#i would say its similar to my fair lady but they could never

[the-greendalehumanbeings]

am i the only one who doesn’t think the plot of season 3 doesn’t sound the same as the plot of season 1? it feels more similar to she’s all that or the DUFF. like i don’t think the execution will be good but its definitely different to season 1.

[askganon]

Great King, I need encouragement. I have not had an easy life. Any form of abuse besides sexual my parents committed against me. Any time anything is left to chance the worst possible outcome is chosen by the gods, even should I do everything right. I have more mental illnesses, mental and physical disabilities than I can count. I cant do many jobs and can hardly hold most of the ones I CAN do down, on account of the disabilities. My family comes from the worst poverty possible and its grip on me is so strong I know I will never be comfortably free from it. Everyone I've ever known has abandoned me and those that came back keep me at a healthy distance as fair weather friends. Simply put, I'm a survivor, and I intend to survive as long as there is sand in my hourglass. When I am knocked down, nails bloodied and gone, nose broken, I spit my teeth and blood out of my mouth, wipe the dirt out of my eyes and get back up only to get punched back down to the ground just to get back up again. I take pride in this fact, should the whole world and even the gods/goddesses and even lady luck herself be my enemy I will. Not. Succumb. But I am tired... I tired of being strong, I tire of pain, of being offered relief or a mercy only to have it snatched away from me at the cruelest moment against all odds, of having every bit of happiness locked behind one paywall I can never hope to meet, of having everyone like me but never cherish me... I tire not of life but never having lived. I tire of only ever surviving. I dont know what to do, where I can find relief, when or how I get to rest even if just for a moment. I know I must continue on and I know that I will but I have no desire or motivation to do so. Any words of advice or encouragement from you would be a gift, I have admired you since I was young for you have lived a similar life.

There is little I can add as endearment, for all that I would say you have already stated in your resolve.

But you have come to Demon King Ganondorf seeking wisdom. So, it is Demon King Ganondorf's wisdom you shall have.

First, I will make a wound and force it to bleed. Then, I will put salt in that wound, and make you feel the sting of truth. It is only with calm and mature reflection can one see the purpose in the words beyond appeared insult.

First, the wound.

Life is not happiness.

Life is struggle, trial, failure and pain. It can be torment and relief, beautiful and ugly, but it is never happy. Any who speak otherwise are either fools or devils.

It has been said that life is the pursuit of happiness. This is a dream for the mad.

In truth, a "good" life, or one lived well, is one not driven by happiness, but by contentment.

To achieve this, a choice must be made. It is only one choice, but it is the same choice one must make eternally. That is to choose between compromise and suffrage.

In short, will you compromise to be content, or will you suffer for it?

To place this into an example, I could have compromised as King, living content with "It could be worse." Or I could have suffered for contentment with "It could be better."

Which do you think I chose?

Now for the salt.

I have listened to the retelling of your life, and have words regarding it.

I hold no sympathy for abusers of any kind. They cannot match the skills and abilities of their peers, so choose instead to face opponents they know they can conquer. There is no honor nor challenge in an assured victory, and I expect all of them to die knowing they were failures in life and will be forgotten in death.

But as to your abandonments, I hold a different opinion. While the abandonment of one might whisper you the victim, the abandonment of all screams the opposite.

Reflect on these relationships and seek out the common root between them. Do this, but do not rest on the easy answer and use your disabilities as a crutch.

It is said that hurt people hurt people. Perhaps the abuse you sustained in your youth evolved into traits within of which you are unaware.

Seek this out within yourself. If it is discovered, then you have a choice to make.

Will you compromise with this, and remain content in your solitude? Or will you suffer to change this aspect, granting you the chance at a healthy relationship and the possibility of happy moments in a content life?

[randomwriteronline]

Not in a million years would Melli have meant to slip it out like that, so naturally, so nonchalantly. He would rather have kept it to himself for the rest of eternity, or if he'd ever changed his mind he would have liked it to have the appropriate amount of flare and stone cold stalwartness as it deserved - though anything that wouldn't have been a broken whisper would have done.

But instead, because Ingo had held out a hand to catch his own as he helped him down a steeper step down the mountainside, and the gesture had been kind despite the fact they were arguing, he simply conceded with a frown: "At least you know how to treat a lady."

Then he bit his tongue; but the damage was already done.

Ingo looked at him, stone faced as always if with a glint of surprise in his eyes.

"Ah," he noted simply, with a slight apprehension: "Pardon me, I am worried my memory might have once again failed me. Have you shared this information with me beforehand?"

Melli shook his head.

"I see! That's a relief. I feared you might have mentioned that already and unbeknownst to myself I had kept on employing wrong terms when speaking of you."

The words made the Diamond's danger sense perk up, and he hastily asked: "What wrong terms?"

"Mister, sir, man, he, him, and the such," Ingo helpfully replied.

Oh.

General terms.

Still, Melli gave him a deep, haughty frown: "I never said I wasn't ‘him’," he hissed, "For your information."

"I understand! I do agree I should have asked instead of assumed. Thank you for correcting me," the other responded without even a flinch, or a gawk, or a doubtful grimace, or a shake his head in disbelief, or a few hasty blinks as he had to do a double take just to make sure he had heard him correctly.

His tranquility somehow only worsened the antsy mood Electrode's warden found himself trapped in. He lifted his chin high with as scornful a look as he could muster: "I wasn't planning on telling you either way," he scoffed: "But since you tricked me into doing so I better hope you won't have the bright idea of sharing that with any of your folk, or I'll have my Lord zap the breath out of your lungs!"

"I had no intention of pushing you to reveal such a vulnerable part of yourself," Ingo replied apologetically, "But do not fret: I shall endeavor to protect your privacy and keep it to myself."

Melli's solemn nod branded his response with a seal of approval.

Of course, Sneasler’s warden had to ruin that by adding: “Much like I would like you to endeavor not to undo my hard work and keep yourself from snuffing out my torches.”

The tentative calm was shattered in an instant as the woman angrily replied: “Well! Maybe I wouldn’t bother you so much if you just stopped doing that! The Pokémon don’t like the light, I’ve told you!”

“Yes, and you are perfectly right in saying so, Miss Melli!” (and in a moment the animosity was once again blown up with a loud poof!, leaving the lilac haired head to be gently swarmed with a pleasant shapeless feeling very similar to euphoric joy) “But while the species residing in such an environment have long developed methods to orient themselves in the dark, humans can only count on their sight to do so, which is greatly impeded by the lack of any light source. I understand the sudden change might be jarring for the Pokémon themselves, but in the long run it might be safer for them as well as ourselves if passing commuters do not stumble directly into their jaws because they could not see them.”

The side effect of having a mind unclouded by petty hatred was that this time Melli actually did listen to whatever was being said to him instead of automatically deciding against it.

That strange positive feeling still had him ensnared in its gentle grip, causing him to twirl the tips of his silky hair as a kinder mood had him twist his mouth and admit: “That’s… A fair point. But then how would you suppose to fix that, hm?”

“Through a collaboration, perhaps.” Ingo offered: “I unfortunately lack the additional years of experience on the territory that you have, since you’ve been a warden longer than I have. If you would agree to work with me, I’m certain we would have little trouble devising effective routes through the various caves in the Highlands that would both guide commuters safely out of them and make sure the wellbeing and comfort of resident Pokémon is maintained.”

“An acceptable proposal,” Melli nodded, his good mood slowly passing but still unclouding his pompous mind enough to actually hear the man out.

“I’m glad you think so! Perhaps we could start right away, tomorrow morning.”

“Not a chance,” the woman quickly stopped him: “I need to leave the Highlands for a couple of days. You people Pearls love your space, I get it, but I cannot be in two places at once, now can I? And don’t you even try putting up torches while I’m gone! I’ll take it all back!”

Ingo hummed thoughtfully: “By when would you plan to be back, Miss?”

A smile lit the other warden’s face right up: “In two days,” he replied much more amiably, giddy once again, “I’ll be here by midday.”

“Then I suppose your request to keep the caves unlit is reasonable, though it pains me to leave them lacking proper lighting,” the man nodded. “If your return had been delayed for even just a day longer, I fear I would have had to disobey your orders to ensure the safety of potential passengers. I shall simply accompany them through instead.”

“Hm! I guess it would have been fair,” Melli conceded.

It took maybe less than a moment to properly realize he had just agreed with the other, but even despite the minuscule amount of time that had passed the damage had been done; so he stiffened slightly again, shook his head, held his chin high so he wouldn’t have to look at Ingo’s shit-eating grin (or at least at what he was certain was a shit-eating grin, which it wasn’t, because Ingo was not a man who made such faces due to his struggling expressivity, plus he was honestly just glad they had gotten an agreement) and huffed.

“I better go!” he announced. “Lord Electrode needs me before I leave. Don’t slow me down.”

“I would hate to do so,” Sneasler’s warden reassured him, and kindly tipped his hat: “Have a safe trip, Miss Melli.”

He could not see Melli’s face as he left, since he turned away very quickly and marched off as fast as he could; but if he had, he would have seen the biggest smile on the woman’s face, and he probably would have even heard the joyful thundering beat of his heart as it hammered away in his chest with pure mirth.

-

“I’m a miss,” Melli gloated.

Adaman raised an eyebrow at him: “Hm?”

“I’m a miss, now,” his sister repeated. The hand on his chest was full of pride. “Ingo’s called me ‘Miss Melli’.”

“Ingo knows?”

“I didn’t mean to tell him, but I did, and it’s fine either way because he’s been very nice about it. He calls me ‘Miss Melli’, now.”

The leader hummed, smiling slightly: “That’s Galarian, isn’t it?”

Melli nodded.

“And how do you know it’s not an insult?”

At that the warden turned sharply to shoot a venomous glare straight at him: “It’s not!”

“Oh? You know Galarian?”

“I know it’s not an insult! Ingo wouldn’t do that! He’s too nice!”

“And how are you sure? Have you been…” and at that Adaman grinned mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows: “Fraternizing with him?”

Seeing his sister’s face turn beet red was absolutely priceless. He laughed at his fuming anger, shielding his face with an arm when he seemed about to be getting a whole faceful of kindling wood thrown at himself.

“I am not fraternizing!” Melli hissed: “He’s just around all the time!”

“Stop playing!” Mai yelled at them before going back to preparing the pyre for the evening.

Her younger sister whined back at her: “He’s being mean to me!”

It was, however, Iscan who came to his aid - as he always did, of course.

Their cousin’s unmistakable wavy hairline peeked out from beneath a discrete amount of fish he was gutting exceptionally quickly: “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Adaman cackled, “Melli’s just been fraternizing with the weird old man Ingo.”

“I’m not!” Melli shrieked: “He’s just being nice! Unlike you!”

“Calm down now,” Iscan soothed him, “What happened exactly?”

The Highland warden sighed: “My tongue slipped because of his good manners.”

“His good manners?” his brother echoed.

Iscan masterfully redirected the attention back on himself before another squabble could begin: “Oh? You told him?”

“Yes! And now he calls me ‘Miss Melli’,” and he smiled brilliantly for a moment, face lighting up with genuine euphoria, before side-eyeing his grinning brother with piqued disdain as he clarified: “Because he’s being nice, and not because I’m fraternizing with him.”

His cousin smiled at that: “Ah, that’s good to know. He did strike me as a kind fellow.”

“I still think it’s an insult,” Adaman commented.

He ducked to evade a branch smacking his nose right off.

Fed up with his cackling, Melli stormed off stomping his feet to help Mai and Arezu instead, mumbling angrily about how he should have gone with them to begin with, since ladies don’t usually make fools out of fellow ladies - which was wholly untrue, especially in the case of Arezu who had that annoying habit of gossiping about everything and everyone at their expense, but it is worth pointing out that neither of the other female wardens made fun of him as much and as obnoxiously as their leader currently was.

Even Iscan gave him a gently disapproving look as he went right back to deboning Barboach.

His leader raised his shoulders as he still chuckled: “What!” he laughed, “You never know! Maybe he’s calling him a tramp behind his back.”

“Come on now, let him have this,” the warden replied: “You’ve met the man before, right?”

“Yes, yes, I know that warden’s not one to do something as mean as that. Melli’s just too much fun to watch him when he’s angry like that.”

“I bet he thinks the same of you.”

