#god's own country did this too i didnt particularly like it but i respected that so much

[micahdotgov]

while i have no interest in seeing bottoms 2023 i do hope it kickstarts a trend of saying faggot in gay movies again

[som3thingcr3ative]

Voluspa Part 7

I PROMISED DIDNT I

synopsis: Astrid and Ivar spend more time together: they talk about defenses, the future and Ivar’s *gasp* feelings. 

PART 1 2 3 4 5 6

previously:  I wave off her near-apology. “My abilities are not easy for a christian to accept.” I say. She flinches, clearly knowing the C-word doesn’t mix well in a heathen country. “I understand your uncertainty, Rita. We can talk about your questions tomorrow, after I have rested.” I glance at her as I tuck myself back under my furs. “Do try to rest now, the hours left to us until the dawn will be uneventful.”

My breath frosts in the air as I stand outside the great hall, waiting for Ivar to emerge. Speaking to him before Bjorn spins a web of lies is critical, especially this early and despite my status as a witch. Einar sits ever faithfully to my right, leaning against my leg as he watches vikings go about their business. Rita is to my left, her curiosity never ending.

“So your powers come from actual gods, who actually speak to and through you?”

“My powers were passed down through my family line for longer than you can imagine,” I tell her honestly, thinking of the thousands of my ancestors who’d come before me, all in times after those I currently live in. I can’t dwell on it too long or the thought weirds me out. “I came into them when my father died, and he when his mother before him passed. It is given to the first born child, and if that child is dead, then through the siblings until none remain. If there are no siblings, it goes to the closest blood relative, and if the whole family has been destroyed, the gods choose a new völva.”

Her mouth drops open. “Did Christ truly exist?” She questions, a logical next query. “Is my god real, or just yours?”

The doors to the great hall open just on time. Her god is not one I feel comfortable commenting on for good or ill; I have seen what it does to people in my time. “My King,” I say, drawing Ivar’s attention as his crutches pass over the threshold. He looks at me curiously, turning toward me. “I was wondering if I could join you to spar this morning?”

Ivar’s smile is genuine as he glances at the sword resting on my hip, the vambrace of throwing knives on my arm that I’d had packed in my saddlebags. “How could I say no to that?” He tilts his head toward the woods, where I can feel the chaotic energy of warriors blowing off steam. “I’ve heard what the scouts said about your weapon and I’d love to see it for myself.”

I walk next to him through the city, Einar on my other side and Rita following demurely behind. Ivar seems barely limited by his legs; in fact he moves rather gracefully on the crutches, the shirt under his leather armor straining over his chest, shoulders and arms. I don’t let my gaze linger, no matter how badly I want to. “I confess to having an ulterior motive.” I say, and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “I wish to speak to you about the city’s defenses.”

His eyes turn to the walls rising along the wooded line of Kattegat, where guards pace on their watches. So far away they appear as small moving bumps. “What of them?”

“The defenses you do not have are the ones that concern me, My King.”

“You honor me with the title, Seerschild, but among peers it isn’t warranted.” Ivar’s eyes are crystal, glinting playfully in the light. “What changes would you have me make?”

“I’d start with enclosing the beach with walls, leaving two entrances; one for traffic in and one for traffic out, on busy days. The houses there would have to be moved, of course, in order to find solid ground for the walls- or we could have some houses outside the walls, at their own peril. They would have to be stone, to be maintained against the water and attackers, but if the city expanded into the mountains beside us, we would have enough.”

“In the same design as a saxon city?” Ivar questions. 

“The same.” I say. “I intend to protect you against future attackers, to allow the Viking way to thrive. To do that we must keep up with what lasts the longest; wood burns. Stone does not.”

“I have personally visited and conquered many saxon cities.” He says. “I must admit, the walls can be...tricky.”

“Many cities will use them for hundreds of years to come.”

He looks back the way we came, toward the undefended beach. “I will announce the work tonight. Many will grumble, but in this time before raiding season, we must stay busy and in shape.”

