#i know its just for engagement but it makes me so full of rage

[parasitic-saint]

just reading abt having to post at least 4 times a day on social media to "make it" as an artist when i can barely post once every 3 weeks makes me want to claw all my skin off

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

[callmelyc]

Keith leaving Lance with engagement rings hidden in their home thinking "I'll ask him when I get back"

Only...Keith's mission goes wrong. So wrong that everyone thinks he's dead, and lance? Well, he finds those rings

At first he's heartbroken over them. The delicate but intricately carved bands with blue and red gems. How pretty they look on his hand, how pretty they'd have been on Keiths–its too much to think about at first.

Then, that sorrow burns itself into rage. The audacity this man had to leave such a thing behind so poorly hidden! To have left them here while he himself is no longer. It pisses Lance off for the longest, yet none will see him a second without both bands on a chain round his neck.

The thing is, Lance never actually stops looking for Keith. None of them do even when all the evidence points to the worst case scenario and all the Garrison believe he's gone as well as their allies.

So Lance gathers himself. He marches right into that damned ship–the Atlas– and he makes himself a spot right at the top of the food chain bc he'll be damned if he's too low to search for his stupid fiance. He didn't ask for a position, didn't apply, didn't let the earth team think for even a second they could talk down to him. Lance simply made his place known and very apparent from day one.

Shiro supported him full throttle, as did the rest of his team, Vera, Adam and Curtis. Which made it all the easier.

Now, did Lance tell them he was doing this just to find Keith? No, but only because they'd throw him back into grief counseling and that's not at all what he needs right now.

Little does Lance know it's not him that finds Keith...it's Keith that finds Lance. And he does so by landing the worst he's ever had into the barracks of the Atlas, throwing himself through the halls and right into the meeting Lance was 10seconds away from arguing in.

He's point two second away from opening his mouth before he's got an arm full of Keith squishing the living daylights out of him. Lance is shaking from the emotions that overwhelm him in that moment. Tears running down his face of their own free will, his hands tremor as they come up to clutch onto Keith like a lifeline.

And through everything is a rush of relief at the knowledge he's alive

Keith alive! He's alive he's alive he's alive.

And when Keith pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together he's stopped in his tracks because Keith is apologizing a million miles a minute but all lance can focus on is the sound of his voice. All up until Keith says those two magical words

"Marry me..."

It comes out so hopelessly breathless, so hopeful, so dreadfully delicate and that rage from before fires back full force.

"How dare you?!" He grits out, stepping back to point his finger right into Keith's chest "you go missing and leave rings for me to find in our house!"

"I–"

"Then! You get pronounced dead, have us all grive for you and think you can come in here and ask me to marry you?"

"Lance, I–"

"And you have the audacity to think I'd say anything but yes? To think I didn't already consider you my fiance?! My dead fiance?!"

"What the fuck did you want me to say then?!"

Lance flails his hands "literally anything else!"

"Well?!"

"Well what?!"

"Your response dip shit! I never actually got to ask you it's not my fault you found the rings!"

"It's not my fault you hid them so poorly!" Lance snaps and now they're back to being chest to chest, centimeters apart "yes."

Keith's face consorts, confused, and lance laughs "yes you idiot, I'll marry you...."

The sighs of relief are short lived as Lance declared Keith has to ask in an actual way now "the proper way Keith! I deserve that much"

And from now on? Keith's trackers are updated. He will never go missing again if Lance has anything to say about it, he's got a husband to keep track of afterall.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Cozy Secrets || Bucky Barnes

Character: Spy!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: Y/N discovers her seemingly perfect roommate, Bucky, is a spy.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 , -

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

In the heart of the bustling city, Y/N  found herself looking for the perfect roommate. Her previous housemate had bid adieu after getting engaged, leaving Y/N in the lurch to find a suitable replacement.

After countless interviews, Y/N finally stumbled upon what seemed to be the answer to her roommate's quest – Bucky, a sports photographer with a penchant for cleanliness and a propensity for quiet nights.

His nocturnal work hours meshed well with Y/N's daytime routine, and his willingness to contribute to the apartment's upkeep made him the ideal housemate.

The first three months of their living arrangement went smoothly. He was always punctual with rent, impeccably tidy, and even willing to take on household chores without complaint – he was the roommate Y/N had always dreamed of.

However, something twisted happened one day when she returned home later than usual.

As she swung open the door, ready to unwind in her sanctuary, her eyes widened in disbelief and horror.

Her once-immaculate living space was now a chaotic mess, and right in the middle of the turmoil were two men engaged in a heated scuffle, with Bucky caught in the crossfire.

"Excuse me, what the heck is this?" Y/N exclaimed, her initial shock transforming into a mix of rage and confusion. The three combatants froze, turning their attention to Y/N.

The two men, realizing they were caught in the act, exchanged nervous glances but didn't utter a word. Bucky seized the opportunity for a strategic move in the split second of confusion.

With a swift motion, he expertly maneuvered between the brawlers and shut them down with a series of impeccably executed moves, leaving them in a stunned heap on the floor.

"Bucky, what in the world is happening here?" Y/N demanded, her eyes darting between the mess and her roommate, who was now defensive.

Bucky, seeing the need for a more honest approach, took a deep breath and decided to come clean. "Y/N, there's something you should know. I'm not just a sports photographer. I'm actually a spy."

Y/N stared at him, her initial anger giving way to sheer disbelief. "A spy? Are you serious, Bucky? Is this some sort of elaborate prank?"

Bucky shook his head, his expression serious. "No, I'm dead serious. I chose this apartment because it provides the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on a target across the building. Those guys you just saw? They were after the same target, and things got a bit out of hand."

Y/N blinked, processing this unexpected revelation. "Wait, so you're telling me that all this time, while I thought you were just a neat freak sports photographer, you've been living a double life as a spy?"

Looking genuinely remorseful, Bucky began, "Y/N, I'm really sorry about the mess. This wasn't supposed to happen, and I didn't mean to put you in this situation. It was a mistake, and I take full responsibility."

Y/N, arms still crossed, nodded. "Apologies won't fix my now-ruined living room, Bucky. This is unacceptable. I thought I finally found the perfect roommate, not a spy who turns my place into a battlefield."

Bucky, understanding the gravity of the situation, nodded solemnly. "I understand, Y/N. My agency will cover the expenses for the repairs and replacements. I'll make sure everything is back to normal. You have my word."

True to his word, Bucky coordinated with his agency, ensuring a team was dispatched to clean up the aftermath of the brawl. Broken items were replaced with new ones, and the apartment was restored to its former glory.

A few days later, as Y/N surveyed the now spotless living room, Bucky approached her tentatively. "I hope this makes up for the mess, Y/N. I really didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Y/N, now feeling a bit more forgiving, sighed. "Fine, Bucky. You've cleaned up your mess, literally. But I still need time to get over the fact that my roommate is a spy who uses my apartment for covert operations."

Bucky hesitated, "Y/N, I hope you don't want me to move out. I really like it here."

As Y/N contemplated whether she should ask Bucky to find a new place, her phone buzzed with a notification about her upcoming high school reunion. The idea of attending filled her with dread.

"Ugh, a high school reunion," she muttered to herself.

Bucky, overhearing, raised an eyebrow. "Problem with the reunion?"

Y/N grimaced. "I despise those events.” She doesn’t want to meet the popular girl from her school who constantly bullies her. But this time, she wants to show off. She got an excellent job nice apartment. But there’s one she doesn’t have. 

A boyfriend. 

Y/N looked Bucky from head to toe and mumbled, “What if..." But this idea was insane; she shook her head. 

Bucky looked curious. "What if what?"

“Nothing.”

Bucky, understanding the high school dynamics, chuckled. "Ah, trying to one-up the mean girls from the past. So you need someone to accompany you? I'm in.”

Y/N fell silent for a moment, a realization slowly dawning on her. "You knew about my personal life?"

Bucky rubbed his head, a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. He didn't deny it, saying, "Well, I'm a spy, and my agency does background checks on everyone."

Her hands now covering her face, Y/N sighed, "Oh no...."

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. "What do you think? With my spy skills, I bet I could impress everyone at the reunion. In exchange, please don't kick me out. Pleasee...."

Y/N grumbled, her frustration apparent. "Fine."

Bucky grinned, a mix of relief and amusement in his eyes. "Thanks Y/N. I swear you won’t regret this."

As they navigated the quirks of their unique living situation, little did they know that more surprises and adventures awaited them in the days ahead.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

[fairydares]

loook i get why the idea of riding the "anti/pro" fandom disk horse makes people gag a little in their mouth and try to opt out entirely, but here's why i went from feeling exactly the same way to taking a firm profiction stance. I've been meaning to make this post for a while.

~10 years ago, I posted a fic for the first time and it got its own harassment campaign. The fic wasn't even sexual, and wasn't going to be (it remains incomplete). It was accurately rated T on fanfiction.net. Anyone in the Fairy Tail fandom will understand this: I literally got harassed for writing a "Lucy leaves the guild" fic💀.

After many nice comments, someone left a pretty nasty one. Hurt, I messaged them back. They acted super attacked that I'd responded (lmao) and after we argued, threatened to "rip my shitty story apart in the comments section" if I responded again. I told them "go ahead lol."

They went ahead.

Now know that it was a relatively small harassment campaign, but at the time, it was devastating. Right around then, I wound up in the hospital. After I got out, I went to excitedly check my fic, and found several reviews saying things I wouldn't repeat to my worst enemy. I was suicide-baited more than once, told "thank fuck you finally abandoned this shitty story, dumb cunt," stuff like that.

There were several accounts involved, and I can't say for sure, but I suspect at least a couple different people were involved, though probably at least half of it was one person.

All the other comments were screeching about how I hadn't updated, mostly. "NO UPDAAATEE WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO MEEEE??!!!" was one that stood out after I'd been miserable in a hospital for an extended period of time.

Idk what people think is going on when FT fic authors write this trope, and frankly I don't give a fuck. Because while I was partly writing the story out of some young, cringe feminist rage, I also did genuinely have a real story I was compelled to tell. I was inspired by another, popular fic I loved which used the trope to talk about how trying to shoulder our burdens alone really just hurts both ourselves and everyone who cares about us.

My own story was ultimately going to have similar themes, with more focus on strength, what it means, and in what contexts earning and having it actually matters. In retrospect, no wonder I wound up in hot water, because at the time "Lucy vs. Strength vs. Misogyny" was the FT fandom's Designated Nonsensically Activist Debate™. But that's partly why i wanted to write about it; engaging with the fandom had gotten me thinking about it 🤷‍♂️

Not too long after that, FFNet oh-so-benevolently granted us the ability to delete comments from our own stories (they never took my reports seriously at all, afaik). I deleted all or most of the harassers' comments (may still be a one or two up, and i'm fairly sure there's a couple comments defending my fic from the harassment) without saving screenshots, which I really regret now. I was just so mortified and full of self-loathing about the whole thing that i wanted to forget it completely. Something that had brought me joy at a very lonely, vulnerable period of my life had turned so negative, and i couldn't even tell the people closest to me about it without being made fun of for writing anime fan fiction.

I didn't understand why this happened at the time, but--after a period of trying to forget/bid out of it all with a slight anti lean (a common approach I see people use, and one which I'm not proud of adopting)--I just had to figure out What the Fuck Even Happened There. And I'm telling you, after years of reflecting, wrestling with both sides, and educating myself, that this "status quo of harassment" culture which pervades fandom goes way deeper than you think and comes out of a way darker well than you probably realize. An astonishing amount of this is, quite literally, TERF shit and evangelical shit.

Trying to be in fandom and take a stance of, "Anti/Pro shit? Ew, I'm Not Touching that," is like swimming in a heavily polluted river and being like, "Poison? Cringe. Not me lol."

You might be lucky enough to be in a less-polluted part of the river (AKA a relatively non-toxic fandom, in which case good for you!)...but tbh this rhetoric and peer-signalling will still seep in.