At that, Adaman groaned: “Oh, I know he does. He’s been doing that for years now. I bet he thinks it’s hilarious.”

“And do you want to stoop to that level and bicker like kids until the end of time?”

A huff: “No…”

“Then let that poor girl keep his bubble of happiness just this once,” Iscan concluded, satisfied, and threw away the bones in a neat pile by himself.

The younger man also momentarily dropped the conversation, going back to work to bring the kindling over to the growing bonfire that would have been lit up that night in celebration of the first half of the year passing. He returned after a short while, however, hands empty and steps as quiet as a Leafeon’s, to sit by his cousin again with a conspiratorial air and a smirk that promised nothing good.

He put his hand to the man’s ear and whispered: “I still think they have something going on.”

Iscan sighed and laughed a little bit: “How about you leave the gossiping to Arezu and help me get dinner ready instead?”

Adaman groaned again.

Much to his cousin’s satisfaction, he picked up a Barboach, a knife, and got to work.

-

Working with Ingo, as it turned out, was actually really easy.

He was very receptive to instructions as well as intuitive when it came to finding fallacies and offering solutions, and while he had his own discrete amount of expertise on caves he was also quite happy to listen to Melli’s inputs and follow them if he judged them better than his own ideas.

It was almost as though the Diamond warden could have benefitted from this pleasant cooperation from the start if he had just pulled his pretty head out of his own ass!

He squashed that thought under his boot, of course.

Especially because, after the first few caves, the woman had noticed something that had started worsening his mood.

Ingo was as polite as ever, helping him down steeper ledges, calling him ‘Miss’, thanking him and all; but he kept avoiding ever meeting Melli’s eyes like the plague, and never dared to look at him for too long. As soon as he wasn’t concentrating on the task at hand he would fix his gaze somewhere else entirely, more often than not turning his whole head away even while talking directly to him, sometimes with a low, almost hesitant voice.

The woman’s mind churned around these details, turning them around angrily in his skull as his thoughts worsened, and his mood together with them. A shadow was cast over his fair face as he brooded in silence, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

It did not help that he felt worse than if it had been anybody else.

Oh, it hurt when somebody treated him like this once they found out, of course it did, and in a way he had always expected one of those blasted Pearls to see him as lesser for it, and had prepared himself so that he could drown their disgust in his roaring assertion of his own exceptionality and myriad of incredible qualities; but when it came to his fellow hermit he could not help but feel like no amount of screaming in a mirror that he was worth just as much as all his sisters and brothers and cousins and clansmen would have soothed the disheartening feeling agitating his chest.

As mentioned, the other warden was very receptive when he wanted to be; so as they both placed the last torch in the path they had both devised, his white eyes turned upwards, towards the scowl darkening in vitriol of his companion, and carefully asked with earnest concern in his voice: “Forgive my indelicacy for asking you so bluntly, Miss, but - may I help with whatever is vexing you?”

His kindness was unfortunately undone as he once again averted Melli’s gaze for a second, and the tall woman snapped at him venomously: “If you were so disgusted by my existence that you couldn’t stomach looking at me, you could have said that earlier!”

Ingo seemed taken aback for a second.

Then he shouted: “AH!” and slapped his face.

He shook his head several times, humming and groaning, playing with his hat as though he was about to smack it on his leg in frustration - a display that confused Melli greatly.

“Forgive me, Miss Melli,” he finally explained guiltily: “I’m afraid my struggle with being visibly expressive has thwarted my relations with others once again. It was not my intention to appear as though I find the sight of you unpleasant – it’s, ah… Forgive me, it is a little embarrassing to bare my thoughts like this. I find it hard to look at you for, well, for the opposite reason, truly.”

“Which would be?”

“I find you to be very beautiful.”

The Diamond stared him down, remaining briefly silent: “I am,” he replied. “You didn’t have any trouble looking at me before.”

“I am very aware of that,” Ingo reassured him, “I did not mean to imply that you were not lovely to behold, that much is very obvious to anybody who is capable of seeing without problems. The matter is simply that, not being attracted to men and mistakenly believing you to be one, I had not been fully exposed to any side effects your looks could have had on me until very recently.”

The harshness in Melli’s expression mellowed slowly, turning his furious frown into a thoughtful neutral look; the tension left his shoulders, his thin hands began playing with the ends of his hair as he reflected on those words. Anger had left him.

In its stead, a slow realization caused a smile to creep onto his face.

He eyed Ingo without a word, fluttering his lashes gently a few times to watch him struggle not to follow his slender finger as he dragged it along his own jaw.

“I see,” he chirped, sweeter than honey: “So it’s because you like me.”

The man looked at him almost in a daze as he slowly processed the words.

His entire face turned completely red in a matter of seconds.

He jerked his head away completely to both pitifully attempt to mask his embarrassment at having his feelings so easily unveiled and avoid deafening the object of his infatuation as he shouted hurriedly: “OH GOODNESS ME WHAT IS THAT MEOWLING SOUND OVER THERE, I DO BELIEVE SNEASLER IS REQUESTING MY PRESENCE POST HASTE I’M AFRAID I MUST ANSWER HER CALL IMMEDIATELY, THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP AND HAVE A GOOD DAY MISS MELLI!”

Then he speeded away, as fast and stiff as a boat with powerful winds in its sail, followed by the beautiful sound of Melli’s unrestrained laughter.

-

Skuntank hadn’t seen his companion so exuberantly happy in quite a while now.

The woman was still cackling at his admirer’s reaction, recounting over and over his accidental confession and subsequent swift departure as he combed his hair through his fingers – a gesture that betrayed how overwhelmingly pleased he was to have learned what a special opinion of him his fellow warden had.

Ingo might have had him wrapped around his little finger with that ‘Miss’, but Melli had him completely bewitched!

Ah, he could see himself already, Electrode’s warden mused, getting out of an argument by flustering him, convincing him to run some errands for him just by batting his lashes, watching him color red and hide behind his hat at a flirt, teasing him endlessly, making him shake just by offering the slightest glimpse of bare skin!

His trusted partner listened without a care, happy to listen to joyful ramblings instead of whining yet again - though he did quickly notice how the fantasies were slowly veering away from simply taking advantage of the man or delighting themselves with making fun of him… Now where had ideas of sharing food, or baths, or kisses come from? What exactly would his mistress have gained from it in terms of amusement or favors? He wasn’t mentioning any as he spoke of those…

But all Skuntank had to do was take a better look at the woman, and he understood instantly.

Melli stopped laughing just enough to hear the comforting yet thunderous sound of his partner purring knowingly, almost mockingly, with a wide smirk on his already smug muzzle as he laid his chin on one of his large hind legs.

The warden tilted his head: “What’s so funny?” he asked, still cackling.

The Pokémon mewled with a low rumble as if to feign innocence and kneaded a single paw, his right one, in the carpet.

His companion imitated the motion by reflex, tightening his own fingers absentmindedly. Oh? And what was this, now? He’d been playing with something, apparently. He traced the shape and took in the texture while mindlessly running his digits over the mystery object, only vaguely recognizing that he was grazing his own neck as well.

In the end he figured out what Skuntank was trying to bring his attention to: he was just turning the pendant of his necklace around his palm! Such a small thing… Though it had been a while since he’d last done so, hadn’t it?

Yes, he could remember it – the last time he’d played with it like this was when he’d fallen for that annoying boy a few years ago, like a foolish girl, returning all bashful and shy…

He did not make the connection immediately, still so caught up in his own thoughts that he could barely understand the subtext his partner was trying to bring his mind to. But the more he touched the smooth stone, the more he realized the tenderness of the motion was intrinsically linked to his plans regarding Ingo; not only that, but when he tried stopping either the thinking or the caressing he found with growing horrified embarrassment that he could not manage, for in order to cease doing one he would have needed to stop doing the other as well, and the more he thought of stopping the more his mind went right back to the Pearl clansman, to his honesty when he’d confessed himself, his red face, his sweet words, his hands, his eyes, his—

“Oh no,” Melli wheezed at last.

Skuntank gave an intermittent grumble similar to a laugh as his mistress hid his fair face against his knees with a high pitched groan whilst kicking his feet, half mortified, half excited.

Ah, fuck.

It was mutual.

[animezinglife]

ACOTAR tag game 💕

Thanks for tagging me, @crazy-ache! Honestly, after reading your responses, I'm convinced we might actually be the same person. XD

Several others actually tagged me in this too, and I'm sorry to everyone for the delay. It's been busy and I've had company.

Answer the questions below & tag whoever you want, or make it an open tag!!

Who's your favourite ACOTAR character?

Lucien Vanserra. Back when I had no intention of continuing the series after the first book, I joked a lot about him having to be tired from carrying all of Prythian on his back.

Who's your least favourite character?

Ianthe. I still hope Stryga used her fingers as toothpicks.

Say something nice about your least favourite character.

She's probably objectively pretty.

Who's your favourite High Lord? (If you picked one for your fav character, then who's your second fav!)

I don't really feel like I know many of them enough to make the most sound decision. I think if I were living in Prythian, I would feel very at ease with Helion or Tarquin as my High Lord even if the latter is still a mere child of eighty and has his moments of naivete. He seems very honest and fair.

Helion I think would be similar, but less naive and more adept at seeing all the angles Tarquin might miss.

To be clear, I love Rhysand. I just think how I would feel about him as High Lord would probably differ depending on where I lived in the Night Court.

Favourite MINOR character?

I love Vassa. I think she has a lot of potential and is so cool. The image of her in her firebird form raining hell down on those Hybern ships was epic.

Jurian's fun, too.

Last but not least, Varian cracks me up. He probably has the most questionable taste and survival skills out of the whole lot of them and doesn't get nearly enough credit for just floating around to wherever his funky little heart desires.

Favourite ship? (Crackships included!)

Elucien has the potential to be my favorite and I'm already down bad for them. Of the ones who already are canon, though, Feysand.

Favourite court and why?

Of the ones we've spent time in, I'm not going to lie: I favor Spring for the way it was portrayed in the first book. Warm weather, green, gardens, pools of starlight, Tamlin playing his fiddle while people dance and celebrate, etc. It's very faerie.

That said, Autumn is the one I'm most intrigued by overall for all the usual and popular reasons. Autumn could very easily overtake spring.

Make up a brand new court RIGHT NOW, NO PREP JUST VIBES.

The Celestial Court. It's more otherworldly than Night or Dawn; more heavenly full of crystals and clouds. Its on its own plane of being entirely. The Fae there are known for their close connections to their gods and the High Lord and Lady are historically considered to be demigods. They would have an otherworldly glow/light to them like Tolkien elves; be a bit more unsettling. There's a lot of mystery around them and their power. I think of a lot of white or light clothing, fair skin, and long, fair hair. Unusual eyes that look like you're gazing into the heavens.

What relationship would you have wanted to see more of in the books?

Elain and Lucien, obviously, but it's not time just yet. So, I'd love to see Elain making her own friends.

I'd also really like to see more of the Lucien and Eris dynamic, because we're definitely not being let in on at least a few things.

What's your unpopular opinion?

Every single ACOTAR book could be cut down about 200 pages and not lose any meaningful or relevant content. They're all entirely too bloated.

If you want a spicier take, I'm forever underwhelmed by Nesta as a character. I understand what the goal was and could still for the most part appreciate the story, but I never did get invested in her and what investment I did develop didn't last after I finished ACOSF.

What's your favourite headcanon/fan canon?

The best way to sum up many of my favorites would simply be Elain finding herself and her confidence in a potential relationship with Lucien. How it would be a healing journey, but also very much one of her coming into her element and power (and him into his, too).

I love the idea of them becoming completely uninhibited out in nature and to have this extremely deep connection that goes beyond other bonds.

If you were swept away to Prythian, what's ONE thing you would want to do?

Lucien (<- keeping @crazy-ache's answer here because I absolutely would if he'd have me)

"I want to experience all the magic. Just frolic through a field and really feel this fae magical world, see the creatures, witness the magic and spells, just be absolutely bewitched by it all." (<- keeping this answer, too, but I would add Helion's libraries to the mix).

If you could have ONE faerie ability seen in the books, which would it be?

I'd want to put a lot of effort into healing magic, but I'd love to be able to winnow or create water wolves. Winnowing would be ideal so I could see the world more easily and see my family whenever I wanted.