“And prepare for the winter. This one will be harsh.” I say, feeling the energy of the ground beneath me. Something dangerous slumbers, ready to awaken in the deadening cold. “I’d advise a longer raiding season, with as many fighters as can go. The fewer left here, the better.”

“Can we finish the walls before the season?” Another glance toward the beach. He shakes his head. “No, it wouldn’t be possible.” 

“Halfway.” I announce. If we found saxon stone masons on the raiding trips, so much the better. The scheming wheels in my mind begin to turn faster as a plan arises. “Floki will need help building the boats needed; we will have many captives to bring back as workers- and so long as they are treated well, they will do beautiful work for us.”

I can feel Rita’s eyes on my back. She doesn’t like the idea of the vikings taking any more slaves than they already have- not to mention what I’m proposing sounds awful. “I know the people taken are viewed as weak, since they couldn’t fight off the Viking might.” I say, feeling Ivar’s eyes on me as well. “But if our ways remain as they have been, we will be the ones too weak to fight off invaders. We must integrate carefully, building our numbers with theirs without losing our way.”

“What are you proposing?” 

“Too much for one conversation, I fear. The simple truth is this; they can prove useful to us, and us to them. A people who love and respect their King are far more likely to protect him and their lands than ones who fear him. Fear breeds mistrust and hate. Respect must be earned.”

We step onto the training ground together. I’ve given Ivar much to think over- and for a moment I believe it to be too much, too fast- but then I see the plans behind his eyes, the clever mind at work. “Let us fight, Astrid Seerschild.” He says, drawing an axe from the holster on his thigh. “I wish to see your other skills now that I know a piece of your cunning.”

I grin, unable to help it. I’ve never been able to train the way I was born to; all out, a fight for my life. Now is my chance, and for it to be against such a famous Viking, well, I can’t be embarrassed to say that my heart flutters. “Einar,” I murmur. “I’ll be fine, go with Rita.”

My handmaiden takes the hint, drawing the wolf off to the side of the clearing where he whines just briefly, his amber eyes on me. I draw my sword, laughing at the wicked, greedy gleam that suddenly arises in Ivar’s eyes. 

Just like that, we enter into a fight that is more dance than anything else. I batter him back with a series of well-thought out blows and he replies with a violent grace, axe swinging as if it’s part of his own body. Around us the clearing goes quiet. I don’t know if it’s because my senses are so in tuned to the fight or if everyone’s watching, but the exhilaration fuels me as my muscles stretch and contract, quickly warming me up. 

“Nothing like a fight to start the day, huh?” I ask of Ivar, whose eyes narrow as he parries a particularly quick flourish and attack. 

“Gets the blood flowing,” He agrees, striking at my shoulder. I roll with it, spinning along the length of his arm and stepping into his guard, landing a solid blow with the pommel of my sword into his gut. The air whooses out of his lungs against my neck, and a bare second later I’m gone, a sword’s-length away. “Good move,” He concedes, recovering quickly. “Not many can land a hit.”

Sweat gathering under my layers of clothes, I smile, all teeth. “I’ve been well trained.” It’s the truth; my father had insisted on private tutors in martial arts, fencing, weaponry. I’d grown up being taught the value of hard work and sweat, often with too many bruises to count. He hooks his axe over the tip of my sword, twisting to pull me in; I hold fast, anticipating his strike. It comes quickly as he draws another axe and begins the fight anew, dual wielding. 

My grip switches to single hand and I pull a dagger from around my waist, settling into a ready stance. Block, strike, defend, strike, parry. Our blades clash together, bodies twisting and stretching, minds sharpened to just the single moment. I do not hold back, and after a few blows, neither does he. We fight in earnest, not a cripple and a woman, but two skilled bodies honed to the craft. 