I can't stress enough that pro-fiction, AKA "proship", is the normal, leftist-about-art-and-sex opinion. Pro-ship is against all the horrible things you're against; in fact, pro-ship isn't trivializing real trauma by equating it with fictional trauma, or trying to apply literal evangelical/radfem solutions--which are proven not to prevent or help. Profiction/proship is literally just saying, "Fiction is fiction, reality is reality, and the two don't have a 1:1 relationship. And historically, trying to censor just things we've decided are bad has done nothing but get LGBTQ+ and POCs censored. Therefore, depictions of illegal things shouldn't be censored." That's it. "Proshippers all ship problematic ships," is a brazen lie. Many of them share other fans' disgust for those ships, they just don't believe in censoring fic authors over it.

It is also taking a stand against harassment because--and I hope my own story has helped drive this home--as with all groups who adopt ingroup/outgroup thinking, antis are defined by their tactics, not actual stances on real, serious issues. What happened to me was absolutely a result of anti, "it's okay to 'bully out' anything I just don't like" mindset pervading fandom. In a way, this was the mindset's final form. They didn't even feel the need to cite a reason the trope was "bad" or "wrong"; it annoyed them, and they viewed their own feelings as a valid enough pathway for policing to go right ahead and do so.

In the interest of offering solutions instead of just bitching about problems, I might make a "how to know if you've bought into these types of views"-type post sometime. Also might come back to this and provide some sources/citation.

[olderthannetfic]

Can I poke the bear for a moment and get angry? Because I'm seeing "posting as activism" more and more in fandom spaces, and tonight I saw a post that made me lose it.

There is a post about (current events) going around that says, "full offense, but in this time, your own comfort doesn't fucking matter, you should be uncomfortable about things that are happening, and I hope you can fucking live with yourselves if you are quiet. It takes five seconds to retweet or reblog, fuck your aesthetic, fuck your anything aesthetic."

And my god. How dare they.

Yes, there is severely fucked up shit happening. Yes, people should be aware that people are being killed. Yes, there are people who are just shrugging about it and pissing off. But how does reblogging a post certify someone as Good or Bad? How does this person know that someone hasn't already helped out meaningfully in some way, or is still helping out, but on other websites? How does this person know that someone isn't barely holding on by the skin of their teeth, and they would have a mental breakdown if they got closer to any more stressful things?

I know a multitude of people, including myself, who have recently either needed to call lines, check into facilities, move back in with their parents, or go on medication because of how insane things have become in their own lives. How does this person not understand that blogging; being on tumblr; engaging in fandom, having a small space that someone can control in its entirety, is a reprieve for people who are already at their wit's end outside of that space? And that's okay.

(We are not doing the relative privation shit in this house. I refuse to entertain that.)

Ironically, by insisting that people participate in sharing posts when they're already stressed and exhausted, that's a surefire way to make their problems worse, and potentially prevent them from acting helpfully in the future because suddenly, their exhaustion turns into full-blown burnout. That's how it works. Professionals tell you to dial things back if you are too overwhelmed. There is a reason for that. There is a limit to how much people can mentally process and handle. Compassion fatigue exists. For a lot of us, we are already at our limit. We need space to relax, and not have arbitrary obligations thrown on us. That is not our fault, it is not a character flaw, it does not mean we are bad people. And just because horrific things are happening elsewhere, it does not mean we can, or should, stop taking care of ourselves first. Yes, it feels shitty to think, "you know what, I can't reblog this". You bet your ass that I and my friends feel guilty about not being able to engage as much as we think we should, but that is how it goes. I can put my head underwater for a bit. But I cannot keep my head underwater forever. I will drown.

Not to mention the obvious part: guilt-tripping people to the extent of implying they are somehow contributing to genocide, just because they won't reblog a post, and implying they should not be able to live with themselves if they do that, is beyond revolting.

I am angry, and I am not sorry.

--

So many of those kinds of posts—and they turn up during every set of horrific real world events—sound like people who are in a country far away from the events, diaspora at most but probably just randos, venting their impotent rage because it's the only way they can feel productive in a situation where nothing they can do is productive.

[freyjas-musings]

I often see posts on who would win the "blood duel" between Lucien and Azriel and then see some eluciens and some elriels cat fight because you know.... boredom

It got me thinking and here are a few points and my thoughts on the "blood duel"

First and foremost nobody knows the parameters of said duel , so we cannot really compare notes and see who would actually win. They each come with a different skill set so please calm your hormones.

Note to Eluciens - the whole Lucien will come into his full power so he will be.... no stop.... Az isn't Cass , Rhys couldn't do shit to Azriel's shield in the high lords meeting... so just ✋️ stop. If it's only brute strength and magic Az has the upper hand , deal with it.

Now , we are talking about comparing who is more powerful. For 2 groups whose general anthem is strength comes in different forms ... Brute strength isn't the only form of strength ..... its shameful that when it comes to Az and Lucien their only comparison is based on brute strength. SHAME SHAME SMH.

It pains me as an Az stan but here is the truth the minute Az agreed to "defeat" Lucien in a fight , he lost . He agreed to engage in violence over someone who detests violence ? See , how he just proved he isn't right for said person right there ?

If Canon info is anything to go by, Lucien will not even invoke the blood duel. It's not because he is a coward ... its the opposite it's because he is a stronger, better male, one who would respect what Elain wants and walk away. So sorry, Lucien in this case is definitely the stronger male and the bigger male .... and given his strength in not resorting to violence makes him automatically compatible with his mate.

Now, about Azriel or Lucien needing to be humbled .... neither need to be humbled, you see their problem isn't with each other so just chill you guys . They each need to have their own healing and growth. You idiots need to stop. People like me love both of them and would love to be in a sandwich situation there ... if I were to pick it would helion and Eris but I will take the other as well. The only form of humbling I will expect is Lucien saving Azriel's life in some situation and given Azriel has gotten hurt in every single book he has appeared that's a big possibility. See , how it was more positive and doesn't change who Lucien is as a character or how it's not to make Az look smaller or weaker .... some of you all need to touch grass taking fictional situations that personally.

Azriel resorting to violence isn't new or unique , we saw that with Mor as well . His anger issues are a big part of the character's description, so growth and healing for Azriel would be more about not resorting to rage and violence. That will be one of the things that his story will most likely to deal with. I look forward to his icy rage thawing because I love him enough to want that for him. To want to see him give up on that ice in his veins.

There is a reason why Gwyn was written the way she was , she was written to be compatible with Azriel . Ultimately, that is what matters each of these characters finding healing and happiness and being with someone who is compatible with them , someone who would bring out the best in them.

Just because one side is rage baiting you, it doesn't mean you get down to their level and try resorting to petty posts spewing poison. If it is wrong to compare Gwyn and Elain (and it is ), it's just as wrong to compare Lucien and Az ... It's mighty sexist of people to think it isn't.

[revrover]

The Stranger - Pt. 3

Part One  |  Part Two

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Language, Violence, Depictions of drowning, Fluff

Summary: Delivered to safety following the battle on the beach, you are left reeling as you grapple with nightmares and questions about an uncertain future. But as you come to know more about the Talokanil people and grow closer to their king, Namor is faced with a question of his own -- what does he do with this stranger from the surface?

A/N: It’s heeeeeere!! As always, thank you so much for your patience, for being here, and for reading! And a BIG thank you just for taking the time to engage with and be a part of this story. You all have been so encouraging to me as new writer, and I love being able to create something around characters that so many hold so dear. Comments and reblogs make my heart happy, so please show some love, share the joy, and be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

Bullets fly as bodies hit the ground in front of you. There on the open beach, spears soar high above your head. Your gaze is drawn to the heavens as a chopper falls from the night sky. It crashes onto the shore below, an intense heat flashing against you as you shield your face from the explosion.

Suddenly, the sounds of dying men and burning metal fade as you lower your hand. You look down to find yourself waist-deep in a raging sea, the battle on the sand becoming a distant memory as waves beat harshly against you, unrelenting and unforgiving. A deafening melody accompanies each swell of the tide. It consumes your mind with pain and serenity as you are pulled further out into the ocean’s depths, following its call. The chorus grows louder as the water rises to your chest, building with intensity. Then, suddenly, all is quiet.

And there he is.

Hovering just above the water’s surface, his winged ankles carry him effortlessly. His reflection glistens perfectly against the water, now calm and smooth as glass. Illuminated by the full moon behind him, his body is covered in beautiful armor made of gold, jade, and other metals. A finely crafted serpent headpiece with bright feathers crowns his head, resting just above his brow.

Namor.

Wordlessly, Namor stretches out his hand, beckoning you to come to him. You reach out as if your very being is at his command. But, before you can grasp hold of him, the chorus of voices returns with a vengeance. A violent tide drags you under, swallowing you beneath the waves. Further and further down you are pulled as darkness surrounds you. Looking up toward the fading light, Namor’s silhouette above the surface dissolves from view. Your lungs burn as you begin to drown.

You jolt awake, your body shooting up in a cold sweat.

Chest heaving, your mind desperately claws its way back to reality. You quickly scan your surroundings, clinging to any detail that will anchor your consciousness and keep you from slipping back into that nightmare.

Gripping the stone surface beneath you, you take in every porous curve your fingertips graze over. Looking upward at the high rocky ceiling, you study the patterns of limestone stalactites that hang like icicles. Droplets of water run down a few of them, their melodious drips echoing in small pools below, falling like a gentle, rhythmic rain.

This is the place Namor had spoken of the last time you saw him. The one where he promised you would be safe. And for good reason — here in this cavern, you were well below the ocean’s surface and out of range of any agents who might come searching for you.

By your best guess, you figure you have been down here about two days. It’s hard to be sure without the reference to natural light. The cavern itself is beautiful, though. Illuminated by pockets of glow worms that drape down from the ceiling, their soft luminescence casts gorgeous green and blue hues across each surface their light touches.

As your heart rate begins to even out, you continue to survey the cave. You look over at your belongings, bag laying on the ground, clothes hanging on a line to dry. Your heart drops a bit when you see your little leather-bound book, its pages separated and spread out across the rocks. Ink bleeding. Pages ruined. You had made your best attempt to salvage what you could. Perhaps if you had asked Namora how the two of you would be traveling to this safe haven, you wouldn’t have brought a damn book with you.

The dissonance of the Talokan melody still rings in the back of your mind. You cradle your head between your knees, rubbing your temples with your thumbs when you hear light footsteps approach.

Looking up, you find a familiar face entering the cavern. No longer geared up for battle, Namora dawns a lovely dress that gathers over one shoulder and flows down to the floor. It moves like waves with each step she takes toward you. Instead of a spear in her hand, she now carries a small tray with a medley of food.

“Eat," Namora says, placing the tray on a small end table beside you. She then moves gracefully over to your draped belongings, removing them one by one from the line and folding them into a neat pile.

“Can I ask you a question?” You inquire as you begin to nibble on a piece of food.

Namora shoots a skeptical look over her shoulder but says nothing, so you ask anyway.

“Have you always been a warrior?”

Unresponsive, she keeps her attention on one of your shirts which she has just pulled from the line, tucking it into itself and placing it with the others.

“It's just, I mean the way you fought those agents on the beach, you are — you are very good at, you know—” you should have given more thought to what you were going to say before opening your mouth because as you reach the end of your sentence all that comes out is, “—killing people."

Nice.

You cringe at your comment. It hangs in the air, practically mocking you.

“I’m just saying," you add, trying to recover, "you obviously know what you’re doing. It was impressive. Me on the other hand…” Your voice trails as you raise your bandaged hand, recalling how your first instinct in a fight was to block a fucking knife with your open palm. Next to Namora, your combat skills pale by comparison.

Halting her task, Namora finally turns to face you in one calculated motion. She stares for a moment then her eyes quickly dart toward the side entrance of the cavern where she had come through only minutes ago. The entryway is empty. When her eyes settle back on you, there is resolve in them.

