me anymore y/n, and when you do you’re cold and distant. I can never please you no matter what and when we speak you want to argue. I feel like I can’t even be around my own girlfriend anymore because you make me feel awful.”

You look at him silently. Did he really think that?

You continued to speak as the two of you walked into the house.

“Well I’m sorry but it’s not like you’re any better. You don’t even look at me anymore. When you do look at me, it’s right before you throw a discreet insult about my hair, or my makeup, or my clothes. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore.”

The look in his eyes was stoic as he shut the front door, and you could tell he was going to throw something very rough out into the open to cut through whatever skin you had built being in the relationship.

“You feel like I don’t like how you look? Is that why you’re looking elsewhere for attention?”

He threw it at you, and you didn’t quite understand what he was getting at.

“What are you trying to say c/n?”

“I know you love someone else. Why else would you be so cold towards me and make up all these lies about how I don’t like the way you look? Just because you don’t want to be here doesn’t mean I don’t.”

The pain the one statement put you in was incredible.

“Do you really think that lowly of me? Think that I would cheat on you rather than just break it off if I really didn’t want to be here?”

He looked at you, trying to read your expression, searching for the truth in your words he wanted so badly to ignore.

“Maybe. I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re nothing like how you were when we started dating.”

Every second this went on it broke your heart more. You would never cheat on him, ever.

“C/n, I love you. But I do not recognise the person you’ve become either. You’ve changed, in a way I’m not sure if I like. You never listen to me anymore. You don’t look at me the same way you used to. Fuck- you think I would cheat on you. Are you really that estranged from the person I am that you truly think that of me?”

You felt the need to continue and rant about how he is losing touch with not only himself but also you.

“I don’t know what to think anymore. I feel like if you aren’t getting it from me, who must you be supplementing it with?”

Looking at him felt foreign. This tone, this conversation, all uncharted territory and you hated it. It was uncomfortable and you wish that you could end the talk and just go sleep in your respective separate spaces.

Sleeping in the same bed was just not an option after the fights had started.

Deep down, you felt like he was cheating. Why else would he think you were? Was he trying to pin the blame so he could leave for the new girl and have no judgement placed on him?

“Well if I’m meant to be supplementing your lacking affection with someone else’s, does that not mean you are doing the same? Who have you been fucking c/n? WHO HAVE YOU BEEN FUCKING?”

He turned away, running his hands through his hair as if pulling it out was his only stress reliever.

“Y/n. You’re being ridiculous-“

“I'M BEING RIDICULOUS? YOU ACCUSED ME OF CHEATING! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU C/N?”

You continued, feeling as if the depth of your words weren’t completely sinking in.

“If you really distrust me that much, maybe we should just break up.”

He turned back to face you, in shock.

“And why would we do that? What would we do without each other?”

The look on his face was unreadable. He stepped closer to you, almost like he needed to cage you in, afraid you would leave.

“We are good. We argue. Then we fight. Then we jump right back to the start again. I can’t do it anymore. It’s been happening for too long and I can’t handle it anymore c/n. It’s not good for you and it’s not good for me. We are stupid for staying together so long. Really, this should’ve ended when we had to sleep in separate spaces because we couldn’t even be in the same bed without arguing. It should’ve ended right then and there, just like my hope for our future.”

He looked up at the roof, clearly trying to fight the tears in his waterline threatening to spill over.

“Well you could’ve left. If you wanted to leave so bad and for us to be over, why didn’t you leave? Why are we still here?”

His words hurt but they were true. Why didn’t you leave?

“We go round the cycle again, we jump back in bed. Because that’s what you do when you love somebody. That’s what I do for you because I love you and no matter what you do to me that refuses to leave, no matter how painful. I stay for the good times, and endure the hard times. For you.”

His face was unreadable. He opened his mouth as of to speak before shutting it and going to speak again, mulling over his own words.

“I don’t know what to do to make us better y/n. I love you with every fibre of my being, but I feel like nothing I do is good enough, and trust me, I really want to be good enough. I want you to want me.”

You could put a list together of the stuff he needed to work on before you would be truly happy, and you’re sure he could make one for you, but that wasn’t what mattered now.

He wanted you, and you wanted him.

No matter what, the two of you were going to make it work.

That was all that mattered.

You walked over to him slowly before he extended his arms and pulled you in tight.

Sobbing into your hair, he apologised.

“I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean you cheated on me, I know you’re better than that and I’m sorry for ever even making you feel like I didn’t trust you.”

You hold him tighter and listen to the erratic sounds of his breathing.