Thank you so much for the tag! Anyone who wants to do this, please feel free.

[buttercuparry]

I just saw someone say they find the tiff over Lyanna between Arya and Sansa girlies hilarious because to them the most obvious candidate who almost becomes the representation of an altar, after Lyanna is Robb. Which to be true is fair in so much as that Robb becomes almost this mythic figure: the brother king, who is strong enough to present Joffrey's head on a plate, whose campaigns are a source of pride. He becomes a beautiful memory of a boy with snow melting in his hair. He becomes to his men the hero straight from the ages of Kings of Winter, fighting with a direwolf by his side, defeating Jaime Lannister, and being honourable to young maidens. All of this is well and true with how Lyanna is presented in the patriachal notion as THE beauty, as the maiden of dreams for some and source of woe for others. Gone but ever present. So I agree in part but I think OP in trying to be clever missed the point that there is one very prominent figure in this story through whom we can go beyond the myth of Lyanna and to the real person. Robb, the hero was never so mighty. He was a boy who once while talking to Bran almost sounded like he wished that he had more time left to his boyhood. He wasn't the beast(TM), he was in fact weary of the crown and couldn't fathom why anyone would want to be a king.

Similarly Lyanna wasn't ever going to be the ideal wife who could somehow magically inspire in Robert such marital happiness that he would have never strayed to another bed. She would have never been the obedient wife from Robert's daydreams. And we know this not only because of Ned's reminiscence of Lyanna's very practical observations, not only because of the quote " you saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath", but also because we have someone in this current storyline who is almost as practical in certain aspects of life as Lyanna had been in other.

When Jon continues to think of his mother, imagining her as a highborn lady with a pretty face, we are to have the wonderful thought that Jon would eventually know that he had been looking into the face which is so similar to that of his mother's for a long time. And there would be the bonus of this other person loving him so so so much.

Lyanna is a past. A past that looms over many and yet she is humanized when we see someone's angry tears over a dead butcher's boy. When this person is called as wilful and wolf blooded as her aunt. When Ned who himself is lost in one particular moment of haunting can look at a little girl and say she reminds him of his own long dead sister. I think either OP wasn't there when this person was completely dismissed in favour of the conventionally beautiful sister- the reason being only that conventionally beautiful women are worth fighting over ( the war being reduced to this) or they have deliberately forgotten it. Even if we are to be skin deep- then even so we must say that Bran's vision almost stupefied him because for a moment he mistook a child!Lyanna to be a particular sister of his. I know in recent times there's an accusation that we plunder Lyanna's story to give its unique elements to our fave ( and maybe we are guilty of that in some respects), but it is honestly laughable if someone's conviction of getting her brother's men out of Harrenhal doesn't add a richness to her aunt's "That is my father's men you are kicking." Lyanna is long gone. The story we have now is not the one of her generation. It's of those who came after her. But even so these little instances we get to sketch out her character is in fact enriched by her niece. The niece who in text is said to be the most like her. To then dismiss the niece again, albeit in a different way is just adding another layer to the circular pattern of the so called "tiff". But I guess the character dismissed is so insignificant to the fandom in the grand scheme of things that it would sooner brand her in the very unoriginal category of "murder baby" and be done with her by relegating to her a martial role, than examine the finer detailing of her storyline. Even those so called sympathizers can only stomach her to a particular extent. Beyond that any vivacious discussion related to her/ her relationships with other faves are termed as an exercise in stealing from these other characters and giving them to her; ironically the thing we are accused of is the very thing that we, Arya girlies, had been legitimately fighting against throughout the years.

[blorbologist]

dude that thing you wrote about Cassandra catching frogs has not left my mind since you posted it, I truly can't stop thinking about it. like I'm imagining her putting them in his workshop and he freaks the fuck out because he's Percy. and afterwards she asks if he's really upset at her, but he just laughs and tells her that he's so happy to have a little sister again 😭😭😭

(Sequel to this)

Vex’ahlia bids her to wait. 

So Cassandra waits, the frog bundled in her skirts calming in its struggles. Figuring it might dry out, she dips the handful into the water when Vex does not reappear after a few minutes. The thin skin can dry out quickly, and it would be terrible for this to take a deadly turn. Even if for a frog. 

(No more meaningless death in Whitestone.)

Rustling takes mercy on her and draws her thoughts away, to -

“Vex’ahlia,” she whispers - loudly, not a whisper at all, “how did you get up there?”

“Ranger secrets!” The half-elf is a fair ways up a tree, the chorus trilling from it earlier now quiet. She’s stuffing something down the front of her shirt - pauses to giggle and resettle the fabric before clambering back down, landing just shy of nascent flowerbeds. 

Vex’s grin is something self-satisfied and wild. No wonder Percy was besotted with her - she was a feral creature, or fae perhaps, something straight out of those novels he and Vesper loved so. 

“I’ve always liked these ones best,” she giggles, setting a brisk pace back to the halls. “Their song is so - so cheerful, and you find them in the strangest places thanks to those little sucker-toes.”

Cassandra, needing only one hand to cage her charge, uses her other to throw open the sidegate. “Never been able to catch one before,” she says wistfully. “Bar rare nights when they communally stuck to the castle walls. Not sure why they do that.”

“The acoustics, I bet.” Vex’s voice drops so it will not carry - because yes, castle Whitestone is generous in how it delivers sound.

(Screams. It carried screams with little effort, even once they had quieted, even when -)

“You’re quite good at this,” Cass says.

She takes the steps more carefully than the half-elf, who is at liberty to almost skip down. Managing her skirts and the frog within makes the tight spiral a challenge. “Am I to gather you have engaged in similar unladylike behavior, Lady Vex’ahlia?”

“Only the very worst.” Vex pauses at the foot of the stairs - perhaps to wait for her, or consider her words. 

“I hope that’s not a problem? I know Vax and I aren’t technically noble blood-”

One of the frogs is escaping - a pale tan-gold so unlike the mottled green and brown of Cassandra’s frog, it peels itself free of Vex’s shirt, throat pulsing a scared little rhythm. It leaps and sticks to her shoulder, where Cass recaptures it one-handed. It’s wet and wiggly under her fingers, so very determined to live and be free.

She holds out her closed fist to Vex. “Please,” she says. “None of that. After the cataclysmes of the last half-decade, I doubt there would be enough nobles left to court without running into a relative.”

“You could always just make new ones. New nobles, I mean. There’s still a house or two left, yes?” Vex is clearly relaxed enough to start snarking again, cheeky thing. Cassandra only hums in response, gesturing with her hand - the spring peeper is getting unruly, now, poking its head out beneath her pinkie. 

Vex’s tentative grin grows assured and impish as she pulls the chemise away from her chest. Cass sighs, louder than she has to, and rolls her eyes skyward. Keeps her gaze there as she drops the frog into its unconventional cage without looking. 

“Just as proper as your brother,” says Vex cheerfully.

“Said as we cavort around the castle with pollywogs aplenty.”

Cass shushes her - they’re a hall down from Percival’s workshop. Vex shushes her right back. It goes back and forth until they’re just before the door. The clanging is a racket behind it.

‘Watch this’, Vex mouths. She delicately raps at the door.

“Percy, darling?”

It stops immediately. 

“Yes, love?”

Oh, love? Well, well, well, that was new. She can tell from how Vex goes a little ruddy in the cheeks.

Cass has to shove her fist into her mouth to smother a snicker. 

Vex’ahlia clears her throat. Singsong: “I’ve got something for you~”

“But a moment! Just let me -” The clamor resumes with urgency - Cassandra can easily picture him throwing his tools haphazardly into an approximation of their usual places. It would be adorable if it wasn’t her brother so sincerely smitten - so she’d qualify it as disgusting, actually.

He opens the door, letting light and the gout of acrid air loose to the hall. Percival blinks down at Vex as if surprised she’s there, despite the fact she announced herself.

“Hello-”

Vex’ahlia leans in to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, grabs the front of his shirt - 

- pulls it open and dumps a handful of frogs down the front.

Percival 

shrieks. 

Cassandra, not one to miss her opportunity, gently lobs her green frog into the center of the room behind him as he writhes and shuts the door. 

“Cass!” he bellows.

She and Vex, safe behind the blast-proof door, devolve into laughter as Percy cusses them, his longstanding affection for them and the frogs out in that order.

--

(When they take pity on him and slip inside, the women find Percy on the floor, scowling viciously at the green frog, puffed up to twice its size and screaming a wheeze at him. Then it bites him and Cass nearly busts a rib right there.)

(For the record, she counts five minutes to catch the three frogs up his shirt. Sloppy time, brother.)

[alternis]

the au where shiva is Tim's mother has taken over my brain to a worrying extent.

a lot of my dc comics knowledge is still very superficial but I like canonverse despite all its flaws. unfortunately, or fortunately, retcons means I have to make a lot of shit up anyway.

okay, so, au thoughts/summary:

she and Richard Dragon meet whilst training under O-sensei in her early years as Shiva, and have a torrid rivals-to-lovers thing. shiva doesn't realise she's pregnant again until after they've both gone their own ways

there's no dad to take in this one and she has no interest in raising a child herself. but she's curious if, without ever having reason to struggle, this child of two genius fighters would still develop a warriors spirit or inherit her abilities

she picks the Drakes bc they're rich, seem harmless, and also Drake has a similar meaning to Dragon which she finds funny.

She checks on the family occasionally, but its just a "not dead yet" check until Tim suddenly becomes interested in karate and other martial arts (after he realises who batman and robin are). she shows up in the audience of some of his karate competitions but he's definitely Nothing Special, so she peaces out again

until she meets Robin in Paris whilst trying to track down King Snake and recognises his body language. now he's got her attention!

she realises whilst training him that behind his restrained veneer is a future supervillain just waiting for an excuse to go Fucking Batshit. this pleases Lady Shiva and is why she becomes invested in trying to make him snap. he's wasting his potential and running away from what would make him most fulfilled, she is simply being a good mother and encouraging him to be his best self

when he refuses to kill king snake she says some cryptic shit about being like his "real father" which is the first hint Tim has that he's adopted.

but to be the Good Robin and not follow Jason's mistakes, he decides not to delve into that and potentially trigger Bruce into a meltdown. he confirms with Bruce that he was adopted (and Bruce knew about it) since his dad is still comatose, and swears that he isn't interested in his biological parents and won't look into them.

despite being tempted several times, he actually keeps to his word on that

until after his Bad Time where he: lost steph, his dad, and kon; Bart isn't dead yet but is aged up into adulthood; cass has vanished after confronting Shiva; his stepmother, fake uncle and home were all lost when bludhaven got destroyed

in the comics this is when Tim, Bruce and Dick go on a cruise retracing batmans original training journey which was supposed to help heal all their trauma and reset their character arcs (and then Tim comes back and starts trying to clone Kon in a secret basement under titans tower)

here, Tim decides to track down Shiva using the excuse of looking for Cass.

okay here is where my thoughts start splintering out of order so

tim absolutely is Not a genius prodigy martial artist. like he's good in a fight, but that's bc he does a lot of training and is willing to get inventive/creative. his parents being martial artists doesn't mean he inherits Punching Good. he's small and prefers to focus on other skills than fighting, so in a fair fight he'll never match up to people who focus on martial arts.

though on the flipside i can see Shiva viewing his detective's intuition/ability to read a scene for clues as an evolution of her ability to read and manipulate body language, but focused on the world around him rather than an opponent.

idk how to work it in but adoption would for sure complicate Tim and Jack's relationship. Tim can use it to divert suspicion from Robin activities by turning it around on his dad and revealing he figured out the adoption whilst his dad was in a coma, but that only works once.

tim and his dad don't actually sort out their feelings until after tim is forced to quit Robin, with Tim admitting he could have looked up his biological parents with his Robin training and contacts, but the same way his parents 'chose him' to adopt, he also chose to think of Janet and Jack, (and later Jack and Dana), as his Real Parents.

tim is the kind of hypocrite to say that people's parents don't define them whilst also absolutely judging people based on their parents/upbringing. discovering his birth father is some kind of wandering adventurer/vigilante/martial arts teacher? cool! discovering his birth mother is the villainous hitman who keeps trying to convince him to kill people, and wants to fight to the death for Glorious Combat? not cool!

he is Aware that he told kon that having luthors dna didn't define him, but now is worrying that shiva's dna Does change who he is fundamentally. this doesn't make him stop judging himself, it just makes him feel bad about doing so.

he's also aware that worrying about shiva's influence on his dna doesn't make sense bc it doesn't change his opinion on cass being Very Cool and morally upstanding. turns out being aware of your emotional baggage/distorted thinking doesnt fix your problems.

he's already met future evil batman Tim. realising he has a ~killer in his bloodline~ gives him another existential panic about whether he's destined to kill people regardless of how he feels right now.

he doesn't call Shiva his mom/mother. its first names only, although if relevant he'll call her his "biological mother" or "the woman who gave birth to me"

he also is absolutely the sort of person to distinguish between siblings and half-siblings, and after the reveal refers to cass as his half-sister rather than sister, which I can see her disliking and causing friction between them

I think if he does get to meet Richard Dragon it would be bc Dragon trained oracle on how to fight. he seeks out Dragon via Babs with the excuse of wanting to learn from him, whilst really assessing what Dragon is like as a person and whether he wants to admit their relationship (he doesn't realise that this is effectively an inverse of how he and Shiva first met, but I the author like the parallel here)

also this au gives me a perfect opportunity to avoid the evil cass storyline. I think it would be funny for Tim to end up temporarily leading the league of assassins instead of her, but try and make the league stop doing murders bc he isn't being drugged by deathstroke. I mean he already knew somebody who inherited a cult and tried to make them stop doing evil.

this is where I start getting too many contradictory ideas and have to stop typing. I want to read cass's batgirl run and every Shiva appearance in dc, and also eat a cesna light aircraft

[spreadyourwingsc]

Sy and  Soirse. Prologue.