“Up.” She says, walking toward you with purpose.

“What?” You reply in a tone that matches the confused look on your face.

“Up.”

You do as you are told, hastily pushing yourself to your feet. Namora steps in close and then taps your elbows.

“Up.” She orders a third time, only now she seems to be referring specifically to your arms. You follow her instruction, raising them awkwardly out in front of your body. You can almost hear the sigh of hopelessness when Namora, her brow furrowed, grabs your arms and positions each one in a fighting stance. Slipping a hand up to your left wrist, she grips it firmly while tapping your exposed forearm with the palm of her other hand.

“Shield.” She says with emphasis. Her eyebrows raise, looking for any indication that you comprehend what she is trying to explain. When you nod, Namora moves her hand from your wrist up to your fingers, balling them into a fist and tucking your thumb on the outside.

“Weapon.”

Namora then steps back from you, putting her own arms up to mirror your stance.

“Shield, weapon,” she repeats, patting her forearm and waving her closed fist.

“Shield, weapon,” you echo back to her, nodding your head again as you begin to understand more fully.

Just as she begins to step back toward you, a deep voice calls from behind.

“Namora.”

You both look up to see the large man who wears the hammerhead skull standing in the entry of the cavern. Attuma is his name, as you have come to learn. Namora straightens her posture as she turns to face him, her hands behind her back as she squares her shoulders in a commanding stance.

Attuma saunters a few more feet into the cavern, then speaks to her in their native tongue, a language still unfamiliar to you. The two of them converse back and forth for a few moments. You may not know what they are saying, but you can tell they disagree about something — whether with each other or someone else, you are not sure.

Namora swiftly turns back to you, her face serious again and her brows pinched together.

Fighting lessons must be over.

“Come,” she says.

Without any further instruction, she pivots back toward Attuma, who also turns to leave. You quickly grab your belongings which Namora had folded for you, stuffing them into your bag. You sling it around your shoulder as you exit the cavern.

Following the two generals into a tunneled hallway, you find yourself moving through a network of caves, each tunnel connecting to a series of other openings and pools. Soon, Attuma splits off into one of these open caverns, nodding to Namora as he does so. Your eyes trail him as he joins with more Talokan warriors, and just as you stare at them, they stare at you.

You continue walking behind Namora past them, their whispers reverberating through the tunnels.

“When was the last time someone… not Talokanil came here?” You ask. In typical Namora fashion, she remains silent and unresponsive to your question.

“Sorry,” you say apologetically, “back there it just seemed like they hadn’t seen someone new in a while.”

The two of you walk, furthering yourself from the turnoff where Attuma parted ways. Cautiously, you step around the uneven surfaces of the rocky ground. You can feel yourself being led deeper into the maze of caverns. If Namora decided to up and ditch you right now, you are certain you would be lost in this labyrinth forever.

“You are the first,” Namora says rather abruptly, catching you off guard. Not only does her response come well after your question was asked, but it is also the most she has ever said to you at one given time.

“The first?” You ask, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“To come here,” Namora answers. “The first surface dweller to receive Talokan’s aid. The first the king has ever…” she pauses a moment, searching for the right word, “tolerated.”

The influx of her voice is not lost on you.

“And you don’t approve?”

“It is not my place to approve, " Namora clarifies as she leads you around a bend and past several open pools of water. "I am… concerned. When it comes to you, I fear he is blind.”

Silence befalls you both again as you enter another cavern, this one much larger and more spacious than any others you have seen. Within it are several large pools, glistening with light reflected from more glow worms above. Their tendrils hang from the high vaulted ceiling like sparkling chandeliers.

In the center of it all stands a large hut enclosed by beautifully woven fabrics. You follow Namora shoulder to shoulder up the stone-carved steps to it until you nearly reach the side.

“We’re here,” Namora says, coming to a dead stop. She then takes a step back from you.

Still unsure of where “here” is exactly, you glance over your shoulder, looking to her for further instruction or explanation. But Namora gives you nothing. The moment you begin to take a step backward as well, her hand shoots out, holding the back of your shoulder in position with a firm grip.

Ah. Don't move. Got it.

Subconsciously you begin to hold your breath, bracing yourself for the unknown.

Then, there he is.

From around the corner of the hut comes Namor. Immediately you are taken aback by his appearance. Up to this point, you have only seen him suited for battle. Now he stands before you dawning a beautifully woven cape plated with gold and draped across his broad shoulders. His hair is slicked back and his arms are adorned with various metal cuffs. Truly a wardrobe fit for a king.

A single nod of his head and Namora is dismissed. You hear her small footsteps fade as she leaves the two of you alone.

“How is your hand?”

Namor’s question snaps you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you raise your hand, glancing at the worn bandage. "It’s fine, thank you.”

Staring at the gauze, you can almost hear the lullaby Namor hummed as he gently tended to your wounded palm the night of the battle. Something flutters inside you as you touch the corner of the fabric. Realizing your mind has drifted again, you bring yourself back to reality by following up with your own question.

"Are we in..." you stop to rephrase, shifting your weight from side to side as you look around the cavern, “Is this… Talokan?"

If it is, it's very different from what you pictured.

Your question brings a smile to Namor’s face.

"No," he answers with a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Talokan is far beyond this place. I assure you, your body would not survive the journey to its depths. But these caverns are safe, I promise you.”

Namor then shifts the topic of conversation.

“I am told some of your belongings were ruined on your traveling here, including your book. I apologize. I had hoped to make up for it.”

With one arm, Namor ushers you around the corner to the entrance of his quarters, inviting you inside.

Intrigued and eager to see what awaits, you accept his invitation. As you enter, you find yourself in a study of sorts. Lit by several lanterns, the room is warm and bright. Within it sits a small table, a prominent desk full of scrolls and artifacts, and a cozy hammock hung in the corner. But what catches your eye most of all are the walls.

All around you hang gorgeous tapestry walls with breathtaking murals that stretch from floor to ceiling.

“Did you do all of these?” You ask in disbelief as you move to one at the far end of the room. Your eyes widen as you gaze in admiration at the beautiful artistry.

“Yes,” Namor answers humbly, following behind you. “I think you will find a more accurate depiction of my history here.”

“I don’t know,” you say with playful skepticism in your voice as you inspect the artwork closer, “always be weary of your authors, right?” You smirk as you shift your glance sideways to Namor, echoing his words back to him in jest. His face is serious at first but quickly turns to amusement.

“You remembered,” he says nodding his head, an impressed grin now stretching at the corners of his mouth, “that is good.”

You return your attention to the paintings. What a gift it is to be standing here in front of them. Full of stories, full of history. And to be accompanied by the man who created them himself — who lived them himself. It is all a far cry from the vague glyphs you tried so hard to decipher in your book.

"They're amazing." You say in awe, following along the panels as you trace the line work delicately with your fingertip.

Immersed in the murals, you are too busy to notice Namor's softening gaze as he watches you study his work so intently. Here you are, an outsider who he has welcomed into his space. It is not like him to be so open, especially not with a stranger from the surface — never someone from the surface — yet, something about you causes a stirring inside of him. Perhaps it is your enthusiasm and wonders for his culture or your refreshing dose of humanity towards his people that compels his desire to be close to you.

As you follow the artwork from panel to panel across the walls, you arrive at a scene that suddenly makes you freeze. Your wrist snaps your finger back as if repelled by the paint itself. In front of you is a large image of Namor dawning a serpent headpiece as he hovers above the water. You are immediately back in your nightmare, your mind flashing to Namor’s outstretched hand then the darkness that closes in around you as you start to drown. You can almost feel the fire in your lungs as they grow desperate for air.

“What troubles you?” Namor asks with genuine traces of concern in his voice. Your sudden silence has not gone unnoticed. He moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with you now, looking up to analyze the same part of the mural.

"Nothing," you lie, shaking your head while your hand drops to your side. You withdraw from the painting, taking a few steps back from it and Namor.

“Your people," you say to change the subject, pointing your thumb to the rest of the artwork in the room, "they honor you. It's admirable, what you've done for them. To keep them safe all this time."

“But?” He senses there is more on your mind.

You stare at him, then turn your focus back to the tapestries surrounding you. Scanning them from wall to wall, you notice a pattern in the stories shown.

“It’s just,” you begin with uncertainty in your voice “for someone who has spent his whole life bringing peace to his people, I wonder how much of it you have experienced for yourself?”

Namor is quiet for a moment.

"And why do you wonder this?" He finally replies, turning to face you fully.

“I guess I look at these and I’m curious… how? How can you do that without completely breaking under the weight of it all? Even with—” you begin gesturing to his body and suddenly become desperate to come up with the right words in time, “superhuman strength.” Thank god.

“Hmmm,” Namor exhales, thoughtfully nodding as his gaze drops to the floor. He folds his arms over his chest, the golden band around his exposed bicep reflecting the light that softly glows from a nearby lantern. Taking a few steps toward you, he lifts his eyes to yours.

“It is true,” he says, “the burden I carry for the sake of my people does not always permit me the personal luxury of peace. It… can be difficult.” His tone shifts from diplomatic to vulnerable. “And who is to say I have not broken under it? It is that brokenness that has made me the leader I am.”

Turning his head toward the mural, he looks at it carefully before speaking again. His chiseled jawline accentuates the exposed veins protruding from his neck.

"To your question,” he continues, “I believe how is never as important as why. Why would someone fight to bring others peace when they themselves cannot have it?” Namor takes another step closer and lifts his hand to your chin, delicately angling your face upward toward his own. "Because we sacrifice to protect what we love.”

His eyes search yours earnestly. After a moment, Namor quickly drops his hand from your chin and you watch as he moves towards his desk, shuffling a few scrolls around before looking back up at you again.  

“I love my people,” he says, planting his hand firmly on the desk, “and I have seen evil, what it is capable of. I watch as the rest of the world grows desperate in their greed and ambition, their desire for power. They are becoming more dangerous by the day."

"You mean — surface dwellers?" You ask.

Namor raises his brow at you knowingly.

"Yes,” he answers cooly.

"I'm a surface dweller. Am I...dangerous?"

Namor sighs with a small smile.

“Yes. Though not in the way you may think.”

He moves from out behind his desk and back over in your direction.

“Now I have a question for you,” he says in a low voice, approaching you with a dark look looming over his face. “Please consider your answer carefully.”

The silence is intense. Your heart feels like it is going to jump out of your throat as you anticipate what damning question the king of Talokan has in store for you.

Namor’s expression changes on a dime, and he suddenly asks in a lighthearted tone,

“Are you up for a swim?”

—

You follow Namor out of his quarters and into the large open cavern. As you pass by several beautiful pools of water, you are enchanted by how the light dances across the rich tones of Namor's skin. The same light casts dazzling hues of aquamarine and cerulean across the surface of the pools, reflected onto the rocks surrounding them.

Namor approaches one of the bigger pools and removes the cape from his shoulder, exposing his bare chest underneath. Here is the Namor you recognize - prominent necklace, bare chest,  emerald green shorts. Before dropping his cape to the ground, however, he pulls out a Talokan mask from the fabric like the ones Namora and the other warriors wear.

“Take a deep breath,” Namor says as he turns to you. He pushes your hair back from your cheek delicately as he applies the apparatus to your face. Doing as you are told, you inhale deeply as the mask fastens over your nose and mouth.

“Stay close,” he instructs. You nod, and Namor steps to the edge of the closest pool. He looks back at you with a hint of a smile on his face. Then, with all the strength and grace of a god, he dives perfectly into the water and disappears under the surface.

You step closer to the pool. The faint rhythm of droplets falling from the ceiling rings throughout the cavern. You glance behind you toward the entrance, but there isn't a soul in sight. Namora’s words echo through your mind.

When it comes to you, he is blind.

You dive in, following Namor.