“Hey hey, it’s alright. I think we can make it work, we will. It’s just going to take some time and some compromise. I love you and I love that you are going to try to me.”

He stopped sobbing, instead just holding you tightly and kissing your hair, pulling you impossibly closer into his chest.

“Do you think maybe- we could try sleeping in the same bed again? My backs really suffering on the couch. It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just think I want to hold you tonight, if that’s okay.”

He asked nervously, as you pulled him closer.

“I think that’s a good start on our new us.”

[sapphos-darlings]

Who wants to talk about gender? Apparently everybody. That topic hasn't lost its shine in several years now. But who wants to talk about detransitioning? No one. So I will, again, with no memory whatsoever of what I spoke of the last time I opened my mouth about it.

It's been a couple years now since I dropped the label of trans man and started living as a woman, and it's been just about the easiest thing to do, which would have surprised the me that I was at 27 when I had to quit testosterone for the last time due to the health consequences I was getting from it. I was so worried about having to detransition - and I didn't even want to, but it was a what if in my mind, a scary thing that I felt might be inevitable for me, but having been "living" as a trans man for a decade and on hormones for half that time, it also felt insurmountable, the amount of things that I couldn't change anymore too large.

In reality, turns out that detransition, in my case, meant putting my energy into the things that actually benefited me. Transition just wasn't going my way in just about every way: the only place where I was successful was within my friend group, and in the sense that my family was accepting. They didn't always use the right pronouns, but at least they respected me and understood to the degree to which I could expect them to - my friends, on the other hand, have had much more difficulty adjusting to me now living as a woman than anything. The most complicated situations I've so far ran into with detransition are extremely minor, in comparison to the hell I was living through as a trans man - firstly, I sometimes have issues getting my parcels out of the mail service, because they need the signature and ID of the person who ordered them. Who is me, except they don't expect me to have the name that I do, because what they see is a woman, and who they expect is a man. Another is that, quite recently, an online friend of mine was introducing me to another friend of his, a man who is very straight, and had a whole sequence of apologising over difficulties with pronouns and identities, because it's all so very new to him. I realised later that he'd thought I was a trans woman, and that's why he was so flustered about my pronouns. We didn't even talk over voice chat - this was all in text. This same friend who made the introduction has defaulted to simply using the singular they as my pronoun, which is moderately aggravating, as I don't identify as nonbinary and don't use they as a singular pronoun. Minor inconveniences, but annoying.

Comparing this to the daily worry about passing, having to fuss over how many layers of clothes I would wear in order to hide my body, not being able to go outside during summer solely because there was no clothes that I could do so in, being afraid of questions, having my private life poked by strangers, breathing in my binder, introducing myself to new people, navigating the constant concern over how to express my identity, how they might take it, would it be awkward - now, I just walk out of the door in whatever outfit I may be in and that's the end of it. I have so much more energy and so little anxiety in comparison. It's wonderful.

There's the other side to this, too. My partner was distraught when I shaved my whiskers and my curly neck hair for the trip to the capital. I've come to realise that in this relationship, I'm thoroughly respected and loved for the creature that I am, with the sex characteristics that I have, and with the fluctuating presentation that I come with. Breasts are soft and nice to lay on, to hold; facial hair is fun to brush one's nose through, to kiss, to twirl around one's fingers. My partner found my first white hairs amongst there, too. There's no conflict there for them or for me; my body, with its characteristics, with its different voices used in different situation, are simply parts of me that are lovely to them. I feel at ease there and it very much brings together the way I feel about myself now in general, as I no longer have those issues with my body that I had before. I'm fine being the shape and size that I am. I'm fine having the vocal range that I have. I like the hair I'm growing, whether it be typical or atypical from a biological perspective.

There's a prevalent understanding of detransition as a second transition, where one goes from one sex to another and returns to the previous one, struggling to undo the "damage" this first transition caused. This isn't my experience at all. I spent a decade of my life desperately trying to pass as a man - I have zero interest in doing the same in reverse. What I wanted, through all of this, was to simply feel okay to be what I am, internally and externally. There are hundreds of factors at play in how I became what I am now, but I truly, finally, feel like I'm in a good place with all of that. I don't feel much inner conflict between my body and my view of what it should be, and I've stopped worrying about what it could be, because things that could be are infinite and things that are are very finite. It's so much nicer to not be pushing against reality every day, to wear a costume because the possibility of being discovered or undone by people I cannot predict is simply too horrifying to consider. It's amazing not to have to fear speaking, because I'll make people around me embarrassed and cause them to apologise over and over again, causing a never-ending awkwardness by simply existing, because they didn't read me right the first time. I've never hated anything quite as much as causing a scene, and I've finally stopped causing scenes by simply existing. And yet, I retain the things that made me feel more comfortable in my skin. Further, I am still loved and still accepted by the people who matter - among them a partner who is just as excited about the ways I don't fit into the model of a woman as they are about the ways that I do.