It’s long minutes before Ivar gives me another opening. He’d over-extended in his effort to feint toward my leg, leaving his elbow too close to straight. I duck in, dagger curving over his forearm and pinning his wrist against my own arm, landing a quick hit with the vaguely-fist shape metal of my pommel. The blow lands true in the muscle just under his armpit and his forearm spasms, nerves going dead. He growls, his axe dropping from tingling fingers as he twists, the remaining axe swinging in a deadly arc toward my head. 

I tuck and roll, popping back up on my feet in a fluid motion, successfully avoiding his attack. Oh, now he’s angry. Ivar’s eyes gleam in the sunlight, sweat beaded on his brow, falling into a thin cut I’d given him a minute or so before, a bare scratch. He twirls his axe, teeth bared as he advances on me. I give a step, then two, and just as he lunges I move in, graceful as a dancer though my muscles ache. 

Ivar’s reaction speed is just a hair faster than I’d thought it would be; clearly he’s learned. He pulls his arm in, forcing me to abort the slice I’d planned. I regroup quickly, fast enough to avoid his strike, but not fast enough to get out of his range. No time, I think to myself. No one could escape his next move.

I know the fight’s about to end; I can feel it- his grip shifts on his axe as he moves and I come up short, finding the blade pressed against my throat. Ivar grunts, feeling the point of my dagger pressing into his side, just over his third and fourth ribs. My sword is against his back, putting the two of us in a lethal embrace. I could slice his spine open or drive my dagger home into his heart. He could decapitate me or let me bleed out. 

Both of us are breathing hard. I can feel his every breath through the solid muscle of his chest pressed firmly against my back. I’m panting too as we look at eachother, the vikings around us suddenly bursting into noise. They whoop and holler, seeing the fight end in a draw. 

I don’t hear them. Ivar’s eyes are brilliantly shining, his lips slightly parted, hair mussed in the fight. Our faces are scant inches apart, neither of us willing to cede first, both waiting for the other. So close to him I can see the individual drops of blood welling in the scratch above his brow, the sweat beading in his hair. Gods, I want to run my hands through that hair, just to see if it’s really as soft as it looks. It has to be. My heart pounds in my chest and for the first time during the fight I wonder if it’s from adrenaline at all. 

His eyes trace over my face as we catch our breath. “What did you do to my arm, little witch?” He questions, voice merely a whisper against my skin. I try not to shudder, my heart beating way faster than it should. 

“Pressure point,” I breathe, trying not to look at his lips. “It will be normal again soon.” A wicked idea forms in my mind. I offer him a feral grin. “Faster if I undo it.”

He lowers the axe, still watching me with curious, cunning eyes. I can’t help the lopsided grin on my face as I step away, trailing the edge of my sword ever so gently against his back as I go. Ivar watches me like a predator with prey, his gaze never faltering. 

“You know your way around a blade.” He points out, using his axe as a crutch to lean over and pick up his second weapon. 

“It’s not often that I could fight like that back home.” I say. “I fear I’m a little rusty.”

His brows raise. “I’d welcome the challenge of fighting you any day.” 

“My King,” I say with a smile, bowing my head to him. His eyes linger as I make my way to Rita and Einar, fluffing my wolf’s fur for being so good during the fight. 

“I have never seen such a terrifying thing be so beautiful before, My Lady.” Rita tells me, her eyes wide in awe. “You fight like no woman I have ever seen.” 

I laugh, taking an offered waterskin from a nearby warrior with a thankful nod. “It feels good to fight.” I say. “It’s in my blood.”

“I dare say it isn’t in mine.” She murmurs, still watching me with awe. “I much prefer tending animals or children.”

“Astrid,” Ivar’s voice comes from just behind me. I turn to him, holding the waterskin between us. He takes it, waiting to drink until he’s spoken. “Would you join me for lunch? I believe we have plans to draw up.”

“It’s not quite that time yet.” I say, giving a pointed glance toward the sky where the sun has only crested the mountains for two hours or so. “Perhaps we could go for a ride instead?”

There’s something in his eyes that draws me in, a scheme that I so badly want to be let in on. “So long as you’ll eat with me afterwards.” He murmurs. 