Once in the water, you quickly orient yourself. Looking around, you see the outline of Namor, his silhouette waiting for you in the distance. As you swim closer, he gestures for you to follow him. You kick your feet to propel yourself further downward, ears popping as you equalize to the increasing pressure.

You swim until you are clear of the caves. Though your muscles ache, there is something serene about being beneath the water; the quiet, the weightlessness, everything drifting harmoniously in rhythm with the current. For the first time since you can remember, your mind feels still. Free from the chaos. Somehow, the vast open sea does not frighten you with its deep blue void as it did in your dream. Not even a little. Instead, you feel a calmness in your soul as you lose track of time entirely, trailing Namor as you move through the ocean’s depths.

Quite literally in his element, you watch in awe as Namor swims so effortlessly. To him, it must be as easy as breathing. He looks more relaxed than you have seen him. Perhaps even enjoying himself?

You continue to swim, the water getting lighter as the visibility becomes clearer. A school of fish rushes past, their scales glimmering with each flick of a fin or contour of their bodies. Countless numbers weave around you in sync as if part of the same carefully choreographed ballet. You can’t help but smile as you watch them move so freely, and Namor can't help but smile as he watches you.

Suddenly the fish rapidly disperse and within seconds a huge mass flashes past you with incredible speed and agility. Your eyes widen and adrenaline rushes through you as you witness a killer whale chase the school, its size completely dwarfing your mere human frame. Involuntarily, you begin hyperventilating as you watch the giant creature swim off into the distance. When you feel a touch against your arm, you turn to find Namor next to you. His hand rises and falls in front of his torso, gesturing for you to take deep breaths. In, out. In, out.

The two of you remain suspended in the endless ocean blue as you your breath slows and your muscles recover. Namor looks upward, and as you savor the moment of rest you follow his gaze. You can tell by the light above that you are getting close to the surface, which must mean you are nearing your destination. When he nods, you know it is time to move. Slowly the two of you start your ascent and the ocean becomes warmer as you gradually near the top.

When you arise from the water, the sound of the rushing wind, the rolling waves, and birds flying overhead rush into your ears. Less than a hundred meters from you stretches a beautiful coastline covered in soft white sand and lined by rich green foliage.

You make your way towards it. Soon you are walking knee-deep in the waves, the tide splashing against the back of your legs as you near the shore. Removing the mask from your face, the sweet breeze of the island races by, rustling your wet hair and filling your nostrils with the earthy aroma of some nearby palm trees.

Namor has already reached the sand. He stands tall, water still running down his body. Staring out at the horizon, he runs his hand over his face and pushes his hair back, inadvertently flexing his bicep as he does so. The sun slowly begins its descent toward the Earth, its warm rays casting brilliant tones of red and orange across Namor’s exposed skin. It contrasts the deep blues and greens that illuminated him in the caverns, and at this point, you are confident he looks devastatingly beautiful in any light.

As you reach the shore, you take your place next to him and stare out at the skyline.

“Hard to beat a view like that,” you say breathlessly.

“My mother would always describe to me the beauty of the setting sun,” Namor responds. “I have no love for the surface world, but from time to time I visit this island. See what she saw.”

“Is this—?” You begin to ask.

“Where she is buried.” Namor answers before you finish your question. His eyes drop as he reflects, “I am not sure what I expected to see the day I came to lay her body to rest. I suppose the beauty of an island she spoke of so fondly. Instead, I found my brothers and sisters enslaved by men who took life without a second thought.” His jaw clenches as he recalls the bitter memory. “But I saw to it the favor was returned.”

His meaning is clear. You are not sure which makes you more nervous — the calm and cool way he says it, or the menacing smile that accompanies his statement. Either way, his smile disappears as quickly as it comes. You have seen Namor’s ferocity firsthand and know what he is capable of, especially when it comes to protecting his people. A nervous feeling grows in the pit of your stomach as you begin questioning his purpose in bringing you here.

You consider the facts:

You are a surface dweller.

He did call you dangerous.

Oh shit.

Anxiously you glance at him, then redirect your gaze back to the horizon to maintain your composure. The soft waves break along the shore, racing up to your ankles. As the sand beneath your feet gets pulled out by the tide, you wish with all your might you could be pulled away with it. Instead, you sink deeper into the ground, more immovable than before.

“Are you going to kill me?” The words come out blunter than you intend, but you stand by them despite the quiver in your voice.

The question pulls Namor out of his thoughts as he turns to you, eyebrows raised. He studies your face carefully before answering.

“I probably should," he says. There is no malice in his words, only honesty. “The knowledge you have of me and my people... it puts me in a difficult position.” His eyes are solemn. "But I have lived a long time, and in that time I have witnessed many in their final moments before death when one truly reveals themself. That night on the beach, in what you believed were your final moments, you kept your word to me and my people. You said nothing to those men, even with your life on the line. There is no truer test of loyalty.”

Without a word, he reaches his hand out for the mask you still carry. You cautiously hand it over.

"There is a village eastward,” Namor continues, “you will find everything you need there, and the means to leave this place."

You feel his palm slip under your fingers to receive the mask. He takes a deep breath, then purses his lips in the direction behind you.

“Or, just up the way beyond those trees is a house. It is not much, but comfortable. It is yours to use... if you wish. You would be safe here.”

The offer catches you off guard.

“I… I don't understand." You mutter in slight confusion.

With a deep inhale, Namor squints back at the setting sun to collect his thoughts. Then, taking another step closer, he eliminates virtually any remaining space between you. His eyes are deep and mesmerizing as ever. Your heart races from his sudden proximity and you find yourself holding your breath as you wait for him to speak again. He peers down at you, so impossibly close that you can sense the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

"You are no enemy of mine," he says with authority, "and no prisoner of Talokan. You have my trust. And because of that trust, I will not order you to stay." Namor then drops the mask into the sand like it is worthless and gently slides his hands underneath your jawline, cradling your face in both of his palms. “But I am asking you to.”

You are speechless. The way he is holding your gaze, the tenderness of his thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek, the fluttering of his lashes as his eyes flick down to your mouth.

"Stay," Namor says fervently in one final clarifying word. It is not a command, but an invitation. Perhaps even a plea. But most importantly, it is a choice. Your choice.

His eyes quickly dart back up to yours as he awaits an answer, but even Namor is not strong enough to keep his attention from dropping back down to your lips. He is clearly focused on more than just the words he hopes to hear come out of them.

In an overwhelming wave of boldness, you allow instinct to take over. No lives at stake, no siren’s song  — it is only the burning desire within your very soul for him that compels you. You close your eyes and melt into Namor’s touch, pressing your lips to his.

The moment you do so, it is as if a surge of energy courses through your veins, electrifying your entire body. Namor immediately welcomes your advance, molding his lips to your own. The smooth piece of jade that pierces his septum presses cooly above your lip, contrasting the heat of his skin to ignite your senses. As he slides a hand around to the back of your neck, his fingers curl into your hair to bring you in even closer.

A small moan escapes you as the tip of his tongue traces along your bottom lip. You can feel his smile against your mouth, then a tug at the same lip with his teeth. Another invitation, to which you gladly accept. You part your mouth open to let Namor inside. Both of your tongues dance together as your kisses become deeper and more indulgent.

Consumed by his taste and his touch, you slide your hands up his bare chest, desperate for more of him. Without missing a beat, Namor responds by running his arms down your body and hoisting you up off the sand with ease. You wrap your legs around him tightly and take full advantage of this new, higher angle. Moving your mouth in tandem with his, you savor the richness of his lips and entangling your fingers in his dark locks of hair. 

The two of you ebb and flow just like the rolling ocean waves, losing yourselves in each other. It’s not until you feel a faint burning in your lungs that you face the harsh reality of having to break away for air. Everything inside you fights it. If Namor were the sea, you would gladly let yourself drown in this moment.

But Namor, also sensing your need for oxygen, begins to slow down. He lowers you gently to the ground, though he is careful not to let you slip too far away from him. The two of you breathe heavily as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Namor gives you another passionate kiss, this one slow and deep. His lips then move to the corner of your mouth and trail up to your ear, the heat of his breath spreading like wildfire across your skin. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Holding you close, Namor leans his forehead against your temple and presses his lips against your ear.

“Please," he whispers. "Stay with me.”

--------

Tag List! (I think I got everyone who requested to be included!) @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses @jamesbarnesbestgirl @nellycanwrite @namorlover @queenofthekill @uhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm @cosmic-lavender @fckwritersblock @doimakeyounervous-blog @viktoryn @bontensbabygirl @lokidbadguy @sammi-doll483 @violet-19999 @artaxerxesthegreat @zeeader @star-dusst @hawkins-2000 @madsothree @takeheartyall @slytherheign @agustdboyoongie @nightingal3-tales @psamathegoesrawr @myotakureprieve @spideyworldsposts @ginger-swag-rapunzel  @jurneesjourney @kpopgirlbtssvt @commondazy @vicky-8426 @05-redacted @boredoutofmydamnmind @h34rtsformilli @adoiescents @ari-fay @daddyslittlevillain @namorswhore @loversjoy

[sourpatchys]

Tea Prompts, Tomura Shigaraki

You can find the original prompt post here!

Let me know if there are any other characters you’d like to see any of these prompts for! This was really fun!

Warning: some adult themes are thrown in here! This isn’t a NSFW piece but I did include some references to sexual activity, please read with caution if that’s not your cup of tea <3 (most of these are completely SFW)

A/n: these were written with a F!Reader in mind, most of them can be read either way! Though occasionally she/her pronouns are used<3

Masterlist Guidelines

Lemon Tea; What are Mornings like with them?

Tomura isn’t much of a sleeper— so mornings together tend to be rare and far between— but when he actually manages to sleep a full eight hours, the mornings you have together are very peaceful.

He isn’t a morning person by any means. He’s groggy, grumpy and completely nonverbal for the first hour or more. With you he can loosen up a bit, sliding his cold hands and feet into your general space, switching fingers every few minutes just to make sure they’re all warming up properly.

Some mornings he’ll wrap you in a bear hug that your absolutely positive could crack a few ribs— though you love it all the same.

This is the time you two have just to yourselves— no league, no missions, no plans for world domination— just two people laying in bed waiting for the sun to fully rise.

—

Peppermint tea; What do they get excited about?

A pretty obvious answer would be video games, but in all honesty, Tomura loves to talk.

To speak and be heard, to engage in conversation and bounce ideas back and forth— that’s what really gets him going. He loves to plot, to scheme and gossip about anything and everything.

Outwardly it’ll be nearly impossible to tell, he really isn’t the kind of guy who would let anyone know something this personal (so vulnerable), though everyone notices the spark in his eyes when he really gets going on a topic he’s passionate about.

If you were to ask follow up questions, to engage yourself fully in his monologues and spiels, it’s just like giving a kid a candy bar.

And if you were to get angry for him?? To enrage yourself over anything he may say, to become furious at the same situation or person he hates so much— it’s almost enough to fully break his cover.

It’s one thing for him to be elated over the prospect of another person feeling his rage, but it’s another entirely if he starts to feel yours. Stupid highschool bully stories, that one girl in band class that broke your flute— it doesn’t matter— he’ll start eating it up as if he hasn’t had a meal in years.

—

Chamomile tea; What is their sleep schedule like? Does it change around their s/o?

To put it bluntly, Tomura doesn’t have a sleep schedule— he sleeps when his body gives out.

Even before his memories had re-emerged, blotchy nightmares plagued him. Every morning he’d wake up sick to his stomach, the itch under his skin growing by the millisecond. So— he learned to adapt.

2-3 hour power naps kept the nightmares at bay and gave him enough stamina for whatever was to come. His lack of sleep was a large driving force in his erratic behavior early on, grumpy and irritable.

With you though, he finds the nightmares to be less oppressive. He still doesn’t sleep enough, but he finds that taking a couple days out of the week to rest fully isn’t so bad.