It's just nice to finally be comfortable and feel like I belong among other people, instead of being a ceaseless observer and judge of my own performance in a role I don't even want to be playing.

[japhan2024]

THE ISLAND

Read the entire fic on AO3

Chapter 8: The betrayal

Ian can't believe Amanda would write a hit piece on him. And yet, here we are. Meanwhile, Angela asks Amanda to come with her on an expedition of sorts...

Chapter word count: 2.266

Rating: general

“The fall of president Hecox

By Amanda Lehan-Canto

Once America’s golden boy, mister Hecox ran a brilliant but deceiving campaign, running on decency and respect. His platform was unifying and appealing to the general electorate.

Once elected, though, things quickly took a turn. As soon as he was sworn in, it was like a Russian sleeper-cell was activated. He grabbed power, misusing the declaration of a state of emergency. He’s been governing like a tyrant ever since.

Big business is not happy with these developments. A CEO of one of the Fortune 500 companies bemoaned anonymously: “We fear for our lives, actually. If the heat doesn’t get us, these draconian constraints on the free market will surely choke us to death!”

In fact, because Hecox has shown to be a liar and completely turned from being a normal and nice guy to being a self-imposed Steward of the country, he has thrown capitalism and democracy out of the window. A far cry from the all-American image he so carefully crafted of himself.

What will he do next? Will he usurp even more power? Will he dissolve congress? Who is to say, nobody knows ‘this’ Ian Hecox. We live in uncertain times and will remain so for the foreseeable future. One thing is clear, however: something has to be done about it.”

Ian couldn’t believe it. He and Amanda’d had a lovely interview once again just yesterday! How could she have done him dirty like this?

“Can you believe this crap?!” Ian showed the People.com article to Shayne and Courtney on his phone. They stood inside the oval office.

“It really doesn’t sound much like her. I thought she was cool,” Courtney said.

Shayne shook his head slowly. “Yeah, me too. What the heck? She was the only journalist still willing to write honestly about you. But I guess she finally folded to the pressure.”

Ian was genuinely hurt. He could usually judge people really well. And he’d only gotten good vibes from Amanda. They had… they had a ‘thing’. He didn’t even know if it was flirting, or just goofing off. But every time they would be close, something was in the air between them.

“And they even chose my ugliest picture!”

“Yeah, that doesn’t look good, my guy,” Shayne one-armed Ian’s head. Ian pushed him off playfully.

“Well, then. It’s going to be interesting to see which companies will still do business with us after this. We had the green energy ones planned this week.”

“Yeah, about that…” Shayne mumbled sheepishly.

“Just give it to me straight?”

“They cancelled.”

Ian threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Then why did I become president?”

~

“What the hell?!” Amanda called, and she never called otherwise, with her boss at People.com. “I didn’t write this? Why are you posting it under my name?”

“You interviewed him last, that little WANKER,” her boss squeaked. “And it was high time someone told the BLOODY TRUTH about him.”

“What are you even saying? This is unacceptable! Retract the article or I quit!”

“Well, I got news for you, babe: YOU’RE FIRED!”

Her boss hung up, but he apparently hadn’t pushed the button correctly. So, she overheard him say:

“Now, where’s my BOOZE!”

After the incident, Amanda called Trevor.

“Hey Trev. I have some bad news…”

~

It was the middle of the night, but infuriatingly hot as you were supposed to only use the AC during the day. Amanda paced back and forth through her apartment in her underwear. What would she do now? Somehow, she didn’t feel like pursuing journalism anymore after all this.

But as Fate would have it, her phone rang. It was Angela. Amanda sat down and relaxed into her couch.

“Angela! Am I glad to hear your voice.”

“Hey Amanda, sorry for calling so late. So, uh, this might be a weird question, …”

Amanda’s heart swelled. Angela’s voice was raspy as always and full of cheer. She just made Amanda smile.

They had talked on and off the last couple of months. Only on the phone, though.

“But I remember us talking that time at the dog park about how you love nature and would like to make a change.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m going on an expedition to basically get some people together and brainstorm ideas on how we can make that change. To battle the heat, use nature to help out people and animals and stuff. I know you’re a busy woman, but…”

“You had me at ‘weird question’.” Amanda smiled and pushed her phone against her ear.