“I’d be honored, Ivar.” I say. 

Barely an hour later, I sit astride Hvardr with Einar frolicking through the woods before me, mapping out the scents among the trees. Ivars’ white pony walks contentedly behind me with his rider strapped into the saddle. For a while we don’t speak; the woods are calm and peaceful, birds chirping high in the trees accented by the occasional screech of whatever animal Einar has managed to sneak up on and scare. 

“You are quite a mystery, Astrid.” Ivar eventually says. “I haven’t met a völva before you, and I’m not entirely sure what to expect.”

“We are few and far between.” I respond carefully. “True witches, at least.”

“Bjorn met an imposter before.” Ivar reveals. “He was fooled by her, beguiled, and, I believe, entranced. She took what she wanted of him and left him bitter for the rest of us to deal with. It’s why he has such a mistrust of you.”

I hum, slowing Hvardr to walk beside Ivar’s pony. “He visited me in my room last night.” I say. “It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, but it frightened my poor handmaiden half to death.”

Ivar growls. 

“I don’t say it to incite punishment on him, My King,” I say quickly, relieved when the suddenly tense line of his shoulders relaxes just a touch. Bjorn still has a part to play. “I humiliated him enough that he won’t come back for more.”

“I know he hates me.” he says. “I took our father’s love and attention from him. He could never understand why.”

I glance sidelong at him. Ivar expressing his feelings wasn’t at all what I’d expected of the legend. It certainly wasn’t how he was portrayed in the TV show Damon had made me watch. But damn if they weren’t spot on with the actor. All of them, really. For a minute I wonder if the show will change now that I’m a part of history. My heart hammers as I ponder the ramifications of my time travel; will I alter history so permanently that the events leading to my birth never happen? Would that then lead to an endless loop of me never being born, never altering history and being born again? If I’m successful, will my future child self grow up in a viking culture with no reason or knowledge to defend it once I grow older and possibly return to the past?

“You’re not like the others.” Ivar says, drawing me out of my thoughts. I look at him and am relieved for the distraction. His blue eyes are already focused on me, expression unguarded and wondering. “You haven’t once said anything about my legs, or treated me as any less capable than you. And you fought me all-out. Most people don’t do that until I’ve beaten them.”

“The only thing you’re less capable than me in is seidr, Ivar. Everything else is down to how you treat yourself.” 

A strange look enters his eyes and he looks away, thinking over what I’d said.  

As we walk in silence, I think about the prophecy Damon had me translate. “Do you want me to say something about your legs?”

“I am surprised you haven’t.”

I look over at him, taking in the details. Sunlight dapples over his shoulders and back, filtered through the trees above us. My eyes stray to the bracers and I almost flinch. They look borderline barbaric, but I’m not sure I could do any better given the materials and technology available. I’m no smith, and I know that for a fact. I can sharpen and care for any of my weapons, but I don’t know the first thing about different metals or the training needed to actually make weapons. 

“Your legs are not what people should concern themselves with, Ivar. It is your brain they should worry about. You have become someone to fear because that is what you had to be; you refused to be broken by the challenge set before you, and like a true Viking, you turned it into a strength.”

A half mile passes in silence. Hvardr takes everything in quietly, ears flicking back and forth as he takes in the new environment. It is at once the land he knows and also the land he doesn’t. We have walked through these trees thousands of years in the future, though I know they must be very different. My eyes fall on a small plant hidden among the darkened recesses of a tree’s roots. An idea forms in my mind, half-baked and quite dangerous, but my heart thrills at the possibility. For generations, my family has attempted to reconstitute this particular plant- with no success. I hadn’t thought of it for some time, but since I’m in the past, it’s available. 

I stop Hvardr, running my hand over his face when he looks at me curiously. Ivar’s eyes are also on me as I dismount, squatting by the tree roots to pick only from the plants that can survive. I take some to grow closer to Kattegat and some for future use. 