Disclaimer, this is the first story i’ve ever written and published., its not proof written, its not checked, nor researched, this was literally just words that came flying out of my mind. Captain Syverson’s character is not my own, he just lives 24/7 on my mind, Soirse, just came to me watching an Soirse Ronan’s interview, and again, I dont know her, I dont own her, this characters just shares her names, and maybe the hair, but she’s not the person i intend to portray here, i am also, not irish, nor know a lot about of irish culture, all this just came to me while watching these irish actors in a movie that have nothing to do with this, nor Sand Castle. 

Please do not copy it also, if you do youd be stealing, and what does that say about you if youre stealing fan fiction. 

If any of my content is similar to another person, it is not my intention, i havent read every fanfiction that there is in the world but i have read my share, and while ive had some influence on them, its not my intention to copy anybodys work, i admire y’all way too much for that, but the moment somebody points out that this is a copy of somebody elses work or that its similar, i will delete, because that is the last thing that I want. 

with that said please enjoy this little experiment, im going through some hard feelings right now, and i will probably delete it after i overthink a little too much. but i hope this bring a little joy to your day, also if somebody wants to help me better this or help me finish it, it would be greatly appreciate it. 

Prologue

Logan Syverson is from Alpine texas, born and raised to Betty and Joseph Syverson, only boy, had a fairly normal childhood, father was military man, honorary discharge when Sy was a teenager. Sy was star of football team at Smalltown Alpine High, was an all around boy, polite, strong, educated, his mom doted on him and made sure he was a true gentleman, he’d spend his summer working with his dad at his workshop, Sy wanted to follow his dad footsteps in the military once he graduated against his mothers wish. But she was not going to stop him and was proud of him nonetheless., 

His dad was his typical Texan rancher, doted on Sy’s mother, they were high school sweethearts, and like being in the military and missed Sy’s birth and was not home he decided one son would be enough and once he was discharged he was glad he could be there to help Sys mother, even though sometimes she felt he missed his war filled days. 

While Sy was growing up he had his fair share of ladies, and how could he not. He was a sight to look at, when preadolescent hormones started to kick in, and the models on the magazines were more interesting than the toy cars, there was no going back for him. Sy loved his ladies like the next man, of course, with the respect they all deserved, for that reason he never found himself in a steady relationship.

That is until Saoirse (Sorche) came in. 

With very strong Irish background both her grandparents on her father side, had migrated to the states while not even being married, and started a new life, that’s how then Saoirse's dad  Conner Walsh was brought to this world, grew up in another small town in the US , adopting the American life and ways, and eventually meeting Saorise’s mother in New York, a city girl by all means, who got swept away by this irish-american redneck.

When they were about to have their 5th baby, Conner, decided he’s had enough of the busy city life and decided moving his big family of 7 to country side, considering a small town upbringings, not wanting his kids to get lost in the hustle of the city, at least until they would be old enough to decide if they rather it, or not.

Soirse Walsh was born on a hot summer day at Marfa, texas local hospital, a screaming scrappy baby with blonde reddish hair and the brown eyes, she was soon to be a storm to be reckoned with. Being the youngest of 5 children, and the only girl of a boys clan. While she was growing up, her mother was happy to finally have a female company around the house, her dad was ecstatic to have a little princess to spoil and dote alongside his wife. But the brothers were having none of that, while they loved and swore to protect her dearly, the teasing and bullying was always present, not to create trauma, but to create character. 

So when she’s stepped on Smalltown Alpine smalltown high, the school of the town over since her town was small it didn’t even have a highschool, her brothers long gone graduated all gone too soon to face their own choices in lives, one became a parent too early, but honored his father roots and became a family man, the other preferred to move to the hustle city , and other straight up joined military forces, while all different they all had in common that they all succeeded in whatever their craft were, making their parents proud and making her lovely mother hang up pictures in her wall of every accomplishment, everyone in Marfa, knew about the Walsh’s boys and how great they were at life. Which left out little Saoirse with a bar really high to climb. 

At 13 started in the new school, Saoirse still didn’t know what she wanted out of life,  she knew she liked swimming, and even considered the Olympics from time to time, doing well in her competitions, but she also was on the rougher side, she loved to hang around in the fields, and had a big interesting In bugs, and all the things not considered “girly”. When she was the only one kid left at the house her father made sure she knew how to take care of herself and even though they were six of them, never be dependent of a man, so she learned how to change a tire, how to ride a motorbike, and how to change the oil of her car. Her biggest proud moment was how she learned how to drive shift. All thanks to her dad and the brothers.

--

Thanks for reading!

[palukoo]

84 - what's the exact middle of the films you've seen this year lmao

ex-lady (1933)!!! a movie that you watch and go woah that couldn't have been made just a year later!

i actually enjoyed it and found it like an interesting study almost in like. what the hays code took from us lol. because like obviously there were certainly some outdated things that i don't currently recall the finer details of bc i think it was probably mostly the like standard issue 1930s shit. BUT it also genuinely did shock me in its portrayals of like sex and non-monogamy. im gonna kinda get into it so this is gonna go under a cut lol

like it was very casual on pre-marital sex and had discussions of like not wanting to get married in spite of loving each other and didn't vilify her for not wanting to get married (but then they got married anyways bc of social expectations) and like. iirc the non monogamy did just start as her husband cheating maybe but then!! they were just like okay lets do an open marriage now! we're still married but we're just gonna treat it more like casual dating we'll live separately and can see other people. which is crazy bc stuff now still barely portrays open relationships i feel (and like if so, rarely in a way that isn't a joke or explicitly like bad/cringe/whatever in some way). and like, it DID end with them being like actually we just love each other and should be with just each other but it wasn't really judgy on it, like it was like okay this isn't right for us, but not like this was dumb or bad and we never should have tried it. it honestly gave it kind of similar treatment/consideration as the conflict in their marriage caused by them working together and having like professional disagreements (that i think made her go work for someone else but NOT stop working!! win!! i may be wrong but that's my recollection). oh also on the pre-marital sex, the wiki plot summary i just checked mentioned that like it kind of implies use of birth control! hell yeah! the other wild part is that it also just. had them watching like a female burlesque dancer (or similar level of like ooh sexy woman) and then be like well that got us in the mood so we're gonna have semi-public sex now!

so yeah idk it just makes me kind of like damn obviously it's not like all other cultural things would have been fundamentally changed if we didn't have the hays code but i do wonder like how much the state of like attitudes towards sex and like portrayals of non traditional sexual/romantic relationships in movies (and eventually tv) would have been different/where we'd be today. like watching certain pre code movies and then code movies bc i think to an extent people think old movies are like that yeah bc of the code but also because it was the 1930s! and like yeah that's true and i said that too (bc the racism sexism classism etc) but there are some things they were generally like. doing interesting portrayals of that you wouldn't expect! idk if this is coherent at all i'm just always thinking about what the hays code took from us.

i know bette davis like hated this movie bc like she felt like it was too much of like a glamour girl role/they sexualized her too much in the marketing and like that's fair and i could say so much about the studio system but i'm not gonna get into it. (i will say like it's also probably bc bette was not uh particularly sex positive lets say but like. i do think it's also fair for her to want control over her own roles/publicity and how sexualized she is lol). and i will say, it's certainly not like great writing or particularly compelling characters but at the same time it's such an interesting cultural relic of a moment of sex positivity that was so immediately shot down after. also... relevant to your interests its apparently a remake of illicit (1931) starring barbara stanwyck. so there's that.

[omerflorent]

setting; as omer prepares to leave for brightwater, he goes to see lucrezia. @lucreziasredwyne

omer; the lord commander stands outside of her door after dismissing her guards, telling them to prepare to leave for brightwater and others will take their post. omer; lady redwyne, please open the door.

lucrezia: and her mind had been on the lord commander upon hearing of the departure for brightwater. that finally, it was time for him to take his true place. as she was soon to set off to settle the matter of the shield islands, within the fortnight. lucrezia : she should go to see him. she would. tell him she wishes him grace, and victory. that he and his home are in her prayers. she rises to her feet, and hears an approaching sound. lucrezia: and she looks up at the door she hears his voice. there is not a part of her that would leave him standing outside, not now; not in this moment. she had faith in the gods, and in herself. so she answers the door, standing in the doorway. lucrezia: lord commander florent...she wants to tell him she was ready to come and see him. lucrezia: what does she even say? so much. nothing? lu: come inside.

omer; and he looks at her when she opens the door, his breath hitching and his heart skipping. something as simple as her saying his surname causes his heart to beat. omer; and he nods, walking into the room, turning to look at her as she closes the door. he locks his arms behind his back. omer; i wanted to come and see you before i leave. it's an honor you take the time to allow me here.

lucrezia: he walks into the room with that same, usual presence; and she quietly realised he had never been within her chambers in highgarden before. it were as though these halls had been granted freedom from their ruin. lucrezia: you are most gracious with your words, my lord. it is yourself who knows of honour, and will know more of it, once you return to court as the ruling lord of brightwater. lucrezia: and her words remain as poised and easy and free flowing as they always were when they were together. its her manner that has changed. she can't look at him for as long, similar to when she was a girl.

omer; and his eyes scan the room though can't look elsewhere but at her. though he wishes to not share so he looks to the side and then back at her again. watching her. omer; you have my prayers as of late,  my lady redwyne. i hope to hear of your successes if only i could come with you. i fear sea battle and i disagree. omer; you are your father's daughter though. you will return and my mind will find ease.

lucrezia: sea battle and omer florent disagree. yes, fair enough to say, considering the last sea battle had been rough, tumultuous and resorted in life changing issue for the lord commander. she resists the urge to say she wished he could come with her too lucrezia: your prayers. lucrezia: and it sounds like a question, but it is a statement; for he spoke of prayers, when he previously he called the gods her gods, gods he turned and shunned from. she continued looking at him, catching his gaze some times lucrezia: all is prewritten, my lord. they know all...we fool, fooled, ourselves, by forgetting it is. lucrezia: are you ready to go home?

omer; and he nods. he knows she's rarely heard him speak of faith not since he was a boy on the arbor looking for confession and confusing her. a lifetime ago. omer; we have, my lady. the gods decide all we know and no before we step be it right or wrong. omer; i'm quite excited to take my home back.  allun forent intends on killing me. i shall not give him the pleasure. omer; when blackbar is free, i'll have them sail to your aid should you wish.

lucrezia: and despite knowing of it, despite hearing and knowing of the reality, there is still a slight pang in knowing that this was what it resorted to for him and his father. lucrezia knew how this story would end. lucrezia: please, do not give him that pleasure. lucrezia: and she does not think omer easily defeated. she knows him to be the strongest sword in the reach. but she knows at the end of the day, that is his father, and should the smallest voice distract him, trick him, at the very back of his mind lucrezia: please.