“Great! We sail out tomorrow at 9 o’ clock.”

“Wait. Tomorrow? Wait. Sail?”

“Yeah, I know it’s kinda short notice! But you know how it goes, I talked to a couple of folks and they have commissioned an artwork on an island. I told them I’d do it for free if they would let us chill there for a while so we can focus and come up with the best ideas.”

“Angela, my dad would love you. you’re so strange.”

“Gee, Amanda, thanks. You know actually, that’s the biggest compliment you could give me. Plus, you’re weird yourself, loser.”

“Ugh, I AM a loser though. Ang, I just lost my job…”

“WHAT? Oh no, baby! I’m sorry to hear that. But that means you have all the time to help me out!”

“I guess I do! But wait, what do I even bring on a boat?”

“Uh.. I don’t know actually. I guess a toothbrush?”

“Sounds good. Wow, I’m actually doing this? We’re going sailing? What if there’s another hurricane though?”

“There won’t be.”

“If you say so, babe. Oh, ew, my old boss called me babe. Can you believe it? He also used to call me ‘bird’, it was weird.”

“Ew ew ew! What the hell? Can’t you sue him or something?”

“Nah, I’m not putting all my energy into that. I’m just glad I’m out of there!”

“Yeah, me too! Nobody treats my friends badly without suffering the consequences! Which are, that I glare in their general direction, disapprovingly.”

Amanda laughed, and felt extremely grateful to have someone like Angela in her life. She’d never connected with anyone that well before.

Amanda felt safe talking to Angela. Raving to her about the latest Bridgerton episode, trying to get her to come to a true crime village, which was probably or definitely a tourist trap, but wanting to go anyway. And Angela was always enthusiastic, always up for ‘the bit’ and indulging Amanda to a degree nobody else ever had.

Even though they had only met once before, Angela felt like home.

~

“Hi, oh my god!”

Amanda hadn’t slept. She had thrown some clothes and her toothbrush into a suitcase, downloaded her favorite true crime series onto her phone and mindlessly brushed her hair until her alarm rang.

And now she stood on the quayside, looking up at Angela who was already on board.

“AYE AYE, SAILOR!” Angela saluted.

“I hope this isn’t my White Star Line!”

“HEY! NO JINXING IT!”

“Sorry, cap’n!” Amanda tipped an imaginary hat to Angela.

“Whew, okay, I guess I’ll get on board!”

~

The trawler, an old fishing boat, was quite large. Even so, there were a lot of people on board and everyone was crowding around in the salon. Amanda, being as tall as she was, had to bend her head down a little. It gave her cramps.

“So, you remember Chanse?”

“Of course, hi!”

Chanse waved.

“And these are Damien, Arasha, Noah, Keith, Nicole and Olivia. They are all experts at strengthening the environment against climate.”

“Look at you! It’s so nice to meet you all!”

Everyone politely waved or shook Amanda’s hand.

“So, are we all set?” Angela asked.

“Not quite, I have a plus one, if you don’t mind.” Amanda looked out of the window. A tall guy wearing a bandana quickly approached.

“Hi! Is this the right one?” He called.

Amanda ran on deck and waved at him.

“There you are, Jack!”

“Oh, my dear Rose!” Trevor joked back.

“TREVOR!” Angela, who’d followed Amanda outside, called down.

“Wow, your voice is so loud from up close, haha.” Amanda winked at her.

“You know me, my Italian roots run deep.”

“I love that!” Amanda fixed her hair behind her ear.

Trevor climbed up the boat as well. He hugged Amanda warmly and shook hands with Angela. Amanda had filled him in just this morning, and he’d volunteered to come with immediately. Amanda was really lucky to have a friend like him.

“So, where are we going?”

~

Everyone was either sat at or stood around the salon table, eating breakfast. Amanda sat next to Trevor and Angela. She was in high spirits despite the few hours of sleep she got last night.

“Thanks again everyone,” Angela began, “for joining me on such short notice. You know, things may seem bad and may be bad. But everywhere there are people trying to do something about it. And we can make a bit of an impact too. I really believe that. And, you know, if it’s all in vain, at least we died trying!”

The crew was silent. Amanda decided to laugh loudly to break the awkwardness.

“Yeah, we sure will Angela, haha! Anyway, I would actually love to know what everyone here does. What is your specialty? Because, well, I don’t have any, to be honest. But I am a journalist so I could at least try to get your ideas out there.”

“And I can spice up her stories with some good shots,” Trevor added. Amanda smiled at him. He was so cute.

“Shall we do a little roundtable?”