“Are you after a crown?” Ivar asks me while I am still on the ground, at a disadvantage. He knows this; I can read his body language too well to dismiss the threat. “Is that why you have come now, to beguile your way into being Queen? I can think of no other reason for your actions.”

My head tilts. “Truly? No other reason?”

He shakes his head just briefly. 

“Have you considered that I truly care for my people and I wish them to survive the coming change?”

“That is what you said, Seerschild, but it cannot be enough to face everything you are facing.”

“You mean your half-brothers’ threats, the anger and suspicion of a third of Kattegat and your many enemies once they learn of my abilities?”

“The same.” Though his voice is rough, his lips are drawn vaguely upward in the corner. I can tell he’s impressed that I’ve put so much thought into the threats I face. I’m a little concerned that he suspected any less of me.

“My intentions are pure, My King.” I say, meeting his gaze long enough to show the truth in my words. “I did not come here by choice, though I find there is nowhere I would rather be. My old life…” A long suffering sigh. “It had nothing for me. Here, I can be myself. I do not have to hide. I want that for future witches.”

He watches me tuck the plant into a bag strung across my back, rolling a leaf between my fingers. There is a faint blue stain left on palm from the stems. “Is that poison?”

“Of a sort.” I admit. Honesty is needed if I’m to gain his trust: clearly that is the only way forward. “A single dose will kill anyone without seidr. Enough will kill someone with it.”

I pocket the remaining leaves, wiping my hands on my jodhpurs. Ivar doesn’t protest when I swing onto Hvardr once more, gathering the reins. “Do your legs bother you?”

He blinks, probably wondering if he can trust me enough to answer honestly. I don’t make a big deal of it, nudging Hvardr forward. A minute passes in silence, then two. I wonder if he’ll answer at all. 

“I am used to the insults.” he admits. “Though no one except Bjorn dares say them to my face anymore.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“I do not care that I am a cripple.”

I level him with a look. “Still not what I asked.”

His anger simmers. I can tell it’s poorly restrained. Instinct wars with tradition: I am a völva, due respect equal to royalty, but he is the King, and he has had a lifetime of hating his legs and being poked at for them. He feels that is what I am doing now. 

“I ask because there may be something I can do to help. I do not pity you, Ivar. I only want you to succeed.”

The King remains quiet for a minute. When he speaks, his voice is soft, broken. “They hurt.” He says. “Every day, every night, endlessly. It’s worse in the winter, when the wind is harsh and cold. Then, it feels like I am being stabbed over and over.” A humorless laugh. “Many times I wonder if it would hurt less to just cut them off.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. His fingers twist in the reins. “I have broken bones more often and often worse than many others I have seen. I do not understand it.”

I bite my lip. Can I reveal the research I’d done after watching several seasons of Vikings and falling in love with his character? How do I relate the advanced medical knowledge without showing that I’m clearly not from anywhere near here- or this time?

“Ivar,” I say cautiously, “I may be able to help with the pain.”

“Do not give me false hope.” He growls, suddenly extremely irritated. “Floki has tried everything- herbs and pastes, tonics, even drinking myself into a stupor. Nothing works for long.”

Gods, Heat radiates off of him in his anger. With the path being only so wide, I can feel it clearly from him as our ponies walk wide-by-side. “I do not give false anything.” I snap in return, drawing his attention and meeting fire with fire. It’s a risk I’m willing to take with him. Still, I take a deep breath and relax, feeling his shock. “Where I come from, we have a great deal of medical knowledge. Our… healers-” I’d almost said doctors. Whoops. “-are the best in the land. They’ve studied people with your condition. They’ve come up with treatments that work. They’re not perfect, but they help.”

And there it is. Fragile, tenuous hope lights in his eyes. I can’t look away. “You know one of these healers?”

No, I don’t. I had google. My fingers go subconsciously to the herb in my pocket. “I can use their methods. I can help you.”

He stares furiously at the pommel of his saddle. I give him time to think. “Can you… I know I am not supposed to ask, but can you prophecy the outcome?”