If he has a nightmare, the cycle will break back to its bare bones and it’ll take awhile to resurface. As long as you’re patient and as long as he’s willing, he’ll be back to sleeping properly.

Though as a whole, it could take years before he’s ready to sleep regularly again.

—

Earl grey tea; How did they court their s/o?

He didn’t. He isn’t a romantic— he honestly hated you when he started to feel more than just average companionship towards you.

Not a single bushel of roses were bought, no dates were had— hell— you didn’t even know you were together until about a month in when he got pissed at you for getting injured!

“If you ever do that again we’re breaking up.”

Any confusion would only piss him off more— giving you the silent treatment for a few days before he’d finally cave in with some very dead and very wilted wild flowers in hand.

“What is this??”

“Shut the fuck up and take them.”

He honestly just decides that you’re the one he wants— it doesn’t really matter to him how you feel about it.

—

Milk tea; What are their kisses like?

At first, Tomura’s kisses are gentle, childlike and timid— like he isn’t sure what exactly he’s supposed to be doing.

Then— they become untamed— sloppy and harsh. He bites and slobbers, prods and maims, anything to get as close to you as possible.

He won’t kiss you unless you’re completely alone, far away from any prying eyes and peaked interests. He’s not going to show that part of himself to anyone but you.

Teeth and tongue, cracked lips that— if chapped enough— can cut into your own. Kissing is a frenzy, very rarely will you ever get a soft peck or a loving press of his lips onto yours.

—

Coffee; Do they get jealous easily? How do they show it?

Absolutely. Tomura— even as a rising symbol of fear— is extremely self conscious.

He’d never let you leave— as stated above— he didn’t even really give you a choice when it came to being together in the first place.

But even so, the insecurity of you looking away from him, finding someone better or more handsome— it makes his blood run cold.

If there’s someone who touches you and lingers a little too long, if there’s someone you smile at a little too brightly, he’s not above taking their life. Of course it always starts with a threat, either to them or to you.

He wants you to tell him you’ll never leave, he wants you to crumble and cry and tell him everything is exactly as it should be. He is not a kind man, and in times like these it becomes ever apparent that he never will be.

Tomura protects what’s his, and even with free will, you belong to him whether you like it or not.

—

Rosehip tea; How romantic are they? How do they show affection?

Tomura isn’t romantic. At least not in the traditional sense. You can tell he cares by the look in his eyes or his apprehensive nature towards your roll in whatever the league may be doing next.

He keeps you away from danger, even though he, himself, is the biggest danger to you.

If you were to ask for something— anything— he would get it for you. He’s very straight forward, and he wants the people he cares about to able to do, and have whatever they want.

His love language is physical touch, and even though he keeps all the affection he has for you behind closed doors— as soon as those doors are closed, he’s all over you.

Running his hands up and down your stomach, gripping at the squish on your thighs, shoving his head into the crook of your neck, palming your breasts just to remember the feel of them.

He treats you like a fragile porcelain doll.

—

Black tea; What do they look for in a person?

Honestly he wasn’t looking. The concept of romance was completely uninteresting to him— he didn’t want anyone and he didn’t need anyone— he was completely fine on his own.

Though, he wouldn’t date a fellow villain— at least not one notable enough to be a threat. Tomura doesn’t do well with competition, he loathes the thought of racing to the top, he just wants to be there.

Finding a person who he can corrupt, who he can make his own— is something he’d enjoy greatly. That’s not to say he couldn’t fall for a league member, but it wouldn’t be someone worth his time— at least not in the beginning.

He wants a person he can talk to, touch, and unload upon. Someone who will remain consistent and stick by his side no matter what the cost may be.

Although romance isn’t his forte, and finding someone to love wasn’t something he had ever envisioned, he wants someone he can be with for life.

—

Pomegranate tea; At what point did they know they loved their s/o?

Truth be told Tomura was wrapped around your finger from the moment he decided he wanted you— though it didn’t fully kick in until a few months into your relationship.

You were in a fight— it was over something stupid that any other couple could’ve resolved within the day— looking back neither of you could even remember what it was about.

He was pissed, stomping around, seething and destroying anything he could get his hands on. He wanted to yell at you, to scream in your face and make sure you know this was your fault. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Gradually, as the days passed and he became less and less bothered by whatever the two of you had disagreed on— he realized he wasn’t itchy.

He still had those rising tingles under his skin and he still had to rub away his discomfort from day to day life— but this argument, the infuriating way you had made him feel— it did nothing to his sensitive skin.

Slowly it became apparent that he hadn’t needed to dig into his skin at all. He was angry, he was upset and borderline furious with you— but he was comfortable.

For the first time in his life he was able to feel negativity without the pull of fire ants under his skin. That’s when he realized for sure— that he was absolutely, without a doubt, in love with you.

—

Matcha tea; How and when do they propose to their s/o?

The villain life has no room for any sort of eloping or marriage— so he doesn’t ever really propose.

Sooner or later you just start to feel like a married couple.

You bicker and fight, you sleep together and sneak away to have alone time. The love he has for you starts seeping out more, he becomes a new version of himself just for you.

Then, once the Paranormal Liberation Front is active, Re-Destro asks about your partnership. It’s a simple question, curious and wide eyed.

“Who is this girl to you?”

It makes sense given the environment— you were not nominated as a lieutenant, though you stood by Tomura’s side like a shadow, waiting and watching— clearly in the ranks but with no flashy title to show for it.

And then, as if it were as simple as breathing, Tomura calls you his wife. Telling anyone who was around that he was the King, and by default you were the Queen.

—

Chai Tea; How do they spice up their relationship?

All in all, Tomura is a pretty boring guy. He drinks straight black coffee, plays video games and broods in silence 90% of the time.

Though, when it comes to you, he does try to make an effort. He’ll try out the games you like or your hobbies, and he’ll introduce you to his own in return.

He’ll teach you how to play chess, and that will inevitably turn into tradition. Once a week (if time will allow) you’ll sit down together, play a few games and just talk.

In the underworld, romance never will be easy to manage, and even though you make his days a little brighter, you’ll never be his top priority. World destruction won’t happen on its own, and nothing in his life will override his goals.

But these special little moments between the two of you are by far the best part of anything he’s ever going to accomplish.

—

Hibiscus tea; What’s their favorite place to take their s/o?

The bedroom. As stated, Tomura isn’t a very outgoing person— he won’t take you out on dates or walks in the park.

But he will sit with you in a dark room, watch movies and eat junk. (Bonus points if there’s a blow job thrown in)

His favorite place to be with you, is when you’re alone and secluded. He wants to touch you freely, to run his lips down your throat and hold you close to his chest.

He wants to grab you, to hold and be held. To feel the warmth of your body completely engulfing his own.

Truly, his favorite place to be, is wherever you’ll allow.

—

Green tea; How do they comfort their s/o?

He really doesn’t. Tomura has absolutely no idea how to deal with you when you’re upset.

If you’re angry he’ll get angry with you! He’ll wind you up and let you take it all out on whatever you so please. (as long as it isn’t him)

Expect absolutely nothing in regard to his comforting abilities. He might take you to the side and ask you what’s wrong, he may even give you an awkward hug! But that’s really all he’ll be able to do.

If you ask for space he’ll give it to you, if you ask for cuddles he’ll do his best! But overall, you’re the one who has to call the shots, and depending on what’s going on, he may just leave you to deal with it yourself. Because as stated above— regardless of how wonderful you are— you are not his top priority.

—

Russian caravan tea; How experienced are they with relationships?

NOT AT ALL. You are his first (and final) attempt at love. You’re going to get all of his fuck ups, all of his learning curves and all of his shitty disposition.

He has no idea what he’s doing, and even years down the line he still won’t fully understand. Caring for another person isn’t the most insane thing in the world— he cares for the league and it works out fine!

But loving someone?? It’s just too overwhelming at times. Taking your needs into consideration without being asked, figuring out what you enjoy and how he can add that into his already insane schedule— it’s maddening.

You’re his first everything, and you’re just going to have to be okay with that— because you’re stuck with him whether you like it or not!

—

English breakfast tea; Would they want a family?

Tomura wasn’t even looking for love when he found it— let alone a family.

I really doubt he ever thinks about it at all, he’s never been someone who cared much about what the future would bring.

That isn’t to say if you wanted a family he wouldn’t cave. He wants the people he cares about to have and do whatever they want— if for you that means starting a family with him— he’s not opposed to it.

It wouldn’t be cut and dry though, and if you never pipe up with the interest he isn’t going to either.

If you do bring it up, he’d ask a lot of follow up questions. Such as,

“Why?”

Or

“What’s the point?”

He really wouldn’t know what to do if that situation occurred, but he wouldn’t say no— he may just need to think on it for a while.

If you were to become pregnant, be it a broken condom or failed birth control— he wouldn’t ask you to terminate. You belong to him— yes— but part of being in his grasp is being able to live your life any way you want. Aside from hero work or leaving him there aren’t many restrictions.

If push comes to shove he’d enjoy having a little family of his own! Seeing himself mixed with you in a smaller, separate, body— creating something after destroying so much. It would be one of the steepest learning curves he’s ever experienced, and he wouldn’t be the most present father in the early days of vomit and diapers— but he’d be there all the same.

—

Rooibos tea; What’s their favorite thing to do with their s/o?

Cuddling. He loves to touch and be touched. He doesn’t care if you play games with him, he doesn’t care if you kill and destroy— all he cares about is the fact that you’re there with him.

He loves when you run your fingers through his tangled hair, slowly separating any knots you find. He loves the feel of his hands rubbing against your soft skin. He craves your presence and he craved the feel of you.

It’s not always sexual— but those times when he can claim you, to mark you inside and out, he truly feels like he’s the most powerful man in the world.

He’s terrified of feeling vulnerable, so he pushes you away any chance he gets, refusing to do anything with you if there’s even a chance of someone else seeing. (And sometimes that person is you)

[exotic-afterhours]

Stalkers tango

Warnings: stalking, dark romance, stalker x stalker, referenced hatred,(more will be a added if I missed any)

Stalker!Chan x Stalker!reader

I have been watching him for years, and even when I felt like I was being watched it never stopped me. I wanted him no..not want. I need him. I need to feel his hands, hair, mouth, anything. When I first saw him there was no doubt that I wanted him. Just thinking about him makes me blush and giggle. I looked over at him and his friends laughing at something one of them had said. He looks heavenly no matter what. 

I know she's watching me, but does she know I've been watching longer? Just knowing that she watches me makes me feel fuzzy knowing that she does this all for me makes me feel good knowing I have her. “I'm staying up all night again,” I said to my friends sighing. I feel her eyes move off me, so I look over at her..she's talking to another person now a “friend” of hers I don't like this friend she is bitchy. I feel a hand on my arm “Chan you need to get some sleep this isn't good for you” Lee know said to me. I look back at him and the rest of my friends. 

I felt his eyes on me when I started talking to a friend of mine. She is just talking about her newest boyfriend. “Wait what one is this?” I ask her, obviously annoyed. She looked at me mad. “How could you say that?” She said in a whiney voice. I rolled my eyes at her not trying to engage with this conversation anymore. I stand up walking away but taking away where I'll pass him just so I can see him. He is always with his friends. I'd say I'm good friends with one of his friends, “Hi Hyunjin!” I said when walking past the group. “Hi —” He said with a smile and a small wave as I walked past him but as I was leaving I noticed a sour look on Chan's face. 

How could she greet him but not me? Are they together and have I gotten it all wrong and she's been watching him instead? A feeling of rage was brewing in my stomach, “how do you know her Hyunjin?” I ask him. “Oh we take an art class together, she's super talented,” He said with a smile pulling out his phone. I hummed in response, “I think I'm gonna head out” I said while getting up and grabbing my bag. We all said our goodbyes to one another. I walk down the hall. I see her leaving the building and I follow her. If only she knew.