“Yeah, awesome,” Damien seemed eager to talk about his passion. He had a warm face and dyed silver hair. “Yeah, so I specialize in weather control. It’s not even my personal preference, because, ehh, it’s never without consequences. But things like great green walls, meaning giant forests surrounding cities to protect them from sandstorms and desertification for example. Those are cool. But if there really is no other way, you can use chemicals to make it rain.”

“Wow, that’s so impressive!” Angela was sketching in a little booklet.

“My work is also pretty impressive,” Keith said so deadpan that everyone was scared for a second but then laughed. “I put polluters in jail! I’m an environmental prosecutor and basically try to get big companies to pay for their sins. Let’s not kid ourselves though, haha. They will not stop polluting. But that cash goes a long way to help small businesses that do follow the rules.”

Arasha nodded. She was a beautiful girl with sharp features and long, black hair, falling in tresses around her shoulders. “I can’t believe these big corporations, don’t they know they’ve already killed off half the planet? The CEOs should be in jail!” She sighed. “I work at a smaller scale but try to optimize the outcome. The thing I do is plant tiny forests in big cities. They grow like crazy and provide a little shelter for the local animals and people alike.”

Amanda’s eyes lit up. “Aww, tiny forests? That sounds so cute! I’m imagining these tiny trees looking all cute and stuff…”

“They are pretty cute, you’re right.”

“You’re cute, cutie!”

“Aw, gee, thanks, Amanda.”

Trevor rolled his eyes.

“I work to supply companies that try to improve the climate with the data that they need,” Noah said a bit shyly. His hair was dyed green, and he had big green eyes. “It’s not as cool as you guys’ projects but it’s nice to be able to work data driven. It helps people higher up in these companies have the necessary arguments for their decisions.”

“Yeah, we use a data driven approach as well,” Olivia, a beautiful petite woman with a mischievous demeanor, continued the roundtable. I’m coordinating rewilding projects all over North America: wherever we can release animals that thrive in the changing climate, and have a positive impact on the environment, we do it. But we need lots of data to determine where exactly the right places are to do it. This way, nature does a big part of the job itself.”

“I love that,” Nicole said. “Our company Pressalike does carbon hypercapture. Nicole was a gorgeous woman in fashionable clothing, outclassing everyone else, except for her pink Grindr hat. “We could supercharge your tiny forests, Arasha.”

“That would be amazing!” Arasha smiled.

Angela sat up and stopped drawing for a moment. “See! We’re already making progress! Yeah, so I am more in Amanda and Trevor’s lane: I attract attention to the good cause with my artwork.”

“And you’re a masterful organizer,” Chanse added. “Oh, hii again everyone. Yes! So, well, I am your captain! That’s my job.”

Everyone laughed and cheered him on.

“Go Chanse! We won’t get anywhere without you!”

“So yeah, let’s leave shore and head to the island!” Chanse got up and went to the control room.

“I hope we see some whales or orcas or something,” Olivia said hopefully, looking out.

“I heard you can attract them by throwing meat into the water,” Keith suggested.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Noah challenged him.

“Don’t throw meat into the water!” Angela hastily interrupted. “I don’t even know if we have meat,” she added, pondering and losing track of her thoughts.

Olivia and Keith disappeared.

“They’re going to check if there’s meat on board this boat,” Amanda and Trevor whispered to each other.

“They better not find any!” Arasha shuddered. “I’m terrified of sea creatures! Any of them!”

[tameodesza]

The Wrestling Promoter’s Kid (BretShawn)

AO3 link | masterlist

Shawn Michaels is Vince McMahon’s son, which impacts not only his career, but his relationship as well.

a/n: Dubbing this as daddy’s boy AU lol. I had this idea a long time ago, but I’m just now coming back to it, so I may be a little rusty!

Michael Shawn McMahon, or Shawn as he liked to be called, was born into extreme wealth.

His grandpa, Vince McMahon Sr., launched and ran a successful wrestling promotion for decades before passing the torch to his own son, Vince McMahon Jr. 

Shawn was the firstborn child in the family and was spoiled rotten by Vince and Linda McMahon. His parents made sure he had all the toys any kid could ever want, that he had the best education, and that he was never short on money. In the rare moments when his parents refused to give him what he wanted, his grandpa was always there to provide for him.

Despite Shawn usually getting what he wanted, there was one thing his dad made very clear: he didn’t want Shawn to become a wrestler.

“But dad,” whined an 18-year-old Shawn to Vince at the dinner table.

“No, buts!”

Shawn pouted, “I bet grandpa would let me do it!”