“I will need help for this.” I say. “The herb in my pocket enhances my abilities, allowing me to follow choices instead of seeing the most likely outcome, but it comes at a great cost. I will be immobile during its use, utterly helpless, and very vulnerable.” I can’t believe I’m telling him this. “For it to work, I must take the first dose willingly. Any more than a carefully controlled amount can do irreversible harm- or it can make me extremely dangerous and out of control until it wears off. 

“If I am to do this for you, I will need you to swear to me that you will protect my earthly body during the visions. I need your word that I will be safe.”

His eyes flash in the light, brilliantly blue. “You have my word.”

Maybe it’s a mistake, considering the paths I can see are equally as likely to happen, but I trust him.

Tag list (open):  Voluspa: @tis-itheapplepie​ @thetwistedqueen @inforapound​ @wuxiesalt @readsalot73​ @themusingkitten @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​

All Ivar tag: @inforapound​ @amy8220 @saldelys​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @i-am-a-teenage-dirtbaggg​

[ozymandiasdirge]

okay this is a few days late but a collection of hamilton thots after seeing it for the third time

i feel like all these years later im still blown away by the way this show does motifs/leitmotifs better than almost any thing else ive ever read/watched/listened to. (maybe undertale comes close but)

to see it with three different casts (there’s some overlap) its so so interesting which aspects of the roles get chosen to be accentuated....more detail on that later.

this is mostly just me being a nerd but if i was still in school i feel like id be going into a sprial of early french/american relations because it is such a fucking weird rabbit hole to go down from 1777-1815 but yall came here for music opinions not historigraphy opinions though there will be plenty of those because i cannot resist.

washington exudes such father energy (not dad energy father energy there is a difference) onstage especially during one last time it’s like...astounding.

i had forgotten that during the reynolds pamphlet he walks past alex h mid nervous breakdown and gives such a “im so viruently disappointed i have to go die” look that i myself was sinking down in my seat next to my own mother.

ive seen julia harriman play eliza twice and she is literally just....a god tier performer she’s so good that’s it that’s the whole bulletpoint

i had almost forgotten how horny “say no to this is” and there were like 10 year olds sitting behind me and i was like....my god

speaking of i had a very strong drink during the act break and jefferson’s “my god” during “we know” literally nearly had me fall out of my chair.

washington on your side is so fucking underrated we do not appreciate it enough thats that on that.

this is necessaryily play related but i just remembered how hamilton had a whole essay about how people were probably too stupid for democracy and typing this up on the morning of robert mueller’s testimony...i have to say....that may be his greatest legacy and also yeah

can i just say how god tier lin manuel was to not have yorktown be the act 1 finale like, every other show it would be but nope we have to build up to the entire cast getting to belt on non-stop (which imho beats out quintet from west side story dont @me)

on the one hand i really really really wish we’d gotten more with hamilton’s parents because it really just.... explains so much im torn, because the only things he says about them (besides burr’s constant bastard, son of a whore) i believe are when he mentions them to eliza in “helpless” (my father left my mother died i grew up buckwild), in “dear theodosia” (my father wasn’t around, i swear that i’ll be around for you) and the single line in “hurricane” (i was twelve when my mother died she was holding me we were sick and she was holding me i couldn’t seem to die) make it so much more impactful when it does get brought up so...im torn. i think i just want a quality prestige miniseries but alas.

speaking of i feel like i noticed more this time the amount of times from my shot until the very end hamilton is just like “im ready/willing to die/i never expected to live long enough to have to deal with all this” then i remembered lmm’s interview where he was like “i think he was ready to die from the time he was 14 years old” and deadass nearly starting bawling in the middle of the theater. before its quiet uptown came on and i did start bawling and just didnt stop until the play was over.