If only he knew, was my only thought when I was leaving the building. I could never talk to him though he was in a different group than me. I only knew Hyunjin because we were in art class together. He wasn't my type. I think of him as an edvantage to go to Chan but I'd call him a friend. I guess we have gotten close recently.  I feel someone's eyes on me but when I turn back too look no one is there. I walk a bit farther then I hear someone say “oh shit” and then a thud. I turn my head “Chan?” is all i can say as i see that Chan is now on the ground. “H-Hey — right?” He asked me getting up and brushing himself off “um Yea that's me?” I said in a confused tone “You left this pen and i thought i would give it back but um i fell” He said handing me a pen that's not mine and rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh thank you” I said, smiling at him. 

She took the pen and I watched her leave, I felt blush creep up my neck and cheeks. The things i'd do to be with her in person than threw a pen with a camera on it...

yes this is a clif hanger I'm not sure ill write a full thing to it but for now its just this!!

(Banner credits to: @cafekitsune)

[ghooostbaby]

on ghosts & desire, and why i think the reason he xuan became a ghost was not to have revenge on shi wudu...

hearing he xuan's actual backstory again surprised me, after i'd gotten used to how he's generally characterized in fandom. The way the misfortunes of his life transpire isn’t really this story of this person with mounting misfortunes that eventually broke him down into despair and resentment so intense he clung on after to death in pursuit of a revenge that would finally vindicate himself and his family…

what actually happens is he grew up very loved, and was respected for his great promise as a scholar, but those dreams are ruined by corrupt/jealous officials, and then ... he seems to just move on. and gets engaged to his childhood sweetheart. Then she and his sister are kidnapped and forced to be bed attendants, and when he tries to fight the kidnappers is framed for adultery and taken to jail. While in jail he is starved and given a permanent eating disorder that is still with him till his ghost king days (according to hua cheng), during this time his sister and fiancé die, as his mother does too, and by the time he gets out of jail his father was almost dead, and then - he … starts a successful business?! A business so successful his competitors conspire to sabotage him?? And THEN he goes on a killing spree to the delight and unwavering support of the entire town, and dies not of despair at all, but exhaustion. more than anything in life he seems to exude confidence and resolve to succeed, and live. He didn’t even seem to want to die by his final actions, more like he was trying to get this frustrating impediment out of his way so he could carry on in life to do the things he wants to do.

also i believe hua cheng tells xie lian that when he xuan dies, he didn’t know all the misfortunes of his life had been caused by shi wudu, or who shi wudu was. So he xuan couldn’t have become a ghost out of resentment of shi wudu or a desire for revenge against him. If intense feelings and longings at the time of someone's death attach their soul to the world and make them take the form of a ghost … for he xuan I think that feelings he is immersed in at the moment of death is an intense desire to kill, vent his rage, and make himself free…

Also it is very interesting that he xuan’s method of cultivation is eating and (maybe??) sleeping, acts that sustain life. It makes me think that the fundemental thing he xuan can't let go of that makes him a ghost is just life itself and the desire to live. In comparison, hua cheng’s "resentment" is his love and devotion to xie lian, and he seems to cultivate by acts of devotion and love to xie lian (all the statues in the cave on mount tong'lu during the time he most needed to raise his power to survive the kiln?).

The common fanon I see of he xuan is someone very very tired, who barely wants to be existing, as if he is just hanging on to get his revenge for the family he mourns, he finds no joy in anything, he is always externally miserable eating food and with the person he is commonly shipped with. (really i just think bb hates heavenly officials.) but his life story shows someone who is full of desire, who never stops trying to keep living, changing course each time his progress in one direction is denied, and always finds respect, love, prosperity in each area he pursues, and is only stopped by others purposefully sabotaging him.

He xuan is unlike the other victims of the Reverend of Empty Words, who would always be defeated “by the fear of loss in their own hearts” and die by suicide after breakdowns. although he xuan did die, he is described as becoming a steel plate in the Reverend's mouth that it broke its teeth on. The reverend never really got to feed on he xuan's negative emotions, which us the whole point of the curses. He never became overwhelmed by fear of loss, and he didn't want to die.

It’s especially interesting the different ways xie lian and he xuan deal with having a jinx monster attach to them. Xie lian wins against it by being impossible to feed on without really having any hopes for himself, and all the misfortunes the jinx monster comes up with are more like aspirations for xie lian compared to the expectations xie lian has for himself. In contrast, it’s like he xuan has such an abundance of hope and optimism he never stops trying to find a way to move past his suffering or fight back.

I've been thinking how much xie lian is told to suppress his desires and not do what he wants to do, from mu qing nagging him, to his guoshi cautioning against fighting the laws of fate ... and when he resists he is punished harshly. Until he meets hua cheng, who tells him to "just keep doing what you want to do." Part of their task as gods seems to be to suppress their desires, abide by customs and restrictions in order to not risk their position or even their lives. Mu Qing was often frustrated at Xie Lian ignoring all the social codes they have to follow and doing what he wants to do. If Mu Qing had done the same he wouldn’t have survived – and he ends up being proved right when Xie Lian almost doesn’t survive. Everything that Xie Lian feels genuinely called to do seems to end up condemning him and when Xie Lian resurfaces 800 years later he second guesses everything he wants to do, agonizes in his internal thoughts about all the things he says and does, and he seems to simultaneously be unable to stop himself from holding these unacceptable desires, but also completely at odds with his desires. I think that ghosts on the other hand are entirely about desire, and the ghost kings' superpower is desire. Once xie lian has hua cheng, its like hua cheng's power for desire is a shield that allows xie lian to do what he wants.

In this world resources are limited and you cannot create something out of nothing. When desires come into conflict with the laws of the universe, no matter what the characters try they can’t transgress it, but ghosts can. The rain that Xie Lian struggled so hard to conjure and sacrificed so much to maintain the balance for, Hua Cheng can make come down out of the sky as blood. He xuan feeds his hunger by devouring ghosts, while so often in the novel people cannot find food that isn't poisonous to nourish them. (And the meal at the end FINALLY where the beggars get their soup is COOKED BY GHOSTS OK!!!!!!!)

[silviakundera]

Me : Hasn't watched a single drama from 2024 because I was too busy

Me: Goes to mydramalist to find something romantic to watch and starts reading comments on all the stuff that seems interesting sees that for almost every one of these fall into one of two camps the first one which houses the majority of shows the comments are exclusively about the guy and how much of a simp or green flag he is (their words not mine) the second category is people are criticizing the show for portraying an uneven dynamic where the fl treats the ml like shit

Me: backs away slowly and goes back to my binge watch of star trek deep space nine

Idk what it is if it's the writing or the different type of fans or a combination of both all I know I'm very confused 🤔 have we fallen into a different timeline ? Parallel universe? Have screens cooked our brains completely?

my friend, your first mistake was raw dogging the comments section on MDL 🙈😂😭 gotta proceed with caution these days 🚧🚧🚧🚧

but I got you. If you want to dip your toes back into 2024 cdramas romances,

* Legend of Shen Li is almost universally liked. I don't know that I encountered a real hater. Don't turn that into sky high expectations that can't be met, though. It's simply a solid xanxia romance with a very strong landing - 1 full length episode dedicated to the happy ending, instead of the xanxia standard 1 minute. The most high god in the universe x demon general who is engaged to heaven's notorious playboy that's terrified of her. and who is temporarily a chicken. (just go with it) The main couple have chemistry & are very capable actors. Rarely do I make it thru a xanxia without ever being consumed with rage at some awful thing the plot has one of the main couple perpetrate on the other... but this one passed! The main actress is convincing as an immortal warrior.

* Blossoms in Adversity is NOT universally liked, tbh it got almost no traction on tumblr. But despite all its flaws I found myself watching it eagerly. I am a sucker for historical costume dramas with feminist themes - if you enjoyed Dream of Splendor, this one might appeal. After all the men in the family are exiled and they are stripped of their noble status, the main wives, concubines, children, and servants of a large official's household have to figure out a way to survive on their own. Without the guidance (and yoke) of men. The strength of the drama is that it isn't easy - these women are not all kind & smart & selfless. They're complicated people and a product of their environment. But watching them slowly come together was so satisfying, and how all the women begin to explore an identity beyond the strict roles they held in that manor. It's so direct about how much power men had over their wives in that era and what that means for these women. The main otp will appeal if you like ships of 2 mature adults who have their own goals and respect each other as equals, who are supportive but don't step on each other's independence. The FL's practicality was so pleasing to me. It just dropped it's final episodes via Express.

* The Spirealm available legally now on Viki, if your tastes run to censored gay romance. And if you like mystery/ horror and like fiction that asks, what is reality (and does the definition of 'real' matter). Like in korean bl Love for Love's Sake, the protagonist enters a game world and ends up caring about that world. (unlike LFLS, a distinct lack of kissing with tongue)

* In Blossom - Chinese het web novel vibes just exploding onto the screen. Childhood sweathearts torn apart years ago, now he's a rich noble while she's poor but he still wants to marry her as promised. (She is less sure about this.... then she gets her body swapped by this crazy chick who really REALLY wants to marry the ML. who, ooops gets murdered on their wedding night.) So now FL is in crazy chick's body and the #1 suspect for her gruesome murder is ML, that childhood sweetheart who showed up out of the blue to propose. and happens to be the top candidate in running to marry the crown princess 🤔🤔🤔 . She thinks he (tried to) kill her. He thinks she's dead and hates the lady she's stuck impersonating. Spoiler: they fall in love.

* Amidst a Snowstorm of Love - Slice of life soft cdrama, if you like that kind of thing. Developing relationship for like 30 episodes about 2 professional snooker players. Relaxing vibes, sweet romance. They're both kind, talented, and capable. They're good for each other and really humanly awkward about starting a relationship. You don't watch this kinda drama for dramatic tension, you just chill with it and wind down after a hard day. It's baked-in that they'll get married at the end.

[norel-ravenclaw]

Ok so this doesn’t need to be 100% like the request but similar

Can you do a Princess in the Mirror fanfic where MC is tired of people telling her to “act more like a princess?” So she decides “fuck it” and starts to act as much as a princess as she possibly can and pretty much does what Faris does and fakes her entire personality in public. Then when people start commenting on how she isn’t acting herself she’s like “I’m just doing what everyone has been telling me to do 😊”

Heck, even the king is slightly unsettled by this change

You can make this go however you want

Please and thank you ♡

Just What You Wanted

Fandom: Princess In The Mirror (Otome)

Featured Characters: Most of the major characters but focused on the Princess

Genre: Semi-angsty psychology

Rating: occasional language and thematic elements

Description: The Princess is finally ready to admit that being in this new world isn’t a dream - and she’s ready to become the monarch everyone is pushing her to be… And more.

A/N: Ohhh anon, this is so deeply satisfying~ 😈👿 It’s how I had to frame my mc to be able to read through the story. Hopefully the tone conveys the overall feeling of, well, satisfaction. (Also fuck the king very much)

Warnings: | angst | political slavery | mentions of abuse culture |

I lay in bed, exhausted and sobbing at the end of another horrible day from the longest week of my life. The voices of so many people trying to make me do what they want go through my head.

‘Straighten up! You look like a gnarled, hunchbacked old woman.’

‘Come now, Princess, don’t I deserve a smile?’

‘You are expected to produce an heir as soon as possible to prevent the people from being more unsettled.’

‘Don’t look away from the duke like that! You refuse to engage with people now, but you’re going to have to.’

So many voices trying to make me accept that this isn’t a dream, a coma. That this is real.

So many faces in the palace and on the streets looking up to me with fear and hope.

So many people that I desperately disagree with.

…So many ways I can imagine changing things.

My daydreams have turned away from tv shows and hoping for someone at work to ask me out. My every thought has been consumed by politics and psycho-analyzation of strangers in a strange world.

A country that they are forcing me to take care of.

I sit up, all of my rage coalescing into a crystalline-sharp form.