omer; i promise you, i will come home. omer; i promise. remember? they need you. i need you. i'm going to out there and it won't be long so be alive when i come home. omer; and he thinks of that day the iron born attacked. even then he remembers taking her and pulling her back to earth with him. did she need that now? did she need him? omer; he will have no satisfaction.

lucrezia: and she thought of the same memory. the sound of arbor bells ringing, and the look of horror and dawning realisation as the watchtowers on the coast lit up. and the way he held her, held her by the shoulders and shook her lucrezia: until then, my lord. lucrezia: she nods at his words. she didn't need that now. there was no need for the bells to ring anymore. lucrezia wanted her name, the fleet, to the bells that caused alarm and inherrent respect in another. what she needed, was forgiveness; from who? lucrezia: and it's supposed to be a goodbye. this was the end of this. they had kept it polite. warm. civil. and instead, she needed forgiveness, not from him; from who? for what? lucrezia: i ask you, a strange request...for me. lucrezia: may i give confession, my lord?

omer; and he looks at her, nodding his head. he wishes to tell her he loves her. but this is not the time for such things. or it is and he knows not. what to say. omer; there's nothing strange about that, m'lady. take a seat. omer; and he grabs a chair for her to sit in and then he grabs another and sits down. omer; I can turn away if ya like, yeah? or you just sit and ya tell me whats in yer heart an yer soul. it's a good feeling.

lucrezia: and she looks at him, looks at him grabbing a chair for her. she watches him, before taking a seat. she feels like she's sitting on the very edge of the seat, not looking entirely comfortable lucrezia: is it a good feeling? only if you can accept what you feel in your heart and your soul. lucrezia: her eyes don't break from him now. their gaze was hypnotizing, one of striking ocean hues and warm, golden hazel lucrezia: and if you cannot? if what remains within your heart and your soul is the very same thing that kills me, and stops me from wanting to die?

omer; letting things out is a good feeling, m'lady. yer heart. omer; and he places his hand against his own chest. omer; she needs to be relieved, does she not? omer; and his fingers move from his forehead to his heart, shoulders, and back again. omer; you stay alive. what keeps you alive cannot kill you, just...stay alive. your heart beats and you go on because you want to live and the gods deem it so. me uncle used to say that if you live through it perhaps it were meant to leave a scar. i don't know what it means but...some times i think about it and it feels right. omer; may i hold your hand?

lucrezia: and she doesn't say anything when he asks if he can hold her hand, listening to his words, listening to his words quietly and carefully as though they were the sound of rain against her windowsill. lucrezia: and if she does not deserve to know relief, lord commander? lucrezia: and she goes quiet for a moment, opening her mouth as if she were ready to tell him. tell him everything that plagued her these months, all the questions that haunted her lucrezia: instead, her mouth closes and she moves both her hands to wrap up in his own, leaning forwards. and she quietly watches her hands clasp themselves in his own, her thumb running circles on the back of his hand lucrezia: it won't go away. none of it will go away lucrezia: i feel so alone. i tire in the company of others, and i fear even the gods have turned their backs on me for...for...and she looks at him, because he knows what lucrezia: it feels different. in a wrong way. i cannot even tell you how, or why, but it feels so different. like constantly mourning lucrezia: constantly wishing lucrezia: i wish, i wished with all the might of the seven i could stop loving you lucrezia: i don't think i know how to get through this cursed form of heartbreak. i'm grieving you, and you're still here omer. of feeling angry, then sad, then okay lucrezia: i don't know

omer; and he looks at their hands as she holds them then he looks at her as she speaks. he sees her pain and her conflict and it hurts him. omer; my love, this pain hurts so deeply. it feels forever. the wounds seem to heal but they bleed fresh every morning. omer; and he hesitates before raising her hands and kissing them softly. it's what he can do for her. the best he has to offer. omer; i wish the pain you feel could be taken away and all that i've inflicted on you could be gone. love should never hurt this way. never. omer; i don't know what to do to take this pain away but i know i want to live everyday of my life showing you, proving to you that i am no longer that man who broke your heart.

lucrezia: and she wants to look at him, and ask him why. why he would do this to her and cause her this pain, why he would damage her in such a way; though she knew love to be challenging, she never thought it should hurt as though each inhale was a sharp sting. lucrezia: i don't think there is anything you can do. only because...i don't think it is a human that can make such pain feel relief. lucrezia: i don't deserve it lucrezia: and she closes her eyes as he kisses her hands, how she wanted to simply lean forwards and let him wrap his arms around her. the silence, the silence had been defeaning, the silence that stretched months lucrezia: i was selfish, and prayed not only for forgiveness, but for life to feel okay again. and i realise, you need not try to bring forth what is long since taken root within me. i love you, for all the times i thought i could never. wished i never

omer; you were not selfish. it is not selfish to want to be okay . to ask the gods for something when they take so much. omer; i love you, i will always love you. and nothing will ever change how my heart beats for you. how i wake up and breathe you. omer; the gods forgive us for they know we fall short of their glory but we must show want and desire to change or to accept the things we cannot change. omer; and that's when he realizes that should they survive this war...the gods intend for them to be together in her way as much as his own.

lucrezia: and hearing his admission of love again, months later from that library in riverrun, feels like a million miles away. she feels as though it were another life, that happened in lucrezia: they do not burden a soul with more than it can bare, do they not? is that not what i have always read? and she's trying to tell herself its okay. there's a reason, its not just punishment lucrezia: i want to get better. i want that to change...i want to get better lucrezia: and she quietly leans forward, merely resting her head upon his chest as her arms wrap around his middle. she can listen to the sound of his heartbeat, feel his warmth. she says nothing, only closes her eyes. she doesn't want him to go lucrezia: what is wrong with us? why can't we always be this way? her voice comes out like a whisper against his chest

omer; and when she doesn't reject his love it become even clearer to him, this must become something more them. something else. omer; they do not. they give us what we can handle and while it feels we cannot it seems that we survive everyday. omer; and he kisses the top of her head. his love. his wife. he raises his hand to rest on the back of her head, his fingers in her dark curls. she makes his heart beat. omer; i was bad and i made our love bad. we can always be like this...we must learn...i must learn to communicate with you and not at you. i must hear you and acknowledge your pain and not find offense or try to defend. i must show you the best love i can give and make it better than that.

lucrezia: and she remains in that position, her head against him, taking in small breaths to steady her breathing. she feels her eyes begin to water, because she feels overwhelmed. she has spoken to nobody of how she feels, and simply that has exhausted her lucrezia: and she doesn't want to move from this position. she wants to remain here, and pretend like the world was not on fire outside their window lucrezia: and she rests his forehead against his own, her hands moving to trail his jaw and his cheek. lucrezia: tell me you love me. lucrezia: and her voice is low as her lips nearly brush against his own, her hands slipping into the bottom of his dark raven hair lucrezia: then i ask you only to say it again

omer; and he waits, watching her. hoping this doesn't end. he just wants to feel this moment alongside her. to know they are together and this is the truest form of love. omer; i love you, lucrezia. omer; i love you more than you know and if i could write a poem or a sonnet or song then i would share it for all to hear and sing it only for you. omer; i love you

lucrezia: and she merely looks upon him at his words, as he tells her again and again how he loves her, as he speaks with these words that were so utterly omer and not omer at the same time. it was enough to allow a sad smile to cross her features, wondering how they had gotten to this stage at all lucrezia: you have my love, lord commander. lucrezia: and she leans forward, to gently brush her lips against his own as she had done what felt like a hundred times before; her hand remaining running through the back of his raven hair lucrezia: all of it. lucrezia: she whispers as she pulls away from their kiss, leaning against him. always there for her to lean against. lucrezia: i'm trying. i promise you

omer; and he returns the kiss, the lightest of touches and it's enough for him to feel the first bit of happiness he's felt since their days as husband and wife aboard the ship. omer; you're doing great. omer; and he kisses her again, his lips soft against hers, just once more so he can go to this war with the memory of her on his lips. the smell of her. the feeling of her. omer; you're always wonderful.

lucrezia: and she holds onto his shoulders, slipping her arm around him as she momentarily allowed herself to become entirely wrapped in his presence. that part of her he awakened, that part of confidence lucrezia: and her kisses are lingering, she pulls away and remains against his forehead, watching him before she ends up falling into hm again, ignoring parts of her mind thinking about how his lips would feel against her neck, down her breasts...no, no. lucrezia: and she pulls away, putting a finger between their lips lucrezia: we should stop, my lord lucrezia: omer

omer; and she touches his shoulders, she wraps up in him and their kiss reminds him what it means to be alive. and he wants to kiss her forever. to touch her and feel her. to love her. then he feels her finger between their lips. omer; you're right lucrezia. you're right my sweet lu. omer; we will wait until your gods know us as well as mine.

lucrezia: and she plants one final kiss on his cheek, before moving away, bringing back the distance and the space between them. it was safer, but it felt emptier; as though there was a part of her missing lucrezia: come to me when you are home. please? lucrezia: and she knows the time is dawning closer for him to leave. she doesn't want him to

omer; and he stands, nodding his head as he looks at her, allowing the distance to stay because he knows as well as she. they will know each other if they stay close as they were and he needed to show her. to prove to her. omer; i promise. omer; i've only one more request of you my lady. i request to wear your favor in my battles. close to my heart.

lucrezia: and she quietly looks upon him, noting the formality which has returned to his voice. a formality she had not heard in months, nearly a year; and yet, that perfect knight of the reach had returned. lucrezia: and she never fawned over knights. yet, here they were lucrezia: and she reaches forward to take hold of her favour, a cluster of golden grapes upon maroon velvet. rising it to her lips, she planted a kiss, before giving it to the lord commander lucrezia: for your heart, my lord.

omer; and he smiles taking the favor from her, holding it in his him and then pressed it against his chest. omer; i shall return, my lady. and so will order in the reach. omer; i promise you. omer; and he pauses, torn between the formality and his urge for more but he knows that it's important to not push her. omer; i love you, my lady.

lucrezia: and so will order in the reach. i promise you. and he was right, gods willing; and in them they would have to trust. there was no other option. lucrezia: as i love you. lucrezia: and she pauses, and for a moment this goodbye feels only momentary. it was only right for them to at least try and begin again. it would make matters right. lucrezia: i'll see you soon. and she bows her head, watching him leave as the door swung behind him and closed shut. she quietly finds herself sitting upon her chair beside the crackling of the hearth, playing with the necklace around her neck, the glinting of the sapphire evil eye glimmering in the reflection.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Doctor of Doom (Cardona, 1963)

This review contains mild spoilers.

Like Night of the Bloody Apes, this disappointingly does not feature as its villain a real gorilla (or man in gorilla suit, if we're going to view it from a production standpoint), but an ugly half-man, half-gorilla hybrid. If you were lured by the poster, which promises an angry gorilla presiding over a wrestling match, you will be sorely disappointed. So in that area, it's on about the same level as the later movie.

Similarly, if you looked at the poster, and given the juxtaposition of the gorilla with the wrestling match, and watched this hoping that at least one character would wrestle the gorilla, you will again be disappointed. The main characters are a pair of female wrestlers, but alas they do not wrestle the gorilla (or half-man, half-gorilla hybrid, to be zoologically correct). However, this is an area in which this movie compares favourably to the later one. Here, the female wrestlers are the main characters, and fairly proactive in the plot, perhaps doing more to solve the mad-scientist-directed half-man-half-gorilla-hybrid murders than the cops assigned to the case. Whereas in the other movie, the female wrestler character quickly becomes sidelined, while all other female characters are stuck in fairly traditional roles. The earlier movie is surprisingly the more progressive one. One could argue that the resolution here undermines that quality, as the female characters sit in the sidelines, but one of the main male characters proves to be pretty useless as well, foolishly risking his life by dangling from a water tower when he could have just not done that.