of course every song in here is amazing but i feel like i have to call out hurricane particularly because it’s just......literally its so fucking impactful and i think.....throughout the entire play it’s the best look we ever really get at hamilton without any obfuscation on his part, even more than my shot and just the line “and when my prayers of god were met with indifference i picked up a pen. i wrote my own deliverance.” is just...i can’t even comment on it,  it just speaks for itself so...yeah

more genius pacing, the fact that burr doesn’t get his i want song until the middle of act 2 is some of the most genius writing ive ever seen in my life.

also on the opposite side of the coin from that during “the election of 1800″ when burr tells hamilton “im chasing what i want and you know what? i learned that from you” and a chill goes out over the audience as they remember that this story ends with one of them fucking dead l m a o anyway

im never going to get over the way that a. burr and a. ham completely switch roles for the first and only times in their lives and it ends up with one of them dead and the other one (in the plays context anyway) forever stained its like....hello 911.

also ive gone back and forth on whether or not i think its too sympathetic on burr (thats a whole nother video essays worth of opinions, but for the most part i think its fine) but i have to hold back a laugh at his worst fear out of the duel is his adult daughter being orphaned but being fine orphaning a man with seven children under the age of 20. like....the audacity.

also im such a slut for metafictional commentary on storytelling (hello the social network i see you villian) like....hamilton balances so many other themes but god “who lives who dies who tells your story” as a line and a song are such good thesis statements.

okay here’s the only place im gonna get serious and unfunny gigi you’re literally never funny shut up. i know certain historians and people on hottakes.com have issues with this historical aspects of this play. and all i am going to be saying on that is that i think lmm traded 100% historical accuracy for telling a good story, making a good salient point, and going more for what feels right than what is completely black and white true. and i think he was respectful to the real history (as much as real history exists etc. etc.) that its fine. like was thomas jefferson a flamboyant dandy who ran around in a purple suit overflowing with cockiness? no, he was the opposite. does that portrayal of him get across his blatant hypocritical old money ruthless and amoral treatment of anyone who wasnt an old money white male virginian who refused to fight a war of independence in his own country but stoked the reign of terror from an ocean away in france but comdemned it in haiti. no, to a late 2010s audience i dont think it does. so yeah....that is my discourse on the subject. everyone else is welcome to their own opinons on it but here we go.

[misterbitches]

unpop opinionz abt bl or just my opinions. that may or may not be popular. stream of consci. no one has to care or read. i will  do this whenever i like or when i am drunk and/ or high. like now. i do tharntype + sotus, uwma, lbc, and MODC...and long ass writing and spoilers so if u stumble it aint my problem

tharntype:

some user on here blocked me cos i said rape is bad*. and it is. and it’s stupid. and not done right it has no place in these writers, who really cannot write, or producers hands. it’s easy for people to judge it because it allows itself to be judged. and bl doesn’t fix its own issues. it just keeps perpetuating. when you gain an ounce of respect for women mayhaps that will change and we fuck up all that misogynist shit in our brains (FREE YR MIND)

but anyways i skipped til like ep 6. i barely know what the storyline is and id ont care. it isnt that interesting. they’re not great actors but i like the look of that bigger one. together their chemistry is fun i wouldn’t say like....as deep as i would like but watching them is nice

(this is where the wife/husband thing is relevant. i watched 6 - 13 a lot. so the father saying “as long as you’re not the wife i’m ok with ur HOMOSEXUAL rship then” but it turns out his son was the “wife” and guess what? that’s gross. if you can’t write female characters then leave us out of it.)

anyway i can see why people didn’t watch it. i say skip everything and see how they are together. the skinnier one is not as good w like idk. being seductive? but he’s fun to watch lol. together they are nice. i really enjoyed watching their dynamic.

some of the kissing was a lot but not in a bad way. i think if they had a deeper connection i would feel it more. but i saw gifs of them and piqued my interest and i clicked(footnote 2)

 the actors as themselves and whatever their rship is fun to watch..i read some UNSAVORY things about one of the actors with another dude in another show but whatever.

hm what else....yea the show is ok. theyre not great actors. cute together. sometimes when they kiss there was way too much like breathing jesus christ shut up. they totally could have done some inverted tropes but they didnt bc why would they.