Vince sighed, looking at Linda in desperation before looking back at Shawn saying, “Well, grandpa’s not here. Why don’t you want to help out around the office? You and Shane can be like my right-hand men.”

“Dad, office shit’s boring!”

“Language,” Linda warned, causing Shawn’s 7-year-old sister, Stephanie, to giggle.

14-year-old Shane said smugly, “Well, I would love to help out in the office, dad. Whatever you need, I’m there.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at Shane, his little brother always being a kiss-up to Vince.

“Look,” Vince said sternly, “Just give school a try first. We’ll see where we go from there.”

News flash: school didn’t work out.

Shawn’s interest in wrestling only seemed to grow, and although his dad had many connections in the wrestling business, Shawn didn’t want a handout. He wanted to do it all on his own to prove to his dad that he could make it on his own without him.

So Shawn decided to take matters into his own hands by moving to San Antonio to train with José Lethario. José was tough, but he soon became like a second dad to Shawn.

Unlike Vince, José believed in Shawn’s ability to become a wrestler. He gave Shawn his props, disciplined him when necessary, and never ceased to tell him when he was proud of him. All things that Shawn’s own dad failed to do.

Don’t get him wrong. Shawn knew Vince loved him and did his best to provide for him growing up. But his dad was a busy man. He hadn’t always had the time for Shawn, business always coming first before family. Their relationship was a bit complicated, and it went without saying that Shawn had daddy issues.

With the support and confidence boost from José, Shawn was determined to make a name for himself. But his status as a wrestling promoter’s kid hadn’t made breaking into the business any easier.

The disrespect towards him was common, many of his peers and wrestling fans automatically assuming that he’d been handed every opportunity given to him instead of earning them simply because his dad was Vince McMahon.

That was one of the main catalysts for Shawn choosing to wrestle under the name Shawn Michaels to further distance himself from being associated as a McMahon. 

Shawn worked tirelessly throughout the years to gain the respect that he knew he deserved. After working his way up through various independent wrestling promotions, Shawn eventually proved his worth, becoming a crowd favorite no matter where he wrestled.

It was at that point that Vince felt comfortable giving Shawn a shot in the WWF. Although he had been hesitant on Shawn wrestling, he’d much rather have his own company capitalize off his son’s success than another company, which proved to be the right move as Shawn became one of his top stars.

Unfortunately for Shawn, going to the WWF meant he had to start all over again with gaining respect amongst the locker room, which was even harder now that he was working in the same promotion as his dad.

Despite his efforts to separate himself from the McMahon name, people still knew who he was, and never failed to remind him. This led to a lot of problems for Shawn backstage – locker room bullying, hazing, and getting into numerous fights that certainly didn’t help his reputation.

“Another fight, Shawn?! Dammit, you just got here!” Shawn had been getting scolded in Vince’s office for the past ten minutes for getting into a fight with some jobber that called him a daddy’s boy.

“Then tell your guys to ease up on me! You think I want to fight people every day I come to work?!”

“You know I can’t interfere, Shawn! They’ll think I’m showing favoritism.”

“So you care more about your fucking image than your own son’s safety?! You know what? Fuck this! I should’ve never come to this damn company!”

“Shawn!” Shawn stormed out of the office, no longer wanting to hear the bullshit his dad was spewing.

A part of Shawn understood Vince’s concern, but for once, just once, Shawn wished Vince would put him first.

 For the sake of business, Vince and Shawn rarely interacted at tv tapings, and whenever they did, Shawn never acknowledged Vince as his dad.

Even on commentary, Shawn would refer to his dad as Vince, Vin Man, McMahon, or his personal favorite, McMannequin. 

As Shawn became more successful in the WWF, Vince began to lighten up on him a little. He recognized that he’d probably been a bit more critical of Shawn compared to the other guys that worked for him. But it was simply because Shawn was an extension of him. Anything Shawn did could reflect poorly onto Vince. But he also knew he wasn’t being fair to his son.

So he granted Shawn a few more freedoms, no longer keeping a constant eye on him. The only thing Vince asked of Shawn was not to do anything that would embarrass him. 

For the most part, Shawn kept that promise. Of course, he’d gotten into trouble a few times while partying, but so did most of the other wrestlers. So Vince just turned a blind eye.

However, things started to shift when rumors began to spread that Shawn was hooking up with multiple men in the locker room. 

Vince didn’t want to believe it. He chose not to believe it. It’s not that he’d have a problem if his son were gay, but he knew something like that could ruin Shawn’s career, and in effect, ruin Vince and the WWF as well.

He and Shawn weren’t close enough to talk about that sort of stuff, so Vince just passed it off a baseless rumor. 