I understand wrestling was quite popular in Mexican cinema at the time, although my actual experience with the scene/genre/movement/what-have-you is quite limited. I did appreciate that this leaned into this element, offering plenty of wrestling scenes, including a particularly tough match in the climax, although as someone who doesn't watch wrestling and is more familiar with the overtly theatrical modern American version, I cannot say how "good" the wrestling scenes are here. I will however note that the characters have rather bouffant hairdos, which I did not expect as I'd assumed Mexican wrestling was big on masks (the type which cover most of your head). I will also note that this goes further to justify the wrestling element, as the mad scientist's scheme revolves around brain transplants that "for biological reasons", must involve girls who are both intelligent and educated, and have sufficient physical strength. So naturally he looks for women with college degrees, and then for female wrestlers, but sadly finds no subjects with a degree in wrestling.

Now the reason I am comparing these movies is that they both involve mad scientists attempting to do ill-advised transplants, half-man, half-gorilla hybrids and lady wrestlers, and are directed by the same man, Rene Cardona. In that sense both offer reasonably diverting executions of similar material, but with enough qualities to distinguish them. Where this one does comes up short against the other movie is in the visual style and level of violence. This is an older movie and perhaps could not show as much, and is appealingly shot in black and white. But the other movie, with its bright colours and unexpectedly graphic violence, carries a sense of Technicolor sadism that gives those moments a startling impact. This is lighter in tone, never too scary or pungent, with a fair bit of comedy both intentional (I chuckled when the taller female wrestler picked up the short cop) and unintentional (the mad scientist's mask looks like a lollipop wrapper).

So yes, this is still fun, even if the poster is lie.

[weirdgirlblogging]

this is a rewrite of a blowfly girl thing I made back in august. TW for mentions of what blowfly girl does

Blowfly Girl has received so much infamy on the internet for her copypasta. You know the story— girl meets trash bag, trash bag has maggot infested rotting meat, girl stuffs maggots inside of her most intimate parts.

It’s a tale as old as time, a copypasta to disturb people, or for people with the same paraphilia as her relating to it. I personally couldn’t get through the whole thing without feeling nauseous.

But as someone who felt sick to her stomach listening to the story, it’s weird how I relate to blowfly girl.

She appreciates the grotesque. Well, that’s an understatement. She absolutely thrives off of it, needs it in her life. She talks about being filthy and disgusting and gross, being a maggot in a world filled with butterflies.

I am the same. Though her grotesque interest comes in a more fetishistic or erotic form, mine is more muted. I’m not allowed to show how much I like gross stuff, even if not sexual. Lest I want to be mocked by people online, too.

Everyone seemed to think she was gross. Who wouldn’t find shoving maggots inside of such a sacred area to some extent gross? Posting about the pleasure in such detail, too. It’s something that people on the internet should be accustomed too, but are not always.

I have always been gross to people. Annoying, weird, too loud, too much to handle. Left alone in my own sick self hatred, like a bunch of maggots crawling inside and outside of me.

She has a desire to absolutely destroy herself. Blowfly Girl’s act of self destruction was her own, erotic, disgusting way of doing so, but she was willing to do anything to wreck herself.

I don’t think I could ever go to that extent. I have hurt myself in the past, not in any ways that were ever erotic to me, but I’m a wuss for pain and Blowfly Girl is braver than me. The people around me might know anyways.

I have tried to share my interest in Blowfly Girl to people. Some are receptive, listening to me elaborate on how interesting and sad the whole situation is. Often, though, it’s seen by others as disturbing, absolutely vile.

It scares me to think they all consider me vile for being interested in the story, even if I do not have any attractions like Blowfly Girl has had at all. To be fair, I’ve been shitty in other ways that don’t require me being similar to her to have others think I’m disgusting.

They don’t understand, though. They never really will. Like how I will never understand how it felt to be blowfly girl in that situation, no one close to me will ever understand that the vile, disgusting parts are why I relate to the story.

There was one line from My Maggot Story that stuck out to me the most. I remember it from when watching that video about Blowfly Girl’s history.

“Other girls like to have babies, but I give birth to decay and filth.”

The girls in my life and so many in this world have so much sunshine just spilling out of their mouths from their guts, stuff that people don’t mind. Deep down in their stomachs is where even more of this sweetness is stored. Happiness, bright colors, so much love that doesn’t hurt people. They don’t have to keep quiet, worried about hurting people or themselves with what threatens to come loose.

Then there are the ones like me. Filled with this black, inky tar deep down in the pit their stomachs. We’re absolutely stuffed to the brim with maggots, threatening to spill out of our mouths at any given moment. Our love sis real, but it’s not the kind anyone would have the first impression of ever wanting. So unlovable, so disgusting that nobody would ever want to even be near them.

I think that’s kind of cliche for me to say, though.

Its’s funny, in a way, to find comfort in the story of a lady doing such an act. A woman who was memed so hard by the internet and becoming such an infamous copypasta for shock value, no one taking the time to ever understand her like how it feels sometimes as if no one tries to understand me.

I hope she’s doing well.

Maybe I’ll be okay someday, too.

[cybermoonmoon]

“...My life of Crime”

I wrote this story perhaps 20 years ago to perform on my radio program. I don't recall if I ever posted it here. It's a fairly short story. If you like read when you have the time.

I should say that I had forgotten these events for the entirety of my adult life. It's memory as so much else was triggered by a dream.

"Once Upon a Time...I was breaking and entering. Well not ‘breaking’ but most certainly entering. Back in the old days getting into a house was as easy as opening a window...which I did. When I was a little boy I several times entered other people’s homes. As with all crime this was motivated by want. I wanted to know how other people lived. What were their worlds like. I never took anything on these adventures. My search was inspired by more primal needs. 

I was an ‘Other’ and I was searching for other Others. Mind you I could never have explained any of this to my folks or the cops.  I just knew I had to know. 

To the adventure.

I chose my homes almost randomly. Hey, I was a ten year old kid not a for real crook. The treasure I sought was intangible. The only vague precaution was making sure the houses were empty. This was the early 1960's so near everyone in New York had a job. ...imagine. Everybody was at work so the whole neighborhood was fair game. Block after block of doll houses to explore.

I left the homes of friends alone. The houses of strangers were my object. The unfamiliar the mysterious. Places of different light touch, and smells. Every structure a new world discovered. Oh, the moral obliviousness of children. 

As J.M. Barrie put it at the end of "Peter Pan".

"...When Margaret grows up, she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless."

That was me alright. So cut me some slack. 

Oh, dreams dreams and fantasies. 

Family albums. My hunts focused on these. The photos told me in quick detail what I needed to know about who lived in whatever house I was ‘visiting’. The who what, but never the why of these lives. They were generally stored in the same place in house after house. The bedroom closet or close by. So there I would sit on a stranger's bed studying their histories looking for my tribe. 

I couldn't begin to explain to anyone why I was doing this. It was an instinctual exploration for un-namable things that I needed...was in desperate want of. I was surprised at how similar all the snap-shots were. Grandma auntie babies somebody in the Army, and birthday parties. 

These albums were all like mine. However, on occasion there was a surprise. Once I unknowingly entered the house of a nudist family. I started through their album, and ...good bleeping grief! 

I literally at that point in my life had never I mean never seen the like! There they was all...auntie mommy dad, and all the kids: Nekkid as hell! These folks were ‘other’ but not the sort I was looking for.  

Close calls: One time I'm on my way to peek through a family album when I hear the front door open.  I'm fucked! I'm going to Juvie Hall. My lunch was coming up, and I wet myself a little. My heart is pounding through my Mighty Mouse t-shirt. Some lady, and her kid just came home, and was headed for the kitchen with its open window through which I just came.

This was rapidly turning into a nightmare version of "Mayberry RFD". One where Deputy Barney Fife in Klan robes kicks the living crap out of a Negro in the holding cell. I was ten, but I knew the real score. Looking back my only hope was that the lady was a liberal sociology professor who would understand my quest and ask Deputy Fife not to kill me.

More likely she was married to a corrupt Teamster with a drinking, and violence problem. My odds didn't look good. I wanted to barf.  ...ex-Pepsi was running down my legs. I quickly hid behind an old 1930's folding room divider. ...they walked right past me.  "??!!!" 

The perceived safety of home. No one expects danger or ten year old boys hiding behind old furniture. They went to the kitchen, and I went to the front door, and ran for my life. To this day that kid must be telling his grand kids about the time he, and their great grandma surprised a deranged burglar in their house. Of such are family legends born. 

After this shattering event I laid low. Tho’ being stupid though full of grace. I went out again. A few times in fact. I visited several more homes during my life of sincere confused explorations. I never found my Others. I didn't really know who or what I was looking for. But would have known them when I found them. 

These outings ended on an ethereal note. I had wandered to the far borders of my hood. The unknown regions. A step more I’d be lost. This time a surviving farmhouse. A lot of farms here before the turn of the 20th century. No kitchen window this time. I entered through the back door which was unlocked. 

It was like stepping into an old print. The light was amber...dim. Peeling wallpaper. Pictures of folks dressed as they did long ago. Years of dust covering dark furniture. ...no one home. No one had been home since before I was born. Before my ma was born. Place wasn't abandoned not in the 21st century sense. It was owned but not lived in.

Though summer it was cold. Had chilled tingles standing there. Much as I did when I stumbled on an old graveyard. When Fredrick Olmsted planned Prospect Park, he left historic sites intact. A Colonial graveyard being one of them. Which is what I wandered into. That and got the same feeling I had in that old house. "...Leave!".  It was pissed off spirits. 

I’ve since read that impressions are left on physical objects by the dying. This explains ghosts’ hauntings. Spirits were saying "Don't Disturb!". I didn't. I left.

So ended my life of Crime. Never found my family of pacifist beatniks. Who would adopt me and teach me to compose haikus. However, several years later...but that's another story for another time.

The End ...mostly

[runnning-outof-time]

My Fair Lady | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy's given leave from his post in France and comes home to the only person he wants to see.

Warnings: drinking, discussions of war and the things that happen during it

Word Count: 3182

A/N: this is my first x reader imagine, so please let me know what you think of it! It’s based off of a song by KALEO called ‘My Fair Lady’, and the lyrics are bold and italicized. I’ve linked the song so that you can listen while you read if you’d like. Also, it’s set pre-season 1, during WWI.

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR THOUGHTS & COMMENTS HELP ME WRITE!

I'm weary from my travels, I've come a long, long way,

I haven't felt a woman, since last that I was here,

(Y/N) was busy in the shop, writing down bets and taking money from the men who still remained in Birmingham.

It was March of 1918, and the Great War, as it was now being called, was still raging on. Most people felt that it would never end, and (Y/N) was certainly among that group. Each day that passed felt like an eternity. It wasn't easy when half of her heart was on a war-torn field in France, fighting for his life in a war that wasn't his.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) met the Shelby family several years back. Her first encounter with them was when Tommy Shelby himself nearly got thrown into the Cut just for a chance to speak to her. She just happened to be sitting on a bench by the river, reading, and had caught the eye of a group of four younger men. Turns out he and his friends were (almost physically) fighting over who would be able to introduce themselves to her first. Hence why Tommy had almost gone swimming. Of course, he won though, and she was still intrigued enough by what he had to say to her. That silly meeting turned into what was now a relationship that spanned over years and was currently being put to the test while he was away.

(Y/N) missed him immensely, and she found herself falling more and more in love with him with each letter he sent. Sure, they were sparse, and their contents were thin, but she knew Tommy...she knew he wasn't much of a writer, so receiving a few sentences from him in response to her sometimes pages of words meant a lot to her.

Since the men in the family were gone, save for Finn, who was still a child, (Y/N) had offered to help run the family’s betting shop to keep things going. She worked alongside Polly, who was an aunt, and practically a mother, to the Shelby siblings, Ada, who was younger than (Y/N), but old enough to hold her own and had a wit that matched her older brothers', and Martha, John Shelby’s wife.

(Y/N) worked long days at the shop, but they were worth it. So when the shop's doors closed to signify the end of another day, she walked with the ladies through the partition that separated it from the home that the Shelby's owned on Watery Lane with a smile.

"Did you get a letter from any of the boys?" (Y/N) asked Polly as they, along with Ada, sat down at the table in the kitchen. Martha had opted to go home as she had several kids to look after.

"I didn't. Did you receive any from Thomas?" Polly answered with a shake of her head, asking (Y/N) a similar question then.

"I didn't," she sighed in response. She didn't know why she got her hopes up. Mail seemed to be more sporadic now than ever. She couldn't remember the last time she heard from Tommy.