And something snaps inside me.

Looking around this room, the moonlight gently illuminating the space, I take in every detail. Every fold of the fabric, every carved niche in the bedframe, the chill in the air.

I can’t run anymore. I know the truth. This is real.

And the people here are real. Their pain, their fears, their hopes and loves - they are real.

And they are not being properly protected by the people in this god forsaken building.

The emotions of fear and self-pity melt away all at once. I get up and go to the letter writing desk, lighting a candle and pulling out the neglected diary in its drawer.

I’m amazed by how quickly it fills - not with pouting, self centred emotions, but with ideas for action, borne of rage as much as hope.

~~~

When the knock at the door sounds, it is accompanied by a horrible scraping sound.

“Um, Princess? What’s going on?” Simeon calls out.

I rise and walk to the door, moving the chair away from under the handles.

“Ah, there is our lovely Princess’s face…” He trails off when he sees my expression. Behind him, Flora and Mary peek around to meet my eye.

“Things are going to change,” I announce firmly. “Starting today.”

Stepping aside to open the door wider, I begin with the new orders.

“No one is to open my chamber door without explicit, verbal permission. Mr. Simeon, I want to see other quarters that may have a more appropriate layout - namely a reception room before the actual bedroom. Captain Zell, come in as well.”

The four people file into my room, looking apprehensive.

“Captain Zell, security is far too lax. I require a full escort at all times. We will discuss the details later. Simeon, I need to know what my personal budget is, and who do I speak with about it. Flora and Mary, bring me whoever is making all of these clothes. Production stops immediately until I have made my own arrangements with them. I will not have so much work and money go into more dresses that make me feel like a haunted baby doll. I also require self defence lessons and a map of the castle.”

All of them stare at me with shock. It is Zell who finally speaks up.

“Princess… What has come over you?”

I put on a smile - one of the first that I actually mean. “I tried to ignore reality. But no more. Starting now, I make the rules.”

My expression softens into something more remorseful. “I have failed to even ask you about yourselves. I intend to correct the mistakes of my selfishness immediately. But in the meantime, you all have your orders. While I get dressed, please repeat them back to me so I know there have been no miscommunications.”

After a moment of stunned silence, they jump into action. While they list their instructions, a knock comes to the open door.

“You idiot. A note on my door isn’t enough to excuse…” Vincent finally registers all of the people in my room. “What’s going on here?”

I throw a smile his way as Mary hastily finishes my hairdo.

“Ah, master Vincent. We need to talk. Everyone else except Flora and Zell are excused.”

They exchange looks as the crowd thins, and I turn to my tutor. “Mr. Vincent. Starting now, I want every word of communication you make to me to be purposeful, specific, and useful. Together we will learn how to set aside emotion in favour of developing strategy and working to solve problems, rather than just complaining about them.” His eyes are wide as he stares at me. “Have I left any room for misunderstanding?”

“…No, Princess.”

This is actually kind of fun. “Good. Thank you. I spent some time prioritising what I need to learn. We will focus more on those topics for now. I am certain you will agree; there is no reason to delay learning the most critical information and skills. I must attend breakfast, so let us get going.”

“Oh, but first.” I turn to Flora and hold out my notebook. “Ms Flora, are you able to write?”

She nods, looking at me like I’ve been replaced by an alien. “Yes, Princess.”

I offer her a genuine smile. “Excellent! May I ask you to be my note taker? My mind has been going a mile a minute and I can not permit forgetting anything at all.”

“A-as you wish.”

“Thank you so much.”

As we parade out of my quarters, already something comes to mind. “Ah, Flora. Starting a list on page twenty six, add ‘labour laws’ and below it ‘military and essential service labour laws’.”

Beside our footsteps and the scratch of a pencil on paper, my entourage is absolutely silent.

Once out into a grander hall, I remember something. “Say, Mr Vincent, what is this kind of roof called? This rounding at what would be the corners of the walls?”

“I… actually don’t know. I am less versed in architecture.”

“Ah. I remember seeing a t- I mean, a program where they said that shape helps with temperature regulation throughout a space. I’ve always enjoyed architecture, and would like to study it. Can you arrange such lessons in another month or two?”

I hear footsteps coming towards us, and as we found the corner, the four noble sons cross our path.

“A woman wanting to study architecture? Absurd,” Luca scoffs.

I offer him a smile filled with venom. “I disagree. Lord Savini, I will ask of you what I asked of another this morning - You waste your own mental and emotional energy as well as mine with your senseless complaining. Either propose a way to fix the problem and be useful, or be silent. This is an order.”

The men stare at me in the same utter shock as the group before.

He furrows his brow and practically snarls at me. “What do you think you’re doing? You are in no place to scold me when there is so much you can’t do, pajama broad.”

Falco tries to step between us, but I hold up a finger to stop him.

I remain calm, clasping my hands behind my back. “You are trying to deflect by showing aggressive physical behaviour meant to make me submit in fear. I condemn this learned instinct.” His eyes grow wide, and I can see the slightest tilt of his head in confusion.

“Now, there is at least as much that I am ignorant of as you are. I cannot claim omnipotence any more than you can. So, Luca Savini, let us learn and rise up together.”

I smile at him, and the tension in the air snaps when Simeon sighs.

“Look at our Princess! I wonder if it is her red undergarments that have given her such courage today.”

I turn on him, my smile falling. He swallows hard. I let the silence stretch for moment to make him and everyone else focus on this moment.

Just as he takes a breath to speak, I raise a hand to stop him.

“Mr Simeon. You need to understand that your joking enables and reinforces a culture of rampant abuse, violence, and murder.” The blood drains from his face. “You, intentionally or not, embolden people to accept objectification and you subjugate unwilling women to appease your selfish whims. You make it harder for women to say no because ‘it’s just a joke’.”

I take a deep breath. “From this moment onward, you are forbidden from contributing to a culture of fear and selfishness. Do you understand?”

The man looks like he’s about to be sick. He drops to his knees. “…I never thought about it that way. I cannot begin to apologise enough, Princess. Please forgive me.”

I meet his eye. “It is not for me to forgive. Flora? ‘Survivor’s bill of rights. Witness protection program. Safe houses. Prison reform.’”

With a sigh, I turn back to the stunned noblemen. “Let’s get to breakfast, shall we?”

When Farris asks, “What happened to you?” I reply simply this time.

“I woke up.”

We file into the dining hall, and I wait in the doorway until the room turns to look at me. Joseph is the first to catch on. He stands at his place, gesturing to the others to do the same. Slowly, all of the noblemen and the two women in the room slowly get to their feet.

Satisfied, I offer them a smile and incline my head before going to take my place at the king’s side.

“Good morning, uncle.”

He stares at me with surprise and suspicion. “What’s gotten into you this morning?”

I smile at him, hoping it doesn’t come across as menacing. “I know what I need to do to serve this country. No more wasting time.”

As soon as our plates have been brought in, I look down the table and address the Minister of Foodstuffs. I ask for his tutelage, followed by the Minister of Defence and Trade.

The king huffs a quiet sound of approval. “I’m glad to see you taking things seriously.”

This smile I don’t bother to edit much of the sheer loathing from. “You inspired me, uncle.”

His eyes widen at first. “Mm. Well, I’d like to discuss with you then how your search for a husband is going.”

“Oh? Good. There is much to discuss.”

After the room and table have cleared, the king holds me back.

“We will talk here.”

“Very well.” Clasping my hands behind my back again, I stand tall and summon an aura of authority. “Shall I relay to you my current assessment of the four noblemen in question?”

“Yes. Do.”

I smile and go through the list quickly.

“Lord Luca is a dangerously ignorant narcissist. I would not trust him to feed my cat, let alone with a country’s military.

“Lord Farris is unwell. His trauma, whatever it may be, has manifested classic symptoms of self preservation that make me uncertain whether he would ever be trustworthy.

“Lord Falco seems to be, and I say this with full acknowledgement of my own lacking, less intelligent than me. Which is a critical requirement for my co-ruler to possess.

“Lord Joseph is nice, but he lacks persuasion skills, command, and drive. Again, it is a matter of them having the skills that I do not.

“And so, I cannot in good conscience allow control of the country to belong to any of them.”

The king blinks a few times before scowling mightily. “They are all the options you have.”

I reply quickly. “Then we need a greater saturation of people who have the education and skills so that the people are not trapped being governed by someone unsuitable. Do you disagree that they deserve the best?”

He slams his hands on the table. “You don’t know what you are talking about! That is not the way things are!”

I shoot him the most professional death glare possible.

“That is not what I asked.”

This makes him pause, his breath catching visibly. His face is turning red. “You will do what is necessary to follow my orders.”

A smile naturally finds its way to my lips. “I will do what is necessary for the protection of the people’s lives and futures. Please understand, uncle. I am not some bitch on a chain for you to order and tug about - to breed as you please.”

I say the next part slowly.

“You trap me here, offering me a crown and a country. I accept. Know that it is a woman prepared to become a Queen that you are dealing with.”

He stares at me in utter shock, for once speechless.

I put on another smile. “Are you not pleased? You wanted me to accept this life of slavery you forced me into. So I accept a life of service - to the people of Kristein.

I’ve never felt so powerful as I lay down the law for this bastard.

“I accept the responsibility of holding corruption accountable. I accept the responsibility of securing a safe and reliable future - and that is not guaranteed through a system that relies on sexual and child slavery to function. I accept the responsibility to choose a trustworthy and competent co-ruler. Your options are insufficient. Another will have to be chosen. Such is my responsibility.”

He looks at me like I’m some sort of demon. And I chuckle, sighing contentedly.

“Isn’t this just what you wanted?”

[moonmoonthecrabking]

so okay you know how there's different mischas in all the us performances and how rtcblr mainly has access to 2016, 2018, and 2019?? well, here i have some notes i have that i think provide insight into how each actor has a different interpretation of mischa!!

2016: this is gus' mischa that we've mostly been collectively thirsting over. the most notable difference is that he's not using his ukrainian accent, but a us (possibly canadian??) one. i think this increases the divide between his true self and the person he pretends to be for the sake of the town. he feels like he needs to fit in and show of his middle-class wealth that he didn't have in ukraine. it also highlights how mischa's rage is in part created by the town, how he may have been far more passionate in ukraine, and is only filled with rage so much now that he must live amongst his mother's murderers. something else i saw for No Reason At All is that he doesn't do a body roll when his shirt is ripped open? he just stands there? and i think that this means halper's mischa feels like he has to have this sense of stability, rather than sexualisation. this tracks with fall fair, in which he says "sex... why did i wait?". granted, he has a desire for it, but it's something he hasn't canonically engaged in, and possibly doesn't want to be associated with it as a result. that being said, he still grabs his dick the most. back to the stability thing, he feels like he has to be a provider, he has to steal the communion wine for his cousin, he has to give noel vodka and comfort (notice how noel hugs him while they're sitting down and bonding individually), he has to look after everyone, like he couldn't look after his mother, or the choir on the rollercoaster. maybe that's why he jumps away from noel in disgust when they land in limbo - not because of fruity feelings, but because he doesn't like how noel has his arms around him, rather than the other way around. he is internally a wounded bird, so he overcompensates by making sure no one else feels that way. also: i don't know where this comes into analysis but since mischa is a baritone part, the actors don't necessarily have to be in chest voice for all of this song is awesome. standley and duffy are, but halper uses falsetto for the higher bits in tsia!!