That was until Vince saw with his own eyes that the rumors had some truth to it. 

He’d been walking around the arena looking for Shawn who was nowhere to be found. The taping for Monday Night Raw had just finished some hours ago, and Vince planned on leaving the arena with Shawn so they could catch a flight back to Connecticut. It was one of very few times that they had a weekend off, so he wanted to spend time with his family. 

“Where is that son of mine?” Vince’s patience was starting to wear thin as he continued to search the backstage area for Shawn.

He was about to give up, considering flying home alone, when he heard what sounded like Shawn’s laugh coming from a door he’d just passed.

Vince walked back to the door, sighing in relief, “Finally.” He heard another giggle coming from the room, becoming slightly annoyed that his son was goofing off the whole time he was looking for him. 

Vince pushed the door open, announcing, “Shawn, come on. We got a flight to catch-” His voice caught in his throat, in awe at what he’d just walked in on.

Shawn had his arms wrapped around the shoulders of Bret Hart, one hand gripping Bret’s hair as Bret’s arms wrapped tightly around Shawn’s waist, the two kissing intimately, heads tilting as their tongues slid in and out of each other’s mouths effortlessly.

It took a moment for them to realize Vince was in the room, Shawn being the first one to catch the end of Vince’s sentence before gasping as he pulled away from Bret. “Dad!”

Once his thoughts seemed to catch up, Vince asked with a hiss, “What the hell is this?!”

Shawn immediately moved between Bret and his dad saying, “Nothing-”

“Like hell it isn’t! What the hell were you doing to my son?!” Vince asked Bret accusatorily.

Bret stood there panicking, heart pounding as he looked at Vince’s stunned expression, hoping that the man wouldn’t fire him on the spot.

Shawn answered quickly, “He wasn’t doing anything I didn’t want him to!”

That caused Vince to look at Shawn in disbelief. Part of him wanted to believe that Shawn was innocent in this, that Shawn was being coerced by Bret. That was the only way any of this made sense. He just needed to be mad at someone and he didn’t want it to be Shawn. But based on his son’s actions, Shawn was a willing participant.

Dumbfounded and at a loss for words, Vince just backed up out of the room, having nothing more to say.

“Dad,” Shawn called after him before the door closed, leaving the two men in the silent room.

Both Shawn and Bret let out deep breaths they didn’t know they were holding. The evening certainly hadn’t gone the way either of them had expected.

“Fuck,” Shawn groaned before turning to Bret, whispering, “I’m so sorry, Bret.”

Bret let out another breath, his pounding heart beginning to slow its rhythm. He held up a hand, hesitating a bit before placing it back on Shawn’s waist. He stroked a thumb against Shawn’s hip as he asked, “Why are you apologizing?”

Shawn leaned into Bret’s touch, bringing his arms back up to Bret’s shoulders before resting his head in the man’s neck. “I never wanted to put you in this situation. That was so fucking awkward.”

Bret let out a light breath, “Yeah, I’m still recovering.”

Shawn groaned again, digging his head deeper into Bret’s neck out of embarrassment, which tugged a smile at Bret’s lips.

Bret brought up a hand to stroke the back of Shawn’s head before saying, “You don’t need to apologize, though. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I forgot that I was supposed to leave with him today. I should’ve been more careful, should’ve made sure the door was locked. I’m so fucking stupid-”

“Hey,” Bret said gently, coaxing Shawn’s head out of his neck so he could look into his eyes. “You’re not stupid, ok? Yes, this was not the most…ideal way we wanted to tell him about us, but hey. Now, he knows. So that’s something.”

Bret and Shawn had been seeing each other secretly for about five months, which was a big deal for Shawn. He wasn’t the commitment type, the blonde having had multiple flings throughout his time in the WWF.

But when he got with Bret, things were different. It just felt right. He couldn’t explain it, but he was no longer interested in random hookups if it didn’t involve Bret. And he knew Bret felt the same way. So they agreed to see each other exclusively. They hadn’t officially labeled themselves as boyfriends yet, but their actions spoke louder than words.

With his feelings only growing for the Canadian, Shawn knew that it would get harder to keep the secret from Vince. He planned on telling his dad eventually whenever he gathered the courage. He didn’t expect for the truth to be exposed that night.

Shawn pouted, “But did he really need to find out while your tongue was down my throat?”

Bret chuckled, stroking Shawn’s cheek saying, “Maybe not.”

Shawn frowned before saying, “Sorry, it’s just that I really like you, Bret. I don’t want this to…I don’t know…scare you away from me.”