The sound of the front door opening was heard then, and (Y/N) didn't even have time to turn and see who it was before Ada's screams pierced through the silence in the room. When she did turn, she couldn't believe her eyes. Tommy was standing several feet in front of her, Ada wrapped tightly in his arms. "You're home, Tommy!" Ada cried as she held onto her brother tightly, "I'm so happy you're home."

(Y/N) stood from her chair then, the sound of its legs scraping against the hardwood making Tommy open his eyes and gaze over his sister's shoulder. (Y/N) felt like she could faint on the spot as their eyes locked. She'd completely forgotten how beautifully blue his eyes were.

"Let me have a quick hug before you two are left alone," Polly said quietly, hugging her nephew before she stepped to the side. "I'm so happy to see you again, Thomas," she smiled at him and he sent a nod in her direction. She then took Ada into her arms and led her out the front door, giving the couple some privacy like she said she would.

(Y/N) finally moved from her spot, taking a couple steps towards Tommy, who was still dressed in his infantry uniform. She stopped in front of him, her eyes taking in his features. She still couldn't believe he was in front of her. He looked so familiar, but so different at the same time.

"(Y/N)," Tommy finally spoke, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper, like he hadn't spoken in a while. That was all she needed to lunge herself forward into his arms, gripping onto his frame tightly as she felt tears fill her eyes.

"I missed you so much, Tommy" she told him, pulling away slightly to place her hands on his cheeks so that she could press a kiss to his lips. He accepted it, his fingers gripping tighter onto her waist as he savored the way her lips felt against his. It had been too long for the both of them.

Oh, won't you bring me whisky, and run your fingers through my hair?

Oh, won't you whisper sweet words, oh so softly in my ear?

(Y/N) smiled at him as they pulled away from each other, her hold releasing from his face. "Come sit, Tommy. Do you want anything?" she asked him, beckoning him over to the couch then.

"Whisky," he answered simply, making her laugh slightly. She should have known. So she made sure he sat down before moving over to where the bottles of alcohol were kept, and poured him a glass. She then handed it to him as she sat down on the couch.

Their eyes locked once more as they sat in silence. (Y/N) didn't know what to say. What are you even supposed to say to a person you haven't seen in months? "How are you?" she asked the first thing on her mind. She felt sheepish asking such a surface level question to a person she'd known for years.

"I'm...I'm good," Tommy responded, clearing his throat. It was almost like he was choosing his words carefully. "How have things been with the shop?" he asked then.

"They've been good. Polly's running it pretty well," (Y/N) answered him with a slight nod of her head.

"That's good to hear," he felt so awkward, like he'd forgotten to talk to her, or any woman for that matter, in his time away.

Luckily, she knew just what to do, "let's not talk about the business, ok?" she asked, moving closer to him as he set his empty glass on the table in front of him. She was hesitant at first but moved into his embrace when he opened his arms. "I missed you so much, Tommy," she whispered to him, her hands sifting through the short hairs on the top of his head. "I'm so happy you came home to me. I love you," she told him, her mouth now close to his ear as she practically clung to him. She continued to whisper sweet nothings to him, about how she missed him being so close to her and what she loved about him. His head was tipped back slightly now, his fingers drawing shapes against her leg that was draped across his lap.

Can you always tell a sinner from a saint if he's the same?

And is your thick skin growing thinner, have you found someone to blame?

"The war's not over yet, (Y/N)," he reminded her with a sigh as she was going on about their future together. The future that he truly wanted to have, but it was just that nothing was promised in the time of war.

"I know," she responded, pulling her head back from his shoulder to look at him, seizing the movements of her fingers in his hair so that she could run her hand down his cheek, making him look over at her, "but that doesn't mean that I can't dream."

"I've killed men in France," he stated then, unable to meet her eyes when he said these words. He had been grappling with his feelings towards the gruesome side of war for a long time now.

On one hand, he felt terrible about killing people and acknowledged that they had families waiting back home, just like he did. But on the other hand, he knew that this was a part of war, and it had to be done...like he was almost becoming desensitized to it. He hated that, and found that even though he felt void of any emotion, he was still wearing thin.

"I know..." (Y/N) sighed as she trailed off. She didn't like to think of Tommy doing such things, even though she knew that it was practically required of him now. "That's not your fault though, Thomas," she tried to get him to realize. Realize that this wasn't his war, that he was just pulled to fight in it because the Crown felt that it was right and it was necessary in their eyes.

"I pulled the trigger. There's no one to blame but me," he disputed her point, dropping his gaze away from her once more although his face stayed in her hands.

She said, "you need not worry, child", "now's not the time",

Then she kissed me on the forehead, and turned my water into wine,

(Y/N)'s heart just about broke at his confession. She hated that he felt like this. Hated that the war had done this to him. "Please don't worry about that now, Tommy. You're home for now. You're away from that terrible place," she told him, leaning in to kiss his forehead before she pulled away to see that his eyes had matched hers. "You're with me," she said softly, leaning in to press their lips together. Tommy held onto her like his life depended on it, deepening the kiss to show her all of the emotions he couldn't convey with his words.

He pushed her back slightly, letting her know that he wanted her to lay down against the couch. She listened, breaking away slightly so that she could stare into his eyes, her hands against his chest. "Upstairs?" she asked him softly and he just nodded, the hair that had fallen from his forehead tickling hers. She moved to sit up then and he let her, moving away so that she could stand and take his hand.

My fair lady, my fair lady,

Just let me hold you for a while, just let me hold you for a while,

She smiled back at him as she led him up the steps and to his bedroom, where she had been sleeping alone since he'd left. She couldn't bear to go home. Couldn't bear to be alone. His scent still lingered on his pillows, and that was enough for her to imagine that he was there with her.

He wrapped her in his arms immediately, pulling her as close to him as possible. "Can I hold you, love?" he asked then, his face pressed against her neck. She nodded, helping him strip from his stiff uniform down to his underwear before moving them over to his bed so that they could lay down. (Y/N) reveled in the feeling of being wrapped tightly in his arms again. She never wanted to leave them.

Keep looking out your window, when the storms are raging on,

Oh, and before you know, girl, I'll be coming back ashore,

"I missed this," (Y/N) spoke after a while, breaking the peaceful reverie that had fallen in the room. She felt so warm in his embrace, like she was completely safe for the first time in a while.

"Me too," Tommy agreed with her, pressing his lips to the side of her head as he tightened his hold on her slightly. "The war'll be over soon," he whispered then.

"You're sure of it?" she asked, a sliver of hope in her voice as she dared to imagine a time where war didn't plague their existence. It was genuinely hard for her.

"Yes, I am," he answered, pointedness in his words. He didn't know that for sure, of course...no one knew when this war was going to end. But he still needed to give her hope.

Coming back to my hometown, where I saw you first,

I knew you were the one, I knew it all along,

Go on, claim my heart,

"It'll be over soon," (Y/N) nodded her head as she repeated the statement Tommy had just said, as if she was trying to make herself believe it.

"It will," Tommy also nodded, tilting his head downwards slightly so that he could look at her, the slightest smile on his face, "and when I come back, I'm gonna marry you...make you me wife," he told her, making her eyes widen slightly. This came out of nowhere, and although she knew that that could be a ways off before it actually happened, and that there was still a chance that it never would, she couldn't stop her heart from swelling at his words.

"Tommy..." she breathed, trailing off for a moment before she spoke again, "Tommy, where'd that come from?"

"I love you, (Y/N). You're the only one I want to be with for the rest of me life. You have my heart," he responded honestly, making her swoon at his words.

(Y/N) let his words sink in before she spoke again, "goodness...I wish we could get married now," she whispered then, a smile forming on her face at the thought of it.

"Then let's," Tommy was about ready to move to get dressed again, but (Y/N)'s hold on him kept him in his spot.

"No...I don't want to leave this bed," she whispered, making him relax once more as she rested her head on his chest, right above his heart. "I would love to marry you, Tommy," she admitted once it got quiet, "we'll do it the moment this war's over. But for now, keep my heart safe over there in France, because you know that it's right there with you."

Some nights just seem forever lasting,

Low lights make me know that you're there,

"When we're in the trenches and down digging tunnels, and I can't see much more than a few feet in front of me, I picture that you're there beside me," Tommy said then, making (Y/N) glance up at him, "you give me the motivation to keep going. You calm me nerves. You're what I'm fighting for, (Y/N)."

She didn't know how she managed to get someone like him. How he could see her as his entire world, as his only reason to survive in such terrible conditions. Anything that she said in response to that beautiful declaration would be pathetic, so she leaned up and pressed her lips to his, sealing him into a loving kiss that showed how much his words meant to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling them deeper into the embrace they were sharing.

They ran out of breath eventually, pulling away from each other to rest their foreheads together, taking deep breaths as they tried to calm down. "Do you want me to cook you a meal?" (Y/N) was the first one to break the silence, her eyes searching his. "I'm sure it's been a while since you had a proper one."

"I'm fine, love," he brushed off her offer with a slight shake of his head.

My fair lady, my fair lady,

Oh won't you lay here by my side?

Just let me hold you for a while,

"Are you sure, Tommy?" she asked again, her hands running down his cheeks feeling his muscles tense under her touch.

"Yes, darlin'. I just want to hold you right now," he told her, his hands encircling her waist as he held her close to his chest. "I don't want to do anything else," his lips met hers after his sentence was finished.

(Y/N) couldn't help but giggle slightly against his lips as he rolled the two of them slightly so that they were now laying on their sides. Tommy's hands moved up her sides until they were against her cheeks, their arms now tangled with each others'. "You know...I don't mind staying in your arms a little while longer," she pulled away with a smile, feeling Tommy run his thumb across her lips. It was almost like he was committing her features to memory, so that he'd have her image fresh in his mind when he returned to France.

"That's good to hear, love, because I don't intend on letting you leave this room any time soon," he told her, the grin on his face making her giggle. She was starting to slightly see the old him back seep back into his features and words. The carefree Tommy...the one who was almost always smiling and telling stories. The Tommy she saw standing in the doorway earlier that night was what he had become now, the person the war made him into. But she had hope that with time, he would find who he was before this terrible conflict happened.

"How long are you home for?" (Y/N) asked after they had shared a few more kisses. She hated to ask the question but at the same time wanted to know. She wanted to know how much time she had with him.

"Only two weeks," he told her, and she tried not to let her heart break. She had been prepared for this. Soldiers didn't typically get a long stint of leave, unless they had been injured, and Tommy wasn't any different.

"We'll make the most of it," she smiled at him, brushing a few fallen strands of hair out of his eyes.

My fair lady, my fair lady,

Oh, won't you lay here by my side?

Just let me hold you for a while,

"We will," he agreed with her, his arms going around her waist to pull her tight against his body once more. (Y/N) let out a sigh of contentedness then, breathing in his scent as she nestled her face into his neck. This was much better than sleeping with his pillow.

The both of them knew that the next two weeks would pass too fast for their liking, but they would make the most of them anyway. And (Y/N) was sure of it that Tommy wasn't going to let her leave his arms for much more than a few minutes. She was fine with that though.

Oh won't you lay here by my side?

Just let me hold you for a while.

MASTERLIST

Listen to My Fair Lady by KALEO here:

[ayamturd]

bisexual│mcyt hc

warnings: small mentions of hate, fluff

prompt: (requested 1 & 2) “Hello uh I saw one of your posts about the dream smp reacting to you coming out so I was wondering if you haven't already done it can you do dream smp reacting to you coming out as bisexual?” 

“Hello yamturd so I was wondering if maybe you could do tubbo, Tommy and Ranboo reacting to reader coming out as bisexual or lesbian if you haven't already done it :)” 

pairings: irl platonic! dream, ranboo, tommy and tubbo ; c!technoblade

a/n: if i offend or misinterpret anything in this hc, please feel free to message and correct me otherwise. i will always try to correct or delete this post if asked so <33

sending my love to all those who identify as bisexual <33

wc: (1.5k) - m.list

dream - 

considering his prideful personality sometimes, you probably wanted to play with his ego and drop subtle hints

not anything too obvious, but enough to make him kick himself when he realizes

though it was admittedly difficult since he plays into the dnf ship so much that he thinks you’re also joking more than half the time 

imagine you two were in a voice call one evening and randomly discussing the recent fanon and what would be funny to turn into canon (to mess with the fandom)

you’ve been recently shipped with two other content creators, both of opposing female and male gender, separately and together

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind hitting that.” “Which one?” “Both.”