2018: adam's mischa is far more of an awkward teenager, he slouches a lot in the rap section of his performance, and he tends to have shorter, more run-together rhythms. however, in the choruses, when he's directly engaging with constance and ricky, he is far more confident and looks up more. he also takes a photo with ricky in the "0101011" bit!! from this, i get that standley's mischa cares a lot about his relationships with others and finds more value in that than other versions of the character. he's showing the most of himself off in the bridge, making eye contact, his shirt buttons open, body-rolling, when he is surrounded by the rest of the choir. i'd also argue that he's the most "sexual" (i'm using airquotes bc literally none of them do anything otherwise this would be a very different show") in how he performs with constance. he also checks out the girls in the line (btw this doesn't "disprove" nischa for me, because i think a through-line of this song its performative nature and therefore performative heterosexuality"). in the second chorus, he puts his arm around her while she feels his chest, indicating that this version of the character has greater sexual desires than the others, or that he wants to be perceived as such more (i'd have to see/listen to a full show with standley performing as mischa).

2019: i think that chaz's mischa has the most actual confidence of these three versions? by this, i mean that his doesn't seem performative in the same way as gus' or adam's (although, again, i'd need to see the whole show for this). he seems a lot more self-assured, which fits with the "rupaul's drag race" line change, as that indicates that he is secure in his sexuality, whatever that may be. also, i just want to point out how noel is basically spanking ocean in the hard rock cafe bit. like this is how noel and ocean perceive heterosexuality. amazing, i love it. duffy's mischa also makes the most use of the stage - even in his independent rap parts, he moves around a lot and looks at the audience, kind of like a concert (she says, having never been to a rap concert). he seems far more confident of his life's awesomeness rather than the other mischas, who almost need to convince themselves. it's possible that this is a more developed mischa, who's ready to move on and is already grateful for what he got despite his tragic circumstances. all he misses is talia and his mother. and, the line "feeling homesick for my homies in the ukraine/landing in kyiv before we finish off the champagne" is rapped in a way that makes it feel as though he is much more certain that he will be able to give those things to them. maybe this mischa views "what's behind the curtain" as his friends and family before coming to uranium.

[lightyearssurrogatedaddy]

my unmasked autism looks like mad scribbling on a piece of paper and then holding it up with a big fat grin and showing my friend, “look what i did!”

my unmasked autism looks like mimicking annoying sounds because i enjoy making sharp. loud noises over and over again

my unmasked autism looks like being overly joyful at the mere sight of my friends and making sure they know i'm happy to see them by jumping up and down and giving them a mighty hug. complete with stimming. greeting them with a loud "I MISSED YOU!" even if i saw them yesterday, or hours earlier

my unmasked autism looks like whining when i feel upset. and childishly holding on to a friend. i can't explain why i'm upset. i just want to feel like someone would protect me

my unmasked autism looks like exaggerated facial expressions. irrelevant jokes. shouting out answers. letting my adhd talk about everything on my mind, because i'm in a good mood and i want to share that with everyone. i want to be engaged. i want to contribute

my unmasked autism looks like sharing every little detail about my life to people i like, because i want to tell them that i trust them with weird things about me

excitement. so much happy. giddy excitement at things that seem extremely mundane. but to me nothing's "mundane", everything is wonderful, the whole world is full of sweet treasures and moments that we could share together. its full of emotions. like grief and rage. or guilt and shame. and i love all of it with all my being

and i get "act like your age" "TMI" "you're special aren't you", people turn away from me when i try to show my appreciation for them, people are confused, maybe disturbed or annoyed. i can't tell what's too much

i will continue to try and cuddle with my close friends, because i want to feel warm and i want to be reassured that they aren't my imagination. and its difficult for me to know that not everyone enjoys intimacy like that, and i would never force them, but i wish, i do wish, everyone was close to their friends like how i want to be, so i wouldn't feel like i'm exploring something unknown whenever i rest my head on their shoulders, or sit close with them on the couch. i don't wanna mask around my friends

i often get rather confused with myself. wondering why i perceive love differently, wondering why i adore the people around me so feverishly, wondering why i care so much, wondering if i'm lying to myself. wondering why the love i feel for this friend is different than the love i feel for that friend, and wondering if my identity is wrong. but i sit down, i think about it, i let myself go, i unthink things that society thinks i should think, and i remember who i am

[sassmill]

Absolutely nobody asked for this, but since it’s nearly October and I listen to these year round: here are some Halloween-y spooky musicals that aren’t Sweeney Todd or Addams Family or Beetlejuice. Lots of murder inbound, folks. The spectrum ranges from “this piece of art is integral to my soul” to “this is campy and fun and I sing it in my car a lot.”

1) Get Jack

To sum it up with lyrics, “he’s still most wanted, but we’ve been forgotten.” The Canonical Five women murdered by Jack the Ripper tell their stories (and then rise as specters from Hell to bring him down). Some serious guitar shredding and rock vocals on tracks like “Left Handed Wives” and “Agony in Red,” and hard-hitting emotional lyrics and performances on tracks like “Blood in Whitechapel” and “Forever Erased.” Plus, a cheeky narrator who may or may not be the Devil. Strikes the perfect balance between earned rage and overdue grieving for these victims that have been largely pushed by the wayside in the history books because of their gender and occupation—like the women of Six, they’re flipping the narrative to reclaim their own identities and agency in the story. These five women were more than just names in a rhyme.

2) Angelmakers: Songs for Female Serial Killers

This song cycle tells you its concept first thing—everyone deserves one song. Even those that have been condemned. Especially them. An examination of “feminine rage and radical empathy,” it makes no excuses for each of these eight women—these serial killers—but it dissects their lives and asks the audience to ponder: how has this world broken you down? How much have you held in? How often have you said sorry? How much have you sacrificed for peace of mind, and how much would you give to make the world bear the full brunt of your pain? It’s more than a concert or a song cycle, it is an elegy—a ritual, an offering for women we know and women we have been. We begin by acknowledging the rage we carry, the effort it takes to temper it, in “Stick the Key In.” We bear witness to the pain that the world has wrought in these women, we recognize that their circumstances are similar to so many others in the seven wildly cathartic punk rock devotionals—and I do feel that that is exactly what they are, because each song is “for” one of these women. And we end the cycle with a psalm of sorts, for all of us: “Will to Live.” It is explicitly unapologetic in the grace it grants these women, and in engaging with their trauma we can allow ourselves as women some grace as well: our pain is real, and our rage reverberates through the centuries because of this will to live despite those that try to break us because of how they’ve been broken. It gives you permission to hurt so that you can start to heal. If you listen to this one, make an evening out of it and listen to it all the way through—complete the cycle.

3)LIZZIE

Anybody who really knows me knows how close this show is to my heart. It takes the 1892 Borden ax murders and holds up a magnifying glass to the women at the center of it. Though the full history involves many, many players, this two act rock musical presents the story to us through just four: Lizzie and Emma, spinster sisters struggling under their father’s iron fist and their stepmother’s cold hearted scheming; Bridget, the family’s young Irish maid who sees and hears everything; and Alice, a neighbor and confidant who must weigh her desire to support the woman she loves against her conscience when she witnesses deceit. This work is a masterpiece of tension. In the days leading up to the murders, you can feel the stifling presence of the father and stepmother bearing down on all four women—and they aren’t physically present in the show at all. The women each play their own role in the drama they unfold—Bridget is our Greek chorus, Emma is puppet master, Alice is a light in the darkness, and Lizzie is the eye of the storm. Honestly, The Village Voice perfectly summed it up: “Lush tunes which retch sex, rage, dyke heat, misanthropy, and incest… Surreal glee and gallows humor… Finally, a rock musical you’d wanna mosh to.”

IMPORTANT: trigger warning for implications of sexual assault.

4) Lizzie Borden

Yes, there are two musicals about her. There’s also an opera by Jack Beeson and an Agnes DeMille ballet scored by Morton Gould, but that’s not why we’re here. As far as my suggestions on this list go, this 1998 treatment of the Borden murders is probably the most stylistically conventional for musical theatre (tying with Witches of Eastwick)—the weaving of dialogue with song, patter, and breadth of leitmotif call to mind Sondheim. Unlike LIZZIE, this show presents the full cast of characters involved in that fateful day and its aftermath in an inventive nonlinear fashion, splitting Lizzie into her younger self at some of its most chilling moments. The score is gorgeous, and I cannot properly stress how marvelously the leitmotifs pan out in the second act. Strikes a good balance between comedic, petty drama and the panic behind life altering tragedy—I guarantee you’ll be humming “Buttons” for at least a week after your heart stops pounding from the anxiety that builds with every measure of “So Easily.” Again, IMPORTANT: trigger warning for implied sexual assault.

5) Nevermore: the Imaginary Life and Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe

Haunting and ominously playful, the show’s traveling acting troupe starts at Poe’s birth and follows his tragedies and triumphs up until the opening moments of the show—a framing device that I will always love, and it’s played off here deliciously. I don’t have a whole essay to write on this one and I have no idea how biographically accurate it is to his life, but I love listening through it on long drives—a lot of underscored dialogue, which I just happen to enjoy while driving. Maybe because I like podcasts. I don’t know. It doesn’t really warrant a trigger warning, but I can’t NOT mention that it does include his marriage to his 13 year old cousin—the dynamic portrayed is avuncular if anything, nothing predatory or unnerving, but. Yeah. Child cousin bride. Do with this what you will.

6) Ghost Quartet

Dave Malloy, my sweet, sweet baboo. I love this show so much. I talked about this show in the process portion of my thesis. And it’s really impossible to summarize the plot because it is stories inside of stories and it’s best listened to many, many times in the wind and rain. There are two sisters, an astronomer, and a bear. A soldier. A driver, a victim, a pusher, a photographer. The Fall of the House of Usher. Sheherazade, Dunyazad, and Shah Zaman. Thelonious Monk. Any kind of dead person, reincarnation, a classic murder ballad, and lots of whiskey. It’s intensely weird and equally wonderful. If you listen to the live recording from the McKittrick Hotel, dialogue is included! Better yet, Dave Malloy actually made the full production directed by Annie Tippe available to watch on his YouTube channel at the start of the pandemic.

7) The Witches of Eastwick

As far as I am concerned, John Updike doesn’t exist and the only versions of this story that matter are the movie and this musical. Three witches in a small Rhode Island town learn to be authentically themselves and enjoy their lives through some ill-advised fraternization with the devil himself (the egrets be damned). Local prophet has some tummy trouble. The “I want” songs are delicious and it is a personal goal of mine to perform “Words, Words, Words” without actually biting my tongue in the last verse. “Dirty Laundry” has all the petty 1960s housewife drama you could ask for. “I Wish I May” is a charming trio about fulfilling the dreams we had as children. “Dance with the Devil” is a straight banger. “Another Night at Darryl’s” is a lusty romp. Just, like, do yourself a favor and listen to this musical it’s so fun. John Updike stays in the penalty box for all eternity, though. I am never getting those hours of my life back.

8 ) Rebecca das Musical

Okay I KNOW that this one is literally in German but hear me out—the lovely fanbase have made so many YouTube videos of the soundtrack with English subtitles if you don’t speak German (I’m… getting there). The Daphne du Maurier novel is perfect, the Hitchcock film is perfect, and this musical is perfect. Even before I knew enough German to comprehend any of the words, I knew the storyline well enough that the music itself (it’s so expressive I swoon) made characters and plot points clear. Gothic romance that is incredibly questionable, murder, ambiguity, repressed lesbianism, scandal, a protagonist that literally doesn’t have a name—what’s not to love? Mrs. Danvers steals the show as is her god-given right, and if nothing else you should listen to the demo recording of the English language version of the title song “Rebecca” from the vanished Broadway production (whose death was just as tragic and mysterious as Rebecca de Winter’s). It’s unhinged and incredibly sapphic; everything Mrs. Danvers ought to be (Kristin Scott Thomas, I’m so sorry they gave you that sad excuse of a script you deserved so much better. When it was first released I said I liked the 2020 Netflix Rebecca but in retrospect… no). I don’t think I’m really capable of intelligent thought at this point in the list (it is now 1:26 am) but just know that I love this musical and it is helping me learn German. Why am I learning German? So I can listen to this musical. Why I am listening to this musical? So I can learn German. And the snake consumes its own tail. And I should probably go to sleep.