a...c? c-? i give it? maybe that. people who had some criticism for it were right (like me :P) idk why i got BLOCKED cos i was JUST SAYING. rape in a story for no reason or as a startoff for lust is ridiculous. disgusting. i wont ever shut up about it. it helps no one and doesn’t help the gay community (can go down a rabbit hole here, too)

C- (this is generous but D+ seemed kinda mean...)

sotus + sequel:

idk why but i’ve seen some things flaoting around about the light guy. idk if they are true or not. i did not like that. i saw this before i read those tho (abt him not being comfortable)

this is what im talking abt...and this is where gmmtv will fail. but most bls. they’re CLEARLY worth something. they make money. the actors are a draw for others. i am not a thai citizen nor a thai teen so but i am assuming many get popular. this is because there’s a formula that is almost always stuck to. i am guessing that the channel is a public broadcast (not an HBO type) so there has to be more censorship

i LOVE seeing what countries with less production $ or a more current industry, (like in SEA tho ppl hav ebeen making revolutionary art foreverrrrrr don tforget there’s more than dramas) create. there’s less money and stuff and maybe the editing isnt good or a certain way the drama is shown is very particular and not always appealing. i am nigerian, i respect that shit. nollywood is that shit too.

and as people ge tmore $ for prods or more public support they get better (i cannot emphasize how MUCH BETTER SOUND HAS GOTTEN FOR THAI SHOWS OMG dramas in general but)

so sotus kind of suffers from lower prod quality. but also the acting is bad. sorry it is. i like the darker guy (sorry im too lazy to google names but...singto? right? hes a good photographer) and he has gotten better or wil get better i think but. yea. terrible acting lol

also like...u can tell that other dude wasn’t totally comfortable or they just didnt know each other enough. i don’t know. it was very much two guys standing next to each other now like kiss once. the reluctance to show like affection even in private settings is BONKERS TO ME. literally it’s like these men have the most sterile rships and that is suchhhh an issue in BLs, particularly the thai i guess. 

tbh if the storyline was better and if they had more chemistry it would be better to me. i know ppl love it, i dont really get it lol...their kisses r ok...idk it’s like a waste of time. i’ve tried watching it like 1000000 times 

thats all i have for now 

*im oversimplfying. i think it was bc ppl were being harsh. but any excucses people want to use the fact is that....rape bad and that’s stupid ok. but it sucks cos i wanna rt their gifs sometimes but nope lMAO

i know im not wrong so...

lbc, uwma, modc: 

I LITERALLY CANNOT WATCH THESE ACTORS. I’M SORRY  I CANNOT. THEIR FACES MAKE ME FURIOUS OR THEIR ACTING. I DONT KNOW WHY. i am shocked i dont totally hate saint bc i abhorred the character in LBC and like. every ounce of it. i dont rly like taht small dude from uwma (the past s/l?) i just cant w his face, and modc...omfg....the guy was so fucking SICK LOOKING

this is where footnote 2 comes in: if i cannot handle ur fucking face i will hate the drama. the secondary char in tharntype like the highschooler? oh my god i wanted to die too but like. shit. i wouulda watched for teamwin but that was barely there. and i could not get through modc. the couple with the age gap is gross, and i lit cannt look at this hot-ass big guy making out with a stick that dies

i cant be the only one. i didn’t like uwma dude’s face in the other drama he was in either. i like him as a person. maybe if i could see him do something else. ...

oh this is also why the first 2 moons....i hated...pha’s....whole.....existence. his face, his attitude, fuck. maybe it’s the playing up the femininity part of someone but then having them being a fuckin doormat. sad cos in lbc and modc the main love interests i like. but they’re also stupid. and just. god. stupid fuckin rships.

too much emphasis is put on love as The Thing but they can’t even exhibit love the way they should. idk what im SAYING IT’S JUST WORDS

had sth else to jot down but i forgot i may update this and remind meself