Bret said lightly, “It takes a hell of a lot more than this to scare me. But seriously, Shawn. Don’t be sorry, ok? Whatever happens, whatever bullshit I got to put up with, you’re worth it. I mean if he fires me-”

“He’s not going to fire you,” Shawn said quickly, lifting his head up to see Bret better. “I’d quit before I ever let that happen. Don’t worry about that, ok?”

Bret smiled, nodded saying, “Ok.” He brought Shawn into another breathtaking kiss. He would kiss Shawn all night if he could, but unfortunately, they both knew now wasn’t the time.

With a final peck, Shawn pulled away saying, “I should go check on my dad. We do have a plane to catch after all.”

Bret nodded, giving Shawn a tight hug before walking him to the door. “Have a safe flight. Call me when you get settled in, ok?”

Shawn nodded, “I will. Bye, Bret.”

At that, Shawn set off to find his dad, knowing it was going to be quite an awkward plane ride home. He knew they’d eventually have to talk about the situation. There was no escaping it. He planned on being with Bret whether Vince approved or not.

Shawn could only hope that his dad would understand.

[cosmicjoke]

ik you're tired of shipping stuff and I am sorry but the logic shippers have is so funny to me

like erwin saying thank you is apparently him confessing to levi bc you know 'ThEY ArE iN LoVE'

or they say how ackerbond is canon and levi followed erwin blindly because of some magical thing in his blood and that apparently that makes levi submissive and gay?

levi and hange looking at each other in the forest was apparently romantic and levi saying dedicate your heart was levi confessing?

if they actually took the shipping goggles off for a second and read the story for what it is and stopped reducing levi to a love interest and understand that their ship isn't canon, maybe the fandom would respect them more

I am so sorry to bother you with ship asks and shit but they make me want to throw myself out of the window with the logic they have and give other shippers a bad name, I am tired of them at this point 😒

Yeah, it's just mind boggling, the way shippers twist every scene with Levi to fit it into whatever ship they support, to the point they ignore what's actually going on in said scenes. It ruins your ability to objectively analyze Levi's scenes when you filter his words and actions through a preconceived idea of what you want it to mean. It's a confirmation bias. If you want Levi's final moments with Erwin to be romantic, you're going to take his show of gratitude toward Levi for freeing him from the burden of his dream to instead mean he's sending Levi some super secret confession of his romantic feelings. Or you'll take Levi's pained expression in the forest with Hange as some expression of regret that they can't be romantically together, rather than what it is, which is just Levi being in a massive amount of physical pain and feeling the weight of his own failure to bring Zeke to the capital, along with just the general badness of the situation they both found themselves in.

It does a disservice, not only to Levi's character, but to the characters these people ship him with, when you interpret every one of their actions and words through this filter of romantic love. You're necessarily going to fundamentally misunderstand them when you do that.

[itstokkii]

k so I finished dracula 1992 here are my thoughts, more explanation + spoilers under cut:

WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT??? WHAT WAS THAT. absolute dog water. 1/10.

main issues:

I knew they'd make Lucy overly sexual and all that which is super disappointing.

MINA?? why did they give mina a love triangle issue? and like. omg. you're MARRIED? sorry girl I can't defend you here not in this adaptation. like girl had ONE(1) traumatic interaction w dracula in the book. that scene where she tells him off for being a creep? I was like "omg you go mina!!" bc she WOULD do that in the books. and THEN they make her go "ohh im so sorry lets go around london together-" WHAT.

and then he grabs her in that cinematography place and she doesn't feel creeped out afterwards? I'd RUN, actually I wouldn't even be there w him in the first place bc I'd run first sight.

I just really hate the random romance plot line. the whole scene where he force feeds her his blood is treated as something akin to sexual assault in the book??? why is it romantic now??

they made everything so overtly sexy for like no reason. absolute downer. thanks I hate it.

sorry if I was Jonathan I'd dump her. like mina is my fav girl in the books and I absolutely love her but I literally am struggling to defend her here. tbh I'd take 10000 communion wafers crush it and blow it all over her so she'd disappear from my sight. better yet I'd recite ayat al kursi. she'd be gone within a second.

THEY DO NOT WEAR THAT IN THE 1890s??????

why is Jonathan so bland and emo omg. I'm so sure he had a personality in the book i

and now to address why I gave it one point out of ten: Quincy P Morris. I love him and his actor and his fit and his accent. see how only his name is capitalized? because I only respect him in the movie. bro can do NO wrong.

in a world of british people be an american RAHHH 🇺🇸 🇺🇸🇺🇸🦅🦅🦅