He’d laugh, but you didn’t.

“Wait, you’re serious? You actually identify as…?” “Bisexual. Yeah, I’m pretty sure anyway.” “Y/n, that’s amazing.”

takes pride in the fact that you trust him, but would feign being upset that you messed with him for as long as you did

be jokingly offended if he found out someone knew before him

“Wait…” “Yes?” “You told Bad??” “Yeah, he was one of the first.” “W— Why??”

It was your turn to laugh while he gawked in disbelief.

“It’s Bad! Of course I told him.” “… Fair enough.”

hate is a given, and he’ll always be there to support and defend you

he’ll always ask your permission before taking any action, however, because he respects you too much and knows you can fight your own battles

dream is someone will show relentless support, whether that be through words or moral support, he’ll always be there for you 

c!technoblade - 

i honestly feel like you never officially came out to techno

as you began to recognize yourself as bisexual, you slowly expressed yourself around him more openly to the point where he unconsciously knew

it’d probably would have hit him in the most random moment after months of assuming he knew

imagine you’re in the midst of battle when techno paused entirely with wide eyes 

“Y/n!” “What!?” “Are you gay??”

you would tease him when discussing your love life in one-sided conversations with him; him basically choosing to ignore you when you talk to him

“Honestly, Techno, how could you not want to hit that?” “Please, just stop.”

(i’ve written this before but will stand by this that) he truly doesn’t care for your sexuality

you’re a friend, someone he trusts and relies on, he doesn’t need to consider who you’re attracted to since he sees you for your skills and friendship

the only, and only time he is mindful of your sexuality depends on others unnecessary comments about it

the smp is a known judgement free land, but there will always be someone with ignorant opinions that he is always quick to shut down (or kill)

nothing much can be said besides the fact that you’ll always be y/n to him: a loyal friend and someone he would fight the world for

ranboo - 

oh sweet ranboo, dear ranboo

considering how openly supportive and kind he naturally is, you didn’t question the idea of telling him

i’d like to imagine that unlike most where you planned or waited to tell, the moment you knew, he would know soon after

imagine you called him before he began his lore stream to hype him up

you both were talking about more mundane things to calm his nerves as people joined when you brought it up

“Oh actually, before you start, I wanted to tell you something.” “Sure, what is it?” “Well, I— I’m Bisexual.” “…You’re tELLING ME THIS WHEN I’M ABOUT TO START MY STREAM??” “Y/n! I’m so happy for you, that’s amazing!”

he’s incredibly patient concerning how you wanted others to know or when you were ready to be completely out

similar to c!techno with the same beliefs you’re still y/n, and nothing has changed besides you coming out as yourself

he’s your go to when days are rough, because he knows how to help you understand you’re still loved as the same y/n and nothing less

“Hey, hey, listen to me. I love you, y/n. We all do, and you’ll never be alone when things get rough, alright?” (love /p)

knows how to silently deal with hate in his chat unless it becomes evident enough to address it (doesn’t want to bring attention to meaningless words until it becomes serious)

ranboo’s your rock and makes show that he’ll never believe anything other than that you deserve love

tommyinnit - 

as someone who took pride in defending the LGBTQ+ community, you had no hesitation when coming out to tommy

if any, your reluctance would come from accepting yourself to the point to be open with other people

it’s not as if he didn’t accept you, he could never imagine doing so in the slightest, but he probably wouldn’t know what to say initially

imagine you both were in the midst of playing bedwars together in a recording for a video

he had been busy gathering emeralds while you remained at the base, and the comforting silence gave you the confidence to blindly address it

“Hey Tommy?” “What, y/n? I’m in the middle of something right now.” “Oh, um, I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.” “…” “…Tommy?” “…” “T— Tommy?”

it’d be dead quiet for a few seconds before you heard the noise of him rustling in realization

“Wait wait wait, you’re serious? You’re bisexual?” “Haha yeah, yeah, I am.” “WHA—!”

he was happy for you, to say the least

tommy loves to joke, and one he loved to make would be your attraction to both genders

you like women? pog!

you like men? a shame, honestly

if you were publicly out, his favorite bit would be to include you in his obnoxious swooning

imagine he was streaming while talking about his love for women

“Boys, honestly, the ladies just can’t resist me.”

The ding of discord notified you entering the call, the sound of your laughter immediately coming through.

“I agree, Tommy, I definitely agree.” “Y/n! You are attracted to women, and I am also attracted to women. You can agree women are amazing, yes?” “I can, Tommy. Women are indeed amazing.” “Good lad!” “Tommy, you do realize I’m not only attracted to w—” “Shush, we don’t speak of that.”

he showed his support by normalizing your sexuality, his acceptance quick and easily integrated into your lives

(this is getting long but—) tommy was well aware he lacked some knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community, but openly voiced his ignorance as a sign of awareness itself

he was always quick to correct either himself or others, he refused to accept slander of any type in his streams

would probably try to keep it light heartedly, but scold nonetheless

tommy was your figurative cheerleader, always there to include and uplift you, whether that be through the smallest gestures or loudest cheers

tubbo - 

poor tubbo

since he wasn’t the most careful with secrets, you probably withheld telling him till you were ready for most to know

this isn’t to deter anything of not trusting him, he’s still supportive and loving tubbo that wouldn’t dare do anything purposeful against you

if anything, you might have forgotten that he didn’t know when you were casually taking about it within a group

imagine you and Ranboo were trying to get him to sleep one early morning but gave up

you started talking about personal stuff and the topic of your love life came up, specifically the attraction to someone of the same gender

“I don’t know, Ranboo, I mean, I think I like them but at the same time I’m not sure.” “That’s fai—” “Wait, y/n. You’re gay??” “Bisexual, actually.” “WaAA—”

his very sleep deprived state was extremely happy and emotional for you

he’s like the little duckling with a knife, like he loves you completely but will try to hurt anyone that offends you

like tommy, he has no personal knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community but will solely learn for your sake

whether you’re younger or not, tubbo never fails to remind you that he looks up to you

he gives his all and won’t hesitate to provide in any way he can if needed

“You matter,” he’ll always say, “you’re important and no one else’s opinion matter.”

is proud to be your friend and expresses his platonic love in full, for you’re you and are so brave to be yourself despite all

choosing not to tag my usual taglist just cause its a headcanon with a specific request <33 (huge ty to @basilly​ and @inniterhq​ though for the advice/motivation to finish this)

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Vampy come down for family dinner and help clean up like he wasn’t just defiling their daughter 10 minutes ago

Harry would rail the fuck out of her in her closet with one hand over her mouth and another around her throat, grunting absolute filth into her ear as she spills over him with muffled whines and sobbed pleas. He’d lick her clean, pull her panties and leggings back up her quaking thighs, and proceed to buckle his slacks casually while she props herself against the wall, trembling and panting.

He just leans forward and presses a chaste kiss between her sweaty brows, her skin sticky against his lips as he murmurs smugly. “I’m gonna go finish cleaning up the kitchen with your mum. Come back down after you’ve sorted yourself out, and don’t forget to wipe your makeup off. It’s smeared down your face.”

Y/N does as he says, wiping the watery steaks of mascara off her cheeks and fixing her wild hair, making sure to leave no evidence of their little escapade, lest Harry end up sleeping outside on the yard. When she finally gets back down to her living room (she takes the stairs extra carefully, her belly throbbing with each step), the vampire is sitting in the rocking chair next to her mother’s, swaying lightly as they chat away nonchalantly.

They’re laughing and gossiping, their hands occupied with all types of yarn and needles, and she always forgets that Harry had learned how to knit when he was younger. It’s so baffling to see him engaging innocently with her mom, his nimble fingers expertly working on a multicolored scarf as he does so, not sparing the piece the slightest glance due to how confident he is in his skills. The reason it’s especially startling is because those fingers had been inside her not even five minutes ago.

“So we were running around this lake near my house,” Harry explains candidly, clearly in the middle of telling a story from his past as his digits weave in and out amidst red and purple yarn, “and we were playing in the snow near the banks, which was our first mistake. My mother had told me that the snow around the shores tended to be really slushy, so if we weren’t careful, we’d end up slipping really easily. We didn’t listen, of course— what ten year old does? We were playing tag with the neighbors, and as I was chasing after Gemma, I accidentally shoved her a bit too hard and she slipped and fell right into a pile of muddy snow. Completely stained everything she was wearing.”

Her mom releases a disappointed hiss, giving him a sympathetic glance over the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Poor thing.”

Harry nods in agreement, looping yarn over his needles as he extends the scarf over his lap for more space, continuing his labor. “My mum grounded me for a week, and I spent that entire time learning to knit so I could remake Gemma’s mittens, since I was the one that ruined them. It was a fair punishment, honestly, and I ended up liking it more than I thought. Plus, the mittens I made were way better than the original pair. You just can’t buy this type of talent anywhere.”

The older woman laughs boisterously at his self-absorbed joke, which results in Harry smiling to himself proudly, giggling along.

Y/N clears her throat softly, leaning against the archway that leads into the room and crossing her arms over her chest in a relaxed manner, quirking an eyebrow at both of them as she makes her presence known. “Having fun?”

Harry glimpses over at her, his eyes raking down her body to where she’s clasping her thighs tightly, irises gleaming with knowing condescension. “Loads.”

“Harry was just telling me about when he learned to knit!” Y/N’s mother chirps, sending a warm smile towards the boy sitting across from her, unaware of the fact that he’d been defiling her daughter not too long ago. “It’s not often that you find a young man with this type of interest. He’s a keeper, sweetheart.”

“Hear that?” The immortal gloats teasingly, wagging his brows playfully as he holds up his unfinished accessory. “I’m a keeper.”

“Mm.” His girlfriend hums sarcastically, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling to avoid giving him any satisfaction. “I bet you’re just loving all this praise, aren’t you?”

Harry whistles lowly, tutting in a chastising fashion. “Someone’s jealous.”

Y/N rectifies her posture, an appalled expression cracking over her features. “Am not!”

“Are to.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.” Harry insists doggedly, looking over at the older woman for support. “Isn’t she?”

Her mom studies her for a moment, clicking her tongue scoldingly. “I think maybe you are, honey. Just a bit.”

Harry cranes his head back towards Y/N, sticking his tongue out mockingly behind the woman’s back and scrunching up his face comically, flaunting his childish point.

“Plus, Harry was sweet enough to make you that scarf he’s working on. You should be more grateful.”

Harry softens his eyes dramatically, sugaring his voice into a honeyed drawl that only she can read through. “Yeah, Y/N. I’m going out of my way to make you this nice gift, and that’s the thanks I get?”

“Dickhead.” The girl grumbles pettily, shifting on her feet as she glowers at him.

Her mother glares at her accusingly. “Language! I taught you better than that!”

“Mm. You should be more careful with what you say; words hurt more than you know.” Harry tacks on with a snide grin, shrugging his brows daringly as he slips an innuendo into his next line. “Mouthing off like that could get you into a whole lot of trouble.”

The pit of her tummy throbs at his curtained challenge, her eyes narrowing as she bites back the urge to curse him out again. “Thanks for the moral advice, Aristotle, but I’m grown enough to face the consequences of my own actions.”

Harry slowly puts down his knitting needles onto the small table beside him, picking up the scarf laying across his thighs and rolling it out in its entirety. It’s now that she realizes the item is much too thin width-wise to be scarf— it looks more like a belt, similar to the strap used to tie off a robe. The vampire flickers his gaze over to Y/N’s mom to make sure she’s not watching, and once he sees the lady is once again preoccupied with her knitting, he trains his attention back onto his partner.

He lifts the long colorful band up to his neck, tying one end around his throat loosely and wrapping the excess length around his knuckles, giving the article a symbolic tug. Y/N’s cheeks burst with heat at the crude reenactment, suddenly coming to terms with what he’s actually created under the guise of a harmless statement piece: it’s a makeshift collar.

Harry watches her avidly, a sinister smirk carving his dimples into place once he sees she’d understood his implication. He yanks the leash from around his neck swiftly before he gets caught, rolling the material back up neatly to disguise it. He cocks his head to the side conceitedly, his accent slathered with the same amount of arrogance as his gesture. “You never know, dove. Sometimes the consequences might be too much for you to handle.”